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boldlyanxious · 3 years

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Dance like no one is watching

Chapter 11

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Marinette felt like she had to force herself out of her apartment when she was meeting up with friends or visiting her parents. Jason had been gone a month but they still talked every day. Sometimes they would just stay on video chat even while they both went around doing the things that needed done. They weren’t even always talking. They were just together even an ocean apart.

Marinette had even managed to keep up with her new influx of orders easily because she worked on them while she and Jason had remote hangouts. She had gotten a big bump right after the show but it fell off a bit after that. It was a little bit higher than her typical sales but she worried it would go right back down to the level it was before. She had meetings with several fashion houses to sell freelance designs to see if they were interested in funding her for her own line under their umbrella.

She turned around her place quickly and grabbed her tablet and a travel sketchbook. She was finally finding the time to catch up with Paul after they reconnected at the show, but like the fashion junkies they were, they planned to check out a new fabric and craft store and an indie fashion show that was using the opening to gain some extra eyes to see their designs. Marinette hoped to find the perfect selection of fasteners or zippers to go with the design she had for Jason’s jacket. She had some options but none of them quite seemed to fit with the pattern she created for him. She made sure to wear one of her own designs and a couple accessories just in case she was noticed and she replenished her stock of business cards.

“Damn girl, you look fabulous!” Paul exclaimed when they found each other in the crowded store.

“Seemed like a good opportunity to show off my skills,” she replied.

“You designed that? Of course you did.” He used his hand to turn her so he could get a look from all angles.

“The accessories too. A girl’s gotta get some business somehow.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t get job offers when we finished school. That’s just criminal.”

“I had internship offers. But no guarantees of ever even getting my designs seen. The pay was barely enough to live on and I need money for fabric.”

“As I said, criminal. You were probably the best in the year.”

“How is your glamorous fashion job going?”

“It’s exactly what you described. I’m fetching coffee for someone and hand sewing their creations. Sometimes I go weeks without even drawing my own designs. No one would see it anyway and I can’t sell it to anyone else until I’m not under contract.”

“That is awful. I don’t think I could manage it. I don’t always love my corporate job but it's steady and they can’t keep me from selling my designs.”

"It really is. I had to get special permission for the showcase and sign something saying I wouldn't sell the designs to another company."

They both loaded up on supplies from the store and rushed away with far too many packages so they could get a good view for the show. They didn’t end up finding seats which was awkward but Marinette still pulled out her sketchbook so she could draw whatever she thought of seeing the new creations. After the show when people were milling about trying to get another glimpse, Paul kept loudly exclaiming about her outfit or accessories if he saw anyone who noticed them. She was oscillating between laughing and blushing but still passed out business cards until she ran out and then was writing the website down for people.

---

Jason groaned when he realized he would be busy during the time Marinette was off work for the next few days. He didn’t have a whole lot planned around the times he was working but the time difference would be a struggle. He could tell she also really enjoyed their time together even if it had to be at this distance.

She had been struggling to hang up even when it was getting very late. Many nights he would insist she lay down in bed and he would read to her until she fell asleep. It had become his favorite time of day. When he first started it he had just used the book he had just picked up to read. Anything to get her in bed to rest and they he would keep at it until she was tired or feel asleep. When they finished that they needed something lighter so he picked his favorite Shakespeare comedy. He cursed the mission again. He just wanted to see her and hold her again.

He went out to his patrol and was possibly slightly more forceful than necessary due to his mood. All frustration aside, the current issues with Mad Hatter should be finished in a few days. They had leads on all the main players and should be able to finish a series of raids in conjunction with the police task force. That should give Jason time to wrap up any loose ends and head to Paris. If he didn’t sleep he could hop on a plane and be there when she got off work in a couple days.

He packed his bags in anticipation.

---

Marinette focused on work to distract herself from her frustrated feelings. Jason had missed their call last night. Which wasn't a big deal but he still hadn't responded to her text. She stayed up far too late waiting for a response. She did end up reorganizing her supplies and doing a full cleaning and maintenance in her sewing machine. That should be really helpful for when she starts working on Alya's wedding dress.

She used her grumpy mood to get through a lot of work for the morning. Calls had been scarce so she wasn't even having to refocus constantly. She jumped when a voice addressed her suddenly. She couldn't think of his name. He was part of the merger team working to find ways to keep the company afloat. She saw Tim standing in the doorway too as if he was just coming out to see her but waiting. Was her report late?

"Oh, sorry. I was very focused." she said. "I'm almost done with my report. I guess I forgot it."

"It isn't due until tomorrow,” the man said. “I was checking to see if you were going to take lunch today."

She glanced at the time. She usually would have gone twenty minutes ago. She lost track of time.

"Oh, yeah. Guess I'm late for that. Lost track of time."

She reached for her jacket and purse. He was still standing there when she turned back as if he was waiting for her. Tim was watching too but trying to pretend he wasn't. Maybe he needed something from her. She looked back at the man in front of her. He shifted slightly and took a breath.

"Would you like to go to lunch with me?" he stammered a bit as he added, "with us? There is a group of us going."

Tim looked up sharply but then back at his file. It was making Marinette nervous. She wasn’t sure if he needed her and was trying to not interrupt or if he just wanted to see what she was doing to report back.

“That would be great. I didn’t bring lunch with me today.” Marinette said. She turned back to Tim, “Did you need anything before I go?”

“No. I will see you when you get back.” Tim said.

Lunch with her coworkers definitely helped loosen her up and get her mind off not hearing from Jason. She had been withdrawn recently because she was so focused on getting everything ready for the showcase and keeping up on her commissions. Now she had caught back up and with Jason back in Gotham and Alya busy making plans she had been feeling lonely. But the group for lunch were all about her age which was a nice change since she was quite a bit younger than most of the others she worked with. Many of them had been working there for 15 years or more.

She never did figure out what Tim had been planning to say when he came out. He had several things for her to accomplish by the end of the day and the end of the week so she assumed it must be that and that she was letting her imagination run wild. Except for when Jason was leaving Paris, he never acted as if they had a personal connection. She was very grateful for that. She didn’t like being the center of gossip and she was certain that if it became widely known she had dated the son of the man in charge of the merger it would look bad for her no matter what way the relationship of the company went.

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 4 years

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I Didn’t Mistake Your Finger for the Moon, I Just Chose to Look at You Instead

Tim Drake x Reader Oneshot

The title comes from zen buddhism (maybe chinese? i’m sorry I don’t know), the idea is I am pointing my finger at the moon to show you the moon don’t look at my pointed finger, look where I’m pointing.

Heavily inspired by the play Frankie and Johnnie in the Claire de Lune

***

You can’t believe it’s only 8:30pm, just two hours into the night and you’re already bored out of your skull. Around you, the huge ballroom swirls with sparkling socialites keeping themselves busy by incessantly talking shit and guzzling Bruce Wayne’s alcohol. Everybody has their lips to someone’s ear and a glass in their hand, except for you, which is quite stupid on your part. But that’s why you’re at the bar.

Behind you, the positively charming laughs of the Wayne Gala’s guests dot the conversations that spill out through the room in concentric circles, rippling over each other in waves that ebb and flow right up until they reach you. Then they stop short, leaving you alone and trying to order a drink from a bartender who seems to be too busy to chat you up out of pity.

Not that you’d do anything with her, obviously. But still. Some attention would be nice.

Christ, you were so shit at knowing what to do with yourself at these parties. You’d think you’d have them figured out by now, but no such luck. Your funeral.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?”

You turn to face the speaker and your eyes fall on Dick Grayson, dressed gorgeous in a sharp suit complete with a dark blue bow tie. He looks incredible, but then again, he usually does. And miracle of miracles, the folks around you are now eyeing you up, trying to figure out if it’s worth skydiving into your conversation to get in a word with Bruce Wayne’s heir. Dick does that to people, has the sort of happy, positive demeanor that makes folks want desperately to talk to him, to be part of his group. You’ll probably never get used to it. Or to how beautiful he is.

“Yeah.” Yeah, you know where Tim is. You resist the urge to point across the ballroom, motioning with your chin instead. “He’s over there, schmoozing with some LexCorp folks.”

“Schmoozing? With LexCorp?” Dick’s face takes on a slightly disgusted hue in the light of the chandeliers.

You shrug. “Schmoozing, making thinly veiled threats, planting the seeds for some light corporate espionage, but not the sort anyone can prove. You know Tim.”

Dick chuckles at that. “I guess I do.” He takes a step away from you, then doubles back. “Are you all right, over here? You look a bit...”

“You can say lonely, Dick, it’s okay,” you say with a bit of bite, too many teeth in your voice, but he’s not wrong. “I’m fine, you don’t need to babysit me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Jeez, y/n, I didn’t mean--”

You cut him off. “No, it’s fine Dick, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” You press a hand to the bridge of your nose and try to take deep breaths. Starting a fight with your boyfriend’s oldest brother is not exactly on your to-do list for the evening. “I am a bit lonely, but it’s cool, I get Tim back in...” you check your watch, a cheap analogue that clashes something awful with your cheesed-up attire. “Eight in a half minutes. Then he’s mine for at least an hour.”

Dick quirks his lips in a half-smile. “You guys time how long he spends doing W.E. business at these galas? That’s--”

“Adorable? Or just anal?” Try as you might, you can’t keep the cynicism from spreading thick over your tone.

“I was actually going to say very Tim,” he says back warmly. You grin at him, bad mood abandoning you for the moment. “It was his idea. Wouldn’t be much of a date if we didn’t spend any time together.”

Dick laughs again. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Across the room, Tim turns away from the circle of business harpies and shoots you an apologetic smile. Dick must’ve clocked it as well. “Maybe Tim’ll turn knight-in-shining-armor and rescue you,” he suggests.

You wrinkle your nose. “I doubt it. As much as I don’t like it, the business stuff needs to get done.”

Dick eyes Tim’s back. “Yeah, something tells me you’d be the one doing the rescuing.” He clears his throat. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I gotta skip out on you.” Dick’s down-to-earth manner of speaking always surprises you, especially because he manages to get away with it at these swanky events. When you do it everyone seems to look at you sideways. “Need to go find Damian,” Dick explains further. “If he’s not antagonizing your boyfriend, he may be up to something worse.”

You nod in agreement. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

He sighs. “Yeah, wish me luck.” And then Dick makes his exit, leaving you with seven and a half minutes to wallow before Tim comes back.

You chide yourself a bit, picking up the Gin and Tonic that the bartender had just placed in front of you. Were you seriously going to wallow in self pity at a gala half of Gotham would kill to attend? With Tim Drake as your date? Hundreds of girls and quite a few boys probably daydream about being in your place, especially after he made the Forbes Thirty under Thirty list last month. Still, his spot on the list doesn’t change the fact that exactly no one at this party, striking Dick and the bartender, has said a single word to you.

You stifle a sigh. It isn’t your fault Gotham’s socialites always prove to be uninterested in Timothy Drake’s thoroughly middle-class girlfriend. They had found you just fascinating when the relationship was new and Tim’s move of dating so far below his class had actually made headlines. But, six months later, your novelty had worn clean off. God, you wished you had someone to talk to. You were feeling so small.

Swallowing a sip of G&T, you think back to your first gala at the Manor. The glitter and glamour of the evening had left you breathless, whereas now it’s making you sick. Some parts of the evening never seem to go stale, though. You still love playing dress up in gorgeous clothes and parading around with your boyfriend, who was also dressed up in gorgeous clothes. Tim usually bought your dresses for these events, since there was no way on the planet you could afford them. You’d gotten used to Tim being stupid rich early in your relationship, and it doesn’t bother you that you can never match him in the money department.

Occasionally, Tim likes to spoil you, although neither of you are too keen on outrageous gifts that are ultimately useless. He tends to avoid getting you things that are overpriced and unnecessary. (Cheap and unnecessary is where you operate. The two of you are currently having a competition over who could get the other the smallest, most useless gift for under two dollars. Your last gift to him had been a yellow plastic shovel that fits in the palm of your hand)

Tim doesn’t like buying expensive, frivolous things on principle, and you don’t like receiving them, also on principle. But if you’re going to attend these galas, you need an expensive dress point-blank, otherwise you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And you want to attend, you want to be Tim’s girlfriend, public appearances and all. So Tim just has to buy you the dresses, which you secretly love because they’re gorgeous, and you have to accept them, because you can’t attend the gala without them. It’s a neat way for Tim to give you something expensive and make sure you’ll have a need for it. Plus, you know he loves seeing you wear the clothes he’s bought you.

Tonight, however, you’re not wearing one of Tim’s Vera Wang’s or Alexander McQueen’s. You’ve opted instead on something you’d bought yourself, a bridesmaid’s dress you’d worn to a friend’s wedding earlier this year. It just about fits in with everyone else’s attire, and besides, the dress was expensive. You wanted to wear it at least twice. A great plan, except it isn’t as beautiful as some of the other dresses in the room tonight. You’ve recognized more than one from a runway fashion account you follow on Instagram. Nice as your dress may be, it can’t compare with any of those, and every time you see an exceptionally beautiful gown you wonder what you were thinking, wearing a dress like this.

The negative buzzing in your ears dissipates as you catch Tim’s eye again. He’s got the same stupid look on his face he’d worn when he picked you up this evening. Like he’d been punched but he didn’t exactly mind.

“Are you sure you’re my date for tonight?” he’d whispered, after doing a cartoonish double-take at the door of your apartment, because he really is a good boyfriend. “I’m not sure other people will believe it.”

“Of course they will,” you’d scoffed, cheeks glowing at the compliment. “We look good together. You’re pretty stunning yourself.”

He’d look down at his own clothes with a worried expression. “Really?” Following your advice and urging, Tim had stepped out of his comfort zone tonight and was sporting a patterned tux. It’s a dark blue checked with thin black stripes, waistcoat and bow-tie to match. “I think I look like Al Capone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you look very dapper.” You had taken his hand, then, smiling up at him and leading him out of your apartment. “Charming, even.”

“If Jason’s there he’ll make fun of me. Damian definitely will.”

“They were going to do that anyway. And besides, who cares? I think you look great.”

“I guess you’re the only one that matters.”

“Damn straight.”

He really does look incredible tonight, you think to yourself as you check him out from your position at the bar. Nothing short of beautiful, with the long lines of the tux sitting pretty on his sinuous, willowy limbs and gorgeous frame. His shoulders are holding strong under the fine material of his jacket, and presiding over everything are his sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes. Which, you note in satisfaction, are now fixed on you as Tim extricates himself from the suits and makes his way to the bar.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, plopping down next to you and casually hooking a foot around your ankle.

“Nope,” you smile happily, thrilled to be spending time with him again. “I was saving it for you, and as you can see, I had to really fight to keep it free.” You motion around yourself to the people ignoring you.

Tim winces. “I’m sorry, y/n, if I could do anything--”

“Stop, stop,” you wave him silent. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now, it’s okay,” you reassure him.

“I don’t like that you end up spending so much time alone at these things,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “If you even think I’m going to let you come to this thing by yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “Some of the other ones, maybe, but if I don’t make an appearance at The Wayne Gala, capital T, W, and G, the public will think I’m out of the picture.”

“Defending your territory, huh?” Tim grins sidelong at you. “Keeping the society pages off my back, more like.” You shift in your seat, sensing an opportunity. “But maybe I am defending my territory, hmm?” You give him an obvious once over, let lust show in your gaze. “Maybe you’re too pretty to let out of my sight.”

He flushes, color overrunning his cheeks and spilling down his neck and making him look even more edible. You let out a breath. “God, Tim, I could just...” you lean over, easily catching his lips with yours. Holding him there for a just a second, you run your tongue quick over his bottom lip and then pull back, spending a few moments just looking at him, with him looking back.

You wait for some of the sparkling energy to fade before you speak again. “It’s important to me that you know I’m here to support you as acting CEO.”

He laughs at that, spell broken. “I know sweetheart.” He turns from you to order a drink. “I’m very proud of you,” you say to his back. He rolls his eyes at you over his shoulder.

The bartender makes the drink inside of twenty seconds, because Tim Drake asked for it, and then your boyfriend spends a few more moments staring at you, taking the glass in his hand and eyeing you over the rim.

You meet his gaze. “What are you thinking?” He presses a finger to his ear. “Going off comms,” he murmurs, then surreptitiously fishes the device out of his ear and stows it in his pocket. If you hadn’t known what to look for you would swear he was just running his fingers through his hair and then brushing some lint off of his suit.

“If I’m honest, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes fantasizing about eating you out.”

...what?

It takes a moment for his words to connect to your brain. Then--

“Tim!” you squawk, eyes darting around to make sure no one had overheard you. “You can’t just say that to me in public!”

His eyes meet yours, he looks unimpressed. Tim never has any patience for your prudishness whenever he brings up sex with other people around. “What can I say? The LexCorp people were boring,” and now he’s the one looking you over, eyes slowly working up and down your form. You shiver under his attention. “That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing, y/n, I think it would look great bunched up around your hips.”

God, confidence is such an irresistible look on him. Despite your better judgment, you decide to play along. Leaning closer, you let one hand ghost over his crotch, cupping him for half a moment as you say “and how do you think the dress will look on your bedroom floor?”

He gasps when you touch him, then smiles brilliantly, eyes shining. You really, really shouldn’t be encouraging him, but you can’t help it. You love him like this, you love the unrelenting force of his desire. You love how much he wants you.

With Tim, you’ve found that once the idea of sex gets into his head and he sees that you’re game, he’s like a dog with a bone, gnawing and gnawing at you. There’s no stopping him in pursuit to get you into his bed, or car, or the nearest supply closet. And you always find yourself indulging him, because the sex is usually good, but the man himself is even better. You delight in seeing Tim aroused, because as soon as that switch is flipped, the self-control that Tim rigidly keeps in place disappears, and he becomes hypnotically impulsive with his emotions. It took some time for him to get the barriers down, for him to let loose around you, but now he allows himself to be everything all at once. An aroused Tim is playful, awkward, confident, shy, ridiculous, and enthusiastic. You never know what you’re going to get with him, and sometimes he flits from one affect to the other between moments, leaving you breathless.

And you’re more than happy to provide an arena for Tim to let loose, because the only time your boyfriend allows himself to be anything less than perfect is when he’s in your arms. Control rules Tim’s life in the form of some probably unhealthy idolatrous god. As he’s explained to you several times, yes, he actually does need to be this tightly wound, because if he makes a mistake he’ll lose clout at WE. Or he’ll be too slow at night. People will die (he will die.) Insert answer here.

Which is all true, but it doesn’t mean Tim can’t take a fucking break once in a while. And that’s where you come in. Your boyfriend spends his whole life striving for perfection and punishing himself when he doesn’t reach it, but when he’s with you, he can be anything he wants.

And one of the wonderful things about sleeping with Tim is so often you get to see everything he wants. Once he’s finally lost control, once you’ve convinced him to put the walls down, he’s like a kid in a candy store. He can do anything, and so he usually does everything.

“Christ,” he breathes in your ear, head still in your fleeting touch, one arm coming to rest on your back. “I think you’ve given me a semi.”

“That,” you say in a sing-song voice, absolutely delighted, “sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” You turn and pretend to walk away, but Tim catches hold of your arm, reeling you back towards him. “You can’t leave now, y/n,” he pleads, eyes dancing. “People are going to look at my crotch and see I’ve got a hard-on, and I can’t endure Cass making fun of me again. C’mon, y/n,” he pouts at you. “I’m your damsel in distress. Save me from the bullies. Dance with me so no one will see.”

You roll your eyes, but come to stand in front of him nonetheless, letting him lead you to the center for the room with his hands on your waist. This isn’t the first time a gala has bored Tim to sexual frustration. “People will still be able to see your crotch,” you argue. “We’ll just dance really, really close together.” As if to prove his point, he suddenly jerks your hips to his, and you all but fall against him. “The song is too fast for this kind of slow-dancing,” you say into his neck, false protests muffled by his suit.

He leans back to make eye contact with you as the two of you start swaying. “That doesn’t matter. We’re young lovers, y/n,” he reminds you seriously. “They’ll forgive us.”

“Young lovers, hmm?” You’re struck again by his confidence tonight, how alluring it is. It’s rare that he’s this sure of himself, but he wears it so well when he is.

“That’s right.” The two of you are silent for a moment, and you contemplate leaning your head against his chest. “You really do look beautiful in that dress, y/n,” Tim says quietly, all joking gone from his tone.

Your cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you.” And then, because you’re immature, too, and because Tim isn’t the only one who can flash his sex drive in public, you impulsively say “I bet you can’t guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

This is probably a mistake, but what the hell. You want your boyfriend just as much as he wants you, maybe more.

Tim doesn’t even wait two full seconds before responding. “See, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I bet I can.” You weren’t expecting him to be so quick on the uptake, your mistake for thinking his boredom hadn’t already driven him to tackle this particular problem.

“It’s warm enough out that you’re not wearing any tights or pantyhose, so the suspender sets are out.”

“The suspender sets are out,” you repeat solemnly, already excited by this new game you’re playing. “Well, hang on, maybe I just wore a set without the suspenders.”

Tim is quick to shake his head. “No, you hate doing that, you’d rather just wear separate set altogether. It’s a set without the suspenders.”

You let out a low whistle. “Got me pegged there, detective.” You see an opportunity, and waggle your eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll have you pegged, later.”

He falters in the slow waltz he’s leading you through. “Really not helping with the semi here, y/n” he complains, and he’s right, you can feel it pressing lightly against you. You roll your eyes. “Fine, let’s go back to you guessing what lingerie I’m wearing.”

He nods, only half joking. Tim loves a puzzle. “Thank you. So none of the suspenders.”

“So none of the suspenders,” you repeat again, and offer him a winning smile when he glares at you over it.

Explanatory monologue in full swing, he says “You normally like to match your dress, but this one’s black, which isn’t very helpful.” All of a sudden his attention shifts and comes to rest on your face. “Are you going to tell me if I get it right, or will I just have to wait and see?”

“What would make it better for you, baby?” you ask, voice sultry as you slide your hips against his.

“I have absolutely no idea. Is it the red one?”

“Nope!”

“Damn. I love the red one.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

He pouts at you, but quickly perks up again. “Here, hang on, I’m going to risk exposing my erection so I can get a better view of your back,” and suddenly you’re spinning, once, twice, three times, before Tim pulls you back to his chest and dips you as the song ends. You’re panting a bit in surprise, and from your position suspended in his strong arms, you can feel one of his hands pawing around at your hip, smoothing over the fabric of your dress.

He pulls you upright as another song begins, a grimace on his handsome face. You reach up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. “That was inconclusive,” he mutters.

You glance over his shoulder. “I think Bruce definitely got a good look at what’s going on down south.” Your boyfriend’s father is looking rather pointedly at the ground, a pained look on his face.

“I could barely see the lines of the set through your dress,” Tim complains, and then adds “Bruce’ll get over it. Or he won’t. Whatever,” he says dismissively. “Last week I walked in on Selina blowing him under his desk, so now we’re even. What’s way more important is that I couldn’t see anything, why couldn’t I see anything?”

“Aww, poor baby,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, before brightening a bit. “I mean, it wasn’t a total loss. I did get a great view of your ass. It still looks fantastic, by the way.”

“Thanks for the update.”

He keeps going. “I didn’t see the lines, but I did get a good feel of your underwear at your hip.” He plants his tongue between his teeth, eyes closed in concentration as you sway delicately to the new song. “I didn’t feel a strap, so I can rule out some of the thongs.” You hum in agreement, arms coming up to wrap securely around his torso in an extended embrace. “It isn’t either of the black ones, or the nice blue one, is it?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

“Hn.” He shifts his arms, and you feel his slight hand flitting about at your hip again. He soon gives up, discouraged. “The material of your dress is too thick, I can’t feel anything through it.”

You decide to throw him a bone. “I’ll give you a hint: I’m actually wearing another color besides black, and the set matches it.”

Tim frowns, stepping back from you for a moment to look down at your feet. “Your shoes are black too, what are you talking about?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to ruin it for you?”

“No, let me think,” Tim says, and goes silent, eyes shut. You study him as the actual detective comes out to play. His eyes snap open again, and you clock his gaze going for your throat and ears. No necklace, but you are wearing gold earrings. Tim ignores them and takes your hand in his, examining your rings. He knows you too well to ask whether the set is gold or silver, that isn’t your style. He’s getting much closer with the rings though, and then his sharp exhale is ghosting through your fingers and his eyes are meeting yours again. You give him a proud smile.

“Good solve, Timmy.” He kisses the pad of your index finger. “Nail polish, y/n?”

“Nail polish,” you confirm.

“Why?”

You pretend to think it over, letting your eyes go wide. “Well, I just thought it would look nice, you know? My hand right over the panties, maybe even inside them, if you wanted me to do any of the work on my own.”

His eyes just about bug out of his head at that, and then he shakes his smile back and forth, impressed. Your answering grin is knife sharp. “You’ve got me right where you want me, don’t you, y/n? What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” you whisper, winding your arms around his neck. “That’s sort of the point. We can get out of here right now.”

“You know I would love, love, to do that,” Tim says, running his hands down your back, “but there’s supposedly a deal going down at 9:30 that I kind of need to be there for.”

“Well, then,” you murmur, “you’ll just have to suffer for another twenty minutes.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says drily. The two of you sway in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. “Hold on, y/n, something just occurred to me.”

“Yes, Tim?”

“Your nail polish is purple, but you don’t own any sets that color. What gives?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He looks at you for a few moments before his face smooths out again. “You really have it in for me tonight, don’t you? It’s a new set?”

“It’s a new set,” you confirm.

“And I bet you look just stellar in purple,” he says to himself, a desperate edge to his voice.

“You know very well I look good in everything.” You glance downwards. “How are you doing there, Timmy?”

“Fuck off,” he says happily. “Is it lace?”

“Tim, sweetheart, of course it’s lace.”

Your boyfriend groans, then freezes in place. You look at him questioningly. “I’m running a cost/benefit analysis on me skipping out on this deal.”

“Give it to Tam,” you suggest.

“Give it to Tam,” he agrees. “Yeah, alright, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You let out a delighted laugh, following him in the direction of his old bedroom in the manor. Behind you, you dimly hear the orchestra finish their song. There are a few moments of silence while you make your way to the exit, and then you hear a few forlorn notes on the piano that have you turning around and calling out “Tim!”

“Whoa, y/n, where are you--”

“Tim! Tim it’s Claire de Lune, they’re playing Claire de Lune, we have to stay!” You drag him back to the dance floor.

“But,” he tries to argue, “but y/n, we were going to--”

“Tim.” You stand your ground. “It’s Claire de Lune. Please?”

He mumbles under his breath but takes you back into his arms regardless, like the good boyfriend that he is. You adore the Claire de Lune, and he’s probably reasoned to himself that no amount of arguing or pleading could tear you from the melody spinning lazily through the room.

He’s still going to complain about it, though. “Claire de Lune, huh? I can’t believe I lived to see Twilight cock-blocking me again.”

You poke him in the side. “Some of us first heard Debussy at the Gotham Philharmonic and some of us read about him in Stephanie Meyers’ blockbuster paranormal romance and googled Claire de Lune on the family computer in their Dad’s office, okay? The important thing is we’re both here, and we can both appreciate it, so shut up.”

Tim shuts up. You smile at him, and let your eyes fall closed. The slow melody envelops you like mist and settles on your skin, resting easy in your inner ear. A small part of you anticipates the notes before the pianist actually plays them, and you find yourself nodding when they finally escape from her fingers. Her performance is perfect, she isn’t messing around trying to improve Debussy’s masterwork, just picking her way through it, measure by measure. You take deep, even breaths as a sense of calm permeates your system. Eyes still closed, you let the music relax you, content to wade dreamily in its cool comfort.

After about a minute, Tim clears his throat. “Y/n,” he says gently, “look.” You open your eyes and follow Tim’s pointed finger to one of the floor-length windows, gasping out loud when you see the stunning full moon. It sits in an overcast sky, fog and smog and clouds pressing against it like an embrace. The thin ropey clouds that drift across its slouched figure are reflecting its yellow light and giving it a warm, pearly corona, a halo. You stare at it openly for a few seconds, admiring the bone moon in its sky armchair.

Your attention drifts back to Tim’s finger, arm still hanging loosely in front of you, and then to the man himself. The ballroom lights are low enough that you can imagine the moonlight reflecting off of Tim, too, that he too is catching some of its cotton shine on his face. You’re awfully lucky to be with someone who takes the time to point out a particular moon among of a string of nights with particular moons, and you tell him so. Tim’s smile is quiet, but he presses his forehead to yours, where it stays for the rest of the song.

When it ends Tim leans back to smile at you again. You smile back, feeling filled up with the moon and the music and him. Catching his hand in your own, you start in the direction of the grand staircase that leads up to his old bedroom. Tim stops you by pulling on your arm lightly, before turning and walking towards the doors that will take you outside.

You look at him quizzically. “Can we go to your apartment?” he murmurs. “We’ve been in my world this whole night, now I want to be in yours.”

You smile softly before leaning up to kiss him, quick and light. He squeezes your hand as he leads you through the room, and then suddenly you’re outside, breathing cool, almost autumn air while you wait for Tim to get a car sorted out. You turn your eyes upward to meet the moon again, the ghost of Claire de Lune still drifting through your head.

Tim breaks your reverie by calling your name, and you follow him into the back of a car. After directing the driver to your apartment, Tim hands you an earbud. You put it in your left ear while Tim puts the other in his right, and together you listen to Claire de Lune again as the car makes it’s way through a Gotham that’s soft and shiny with moonlight. Three repetitions of Debussy later you’re standing in front of your apartment, Tim wrapping his arms around you as you fiddle with your keys, unlock your door, and lead him to your bedroom.

Later, after you’re spent twice over and Tim has made good on his fantasy of opening you up with his mouth, Tim shifts in the bed and slides himself around you, lips at your ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You sigh happily. “Mmm.”

“I asked the orchestra to play Clair de Lune.”

You raise yourself up on your elbows at that, leaning over him with a meaningful look into his starry eyes. You’re sure there are stars in yours, too.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You lie back down. “Thank you.”

His hand comes up to stroke your hair. “Mmm.”

#tim drake x reader #batboy imagines #tim drake imagine #dc imagine #batboy x reader #kira writes #tim drake

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stealing-jasons-job · 3 years

Text

first line - tag game

Rules: List the first line of your last 20 stories (if you have less, list them all.) See if you can find any patterns and choose your favorite opening line. Tag your favorite authors!

Tagged by @slyth-princess and @sparklyfairymira! Thanks, lovelies!

Cross my head | bellarke | gallagher girls au (wip)

Normal girls graduate high school, and then they go off to college with their friends.

Twice in a lifetime | linctavia | s7 fix-it

One moment, Octavia is huddled over Levitt’s blood-stained body, and the next, she’s opening her eyes to bright light.

Something’s gotta give | linctavia | modern au smut

Growing up, Octavia never imagined herself as a mom.

I’m gonna get myself back home to you | bellarke | s4/5 canon divergent (wip)

No regrets.

Intertwining your soul (with somebody else) | bellarke | canonverse au (wip)

Inhale. Exhale. Release.

More than you bargained for | bellarke + roan | arranged marriage smut

Clarke loves mornings, that world between the nightmares that come with sleep and the wars that come with being awake.

Peace on Earth (let it begin with us) | bellarke | cannonverse au

When Clarke had wished for peace during the winter solstice festival the night before, this is not what she had meant.

If you’ve got it, haunt it | bellarke | halloween modern au

There are two things you need to know about Clarke Griffin.

But if this man came up to me | bellarke | TikTok au

Octavia had finally convinced Clarke to download TikTok, and Clarke had quickly become obsessed with the app.

Whatever may come, you heart I will choose | bellarke | s7 fix-it

There was no test, no final war.

Finding reasons not to leave | bellarke | small town au

When Clarke moved back to Arkadia, Texas, she had little expectations for how she would fit back into her hometown.

Darling you and me, we can take the world | bellarke | s7 spec smut lol the hope I had

You're in an endless desert with a vast purple sky.

Amor vincit omnia | bellarke | s7 rewrite (wip)

Today is a good day.

Exhale | bellarke | s7 spec

Clarke didn't know what to expect when the anomaly opened up.

She called you for 2,199 days | bellarke | s4/5 canon divergent

For years, Madi made fun of Clarke for the radio calls.

May We Meet Again | bellarke | historic spies au

“I should have said no to this assignment.”

The Day He Shut That Rocket Door | bellarke | just pure angst

Bellamy’s breath caught when he first entered the room.

More Wolf Than Woman | bellarke | clarke character study

Bellamy once told me, "who we are and who we have to be to survive are two very different things."

The Other Side - Ruelle | bellarke | s1 canonverse au

“Clarke! They’re taking down the gate,” Miller stumbles into the dropship, where Clarke is leaned over an unconscious Raven.

The Choices We Make | bellarke | greys anatomy au (wip)

Clarke wakes up to the sun streaming in from the blinds, her mouth dry and head pounding.

*******

As wordy as I am, I have a lot of short statement opening lines. lol

I don’t really have a favorite because I lowkey hate every fic opener I’ve ever written. lol But I will share one of my favorite last lines, from Whatever may come, your heart I will choose (aka: my “fuck you, Jason, this is canon now” fic lol):

He was alive, and he was whole, and he was hers.

*******

tagging/saying hi: @burninghoneyatdusk @kancjs @bookwormforalways @andromedabennet @writetheniteaway @eyessharpweaponshot @virgohotspot @valkyrhys

#tag games #madison writes things #bellarke fanfiction

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jasonrae117 · 4 years

Text

Night at the Wayne Casino

Part 4

Damian looked the part, he may have stolen a few pointers from the years spent around Jason and Richard, but he was ready to finally get the information he wanted directly from the source. He wore a perfectly tailored Stefano Ricci silk dress shirt in a deep navy, with a few of the top buttons unfastened. He paired it with fitted black pants, a black leather belt with steel hardware, and matching black leather Tom Ford dress shoes. If he was going to attend a party, he was going to make sure everyone knew who he was, if they didn’t know his face, they would know by the sheer cost of his shirt alone.

He was good at commanding a room, it wouldn’t be a problem for him to be the center of the party and get exactly what he wanted. It would almost be too easy, it was a setup for the woman and she would have to play right into his hand.

Damian decided that he would arrive right on time, which was considered early according to Jason. He wanted to scope the place out for details and have a plan in place. He was familiar with all the layouts of the rooms already, it was more to figure out the best vantage points when the place would be filled with bodies. It also gave him a chance to take his time ordering a drink. He often wasn’t a fan of alcohol, especially when he considered himself to be on the job, but he had to play the part. He had to admit that it did ease his nerves a bit.

Something about confronting the woman that plagued every waking thought, and dreams, made something close to excitement bubble within him. He’d finally be able to find out how soft her skin truly was, and if it matched what his brain had envisioned it to be….as part of the act to get her alone so that he could get a confession from Raven.

As the next hour came to pass, he had seen no sign of his target and it was beginning to look like a failed mission for him. He had endured countless women sliding their hands down his arms and some braver ones traveling up his leg. Unfortunately for them, there was only one woman’s hands Damian wanted on him.

No. Damian shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. Perhaps he should have stopped at his second drink, especially since it was bourbon.

The man he stood next to now was droning on about a business idea he wanted to propose to Bruce, but instead of listening, Damian took this opportunity to reflect on his thoughts and feelings for once.

These past few days had proved to him that he was still mentally weak. He let lust seep into his mind and alter what his gut was telling him. When he had seen Raven with Tim, he was furious and regretfully jealous. He had a split second of insanity catching himself wishing that it was himself that had snuck Raven into the security room to taste her skin on his lips. He now came to terms that it wasn’t jealousy but in fact shame in himself, not that he couldn’t get the woman, but rather he let his hormones sway his judgement. And that he wasn’t mad at Tim for being with Raven, but mad at himself that he had almost listened to him and turned his back on his gut. He laughed at himself, this woman was good, he just had to prove it.

Maybe he was just in denial about his feelings?

Damian grunted at his conflicting thoughts and realized that he had gained the attention of...whoever was talking to him. He finished what was left in his glass and addressed the man “Excuse me, my drink seems to be empty and I’d like to get some fresh air now.”

“Oh, sure. We can go outside, I still have to show you our advertising pitch.” The man began to pull out his phone, clearly not catching Damian’s hint.

“Sir, what I mean is-”

“Hold on a sec, it’s right here. You can go grab us some drinks and I’ll meet you outside. I just gotta set up the slideshow.”

Damian cleared his throat. “What I was trying to imply was that I’d rather not discuss business at a party with someone who clearly isn’t important enough to schedule an appointment with my father. I certainly don’t want to be bothered with having the expectation that I’ll actually relay this foolish proposal to him either.”

The man burned red and apologized profusely. He hurried out of the room at almost lightning speed. Damian sighed in relief and scanned the room once more before pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Maybe coming to this party was a bad idea, Raven wasn’t here and he had accidentally made eye contact with a woman at the bar and she began to head his way.

Damian rolled his eyes and weaved through the crowd in hopes to lose the woman and escape to the large and lavish balcony.

The cooler night air alleviated some of the irritation from the lack of activity this party had provided him. It helped to let the fresh air carry away his conflicting thoughts as he contemplated his next move. The better part of him wanted to leave and see if there were any files that needed to be looked at or, better yet, see if Raven had actually been planning to hit the casino when he was busy in this stupid suite. However, his gut was telling him to stick it out and that she would show. Parties in Vegas were always in full swing for hours and he hardly spent two at this one, odds were that she’d spend the time getting primped to seduce more information out of weak-willed men.

The more formal time of the party seemed to have passed as the lights in the suite were being lowered and replaced partially by strobe and colored ones in addition to the increased volume of dance music. People were now flocking to the open space in the middle of the suite and swaying closely to one another. Damian despised dancing and more particularly the modern club dancing being displayed in front of him tonight.

Though he was outside, the music could still be heard clearly through the open doors and thus everyone’s conversations got louder chipping away at last bits of his patience. I’m doing this for Raven...for the team and myself. Right now I look unapproachable, this won’t do. Damian took a deep breath with his eyes closed to focus himself and will the headache away that was imminent. He turned back to the party and made his way to the bar to replenish his drink, at this point in time a little less sobriety would be welcome.

…

Damian glanced down at his watch and noted that three hours have passed since he arrived and by his estimate that the party wouldn’t be over for another three or so hours. He had circled the perimeter many times and had yet to see any trace that she was here or was coming at all. For a moment he thought that Jon was pranking him by sending him to a party under the guise that it was a lead on Raven when it was perhaps a way to get him ‘out more’ like he had always said was his personal mission. However, he knew Jon wasn’t foolish enough to waste his time like this and Jon, himself, was the one to tell Raven about the party and get her the invite.

Jon had come to his room while Damian was getting ready and had told him what he left out in their previous conversation. Damian was furious at first, thinking that Raven had gotten into Jon’s head but Jon insisted he did it to give Damian a chance to observe her without interference from Tim. Of course this was after Jon went on about Raven’s beauty and that if Tim and Damian ended up striking out, he would throw his name into the hat for her affection, which earned him a rough punch to the shoulder. As much as Jon’s teasing annoyed him, he had to admit that his plan was brilliant...if only she showed.

He was yet again stuck in a conversation with another rich and beautiful woman. Had he not been here for work, he may have considered sleeping with her to release his tension and frustration. The conversation hadn’t been particularly exciting, but at least she wasn’t overtly throwing herself at him or touching him inappropriately. She had been talking about a new restaurant opening on the other side of the strip where they specialized in vegetarian and vegan options, which actually sounded interesting, but a flash of long pale legs caught his attention.

He could have imagined it, wishing something was there to make this all not seem like a waste of time, but there she was across the room inspecting the suite’s occupant’s book collection. He was ashamed to admit that he could identify her even though she was bent over and all he could see was her full backside and those perfect legs of hers that popped out of the ruched green skirt. She stood up and turned around, a book in one hand and a small glace in the other, her identity officially confirmed and the heat that rushed to his face dissipating. He mentally scolded himself for spending too much time staring at her ass during all of the previous encounters and the security footage he had re-watched a few times, though it had proved to be useful after all. He had to tell himself that to keep himself from feeling like a pervert.

His intention wasn’t to ogle her while he was watching the footage, he wanted to see if she had patterns or accomplices. But he found himself having to rewind it multiple times because he kept getting distracted by the sway of her hips or the way all of her outfits seemed to cling perfectly to her body.

The woman next to him cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. "You should stop staring at that slut over there and focus on me. She's probably some cheap escort, nobody that's worth your time." She placed her hand on his arm and smiled at him. Oh if she only knew.

"And I suppose you're worth my time?" He faced her.

"Of course, I'm hot and rich. Plus the way I get my money is clean and I don't have to be a whore to get it." She laughed and flipped her fake blonde hair over her shoulder. This woman was unbelievable and it was getting on his nerves, he was grateful he was here on duty so he wouldn't have made the mistake of sleeping with her. Who the hell did she think she was talking about some other woman like that, much less Raven.

"Is that all that matters to you? Looks and wealth?" His eyes narrowed and he pulled away from her.

"Yeah, what else does there need to be?"

"Tt, tell me, how do you get your money?"

"From my father. My family is rich and understands that I don't need to waste my time with work."

"Hmm, I see. You're what? Twenty-four? And you're still sponging off your family, what happens when they decide you're too old?"

"Uh..I marry a hot rich guy. That's why I'm talking to you." She was so nonchalant about her answers it was pathetic.

"How unfortunate for me. I think I'll go talk to that woman over there since I'm fairly certain that she's not an escort."

"Whatever, she's sure as hell not as rich as I am! Why waste your time?"

"The thing is, you are not rich, your father is and you're just an over processed leech. There's more to life than just looks and wealth, besides she's far richer in beauty than any surgeon could ever make you out to be. And I could tell that she's significantly more interesting in the twenty seconds I've looked at her than the fifteen minutes I wasted talking to you."

She was silent and looked at him incredulously. Clearly no one has set this woman straight before.

“Now I suggest you find some other man to sell yourself to, maybe they’re foolish enough to entertain you, or at least smart enough to get you to sleep with them before they get too annoyed by your shallow superficiality. “

“Asshole.” She scoffed and spun on her overpriced heels disappearing into the crowd.

He hoped none of this would get back to his father. Though he wasn’t working, he had been in two confrontations already and it could reflect poorly on the resort. He was well within his right to set those two straight and honestly the company was better off without their patronage, but that didn’t mean Bruce wouldn’t frown upon his treatment of guests since he still had an obligation to uphold a certain image of the Wayne name.

Damian turned back to the space in front of the bookshelf where his target had been moments before. However, she was no longer there and he cursed himself for losing sight of her. He scanned the room for what felt like the hundredth time that night and finally spotted her outside against the railing. He took another brief moment to observe the outfit she had chosen tonight, a forest green tube dress ending just below mid-thigh. The dress had a circle cutout on both sides revealing the bottom of her rib cage to the top of her hips, it was dissected by a gold metal band that matched the metal choker around her neck and the cuff on both of her wrists. Her hair was straightened and flowed past her shoulders and even from his distance, it looked like silk. Her beauty never ceased to intrigue him, even without the flattering clothes, she was a walking goddess. That’s why she is so dangerous.

He had just noticed the two men that were on either side of her. One had his hand on her waist while the other had his arm behind her holding on to the rail. Why was it that every man was attracted to her like moths to a flame? Wherever she went, there always seemed to be at least three pairs of eyes on hers, one of them always his. Even now, there were a handful of men ready to swoop in the get shot at trying to woo the ethereal beauty. It pissed him off and he felt just the slightest bit of jealousy.

He couldn’t just interrupt, it would be suspicious, and she didn’t seem to mind the company of the two men. He had to wait, maybe she was plotting something and these two men were informants. Raven seemed to be good at only talking to the people that could give her useful information, although these men didn’t work at the casino and he didn’t recognize them as anyone important. Perhaps she was in a similar position as him and being plagued by unwanted attention. He had to play it cool, bide his time and he would get his chance.

For the next hour, Damian kept within a ten foot radius of her and kept trying to think of ways to intercept her before the next imbecile tried his luck with her. Much like the trail of men she left in her wake, he too was unlucky in his endeavor. That is until he noticed her heading to the bar for another drink. He still carried his almost empty glass and polished off the last sip before hurrying to the bar and getting there just before her.

He signaled the bartender to come to him when he had a moment and patiently held his glass. Sure enough Raven had filled the empty spot beside him and set her glass down. He forced himself to not instinctively look at her as he focused on the lines of expensive alcohol on the wall.

“Damian? I mean Mr. Wayne.” He looked down at her to see surprise written on her face.

“Miss Roth. “ he nodded.

She let out a short laugh. “I guess every employee knows my name here.”

“I guess you’re a popular woman.” He allowed a smirk to rise on his lips.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. Sounds a bit scary to have the head of security know you by name at a casino you haven’t been to before that’s at least fourteen hours from where you live.” She chuckled and played with the cuff on her wrist.

“You haven’t exactly been a normal guest here either.” Her face turned red at his words and to what he had been referring to.

“Uh…I suppose not.” Raven looked away and shifted awkwardly. The bartender approached them and Damian gestured for her to order first. “Bourbon on the rocks please.”

“Make that two.” Damain cut in and the bartender nodded pouring them their drinks. Damian handed him money to cover both of the drinks plus a decent tip.

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to.” She took a small sip.

“I didn’t, but I wanted to.”

A soft smile graced her lips and she put her glass back down. “So, this didn’t strike me as an event that would require security.”

“That’s because it doesn’t. I am not on duty”

“Oh, I didn’t think this was your kind of scene.”

“Why is that Miss Roth?” Damian faced her and leaned his side against the bar top.

“Well, being the head of security and all and you’re always so...serious when I’ve run into you. Kind, but serious. But I suppose you kind of have to be that way, intimidating.” She looked up at him and her indigo eyes locked onto his emerald ones.

“Am I intimidating Miss Roth?” Damian leaned into her space just a bit, his heart beating just a bit faster. He watched as her eyes glanced at his mouth before darting back to his eyes as a blush danced across her cheeks.

“Are you trying to intimidate me Mr. Wayne?” She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow, closing the distance a bit more.

“Among other things…” His hand reached up and brushed her dark hair off her shoulder. The action had occurred subconsciously but he reveled in the feeling it gave him watching a shiver run through her body.

“And would those other things be in violation of your work?” Raven’s left hand moved from her drink to his forearm that rested on the bar. He glanced down at her delicate fingers dancing along the thin silk of his sleeve.

“I believe I told you that I wasn’t working right now.”

“Mm, so you did. Tell me, what are these ‘other things’?”

Damian leaned into her to whisper directly in her ear. “I’d like to tell you… or show you somewhere in private, where every other man in the room isn’t glaring at me because I’ve been able to keep your attention for longer than five minutes.”

He pulled back still keeping within her space and noticed her breaths coming in more shallow and the blush from earlier still stained her face.

“How would you know that nobody has been able to talk to me for longer than five minutes?”

“It’s a special skill of mine to observe, especially the activity involving a sort of target.” He smirked at her again. She was falling right into his trap and he didn’t even have to lie.

“Where do you suggest we go then? I’m sure you’ve come up with a plan while waiting for your turn.” She took a step into and he could smell her perfume, sending his mind into a haze.

“My suite is just two floors down.”

“Lead the way.”

He took her hand and briefly admired the way it felt in his. He was starting to feel excited and for once, nervous. He questioned himself and his sanity when he invited her to his suite. He never brought anyone in there, but here he was heading to the elevator with one of the most puzzling women he has ever come across. He was aroused by her and also infuriated with her. When they had reached the elevator and it had opened up the pair stepped in and as soon as the doors closed, his hands were on her waist and hers were on his chest. Their breaths were heavy and there was an intensity in their gaze.

He leaned down to kiss her and if the descent had been longer he would have been able to, but before he knew it, the door opened again. “Fuck.” He had lost control. He grabbed the back of her thighs and hoisted her up. She let out a small squeak in shock but wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He pressed his lips to hers and began walking to his room. Her lips matched his with equal intensity as she pulled on his collar and tugged his hair. When he reached his door he didn’t break contact and simply reached into his back pocket that held his key card and inserted it with ease into the handle.

The green light flashed and he ripped the card out and threw the door open and kicked it shut behind him. He moved his mouth down to her neck and kissed her pulse down to the juncture of her shoulder. Her moan encouraged him to squeeze her thighs which made her grind into him. Her skin was softer than he imagined and he couldn’t contain himself any longer. The tightness in his pants begged for her.

Damian laid her down on his bed and withdrew from her, taking in the unforgettable sight in front of him. She was breathing heavily and her neck bared marks from his assault on it moments ago, her lips were parted and red and her lust-filled eyes were trained on him.

“Damian?”

This was not his plan or intention...or maybe it was. For the first time, he didn’t care about this case, he had denied every emotion he felt and dismissed it as some trick she was playing, and maybe she was even playing him at this moment. But just for tonight, all he wanted was to accept those feelings, that passion, and investigate her, all of her.

#night at the wayne casino #casino au #Damian Wayne #raven x damian #damirae #raven #raven roth #more parts to come #its getting hot in here #Teen Titans

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

Note

how do you think the batfam might react if they find out about Mirage and Tarantula?

Tbh, I’m kinda all plum tuckered out on the Batfam finding out about Mirage and Tarantula against Dick’s most fervent wishes that nobody ever find out about that ever. I’ve talked about this a little in the past, but a survivor having the chance to CONTROL when and where they disclose about what happened to them and to whom, is like......soooo much more important for a lot of us than fic about this stuff tends to like....allow it to be. Its one of the most pivotal and powerful ways many survivors even just START to actually recover and come to terms with what happened, by choosing when and how people find out on THEIR terms, taking back control of their own life and their own agency one major choice at a time. And having that choice taken away from Dick too, with him usually not only having ZERO say in who finds out and when but with it more often than not happening in direct opposition to what he wants in that regard....

So like.....personally, I would just really like to see some more variety here. Some more narratives where people finding out happens because Dick’s READY to tell people, because he’s already done a good deal of healing on his own, been to therapy or like....he’s the one who survived this, so let him SURVIVE it and like.....give him a chance to be viewed as a SURVIVOR by his family and not just a victim when they do ultimately find out. Because he doesn’t need them to save him or patch him up, all he really truly needs is them to support him, and they can do that just as well if he’s already made inroads towards his own recovery by the time they find out or he tells them, rather than it just be like...what we so often end up seeing in fic. Where its like treated as matter-of-fact and a given that Dick’s just flat out self-destructing from this no matter how long its been since it happened, and he’s just refused to deal with it or even try to and he’s been running away from facing it ever since it happened, until....enter the family in fic, as they’re like, no, you gotta face it, and you haven’t been able to do that on your own and that’s why its a good thing we found out even though you really didn’t want us to or not yet or not like this, because you’re not handling it, you’re not coping, so you need people like us to like.....show/tell you how to do it right.

You know what I mean? I don’t think its intentional, but there’s a looooot of tendency in fic to like......just take it for granted that despite the fact that Dick has survived so many traumas and been one of the key figures in helping so many other people survive and process their own traumas as well, there’s just this kinda default assumption that in regards to this he’s just flat out broken and always will be....at least so long as he’s just trying (and failing) to handle it on his own, and that’s where the family comes in, even if Dick would really rather they didn’t, or at least not yet anyway.

And its not that Dick can’t benefit from his family and friends finding out so that they can support him and push back against the things he’s come to believe about himself as a result of internalizing his feelings that those situations were really his fault, etc.....its that there’s only so much he can benefit from their support when he only gets it because of...essentially, another kinda violation that compounds the pre-existing ones, as he’s denied the opportunity and the control/agency to be the one to decide who finds out about this and when and why.

Like, there’s never gonna be an “Ideal Way” for it to go down, but the one thing that IMO is guaranteed to never be ideal and yet so often seems the only way we ever see this happening in fic is like....Dick yet again having no real say or decision in how his life is upended yet again, since this reveal would inevitably change so much about his dynamics with his family one way or another.

And the thing is, at the end of the day, nothing about this narrative or how it plays out in fic is set in stone or an inevitability or like...the one true or right way for it to happen.....and yet....it only EVER seems to happen that one specific way: aka, against Dick’s expressed desire to have them find out while he’s still actively either trying to repress it/deny it ever happened or just he’s not denying it happened but he’s not remotely ready to face other people KNOWING.

Because like.....he’s not a real person. He’s a fictional character. And just like every other narrative he’s written into or the ways he’s depicted in both canon and fanfic....no matter how much we talk about characters being in character or mischaracterized, at the end of the day, the reality is there is no Core/Immutable TRUE choice that Dick would make in any given narrative or situation....

Because like every other character, he will only ever make the choices or behave in the ways that like....a writer chooses to write him.

So like much of my complaints/criticisms/whines-in-need-of-some-complementary-cheese about trends around and about him in stories.....

The problem I have isn’t with any one single specific way people choose to write him behaving or reacting in regards to this or any other narrative situation....

It lies more in just......how often there seems to ONLY be ONE way, singular, in which he’s ever shown reacting to this or behaving in regards to this, just like is true of the only like ‘one dynamic/backstory’ we tend to see in regards to Dick and Jason’s relationship in the early years before Jason’s death. Or the ONE way people seem to view the aftermath of the Forever Evil and Spyral situation, or the ONE way that people focus on the Tim and Damian and Robin/Red Robin situation playing out.

Its not that like, there’s NO room for any of these takes or narratives surrounding Dick’s side of things.....

Its that there only ever really seems to be ONE take on any of these extremely complicated and messy events and points in his stories and life, and like....one ONLY. And that’s it. That’s all there is to it, everything for the most part tends to be just a hundred, a thousand minutely diverging variations of what amounts to the one big “True Dick Grayson Reaction/Choice” where its just taken as a given that this is how it would happen here, when it comes to each and every one of these major story arcs/plot points. Fics mostly just seem to differ in execution while the core decisions or behavior driving the story action or acting as a catalyst for the confrontation/conversation a fic seems aimed at showcasing.....like, there’s this underlying sameness to so many of them. Where its treated like a given that There Can Only Be One when it comes to ways Dick might react or behave in regards to a certain event or choice.....that his characterization is so formulaic, so like....rigid and allowing for little to no flexibility in how he’s written because in the eyes of so many in fandom his true characterization is so immutable, so....predetermined that there just isn’t ROOM in his character concept for him to end up making any other choices than the ones its taken for granted he’d make.

So I guess ultimately, much like with every other similarly framed point or event in Dick’s life and stories, my ideal preference here is just more VARIETY. Writers actually flexing their creative muscles and stretching to EXPLORE new ways of Dick reacting to various things and new ways of other characters reacting to Dick. Mixing up dynamics more, subverting the expectations that are SO expected in so many things pertaining to him that like, we often can predict exactly where Dick’s character is going to go next in a fic or what his next move or words are going to be, and there’s a certain point at which something crosses the line from someone’s characterization being spot-on and someone’s characterization being......limited. Confining.

Personally, and this is 100% at the root of my frequent criticisms of Dick in fanon and why I won’t just let it go, lol, is that I’m never remotely surprised to hear fans of other characters say that they find Dick’s character dull or one-note or two-dimensional or just not as compelling as the other characters, not as......packed with potential to be taken in a hundred different directions or to react to things in surprising yet surprisingly-still-fitting ways that readers don’t see coming but don’t feel is like, out of left field when viewed in hindsight either.

Why should it surprise people that so many readers and fans view Dick this way when......he’s so often WRITTEN this way, only ever falling into extremely predictable patterns and sticking to a lane that’s clearly defined as not just HIS lane but like....the ONLY lane most people can - or at least are willing to - imagine for him.

It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. People find fanon Dick to be dull and uninspired because like.....he’s pretty much oftentimes written TO be those things, particularly in comparison to his more ‘vibrant’ fandom favored brothers. Nobody’s ever going to find themselves pleasantly surprised by a depiction of Dick Grayson when Dick Grayson’s depictions are so frequently limited to being just exactly what most people expect and not a single thing besides that.

So to bring this back around to your initial ask, I think the Batfam’s reaction to finding out, much like is true of any situation if tackled creatively enough.....can be literally anything a writer wants it to be. I would hope most of us would want that reaction to be supportive, lol, but even more than that just in general, for me, personally, I would love to see more where they’re supportive, yes, but that support is expressed not by them taking CHARGE of the situation, but by them, y’know....SUPPORTING. Standing back, waiting for DICK to tell them what he actually needs from them, wants their support to look like or take shape as, because he is in fact a grown man who is extremely capable in his own right and prides himself on being tremendously self-sufficient, and personally, I wish writers would just STOP TAKING THAT TRAIT AWAY FROM HIM. Or worse yet, like....punishing him for it.

It honestly does seem to me like there’s this unspoken undercurrent in so many fandom posts and fanfics where you can kinda just FEEL an author or poster like.....wanting so badly to just come out and say that in their opinion, Dick’s precious autonomy is actually his own worst enemy, and if he’d just stop being so stubborn and insisting on doing things his way or on his own all the time, he probably wouldn’t end up enduring half as much of the traumatic shit he does.

Which, I mean.....kinda inevitably leads directly into the victim-blaming we SO, SO often see with his character, where fans and other characters are both equally in a hurry to blame himself for anything and everything from Having Amnesia Wrong to being tortured, killed and then emotionally and physically browbeaten into making a Bad Decision He Should Feel Badly About but also Totally Responsible For Cuz No One MADE Him Do It, etc, etc.

It all spills forth from and feeds back into this endlessly repeating loop that people have kinda penned him into with intent, because what better way to imply that Dick should always just do what his friends and family want him to do and tell him to do instead of like, kicking up a fuss and making a conflict out of it.......than by showing without telling that "see what happens when Dick DOESN’T just let his family tell him what to do and go along with their ‘suggestions’/what they want gracefully?” This. This is what happens. Poor guy ends up traumatized YET AGAIN because he insists on making his own choices and those choices as we can all clearly see are so often the wrong choices, so really, stepping back from the driver’s seat of his own life and letting his family take the wheel is only in Dick’s best interests as much as anyone else’s.

After all, whether its Bruce firing Dick or Dick ‘staying away for years’ or not being the best/ideal brother for Jason right there on the page in no uncertain terms or giving Jason carte blanche to do whatever he wants upon his return or making Damian Robin without asking Tim first and not believing Tim when he said he was sure Bruce was still alive or not just refusing to go along with Bruce’s plan to keep everyone believing he was dead after Forever Evil but at the same time also not just caving to Bruce’s wishes and instead fighting Bruce on that so hard that poor Bruce HAD to get physically violent with him to get Dick to do what was right until it wasn’t right later when everyone else hated him for it, as well as not just deciding he was instantly and fully 100% on board with believing these total strangers when they told him, as Ric Grayson, just who he was now and what his life as a superhero was like and how he should have no problem just seamlessly stepping back into the roles and shoes he according to their claims usually fills effortlessly and thus has no reason to object to now, despite having literally no memories or internalized awareness of the decade and a half of life experiences that serve as the foundation all of that was built upon.....

I mean, when you think about it, 100% of Dick’s conflicts with his family (and coincidentally, also 100% of the source of most other fans’ gripes about him) come from one thing only: him making up his own mind about what to do or feel or think instead of just automatically prioritizing whatever one of his family wants him to do or feel or think about any given situation.

So wouldn’t everyone just be so much happier and pleasant if he would just stop being a silly goose and give up making such a big deal about his vaunted independence and personal agency?

BUT I DIGRESS.

LOL, no, but you get what I mean. So going back to topic for the second time, hopefully with a bit more staying power this time.....I think there’s absolutely no reason whatsoever that the Batfam can’t be realistically and believably written as being every bit as supportive of Dick when they find out about Tarantula and Mirage as Dick is supportive of them at other times and in other ways.

So really, its just a matter of WANT, and personal prioritizations of what that support might or should look like.

And for me, personally, on this topic and pretty much every other potential Dick Grayson-centric story topic, but ESPECIALLY on this topic......I personally would just like to see more of the Batfam being supportive of Dick while he’s dealing with a trauma, but with that support taking the form of them stepping BACK and like....waiting and listening for him to tell them what HE needs from them, what HE wants from them, what form their support can take that will be of most use to him according to HIS wants, aims and attempts at recovery. Instead of them - as they so often seem written as - stepping invasively INTO his space without so much as pausing to see if they’re welcome, or like, if they’re just making things worse or potentially just retraumatizing him by barging in all bull in a china shop even while still having only the vaguest clue what the situation even is at this point, which makes their certainty they have a better idea of what Dick needs and should be doing right now than he does himself, like.....pure, unbridled arrogance and nothing else. Hubris.

(Y’know, kinda like how I make a big deal about Jason punching Dick upon his return from Spyral, because its almost like its not even just that Punching Your Family Is Bad And People Should Stop Making Jason Do It, but there’s also the pesky little implications of how Dick might perceive that no matter how calmly he took it......given that like.....he was literally beaten by his father into doing the thing that pissed off and hurt the rest of his family just as Dick had always expected it would.....and now here he was literally getting beaten by his brother for......caving to doing the thing Dick always knew would piss off and hurt the rest of them and thus he only submitted to doing after being physically and emotionally beaten into it by his father. Of course I harp on Jason punching Dick there, it was him punishing Dick for doing not what Dick wanted, but what he had to be essentially punished by Bruce into agreeing to do it in the first place. It wasn’t just gross as fuck victim blaming and heaping further physical violence on a guy who’s been decked by four out of five family members as is, it was literal on the page proof that Dick simply can not win where either the other characters or most of their fans are concerned, because he was literally damned if he did, damned if he didn’t in that situation, and sure enough, he managed to end up damned by everyone around and still without so much as a single “how are YOU doing btw, given everything you’ve been through, are you okay?”)

So just....my plea, my wishlist, my Big-Asks-R-Us inventory manifesto:

Can we get even just a few more fics where Dick’s insistence on his own independence is viewed not as a character FLAW to be excised or failing that, punished for at any possible opportunity, but as something UNDERSTANDABLE, something VALIDATED by his family for Dick even wanting it in the first place, let alone NEEDING it as much as he does, not because he doesn’t love his family or want to be around them, but because wanting to be his own person at the same time is in no way actually in opposition to that and it never was.

And in that vein and in light of that, I would happily give away my non-existent imaginary kingdom and crown for even just a few fics where the Batfam only end up called upon or tasked with supporting Dick about Mirage or Tarantula because he voluntarily GOES to them and says hey, there’s something that happened a long time ago that I never told anyone because I wasn’t ready to, but I feel like I am now, I need to and its time.

Or like, fics where maybe he’s still not quite ready to tell them voluntarily yet, reely and of his own volition, but then on a case they come across a rape survivor in considerable distress and empathizing with them and what they’re feeling, opening up about his own past experiences and offering his own story as a talisman for this victim to cling to as a sign it’ll get better for them eventually too, they can heal from this and one day call themselves a survivor instead of just a victim the same as he does......like, that’s still the most natural thing in the world to Dick, the most Him thing he could possibly do in a situation where the tool most relevant to the task before him is pulled straight out of his own treasure chest of trauma, it not even fazing him in the slightest that his family is there with them right now too and that means they’re going to know now, it won’t be a secret anymore......because Dick Grayson does things he’s not happy about all the time, things he doesn’t necessarily like, that aren’t ideal or his first choice, but when it comes down to Do The Thing and thus maybe help someone, or Don’t Do The Thing and instead turn around and consign himself to a thousand years of solitary confinement in the world’s stankest oubliette cuz its what he deserves, says his Brain all Judgingly.....like. I’m just saying. When the choice is clear, so is the resulting Dick Grayson decision: He does the thing, consequences be damned, and just deals with whatever those may be later. Which in this case would be oh crap, my family all knows now, ugh, they’re gonna want to TALK about it now, booooooooooooooo. But also, oh well. I had to Do The Thing.

And like, the thing there is, it might not be his FIRST choice, but unlike scenarios where he just flat out gets no choice in the matter whatsover as his agency is just reviolated all over again by Tarantula or Slade or someone else taking the choice away from him and just telling people what happened to further fuck with his head and retraumatize him.....

THIS STILL LETS HIM HAVE A CHOICE.

And like. There’s just so, SO many ways you can play with that or places you can take that because the more you ALLOW characters to have a choice, to MAKE choices that are beyond just the one singular most obvious or expected choice, the one so predictable there’s barely an actual choice to be made at all when steering a character like Dick towards that....

MORE choices equals MORE avenues of exploration you open up in your story. More roads less traveled, more surprise reveals or unexpected epiphanies, more new ground to unearth and feelings to uncover rather than just more of the same already extensively traveled plot of land and story and reactions/aftermath already so done to death even Jason Todd would consider them low-hanging fruit not worth making a “but I died” jojke about.

Just....MORE. In general. Across the board. In every possible permutation. New. Different. As yet unexplored. Still capable of surprising. Stretch. Reach. Dig deeper. Find the story direction that makes you laugh nervously and say wtf self, where did that even come from, am I Wild One for even daring to contemplate that such a thing could be written?

And then go, why yes, YES THE FUCK I AM THAT WILD ONE, and plot twist, I LIKE IT!

Or, y’know. Alternatively, people can continue to write how once upon a time, there was this guy named Dick, and he was kinda a dick, see, so this one time when bad things happened to him it was like, do we even care, or should we just like....cut to his family and see how this is affecting them and therein just maybe we might find an actual story worth telling? Ahh yes, good, that’s the ticket. So anyway, once upon a time, there were these guys named Jason and Tim and you will never believe what happened to them on the day their walking dildo of an older brother tripped and skinned his knee. Now buckle up, cuz THIS is quite the story!

#rape cw

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strawberrysunrisewitches · 4 years

Text

Lucia Profile

Identity

Name: Lucia Mirabelle Firahel

Gender:Female

Birth Date: February 23 1973

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Sexuality: Lesbian

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality:English-Italian

Residence: Leeds, England

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ENFP-A The Campaigner

The Mage

1st Wand:

Pear wood

13 1/4″

Slightly flexible

Horned serpent horn

Animagus: Lucia’s animagus form is a common genet with a black heart pattern on the chest

Misc Magical Abilities:

Lucia is an occlumens which she learnt from her uncle

She is also an animagus and is registered. She was able to become an animagus due to Cirilo saying she’d become a unicorn

Boggart Form: All of her family and Cassie dead and blaming her for it

Riddikulus Form: Her big brother wearing a tiger onesie chasing her

Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Someone smelling her in Amortentia would smell sunflowers, honey, chocolates and mint

Amortentia: (What do they smell?) She would smell Strawberries, watermelon, licorice, roasted almonds and chocolates

Patronus: A saber tooth tiger

Patronus Memory: Making chocolate with Cassie on the day they began dating

Mirror of Erised: Herself as an adult married to Cassie with kids

Specialized/Favourite Spells:

Glacius (Cause sometimes you gotta make ice cream faster)

Bombarda (Her go to fuck someone up spell, she’s very destructive)

Expelliarmus(Cause No wand means she can beat the shit out of ya )

Ventus (Kites and watching people slowly get blown into a lake is always fun)

Tempest Jinx(This is the spell that she uses when she is extremely angry and murderous)

Appearance

Faceclaim:

Height: 6′0

Weight: 156 Lbs

Physique: Toned AF and curvaceous

Eye Colour: Green

Hair Colour: Dirty blonde

Skin Tone: Peach

Body Modifications:She has a tattoo on her chest of a pale orange flower with a bright orange dragonfly resting on it, On her right arm she has a multi flower tattoo which has a sunflower and a moon flower at the top followed by a pink hyacinth then a star flower, a dragon’s head gladiolus and finally a pink carnation

In year 7 she added a streak of red hair to her hair

Scarring: She has a scar going from the middle of her left cheek to just below her mouth,A scar on her right side of her waist, a scar just below her chest on the left side she has two x shape scars on her hands and a larger cross shaped scar on her left shoulder.

Inventory: She usually has on her: her wand, a large amount of licorice wands, a charm bracelet that Cassie gave her, large bladed piece of Bladed Wroewolfeite that glows the colour of sunflowers, her orange and purple scarf and a pair of intricately designed magic gauntlets that she keeps under an invisibility charm.

Allegiances

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Ilvermorny House: Pukwudgie

Affiliations/Organizations:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Head Girl

Italy

The Dark Suns Assassin Organization

The Tower of The Regal Sunset Sea

Professions:

Wand Maker(Briefly)

Magizoologist(Formerly)

Baker

Hogwarts Information

Class Proficiencies:OWLS

Astronomy: 4/10 (P)

Charms: 3/10 (D)

DADA: 9/10 (O)

Flying: 2/10 (D)

Herbology: 8/10 (O)

History of Magic: 4/10 (P)

Potions: 7/10 (E)

Transfiguration: 8/10 (O)

Electives:

CoMC: 8/10 (O)

Magical Theory: 9/10 (O)

Muggle Art: 8/10 (O)

Alchemy: 6/10 (E)

Quidditch: Never in a million years

Extra Curricular:

Dueling club

Magical creatures club

Favourite Professors:

Silvanus Kettleburn: He helped ignite her initial path to be a magizoologist and she will always thank him for that until the end of her time

Least Favourite Professors:

Binns: Lucia is extremely confused about how Hogwarts lets him teach to this day despite the fact that everyone sleeps in his class and he is literally the most boring teacher you could ever meet and wishes he would be fired so a professor who can actually teach History of Magic and help any would historians start early

Relationships

Brother: Cirilo Sebastian Firahel (6 Years older)

Halfblood

Ravenclaw

short blonde hair, green eyes, Man mountain of muscle and handsome, well groomed beard

St Bernard animagus

Cirilo is very sweet and charismatic if he has no reason to be angry at you otherwise, he will break your neck, the reasons why is usually related to people hurting his family or abusing kids

He becomes an auror that specializes in investigating and dealing with cases of child abuse and neglect once Rakepick and R are dealt with

He and Lucia are very close and share the same drive to protect their loved ones no matter the costs to others, which is part of the reason why he got involved with R to protect his family, once he learned that R is not to be trusted he breaks all ties with them which officially happens once he is freed

Misc Siblings:

Sonia Firahel(4 years younger)

Enzio Firahel (7 years younger)

Nicoletta Firahel(10 years younger)

Father: Simon Graham Firahel

Muggle

short blonde hair, blue eyes, fit as fuck and tallest in his family(6′6)

Simon is very compassionate, loving and very calm in day to day life but when he gets angry, he gets angry

He is the sensei of a karate dojo which he has run for most of his life and ensured that all of his kids know self defence just in case magic fails them

Lucia is his little sunflower that he will protect until his last breath, while CIrilo’s disappearance did hurt him, he did not let it impact him raising his kids who still needed their father to be there for them

Mother:Bianca Natalia Firahel

Pureblood

Long voluminous blonde hair, green eyes, curvy and kinda tall but not too noticeable of a height(6′0)

Bianca is extremely sweet to everyone she meets unless they want to talk about Ollivander wands and is very intuitive to her kids secrets but will let them tell her in their own time

Bianca is a international wand maker who refuses to only use the big three wand materials and believes there is no such thing as inferior wand materials only inferior wand makers

Love Interest: Cassandra Cresswood

Best Friends:

Rowan Khanna

Penny Haywood

Rival: Ben Copper (From 1-5)

Enemy:

Rakepick

Death Eaters

Voldemort

Dormmates: (Who’s in your MC’s dorm with them?)

Rowan Khanna

Penny Haywood

Nymphadora Tonks

Chiara Lobosca

Rebecca Lord

Pets:

Her family owns a a ragdoll cat named Sara

She has a long-eared owl named Artemis

Her entire family owns a black owl that has red eyes called Ares

When she moves out into her own house, she gets a samoyed named Mayhem and three ragdoll cats named Cassia, Yuki and Pixel

Closest Canon Friends:

Talbott Winger

Chiara Lobosca

Penny Haywood

Rowan Khanna

Closest MC Friends:

Rebecca Lord @cursed-ice-spirits

Jason Novak @death-or-sleep

The O’Donnell Quadruplets @unfortunate-arrow

Sara

Cara

Ryan

Conor

She needs more please feel free to ask for your MC to be her friend

Background/History

Lucia was born in Ariccia, Italy to Bianca and Simon, she is the second oldest. She spent much of her life in Italy until three of her grandparents were killed by death eaters and then her family moved to Britain hence her heavy accent

Lucia’s father taught her everything she knows about fighting which led to her physique and fueled her laser focused aim of protecting her family which is why she was so distraught when Cirilo went missing. For months she was basically inconsolable

This changed when Lucia realized she can try get Cirilo back by learning everything he did in his investigations of the cursed vaults when she starts Hogwarts.

In her second year, she met Cassandra Cresswood when she decided to search the library on her own for information on the Vaults

She took Cassie to the Celestial Ball but much to Cassie’s disappointment as friends (Lucia didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship despite her having a crush on Cassie)

But later in the year, Cassie got fed up with Lucia and full out asked her out though they tried to keep it secretive

Year 5 was bittersweet for Lucia, on one hand she got her brother back and he decided to not abandon her but on the other hand Rakepick escaped after torturing Merula.

During her fifth year, Lucia also forged her magic gauntlets at The Tower of The Regal Sunset Sea which is also her family’s ancestral home. Her gauntlets increase her speed and strength

Time for a lot of canon divergence Lucia gave up on the cursed vault hunt, leaving it to Cirilo and everyone else but just in case she hired the Dark Sun Assassins, which is led by her extended family, to kill Rakepick just in case to calm her worries

In her sixth year, she very reluctantly came along with Ben and Merula to investigate rumours of an R meeting in the forbidden forest, this is where Rakepick tried to kill Ben and when Rowan tried to get in the way of Rakepick’s killing curse. Lucia pulled Rowan out of the way just in time and anger welled up inside her due to her remembering her helplessness when her grandparents died causing her to use the full power of her gauntlets ending up with Rakepick’s left arm being obliterated.

After this is when she got her tattoo, it represents Cassie

It is also in her sixth year that her relationship with Cassie is found out by the school when they are caught kissing before a quidditch match

In the final battle of the cursed Vaults when all of R tried to get the treasure of the final battle, Lucia joined in the battle and was the one who ended up killing Rakepick

After she graduates, she briefly becomes a wand maker and magizoologist before finally becoming a baker with Cassie

Three years after she graduates, she and Cassie get married

Four years after she graduates, she has her first kids, Alissa and Selene though they are carried by Cassie

When Voldemort returned she was openly defiant of him and joined the Order of the Phoenix. She also sheltered Muggleborns where she could and commonly was found dueling Death Eaters sent after her and her family alongside Cassie

She had Aurea a year before the battle of Hogwarts, this time she was the one who was pregnant

She was absent from the Battle of Hogwarts as she stayed behind to protect her family from any would be attackers while Cassie went to fight in the battle which she survived much to Lucia’s relief and the two were able to live their lives in peace

Personality

Lucia most of the time is very happy, always smiling in some way but this hides her extremely protective side for her loved ones and the anger that follows when her loved ones are hurt. She will never give up on anyone and will always do her best to help them.

However if anyone she cares about is hurt and she can’t get revenge either because the perpetrator is gone or whoever or whatever did it did so out of fear, she will be very distraught and blame herself even if she quite literally couldn’t have done anything and will shut herself away for days but if the perpetrator is not gone then she will be merciless and will kill them if they hurt her loved ones badly enough(Before Year 5, she would not readily kill).

She for the most part cannot handle people who are seemingly grumpy all the time and will intentionally avoid people like that.

She is very empathetic and tries to do her best to help her friends out when they are in bad places but she fails to take the same advice and apply it to herself and will fall into dark places easily if the signs aren’t noticed quick enough.

Misc

She is very resistant to sleeping potions and charms to such an extent that by the time she’s in year 7 she is basically immune and requires extremely potent versions used on her for it to take proper effect

All her scars came from a magical accident when a spell she was trying to create backfired injuring her and Cassie

She is very proud of her heritage and will fight people if they insult it in her presence

She has Norse ancestors on her father’s side of the family though most of the traditions and practices from them have been lost in time

She is fluent in Italian, English and Scottish Gaelic, the latter of which she learned from Cassie

She for most of her life had a huge fear of heights which came from her fall, she overcame it with the help of her friends when she decided to watch Cassie’s quidditch matches

She is very physically affectionate and will hug all her friends without a thought and will always make it known that she cares about them

When she first started Hogwarts her italian accent was very strong but over time it began to fade and once she graduates and moves in with Cassie, she starts unwittingly adopting a slight scottish accent which is tinged with her remaining italian accent

She is a very good singer, she taught herself and was naturally good from the onset. She knows many italian songs and lullabies

She is a black belt in Karate and despite her much less chaotic life after Hogwarts and the Second Wizarding War she maintains her strong AF physique

The scarf she wears was made by her late grandmother and she is rarely seen without it unless she is dueling seriously

She is named after her strongest ancestor Lucia Altera, a name which she lives up to.

She is capable of casting two of the unforgivable curses except for the killing curse

The names of her five daughters are; Alissa Dawn, Selene Abigail, Aurea Amara, Roxanna Amber, Rebecca Ciana and Hannah Chiara Firahel

Format made by @hogwartsmysterystory

#hphm #Harry Potter Hogwarts mystery #hp hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery #lucia firahel #lucia firahel hphm #character profile

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bigtimetired · 4 years

Text

Softly, Softly

a one-shot in a wider (v unfinished i’m suffering help) au- nearly complete age-swap, set in the 90s for some godforsaken reason, this fic set not too long after damian moves in w bruce- i think that’s all that matters? just under 4k, mostly under the cut- anyway:

12th November 1990

Winter in Gotham is never easy.

It’s generally agreed that the going gets tough from the end of November to the start of February, and things are- not easy, never easy, but more doable- up until that point.

It’s early-ish November- the air is getting chilly, there’s frost on the ground in the mornings. It’s starting to get cold and sharp out, though at this point a person could get away with a regular jacket during the day.

It’s the easiest part of a Gotham winter.

Of course, Dick’s little brother doesn’t seem to have gotten this particular memo.

In retrospect, Dick blames himself for not noticing sooner and nipping it in the bud. The signs had been there for god knows how long; the quiet sniffles, late night rasps, sluggish reactions.

But anyway, the point is that Dick didn’t realise earlier, which is what has them where they are now; Jason bundled up in his hoodie and coat, Dick’s scarf and a hat they found lying around, shivering miserably, and Dick sacrificing his own jacket to act as a blanket.

Jason sniffs again and Dick winces- it sounds disconcertingly liquid.

“Don’t need all this,” Jason half-whispers, weakly waving his hand at his sickbed- his usual mattress, and a sofa cushion arranged in order to prop him up against the wall. It’s debatable how long he can actually sit up unassisted at this point.

Dick hums noncommittally and makes sure their meagre rations are within Jason’s reach- half a bottle of water, a squished bar of chocolate, and two tissues. This isn’t good. They need more.

Is Daly’s still open?

“’M serious,” Jason insists, and Dick nods.

“Whatever floats your ship.”

Jason blows out a heavy, congested, breath. “’s boat, Dickers.”

“Really? Why?”

Jason frowns for a moment, looking so concerned that Dick regrets asking.

“Dunno,” he admits eventually. “Prob’ly ‘cause it rhymes.”

Jason starts coughing then- a sharp noise which sounds like it’s being pulled out of him. The fit fades as quickly as it started- the ragged breathing and rosy cheeks do not.

Dick hands Jason the water bottle; helps him hold it steady when it becomes clear that his hands are still trembling too badly to do it himself.

When Jason’s breathing regularly again, Dick asks, “How’re you feeling?”, even though he already knows what his little brother will say.

Jason grins, pale green eyes blinking slowly. “On top of the world.”

Dick reaches out and tries to measure Jason’s temperature with his hand. Jason pulls the sort of face that only a ten-year-old can muster but stays put.

Dick frowns- Jason’s kinda clammy.

“Ew,” he says out loud, making a show of wiping his hand off on Jason’s sleeve. Internally he makes up his mind. I have to go.

Jason grins again and lets out a quiet noise which would ordinarily be a snort. “You’re ew.”

Dick settles down next to Jason’s mattress, even though he has no intention of staying put for too long.

“Go to sleep, Jay- you’re already nearly there.”

“Am not,” comes the weary reply.

“Uh-huh.”

“F’ck off, Dickolas.”

“Can’t- who else will wipe your nose for you?”

“Asshole,” smiles Jason, eyes already nearly closed. His expression changes then. “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

Dick pauses- takes in the genuine worry wrinkling around Jason’s mouth, the uneven intakes of breath- and comes to the sudden, stomach-churning, realisation that Jason is too sick to be left alone.

It’s with a heavy heart that he abandons his plans to sneak out for a supply run.

“Duh. Now go to sleep, lil’ wing.”

Jason pulls another face, eyes closed now. “Gotta stop callin’ me that.”

“Nah.”

Jason tries to snort again and doesn’t say anything else. Dick keeps perfectly still for what feels like the longest time, watching Jason’s chest rise and fall.

His only reassurance is that, despite the audible wheeze of his lungs, Jason’s breaths are still perfectly regular.

Dick carefully pushes a slightly sweaty curl away from Jason’s face, trying not to focus on how Jason’s usually faint freckles seem a great deal more vivid at the moment.

He’ll be okay.

He has to be.

Jason wakes up around when the air in the attic is getting cool enough for Dick to have to start stretching in an attempt to stay awake; the cold has always made him sleepy.

Jason’s breath stutters, once, twice, and Dick’s head whips around, heart pounding.

Jason’s breath resumes a noticeable pattern, and Jason peers over at Dick.

“Hey,” Dick smiles, trying to project a calm and certainty that he doesn’t feel. “How’re you now?”

Jason swallows, licks his lips. “Hurts,” he whispers, and Dick’s smile drops instantly.

“What does? What hurts Jay?”

Jason shifts slightly, wincing. “Everything.”

With no small amount of dread, Dick lays his hand on Jason’s forehead again.

Jason is burning up.

Dick exhales, and makes Jason drink some water as he thinks.

“Okay,” he says quietly, more to himself than to Jason, “it’s all okay.”

It isn’t really. Dick is nowhere near as calm as he’d like to be- as he needs to be.

He doesn’t know what to do- Jason’s never been this sick before, and Dick isn’t sure what’s wrong; if Jason needs medicine or if he can sleep it off, if they should be seeing a doctor or if they can get by on their own.

It’s a lot for a twelve-year-old to deal with but deal with it he must. For Jason’s sake.

Jason’s had enough water- Dick takes the bottle from him before he accidentally drops it.

“Have some of this,” he says, grabbing the bar of chocolate.

“Not hungry,” says Jason quietly, just as he did the last time Dick offered it.

“I know, Jaybird, but you gotta eat if you want to get better,” Dick says, rubbing Jason’s shoulder carefully. He seems terribly small and breakable all of a sudden.

Jason still doesn’t seem all that convinced about the whole ‘eating’ thing. Dick decides to pull out the big guns.

“Please, Jay.”

Jason nods reluctantly and begins the incredibly long endeavour of eating a bar of chocolate with as little effort as possible.

He’s sneezed a good eight times by the time the wrapper is empty, but Jason looks marginally more awake now and Dick hopes that the pink tinge to his cheeks is a sign of health.

The water is almost gone, the tissues are used up and absolutely disgusting, and they’re completely out of anything the least bit edible.

Jason is still far too hot, still sweating, and now starting to shiver.

Shit.

Dick doesn’t know all that much about illnesses but he’s fairly sure that shivering like that when you’re not cold at all isn’t a good sign.

“Jay,” Dick tries his hardest to sound both soothing and supremely confident and not at all afraid, “Jay, we don’t have enough things here for you to get better. I’m gonna have to- “

Jason’s eyes widen, and he moves the quickest he has in nearly three days to grab Dick’s wrist in an iron-grip.

“No,” he hisses, “no, you promised you’d stay. You promised.”

“Jay,” says Dick softly, “I- “

“Please, Dick, please don’t go- I don’t wanna be alone- please- “

There are actual tears welling up in Jason’s eyes all of a sudden, and Dick’s heart twists horribly.

“Hey,” he says gently, “hey- I’m not gonna leave you alone, okay? I- uh- “

Dick swallows and then makes what many people might call a terrible decision.

“I’m gonna take you with me,” he says as if he had planned this all along, “we just gotta pop out to the store and back- get some more water, some tissues, all that fun stuff. Okay?”

Jason relaxes, though he doesn’t let go of Dick. “Okay,” he half-whispers. “Just- just don’t leave me.”

“I promise.”

Rather predictably, things are not going well.

Dick’s eyes are sore and gritty, and he can’t quite tell if his hands are shaking or not. He has Jason tucked under his arm in an attempt to keep him warm and stop him from tipping over- easier said than done on the ice-laced paths.

It’s dark out now, and the streetlights in this part of town are few and far between. Jason’s weighty breaths seem to echo in the mostly empty streets- they’re gonna start attracting attention soon.

“Dick,” mumbles Jason all of a sudden, “we nearly there yet?”

No. No they are not. All the nearest stores are closed and they’re starting to get uncomfortably far from home.

“Uh-huh,” whispers Dick, “just another few minutes, okay?”

“’kay.”

Jason lets out a tremendous sniff then, and Dick rubs his arm absently.

It’s way colder than Dick thought it would be- every breath in is sharp, every breath out creates a thick plume of condensation.

Dick isn’t good with cold- his head hurts, his chest aches, and all he wants to do is go to sleep for a while. When it’s really, really, cold, his nose bleeds.

“’m tired.”

“Me too, lil’ wing. Nearly there.”

“Can we sit down? Just for a second?”

Jason sounds exhausted.

Dick glances around carefully- no unsavoury characters too close by, though they’d be better off stepping in out of view.

“Yeah- we’ll sit down just around the corner for a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay.”

The two of them make their ungainly way around the corner- off the main street and into a more secluded area.

There’s a deep, surprisingly unoccupied, doorway here- Dick tucks his little brother into the corner in an attempt to block some of the cold out. He pulls off his jacket and gives it to Jason as a blanket.

Jason leans his head on Dick’s shoulder and lets out slow, heavy, breaths.

Dick looks up at the artificially clouded, orange-tinted sky and misses the stars for the umpteenth time.

Has Jason ever seen the stars?

Dick’s eyes are very, very, tired.

Don’t you dare fall asleep, Grayson.

There’s a song playing from a building nearby- words muffled, melody barely audible. A slow, soft, sad song.

Dick breathes in deep, lets it out slowly.

He watches his breath cloud and float up, up, up, until he can’t see it anymore.

“Dick?”, asks Jason drowsily.

“Yeah?”, Dick whispers back, still staring up at the sky.

“I don’t wanna get up.”

“Me neither, Jay. ‘nother minute?”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet again, Dick knowing full well that they need to get up and keep moving but not quite able to do anything with that knowledge just yet.

Something begins to drift down through the orange-haze; Dick watches it distantly, rubs tiredly at his runny nose.

A feathery speck of snow falls softly to the ground before them.

Then another.

Shit.

It’s not dry enough for the snow to lodge, but that won’t make their unfinished journey any less miserable.

Then there’s a thump from above- too heavy and solid to be anything other than a person.

Then another thump, and another.

Double shit.

Damian is having a reasonably good evening, all things considered.

Is it colder than anyone would like? Yes, yes it is.

Did Kent call earlier like he said he would? No, no he did not.

But Damian isn’t letting any of that bother him- there’s crime to fight, justice to uphold, etcetera, etcetera.

Besides, he’s rather enjoying knocking the stuffing out of the would-be jewel thief before him.

Or at least, he would be, if the degenerate would ever show some consideration and stop running away.

Coward.

(Damian’s evening is, perhaps, not going as well as he is trying to convince himself it is.)

The thief clears the gap between two buildings with surprising ease, seeing as he has no grapple gun to support him.

Damian tails him still, grip tight on the non-lethal staff Father had insisted on.

They had argued about it (again) only earlier that evening, actually.

It’s understandable that Father would prefer that Drake abstain from lethal force- Drake hasn’t been trained in the art of death from birth, after all. Drake can barely be trusted to tell one end of a blade from the other.

But Damian is a master- the best of his generation, it had always been whispered. Damian can be trusted to kill quickly and efficiently- or slowly and painfully, as required.

Damian is more than capable of-

The thief swerves suddenly and Damian copies- but the rooftop is covered with a thin layer of treacherous frost and Damian perhaps hadn’t been paying quite as much attention to his surroundings as he should have been- what would Grandfather say?

Damian stumbles, temporarily drops to one knee, before regaining his balance.

It’s a tiny slip- a microscopic mistake in the grand scheme of things- but it’s enough.

America has made him soft.

The thief is further ahead than he should be- he hops down to the next building, and then down again into a dingy alleyway.

Damian continues his pursuit- trying his best to force down the little bubble of desperation- he must catch up in time- he can’t disappoint Father- he can’t.

Damian drops into the alleyway, head automatically snapping to the left to see the thief racing away. They’re on better terrain now- Damian can catch up. He can.

It’s then that he hears it; a quiet sniff.

Almost against his will, Damian turns his head away from the criminal’s retreating figure.

There are two people huddled together in the doorway next to him.

Two very small people watching him with wide, frightened, eyes.

Children- younger than Drake- tiny and alone and shaking with fear, cold, or both.

Instinctively, Damian reaches out to them and they flinch.

They’re afraid of him.

To the best of his knowledge, Damian has never frightened children before. The other children in the League might have been wary of him, but they were never afraid. Drake might have been uneasy when they first met, but soon irritation outweighed all other emotion.

But now one child is clearly trying to shield the other from him- as if Damian is likely to snap and rage.

As if Damian is likely to hurt them.

Something about this does not sit well with Damian- perhaps it’s the novelty of the situation, perhaps it’s the not-very-good day he’s been having, perhaps it’s Father’s philosophy winding around the recesses of his mind.

He remembers, very suddenly, that there are two parts to the Batman’s mission statement, though Damian does tend to only consider the first half.

To punish the guilty and protect the innocent.

Appearances can be deceptive, and youth is no indicator of nature, but Damian is pretty sure that it is the innocent who are staring up at him in mute terror.

He glances after the jewel thief- still visible at the mouth of the alley. If he ran now, he could probably catch up.

But there are two children alone in Gotham on a cold night who are absolutely terrified of him and seem rather lacking in the resources department.

Damian takes in how underdressed the older child is- his full-body shivers and bloody nose. The other child is bundled up and mostly hidden from view but from what little Damian can see, he doesn’t seem all that healthy.

It’s snowing.

Damian looks after the criminal- the guilty who must be punished- and comes to a decision.

He sheathes his staff, drops his shoulders, and looks down at the children, trying very hard to radiate non-threatening energy.

He isn’t sure if it’s working.

“What are you doing out here?”, Damian asks, trying to imitate the soft voice that Father sometimes uses when Damian is…uneasy.

The older child swipes at his nose, doesn’t seem to notice the blood left on his hand.

“Nothing,” he mumbles, still leaning away from Damian.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Damian counters, still trying to do the Voice. “It looks like you’re planning on staying there for a while, and not by choice either.”

The boy looks at him for a long moment, before admitting quietly, “Maybe.”

Damian mentally pats himself on the back for this minor victory.

Protect the innocent.

“Do you- “, Damian starts, but he is interrupted by the second child breaking his silence to let out an extremely unpleasant-sounding, wet, hacking, cough.

The first child turns away from Damian immediately to rub his brother’s back.

When the fit subsides about two minutes later, Damian catches the tiny whisper of “You okay, Jaybird?”, and the even tinier, breathless, “Yeah.”

“You need to see a doctor,” says Damian matter-of-factly.

“I know,” mutters the older boy, not looking at Damian.

“I know where to find a clinic with a fantastic doctor,” Damian offers, surprising himself with the realisation that he is willing to take these two all the way over to Dr Hopkins’ if necessary.

“We can’t- “, the boy starts, conflict clearly playing out on his face. Then his expressions hardens. “We don’t need your charity.”

Damian aches with the urge to point out that they very clearly need someone’s charity, but resists. That sort of barb rarely goes over well with Drake, never mind two virtual strangers.

He sighs. “I know you don’t.”

They’re in a stalemate then- Damian (for reasons which not even he entirely understands) unwilling to leave them as he found them, and neither of the two boys willing to accept his help.

Damian crouches down in a bid to make himself less intimidating, though both boys watch him cautiously. The older one tightens his grip on his brother.

“Do you know who I am?”, Damian asks quietly.

The children stare at him for a moment, eyes skittering all over his uniform and hopefully lingering on the bat symbol.

“You work with Batman,” whispers the smaller boy hoarsely.

Damian nods. “I do. And what does Batman do?”

“Fight crime?”, offers the sick child.

“And?”

The boy with the bloody nose sighs. “And help people who need it. Which we don’t,” he hastens to add.

Damian looks at them levelly and then repeats something that Pennyworth has told him quietly time after time, though Damian has never truly listened to the words until now.

“Everyone needs help sometimes, and everyone is allowed to get help.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, both children watching him with wide, considering, eyes.

“We can’t pay the doctor,” says the older boy, slouching.

“She won’t charge you.”

“You sure?”, whispers the sick one, squinting at Damian.

He nods, which seems to be enough for the sick boy.

“Le’ss go, Dick.”

The newly identified Dick looks at his brother again. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“I can think of plenty of reasons,” mutters Dick, before sighing. “Alright then, let’s go get our organs stolen.”

“She won’t take your organs,” reassures Damian.

“That’s what they all say.”

Dick stands up stiffly and rubs at his nose again. He notices the blood this time, but merely frowns at his hand in response.

“What happened?”, Damian asks, though Dick only shrugs before pulling on the coat previously wrapped around his little brother.

There’s a bit of difficulty then, as the younger boy very shakily stands up and nearly falls over, though Dick manages to save him and prop him upright under his arm.

Standing up now, it’s clear that the boys can’t be any older than about eleven and neither of them looks like he has regular meals.

“Lead ahead,” says Dick.

“Lead on,” corrects his brother tiredly. “’r go ahead.”

Dick shrugs again.

Damian starts walking, though he’s only made it a few feet before realising that the boys are still behind him and only slowly shuffling forward.

They both look exhausted, and whilst Dick may be in better shape than his brother, he’s still trembling ever so slightly and walking stiffly.

Damian tilts his head for a moment, considering.

Then he stands on Dick’s free side- he thinks he knows better than to go near Dick’s younger brother given the sharp look Dick keeps giving him- and props him under his arm.

“Let’s go then,” says Damian, pretending not to see the strange looks he is being given.

Neither boy says anything in response but the three of them begin to make their achingly slow way forward, ungainly as one might expect such a convoy to be.

Damian can feel how horrifyingly cold Dick is under his arm and doesn’t even want to consider how cold his brother probably is.

He twists his cape around with his free hand and drapes it around the other two’s shoulders without breaking stride.

“Thanks,” mumbles Dick.

His brother makes a hoarse noise that may or may not also be a thank you.

“You’re welcome,” says Damian uncomfortably.

People do not often thank him.

(Damian wonders, briefly, if the children would have been willing to trust him at all if he had been carrying a more deadly weapon and doesn’t like how the answer makes him feel.)

They continue to walk in silence.

It’s going to be a long night.

Many, many, hours later Damian is standing at his father’s side in the Batcave, as his father types away on the computer.

Drake is somewhere nearby, polishing something- Damian can hear his breathing.

Pennyworth is on Father’s other side, dutifully copying down a wall of text from a smaller screen- Damian can’t hear his breathing.

“The thief escaped,” Father says. It is and isn’t a question.

Damian nods, though adds, “I believe he will strike again in the financial district sometime in the next two weeks,” by way of a meagre apology.

“You last reported in from Leslie’s clinic.”

“Yes.”

There is a long pause, as Damian tries to compose his thoughts and Father waits- ever patient.

“I had to protect the innocent,” he says eventually.

Father stops his typing and Drake stops pretending to be doing whatever it is that he’s been doing.

“Oh?”, asks Father, the closest Damian has ever gotten to a ‘go on’ from him.

“There were two children,” says Damian, not looking at his Father. “They needed medical attention, amongst other things. I found them as I pursued the thief and- “

“And you chose to protect the innocent rather than punish the guilty,” Father finishes.

Damian nods. “I did.”

Father actually turns his head to look at him, which means that Damian’s gaze is drawn- magnetised- to his.

“I’m proud of you,” Father says, voice warm and soft.

There is a lump in Damian’s throat all of a sudden.

He nods and chokes out, “Thank you.”

They stay like that a moment, Father’s calm blue eyes on his own teary green.

And then Father says, “Jon Kent called whilst you were out.”

Damian finally looks away from his father. “Oh?”

“He wanted to ask you about your chemistry project.”

Damian clicks his tongue. “I told him I’d tell him tomorrow.”

“Best go to bed then- it’s been a long day.”

Damian nods again. “Goodnight Father. Goodnight Pennyworth.”

He pauses for a very long moment, before eventually adding, “Goodnight, Drake.”

Drake says from somewhere that may or may not be in the rafters, “Goodnight Damian,” and then Damian goes to bed.

Damian falls asleep and dreams of softly falling snow and orange-tinted skies and part of an old, slow, song.

Softly, softly turn the key And open up my heart.

#dc #batfam #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #family relationships #tw: blood #it's a nosebleed #one-shot #only tagged characters w real screentime sorry tim n alfred n ig bruce #dgs #sickfic #kinda #might go back n tweak this at some point maybe add more damian pov

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fanghuas · 5 years

Text

Jason Todd Birthday Week, Day 2 - Robin

Jason scowled as he ran ahead, leaving Nightwing behind and leaping across to the next roof, landing into a roll. The jump was cutting it close – half a foot more and he wouldn’t have made it. It left him a little shaken, but he immediately took off running again and at least tried not to show it.

He went on like that for another minute or so, until suddenly he realized he couldn’t hear Nightwing’s footsteps echoing behind him anymore. He stopped, more annoyed than alarmed, wondering where he could have gone and why he didn’t tell Jason anything.

“Nightwing,” he murmured into his com, “where the hell are you?”

No response. Jason tried again.

“Nightwing. Nightwing, do you copy? Nightwing!”

Jason paced up and down the roof, feeling like an absolute moron with the way he was muttering to himself. What even was the procedure for this kind of thing? Bruce, for all his faults, had never gone AWOL on him before. Trust Nightwing to be a total dick about this, as he was about everything else.

“C’mon, ‘wing, ‘s not fuckin’ funny,” he whispered.

He whirled around, meaning to get to a higher point to try and locate Nightwing from there, but his search came to an abrupt end. As he turned, he came face to face with Nightwing, stoic and silent.

“Fuck!” he hissed, taking a step back in surprise. “What the hell, dipshit, don’t just stand there like a fucking horror movie creep, where were you?”

“Nearby,” Nightwing said, curt enough to pass as Batman. “Do you know how long it took you to notice I wasn’t behind you anymore? Two blocks.”

“Yeah, because I didn’t think I had to be on the lookout for you doing something as stupid as that, funny thing!” Jason protested, voice rising. “What was that about? A test or something? Give me a break. You’re not Batman.”

“And you’re –“ Nightwing took a deep breath, shaking his head. “That was what could happen if you keep trying to get as far away from your partner as possible. I could actually lose you, or in trying to keep up we could end up missing something important. What were you trying to prove to me? That you can run real fast? Congratulations.”

“Fuck you,” Jason spat out. “How fucking hard would it be to call out, ‘hey, Robin, slow down’, instead of pulling this pseudo-didactic BS?”

“It was a demonstration,” Nightwing said. “And sorry, but I very much doubt you would have listened to anything I had to say. You think you already know everything.”

“Try me!” Jason yelled, challenging. “Except you won’t, will you? You won’t give me a chance. B gets benched, and you say of course I’ll patrol with Jason in your stead –“

“No names in the field –“

"—we all know how fuckin’ useless he’d be on his own, amirite? So you come, but you gotta be a dick about it. I mean, jeez, if you can’t call me Robin without shedding a tear then even ‘hey you’ would do, but no. ‘Course not.”

"Meanwhile I suppose you had to keep a thirty feet distance between us because you were so excited about patrolling with me,” Dick countered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Look, kid, we don’t have to get along. But what you’re doing makes it harder for me to save your ass if something happens, and I think we can agree Batman wouldn’t be happy about that.”

“Oh, well, so long as it would upset Bruce,” Jason scoffed. “Guess you really have no choice but to watch out for me then. Lemme make it easier for you; I’ll head back home, an’ you can patrol on your fuckin’ own.”

Without waiting for a response, Jason flung himself off the roof, shooting his hook at the very last moment and swinging away. Bruce would be pissed if he could see him, because it was a stupid risk to take, but the rush was exhilarating, and Jason needed something to calm his nerves. If he didn’t, he’d either go right back and yell at Nightwing for the next hour without pause, or he’d break down crying, neither of which he wanted.

“ROBIN!”

The scream pierced the air, startling Jason and making him look back up, just in time to see Nightwing leaping and swinging after him. There was a grace in his movements that Jason would never achieve, no matter how many times he did this, no matter how technically correct his form was. This was Nightwing in his element, where he lived and breathed, in that breathless moment before the crash. Jason swallowed the bile in his throat, feeling woefully insufficient.

“What the fuck was that?” Dick demanded, supressed fury in his voice. He exhaled shakily and gathered himself – suddenly he looked terrifyingly calm. “Cave. Now. No detours, no fancy tricks, if you so much as think about doing something like that again I will carry you back kicking and screaming, so don’t you fucking try it. Go. Now.”

Jason bit back a sharp retort and took off, all the while wondering what the hell he’d done to get that kind of reaction. Dick had been pissed at him before, and pretty consistently, but this was something else. This was the kind of calm that could only possibly come before a storm. If Jason was to weather it, he’d much rather do it in the presence of Bruce and Alfred.

Just because Bruce was benched from the field, didn’t mean that any force in the world could keep him away from the cave. He was down there with Alfred, prepared to do ground control if need be. As much as they couldn’t agree on anything else, neither Dick nor Jason wanted Bruce to intervene, so they mentioned nothing on the way back nor after they arrived.

“It was pretty quiet,” Dick said cheerfully, and Jason had to marvel at his acting skills. “No point staying out more.”

“Hmm,” Bruce said. “Jason?”

Jason didn’t miss the hurt flashing across Dick’s face, but he nodded. “Yeah, like ‘Wing said. I’ve had more exciting nights studying algebra.”

“Alright.” Bruce turned to Dick again. “Thank you. For filling in.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Dick murmured.

And if that had been all, maybe they could have ignored it and moved on. But Bruce’s injury meant he’d be out of commission for at least two more nights. One had already nearly been disastrous, and Jason was still waiting for Dick to lash out at him after whatever that had been on patrol. How were they supposed to do this twice more? They would get nothing done.

And they were supposed to be helping Bruce, not making his job harder with fights and petty shit. It was all Dick’s fault. Where did he get off, not even bothering to hide how little regard he had for Jason, and then thinking it was his right to boss him around? No.

Jason changed out of his costume and headed right up to bed, wanting to avoid a possible confrontation. But not ten minutes had passed when there came a knock on the door, the pattern fitting neither Alfred nor Bruce. Whatever Dick thought of him, Jason was smart, and Bruce had taught him to recognize this kind of thing.

He lay still and pretended to be asleep, making no sound, barely breathing. If he didn’t respond maybe Dick would just go away.

“Jason,” Dick called out. “There’s no way you’re sleeping, open the door. We need to sort this out.”

Jason debated refusing to do it, but Dick would eventually find a way in, and the longer Jason stalled him, the angrier he’d be. He got up and opened the door, acknowledging Dick with a nod and stepping aside to let him through.

Dick stayed standing up, but Jason positioned himself strategically at his desk, and said nothing. If Dick wanted to talk so bad, then he’d have to do the heavy lifting.

“You’ll probably take this the wrong way,” Dick said. “But I can’t take you on patrol tomorrow if you’re gonna do what you did tonight again.”

"You can’t take me on patrol?” Jason echoed, disbelieving. “You couldn’t in the first place. You’re not Batman. You don’t even live in Gotham. It’s not your call whether I go or not. And what the hell is your problem, anyway? I don’t understand why you’re so pissed off about me going ahead, Jesus, do you need a promise I’ll follow at your heels tomorrow? ‘Cause then you can forget about it.”

"Do you really think this is what this is about?” Dick snarled. “You were purposely going further than I could reach you in time if anything happened, you were pulling reckless move after reckless move –“

“I was SHOWING OFF!” Jason bellowed. “Happy now? That what you wanted to hear? I know I’ll never be at the level of Dick Grayson, probably born mid-air, but I was dumb enough to think I could impress you! And then maybe you wouldn’t hate my guts so fucking much!”

"I don’t – that’s not –” Dick stared at him, wide-eyed, and for once with no clever retort. Then, with effort, he managed, “That last fall, when you said you were going back – that wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was needless and dangerous, and I know you would have never done it if Bruce could see you.”

Jason threw his hands in the air. “Uh, yeah, duh. Bruce worries. Too much. And he can be an asshole about it. But you don’t give a shit about me, so how was I supposed to know you’d freak out?”

"I don’t – I don’t want you to get hurt,” Dick protested. “How much of an asshole do you think I am?”

“More of a dick, really,” Jason muttered with a shrug, and to his surprise Dick let out a chuckle. “I wasn’t, like…I knew what I was doing. I’m not completely hopeless at this, you know?”

"No, you’re not,” Dick agreed. “You’re doing…phenomenally. You should hear how Bruce talks about you. He’s probably not gonna tell you to your face when he’s proud, but it’s…yeah.”

“Is that the problem?” Jason asked. “That I’m good?”

“No,” Dick said with a shake off his head and a bitter smile. “It might be…I’m not happy with any of this, yeah, but it’s not for the reasons you imagine. Do you know…do you know what Robin is?”

“Robin is Batman’s partner,” Jason answered instantaneously, and then frowned, feeling like he’d failed some sort of test.

“He didn’t create it,” Dick said. “Bruce. I did. Robin was my mom’s nickname for me. The costume –ridiculous thing, right? – that was inspired by the Flying Graysons’ outfits.”

“Shit,” Jason breathed, feeling like someone had emptied a bucket of cold water over his head. “Shit. I didn’t know. No wonder, though, that you don’t like me. Huh.”

“It’s not really your fault,” Dick admitted, running a hand through his hair. “And I’m definitely through with Robin, I couldn’t go back, but it doesn’t feel like it was his right to give it away. That’s all.”

Jason looked away. He sympathised, except that Robin was the second best thing to ever happen to him, and he didn’t want to give it up. Especially when the first could very well be dependent on it. He ought to offer, at least, but he was too scared that Dick would take him up on it.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

“You’re not the one I need an apology from,” Dick sighed. Suddenly he looked tired and much older than his eighteen years; he closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, leaning against the wall. “They fell, you know.”

“What?”

“My parents. Bruce never told you that, either? A mobster burned the trapeze wires with acid and they plunged to their deaths. I was too young to take part in that show, but – I saw it. So do you understand?” he asked, glancing at Jason with a melancholy smile. “Being here, watching you, it already makes me think about…everything. And then I see you jump off a building, and I wait and I wait and you’re not firing your grappling hook. You have no idea how much you scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jason murmured.

“I know.”

There was a pregnant pause. Jason found it almost impossible to stay mad at Dick after the bomb he’d dropped. All Jason had known was that Dick was a former circus kid and that his parents were dead. Bruce hadn’t given him more details, and he hadn’t asked for them. He only knew Nightwing, infuriating and impossible to keep up with – he’d never thought about Dick Grayson, Jason’s age or younger, grieving, just taken in by a billionaire. He’d never thought about Dick’s whys and hows.

"Do you want to know what Robin meant to me?” he asked, hesitant, worried that it was the wrong thing to say. But Dick nodded. “Robin’s a kid. That’s the whole point. He’s never as big or as strong as the bad guys. But he wins, and it’s not because of Batman. He can fight back. He can – we all wanted to be Robin. The street kids, I mean. And before that, the kids in my neighborhood. Batman was cool, yes, he was Gotham’s protector, but Robin? He was ours. Or it felt like it.”

But he was Dick’s first, Jason thought now, and he hadn’t stopped to consider that.

"So you thought Robin was cooler than Batman?” Dick asked, a teasing tilt to his voice, and Jason was grateful for the lighter turn.

“Yeah,” he said. “For the record, Nightwing is pretty cool, too.”

Dick laughed and unexpectedly ruffled Jason’s hair. “And so is Robin, then and now.”

#my writing #jtbdayweek #jtbdayweek2019 #jason todd #robin #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #batman comics #dc comics

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Notebooks and Post-it's - Chapter 10 - (Branjie) - Thankyoumissvanjie

A/N: Thank you guys so fucking much for the response I received for last chapter. It warmed my heart! And yeah. Strap in. This is a big one.

Everything was pain.

Black spots were appearing in her vision, as she both felt present in her body, while also floating somewhere outside of it.

LINK TO AO3

Everything was pain.

Black spots were appearing in her vision, as she both felt present in her body, while also floating somewhere outside of it.

She could feel the lightning strikes of a sheer agony running up her leg.

But at the same time, she was also being able to admire the whiteness of the bone and how it contrasted so beautifully with the black of the catsuit.

Everything seemed to be moving - the crowd, the stage and everything turning into a blur as all she could see was that bone.

Brock

How had that happened?

Brock, please.

He felt phantom touches on his arms, pushing them away.

Baby, come on.

A sudden jostle made him scream in pain. The movement minuscule but enough to send flares of pure torture up his leg.

“Brock, please wake up!”

From one moment to the other he went from screaming on that stage to lying awake in bed, face to face with a worried José.

“Shit Mami, what you dreamin’ bout?”

Gasping and fumbling for the light, Brock didn’t answer him. He squinted against the sudden harsh light as he ripped off the sheet.

His ankle was hurting and then suddenly… it wasn’t.

The erratic beat of his heart filled his ears, making his head hurt.

He knew that José was talking to him, but couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t breathe.

Fuck.

Nothing was wrong.

No bone.

Just a dream.

The sweat was dripping down his chest.

It had felt so real.

“Brock. Baby. You gotta breathe right.” José’s voice was soft yet loud. Brock couldn’t concentrate as he leaned over his legs, grabbing the ankle, swearing that he could still feel the moment the bone had pierced his skin.

“Shit… my foot, my-“ He couldn’t look at him, couldn’t turn around, the memory felt too real. His chest hitching as his mind kept replaying the snap of the break.

It had felt so real.

“Shh. No talkin’ before you able to breathe like the rest of us,” he could sense that José was touching him, but his mind kept replaying the sound.

Snap.

“But I-“ the black spots were getting bigger. His throat felt tight, and he could feel himself going from feeling tense to experiencing full-on panic.

Snap.

“Boo. You’re panicking,”

Snap

“Shit, Mami, imma need you to look at me.” José’s voice seemed far away, as Brock’s eye were zeroed in on his full functioning and definitely not broken ankle.

Snap.

“No… I. My… foot-” His lungs were on fire.

He somewhat clinically registered that he would pass out if he didn’t start breathing regularly.

But the bone.

“Hey. You good. Just a dream. Nothin’ real. Yo foot is still smelly and ugly, and your face still cute.” José was trying to speak low, he was trying to seem comforting, but it couldn’t reach him. His eyes were glued to the ankle.

Snap.

“Fu-” It had been such a long time since he had last had a panic attack. He needed to get this under control. He needed to just breathe.

But…

Snap.

“Bitch, what did I just say ‘bout speaking before yo breathing?” He could feel him moving on the bed, while also noting the alarmed tone that had appeared in his voice.

“I…”

“Stop. Brock. Look me at me.” Suddenly his face was turned and he looked into José’s eyes. The deep brown eyes that were the definition of home and comfort.

“Breathe. Can you do that for me, baby?” He tried to take a deep breath but it only sent him into a coughing fit.

José was breathing in deeply, exaggerating for Brock’s sake.

“Good. You just be followin’ me. Easy peasy, just in and out. You got this.”

For minutes they sat there on the bed.

Faces inches apart as Brock tried to copy his breathing pattern. Trying to make his lungs realise that the air wasn’t the enemy. That breathing was a good thing.

José eyes shone with worry. He had never seen Brock like this. So out of it.

As he got his breath under control, he could feel his skin prickle from the intimacy of what had just happened. He felt exposed.

It made him pull back from José. Made him avoid eye contact.

What the fuck was he doing?

“Okay?”

“Yeah, wow. Sorry.” He quickly got up from the bed, avoiding him, avoiding whatever had just happened. He felt a phantom pain in his ankle and wanted to scream.

Just a dream. Nothing more.

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was all ‘bout?” The care and worry in his voice made him want to cry.

If he closed his eyes he could make himself believe that this was more than just fucking.

That what they were doing was the beginning of a restart to their relationship and not just a mistake that kept on happening.

“I need a drink,” This was all getting too real. He could feel his frail heart already getting cracks. The glue and tape he had used to repair it after last time slowly dissolving.

“Brock,” He was crawling over the bed, trying to reach for his hand.

“I am getting a drink”

“B…”

He walked out of the bedroom to find the rest of the wine, using it as an excuse to also get a single moment alone.

He knew that he was giving mixed signals, knew that José was probably sitting on the bed confused.

But fuck, he couldn’t take the idea of getting comforted by him, knowing that it was only temporary.

Knowing that the moment this tour was over he would go back to L.A. and Brock would…

Go somewhere else.

Finding the wine, forgotten on a table, he quickly downed both glasses. Feeling more centred after tasting the perfect mixture of sweetness and acidity on his tongue.

“Now really-“ the loud voice from the bedroom pulled him out of his musing.

“José, I do not want to talk about this,”

Pouring one more glass, Brock could feel all of his walls getting back in place, his armour covering him like a second skin.

He needed to protect himself.

Or stop this.

Either one.

Taking a deep breath, relishing the fact that the air didn’t get caught somewhere between his throat and lungs, he walked back into the bedroom.

“Well that’s too bad Brookie poo, cause I ain’t asking, I’m telling. So you best sit that lovely lil ass down and start splaining. What happened?”

The worry was etched into every corner of his face, the slant of his brows and the downward turn of his mouth giving the illusion that he cared more about Brock than him just being a good lay.

José must have gotten better at his acting since the season had ended.

“You can leave if you want,” Brock was tired. His body felt like it had run a marathon while his mind was going in circles, spiralling out of control as the horror of the dream mixed with the sweet torture of what he was doing to himself.

Really.

Casual sex with the ex that you still love? In what fucking universe was that ever going to work out.

“Shuddup! I ain’t leaving, so get talking.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he had his back turned toward him. He couldn’t look at him and see that worry.

It hurt too much.

“My foot. I-I.. broke my foot.” It was a nightmare that he had suffered through countless of times, breaking a limb one of the biggest fears of a ballet dancer. But it had been years since he had last had it.

“When?”

“No, in the dream. I broke my foot. In the dream. During a performance.” he could still hear it.

Snap

Could still see the shock in Vanjie’s eyes as he fell.

“Babe… it wasn’t real,” A hand was tentatively running up and down his back. Brock hated how his body betrayed him, as he felt himself relax under the touch.

“But what if it had been?”

“That stupid, cause it ain’t, no use in thinking about it, Boo… put down the wine and come back to bed.” The bed rustled lightly, as a small kiss was placed on his shoulder.

And then one more. And more.

“Fuck. I-I….” he could feel all his defences falling away. He could deal with the utter feeling of despair tomorrow. Tonight he could bury himself in José and hide away from the reality of what they were doing. Placing the glass on the side table he moved to turn around.

“Brock, I get it, I get all of this.” All the effort that had been put into making him relax flew out the window, as his shoulders tensed.

“Shut up, you don’t fucking know shit-“ he moved away from the bed, standing up so he could look him in the eye.

“Stop.” It was amazing how one word could have such an effect. José looked him calmly in the eye, his face displaying too many emotions for Brock to decipher. “I get it, Mami. You think my ADD ass don’t get panicky too?”

Of course.

“I… shit. Sorry, I’m all over the place,” all the anger left him, his shoulders dropping as he realised how stupid all of this was.

“Don’t go all Canadian on me, bitch. You remembered your meds?”

All he could do was nod. His whole body felt heavy. The dream, the panic attack and even this conversation were catching up with him.

“Good. Wanna came back to bed. You look dead on your feet, Mami.”

Slowly he got back into bed. José turning off the light and draping himself all over him.

It should have felt comforting.

His presence should have shut up the voices in Brock’s head.

Instead, it just reinforced how much he missed this.

Him.

Them.

Together.

——————

Jason has been a champ. Leaving them alone for a whole day, even though José knew that he wanted to drag them outside.

The weather was, for once, amazing in England, and they should enjoy it while they could.

Jason had been a Good Judy and left them alone to fuck each other into oblivion.

But even the best of Judy’s had a limit.

So you guys ready to actually go and get something to eat or are you still “catching” up? - J

Shut. Up. Jason. B don’t kno u kno. So be cool - V

He had left Brock in his room, needing some new clothes and a shower, and just a moment to go through the night on his own.

The sex had left him slightly raw, the intensity and emotion had been amazing and terrifying.

They were so good together… physically.

There were so much trust, so much love and so much care… and yet.

The moment you involved feelings and the mere idea of commitment, it would all crumble. Something happened to both of them when they were asked to deal with the idea of being monogamous.

It made Brock run away and hide, while José instead started having unreasonable expectations of his boyfriend being the personification of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

It was why they had broken up.

But the sex though…

The sex was out of this world, it had been then and it was now.

There were still feelings. Still a whole lotta love.

Yeah. But you best be silent and say nothin’… he ain’t looking good today. - V

He didn’t. When José had left the room he had looked lost and tired in a way that he never had before.

The nightmare had really shaken him.

To be honest, it had also scared José. Waking up to Brock’s scream had been terrifying, and it had taken every ounce of self-control to not go into full panic mode.

But he had managed.

Barely.

He had wanted to talk it through with him this morning, but Brock has withdrawn from him, almost cheering with relief when Jason had written, as it seemed to give him the perfect excuse to kick out José.

His phone chimed, bringing him out of his thought spiral.

Miss Vanjivanjie! Move your ass, we’re waiting for you! - J

Putting on his cap, he grabbed his fanny pack and walked out of the room.

Time to be social.

——————

It had been a long day.

They were their usual messy Branjie idiots.

Shopping, doing Instagram lives and eating amazing food.

The weather was ridiculously hot, and they were all soaked with sweat.

That didn’t stop them from going to a club.

Didn’t stop José from dancing all night long.

Didn’t stop him from cosying up with every guy in the club.

He could feel his eyes on him. The way they were tracing every inch of his body.

He could just imagine him sitting in the corner with his beer and scowling, probably not even participating in the conversation that Jason was trying to have with him.

He knew this game.

Had played it multiple times.

Smirking, he leaned closer to the tall blonde man in front of him. Seductively touching his bare chest, licking his lips suggestively.

He could almost feel the anger from across the room.

He was cute. But José had no intention of going home with him.

None.

It wasn’t about the trade looking hopefully at him but instead about the scowling blonde sitting in the corner.

He wanted to go home with that idiot.

His idiot.

“So… you wanna get out of here?” Those words would normally have made him shiver in anticipation, but the prospect of going home with the angry Canadian was way more enticing than this hopeful hunk of a man.

“Nah, bitch. I’m just waitin’ for this fine ‘tender to give me ma drink. Hoes gotta stay hydrated, ya know,” he kept on touching him, though. He needed the illusion, as it would turn Brock into a green-eyed monster that would give him exactly what he needed.

A jealous Brock had always been his favourite.

“You sure?” He looked pointedly as the hand still caressing his chest, indicating that he was giving him very mixed signals.

“Oh yeah babe, I got my eyes on the prize tonight, and Mary, we ain’t leaving ‘till I’ve got it. You see that tall blonde scowling at us? Wearing a dumbass t-shirt and ridiculous shorts?” He leaned closer still, whispering in his ear, knowing how it would look from Brock’s perspective, feeling giddy with the anticipation of the night to come.

“Yeah.”

“He my stupid idiot ex.”

“No, really?”

“Yup and imma need yo assti-asssisi… your help to make sure that he gon give me that good dick tonight,”

“I don’t think you need help, he looks ready to kill me,”

“Trust me, baby… You gon be important in helping me get what I want. Best believe. So you in?”

“You’re hot… so, why not?”

“That’s the spirit, mama!”

—————-

He was dancing. Though dry humping was probably a more apt description of what was going on.

He had lost the blonde trade a while ago, changing partners with every number, knowing that his moves were luring everybody in and not caring.

He didn’t want them.

New hands gripped his hips, and he followed them, ready to use the newcomer to accomplish his plan.

“I know what you’re doing,” the whisper sent a shiver through his body. He knew that voice well.

It was dripping with promises of long nights and pleasurable pain.

He leaned back against the arms that were circling him, slowly moving to the rhythm, wanting to turn around, but knew that the right grip would stop any attempt.

It wasn’t a part of their game.

“Oh really, Mami. And what’s that,” grinding back into Brock, feeling his arousal, grinning because that meant that he had won.

“You’re misbehaving,” one hand went underneath his barely-there tank top, and it took every ounce of self-control that José had in him, not to turn into a puddle of want on the dance floor.

He could feel the power and jealousy that was rolling of the blond. He knew he was in for a night.

“And so if I am?” He was happy that the music was loud, otherwise, the whole club would have been able to hear his whiny moans.

“Well,” the world was whispered right next to his ear, the warmth of his breath, adding to the need that José felt all over, “I guess I’ll have to punish you, then.”

His teeth softly grazed his ear, making a broken moan escape José’s lips, his eyes closing and body shivering in anticipation…

He was ready to turn around, get on his knees and just suck him off right then and there. Not a single care about the people in the club.

He loved it when Brooke got like this. When he was exuding dominance.

“What are you gonna do, boo?” The arms around him tightened for a second and then they were gone.

The loss of touch happened so quickly that it took José a moment to gather his wits and turn around, preparing himself to meet the steely gaze of a jealous Brock.

Instead, what he found was a crowd of dancing club goers.

Brock not anywhere in sight.

He had left.

That. Fucker.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #nina west #hurt/comfort #angst #post break-up #canon compliant #notebooks and post its #thankyoumissvanjie #tw alcohol abuse #tw dom/sub undertones #s11

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chronicbatfictioner · 5 years

Text

A Real Boy - Chapter 22

"So... King Kong is real, and even Solovar don't know what to do with it."

"Technically--" Barbara started, and then changed her mind. "Forget it. I can't even-- I don't even know what's real or not real but is... real, anymore."

Dick placed his elbow on the table and chin on his hand. "I'm with you in this. But if you're gonna say that 'technically Solovar of Gorilla City is King Kong', you're not wrong. Just... this King Kong is about three, four storeys' tall. And Solovar himself isn't even eight feet tall. He's like, seven-foot-two? Something?"

"I'm lost." Tim admitted, as he walked in to the room in the middle of the conversation.

"Hi, Lost--"

"Grayson, no dad jokes. You're not a dad, yet." Jason interrupted.

"Did my bike get home in one piece?" Dick turned to Jason.

"Definitely not, it's in approximately 142 pieces between here and Sprang Bridge." Jason replied insolently.

"Oh, cool. Considering there are about 800 pieces on that thing, means the puzzle pieces that was my bike are still big enough to reassemble..." Dick responded idly.

Tim met Barbara's glare before simultaneously rolling their respective eyes.

"Uh, guys? King Kong?" Tim finally decided to press. "I know I'm not gonna like the answer. But I gotta ask, don't I?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't like it either, but I ended up facing it..." Dick replied, shifting. Tim finally noticed and realized that under the fitted V-necked shirt, there were parallel bulges. Slight enough to not be noticed, if Tim hasn't seen the sliver of white under Dick's collar.

"You're injured." Jason, who apparently noticed the same thing, commented first.

"Pretty much. Bruised ribs, several stitches--"

"Dozen. Several dozen stitches," Barbara corrected.

"--several dozen stitches. And they all came from a freakin' King Kong."

"Dick was the damsel in distress, shrieks and all. Only Kong wasn't looking to like, rescue him from the nasties that is Men's World, but rather to devour him or something." Barbara elaborated. "And I have the only unedited footage, complete with sound."

"Dibs on watching it!" Jason exclaimed.

"It squished me." Dick said, looking almost proud. "And I gotta say that was the first I've seen Kong vs Elephant."

"Zitka was... clearly unhappy and expanded herself to be bigger than the Kong. Rammed herself onto Kong and freed Dick. The others... Arsenal was then able to shoot it with enough tranquilizer to sedate... --uh..."

"Ten gorillas?" Jason's unsuccessful attempt to not smirk was all too visible.

"Yeeeah, thereabout. Probably closer to like, twenty gorillas from Gorilla City that are larger than common gorillas by default..." Dick concluded. "And then Donna Troy moved it from Downtown Manhattan to... I dunno where she brought Kong to." he admitted.

"Best to not know, really. It was re-shrunk into its ordinary size - which is, as anyone would suspect, that of a common silverback gorilla..." Barbara finished. "Sooo... you guys got Cthulhu, I've heard."

"What the hell's going on, anyway? We've got literal made-up creatures coming out the wazoo..." Jason groused.

"I thought Cthulhu was real...?" Barbara queried.

"It is - the species. But not as massive as the one we saw on campus. Just like your Kong." Jason explained. "So yeah, what the hell...?"

"Those creatures were made up. Man-made with... Well, I'd say Lovecraft probably had the better prosaic description of the one we saw. But a massive Kong was absolutely... unimaginative." Tim remarked. "I'm just hoping that whoever did this won't do Jurassic Park next..."

"I would probably roll my eyes so hard at the first live T-rex or velociraptors I see, shoot them damn things and make steaks." Dick growled. His eyes suddenly widen. "I am, however, hoping this person isn't a sci-fi fan..." he said dramatically, glaring alternatively at Jason, Barbara, and then Tim.

Tim groaned exasperatedly. "If I see a Jabba or an ewok, organic or not, I'm gonna change them back to plastic."

Jason gasped mockingly. "But Tim! There could be creatures like them anywhere else in the universe! It's like we're alone in the whole universe!"

"Oh shut up." Tim snarled at him. "Eh... wait..." a thought suddenly hit him. "They were all man-made, organic, and sentient."

"I seriously could see a lightbulb switched on in his head..." Dick remarked as Tim mulled his thoughts, which promptly changed into the thought of 'what if all humans or magi would have an image of a lightbulb getting switched on whenever they got a brilliant idea?'

Fortunately the split second question did not interrupt Tim's main line of thoughts at all.

"They weren't supposed to be alive, or sentient, or exist. Or organic. Sizes notwithstanding..." Tim muttered under his breath after the pictures of his thought lined up a little neater in his mind.

"The person has the same powers as yours?" Barbara hazarded a guess.

"I can't make living things out of inanimate ob--" Tim said, and stopped abruptly. "Where is Lex Luthor now?"

"Belle Reve, last I checked," came Bruce's voice. "he's constantly undergoing psychiatric evaluation on daily basis. He's still there and has no contact with either his former associates or employees."

"How well do you trust the staff at Belle Reve?" Tim insisted. "I mean, he managed to make Conner. He's the only one who had managed to turn an effigy - a statue - into a human being!"

Bruce glared at Tim contemplatively - at least that was what Tim hoped for, and not anger out of Tim's insolence in doubting him.

"The staff at Belle Reve is... commanded by Amanda Waller, a staunch proponent of controlling magickal abilities and artifacts for the good of humankind, regardless of their magickal abilities or lack thereof. She will not let Luthor meddle with anyone under her watch." Bruce explained. "Some things Waller has done that I... generally do not approve of. She is a warlock, you see. But like me, she had opted for protection rather than destruction. Her methods still made me cringe, sometimes. But it is... out of my jurisdiction."

Tim could see that Bruce was gritting his teeth for the last few sentences, and Barbara confirmed his suspicion by saying, "she's like, a government-sanctioned agent. She could and has actually applied the death sentence and perform... experimental methods upon her inmates."

"Oh," now Tim cringed, too. It was public secret that the government - their government - has agencies that were authorized to do things that would be frowned upon by general morality, and that was just Tim's brain being nice. Human experimentation - through magickal or other means - was at the forefront of the reasons. Not surprisingly, death sentence was far further in the list.

Still, there was a more important question in Tim's mind that was not answered by either Bruce or Barbara.

"But do you trust her enough not to use Luthor's abilities for her own advantage?" Tim insisted.

The quiet that followed was punctuated by a distant screech of a bat, as if mocking their sudden silence filled with blatant uncertainty.

"I do not." Bruce finally said after some good long seconds. "I should have given you excuses and reasons on why, but I cannot provide you with answers that will not sound like a cliché."

"Good to know that you're not a typical adult who'd say we youngins should trust our government implicitly and explicitly." Tim deadpanned.

"I wouldn't still be here if he's like that. I'll check if Waller is in any way complicit or in any way behaving differently in the past... well, through the times of the strange goings-on, really. You'll need a broad data points to see patterns, right?" Barbara asked, and Tim froze a little at just how easy it seemed for Barbara to offer an activity that would generally constituted to a 'Big Brother' type of thing. Barbara, probably sensing his uneasiness, smiled and added, "no, Tim, I don't watch her 24/7 deliberately. But we do live in a kind of Big Brother country, after all. She was the one suggesting that the government keep watch over all of its citizens."

"Barbara just figured out ways to keep certain people out of the loop, like - you know - what the government itself would do for their secret agents and CIA and stuff." Dick elaborated.

"But if she's like, out of the loop...?" Tim hesitated.

"That's what I did, she can keep the government watching common people and hide her own people - or people like her; but she can't hide from me." Barbara smirked. "The Oracle's Tiara made it possible for me to manipulate cameras and programs to literally show what is hidden. So no, there's no need for me to keep watch on people 24/7. I'm not that dedicated. Or have nothing better to do with my time..."

"Oh, cool," Tim was interested this time. "If, say, I want to know where Dick is at certain time and date, you can find that out." he ascertained.

"Yes, if I allowed you to. But no, Tim, I don't stalk Dick, either." Barbara chuckled.

"Yeah, no... that was just an example 'cause I think Dick and Bruce - at least - would've been hidden from the government cams, anyway. But... not your cams, right?" Tim spluttered. "I mean, I've made sure that all recordings of me would at least be distorted - if not destroyed - every time I did something magickal in public..."

"...and you've done a very good job that none of us even know of your existence. I figured that if you can hide that well, it shouldn't be a big trouble for you to figure out how to reverse engineer your trick to find what you want to find, yes?" Bruce hinted, not-so-subtly.

Tim glared at him, blinking owlishly, more lost in his own thoughts than anything else as methods after methods of reverse 'engineering' camera filters started spinning in his mind.

"Right," Bruce nodded. "Just let Barbara know what you need and how we can help." he decided.

"I haven't even say I'll do it!" Tim protested out of habit.

"Your mouth denies it, but your entire body language is already trying to figure out how to solve this, little Timmy!" Dick chuckled. "So let's! I want to know how King Kong came to happen and if I can use it to make a bat that I can ride on!"

#Tim Drake #Jason Todd #JayTim #Dick Grayson #Barbara Gordon #Alfred Pennyworth #Zitka #because Zitka deserves to be mentioned in a tag #Lex Luthor #Amanda Waller #Oracle #Magi!AU #no-capeAU

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stargleeksil-blog · 6 years

Text

Criminal Minds S07E07 “There’s No Place Like Home”

Episode 07 – There’s No Place Like Home

Hey guys!

So, I am kind of excited about this episode, because the title is implying tornadoes, storms and chaos, oh my. And also some amazing references that I am hoping will crop up - fingers crossed ...

So without any further ado, my pretties.

Let’s see what unfolds and let’s prance down the yellow brick road towards murder.

“Finally got him down.”

“The Ibuprofen must have kicked in.”

“It’s about some missing kids.”

“Please don’t walk away like that.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“I know this is hard on you. On all of us.”

“Look, if I had someone to cover my shifts, I would.”

“What if it was Henry?”

“What if it was?”

“You’d want someone out there looking for him.”

“I wasn’t helping anyone there, Will.”

“Fine, I’ll tell them I can’t come in.”

“I was supposed to have time off.”

“Henry’s not feeling well.”

“You don’t have to be here.”

“Ah, I get antsy when I’m gone too long.”

“And thanks for the team’s donation to ALS in Carolyn’s name. She would have appreciated it.”

“So how are you doing?”

“I’m okay. It’s funny, though. We were divorced 20 years. And I never missed her as much as I do right now.”

“Hey, you. Welcome back.”

“Good to be back, Penelope.”

I love their friendship.

“We’re ready when you are, sir.”

“The bodies of two unidentified boys were found near Wichita, Kansas, a week apart.”

“Both were Caucasian and between the ages of fifteen and seventeen.”

“They were each found mangled in the aftermath of a tornado.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what did them in. The ME has determined that the case of death was blunt force trauma to the head before the storms hit.”

“Well, the death blow in each case was in almost exactly the same spot.”

“Now, what about all the other damage to their bodies? Some of their limbs are missing.”

“Yeah, victim number one, his right leg was taken off. Victim number two, both arms were severed. But was that because of the tornado or the unsub?”

“The ME still hasn’t discovered that. He’s a busy guy. Major storms have hit the area. 23 dead. The morgue is slammed.”

“It fits the unsub. He’s got a hell of a sadistic streak.”

“Well, a tornado would clear the air and give the unsub the privacy to do his thing.”

“He may be using the storm as the body disposition modality. Forensic countermeasure, wind, hail, rain, mother nature destroys the crime scene.”

“Or he wants us to think mother nature actually committed the murders.”

“What concerns me is the brief periods between kills.”

“Only a week. He’s moving fast.”

“We need to move faster. Garcia, get me IDs on all the victims.”

“I’m a gale-force wind.”

“Wheels up in thirty.”

“Oh, and pack for foul weather.”

“The forecast is nasty.”

George Gissing: “For the man sound of body and serene of mind, there is no such thing as bad weather. Every day has its beauty. And storms which whip the blood do but make it pulse more vigorously.”

“Right in the middle of tornado alley.”

“If this unsub is using tornadoes as a forensic countermeasure, then Kansas certainly is the ideal setting.”

“Tornadoes do pose a significant threat.”

“During this year’s super outbreak back in April, there are 336 confirmed tornadoes in just several days, resulting in over 300 lives lost.”

Ding dong

“Hey. Tell us something good, mama.”

“Okay, I’ve IDed your victims. I’m putting this all on your tablets if you’d like to follow along.”

“First up is Jason Meredith, 16-year-old runaway from Garden City, Kansas. Mom said he took off over a year ago.”

“Next up is Eric Janelle, 15-year-old kid form Wichita. He’s been gone three weeks.”

“Oh, both of these kids have records for possession and prostitution.”

“They were street hustlers.”

“At-risk teens. This could be a sexual predator.”

“An extremely violent one if the unsub is responsible for the damage done to the bodies, especially those missing limbs.”

“Well, now, he could be keeping the body parts for some sort of fetish.”

“Oh, okay, eew. That is my cue.”

“I’m here if you need me with my binary machines that don’t say gross things.”

She’s so cute!

Is he praying? Oh Rossi.

“I didn’t know you were a bad flyer.”

“I’m not. I just hate turbulence.”

“You know, turbulence very rarely causes planes to crash.”

“That does me absolutely no good at the moment.”

“Thank you.”

“What we really need to worry about are microbursts, sudden downbursts of air associated with thunderstorms.”

Someone needs to shield my poodle from this angry stallion.

“But a small craft like this, if we hit one of those at the wrong attitude

–

pulverized.”

Oh Reid.

“I beg of you to make him stop.”

JJ already has Will and Henry to deal with, why add poodle to her list of worries?

“Well, the unsub definitely has his own mode of transportation. This is way up the beaten path.”

“And the first victim, Jason Meredith, was found over thirty miles away.”

“You say you were able to clear this place before the storm hit?”

“I didn’t know you could do that for tornadoes.”

“Okay, so the unsub either found a way in or he was already here and he hid during the evacuation.”

“That, or the body got sucked up into the funnel cloud and was thrown there from someplace else.”

“Either way, he came into close contact with this storm. Maybe even close enough to put himself in danger.”

“Or he waited someplace safe for it to pass and came back and dumped the body.”

“No, I think the storm itself actually means something to this guy.”

“You don’t think he’s just using it to cover his tracks?”

“I played ball in college with a guy from Indiana. He said he and his boys used to get drunk and then chase storms. Said it was the closest they could get to the true power of God.”

“Okay, so he’s impulsive, probably young, maybe a loner with nothing to lose.”

“We should be looking at actual storm-chasers.”

“Where can we find them?”

“They mostly work with the university.”

Well, crap.

“You think this guy’s educated.”

“Well, he knows enough about the weather to use it to his advantage.”

“So far it’s working.”

“Here you go.”

“When was the last time you saw Jason?”

“Do you know why he would leave home?”

“And how did Jason cope with that?”

“So it sounds like you and Eric were pretty good friends.”

“Your foster mom said that you used to get in a lot of fights before Eric got there.”

“So he looks out for you.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“We found him a couple of days ago.”

“He took the news about Eric pretty well.”

“Tough kid.”

“I guess they have to be. They’re all alone.”

“Each of the victims had a strong protective instinct and was looking out for somebody else besides themselves.”

“Maybe the unsub is keying on that.”

“Boys like that are hard to fool.”

“What if he used to be one of them?”

“I mean, those kids would see right through someone trying to be a poseur.”

“If his MO is connected to the weather, he’s gonna try to grab another boy soon.”

“Identical blows to the head.”

“They had alcohol and dextromethorphan in their systems?”

“It’s cough syrup.”

“It’s a cheap high, if you can steal it.”

“And these two had a whole lot of it on board.”

“What were you able to from all the damage to the bodies?”

“Mostly?”

“I’m guessing with an axe or a cleaver.”

“Cut off postmortem.”

“They both have ligature marks on their wrists and ankles, at least what they have left of them.”

“He held them before the kill.”

“Was there any sign of sexual assault?”

Nope. Even if there were, the tornado probably cleaned it up real good.

“So, he guts them drunk and high, he restrains them, kills them, and cleaves off a limb as a souvenir.”

“Then he dumps the body and lets the storm clean up his mess.”

“But why the souvenir?”

“What or who, exactly, is he trying to remember?”

“Okay, time to go.”

And get out of that creepy morgue with the sandwich-eating ME who handles dead people and eatsd in the same room .... gross.

“Name’s Gary Dyson. Sixteen. Runaway from Kansas City.”

“This particular area get hit with a tornado last night?”

“The weather’s gotta be the trigger.”

“He’s following the patterns.”

“We track the storms, we find the unsub.”

“Forensic evidence has been washed away. But behaviorally, it’s the most intact crime scene we’ve encountered so far.”

“It’s the same blow to the head, but no cuts, no abrasions.’

“Except he’s missing his torso.”

“It was only a matter of time before he missed one.”

“Tornadoes are extremely unpredictable and sometimes last only a matter of minutes before they dissipate.”

“The fact that he was able to leave his previous victims directly in the path of one is astounding.”

“So the conditions were perfect last night, but his tornado never came.”

“It’s only been four days.”

“He’s accelerating.”

“And the weather’s driving him to do it.”

“Guys, we know that fetishists are loyal to the body parts they take, but I think that this unsub is loyal to the whole of these parts.”

“If you were to take the missing pieces from all the victims so far, you could almost assemble an entire body.”

“So he’s not taking bodies apart, he’s putting one together.”

Yup.

“We’re looking for a white male in his mid- to late-20s. He’s mobile and he travels great distances to follow storms.”

“He’s probably in a tuck or a van.”

“We believe he may live in that vehicle. It’s probably beat up, maybe rusted from the elements.”

“Sorry.”

“Jeffrey Dahmer, serial killer, was under the illusion that he could create young male sex zombies that wouldn’t resist his advances.”

“And when Dahmer’s test subjects died, he kept their body parts souvenirs.”

“Skulls, hearts, even genitalia.”

“Restoring body parts is no small task. They’re gonna get ripe fast.”

“He needs lots of ice, salt, maybe, something to preserve them.”

“And he’s paying for all that stuff somehow. Gas, too.”

Uh-oh.

“He doesn’t have the social skills to hold a job for long, so he’s most likely a day laborer, handyman, anything transitory.”

“We think he’s using the weather as a forensic countermeasure to destroy evidence, but we also think he might be some sort of symphoraphiliac.”

“Sorry, symphora what?”

I’m with that cop.

“Uh, excuse me.”

“Symphoraphiliacs – they’re sexually aroused by disasters.”

“Usually fires or traffic accidents. In this case, the weather must enhance his excitement.”

“He hunts street kids, so he may be from a similar background.”

“And he’s most likely uneducated, but he’s still charming enough to engage his victims.”

“We’ll talk to the press.”

“You should warn any transient kids you might know.”

“As this weather gets worse, so will the unsub.”

“Since when is a seizure fine?”

“But his fever broke.”

“Did you give his medicine this morning?”

“Did he feel warm?”

“Well, you checked, right?”

“Nothing. I … where is he now?”

“Okay. I’ll call you when my flight arrives.”

“Henry’s sick. I’m coming home.”

“Call you later?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh, it’s Henry. He had a whole seizure.”

“Will took him to the ER. He … he’s fine.”

“Apparently, it’s totally normal.”

“Look, I gotta get back home.”

“Of course.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Can I borrow the jet?”

“I think the budget oversight committee might not appreciate my generosity.

“Yeah, well, worth a shot, right?”

“Check in and let us know everything’s all right.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Hey, Hotch.”

“I’ve been thinking … the vast majority of unsub with this type of MO aren’t driven by the killing.”

“They’re really fascinated by the body parts.”

“Psychologically they exist in a realm where fantasy meets delusion. It’s basically the perfect blueprint for the creation of a serial killer …”

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Should probably get to the point.”

“I think I know how this unsub may have gotten started.”

“All right, the first victim was found missing his right leg, the second, both arms, and the third had no torso.”

“So that leaves the left leg unaccounted for.”

“We can assume the head would be the most difficult piece to find.”

“That part would have to fit an unsub’s fantasy perfectly.”

“So he’d most likely save it for last.”

“Now, what that tells us is there’s a victim out there we haven’t found yet who’s missing his left leg.”

“Or the unsub hasn’t acquired it yet.”

“True, but most body part collectors evolve to this level, and in many cases they exhume bodies for parts before they start killing.”

“All right, let me call Garcia.”

“So you think our unsub did the same thing.”

Was my poodle’s lecture unclear?

“PG at your service, don’t let the name fool you.”

“Baby girl, you’re on speaker.”

“Garcia, can you look for grave robberies in tornado alley over the last five years?”

“Okey-dokey.”

“Searching.”

“Oh. That’s a shockingly big list.”

“Who knew grave-robbing was so on trend?”

“How many of those involve the bodies of teenage boys?”

“Uh …”

“None.”

“What about morgues and funeral homes?”

“Momentito …”

“Again, that is a list that should not be that big.”

“Mostly stolen embalming fluid, though.”

“It’s often used like PCP, Garcia.”

“I’m feeling optimistic about the youth of America.”

“There are no teenagers involved in this either.”

“All right, try looking for thefts involving body parts, specifically left legs.”

“Okay, ew! See, this is why I can’t talk about how my day was at dinner.”

“Breakfast, lunch.”

“Spencer, you scare me.”

“Join the club.”

Ha.

Hey!

“A left leg was stolen off a body a year ago at the Riggio Funeral Home in Tulsa.”

“They never found who did it.”

“Garcia, what was the weather like in the area at the time?”

“Uh, thunderstorms and tornadoes.”

Yup.

“An F2 cyclone hit right around there, and then the robbery took place after they evacuated.”

“It’s gotta be our unsub.”

“Wait, there’s more.”

“The guy whose leg was stolen, he was a 47-year-old father of two who died of leukemia.”

“That’s a huge jump.”

“Preferential child sex offenders don’t usually stray from their preferred age range.”

“It’s not about the sex at all.”

“He used the body from the funeral home to develop his MO so he could live out his fantasy and kill in a storm.”

“Whatever it is, this unsub won’t stop until he finds a perfect head.”

“That’s the final piece to his puzzle.”

“Hey. Thought you were out of here.”

“Flights are canceled ‘cause of the weather.”

“How’s Henry?”

“He’s headed home. Finally released him.”

Finally.

“That’s great news.”

“Where are you guys off to?”

“To the university to talk to some storm chasers.”

“Stay dry.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Who’s that with Hotch?”

“There’s been another abduction.”

“A boy named Shaun Rutledge. That’s his younger brother Billy.”

“He says a young white guy with an RV attacked him with a crowbar in the rain.”

“He’s also changed his victim selection criteria.”

“The boy he grabbed gets straight As, plays football, even volunteers at his church.”

“So he wanted him so badly, he was willing to leave a witness?”

“Which suggests he’s losing touch with reality and his delusions are starting to take over.”

“What is it about this kid that was so attractive to him?”

“He was teenage and Caucasian like the others, right?”

“We also think that a sexual element may actually not be at play.”

So then what the hell is driving this guy?”

“Maybe it’s love.”

“What if he’s trying to recreate someone he loves?”

“It is an emotion that drives us to extremes.”

“If he’s trying to recreate someone, it’s probably somebody he loved and lost.”

“Wait. You said he was with his big brother, right?”

“Holla at your girl.”

“Baby girl, I need those great big beautiful brains of yours.”

“Jazz hands ready. Gimme.”

“Okay, look at all the teenage male victims or tornadoes in the last ten years. Same geography as before.”

“That would be male, 13 to 18 … 42.”

“How many victims had younger brothers that survived/”

“Uh … ten.”

“The unsub might have been a high-risk kid.”

No shit.

“Garcia, how many of the survivors have criminal records?”

“I got two for you.”

“First up is 27-year-old Justin Harris, had a DUI in 2008. Next is 22-year-old Travis James.”

“Ooh, little troublemaker. Shoplifting, possession, and prostitution. Oh, my.”

“And all when he was a minor.”

“You got a home address or a vehicle registered in his name?”

“Uh-uh. None.”

“You got a photo on this guy?”

“It’s on your tablet right now.”

“All right, this is a composite sketch from the description the kid gave.”

“Old school.”

Huh? What’s going on?

“Oh, my God. This poor kid.”

“In 2001, Travis James lost his big brother Tucker and his mom Jan when a tornado hit the McCleary Trailer Park in Enid, Oklahoma.”

“So our guy’s a local.”

Oops.

“Oh, that’s great.”

“Hang on, Garcia. The power just went out.”

“Garcia, I think we’re good. Keep going.”

“Sometime before this evil tornado touched down, Travis, along with five other boys, testified against a one Roscoe Gulch.”

“For what?”

“It appears that this Gulch character was a notorious pedophile in the area, and he was a resident of the same trailer park as Travis and his family.”

“It looks like brother Tucker had confronted this Gulch person lots of times. He even broke the creep’s nose once.”

“He was protecting his little brother.”

Cutie.

“Oh. And then the plot thickens. According to a statement from Travis, right after Gulch was acquitted, he and his brother went to Gulch’s mobile home.”

“Travis said he saw the mobile home get swallowed up by the tornado. And when he came out there was nothing left.”

“He was found in pieces. It took his DNA and dental records to ID him.”

“Travis went into foster care and he was reported missing in 2003. He ran away.”

“Ten years ago his brother got ripped apart, and now he’s trying to put him back together?”

Frankenstein, anyone?

This reminds me of something.

“But why start killing now?”

Good question.

“Garcia, send me current weather reports for the area, including radar images if you have them.”

“Ask and you shall receive.”

“It is on your tablets.”

“With the weather in the area, he’s going to be so excited, he won’t wait.”

“He’ll take the boy to the closest area with the most activity.”

“That’s right around here, just southeast of us.”

“It’s Frankenstein.”

“What?”

“The unsub isn’t trying to put his brother back together, he’s trying to bring him back from the dead.”

“He believes that tornadoes have the power to take life, so conversely, they should have the power to restore it.”

“We’ll pick up Rossi and Prentiss on the way. Let’s go.”

“Garcia, what have you got?”

“Sir, I found your trigger.”

“A year ago, a tornado ripped through a cemetery near Tulsa. One of the 53 graves that was disturbed was that of Tucker James.”

“His brother was killed by a storm, then his memorial was destroyed by one.”

“Now he’s using both to build a memorial of his own.”

“Now that he has that boy’s head, the delusion will completely to take over.”

“Garcia, those storm chasers at the university we talked to, they should be out in full force.”

“I’m sending you their number now. Tell them to be on the lookout for the unsub’s RV.”

“And, Garcia, patch into their radio chatter.”

“They’ll know where the storms are.”

“On it, my pretties.”

“We need to head into those areas with the most precipitation.”

“So make a right at the next intersection.”

“It should be Pawnee Road.”

“Hey, how exactly are we supposed to chase this storm?”

“The unsub won’t actually chase the storm.”

“To get close to it, you have to get in front of it.”

“It’s a little like playing chicken.”

It’s official, I iam un-American ... I have no idea what playing chicken is ... is that like when a kid is being stupid an drunning after something that might hurt it andx then running away? Oh, I get it, cuz chickens are stupid ... oh my god ,I cannot believe I had to actually think about this.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“It’s frozen.”

“Hey, Hotch. We just lost the internet.”

Worst thing to ever happen.

“I’m frozen up, too.”

“The weather must be affecting the upload.”

“I’m patching Garcia in.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Garcia, we just lost our internet and we need you to guide us into the storm.”

“Consider me your eyes and ears, sir.”

“Okay, guys, a twister has been spotted near Rose Hill just south of your position. The storm-chaser dudes are calling it a landspout.”

“We don’t want that one. Landspout tornadoes are relatively insignificant.”

“Where to, then?”

“Garcia, look for hook echoes on your monitor.’

“Hey, hook echoes.”

“Yeah. Okay, I’m gonna do that.”

“Just tell me what they are.”

“They’re swirling hook-like radar signatures that look surprisingly like what you’d expect them to.”

“Okay. Uh …”

“No, I don’t see anything like that.”

“They’ll likely form in those red and violet areas on the map.”

“I don’t see anything that looks even remotely like that.”

“Okay, they shouldn’t be too far from our current positions. He’s close.”

“Oh, God.”

“No, wait ...”

“Wait, yes!”

“Yes, I see it.”

“Oh, that’s gotta be it. Yes, ye…”

She’s just the cutest thing ever!

“Where, Garcia?”

“Oh, no, no.’

That’s never good.

“What? What is it?”

“There are two.”

“We’ll have to split up.”

“Which way, Garcia?”

“Uh, okay. Half of you can stay in your current heading.”

“The other half, make a … right on Meadowlark Road.”

“Morgan, take Meadowlark Road. We’ll keep going.”

“Got it.”

“Hey, I just got a hit from the storm-chaser dudes on the RV. You guys are the closest.”

GPS - Garcia Positioning System ... sorry .. I just couldn’t help myself.

“Where are we talking, Garcia?”

“Heading east on Summer Road just north of your position, make a left on Prairie Creek.”

“It’s the next left.”

“You got it.”

“Hang on, guys.”

Uh oh, reckless Derek driving!

“What’s that up there? Near the old house.”

Whoops, poodle spotted something with his little eye.

“Travis James, FBI!”

“Put the weapon down!”

“We can’t do that, Travis.”

“Just let Shaun go and we can work this out.”

“That’s his name, you know.”

“He has a little brother, too.”

“We know you saw them when you attacked them.”

“Travis, Tucker would not want this. He would want to protect you like he did with Roscoe Gulch. Just let him go and we can help you.”

“I’m telling you, we need to cover now!”

Yeah, no kidding, dude!

“Come on, man, put the weapon down!”

“Put it down!”

.... The fuck did we just witness?

Did that twister just sweep a dude? FUCK!

At least they saved the kid.

Here’s how my honeys deal with a Gale-force twister:

Arthur Golden: “Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.”

Aww, momma bear is callin ghome, I love JJ so much.

“So the weather’s supposed to break tomorrow. I should be home sometimes in the afternoon.”

“I’ll call and let you know for sure.”

“Yeah. Sort of. It’s kind of weird.”

“I’m … I’m fine. It’s just … been a really long day.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry about everything.”

“So, uh, is he still up?”

I love this kid!

“Hi! Hi, little man.”

“How … how are you?”

“I heard you, um, you went to the doctor.”

“Not yet, buddy. Tomorrow. I promise.”

“So, are you ready for story time?”

“Yeah? Okay.”

“Daddy, you ready?”

Daddy is ready.

“Bedtime for Baby Star.”

“Once there was a Baby Star, he lived up near the sun. and every night at bedtime, that Baby Star wanted to have some fun. He would shine and shine and fall and twinkle, oh, so bright, and he said, ‘Mommy, I’ll run away if you make me say good night’. And then his mommy kissed him on his sparkly nose and said, ‘No matter where you go, no matter where you are, no matter how big you grow, and even if you stray far … I’ll love you forever, ‘cause you’ll always be my Baby Star’.”

“Good night.”

This is the cutest kid in the world! (Aside from Jack Hotchner)

So this episode was all over the place - I was fearful for Henry’s health, for my pretties handling that weirdo in the tornado - that dude getting torn apart by that twister! Oh my! Also, the many - many - references from Garcia just made my day and the reference to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was pretty cool ... and lest we not forget that all the parents awards go to JJ and Will ... they really should tie the knot, they’re so cute together!

As ever, thank you ever so much for keeping up with my inconsistency in publishing these posts ... I’m just trying to get my shit together with these and I’m seriously lagging behind because my work (currently a call center representative taking messages for over 5,000 different companies) is demanding and toll-taking and sometimes I’m just not in the mood to review my facve show ... BLASPHEMY!

So I’mt rying to get back on track.

LOVE YOU GUYS

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chewie-redbird · 5 years

Text

Prologue

Author : chewie-redbird

Word Count : 2,826

Warnings : uh…….none yet

Summary : Lady Brooke Redbird returns back to the town she helped build and calls home to attend the highschool. It is hear that she meets someone who will forever hold her heart and will never forget about.

Characters : OC Character (Lady Brooke Redbird, and others), Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore & I think that's it…..

*A/N : I wrote this a while ago and posted it to Quotev on my account their. This was what got me back into writing and has helped me with dealing with the death of my Mom and 3 uncles that happened in 2 years time. It is because of these that my ability to write has fluctuated over these past months and only worsens with my Mom’s 1st Anniversary coming up on May 23rd…..3 days after my own birthday on May 20th. I am wanting to continue writing and finish this story as I have it all planned out in my head, just gotta get it onto here. I will try to focus more on this series but I may jump back and forth between a lot as I tend to come up with ideas and want to write them down and share them with you all. So I hope you guys like this story, it does have a few similarities with my fav char on The Vampire Diaries, the Myth, the Legend, the Baddest Bitch of All…...Katerina Petrova aka Katherine Pierce!!! And it will contain story elements or plots of many TV Shows or movies I love throughout it. All of which I do not claim any rights to anything that does come from other works!! They are supposed to be just shoutouts and show I love their work. Lady Brooke is loosely based off Sophia Bush’s character on One Tree Hill. I love her on the show and she was easily my fav char!!! Well I hope you enjoy and I’ll add the next chapters when I can!!

Screams echo….

People running….

I’m can’t move….

I’m scared….

A man moves towards me with a smile….

I scream for help….

I jolt up, looking around, slowly breathing, calming down seeing the back of the limo, I sigh when a voice says to me,

“Lady Redbird, we have arrived in Beacon Hills and are 20 minutes from the Redbird Manor” my driver says,

“Antwan, for the last time please, call me Brooke” I say smiling at him then look out the window.

I look down to see I my travel outfit, black silk with lace trim tank top, black cotton sweater with a couple of buttons down up, black leggings, red flats, emerald and diamond bracelet and an antique black iron necklace attached with a square emerald crystal. My sweater is a little wrinkled from me moving in my sleep, so I slightly get up smoothing it out. Then I continue to look out to see Beacon Hills while memories flash in my head. I remember when this town was a village back in 1890 and when I helped fund the new school in 1941.

We pull up to Redbird Lane, which my family’s manor is located on. As the limo turns onto the familiar driveway, we stop at the gate.

“Antwan Delaver” Antwan says passing his ID to the guard, who scans it, nodding to let us in as he buzzes the gate open.

We drive on in, passing big beautiful willow trees blowing in the wind, all which I planted as seeds and helped grow. Arriving at the front doors to Redbird Manor, Antwan gets out and helps bring in my luggage,

“Thanks Antwan, go unpack, get some sleep” I tell him while giving him a hug,

“Sure thing Brooke” Antwan smiles as he walks back to the limo driving it to the garage, grabbed his luggage and then heads towards his room on the 2nd Floor in the East Wing.

I head on up the staircase at the end of the hall leading to a landing, that splits off towards the East and West Wings. I head towards my master room located at the other side of the stairs, in between the East and West Wings. I begin to unpack, as I buzz Shelia on the intercom,

“Hey, Shelia can you come to my bedroom for a minute?” I say sweetly.

I am halfway unpacked as Shelia knocks on my bedroom door

“It’s open” I say putting new clothes I got while in my loft at Miami,

“Brooke, how was Florida?” Shelia says coming up to hug me,

“It was great, I loved the beach, especially all the shirtless guys” I tell her while smirking,

“And no shopping?” Shelia asks saddened,

“Well one must always make time for shopping” I say matter of factly,

“So how was my lovely assistant’s flight in the new jet?” I ask curious,

“You mean how much I love the new astronomically big jet”

Shelia smiles remembering her time on the jet.

I smile, happy that she was happy,

“So is the Beacon Hills High School’s Principal meeting me tomorrow?” I ask her.

“Yes, Principal Matthews will promptly meet you at 8:00 in the morning, I have already sent your grades over when I got here and already told him you were to start as a freshman as you were held back because of the homeschooling” Shelia tells me checking her cell phone smiling as she knows my grades and homeschooling are a lie,

“Thanks Shelia, your dismissed for the night, please tell the staff also.” I say in my closet looking for something to sleep in.

I finally decide on some new sleepwear for tonight, which all I got from Miami. My emerald green silk satin chemise with luxurious bespoke embroidery. Matched with black ultra thin tulle, scalloped edge and leavers-lace trim pantie briefs. And my emerald-green liquid-like silk-satin and midnight-black whisper-fine Chantilly lace frame robe besides my bed if need be.

After changing, I check my cell, calling someone I haven’t called in a while,

“Cleo? How’s Egypt?” I ask,

“Great, Redbird Industries is up 5% here” Cleo states,

“I miss you. I arrived back to our home” I say sitting on my king sized bed,

“I miss you too Brooke, I miss home” Cleo says at little sad,

“Maybe we should move up our yearly meet to next week?” I ask,

“I can after my fundraiser next week, but you know Amara hates short notice, she loves the Amazon too much” Cleo says laughing with me as we know how Amara will react,

“I’ll call Amara, but you have to call Mariko” I say playfully,

“Ugh come on, you know Mariko is still mad at me for Jason!” Cleo says a little annoyed,

“You two need to patch things up anyways, it’s been two years” I say lying on my emerald green fleur-de-lis and black background polyester blanket.

Cleo sighs, “Fine, but who’s gonna tell Bethany?”

“I will, since I’m making you reconnect with Mariko” I say

“Okay, I need to go, I have a lot of paper work to finish” Cleo complains,

“You always wait for the last minute to do your homework” I say laughing,

“I so don’t miss highschool, I don’t know how you do it” Cleo states,

“I love school, it helps me keep human, but I need to go to bed anyways” I say sleepily,

“Okay, goodnight sister” Cleo says,

“Goodnight sister” I say then hangup, putting my cell on the bedside table.

I lay back, curling up under my blanket and everything starts to go black as I drift off.

I wake up hearing a knock on my door,

“Yes” I sigh,

“Brooke, breakfast will be ready in an hour” Shelia tells me through the door,

“Thanks Shelia” I say sitting up yawning.

I get up putting on my emerald robe and walking to my bathroom, using the sink to splash water on my face. I turn around, walking to turn the shower on, then pick out a playlist to listen to. Eventually deciding on Bethany Joy Lenz, I walk over to hook up my cell to my stereo and play my music. Returning to the shower, taking off my robe and clothes, hopping in. After 15 minutes of singing along to “Elsewhere”, “When the Stars Go Blue” featuring Tyler Hilton, “Halo”, “Feel This” featuring Enation, “I Want Something That I Want” featuring Grace Potter and “We Belong”.

I get out and put on my robe, heading to the walk-in closest to pick out my outfit for the day. Looking through my clothes, I decide on a underwire strapless seamless bra, bowknot scalloped zigzag pattern lace brief panties, wine red polyester knee-length off the shoulder 3/4 length sleeves with lace fit and flare ball gown dress. I then put on my makeup, a black smokey eye with flared out eyelashes, blood red lipstick with bright lip gloss and blood red nail polish with a clear coat.

I decided on my emerald antique necklace, pear-shaped emerald with sterling silver ring on my right ring finger, emerald and diamond with sterling silver bracelet on my left wrist and square emerald with sterling silver earrings. I just let my reddish brown hair down and styled it so the ends feathered out.

I put on my black Louboutin six-inch ankle-heels, grabbed my wine red Prada tote purse, walk to my bedside table. Putting my black Gucci wallet and red Samsung Galaxy in my Prada tote purse, heading towards the door.

I eventually walk in the dining room, where on the side table is this beautiful breakfast. There's fruits, different types of eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, rice, sausages, oatmeal, cereals and yogurts. Milk, juices, water, mimosas and ice cubes in a bucket beside the food.

The big cherry wood dining table is set up with the red silk cover, white moth orchids in the center and red with gold fleur-de-lis porcelain plates.

I walk over to grab some watermelon slices, removed-calyx strawberries (calyx is the leafy steam), pitted-cherries, mango chunks and peach slices. Grabbed a core 16.5 oz. blanc wine glass, poured a special mix of port red wine and blood from a decanter. Bring my plate and wine glass to my spot at the head of west end of the table, sitting down starting to eat.

“So how's everyone doing with the move hear?” I ask taking a drink,

“Good, the kids have settled down just fine Lady Redbird” Miss Carlotta Byrd says, my Head Cook,

“Same here” Miss Slim Ventura says, my Head Maid,

“They love it out here in California”, my Stable Master McKenzie Hart says,

“Awe, does Haley and Seth liking their new school? How do Simone and Lana like the new mall? Is Ryan and Clark liking the school’s athletic department” I ask, eating a strawberry,

“Good, Haley and Clark are liking Devenford Prep, their favorite class is History” Miss Carlotta says eating some hash browns and scrambled eggs.

“Yes, Seth and Simone have settled in quite comfortably in their new rooms. Seth is trying out for the lacrosse team and Simone is loving the new mall” says Miss Ventura,

“Lana has already bought some new outfits for the year and Ryan is also trying out for the lacrosse team” Miss Hart tells me,

“We like to say thank you for putting in a good word so the kids will be in the same classes” Miss Carlotta tells me,

“Awe, no need you guys, you are family, hell, those kids feel like my nieces and nephews. You guys don’t know how much of appreciation I have for you keeping my family’s secret. Your families have been in service to mine for generations, I will do anything to repay the debt. As long as you love it here, I’m happy, you know why my family must constantly move. You know of the danger and yet you still stay here, so thank you” I say smiling.

I finished my breakfast when Antwan comes into the dining room saying,

“The limo is out front Brooke”,

“Thank you Antwan” I tell him as he turns walking back to the limo.

As soon as I get in the back,

“Head to Beacon Hills High School” I tell Antwan as he begins to drive.

We drive through town, passing buildings and houses as I am on my way to another new school year. I begin to remember the other new “first days”, remembering why I keep coming back to school….

“We are 5 minutes from Beacon Hills High School Brooke”

Antwan tells me,

“Thank you” I tell him, smiling at him.

I continue to look out the window, then after a few minutes, we end up driving onto the BHHS parking lot. As soon as we pull up to the school’s front doors, Antwan gets out and opens my door,

“Thank you, I should he fine until 3 o’clock” I tell him, giving him a hug then walking up the stairs towards the doors.

I walk past students staring at me with awe, smiling as I make my way to the principal’s office. As I am almost there, I walk past a very pretty girl with long strawberry blonde hair arguing with a very handsome guy with dark blonde short hair. Obviously an athlete as he was wearing a BHHS Jersey. I walk towards the principal’s door, opening it and walking in,

“Hello, I’m here to see Principal Matthews” I tell the secretary,

“Yes, hello Miss Redbird..” she was saying picking up the telephone,

“It’s Lady Redbird” I interrupt her,

“Oh, sorry, Principal Matthews is waiting for you” she says smiling apologetically while putting down the telephone,

“It’s fine, thank you” I say walking towards and opening the door,

“Hello Principal Matthews, I’m Lady Brooke Redbird, I’m sorry to say my parents couldn’t make it” I tell him while shaking his hand,

“Hello Lady Redbird, I’m sorry I won't be meeting your parents. I have checked your profile, I see you do well in your classes, and even have amazing letters of recommendations from tutors. And all of this while also running an worldwide company and hosting of many charities. You would be an amazing addition to BHHS, and we would love to have you” Principal Matthews says, smiling at me,

“Thank you, Principal Matthews. My parents have sent their regards along with a 500, 000$ check and asked me to offer the Redbird Manor to host a BHHS Fundraiser” I tell him, handing over the check,

“Oh no, that’s too much” he tries to say,

“No, we would love to. Besides, it’s not like my family can’t afford it, education is very important” I say smiling,

“Okay, thank you Lady Redbird, also tell your parents we are very thankful. So here is your class list for the semester, I am a little confused as to why someone with your caliber would wanna start out as a freshman in mid-year?” he asks confused,

“Its fine, I prefer to work my up to graduating normally instead of smart-jumping” I say taking my schedule,

“It’s been a pleasure, Principal Matthews.” I tell him standing up giving him a handshake,

“Welcome as always, Lady Redbird” he say shaking my hand, as I turn around walking out to the hallway.

I begin to look at the schedule, a little confused as I have no clue where my class was.

Brunch : 9:30 - 9:50

English : 9:55 - 10:35 in room 106

Chemistry Lecture : 10:40-11:20 in room 121

History : 11:25-12:05 in room 110

Math : 12:10-12:50 in room 117

Lunch 12:50-1:25

Free Period 1:30-2:10

Economics : 2:15-2:55 in room 120

I look at my cell, seeing it’s 8:20, I begin walking down hallways checking classroom numbers. I see classroom after classroom, students wondering the halls, and then I finally find my locker. Opening it up, I put some of my school stuff there, pens, pencils, booklets, some makeup and a mirror on the locker door. I close my locker, begin walking around the school. I was doing Redbird Industries work on my phone when I was bumped into by someone in a rush,

“Rude” I say as I dropped my phone,

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. You must be new here, I haven’t seen you before?” this really cute guy with an uneven jaw asks me as he picks up my cell,

“Yes, I’m Lady Brooke Redbird” I say smiling grabbing my cell after he gives it back,

“I’m Scott McCall” he tells me giving me a smirk,

“Well Scott, I got a class to find, so have a good day” I tell him as I walk by,

“Well I could help you…” he begins as he grabs my arm which sent shivers down my body,

“Well, I do need to know where English 106 is?” I ask him while smiling still turned away from him,

“You need to go down the hall, turn right by those stairs, and it should be on your left” Scott tells me while still holding onto my arm,

“Ok, thanks, you have been a kind gentleman” I say as I slightly turn towards him looking at where his hand is still,

“No, problem, it’s the most I could do after running into you” Scott says while smiling, I look at him, seeing that his dark chocolate eyes sparkled a little in the sunlight, which then I realized how close we were to each other,

“Um….care to let me go?” I ask shaking my right arm giggling like a schoolgirl,

“Oh, right sorry, MiLady” Scott says with a serious tone with a hint of joking while smiling at me,

“Its fine, its just if I am to find my classroom, I kinda need my arm” I say laughing while turning to walk away as his smile made me feel butterflies and my arm feels weird without his touch,

“I can show you where the classroom is!” Scott says with a bit of excitement running up to stand next to me,

“I am a lady of House Redbird and ladies don’t need to be shown where to go” I say smiling at him as I turn forward to strut away from him.

I have this feeling of my plan to not be interested in guys will obviously not work out. Because the way that gorgeous dark brown haired, dark chocolate-eyed, uneven jaw guy smiled gave me the butterflies. The way his touch sent shivers down my body, the way I missed the feeling when he let go. Ah, hell, I giggled like a school girl in front of him, which I am not that type of girl. Scott McCall, you are by far the most hottest and a must-avoid guy here back home. All I know, is this time being home is definitely not gonna be boring.

@mummybear @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @dylanobemineforever @spxderbarnes @blueraindrops @obrosey-af @rememberstilinski @mysterysiria @mf-despair-queen @hayley-noelle-salvatore19 @bilesbilinskix @dumbass-stilinski @twilightparker @totesem @agapate-stin-anagki

#fanfic #brooke davis #teen wolf #scott mccall

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alpinesquib · 7 years

Text

In-depth character sheet

Decided to fill out this chacter sheet (by memesfrommenace) for Lucas!

(Read more if interested, it is pretty lengthy)

FULL NAME: Lucas Smith Marlin MEANING: Just an average name, with the last name being based on a fish because gotta link stuff to aquatic life to better fit splatoon NICKNAME: Lucas MEANING: His first name AGE APPEARANCE: 18 BIRTHDAY: 4th January ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Capricorn SPECIES: Inkling GENDER: Male ALLERGIES: Smoke (not really an allergie but really irritates his lungs) SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Guys THEME SONG(S): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLjE4FFYFSY

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOR: Dark blue with purple tips HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: Typical inkling boys hairstyle but with a curly tentacle as his fringe EYES COLOR: Green EYESIGHT: Relatively good HEIGHT: 5′5 WEIGHT: 139Ibs OUTFIT/CLOTHING STYLE: Casual ABNORMALITIES(TAIL): None DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES): None SELF CARE(MAKE UP): None FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: Distant, noncaring SKIN COLOR: Cucasion BODY TYPE/BUILD: Slender with a little bit of muscle DEFAULT EXPRESSION: Disinterested POSTURE: Upright MEASUREMENTS(FEMALE ONLY): PIERCINGS: Two on each ear DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: Jason Ritter (Dipper Pines)

RELATIONSHIPS

MOM: ??? HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Very distant, not the most exciting relationship with at least one phone call a month, but both still care for each other DAD: ??? HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Not the best, his father had plans which Lucas did not exactly follow SIBLINGS: None HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: None CHILDREN: None HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG:None OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS: None that he knows of PAST LOVER(S): None CURRENT LOVER: Justin REACTION TO MEETING SOMEONE NEW: a Bit of Confusion and alert ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: Very well, a good leader HOW SOCIABLE(LONER,ETC): Not very, can socialise but is not usually the one to go out of the way to start a conversation with someone new FRIENDS: Robin, Mint, Vivi, Vincent, Kat, Fern and in a way Lin PETS: None (unless you count plants) LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: A basshole PARENTAL TYPE(PROTECTIVE,ETC): All knowing AFFINITY WITH…: Rabbits FAVORITE PEOPLE:Funny people LEAST FAVORITE PEOPLE: Serious people

PERSONALITY

..WHEN YOU FIRST MEET THEM: Seem disinterested and withdrawn from everyone ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY LIKE YOU): Will open up more, show emotion, maybe start smiling for real then putting on a fake smile ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY DISLIKE YOU): will conintue to look disinteresed with a hint of annoyed, if continues threatens FAVORITE COLOR: Yellow FAVORITE FOOD: Pizza FAVORITE ANIMAL: Rabbits FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Violin FAVORITE ELEMENT: Fire LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Hard sweets LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL: Dogs LEAST FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Saxophone LEAST FAVORITE ELEMENT: Air HOBBIES: Training, playing games, reading, relaxing with Justin and watching anime USUAL MOOD: Relaxed DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: No DARK VERSION OF SELF: Lack of emotion, disinterest for others and stomping the competiton brutally LIGHT VERSION OF SELF: Actually feels emotions a lot more and has an interest in the world around him HOW SERIOUS ARE THEY: Very CLASS IN AN RPG: Tactician BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: Yes (IN)DEPENDANT: Independent SOFT SPOT/VULNERABILITY: Justin OPINION ON SWEARING: A good way to vent DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: Cautious but has the plans od a daredevil MUSIC TYPE: Rock music MOVIE TYPE: Mystery BOOK TYPE: Murder mystery GAME TYPE: Action/Rpg COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: 17 SLEEPING PATTERN: Stays up somwhat late to wake up around 8-9 CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Organised but can let things get messy DESIRED PET: A rabbit HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Playing games or watching tv BIGGEST SECRET: Him being gay HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: Captain Cuttlefish WHAT ANIMAL WOULD THEY BE: A rabbit FEARS: Being dumped, no longer being friends with Justin, death COMFORTS: Justin, plants, fresh air, warm blankets

HOW DO THEY ACT WHEN THEY ARE…

SAD: Will hide it and wait until he is alone to cry and let it out HAPPY: Lighten up and luagh a lot but also want to hide that ANGRY: No change in expression and extremely disappointed AFRAID: Will start to become more more irrational and attempt things without a plan LOVE SOMEONE: Become very attached and feel extremely happy when with them or thinking about them HATE SOMEONE: Will show signs of irritation but refrain himself from starting a fight with them WANT SOMETHING: Will become fascinated with it and try his best to work and achieve it CONFUSED: Look baffled but try his best not to let anyone see

HOW DO THEY REACT TO…

DANGER: Ready to fight back or protect another SOMEONE THEY HATE WHO HAS A CRUSH ON THEM: find them and immediately reject them PROPOSAL TO MARRY: Cry and cry and hug cthen cry some more DEATH OF LOVED ONE: If family, show some signs of saddness, if a friend, hide his pain and break down DIFFICULT GAME/MATH/ETC: Put it down and attempt it leter with help INJURY: Get it seen by a doctor fast SOMETHING IRRESISTABLY CUTE: tries to hide his blush and love for it LOSS OF HOURS OF WORK: Feel irritated but try to do what he can

HISTORY

BIOGRAPHY: Lucas is determined and clever inkling who thinks strategically most of the time and works to get better. He works hard training to be the best player he can be and secure himself a good job for the future, however he struggles with relationships, always feeling rather empty unless he’s around some people that he has manmaged to build trust with. He’s currently dating Justin, and when around him is happiest. Lucas also seems to hide his love for supernatural things and anime. FIRST APPEARANCE: 2016

KNOWLEDGE

LANGUAGES: English, partial French SCHOOLING LEVEL: Year 13 FAVORITE SUBJECT (S): Mythology INTERESTED CAREERS: Professional turf player EXPERTISE: Mythology PUZZLES: Very good at them CHEMISTRY: S MATH: S ENGLISH: S GEOGRAPHY: A POLITICS/LAW: S ECONOMY/ACCOUNTING: S COOKING: B SEWING: B MECHANICS: S BOTANY (FLOWERS): B MYTHOLOGY: S DRAMATICS(ACTING,SINGING): A READING LEVEL: High (don’t know the actual levels) HOW GOOD ARE THEY AT PLANNING AHEAD: very good, alwasy planning for most things IMPULSIVE/STRATEGY: extremely strategic

ROMANCE

DO THEY TAKE INITIATIVE: Somewhat, prefers more a partnership where both work together HOW DO THEY ACT(SHY,ETC): Somwhat shy, but mostly happy GENTLEMAN/LADYLIKE VS KLUTZY: Very gentleman like GO SLOW VS JUMP INTO: Jump into PROTECTIVE: Somewhat protective ACT LIKE FRIENDS OR LOVERS: Act like lovers but occasionally do friend stuff WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO THEY BUY: Simple things like new jackets or cook a meal TYPE OF KISSER: Submissive DO THEY WANT KIDS: No but wouldn’t mind DO THEY WANT TO MARRY: Yes MAKE GOOD OR BAD DECISIONS: Good decisions ARE THEY ROMANTIC: Try to be but it comes off as dorky and cute HOW ARE THEY IN BED: SKIP GET JEALOUS EASY: Can sometimes but will control it and rationalise it quickly WIFE/HUBBY BEATER: Jesus no MARRY FOR MONEY: No FAVORITE POSITION: Kneeling at church to pray to God WHAT WOULD HAPPEN ON THEIR DREAM DATE: Just stay home and cuddle watching movies under a blanket OPINION ON SEX:

#Lucas #character info #oc

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