#work is still shitty

[little-pondhead]

DP x DC Prompt

…

There are no more heroes.

Well, okay. Rewind a bit.

Danny has been doing the hero thing for a while now. He’s had a big reveal; everyone has accepted him (including his parents), the GIW disbanded, the Anti-Ecto acts repealed, and generally, everything is going great. Some of the A-Listers are even training as junior ghost hunters to help give him a break from his rogues! (Being Ghost King makes things hectic sometimes, and he just needs the extra help. Sue him!)

The point is, literally nothing is wrong with Danny Phantom’s afterlife.

And then Valerie Gray, the Red Huntress, disappears in front of his eyes.

Danny is baffled! She’s just…gone! Valerie just popped out of existence, like she was never there. But no matter how hard he searches in the Ghost Zone, he can’t find her soul anywhere. His core isn't broken in grief. So she’s not dead. Which is good. So then, where is she?

Some of the others come forward with ideas on how to find her. A few ghosts volunteer to go out into the mortal realm, an area Danny had declared off-limits, to see if she was out there. Danny approves it. He rounds up some of the friendlier (i.e., discreet) ghosts and Amity Parkers and demolishes the outside travel ban.

So everyone spreads out, looking for their dear frenemy and teammate. But it becomes apparent very quickly that something is wrong with the rest of the world.

There are no more heroes.

Every single living superhero on the face of the Earth has just…vanished. Villains are running amok; the countries are in chaos! Some aliens are invading Earth, mythical deities are trying to take over, and society is crumbling to the ground. Everything is on the brink of collapse.

Well, Danny was still there. And so were his people. They were pretty spread out, so could they just…take up the mantles? He also knew where to find the souls of dead heroes in the Zone; surely they wouldn't mind coming out of retirement for a little bit, especially if they couldn't die again. Oh! And that skeleton army leftover from Pariah Dark's reign might be useful in repelling those invading forces.

Honestly, there were more than enough hands to go around! And with the heroes gone, Danny didn't mind letting everyone out for a little break, as long as they followed his rules. They wouldn't stop the search for the other heroes, but hopefully, when they found them, the heroes wouldn't mind Danny's intervention too much. :)

In other words:

Someone fucks up, and all of Earth's living heroes are either wished out of existence or are whisked away to some far-off realm where Danny hasn't checked yet. In the attempt to figure out what's going on, Danny lets the dead run amok over the Earth as they search for clues. The skeleton army repels the invading armies, the souls of dead heroes deal with the world leaders, and his rogues and other Amity Parkers set up shop in place of famous heroes, trying to get the cities under control again.

Basically, they just do their best to keep everything from imploding until the Justice League and others are back.

(And why is it that Danny hasn't disappeared? Well, whatever caused everyone to go poof! only affected living heroes. Anyone heroes that were dead in the first place, or even just half-dead, stayed behind.)

[hiding-under-the-willow]

Had a. very silly au idea while I was sick

[xbomboi]

Cedar? I Wood-n’t Wanna Be Her!

after that, she started apologizing to her homework.

[cosmicdreamgrl]

seokjin x chokers for @epiphanytear [ cr: apple tape, 0613data, namuspromised ]

[bacchuschucklefuck]

okay unironically I love so much that porter is like this world SUCKS its BAD here and it HURTS you why do you care abt it!!! and literally every single bad kid is like ngl we just hate ur ass it does not matter what ur philosophy is

[lesbianwithchainsaws]

Society if the community writers had given Jeff and Annie literally any other character dynamic and didn't try to make them a couple

[tippenfunkaport]

That viral post that's going around about how people who write "book quality" mlm fic are too "normal" to publish and have real jobs so only "weird" people publish their "shitty" fanfic is so completely out of touch with reality and I am giving a massive side eye to everyone reblogging it.

Not only is it completely, easily verifiably untrue (you cannot enter any professional writing space without tripping over a dozen grizzled scifi writers who got their start by filing off the serial numbers and publishing their Star Trek fanfic even going back decades ago??? it's a whole thing?? plus how can you look at the mlm category on Amazon right now and say with a straight face that people aren't publishing shitty Spirk and Stucky fanfic??? Oh, honey...) it's also the perfect example of this kind of sneering elitism that true artists would never sully themselves by seeking profit, they do it only for the purity of the thing that always somehow leads back to, "no one should be paid to make art, actually."

The only reason you're seeing more published fanfic right now has nothing to do with the idealistic purity of your hypothetical government employee written smut of the past vs the debased scribbles of those awful straights of today and everything to do with the fact that a) self-publishing has created a voracious readership that wants a ton of content so it's become a viable, flexible income stream for many, especially disabled people b) anyone can publish now with self-publishing tools so there are less gatekeepers and c) lockdown got a lot of people into fandom and therefore writing who never tried it before.

And if you really think there's no "shitty" published mlm and no "book-quality" m/f writing out there that started as fanfic, then you are clearly not a reader so why are you even talking about this?

[compaculaaa]

Please excuse my attempt at being funny

[thirstyvampyr]

[be-an-echo]

Merry Christmas guyyyss🎄

[dearreader]

some days it’s just you and the clip of taylor swift and jack antonoff explaining this is my trying from the folklore long pond studio sessions against the world

[coolnonsenseworld]

Samurai and Ninja in crappy pics because December here is under a constant cloud and I just want y'all to see them all golden and cute without learning how to take aesthetic pictures 🥴 💙❤️😆🥰

linktr.ee/Mezzy

[vintagepascal]

alfajores

AN - the poll I put up the other day won out with fluffy pedro/reader and I'm working on a request I got for it but it's taking me a hot sec, so have this one that I already have written to hold you over :) hope you enjoy!

word count - 2,900+

rating - teen

content warnings - no warnings, just fluff!

summary - you decide to surprise pedro for his birthday on set with some help from bella (ao3 link if you prefer, it's titled pedrito over there :) )

----------------------------------------------------------------------

you worry too much

You hit send, tucking your phone quickly between your thighs as you tried to relax, eyes trained on the window outside as the plane started to pull back from the jetbridge. You were never much of a liar, but you hoped desperately that you could pull this one off somehow. 

Your phone buzzed. A text from Pedro, no doubt.

Mi amor, that’ll be four shifts this week. You need a break :( 

You couldn’t help the smile that it brought to your face, knowing that he had no idea that you’d be seeing him so soon. 

I’ll survive. Busy is good. Now go film some cool shit, tell Bella I said hi. I’ll text when I can. I love you

Love you more. and no hi for Bella, they ate all my bday cookies. 

You chuckled to yourself and quickly clicked your phone over to airplane mode. You’d paid for the inflight wifi so he wouldn’t suspect anything if he happened to have enough breaks in filming to text you - he was a worrier at heart, especially when it came to those he loved, and an undelivered text would be enough to put him into a panic. 

With everything set into motion, you settled back into your seat and reviewed the plan.

You’d had it in the works for a month. All behind the scenes of course, but you’d gotten everyone in on it that you could. Neil, Craig, Bella, Gabriel - anyone who would be around set. The filming schedule was insane, but you knew that they’d want Pedro’s birthday to be special, especially since he wasn’t able to come home and spend it with you.

In the years that you’d been dating, you had learned he loved a good surprise, though he would never admit it. And even more so, he would never, ever , let anyone make a big deal out of things for him. Even if he played it off for the press about loving the attention, when it came to those close to him he would much rather celebrate those around him than be the one in the spotlight. 

It was no surprise that they were one hundred percent on board with throwing a bit of a surprise party, with you being the main surprise. The next part of the plan was simple - getting a few days off work had been easy enough, considering Pedro had insisted that you went part time and only worked when you wanted to once he landed another job. It was a luxury that you allowed, considering it meant you got to spend so much more time with him when he was off filming, and even go on the occasional press tour with him. 

Once the flight was booked and everything else had been arranged, the hard part came - keeping the love of your life in the dark. Pedro was the type of person that you wanted to tell everything to. From the simple things, like the dog in the rain boots that you’d seen on 2nd avenue that morning, to how much you wished you could be together all the time - any thought you had flowed off your tongue so easily to him. He was your safe space, and you were his, which was a cornerstone of your relationship from day one. 

Thank god you’d only finalized your plan a few weeks ago, or you weren’t sure you would have made it. 

As a cover up, you found a highly rated South American bakery in Vancouver to send some of his favorite cookies and sweets to set, just like the ones his mom used to make when he was young. You sent some flowers too - hydrangeas, spray roses, gerberas - something to warm up the cold Vancouver set he’d been dealing with. He’d called you that morning from hair and makeup, so grateful and excited. You’d promised him there was more to come when you could see him in person, which he thought was in three long weeks when there was a small break in scheduling for something Bella needed to do back in London. That seemed to be enough of a birthday present from afar to satisfy him.

You hoped he was still in the dark as you watched the small plane flit across your screen, taking you mile by mile closer to him. 

It was a long flight from New York to Vancouver. You spent the majority of the time doing something you didn’t get to do often on flights - watch something Pedro was in. Majority of the time, if you were on a long haul, Pedro was right beside you and in his true almost 50 year old fashion, he’d break out his headphone splitter and want to watch something with you. You’d only recently got him to agree to airpods. Obviously, that meant anything he had been in was off limits, so you took the rare chance to go back and watch Narcos - you were only in season two, and you were loving how much screen time Pena was getting. 

It made you smile hearing Pedro getting to show off in both Spanish and English - he’d taught you quite a bit in your relationship, and you caught quite a few words throughout the episodes that you recognized, though most of the time you were too busy watching him to pay much attention to anything else. God, you would never understand how you’d gotten so lucky. 

Halfway through an episode, a text popped up on your phone.

This is gonna be so good dude, he is proper clueless. 

You laughed as you read it in Bella’s voice. A picture came through next of them holding a small cookie and running away, with a blur that you assumed was Pedro in the back.

Also, pls send more alfajores before he kills me

By the looks of the photo, they were shooting outside of the city still, which was what you had planned for. Pedro had begun a habit of sending you a picture each morning of the set for the day, a way of keeping you involved from afar. It seemed to be the same beautiful landscape as earlier - you hoped he had been having a good day so far.

The rest of the flight went off without a hitch. You texted Pedro once, feigning that you were on break at work, unsurprised that he wasn’t able to answer right away, as you knew he was busy. 

The excitement really started to set in when you touched down in Vancouver. You shot a text to Craig once you landed - it was 7pm local time, and you had about an hour and a half drive to get to set. To your surprise, the crew had insisted that you got the celebrity treatment by association, and had sent you a driver who met you outside of the airport and immediately got you on your way. 

You made small talk with her until the first and only hiccup of the plan appeared - Pedro’s face popped up on your phone, an adorable picture of him from last summer on your vacation to Hawaii - an incoming facetime call. Of course. He usually called you in the evenings, but it wasn’t always a facetime. As much as it killed you, you let it ring through, waiting about five minutes until you returned it with a regular call.

“Hi mi amor , everything okay? You off work?” He picked up on the first ring.

“Yeah yeah, I’m good! I’ve got a headache so I took a shower and got straight in bed, sorry I didn’t pick up.” It felt so wrong to lie, but you knew it would pay off. 

“Oh no cariño, did you take some medicine? Did the shower help? There’s some of that tea I made you last time in the cabinet still, in the purple box.”

“I’m fine love, just need some sleep is all. Guess it’s a good thing I’m not there to put a damper on your birthday fun,” you teased, grinning to yourself. Your driver let out a tiny chuckle that you caught in the rearview mirror. 

“Wish you were here, headache or no headache,” he sighed. “I miss you.”

“Miss you more.”

“ Mentiras. ” He said. “Lies,” he translated when you didn’t contradict him. “I won’t keep you, just wanted to see your pretty face. We can talk in the morning when you feel better, okay? Call me if you need me. I love you.”

“I love you too. Happy birthday Pedro, I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Bye amor.”

You hung up, letting your head rest back and your heart flutter as the city began to fade away behind you. 

One hour later, and you were frantically texting with Bella, attempting to find the best way to surprise Pedro as you arrived on set.

Have your driver drop you off by my trailer, and I’ll sneak you into production stage. Meet you there in five.

You relayed the message and sure enough, Bella came scurrying around the corner, practically tackling you in a hug once they found you. You’d met them the first time you came to set with Pedro, back in the beginning stages of production during some team bonding time, and you knew how important their relationship was to the both of them.

“Do you think he has any idea that I’m here?” You asked, following Bella as they led you around the back of a large temporary structure that you assumed was production stage. 

“Not a single fucking clue. Craig and I have been playing it off all day long, talking about how fun it would be if you were here,” Bella grinned. “I think Neil is bringing out a cake, c’mon, we gotta hurry. He’s probably in his chair, just hang back and sneak up behind him.”

As you rounded the corner, you heard the hum of voices inside and noticed the chairs. Bella gave you a quick thumbs up and hurried around so they didn’t draw any attention to you, coming in from a different angle and taking their chair next to Pedro. You spotted Neil first, walking very carefully with a large chocolate cake alit with candles in the general direction of the chairs. 

Crew began to gather around and you swung to the right so you could blend in but still see Pedro’s face as he realized what was happening. They all began to sing and you watched the adorable blush spread across his cheeks. Bella was filming beside him as he smiled and blew out his candles to the applause of all of the cast and crew - it warmed your heart to see so many people celebrating the man you loved.

They took the cake to a nearby table and began to cut it, passing Pedro his piece first. In all the noise, you seized your opportunity to sneak up behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing gently. 

“Can I have a bite?” 

His eyes blew wide as he craned his neck to try and see who was behind him. You leaned back to help him out, laughing at the pure shock on his face.

“What!? What the fuck are you doing here!? You’re in New York!” He discarded his cake to the side, roughly pushing his chair out of the way to get to you as he stood up all in one move, wrapping you up in his arms. You could vaguely hear applause somewhere behind you but you didn’t care. It felt too good to be in his arms after so many weeks, your brain didn’t have much space to process anything else. 

When he finally loosened up it was only to kiss you softly twice on the lips, then once on the forehead before he leaned back and grinned at you.

“You sneaky little thing.”

“Guess I’m not in New York,” you teased, popping up on your tiptoes to kiss him one more time before you disentangled from him, leaning over to give Bella a fist bump. 

“Oh you knew about this? Huh?” Pedro asked.

“Of course I knew about it, I’ve known for a month man!” Bella grinned. 

“Oh you see if you make it through a single take tomorrow kid,” he threatened, but they were both laughing. 

“Actually, as a birthday gift, tomorrow is a rest day. Everybody can thank Y/N for that one!” Craig announced, which was met with whooping and cheers from everyone, with a few yells of your name. Pedro pulled you up against his side. 

“I assume that means you’re spending the night then, eh?”

“Nah, figured I’d just pop in for five minutes and then catch the next flight out,” you grinned, rolling your eyes at him. “I’m here for three days, two nights.”

“Not long enough. Never long enough, but I’ll take what I can get,” Pedro sighed, kissing your hair. “Now get some cake so we can go home.”

Home in Vancouver was a nice apartment that Pedro was renting downtown. After cake was had, final birthday wishes were given and hugs were distributed, Pedro changed back into his own clothes and led you to his rental - an Audi, of course. He opened the passenger door for you and climbed into the driver’s seat, holding your hand as he sped off of set and back towards the city.

It didn’t matter that you had just done this drive - he held the back of your hand up to his lips, pressing soft kisses there as he drove down the highway and you couldn’t have been more content.

“I cannot believe you’re here right now. I thought I wasn’t going to see you for weeks,” he said, shaking his head. He hadn’t stopped smiling since you had appeared behind him. 

“I couldn’t leave you alone on your birthday,” you sighed, leaning over and resting your head on his shoulder. It was late New York time, and the adrenaline of the day was beginning to wear off now that you were with your man. 

“You can sleep cariño, I’ll wake you up when we get there,” he murmured to you.

“No, no I'm okay,” you reassured him, but it was already garbled. 

The next thing you felt were soft lips on your forehead. 

“We’re here mi amor. C’mon, let's get you upstairs.”

He helped you out of the car, the lobby lights of the building helping to wake you up a bit as you made it to the elevator. The driver from earlier had put your suitcase in Pedro’s car, and he managed it with ease as well. You stayed tucked up to his side as you headed up to the top floor. He unlocked the door easily, keeping one arm wrapped around you even as you walked through the door, rolling your suitcase into the corner. He kicked off his boots and tossed his keys somewhere, and then he was scooping you up, making you squeal a bit when your feet left the floor. 

“God you don’t know how many times I’ve thought about you being here lately. I’ve missed you like crazy baby.” He carried you down the hallway and into the kitchen, sitting you down onto the counter. Without asking, he turned and made you a glass of ice water. “Drink. You’ve been on a plane all day.”

You listened to him, grateful for the cool liquid on your dry throat. 

“I need to go get all this makeup off, but I’ll be ready for bed in five minutes. Meet you there?” 

“I could go with you,” you offered, but your words were garbled by the long yawn that immediately followed. Pedro chuckled, kissing your nose. 

“I don’t think I can hold you upright and wash all this grime off at the same time love. Go climb in bed. Stay awake for me, I’ll be there in just a minute,” he instructed, taking you by the hips and placing you on your feet. He didn’t let go until he was sure you were steady, and then he disappeared to the bathroom. 

You didn’t even bother going for your suitcase. Instead, you moved to your boyfriend’s drawers, finding his old Lakers shirt. It smelled so much like him that it made you smile as you stripped out of everything but your underwear and pulled it on. 

You climbed into bed, making yourself sit up so you wouldn’t fall back asleep as you listened to the water run in the bathroom, then turn off. Pedro was humming a song as he got ready, and you couldn’t help but grin when he emerged only a few minutes later in just his boxers, hair damp and a matching smile on his face. 

He wasted no time in climbing into bed next to you, immediately reaching over and pulling you right up against him. His hands splayed out underneath your shirt, finding skin as he sighed, pressing his nose up to your neck and breathing you in.

“Ahh, mi deseo,” he breathed.

“Translate,” you whispered, eyes closed as you melted into him, trying to get your skin onto his everywhere that you could. It lit a familiar fire in you that began to burn deep.

“My wish,” he said. “I wished for you. Today, but also for so long.”

“I’m here. Right here,” you breathed, hands slotting into his hair. His fingers found purchase against your hips, pulling you over and on top of him. 

“Happy birthday Pedrito.”

“Happy birthday to me,” he grinned, and got to work.

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Thirty-Three

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 33

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five][Part Twenty-Six][Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight][Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] Part Thirty-Three [Part Thirty-Four] [Part Thirty-Five]

Violins played a lively tune as your and your new husband danced for the first time as a married couple.

Your focus had been intense for the first round of dancing as you were by yourselves in front of the entire wedding luncheon, but luckily by the second other couples were invited to join. Marigold and her husband were the first to come onto the floor, with plenty of others on their heels. You finally felt as if you had the chance to stop watching yourself so closely and perhaps truly look at Dale.

He looked splendid in his navy suit, the gold trimming that would look heavy-handed on others merely looked elegant with how easily he wore it. Despite the dancing—you felt your carefully styled curls, the ones framing your face, starting to lose their sleek definition and could see the evidence of movement whenever they flew in your vision—Dale’s hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Was it silly to hope the cause was something inhuman so that you could feel better about your own inability to maintain such perfect composure?

His black hair was neatly contained by its low tie, a golden ribbon that complimented his suit. His breath was controlled too—deep but not panting as yours was. His hands weren’t sweaty where they held onto you, at your waist and your own hand as the dance instructed. It was leaving you feel rather self-conscious about your appearance.

If he was nervous about the crowd as you were, he’d not shown it. Although perhaps you’d been distracting yourself with anxiety over the crowd so none could build at the way his eyes hadn’t left you, his gaze more intense and focused than usual. You couldn’t afford the liability getting lost in his blue eyes would incur, at least you couldn’t when you were alone with him on the dance floor.

The first couple fast paced dances gave way to slower waltzes and you found your focus drawing tighter and tighter onto Dale and Dale alone. His confident steps, his large hands on you, his strength supporting you. His unwavering gaze—the affection and warm regard you still didn’t quite expect to see on Dale’s face, let alone directed at yourself. 

The dance slowed further with no more twists or jumps, no more parting only to come back together for brief seconds. You were pressed against him, your skirts no match for Dale’s competent steps and hold. He wasn’t as warm as he should be, but even that was welcome and spoke to how wonderfully unwavering he felt at the moment. As if nothing could stand against him and win—and you at his side.

He pulled you closer still and you could feel the soft velvet of his jacket brush your cheek before you remember your audience,  only enough not to give in to that final indulgence of resting your head on his shoulder, no matter how tempting it seemed.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sana?” Dale murmured, inclining his head closer to be heard over the music.

“Yes,” you replied, not seeing any reason to keep the easy answer to yourself. “I am.” You allowed him to steer the primary dramatic turn this dance has, spinning out and back to be caught in his arms in a move that heightened the intimacy of being held so close by contrasting it with the seconds you were apart. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, re-securing his grip on you. “I’m glad we don’t have to worry so much about managing other dance partners today. I’d prefer to only dance with you.”

“There are more talented dancers out there,” you couldn’t help but point out. You were always worried he had to slow himself down to keep up with you, who got winded so much faster than he did. “Even in here. Why—”

Dale shook his head. “But they aren’t you. You suit me best and I’m enjoying having you all to myself.”

Heat rose in your cheeks as you resisted the urge to hide your face against his chest. It was hard not to follow that line of thinking, let alone rebuff it or tease him back. Not on when he’s your husband. Not when you get him all to yourself tonight. His dancing skills easily morph into what other talents he might have, physically and in how he complements and anticipates you. 

You heard your name on his lips, questioning, but teasing. Trying to draw your eyes back to his instead of at his shoulder.

The next murmur of your name is accompanied by a jolt that’s out of place with the dance. Slowly, you realize that Dale isn’t in front of you, but to your side and that you’re sitting down. Sitting down in a carriage.

You blearily blink your eyes open, adjusting easily to the low afternoon light. You are comfortable and warm and so almost immediately close your eyes once more. The cushions of the carriage are plush and Dale is a solid comfort at your side, supporting your head so your neck isn’t even sore—the usual consequence that befell you if you sleep sitting upright. Instead you’re so relaxed you don’t want to move from your spot.

“We’re only a quarter of an hour from our destination,” Dale says, his voice low and quiet. “I thought you might want to be awoken before we arrived.”

“Thank you,” you reply, your hand coming up to your mouth to cover a yawn because he is correct. You’ve no desire to be jolted awake and out of the carriage in a hurry. 

While you get your bearings, you see Dale pop the last bit of a pasty into his mouth. Your own mouth floods with saliva, not only because you realize you’re hungry. You get distracted from the thought of sustenance by the sight of Dale licking his fingers clean. You wonder if the privacy the two of you are currently enjoying is why the red of his tongue seems more vibrant and its length seems longer than you remember.

Dale must notice your preoccupation because he gives you a sheepish smile, hiding his teeth and tongue behind soft lips to say, “Help yourself to what remains. I’m afraid that I ate the majority of the offerings.” He reaches forward, careful, you realize, not to jostle his right arm which you’re still clutching to your chest as he picks up the basket. He offers it to you. “I left you the mushroom pasty.”

You reluctantly let go of his hand to accept the offered pasty. You smile at his thoughtfulness: meat would have been far more likely to upset your stomach, especially in a pasty. “Thank you.” You keep your other arm still entwined with his, holding it to your side. It’s nice that it's been warmed from how you’ve been holding it. 

Dale makes no effort to reclaim his arm from your possession. Instead he fills the silence with easy conversation as he had been when you must have drifted off. He tells you about the part of the journey you slept through—where there was trouble, which road he noticed should be next on your list for improvements, and how often they stopped to water the horses. 

From all this, you gather you’ve made pretty good time. The sun’s only just beginning to set. Dale doesn’t press you to wake up faster or try to get you to contribute more to the conversation. It makes you think of what a morning might be like with Dale, him talking about your plans for the day while you can wake up at your own pace. 

Of course you don’t even know if you’ll be sharing chambers or have separate ones—you’d not had the nerve to ask and no one else brought it up. It varied quite a lot among couples to your understanding—noble ones that is. 

Sometimes it came down to space if it was possible—certain city houses with their limited space chose to prioritize rooms for entertaining or children over separate master and mistress chambers. Other times it was about practical comfort. Some sleep in the same bed but also maintain separate chambers for dressing and other personal matters.

Callalily swears if she had to sleep in the same room as her husband every night she’d murder him due to the snoring alone. But Asher and his wife never sleep apart. Marigold says it depends on what else is going on, their moods—how hot it is. 

You just added this to the list of matters you’ve never had the privacy to discuss with Dale. At least this would be decided to some degree tonight since you would be going to sleep somewhere. Although your nap had refreshed you. And tomorrow, and ideally the rest of the week, you’d be able to sequester yourself away with Dale and talk through everything else while you settle into your new marriage. After everything that happened, you aren’t going to let any more time go by without doing so. It’s tonight that’s still in question.

You take the time while listening and thinking to check your hair and clothes, getting them back in order from being rumbled by your nap. Even these little worries are starting to feel less daunting and more exciting, as you remember your dances, as you sit pressed against Dale in comfort, as you now know you and he are on the same page.

The carriage jolts to a stop, propelling you out of your thoughts and into the present. Dale reluctantly pulls out of your grip and you fight the urge not to let him. To hold on tight instead. No matter how ridiculous it would make leaving the carriage. You are a newly wed couple, surely some amount of foolishness is expected.

Still, it’s clear Dale’s intent on playing up his role as lord and husband, alighting from the carriage to offer his hand to help you down while a footman holds the doors open. Carefully you get to your feet, legs stiff after having been seated for such a long journey.

A small number of servants are lined up awaiting your arrival, including those you know and the ones who must be local to this lodge. You still feel rather sleepy and tired from all the socializing. It’s as if your mouth and mind know no more is officially required of them and so they’ve given up. You let Dale take the lead and had reclaim your hold on his arm as soon as you are able to. 

He looks startled but indulgent, which you are more than willing to accept.

You listen and do greet the housekeeper, but otherwise you allow yourself to be taken for the tour without much input or effort. It’s a lovely house, secluded and far smaller than a typical estate, obviously meant for only a few main guests or to be a wayhouse on longer journeys. It’s older, but well maintained. The traditional style is why the servants are housed separately. 

You feel as though the first floor tour goes by fast, but you start to feel some alertness, some anticipation, start to edge out the sleepy contentment that’d been lapping at your veins, when you go upstairs. It has well furnished studies, including a detailed map of the grounds the housekeeper goes over with you, in case you wish to ride or hunt. She doesn’t spend too long on it though, a twinkle in her eyes that makes you more self-conscious of your newly married status even more than some of the jokes made at the wedding luncheon.

The fact that she goes next to the bedrooms does not help you regain hold of your composure. She opens a door down the hall and allows you and Dale to enter first. “Here is the mistress’s room,” the housekeeper informs you. “Given the size of the house, the traditional dressing and sleeping rooms are combined.”

“They’re very nice,” you say for lack of anything better coming to mind. Your heart sank when she opened the door. You’d been hoping for a combined suite as it would take care of some of the awkwardness. Although perhaps it is only you who feels that way. Dale certainly is showing nothing of the sort. He’s only spoken with the housekeeper during the entire tour, though he’s glanced at you at times. 

Now he just nods, allowing you to take the lead as she shows you the various accommodations and where certain trunks of yours had been placed. Dale’s focus is entirely on you and you can nearly feel his scrutiny like a tangible thing. It’s enough to let you know not to meet his eyes or you’ll become ensnared by his gaze, as you always do when he gets like this. 

As it is, you manage to make all the appropriate affirmative noises and agreements, answering the housekeeper’s minimal questions. Before you know it she’s shown you the entire room. Just as you’re wondering what will happen next—will you stay here or follow her and Dale to his chambers—when she puts a hand on a door you realize she’s not opened.

“Your shared sitting room is through here,” she explains, opening said door and leading the way through to a very nice, spacious sitting room. You listen with one ear to her talk of the furnishings and history but your focus is on the door opposite the one you came through.

The housekeep doesn’t spend too much time here before she’s saying. “… and finally, the master’s chamber.”

She gave a similar tour of his rooms while you try not to overthink your grip on his arm nor stare at the bed, with its fresh and luxurious looking bed linens. The sheets are white but the covers are blue. You don’t know why you’re fixated on such inconsequential details. Maybe they’re just the most innocent aspects of the bed you can distract yourself with.

The housekeeper is briefer with her explanation for this room as it’s a mirror of the mistress’ chambers. Soon enough she guides you both back to the sitting room to wrap up. “Would you like anything, my lord, my lady? Vitals to keep up your health, preparing the beds, your body servants?”

You look up at Dale, who, as he sometimes does, seems taller than he had even back in the carriage. Since you just had some food in the carriage, you are satisfied. He’s the one with the big appetite.

He smiles down at you before looking back at the housekeeper. “We ate before arrival and on our journey. Tomorrow morning will be sufficient.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It has been such a long day,” Dale continues. “I believe we’ll retire for the evening. Tell Mr. Murray I will send for him in the morning, if need be.”

“Please do send Miss Adir to me,” you ask, knowing your dress is harder to get out of than Dale’s attire. Perhaps on a more ordinary day you’d be able to manage on your own, but for tonight with such a fancy gown, you need the help. If you were sharing a room, perhaps you might have asked Dale, but as it stands now, you haven’t the courage to ask–especially not in front of the housekeeper.

“Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper leaves to fetch your maid while you and Dale stay behind in the sitting room.

“It’s a charming house,” you say, feeling the need to fill the silence in a manner you haven’t since you’ve woken up.

“Indeed. How are you feeling?” Dale asks, a little more nervous and a little more sincere now that you’re alone together. “Still tired from the journey?”

You shake your head. “No, I feel rather rejuvenated from my nap.” You shift where you stand as you resist the urge to fuss with your dress—it had dug in in certain places while you slept and is far past beginning to feel uncomfortable. The lace in particular at your neck is becoming itchy.

“But you wish to change,” Dale guesses.

“Yes.”

“Of course, I agree,” Dale says and shifts his shoulders in his jacket. “Would you like to join me in my room when you’ve refreshed?”

“Yes,” you reply, eyes on the door where Miss Adir is entering. “I shall rejoin you shortly.”

Dale nods, his expression polite, but his eyes stormy. Not that you can ever truly tell what his eyes are telling you–all the signs to read are off for him. You’ll need time to study him better. Which you now have because he’s your husband. You’ve no notion of his experience, but perhaps he’s nervous about everything as well. Or maybe there are additional considerations for tonight given his nature you can’t even fathom. 

You turn and head for your rooms, not enjoying how performative everything is starting to feel, especially with another person present.

Miss Adir quietly chatters about her trip. She points out where certain of your items were put away and what is still packed while she helps you out of your overgown and skirts.

You make affirmative noises and give quiet answers to her questions about your own trip. Soon enough, you’re left in your shift alone. “Thank you, Miss Adir. That will be all for tonight.”

“Of course.” Miss Adir looks as if she would like to say something further but instead she just curtsies. “Good night, my lady.”

You finger the wine colored silk ribbon that is woven into the lace trim on your chemise while you listen for the door to shut, occupying yourself with brushing your hands along the skirt to ensure it falls correctly. Even after you’re alone, you waste more time, fussing with your hair and clothes until you can delay no longer.

Once it’s making you more tense to stay here, delaying, you leave your chambers, cross the sitting room, and walk through Dale’s open door.

You shut it quietly behind you, eyes searching for Dale. You frown at the sight of him, only his jacket removed and his waistcoat unbuttoned, sitting on the corner of his bed. He looks still remarkably dressed, as you might find him in his private study. Not how you’d expect to see him in his bed chambers on the night of your wedding. “Dale?”

Dale looks up and stares at you like he’s never seen you before despite the fact that he also looks as if he’s waiting for you. He blinks and gets to his feet. Your eyes dart to the lamp on the wall—it's not really dark enough to need one, but the shadows guttered with his movement in a manner that betrayed his nerves. When your eyes go back to his, he looks chagrined and the shadows still. “Apologies.”

You’re not sure what to say since you feel so throw off your own expectations. He’s acting as if there are still more secrets to spill and it’s got your nerves twanging. “It’s fine. Is everything alright?” Dale doesn’t look nervous as a person might on their wedding night. He looks nervous like a man on trial would.

“Yes, of course,” he replies. “Would you like to take a seat?”

“I…sure.” You hesitantly walk over to where he’s gesturing and seat yourself on the corner of the bed. “Yes.”

He paces in front of you and just as you’re about to ask again about what might have happened since you left him less than half an hour ago, he says, “So… I suppose you want to talk.”

He puts a lot of emphasis on “talk” that you don’t completely understand. You blink and repeat slowly, “Talk?”

“Yes, since you know I haven’t always been Dale and that I am a demon,” Dale elaborates. You still feel some surprise at him finally speaking plainly after so long of talking around the subject even after this morning. “I expect you have a lot of questions.”

“Oh!” You’d expected to ask such things tomorrow, not tonight. Not on your wedding night. It's obvious now that Dale’s given no thought to traditional wedding night activities. He’s obviously as focused on reassuring you as he had been back in his study. And you want to know more. You want to know everything, of course you do. You’d only thought…but no. He’s right. “I mean, I do.” Best to resolve all this now so he can start to trust in your acceptance. Best to get it all out in the open, in your new privacy, before something else got in the way. “Yes.”

“Well, we finally have some privacy,” Dale says, echoing your own thoughts so closely you almost smile, “and I don’t want you to be nervous or unsure about me.”

“I am sure of you,” you feel the need to say. You stand up because while you’d had other ideas for tonight, reassuring your husband you trust him certainly seems more important. “However, honest conversation is never bad and is overdue. I’ll brew some tea.”

Still, it’s harder than you think to swallow your disappointment. You take advantage of the distraction and familiarity preparing tea provides–the way it allows you to look away from and ensure your face isn’t giving away your chagrin. 

Of course Dale would value a conversation about his nature and his experiences and clarifying with you over something so, so human. He’d said something about a mate, but who knew what that truly meant to him. You had no real idea if demons even had sex. He must know what humans did on their wedding nights, but it's clearly not on his mind now. 

He pauses every now and then in his circuit of the room to hover a bit over you and the tea table, before backing off in a manner that makes it clear he’s not sure of his welcome still. 

But what about that kiss? You mind wonders with some frustration. Was that just something he thought humans did? Did he think it was expected and complied, but hadn’t truly want to? Or maybe he simply didn’t care about this sort of physical affection? You begin to feel rather shallow and base in your preoccupation.

As you finally pour the tea into a cup for each of you, you tell yourself that you can only manage one thing at a time. For now, your focus has to be on understanding Dale and what he wants. You can figure the rest out later. He’s your husband now. You’ve got plenty of time.

You sit back down on the bed, cup clutched in your hand, while Dale takes his gratefully. To your mounting disappointment, he sits at the vanity instead of next to you.

“So,” he says, after a sip of tea, “where would you like to begin?”

[Part Thirty-Four]

[brucewaynehater101]

The number of times I've seen people argue that Bruce is a decent father and that he is not abusive absolutely blows my absolute mind.

Yes, you can hc whatever version of Bruce you want. You can even blame it all on bad writers or reject canon. You can claim comic!Bruce isn't your Bruce and main a different version of him. Those are all valid.

However, you can NOT say that he has ever been justified for hitting his kids. There is no excuse for him willingly laying his hands on his kids. It doesn't matter if the person is drunk, drowning in grief, lost in emotions, whatever. Hitting kids is not okay.

Continually, the physical abuse is a very obvious sign of Bruce being a shit dad in the comics. On top of that, there is so much emotional abuse and manipulation as well. He's shitty as fuck to his kids and there's no reason this is okay. He may love those kids, but that doesn't excuse his behaviors.

Anyways, reject canon Bruce all you want. There's certain aspects of other characters I reject, and DC stands for Disregard Canon. Feel free to have whatever version of Bruce you desire.

What is NOT okay is excusing or accepting canon Bruce's actions/behaviors as acceptable.

[quietwingsinthesky]

i really do think the desire to paint ten as unambiguously The Worst™️ when it comes to his relationship with martha is out of this desire to uncomplicate their relationship. to decouple them as friends and people who profoundly impacted each other’s lives. it’s just an easier narrative to swallow: that ten was Awful to her and then martha kicked him to the curb when she realized she was too good for him. easier, maybe, then dealing with the troubles of unrequited affection don’t have to be anyone’s fault, or that ten shut martha out in a lot of ways but let her in in others that he wouldn’t let any other companion near, or that they were still friends, they still wanted to see each other and be around each other, even though it was messy and sometimes hurt. you know?