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frostbittenbucky · 3 years

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Bruce Wayne

The Batman

The Dark Knight

Worlds Greatest Detective

Had fucked up

Bruce Wayne isn’t a slob, he’s not lazy- he is the complete opposite of his persona “Brucie Wayne”, who is a lazy pampered prince. But Bruce Wayne? Never.

So after Bruce finishes a snack he washes his dishes like any civilized human would do- or else Alfred would have some very choice words and some very petty actions towards him. It’s a simple task, take off his rings, run the water, apply the soap, scrub then rinse.

Simple.

But someone tell Bruce how the hell he managed to drop his ring down the drain? And someone tell Bruce why the didn’t stop for a moment and think before shoving his hand down the drain?

He fucked up. Now he’s stuck. But Bruce Wayne is a genius, he can get himself out of this silly situation. So he tries pulling... and pulling... and pulling. Ok, next option, lubricant. Soap will do. So Bruce proceeds to pour a generous amount of soap around his hand, he moves it around to make sure it’s coated, then he pulls. And pulls. Ok so next move.

What’s the next move?

He groaned loudly, thinking how utterly ridiculous and stupid this situation is. “Ok... dammit,” he muttered to himself. He decided to reach for his phone and-

Shit. It’s on the kitchen island directly behind him, where it’s just out of his reach. Why did he do that? Oh right, because he got water in his speaker last time. Right. Perfect. Wonderful.

“Alfred?” He called out, “Alfred, Damian are you still here?” No response. Shitshitshitshitshitgodammitshitshit.

Maybe he can reach his phone? He thought. So with all his grace he leaned towards to island, swishing at the air in hopes his phone would magically come into his hand. Nah.

Leg, his leg might reach. It’s longer than his arm, and his can get some torso length in there. Lifting his leg and leaning his body out he kicks at the counter, his brows furrowed. Fuck. Bruce is very flexible, but his leg and torso are extended to the fullest human capacity, and fuck why are these countered so spaced out?!

Bruce pulls his body back and lays his forehead on the cold countertop, trying to push down the rage that’s building up in his chest. This is stupid. This is so fucking stupid. “Is anybody home? Stephanie? Jason? Ca- not you, Titus,” He lifted his head from the counter and looked to his right, and there Titus stood in front of Bruce, wanting to investigate the noise. Seeing nothing interesting Titus tilted his head and gave a “boof” before turning out and leaving him to his own demise, “no wait,” Bruce reached out for the dog who already made up his mind.

So there he stood.

Bruce Wayne

The Batman

The Dark Knight

The Worlds Greatest Detective

Dumbass

Knowing he now has to swallow his pride and go into his next move, he groans loudly. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s called when it wasn’t anything life threatening. Sure, it’s rare, but it does happen. Plus, he always understands, and by now he knows the differences between help and help. But Bruce knew there would be consequences... because he isn’t scared of Bruce, all his intimidation tactics fall short, completely on deaf ears around him.

“Clark,” his voice sounded almost like a whine, his voice was a little hoarse from literally forcing the words past his lips, “if you’re not busy I need a hand.”

Just as soon as his finished his sentence Clark was stood in front of him, flannel, glasses, and cowboy boots, “howdy.” Bruce closed his eyes at Clark’s greeting, then opened them to send him a hard glare, “what’s seems to be the problem, Bruce?” A wide and knowing grin spread across Clark’s face. X-ray vision. No explanation needed. Sure friends help friends in their times of need. But best friends? Oh yea, Bruce had to earn his help by paying the high price of humiliation.

“Just hand me my phone, Clark,” pointing at the device just out of reach.

A shocked and confused looked replaced Clark’s smile, “oh, this? This phone right here?” He also pointed, walking to grab the device, “you don’t happen to have Face ID do you?”

“No, I w-“ It was a lie. Clark know had opened his phone just by turning it to Bruce’s face. A sigh left his body, was this price worth his freedom? Probably not.

“Hold on, B, I’m not dressed properly. This is a rescue after all,” and just in a blink of an eye Superman now stood in front of a tired looking Bruce, having no choice of his front vow seat the shit show that was about to unfold. Clark lifted the phone and snapped a couple selfies with Bruce, grinning his charming smile that the world adored him for. Bruce looked like a hungover raccoon, putting it kindly.

“Are your done? Just get me out and I’ll buy you a horse or something.”

“Aw, you do care. I knew you were listening when I told you about that pony farm,” Clark didn’t bother to look up from the phone, tapping away at the screen, “oh Bruce, your groupchat is named ‘family’?”

His eyes widen, “don’t you da-“

“-Isn’t Dick a firefighter? I think that he’s better for this job,” Clark announced, taking a seat on the island that just out of reach, “I hope you understand Mr. Wayne, I’m glad to offer help but them seems like a job for our local emergency service.”

“If you call 911,” Bruce growled, gritting his teeth together, leaning towards the other man and close as possible, “I swear.”

Scoffing, Clark waves him off, “of course not, why would I waste a 911 operators time? There’s people who need real help out there. I’m calling Dick directly.” Once again, is the price of freedom worth it?

————-

“Fireman Dick Grayson reporting for duty!” Cried his oldest child with two other firman following close behind, “hey pops I h- is that Superman?” He faked a gasped, clutching his chest.

The group chat had blown up by now. A series of text and FaceTime calls followed shortly after.

Damian: “Tt. Father this is utterly disappointing”

Bruce: “Sorry to be disappointing, kiddo”

Stephanie: “lmfaoooo I’m coming over. Be there in 10 don’t escape until I get there”

Jason: *screenshot of the photo of Superman and Bruce posted on Twitter with the caption: “when your dad panics and calls Superman”

Jason: *another screenshot of a multitude of replies along the lines, “what are you doing step bro?” “What are your doing Superman?”*

Duke: “the mighty Batman has finally met his match. A kitchen sink”

Cassandra: “😆😆😂🤣😬🤔🧠🤷🏻‍♀️💕💕💗💓💖”

Bruce: “thank you, Cassandra. I think.”

Stephanie: “imma do a live when I get there 🤣”

Tim: “you know we’re not going to let you live this down right b?”

Dick: “dumbasssssss”

Dick: “don’t worry B I’ll be there to rescue you shortly”

Bruce: “I can unadopt all of you.”

Alfred: “master Bruce, please word yourself properly. “Unadopt” isn’t a real word.”

Bruce: “Sorry, Alfred.”

So now that official rescue crew has arrived he expected this to be a quick and professional release. Nah. Dick, his oldest, his light in the dark, his son, his baby boy, is an asshole.

Dick started taking his own selfies with Bruce and Superman. Dick and Clark wore bright smiles, full of perfect teeth and glimmering eyes. Bruce, again, looked like a mess. He was wearing an old shirt, old sweatpants, no makeup on, his hair an untamed, scattered, frizzy mess. He should’ve conditioned, but he wasn’t expecting to go out today or have any photos done today.

The price of freedom is high, but not worth it.

#Bruce Wayne #batdad #superman #Clark kent #batman #Batfam #my post #I just want to make people laugh tbh #also I’m tired of Bruce seeming so perfect #I want him to do stupid things and make small mistakes #and I want more Clark terrorizing Bruce #also no I’m not editing this I’m lazy #dick Grayson #Cassandra Cain #duke Thomas #Stephanie brown #Jason Todd #Tim drake #Damian Wayne

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jmoriarty-221b · 3 years

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Ok so this idea was inspired by AUs where Tim Drake is a member of the Addams family and thus this cute idea was born

Ok so, Tim’s parents still travel a lot but instead of leaving him alone in a big empty manor they leave him with his aunt and uncle Morticia and Gomez Addams

And Tim is a weird little kid who grows up without fear of the dark figures at night because the boogeyman is actually a pretty nice fellow who was very touched when Tiny Tim gave them a drawing of themselves, the monster in the closet actually gives great fashion advice as well as providing the perfect clothes for playing dress up, and the monsters under his bed are great storytellers and the shadow man gives Tim great advice on how to hide and use shadows to his advantage, etc.

The point is that Timmy grows up under the care of the Addams when his parents have to leave on long business trips or excavation sites and as such, is exposed to Gomez’s great appreciation of swordsmanship and fencing, and the haunted suits of armors are always great at comparing which kind of swords are the best in which kind of combat as well as the the importance of craftsmanship when in relation to having a reliable sword

And then one day Timmy watches the movie ‘The Legend of Zorro’ and becomes absolutely obsessed with learning how to use a sword and fight with it in the way only little kids can become obsessed with something they find completely cool, and Gomez is so excited to be teaching Tim everything he knows and they work together to craft Timmy his very own mini rapier for learning how to fence (swords are heavier so Tim learns those from Gomez when he’s older and can parry more weight)

And Tim becomes very Focused and Serious on learning how to fence and he’s very excited when he manages to finally best his uncle in a fencing duel (not as excited as Gomez tho, “MY CHILD SHALL BECOME THE BEST SWORDSMAN YET MY LOVE, DID YOU SEE HIS TECHNIQUE, HAD I BEEN SLOWER HE WOULD’VE RIPPED OPEN MY THROAT IN ONE SWIPE, I’M SO PROUD” “Our child dear”)

And then the movie ‘Count of Monte Cristo’ comes out and both Tim and Gomez are super fans (as a whole the family’s favorite movies are this one as well as the Legend of Zorro because 1. Revenge is achieved to the improvement of the main character’s well being and 2. The Aesthetic) and Tim just focuses on getting the hang of swords now with Gomez being more than happy to help his darling nephew

So years pass and Tim’s parents have finished one of their most taxing excavation digs so they return to Gotham and Tim has to return too (for the purposes of this AU Janet and Jack actually do give a fuck about their son so they would call him every other night when they’re away and if they can’t then at the very least they would call Tim once a week; they also call Morticia and Gomez at least once a week to check on how Tim is doing and they were also very happy to know that Tim has taken a liking to swords so they try to bring new types of weapons or literature related to weapons from the culture of their latest excavation so Tim can learn how different types of swords are wielded all around the world)

But anyway, Tim is going back to Gotham so he and Gomez work on creating a new sword for him with the family motto carved on the blade “Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc” which translates to “We Gladly Feast on Those Who Would Subdue Us” which is metal as fuck so yeah, and this sword is super durable and strong, inspired by a katana’s durability and a rapier’s gracefulness with a blade that is such a dark purple that it looks black like obsidian and the inscription of the family motto is carved in letters that are ruby red with a black hilt where an image of a drake is engraved in the same ruby red as the family motto (basically it is a Very Deadly Sword that is also Very Pretty with a dark aesthetic)

So Tim gets back to Gotham and one day he’s watching the news and sees The Batman saving the day and what not and sees Robin do a quadruple back flip and figures out their identities and decides that he wants to meet them at some point while on his nightly photography sessions of Gotham architecture; and if he manages to snap a couple of shots of Gotham’s heroes sometimes then that’s a bonus but Tim is mostly focused on capturing the essence of Gotham city (at this point in time when Tim moves back to Gotham he physically looks like 10-12 year old; he did meet Dick at the circus when he looked like he was 4 years old but for the purposes of the timeline Tim, as an Addams, can choose to remain at any age he desires for as long as he wants so while he did appear to be 4 years old at the circus, he had been alive for a couple of years more at this point, this also explains how he can master swords and fencing while physically looking like a 10 year old because he has been practicing for years as well as why he remembers Dick from that night at the circus)

So the timeline continues with Tim figuring out that the Bats are actually his neighbors but instead of staying away from the Waynes, he decides to go ask his parents if he can stay with the neighbors whenever they have to stay later than usual at the company or have to take a short business travel and they talk with Bruce about it and he agrees to take care of Tim, so now Tim has an in to befriend the Waynes and helps smooth out the edges of Dick and Bruce’s relationship so Bruce doesn’t fire Dick from Robin, but rather they talk about their feelings for once and Dick decides he wants to create his own superhero identity and Bruce supports his decision (Tim may or may not have had to talk about how his family happened to be very open about their feelings and worry for one another and how much closer they are due to talking to each other and resolving conflict; Alfred may or may not have been 100% behind Tim every time he made such a conversation) also, Tim is basically a trial run for Dick on becoming a big brother for when Jason arrives

One time Tim asks Dick if he knows how to fence which Dick can’t really answer because technically he knows how to fight with a sword but that’s for vigilante purposes which his civilian self isn’t supposed to know so Dick says that he doesn’t and asks Tim why he wanted to know, Tim proceeds to talk about how his favorite masked hero uses a sword to fight injustice and he has a black cape and a black horse and Bruce comes into the living room they’re in in the middle of Tim’s rambling about his favorite hero using a sword and is Concerned for a hot minute until Tim finishes the rant by saying “. . . and that’s why I like his movie so much, have you seen the Legend of Zorro?” (Cue relief for both Dick and Bruce because for all that they scrambled to put a name to the hero Tim was describing they couldn’t come up with one and were considering the possibility of a new player in the vigilante scene) so then Tim asks Mr. Bruce if he knows how to fence and Bruce says yes and asks if Tim would like to learn cue the “Oh, my uncle taught me how to fence a few years ago and when I lived with them we had a duel at least once a week, it was very fun so I was just wondering if you knew so we could practice if you want to Mr. Bruce”

Dick is 100% on board with this because the idea of Tiny Tim and 6’1” Bruce fencing is hilarious in his mind, Alfred is there to supervise and both Tim and Bruce are provided with the appropriate fencing equipment and protection; Bruce starts off slow and is surprised when Tim manages to beat him before starting to enjoy fencing with someone who can surprisingly keep up with him (Dick is taking pictures because the height difference is just too cute to be ignored and Tiny Tim is adorable in his own mini fencing equipment)

Whenever his parents do have to leave for extended periods of time (any company trip that takes more than 3-5 days qualifies as this) Tim stays with his aunt and uncle, thus starting a fun tradition of having spontaneous fencing duels with his uncle Gomez, basically if one of them is in the library then the other will shout ‘En-garde’ while throwing a sabre towards the other person and engaging in a quick duel; basically, if Tim is reading about the latest poisonous plants produced by Poison Ivy and annotating his research in order to get an idea of what would be a nice gift for his aunt Morticia and Gomez walks into the library then Gomez will grab two of the sabres they have on the wall for this exact purpose while shouting ‘en-garde’ before throwing a sabre at Tim and engaging in a duel, same goes for Tim, it’s almost instinct to the point that Tim has to hold himself back from doing exactly this whenever he sees Bruce in the library of Wayne Manor

Later on, when Jason is already adopted into the Wayne family, Tim still comes over and makes it his sacred mission to teach Jason the art of swords so he has another fencing buddy because “Mr. Bruce isn’t always here and I have decided that we will be friends and you’re pretty cool but knowing how to fight with a sword just ups your coolness level ya know?” So now Jason has smol Tim teaching him how to fence and it’s pretty fun to be able to do a taxing physical activity outside of being Robin with a friend, when Jason gets the hang of fencing Tim decides that he must now advance to the next level: sword fighting (Alfred is always there to supervise and give tips and pointers because he also knows how to fence but chooses to stay in the sidelines and let the young masters have their fun)

The problem with this is that, while the Waynes do have sabres for fencing, they don’t have swords, at least not in their civilian selves, so Tim decides to bring his own swords to teach Jason how to sword fight, Alfred is the first to see Tim’s very own special sword and is both impressed at the craftsmanship and concerned as to why a child has a sword, Jason thinks Tim’s sword is the coolest he has ever seen and Tim is happy to talk about how he made it himself with his uncle’s help when he finally learned all about sword fighting and promises Jason that they can make him his own cool sword when he learns how to sword fight too, Dick also thinks that the sword is a little concerning for a kid to have but he also wants his own cool sword and so now he insists Bruce has to teach him how to sword fight because Tim said he’s not allowed to have his own sword until he learns how to sword fight, Bruce is baffled as to why Tim has a sword, impressed at Tim’s skills in craftsmanship, and a little Concerned as to why Tim’s sword has that Latin inscription on the blade (no Tim, knowing that “we feast in those who would subdue us” is your family motto doesn’t calm me down yet it explains a lot about your mother)

By the time Damian comes along to the family he is very interested in where Jason and Dick got their Very Cool swords from, his father also has one and he wants to have his own Very Cool Sword too, thank you very much, and Tim visits them when Damian is still settling in and asks his customary question of if he knows how to use fence and gets an affirmative answer he asks Bruce if it would be ok for him and Damian to have a fencing duel, Bruce explains the rules to Damian and makes sure that Alfred, Dick, Jason and him are present in order to keep Damian from maiming/killing Tim

The duel does get a little out of hand as Damian gauges that Tim is more skilled than he previously thought so he stops holding back, Tim is positively grinning at this since he always has to hold back with the Waynes in a way that he doesn’t with Uncle Gomez because while an Addams won’t die from a stab to the heart, the same can’t be said for anyone else; the duel ends with Tim winning because he has more experience than Damian but he is positive beaming at how awesome Damian was and how these duels could become a weekly thing before they transition to swords and once Dames graduates from swords he can design his very own sword with Tim’s help as a sort of graduation present for learning how to sword fight and he’s sure that it won’t take too long for Damian to master swordsmanship because he’s basically a natural already and very skilled and this duel was so much fun Damian we have to do this again sometime oh my gosh I want to teach you everything I know it’s gonna be so much fun

And Damian, a poor baby, was mad at having lost to Tim but then Tim hits him with all this excitement and smiles and it’s the promise of getting his own Very Cool Sword is what gets him to agree to learn from Tim, it’s not that he feels warm at getting compliments from someone who also likes swords and knows what he’s doing in a fight, he definitely doesn’t find Tim cool at all, he’s just making use of a resource and he will learn everything Tim has to offer and become better than both Grayson and Todd, that’s all (that’s not all because it turns out that Damian is the younger brother Tim never had and he takes Dami under his wing and helps him adjust to a life outside the League of Assassins and how to find hobbies to enjoy; Damian won’t admit it but he is also Very Attached in to Timothy and feels like he won’t be judged for his past with him and he is also a fellow sword enthusiast so yeah)

Tim decides to do the same thing to Damian and initiating a quick fencing duel whenever he sees that Damian is in the gardens (no fencing inside the Manor on pain of Alfred’s eyebrow of disappointment); this helps Damian with the transition of learning to have fun and also learn to realize that not everybody is an enemy, it also helps keep up his training and burn some energy whenever he gets restless and helps him bond with Tim more

The idea was that Tim and Uncle Gomez would surprise each other with spontaneous fencing duels by shouting ‘en-garde’ at the other person whenever they find one another in the library, and now it turned into a fluff AU where Tim isn’t Robin but he’s still a family friend to the Waynes and an Addams and helps bring the family closer through his love of swords because yes

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queenoftodd · 3 years

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Dinner & Its Capitalist Agenda (Jason Todd x Female!Reader)

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Summary: Reader is dating Jason and accidentally wears vibrating panties to the first dinner with the Batfamily.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,278

Warning(s): Smut (fingering, penetration), Swearing.

Note: The idea for this was inspired by the film “The Ugly Truth”. If you want to be added to a taglist feel free to message me.

This was not how this night was supposed to go. How would you ever overcome the undying humiliation of tonight? You had been so excited to try on the gift that Jason had gotten you, that you didn’t bother to ask why the new lingerie came with a remote, one that you tossed in your clutch to ask him about later. This was also partly due to you rushing out of the house to Jason’s car, because you were both very late. Add that to the list of poor first impressions that you would be making on his family.

The two of you had been dating for almost six months now, and while you had met Dick and Jason’s best friend, Roy, you still hadn’t met the rest of his family. There really wasn’t any reasoning behind this, you both had very busy lives. Both of you set on making the world a better place by exposing Gotham’s corruption. You were an up and coming journalist for The Gotham Times, while Jason was a--well he told you he was a military contractor for Wayne Enterprises, but you always do your own background checks. You sort of stopped digging after the news headlines saying that he was dead, if he wanted to tell you then he would tell you. Besides, you were too in love with him to care.

According to Dick and Roy, his family has been dying to meet you. You had to admit that you were nervous, but determined to make the best first impression that you could. You would be meeting Bruce fucking Wayne. Despite the assurances that Jason gave you that Bruce was a regular guy, you still could not contain your excitement. Both as a journalist, but also as a longtime resident of Gotham. Vicki Vale would have a field day with you. You had even begged Jason to help you pick out something to wear that would both suit his sexual fantasies, but be modest enough to meet his father, and Alfred Pennyworth. Caretaker and grandfather-adjacent.

Of course you had decided on a crimson cocktail dress. Just enough opening in the chest to give Jason the perfect eye-view of your cleavage, but not enough to make you feel uncomfortable to meet his family. Jason didn’t want to bombard you with all of his family just yet, especially considering that you didn’t know about his vigilantism. So he strictly requested that the guest list at tonight’s family dinner only be anyone legally adopted by Bruce Wayne (and Damian of course).

This came to the rundown of everyone that would be there tonight. That was expected to be there tonight, at least. Jason did warn you that their jobs tended to keep them very busy, and his family might be called away to handle their respective responsibilities. You understood this of course, you were very familiar with being on call. Especially in Gotham.

Dick Grayson was a former Detective in Bludhaven, and you had met him at least three times over the course of being with Jason. Tim Drake worked at Wayne Enterprises and did something corporate-wise that Jason didn’t care enough about to explain it to you. Damian Wayne was the only biological son of Bruce Wayne and was currently in his senior year of high school. Jason informed you that he could be a smart-ass and bluntly rude. The last one that would be attending was Cassandra Cain. Jason said that she didn’t talk very much as she was raised to be mute, and only spoke in small increments when comfortable.

Your mouth gaped at the sight in front of you. The grandiose gate before you held all the secrets of wealth within the “W” centered in it. You could feel his blue eyes on you, your face was a mixture of emotions. Nervous, excited, and--did your underwear just vibrate? You shake the thought away, blaming it on your nerves as you turn towards your boyfriend.

“You ready?” He asks, waving up to the security camera outside the gate as it opened. He glanced back at your soft face, unable to contain the smile he got from looking at you so in awe. You did not grow up like this, in fact your family had never had a house of their own. Seeing the mansion that the man you called your boyfriend had spent several years of his life baffled you. Of course you had seen pictures of Wayne Manor, but never did you think that you would be a guest. You reached for his hand, giving him an assuring squeeze as he continued down the driveway towards the manor.

When Jason pulled into the parking area in the front of the manor you could make out four shadowy figures standing by the curb. Your back instantly straightened when Jason came to a stop. “I told them to meet us inside.” He groaned, placing the car in park. You were thanking the heavens that the glass was tinted so that they couldn’t see into the car, because the butterflies were coming in swarms in the pit of your stomach now. Taking a deep breath, you turned towards Jason. A glare forming on your face when you notice his amused expression.

“Y/N, you look amazing, how are you?”

You opened your mouth to speak being interrupted by his lips on yours, silencing your thoughts. The feeling of his hand on your cheek as he pulled you closer. “Knock ‘em dead, beautiful.” His smirk sent a warm boost of motivation your way as he parted from you, and climbed out of the car.

After a few seconds of mental motivation, you followed suit, reaching for the car door handle when it opened for you. Jason standing at your door, outstretching his hand for you to take as you climbed out. You prayed that your smile wasn’t too awkward or seemed unhappy. Jason brought you over to meet the figures you noticed earlier. Dick was a familiar face, which eased you a bit as you pulled him into a small embrace.

“I’m great, it’s good to see you.” You beamed. You could already feel the eyeroll from Jason behind you. What could you say? You enjoyed any time you got to spend with Jason’s older brother. Next was Tim, who held a more shocked expression as he looked at you. Jason had to be the one to introduce him, as he was shaking your hand, but his mouth was hung open. “It’s nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Y/N.”

“You’re with him?” A laugh didn’t fail to escape your red lips as you dropped your handshake from Tim to press Jason back with your right hand, sending him a warning look before showing a gracious smile to Tim.

“For six months now, yes.” You giggle and immediately feel Jason soften at the sound of your laugh. Next their was Damian Wayne who glanced at you in a way that made you feel like you were under examination. “You must be Damian.”

One of his hands was cradling his chin as he took your hand, eyeing you quizzically before placing a kiss to your knuckles, your eyes widening. Now that was definitely unexpected. “Todd, I’m impressed. Now I’m done waiting here for you imbeciles, I’ll be inside. Y/N, pleasure.”

And with that he walked straight into the mansion without another word. Your eyebrows knitted together as you turned towards Jason, his mouth hung agape, along with the rest of his brothers. A tug on your arm made you realize you had almost forgotten someone. Cassandra. She was smiling at you, it was small, and seemingly shy, but excited? You extend your hand to her with a small smile and she takes it, her smile brightening.

“Hi Cassandra, my name is Y/N.” I gesture towards Jason. “I told Jay that you were the sibling I was most excited to meet.”

She shook her head pointing to herself and your eyebrows furrowed until she said. “Cass.” You nodded in understanding, repeating her nickname until she gestured to you. “Y/N. J-lover.”

You could see why everyone in this family was so charming and mannerful. The way he carried himself from the top of the stairs to meet you in the foyer echoed a confidence you could only dream of. You felt Jason’s hand squeeze yours and you mentally cursed at how clammy they had become. Bruce’s smile radiated the room, but you could tell by the way Jason tensed next to you that this was a rare occurrence. He had told you many stories of Bruce’s stoic--or in his terms, resting bitch face.

“Well...she’s not wrong.” You heard Jason mutter behind you, you smiled as she released your hand following Tim inside. That was when you playfully whacked his arm, before taking his head and walking up the steps to the manor’s entrance with Dick leading you two in. Upon entering the house, you entered the grand foyer. Greeted by a man whose face has graced many Gotham media covers and stations.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

“Y/N L/N.” Bruce grinned, extended his hand to shake yours and you met it with a firm grip. Tucking your clutch underneath your armpit. You swallowed your saliva as you shook his hand. Giving what Jason considered to be your breathtaking smile, beaming at Gotham’s wealthiest bachelor. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard great things.”

“Mr. Wayne, it’s lovely to meet you as well.”

A flex of your armpit sent a jolt up your cervix, catching you by surprise. This resulted in you jolting forward a bit, Bruce now shaking Jason’s hand, as they turned to you. You cleared your throat to throw attention off of the present fluctuation occurring by your pussy. What the literal fuck was going on? “Y/N/N, are you okay?” Jason asked and you nodded, already feeling your cheeks heat up. Running away to examine yourself before dinner was not a part of your goal to make a good first impression.

Removing the clutch from your armpit provided a relief from the sensual feeling emerging below. Bruce had excused himself to head to the dining room, when Alfred came to meet you both in the foyer, briefly as he was finishing up in the kitchen. He was excited to meet you, but he had to tend to something in the oven. This gave you a moment to turn to Jason.

“Are you feeling okay? You just jumped out of nowhere.” I nod assuring him, considering the feeling subsided, it shouldn’t be that big of deal to draw attention to.

“I’m fine, I think it was just the nerves.” You lie, wanting to find a better time to excuse yourself to the bathroom to sort whatever was going on with you, out. Unfortunately he can read you like an open book, but for the sake of tonight, he just pushed it aside to discuss later. You followed him to the dining room where everyone was already seated and you had gotten a seat between Tim and Jason. Dick was across from Tim, Cass was across from Tim, and Damian was across from Jason. Bruce sat at the head of the table between Damian and Jason and once Alfred brought the courses in, he was to sit at the other end near Damian and Tim.

“Oh Miss Y/N, let me grab your purse, I’ll put it by the coat rack for you.” You handed him the clutch with a small smile of gratitude as he left the room briefly before coming back to take his seat on the opposite end of Bruce. You thanked him as everyone was looking eagerly at Bruce. Judging by context clues, they were waiting for him to make the first move to eat. Once he began to cut into the steak dinner that Alfred had made, the knives and forks clattered around you to also begin their descent on their plates. You smiled lightly as you began to dig in yourself when a buzz whipped up your folds, making you tighten your grip on the fork and knife.

A gasp passed your lips as a pulsating throb began in your pussy. You could feel Jason’s eyes on you, growing concerned as he noticed you weren’t looking anywhere but at your plate. “So, Y/N.” You’re eyes fluttered to Bruce, hoping your breathing was normal as you shifted in your seat. “How did you two meet?”

You cleared your throat, focusing on the sentence. “Jason l-loves to tell this story, right Jay?” You practically moan, shoving several pieces of steak in your mouth to avoid speaking. “This is oh...s-so good..” Your boyfriend’s eyes widened at the sound of your moan. For some reason his girlfriend of six months was getting turned on at the dinner table in front of his siblings and he didn’t know what to do. Jason had to distract them, mentally cursing himself as he opened his mouth to speak.

“It’s not that exciting of a story. Dick, how’re things in Bludhaven?” This diverted the attention from you for a while while several whimpers fell from your lips as you squeezed your legs together. You couldn’t take this anymore. Jason placed his hand on your thigh leaning towards you.

“Why are you moaning?” That’s when it hit you. The lingerie, Jason had gotten you vibrating panties. Your eyes widened, gripping his arm tight as you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning into his ear, your breathing heavy.

“Fuck.” You moan holding tightly on his arm. His body shielding you from seeing Bruce or Damian. “Lingerie. I’m...s-so wet, Ja--ah!”

“What--you’re wearing them right now? Where’s the remote?” He whispered through gritted teeth. He was struggling to contain himself at the breathiness in your moans. Fuck, the remote, you gave your clutch to Alfred.

“Clutch.” You managed to get out, focusing on containing your breaths, your body felt so hot. There was no doubt that you were so close to your climax. Jason grabbed your wrist pulling you from the table, surprising everyone at the sudden action.

“We have to go. Thank you for dinner, Alfred.” He nodded towards the lovable butler. Then he nodded at everyone else, still shielding you from everyone. “Bruce, Dick, everyone, it’s good to see you.”

Without another explanation, despite numerous protests Jason rushed you to the exit near the coat rack where your clutch was, but it appeared to be open. Two feet away was Titus, Damian’s dog. He was chewing aggressively on the remote currently causing you to moan in pleasure. Your hand flying to your mouth as your knees grow weak. Jason steadied you by the door before wrestling the remote from Titus, who would’ve bit him if Jason didn’t move quickly. Jason shut the remote off, taking the batteries out for extra precaution as he handed you your clutch and rushed you out the door.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Jason put you in the car and he raced out of Wayne Manor, speeding down the street before pulling down a trail by the woods. Once he parked you turned to him in confusion before he pulled you into a kiss. It was heated and you could tell by his eagerness that he was just as horny. Considering that he cut your climax off before you could get there, so were you. You felt your dress skirt ride up as Jason pulled the troublesome panties down smirking against your lips at the feel of your soaked pussy.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he began to tease your clit, eliciting a louder moan. One you were grateful to let loose without worrying about his family. “Couldn’t let the panties have all the fun, now can we?” He huffed, moving his attention to your neck as he started on your neck. Sucking until his lips popped off your pulse, bound to leave a mark. He quickened his fingers pace, removing your panties completely as he inserted his ring and middle finger inside you. “Fuck me, Y/N/N. You’re so wet for me, huh?”

All you could do in response was whimper a small hum in agreement. Your vision was so blurred as his fingers fucked you deep in your soul. The car seat you were in flattened back, causing a laughter of surprise to fall from your lips as Jason climbed on top of you fully. You sat up to help unbuckle his suit. He had gotten all dressed up for you, a white button down tucked into some black dress pants and dress shoes that he had borrowed from Dick. His shirt was not buttoned all the way, exposing his chest.

“Y/N, fuck--you have no idea what you do to me.” And with that final thrust you climaxed, your eyes fluttering open as your body convulsed, releasing a warm euphoric feeling all over his cock, and the passenger seat of his car. You didn’t have a chance to catch your breath as Jason’s grip on your hips tightened and he continued to ram into you with this newfound stamina. His breath quickening and his moans of your name growing louder.

The belt was now somewhere else in his car, as he lowered his pants and boxers underneath you enough to ready himself at your entrance. You laid back down as he pumped himself, groaning as he was already so hard. It had taken you a few times to get used to Jason’s size, but now your pussy called itself the expert. You gasped, as he rubbed his cock up against your pussy, he smiled at the effect he had on you. How easy you unfolded beneath him.

You jolted back when Jason slammed into you, thrusting deep inside you. It didn’t take him long to find the right spot and stick to it. His grunts and moans harmonizing with your screams and gasps. “Fuck, Jay, oh--” Your vision began to blur as he picked up his speed, moving his hands down to your clit to rub it agonizingly slow. Thus increasing your pleasure.

You caressed his arm, looking up at him as you moaned breathily, “Come for me, Jason.” A look of relief flashes across his face as his own euphoria engulfs him. He pulls out of you, climbing over to the driver’s side partly to take a breath.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Y/N L/N.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe you wore those tonight.” You weakly smacked him on the arm as you pulled the car seat back into place.

“You bought me lingerie, you rarely buy me clothes--I got excited.” Your y/e/c eyes widened, looking at him, running your hands down your face. “Oh no! I totally ruined it tonight.”

He could tell you were upset, especially knowing how badly you wanted to make a good first impression. “No one noticed, I got you out before they did.”

“Are you sure?”

“I love you too, beautiful.”

“I’ll just tell them you were nauseous.” He shrugged, buttoning up his pants, gesturing for you to put your seatbelt on. “If they ask what happened.”

“I love you.” You say before leaning over the console to kiss him as he started the car again.

And Jason would tell you any lie you needed to hear in order to be able to meet face to face with his family again. Even if it meant making his siblings take a blood oath not to mention it. If they didn’t, there were always second impressions...right?

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bellakitse · 3 years

Text

Carlos and Grace save the world

Carlos is surprised at first when Grace seeks him out, but when she explains that she’s worried about her neighbor possibly being abused by her husband, Carlos instantly agrees to help.

They become friends.

The story I wish they had in 2x05

(I started working on this about two weeks ago when we heard that Grace and Carlos would have a story together in the last episode. I then put it on hold to work on the tarlos valentine’s event. At the time, I was worried that the story would be pointless after the episode, and then the episode happened, and the story was given about a minute of airtime, so I figured I would finish this.)

Warnings for: Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Threats of Violence, and Knife injury.

Carlos will admit he’s a little surprised when Grace seeks him out. They don’t really know each other that well. The only interaction they really have is when he’s answering one of her dispatch calls. Or when the 126 is having some kind of gathering at the station like now.

Still, they don’t really talk.

“Officer Reyes?” she greets him with a tentative smile, coming up to him as he pours himself a glass of water. Around them, the 126 and extended friends and family mingle. They’d finally come together to honor Tim the way they couldn’t when the wildfires were roaring.

“Mrs. Ryder, hello,” he answers politely. He points at the pitcher of cold water in his hand, offering to pour her some.

“I’m good,” she answers with a shake of her head and another smile. “And please, call me Grace.”

“Only if you call me Carlos, ma’am,” he gives her a smile of his own; it grows as she lets out an amused chuckle and nods in agreement.

“Okay, that’s a deal.”

“Good,” he says jokingly. He puts the pitcher back in the fridge before turning to give her his full attention, frowning when he finds her fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot nervously. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” Grace blurts out, looking as surprised as him. “I wanted to talk to you about something, but now I’m not sure if I should, or if it’s any of my business – or if I’m even just imagining things and overreacting.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at the woman’s run-on sentence. “Well,” he starts off slowly and with caution. “I know we don’t know each other very well – ”

“We should change that,” Grace interrupts him with a kind smile on her pretty face.

“I completely agree,” Carlos concurs, liking Grace’s welcoming presence even before this conversation. “But what I do know about you is that you just don’t seem like the type of person who overreacts. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and we’ll see if I can help,” he finishes with what he hopes is an encouraging look.

“TK got himself a good one,” she says with a fondness that makes him blush slightly. “Okay, so I have this new neighbor, Rosie,” she starts to tell him.

Carlos listens as Grace explains about the newly married couple on her block, Rosie, a jumpy young thing, and her husband, Derek. He frowns as Grace tells him about her first encounter with them, the way the girl went from friendly and lively when they were alone in her front yard to subdued the moment her husband showed up.

“I can’t explain it,” Grace lets out a frustrated exhale. “He was friendly enough; he didn’t grab her in any way that would raise concerns, and yet alarm bells went off the moment he walked up to us. Even as she was smiling, there was something in her eyes that has stuck with me.” Grace sighs again. “Like I said, maybe I’m overreacting, looking for trouble where there isn’t any.”

“Grace,” Carlos starts with a shake of his head. “I have been on a number of your calls, and I hear you over the radio. You are an amazing operator because you have good instincts. If you’re worried about this girl, I don’t doubt you saw a reason for it. What does Judd say?”

Grace’s expression softens at the mention of her husband, her eyes shining with love and affection. “I haven’t told him yet. Judd, bless him, is so tenderhearted and protective. If I said to him that I think something is wrong with this slip of a girl, you better believe he would be pounding down their door before we even find out if something is really wrong.”

Carlos gives her an understanding smile. “Sounds like TK,” he tells her, earning a chuckle in return.

“Why do you think they clashed when they first started working together?” she questions with a twinkle in her eye that lets him know she’s heard as many complaints about TK from Judd as he’s heard from TK about her husband. “Those two are reckless softies who want to save the whole world, and if no one is there to check them, they dive in headfirst,” she says with a pointed look at him.

“Is that supposed to be us?” he questions jokingly. “We’re going to keep them in check?”

Grace shrugs easily. “Well, I married mine, so I pretty much signed up for the job. You’re still dating, so that’s up to you to decide.”

“Can you be my support group?” he questions. It’s not like he really needs to decide after all. He might not be married to TK yet, but he has known since the night of the solar flares and maybe even before that, that it’s his job to keep TK safe.

Grace grins at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners from her smile. “We can meet on Wednesdays for pie.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Carlos says easily, only half-joking. He likes Grace’s easy energy and can see himself becoming good friends with her. “Now, how do I help you with Rosie?”

֎֎֎

“You and Grace were talking for a while back at the station.”

Carlos looks up from the book in his hand over at TK as he comes out of the bathroom into his bedroom. He licks his lips as he takes his boyfriend in, dressed only in a pair of grey sweats that rest low on his hips.

“Carlos?” TK questions as he runs a towel over his hair, a smile taking over his face when Carlos jerks his gaze from all the tantalizing skin.

“Huh?” he questions, blinking a few times, hoping to focus. He blushes slightly at the knowing chuckle TK gives him in response.

TK throws the towel in the hamper before he crosses the distance to him. He presses a knee on the bed by his thigh, throwing the other over him.

Carlos quickly drops his book on the bedside table, freeing his hands to place them on TK’s hips as he comes to sit on his lap. He runs his thumbs over the soft skin right at the edge of TK’s sweats. This time it’s his turn to smile in satisfaction as the simple touch causes TK to shiver under it, his eyes going hazy and soft as he looks down at him.

“Don’t think you’re distracting me,” TK accuses him softly, even as he sits more firmly on Carlos’ lap, arching into his touch as he moves his hands from his hips to his back, fingers touching the constellation of freckles he now knows by memory. “You two looked deep in conversation. Is everything okay?”

“Grace has a neighbor she’s worried about,” he tells him, watching as TK goes from soft to tense and alert. “She has a bad feeling about the woman’s husband and asked for my opinion as a cop.”

TK frowns, concern replacing the previously touch-induced daze on his face. It’s not surprising to Carlos in the least. He’s pretty sure he’s never met anyone more empathetic than his boyfriend.

“Does she think he’s hurting her?” he asks, worrying his bottom lip in distress.

Carlos runs his hands up and down TK’s back once more, this time not to arouse but comfort. “Maybe,” he says with caution. From everything Grace told him, he understands her worry, but he also doesn’t want to make up an opinion before having all the facts. “She’s going to visit her tomorrow with some food as a late ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ thing, and asked me to tag along.”

TK bites down on his lip even harder, causing Carlos to reach up and press his thumb against it until he releases it. “Hey,” he starts softly. He tips TK’s chin to look at him in the eyes. “It’s fine. I’m just going for support and to offer a helping hand if there’s something to Grace’s concerns.”

“You’ll be careful?” TK questions, his voice low and worried. “Domestic situations have a way of spiraling out of control quickly.”

“Of course,” he answers, tugging TK forward. He lets out a content sound as TK settles on top of him. He turns his face into TK’s damp hair, giving it a kiss. “Everything will be fine, I promise,” he whispers, holding his boyfriend close.

Later, the promise will ring loudly in his ears.

֎֎֎

“Relax,” he says to Grace quietly as they stand on Rosie’s front steps. He arrived at the Ryder’s home thirty minutes earlier and waited as Grace finished her peach cobbler before they crossed the street, food in hand. “You’re just being friendly, and I’m tagging along for the ride.”

“Right,” Grace murmurs back as she presses the doorbell. She spares him a look with a raised brow. “That’s a nice shirt, by the way.”

“TK got it for me a few weeks ago,” he says, running a hand down the light-weight cream color polo. “The color makes me look less intimidating, don’t you think?”

Grace’s mouth quirks upward in amusement. “Carlos, sweetheart, you’re massive. I don’t think a soft-colored shirt will hide what you’re packing. Luckily you have a kind, gentle face to balance out all those muscles.”

Carlos grins at her, his smile growing when she rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah, you’re cute,” she mocks sarcastically, her dimples winking at him.

Carlos laughs at the begrudging compliment and Grace’s teasing ways. It reminds him a lot of his sisters and the way they gently like to mess with him. He’s still mid-laugh when a young woman with long light-brown hair and big green eyes opens the door. Her eyes remind him of TK, and he instantly feels protective of her. He remembers Grace calling her a slip of a girl, and he understands why. She’s small and sweet-looking in a heavy long sleeve shirt and print leggings.

“Grace?” she questions curiously, her eyes shifting quickly from Grace to him and back again.

“Hi Rosie,” Grace greets her with a bright smile that convincingly hides the tension she had moments ago. “This is my friend Carlos,” she points to him, not adding anything else. Better to keep her attention off him as he studies her. He takes in her clothes again, the shirt so big the sleeves come down to her fingertips, the thickness odd for the current warm weather. “He was visiting, and I mentioned I hadn’t had a chance to properly welcome you to the neighborhood, so we made you cobbler. Can we come in?”

Carlos smiles in what he hopes is friendly and reassuring as Rosie sneaks a look at him again. She looks over her shoulder towards the inside of the house before giving them a nod. “Sure, Derek is not home anyway,” she says, stepping aside to let them in.

He lets Grace cross the threshold first, but not before sharing a pointed look with his friend. The mention of her husband and her being comfortable with letting them in because he isn’t home already setting an alarm off for him.

“Sorry about the mess,” she says as she follows them into the living room, where there are still a few moving boxes on the floor. “I haven’t had a chance to put everything away,” she says with a self-conscious chuckle. “I can’t make up my mind where I want things to go. It drives Derek crazy.”

“It’s fine,” he tells her with an understanding smile, speaking for the first time. “When I first moved into my place, it took me a month to put up curtains because I couldn’t decide what color I wanted.”

Rosie gives him a small smile, her shoulders relaxing slightly at his comment. It only makes Carlos more tense and aware. He’s already starting to see what Grace was talking about. Even with the friendly smile on the girl’s face, there is an air of tension around her as she moves – the slightest shake of her hands as she takes the cobbler from Grace while she asks where Derek is.

“Oh, who knows,” she answers with a smile that looks more like a grimace. “He likes to wander about. This looks delicious Grace, thank you. I can’t bake to save my life,” she says with an awkward laugh. “I’ll serve some up, be right back.”

They watch Rosie walk into the kitchen silently before they turn to each other.

“Okay,” he starts once they’re alone. “You’re right something is up. She’s nervous, even scared. She only let us in because he’s not here, and I don’t like how she put herself down twice already, like someone who’s used to hearing negative things about themselves.”

“It’s pretty warm for a sweater today,” Grace comments quietly, her brow wrinkling in the middle as she frowns. “I don’t want to be right about this, Carlos,” she whispers, obviously pained by the idea.

Carlos has only known Rosie for a few minutes, and he knows exactly how she feels. He opens his mouth to reassure her that they will not leave without helping the young woman when the front door opens and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Derek – is almost as tall as him but slimmer, with limp, dirty blond hair and cold blue eyes. He has a mean look on his face that Carlos doesn’t like one bit.

“Who the fuck are you?” he sneers at them, making zero effort to hide the fact that he is not happy they’re in his home.

“Derek!” Rosie exclaims as she walks back into the living room with two small plates in her hands. Her eyes are wide as she looks at her husband. “Hi, baby,” she says, trying to smooth her expression out but failing as her eyes dart back and forth rapidly. “You remember Grace, right? She’s our neighbor from across the street.”

“Hello again, Derek,” Grace greets him, but there isn’t a hint of a smile on her face as she looks at him like a bug.

Derek notices if the way his eyes narrow is anything to go by. He turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “And you? Who are you?”

Carlos wonders for a second how he should play this, but as he catches Derek’s angry looks at his wife and how Rosie seems to be shrinking into herself the longer she stands by the archway of the room, he decides to rip the bandaid off and let the chips fall where they may. “I’m a friend of Grace’s, Officer Carlos Reyes with Austin Police.”

The reactions are, unfortunately, instant. Rosie drops one of the plates she’s holding in fright while Derek snaps his neck to look at her.

“What the fuck have you been saying?” he questions her, taking a menacing step forward.

Carlos moves too, getting in the space between them, holding up his hands defensively to Derek. “Back up, man,” he warns him, his voice hardening.

The ugly twist of Derek’s face grows nastier, meaner, and now that he’s closer, Carlos can smell the bourbon coming off him.

“Seriously, Derek, back the fuck up,” he grits out through clenched teeth when the guy takes another step forward, ignoring his warnings.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Derek all but shouts angrily. “This is my house, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“Like hurt Rosie?” Grace asks him with a stern look, and while Carlos understands the sentiment, he groans internally at the question and the way it takes Derek’s focus off him to Grace. Behind him, he can hear Rosie quietly crying.

“And what if I do,” Derek questions with another sneer. “What are you or anyone else going to do about it? She’s my wife. I can do what I want with her.”

Grace looks at Derek with the same look of disgust he feels. Quietly he pulls out his phone and sends a quick message to his partner, grateful he had the forethought of mentioning the situation to her before he came.

“Only cowards hurt their wives,” Grace answers with another nauseated look and shake of her head.

Carlos admires her bravery. It proves the wrong thing to say, though, as Derek sticks his hand in his pocket and Carlos catches a flash of silver.

“You have a smart mouth on you, don’t ya?” Derek snarls at Grace with a switchblade in his hand.

He moves, and Carlos does too without really thinking. Like with Rosie, he gets between Derek and Grace, only this time Derek is ready, and he swings his knife-carrying hand at him.

Grace and Rosie both shout, Grace quickly moving out of the way and towards the young woman when she tries to step forward to intervene.

“Derek, stop!”

“Put the knife down, Derek! He’s a cop!”

Derek doesn’t listen to either of them, and neither can Carlos, as he jumps back to avoid the knife being lunged at him. The fight happens for Carlos in a blur as he tries to avoid the blade, disarm Derek and keep him from turning his rage toward Rosie or Grace.

“Please stop!” Rosie screams again, loud, and so scared it breaks Carlos’ focus for a moment. Unfortunately, it’s a moment too long, and he lets out a shout of his own as the knife pierces his skin on the left side of his flank.

Grace shouts, alarmed. “Carlos!”

He holds her back with one hand as she rushes towards him. She shoves it away, placing hers on his wound to put pressure as his shirt quickly stains with his blood.

Derek stares wide at him, the realization of what he’s done coming over his face. He doesn’t have a chance to react further than that as Austin Police barges through the door, Carlos’ partner at the front.

Carlos leans on Grace heavily, and Rosie comes forward to help him stay up as the three of them watch Derek be dragged to his knees and handcuffed.

“You can’t stay out of trouble even on your day off, Reyes,” his partner shakes his head at him before signaling for EMS to come in.

He tries to roll his eyes at her, but he’s starting to feel lightheaded, and he’s just grateful when the gurney rumbles in.

Rosie and Grace hand him off, but not before Rosie apologizes, he tries to reassure her, but he finds it hard to speak as he gets sleepier. He thinks he hears Grace tell her it’s not her fault, and he nods tiredly in agreement.

Looking over at Grace, he smiles, hoping it will ease the worried look on her face. “TK is gonna be pissed about the shirt,” he jokes right before he passes out.

֎֎֎

Carlos wakes up to bright lights in his eyes. He groans, annoyed at them as he tries to cover his face and finds that he’s tugging on his IV.

The hospital, shit.

“Everything will be fine, I promise,” says a soft mocking voice to his right, and when he turns his head, he’s not at all surprised to find TK sitting there with a raised eyebrow, trying to hide his worry behind a sarcastic look. “Getting stabbed, needing surgery, and having your spleen removed doesn’t scream ‘everything is fine’ Carlos Reyes.”

“Hey, baby,” he rasps out, his throat dry like the Sahara. “Sorry about that.”

TK gets up with a deep sigh. He crosses the distance to him and leans down, pressing a kiss on his forehead before he lays his against Carlos’. “You were being a big damn hero, so I forgive you,” he whispers as he touches his nose to Carlos’. “But if you can please avoid getting hurt while you save the world next time, I would appreciate it.”

Carlos makes a humming noise in the back of his throat, closing his eyes for a moment as he basks in TK’s closeness.

“I would have to agree.”

Carlos opens his eyes to find two other people in the room he didn’t notice before. Grace and Judd sit on the other two chairs of the room, both standing when he looks over at them. They walk together to the foot of his bed, and Grace wraps her hand around his ankle, giving it a squeeze.

“If we are going to be friends and go on adventures together, you can’t end up stabbed, honey,” she says with a sweet smile on her face.

“Carlos and Grace save the world,” TK says with a proud but dry smile. He looks over at Judd, sharing a look with the older man. “God help us, brother,” he says, getting a severe nod in return from the cowboy, while Grace scoffs at both of them.

“We didn’t save the world,” Carlos protests at the repeat of those words.

“Tell that to that sweet, scared little thing you two helped get away from her abusive husband,” Judd answers, still somber.

“Yeah,” TK agrees with a nod. He combs a soothing hand through Carlos’ curls. “Pretty sure Rosie would tell you differently.”

“Is she okay?” He asks, seeking Grace’s eyes, letting a relieved exhale when she nods.

“Your partner had a social worker ready, and they are setting her up as we speak,” Grace assures him. “She said thank you.”

Carlos lets out another deep breath. “That’s good.”

Grace looks at him for a moment with a small frown on her face. “You had them ready, even when we weren’t sure if I was right – “

“I trust your judgment, Grace,” he interrupts, answering her silent question. “You knew – so I prepared.”

Grace gives his ankle another squeeze, and Carlos nods at her in understanding.

“We should go,” she says with a smile. “I’m sure TK wants to scold you some more and then smother you with kisses.”

TK lets out a sound of protest that has Judd snorting. It makes Carlos chuckle despite the pain it causes.

“Pie on Wednesday?” he asks Grace, grinning at the twinkle that enters her eyes as she smiles back widely at him.

“I’ll see you in my kitchen – 4ish?” she points at him. She starts to turn with Judd after he agrees, but the older man stands still, looking at him.

“Thanks for keeping my baby safe, brother,” Judd says to him quietly.

Carlos swallows hard, the weight of the words impacting him. He looks up at TK to find him staring at him with a soft loving look on his face. “You keep mine safe all the time, just returning the favor.”

The Ryders both smile at him as they leave; Grace makes a signal that she’ll call him, blowing him and TK a kiss before closing the door, leaving them alone.

“So you and Grace are friends now.”

“Yeah,” Carlos answers, smiling at the comment and how true it is. They’re friends now.

“That’s cool,” TK says, smiling as he sits at the edge of his bed. “But for mine and Judd’s sake, can you two keep the dangerous situations to a minimum?”

Carlos snorts at the comment, grinning when TK rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbles sarcastically. “Look who’s talking, right?”

“You said it, not me.”

TK shakes his head, but his expression goes soft as he looks at him. “I was so scared when Grace called me,” he tells him with a trembling smile. “But then she told us how you kept her and Rosie safe, and I was so proud of you, baby.”

Carlos reaches for him, tugging on his hand until TK gets the hint, and lies next to him on the small bed, resting his head on Carlos’ shoulder, his arm going around him, careful of his wound.

“I love you,” TK whispers into the slope of his neck.

Carlos closes his eyes as tiredness starts to take over again. He’s in some mild pain, and he’s sure there is gonna be a mountain of paperwork later waiting for him, but Grace and Rosie are safe, and he’s in TK’s arms, so everything is okay in his book.

He turns his face towards TK’s, finding it inches away as TK looks up at him.

Pressing a kiss against his lips, swallowing the soft, peaceful sigh TK lets out, he whispers back. “I love you too.”

#911 lone star #carlos reyes #grace ryder #tarlos #tarlos fic #grace & carlos fic #911 lone star fic #my writing

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sgtbradfords · 3 years

Note

Hello! I’ve had this idea floating in my head since reading recent spoilers but sadly I don’t have the time to write it :(

A prompt I have is it’s after Wesley and Angela’s wedding, Tim’s gone back to his hotel room for the night then he hears a knock on the door. It’s Lucy on the other side. She’s holding a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka and asks to be let in. ( ao that it’s a parallel to fallout and the first time they drank)

Then, there could be a conversations maybe a flashback to the reception when Tim gives a speech for Angela about love and connection and he was looking at Lucy when he was saying it. And it was that moment that allowed Lucy to really see Tim.

Which brings her to why she’s there.

I was also piecing this together while thinking about the IG live or interview ( can’t remember) and Titus asked Eric who would make the first move.

Anyways I love your writing and I hope this can spark inspiration. And the rookie finally comes back this Sunday which is awesome.

Not quite what you requested, but after such a long wait, it’s finally completed! Enjoy :)

Lucy Chen sighed as she walked up the pavestone path that was illuminated by the midnight moon. The past seventy-two hours had been grueling, leaving Lucy running on fumes. Though, the ache in her bones and the dragging of her feet never stopped her from stopping at her neighborhood ABC store or from driving ten minutes past her apartment and to his front door.

She knocked thrice, rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited for the door to open. A familiar bark could be heard coming from inside the four walls, Lucy smiling as she heard the animal being chastised.

“Hey.” Tim greeted as he pulled it back. “I thought you were heading home?”

Lucy shook her head, holding up the brown bag in her hand. “I know it’s late, but I don’t think I could sleep right now, even if I tried.”

“I know what you mean.” He told her, running a scuffed hand down his tired face. “Want to come in?”

“If that’s ok?” She asked with a grimace.

Tim took a step back, furthering opening the door as Kojo let out an excited bark at who was walking in. “There’s my favorite boy.” Lucy grinned as she crouched down in front of the dog, whispering lovingly towards the pet.

“Your boy is mad at me right now. I haven’t been able to take him on a walk the past few days, so we’ve been out in the backyard playing fetch to get his energy out.”

Hearing one of his favorite words, Kojo took off in a run through the house, navigating his body under and around furniture as he flew out the back door.

“It’s after midnight, and you two are playing catch.”

“And it seems as though he is not done yet.” Tim sighed as he trailed through the kitchen, stopping at a cupboard to grab two glasses out before walking out into the night. The stained deck was cast in a soft glow, courtesy of the light on the wall as they made their way back outside, and towards the patio table. A large citronella candle was lit and placed on top of the patio table, casting a yellow hue around the open space.

“Were they able to get Angela transferred to another room?” Lucy asked as she turned around a patio chair, placing the brown bag onto the table as she pulled out the contents.

Tim grabbed the bottle of single malt whiskey as she handed it over, breaking the plastic seal of the bottle as he poured himself a generous shot.

“Yeah, she wanted to leave but her doctor insisted on keeping her overnight to monitor the baby and give her some fluids.” He told her as he sat back down in the chair he had earlier vacated.

Lucy twisted the top off the clear bottle of tequila, Tim pushing the second glass across the table towards her. “That’s good, I know it’s not easy. Her recovery, it’s not going to be easy.” She said with a ragged sigh as she poured herself a shot in to the glass.

“She has a good support system.” He said throwing the tennis ball across the yard for Kojo as Lucy downed the shot, pouring another one as she sat down.

“Yeah well, sometimes you need more than that.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, watching as Kojo chased down the green ball. “I’m not saying I didn’t appreciate the support, I did. But when no one else has gone through what you endured, and are offering advice, sometimes you really just want to tell them to fuck off.”

Tim brought his glass to his lips, knocking the amber liquid back as it burned down his throat, Lucy pouring herself another shot as she let out a long sigh.

“And you don’t need to apologize because it’s not your fault. I just- you get so tired of the pitying looks and gossip behind your back.”

He refilled his glass with a smaller amount. “Angela’s going to need someone to talk to.”

“She has Wesley, you know who I had Tim? No one.” She confessed as she tossed the shot of the liquid back, sitting the glass down on to the table as she brought her left foot up, resting the heel of her foot on the chair as Kojo trotted to her side, dropping the tennis ball in her lap. “I’m sorry, that was a little blunt.”

“You had Jackson and Nolan. And what about Rachel, she was still here, you could have talked to her.”

Lucy vehemently shook her head as she grabbed the slobber covered ball, throwing it into the night. “That’s not what I’m talking about, those are all friendships. I’m talking about what you said earlier in the hospital, after Angela and Wesley exchanged vows, during your groom speech.”

“What are you talking about Chen?” He asked with a furrowed brow as she let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m talking about connection, passion, compassion, someone who I could confide in. I wish I had someone that would have been there for me as more than a friend. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate Jackson and owe him for everything he has done for me, but he’s just that Tim, my friend. But then on the other hand, I wouldn’t wish that on a partner for anything, the nightmares, the panic attacks, the therapy, the anxiety.” Kojo dropped the ball on to the wooden deck, laying down next to the ball with a tired sigh. “I’m sorry for throwing this all at you, I tend to forget that Jose makes me word vomit.”

“Lucy.” He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “You know you can always talk to me.”

Lucy rested an arm against the leg that was propped at chest level, fidgeting in her chair. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t, because I- you’re more than a friend to me. You’re-you’re Tim.”

“What’s that supposed to mean Luce?” Tim asked in a hushed whisper.

“It means that you’re Tim. You didn’t treat me any different after everything that happened, but you treated me as an equal. You didn’t walk with me around the edges, you pushed me right over them. You have always been my number one supporter, even when I fell flat on my face.”

“My parents have not once, showed me their support since the words ‘I want to be a cop.’ came out of my mouth. But I tell you ‘I want to go undercover.’ And you push me and support my decision, even if you have a bad history with it. And that’s all I could ever ask for.”

The suppressed sounds of the midnight hour infiltrated the bubble that had been created as the weight of Lucy’s words hung above them, the sound of the bass vibrating in a car a block over, the crickets chirping from the flowerbed in front of the porch, Kojo letting out a heaving sigh as he drifted further off into dreamland.

Tim stood, his eyes raking over Lucy as he extended out a hand. “I believe I asked for you to save me a dance.”

Lucy huffed as she shook her head in disbelief. “And you want to cash in on it now? There’s no music.”

“Trust me?” He asked with a rare soft smile.

Lucy took hold of the outreached hand as he pulled her to her feet. “I don’t know…” She confessed in thought, biting her bottom lip before letting it go. “I’m not the most graceful of dancers, what if I step on your toes?”

“A couple of bruised toes won’t be the end of the world.” Tim told her as he pulled her body close. He cast her a questioning glance as she nodded, his right hand going to the small of her back as her left hand found purchase on his shoulder, their joined hands brought out to the side ever so slightly as they began to silently sway on the wooden deck.

A hum of a tune began to fill the silence as they moved, Lucy’s gaze finding his as they held each other’s stare.

“Thank you Lucy.” He whispered before continuing to quietly hum the song that was playing in his head.

Even in the dead if night, Tim could see the blush on her skin as her eyes gave him a curious look. “For what?”

“For being Lucy.” He subtly smiled, a grin that Lucy had only witnessed once or twice.

Words became fewer and far in-between as they danced under the stars, Lucy resting her head against his chest as they swayed. Things were far from ok, especially with La Fiedra in the wind, but for the moment, none of that mattered, for the moment they could just be Tim and Lucy.

#fanfic #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #chenford #tim bradford x lucy chen

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reyesstrand · 3 years

Note

can you please do 16? 🥰

thank you all for your prompts!! i put them all together in one fic, i hope you don’t mind 💗 i hope you enjoy!!

all prompts are from this list. also available on ao3!!

TK’s very aware of the fact that he’s a tactile person.

He’s never had any shame in it—while he had a strained childhood, moving between his mom’s place in Brooklyn to his dad’s on the weekends in Manhattan, his parents refused to let him feel awkward when it came to hugs or physical moments of affirmation. But he’s always found that when it came to relationships, he always gave more than he got. He initiated hugs, and kisses, and even the smallest touch: like a hand to an elbow, or an arm around the shoulders.

With Alex it was...strange. It was always off, and maybe it was TK’s blind faith and desperation in having a relationship that would last, but he should’ve known the end was near when they stopped touching. When he could no longer remember how it felt to be tucked against Alex’s chest; when he could no longer remember the weight of Alex’s arms around him. Even their kisses tasted wrong, after a while, so much so that it was easier to act like it was okay that weeks passed with barely anything beyond a peck to the cheek.

And TK was about ready to deal with the fact that his desire for touch wouldn’t ever be matched. And he—he was okay with that, at least on a surface level.

Until he meets Carlos.

With Carlos, it’s like an internal flame is spurred to life once more. They’re barely together—officially, this time—and TK already knows deep down that this thing they have, it’s the real deal.

And it’s a small moment that solidifies that fact for him.

“You’re so gone for him, aren’t you?”

TK snaps his attention to Marjan, who is, as usual, smirking at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies, cocking a brow at her as he bites on the end of his straw.

“Sure,” Marjan drags out the syllables, knocking her shoulder against his as she claims the seat to his right. The honky tonk is bustling, the band dragging everyone out to the dance floor, the sound of clinking glasses and loud conversation filling the room. She ducks her head close to him to keep the conversation between them. “It’s cute. You’re always smiley, now, I could get used to it.”

TK snorts. “Rude. Even when I’m not smiling I’m always pleasant to be around.”

Marjan snickers and grabs for her club soda. “So it’s been what, a month?”

“Give or take,” TK says, even though he knows it’s been exactly one month, two weeks and a day since he told Carlos they would make a good team. Nothing’s changed since.

“But you were a...thing, before?” Marjan asks, clearly trying not to be too evasive, though her eyes seem actually interested to know the answer. He's kind of beaten around the bush with what he's told the team about him and Carlos—they know enough that Carlos sitting with him and worrying about him after he'd been shot wasn't a random thing.

TK glances back at the dart board, where Carlos and Nancy are eviscerating Paul and Tim in game two of three. Every few minutes, Carlos’ eyes drift over and meet TK’s, and every damn time, TK’s heart practically flutters.

“You could say that, yeah,” TK says, unable to stop his smirk around the straw. Marjan nudges him in the ribs.

“Well, we’re glad you got your shit together,” Marjan smiles at him, her expression soft. “And we’re so happy to get you back.”

TK drops his head to Marjan’s shoulder, briefly, smiling back. It’s been a long few weeks of recovery, his medical leave extended when he burst his stitches and had to get them redone. His dad didn’t want him to push himself too soon, and with him feeling solid in his life choices, TK didn’t really mind the time off. But now, being back with the team, his papers signed this afternoon and filed with the chief, he can’t wait to suit up again.

“I’m...yeah,” TK grins, shaking his head a little. “I don’t even have words for how excited I am.”

“Because you love us,” Marjan links their arms, and he squeezes.

“Don’t you know it,” TK feels warm at her side, here with the team. And when he feels the air shift and sees a glint of something mischievous in Marjan’s eyes, he turns his head and watches appreciatively as Carlos approaches the table with Nancy at his side, Paul and Tim stalking toward the bar, shaking their heads.

As Marjan strikes up a conversation with Nancy, all of them whooping when Paul and Tim return to the table with the next round of drinks on them, TK pats the seat next to him on his left, eyes focused on his boyfriend.

“Congrats, big guy,” TK murmurs, unabashedly leaning into Carlos’ space.

In retaliation, Carlos grabs TK’s hand; he links their fingers and brings them up toward his mouth, kissing TK’s knuckles.”Thanks, Ty. Just let me know when you want a rematch, I can make that happen.”

“I think I’ll just stick to mini golf,” TK says, trying not to draw attention to the heat he feels at Carlos’ gesture; the unflinching action that TK never would have even thought of attempting with any of his previous boyfriends.

It lights a part of him on fire, because he knows deep down that this time things will be different.

But none of his old boyfriends were Carlos. None of them hold a damn candle to Carlos.

“Now mini golf is something I can get behind,” Paul interjects, leaning his weight against the table.

TK reaches across and completes the high five Paul offers out. “We’d annihilate you guys.”

“Is that so?” Carlos cocks a brow at him, and TK knocks into him lightly.

“Absolutely,” TK grins, sinking into it when Carlos throws an arm over TK’s shoulders, his fingers gently tapping against his chest. TK turns his head and kisses at his jaw, and the small smile Carlos gives him is worth everything in the world.

“Y’all are gonna give us cavities,” Judd says, strolling up to the table. He’s grinning playfully, though, and Grace rolls her eyes at her husband before she squeezes Carlos’ shoulder in greeting.

“Deal with it,” TK winks at Judd, as the others at the table laugh.

Carlos huffs out a laugh of his own, and kisses TK’s temple. He sinks into the touch, and knows deep down that he won’t ever let this go.

#tarlos #911 lone star #tarlos fic #my fic #aanathemaa #morganaspendragonss #anonymous

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myriadofunchartedworlds · 2 years

Text

If they didn’t do the lawsuit arc in 3A then it would actually be interesting to have Taylor be offered a better job outside of LA and Buck deciding to follow her. Hear me out, this isn’t a BT endgame plot, but actually a BT ends plot: So Buck’s tired of running after people, yes; and he’s definitely tired of being left behind. BUT THIS TIME SHE ASKS HIM TO COME WITH HER. It’s not Abby making promises she wasn’t sure she could keep or Ali being unable to commit. It’s someone who’s facing a big change and wanting him to join her amidst it. Not only that, it’s an opportunity to be Buck, the person who doesn’t let his SO get away instead of Buck, just the firefighter. (Red’s life still echoes in his mind sometimes). So he follows her wherever, and that’s how 5A ends. Except Taylor doesn’t actually choose him the way he thought she did. She’s married to her job, even if she’s dating him. Being out there with her but without his family makes him feel even more alone than ever. And it feels like the appetizer to the future he’s terrified to have. So Buck becomes Buck 4.0, willing to extend grace and second chances but not at his own expense. He lays it all out for Taylor, who also realizes that both want different things for themselves and of each other. It’s a mutual break, and maybe they’ll become friends again one day, maybe they won’t but Buck can only think about going back home. So he does. A few episodes into 5B, after a very pointed series of calls about homecomings, the 118 return to the station and find a very familiar giant on their couch, with the one dish Buck has perfected (under Bobby’s tutelage) waiting for them on the dining table. Cue all the mixed feels. But wait, there’s more. Eddie might not be okay with a ready-made family but he realizes that it’s because he already had a family built amidst blood(clots), sweat, and tears. Only he realizes this when the final piece of the family disappears, and it’s so much worse than the lawsuit. Because their lives are so much more intertwined now and Eddie relies on him for so much more. So when Buck comes back, Eddie decides that it’s time to stop holding himself back. Operation Lock In Buck officially gets put into motion. (Except, we all live for the drama and Christopher is all sorts of pissed at Buck leaving, even if they stayed in touch. Eddie wins him over quickly enough with the idea that if Eddie convinces Buck to give them a chance to be partners in all senses of the word, Buck will never ever leave again.) PS, with the lawsuit arc essentially being an isolated Buck arc, I’m not sure if the writers/Tim would be up for another iteration of this. So as much as I want this to be how 5.10-5.13 turns out, it seems unlikely.

#not BuckTaylor friendly #9-1-1 what if #Buddie #Buddie endgame #Evan Buckley #with a side of #Eddie Diaz

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hlupdate · 3 years

Link

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

#harry styles #variety #021220

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octalove · 4 years

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VI: The Dotted Line

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Jason extends an offer. Part one, two, three, four, and five.

Note: someone said Batgirl and Jason mission, and i am but a humble servant of the people. also, i almost named this chapter “Carolyn Crawford”. Hope you like❤️

TW: Decription of sex work (barely), very light gore

Being back at Batman’s side was a peculiar thing these days. Soothing and suffocating all at once; like returning home after a long, liberating trip. It felt easy, and safe. I was reminded of the first time he brought me up to a towering building top. I clung to Nightwing like a life preserver.

Once I found my footing, the building tops were the only place I felt safe. The taller the skyscraper, the higher and farther from the grim city that raised me. I wondered what would happen when I outgrew the skyscrapers, too.

November was settling like an icy blanket over Gotham. My breath wreathed around me as my chest heaved from scaling the office building I was settled on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray dawn as 2am turned to 3am. I could see Robin’s breath too, as he crouched like a gargoyle on the balls of his feet. Even when I pushed his arm lightly, he glared, but didn’t move. The kid had incredible balance.

“I was beginning to enjoy your absence.” He muttered.

I smiled at him. “Are you kidding? Patrol is boring without me.”

“Patrol is boring without brainless plebeians to subdue. I can make due without you.”

“So you’re saying you don’t consider me a brainless plebeian?” I replied.

His lip twitched. He liked this game. It was the birthplace of many of his preferred insults.

“Closer to a bumbling fawn.”

“I like that one.”

Damian’s disinterest in all things regarding my thoughts and feelings was a good distraction. I’d been using him for the past week since my latest brush with Red Hood. Well, Jason. It was still hard to wrap my mind around.

I knew him. He knew me. I shouldn’t have been worried; he knew nothing about me. Nothing other than who I was, anyway. I wanted to ignore whatever residual feeling was left from fighting him on the docks, and I really wanted to say I hadn’t thought about the last thing he said to me. But in truth, I’d thought of little else. The large gaps of time between our meetings left time for that.

We were looking for him tonight. More specifically, Batman and Nightwing were. Robin and I were sent to the quiet apartment rows of Crest Hill, watching over nothing in particular. Sent to keep us away from the fray. Even Robin knew it. When Batman said we’d be patrolling here, he looked like he could rip the head off a puppy.

“Movement in Coventry.”

“On it. Thanks, Oracle.”

One of the better quirks of Damian Wayne was that in the case he was spurned by his favored allies (Bruce, Dick), he quickly formed new alliances (me, Tim). Bumbling fawn comment aside, I could tell I was in his good graces tonight by utter happenstance and Batman’s shortcomings. I was nothing if not opportunistic.

“We can get to Coventry before they can.” I said quickly, keeping the nervous excitement in my voice to a minimum. He eyed me cautiously.

“Batman may be trying not to take risks, but we can handle a couple of goons. Besides,” I added. “Red Hood will probably be gone by then. He always is.” I was overselling it; Robin was already standing, eyes roving over the city scape in search of the best route to Coventry. I stood with him, then let the free-fall adrenaline send exciting jolts through my stomach as we grappled toward our destination.

I could see him, in my mind. His face on the docks, bathed with the flame of his lighter. Hear his voice, full of purpose and noble fury as he promised revenge. I understood his cause, but didn’t understand him, and that was the mystery that poisoned my mind and stole my ability to sleep. Not Red Hood. Jason Todd.

Robin and I perched over a factory compound on the water’s edge, Sprang River’s lower fork rushing by at the end of the factory court. A handful of men moved like ants in the flooding white lights that lit the exterior. The wind distorted the sounds of their voices. Robin must have had the same thought because he moved soundlessly to a lower roof panel, advancing on the building. I followed. One man began shouting.

“I’m going to the Northern pylon.” Robin whispered. Divide and conquer. I wasn’t going to argue. I kept my eyes on his silhouetted form to ensure he didn’t encounter any resistance on his way, then worked by way around the court, hoping I could get a good idea of the place before he reached his vantage point. The sky was lightening, and we were losing time.

Just as I was about to check the lot on the opposite side of the factory, a metal door swung open, scraping against the metal parapet. Red Hood walked out, accompanied by a man in a factory jumpsuit. I couldn’t make out their conversation.

I crept along the high factory railing as they meandered across the court, deep in conversation. I kept it up for around six minutes before his companion departed, heading for the lot.

“Robin,” I whispered into my comms. “There’s a man heading toward the parking lot. Trail him.”

“I see him.”

With Robin in the Southern parking lot a safe distance away, I watched Red Hood slowly pull away from the lights and people, heading toward the darker exhaust plants East of the court. It became a struggle to keep and eye on him and my footing at the same time, but I did it. He stopped at a motorcycle parked behind an electric turbine about a klick from the factory. The sky was a pale gray now, ever-lightening with the dawn, and the shadows were burning away with it. I lowered by self behind an electrical box attached to one of the turbines.

“We’re en route- wait, Robin-“ The comms rang in my ear.

“I gave you a direct order.” Batman growled.

“It was a stupid order.” Robin clipped.

“Where’s Batgirl?”

Red was about to replace his red helm with a motorcycle helmet, but paused. He seemed to stall for a moment, before calling out.

“Come here, little bird.”

I was more annoyed than anything. I was ready to be a step ahead of him for once. But then, I couldn’t resent him for giving me what I wanted. I stood, and took in his empty hands before approaching. He’d leaned against the metal turbine, arms crossed as he regarded me with an unreadable expression.

“They’re here, you know.” I warned.

“Call ‘em, then. I won’t move. I know I’m good, but I’d be outnumbered. Bad odds.”

I scowled. “I’m not gonna do that.” I said it because he already knew it. We both did. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“You thought about what I said.”

“Of course I did.”

He glanced around, then pulled himself up straight and moved toward me. I took a few steps back, prompting him to flash me his empty hands, raised in surrender.

“Relax, darlin’.” He said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be. I want you to understand.”

“How? How do I understand?” I’d been trying for a month. He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it out and letting me take it, keeping a safe, considerate distance. Inside, was a number.

“Come with me. One job. Nice and easy.” He said.

“I’m not killing anyone.” I said sternly, voice dropping.

“I’m not askin’ you to.”

“And I’m not standing by and letting you kill anyone.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Fine. We’ll do it clean.” I didn’t even know if I believed him. But I was tired of trying to understand him from a safe, considerate distance.

“We’re almost at location. Four minutes.” Nightwing’s voice almost made me jump. I lifted my eyes.

“You need to go.”

He was already turning on his heel.

It was two days before I texted him. I got a glorious three hours of sleep over the course of them, and I kept running down either respective fork in my road before turning around and running back. In the end, I subsided to the fact that I was raised by two business-women, and Jason’s offer was at worst an opportunity. If it all went to shit, and he tried to kill me, I’d at least have some information to present to Bruce, notwithstanding the lifetime of punishment that would get me.

Our rendezvous point was in Lower Gotham Proper. By the time I got there, it was midnight, and a rolling mist had blown in from the harbor, mixing with the smog that hugged the streets and making it nearly unsafe to drive. I silently hoped Batman and Robin were okay.

As I worked my way down a narrow street, the moisture in the air was choking; causing the fabric of my pants and jacket to cling to my skin. I’d almost prefer rain to the way the mist stood still, forcing me to muddle through it. It was dark. The lights and signs on surrounding buildings didn’t seem to be able to preserve through the fog.

I saw a figure pressed against a building that looked tall enough to be Jason. As I approached, we regarded each other’s forms apprehensively. When he tilted his head, I knew it was him. I drew close.

“Jesus.” I mumbled. “Could you have picked a spookier place?”

“Don’t tell me you scare easy.” He said through a cigarette. His helmet was in his hand, but it could’ve easily been mistaken for a motorcycle helmet. The whole get-up was kind of biker-esque. I didn’t answer. Just glanced around.

“Come on.” He said. “It’s not far.”

As we began walking, it struck me how much more relieved I felt to hear his footsteps alongside my own. I was capable; willing and able to fight just about anyone Gotham could conjure up. But still, walking with him was comforting. Like I had someone to watch my back.

We even eased into a bit of conversation. Small things- things we agreed upon. Rich society, and Gotham’s war on the poor. Politicians we wouldn’t mind going missing. If you had showed me his picture next his crime scenes, I wouldn’t have pinned him.

Jason wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that his disposition was highly aloof and somewhat irritable. He had rich bronze skin, and full lips that I was sure made for a charming smile when he decided to do so (not a grin, a smile). The composition of his face was very sharp and neatly symmetrical, but still held some gaunt exhaustion, revealed by the constant tense of his jaw. His attentive dark eyes were almost always narrowed in some fashion of distaste. He never once looked at peace.

It seemed to me that he was disinterested in most anything having to do with my life, other than that he wanted me with him. His entire being was an oxymoron; a juxtaposition of unexpectedly soft and startlingly sharp and there wasn’t a way to tell which it would be.

Finally, we approached a small, industrial building with a neon sign of red, blue, and green.

The Lion’s Den

Burlesque and Drag

I raised my eyebrows. A bit on the nose if you asked me. If the name didn’t give it away, the posters and marquees adorning the brick exterior did.

“We need to talk to someone here before we go.” Jason said, pulling on his helmet, and unzipping his brown leather jacket to showcase the bat.

“Lead on.” I said, pulling up my own mask.

The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. The led lights lining the ceiling were cycling warm colors; red, pink, orange, yellow, the glow burning through the smokescreen that was nearly as thick as the mist outside.

Women were dancing, in lace or topless, spinning on poles and otherwise moving gracefully to the heartbeat of the place. But that wasn’t the main event- a stage lit with marquee lights, the centerpiece of which was a table, where three women sat. Their outfits were something out of Marie Antoinette’s personal wardrobe. And that’s where Red Hood was headed.

We walked up onto the stage, and while it all sort of mingled with the dim neon in the rest of the building, I still felt oddly seen. I placed myself behind Red Hood, inserted between him and one of the women. They appeared to be playing cards.

“Well, well.” Said one of the queens, with blonde hair curled and blown out like something out of the 70’s. Her exaggerated, colorful makeup was a work of art- Picasso, perhaps. “Gonna stick around for the show this time, sugar?”

Red sat down, leaning so that his arm rested along the back of the chair, lights glinting off his helm. His relaxed composure made me nervous- but perhaps it was the lack of information.

“Not this time, Trixy.” He answered.

“Pity,” Said the broad redhead beside me, her voice a low, soothing timber. “You neva’ do.”

“Don’t be rude, Sasha.” The third woman scolded, throwing down an Ace of Spades, to the visible dismay of the others. “He’s a busy man.”

“Who’s your friend?” Trixy asked.

I glanced at Red Hood before answering. “Just a little bird.”

“How delightful. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?” Trixy said. “Did Dominique get the message to ya?”

“Refresh my memory.” Red Hood said- for my sake, I’m sure.

“Bout a week ago, a bunch of girls from the Row went missin’. Ain’t unusual,” Trixy said darkly, “Most don’t got no family or nothin’. Just us lookin’ out for ‘em. When we run outta beds here, that’s when they go missin’. But it’s different this time. Buncha girls all at once- including one ‘a the queens.”

“Tiffany Spice.” Sasha said, a solemn look on her face. “She was just comin’ into herself. Lord, I’d be devastated if somethin’ happened.”

“Some a’ the row girls been talkin’ about this real shifty fella- Baron Haus. New guy. Used to pimp out girls from the Narrows.”

“And the girls disappeared when he showed up.” I said quietly.

“Bingo.”

“How many?” Red asked.

“About eight, Tiffany included.”

“And you know where he was working from?” I inquired.

“Sha’ do. China Town. Club there called the Moonlight.”

Red Hood nodded. “Anything else me and my little bird should know?”

Trixy thought for a moment. “Baron’s got some friends in GCPD. Had some uncles in the force, or somethin’ of that nature. He’ll be missed. More dead.” She spit the term bitterly.

“They always are.” He responded, getting up from his chair.

“And Hoodie, sugar!” She called after us. “You’re a doll for this.” He didn’t reply. As we worked our way back toward the front, he spoke quietly.

“I thought it’d be better if you met ‘em yourself. Always makes it more personal.”

Batman never did that.

“Do you always make it personal?” I asked.

“It’s not fun if it isn’t.”

The freezing moisture in the air bit fiercely as we pushed open the metal screen door.

“Right.” I said. “So, the Moonlight. How are we getting there?”

“How do you think?” He said, stopping short of a rusted yellow fire escape on the side of the building. He surveyed it, then looked at me.

“Race ya.”

With surprising speed and grace, he scaled the fire escape, no sound in his wake.

“Oh, it’s on.” I fired, rushing to the bars and climbing like they were monkey bars. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, and as I made my way up, I saw him several years away, already conquering another building. I raced toward him, leaping over exhaust pipes until we were high above the fog. The city below looked like an illuminated ocean, twinkling lights just below a pillowy white surface.

I felt like a child again, overwhelmed, nearly brought to giddiness with excitement. Was this how Bruce felt, scaling rooftops with Catwoman? The small, but sure thrill of consorting with the bad guy- knowing that they were consorting with you in return?

I wasn’t a sidekick. There was no line to fall into. No predecessors, no successors, no beginning and no end. I moved like Batgirl across the shingles and concrete and metal scaffolding, but I was weightless without the Bat legacy on my chest. There was something deeply, shamefully freeing about that.

We were greeted differently in the Moonlight; a stark contrast to the warm welcome by the queens in the Lion’s Den. It was set up more like a smoky, refined gentlemen’s club. We drew attention from every walk of life inhabiting the bar- men in suits, women in silk, and slimy looking characters that grated offensively against the debonair theme.

Most leered for a moment, then cast their eyes away, like they’d seen something they shouldn’t have. Maybe you could consider Red Hood one of those such things.

“Mr. Hood!” There came a voice, cutting above the orchestral music- Nessun Dorma, if my musical sensibilities were still honed from my piano lesson days. “Welcome, welcome. I can only hope,” The man gave gritting smile, wound tight with visible anxiety. “That you’re here on peaceful business tonight.” He cast his nervous, monolid eyes to me. He was handsome, no older than thirty and wore a tight black vest. I didn’t let my body language give anything away; frankly, I was as in the dark as he was.

“Oh, you know me, Baron Jun,” Red Hood drawled, slowing to a halt at the bar, and leaning on it. “I don’t decide whether things stay peaceful or not. That depends on you.” I stayed standing, near his back, studying the security. Two lumbering men at the entrance, one behind Baron Jun. I wouldn’t put it past curvaceous bartender in red to have a gun, too.

“Lookin’ for Baron Haus. I heard a little rumor he works outta this quaint establishment now.”

When I’d considered the Red Hood’s contacts before, I pictured something like Batman’s relationship with Commissioner Gordon- figuring he had to have some corrupt cops or lowlife sleuths packing him with all his vast information. I never would have guessed it would be three drag queens playing cards.

A conflict passed over Baron Jun’s face, seconds long. “You… heard correctly. Word does seem to travel fast.”

“I need to pay him a visit. Remind him about some of my rules.” He admonished. It was a dripping warning, like the salivating jaws of an animal, teeth bared and pointed.

Baron Jun swallowed. “I see. Well, he um- he’s not actually here, at the moment. Maybe I can tell him you dropped b-“

“You know, Jun,” Red continued, ignoring him. “I got this really funny feeling you know what rules I’m talkin’ about.”

The look on his face was something to behold. I’d seen fear, briefly, on the faces of criminals before I subdued them and went on my way. But this was different. Fear induced by nothing but a conversation. Call it hive-mind, a power trip perhaps, but I felt this pesky sense of camaraderie that prompted me to take a few steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. Who was this vile little shitstain who made his living off men getting laid to play games with us? I thought about eight women, scared and abused. It was Baron Jun’s fault. Baron Haus’ fault. Everyone in this stupid bar, decorated to the taste of the men who abused them.

Baron Jun’s eyes dashed back and forth. Deny or ask forgiveness? I could see him running down those cross roads.

“He… he’s been running some shit I didn’t know about until last night. I swear I didn’t fuckin’ know.” He broke at last.

“Where are they?” I piped up.

“Who the fuck are-“ He was cut off with a bang and a scream as Red shot his knee. I was startled by the noise, but no one seemed to notice. It rang in my ear.

Give a girl a warning next time.

“Be. Fucking. Polite.” Red snapped, now advancing on the Baron. Only one of the three security guards decided it was worth the risk and stepped forward. Electric with the building energy of the whole night, I bolted forward and swung my fist into his throat. He made a choked noise and stumbled to the ground.

“Answer the question, Jun.” Red continued, this time in a taunting, sing-song tone.

“Oh, fuck,” Jun whimpered, cradling his knee. “Jesus- you- you shot me.”

“Always were a sharp one. I got a couple more bullets, and you’ve got another knee. So why don’t you sing before I get really impatient.”

“Christ.. they- they’re in the back. R-room fourteen.” His breath was labored with pain. I didn’t feel bad. Trusting that Red would handle the front and keep his promise of not killing anyone, I went to the back hallway, counting the doorways before reaching room 14. I made short work of the lock.

Some scuffling noises could be heard from the front room- but no further gunfire. I opened the door to reveal a velvet lounge, with red settees and satin curtains, along with fearful eyes looking back at me. I counted eight heads, including Tiffany Spice, who’d since abandoned his wig and gaudy attire. His make-up was streaked with long-dried tears.

“Tiffany Spice?” I asked, subservient to standard protocol despite my evening of rebellion.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Trixy sent us. You’re safe now.”

“Are the Barons gone?”

“They’re being dealt with.” I answered.

After finding them, the rest fell into place quickly. Red had indulged in some property destruction, and Baron Jun now reckoned with what appeared to be a shattered hand and some extra facial bruising.

I nodded briskly to Red and he, in turn, nodded to the bartender, who ushered the girls around.

Before departure, he knelt down in front of the Baron.

“You’re alive,” He said lowly. “Cause I’m doin’ someone a favor. If someone breaks the rules again,” He reached over and patted Jun’s pained face. “You be a good boy and come right to me. Okay?” Jun didn’t respond, nor take his bloodshot eyes off of his mangled hand, but Red straightened anyway and ushered me to the door.

Outside, we withdrew safely and quietly to a rooftop.

“Why did we leave them?” I asked.

“Trixy’s not my only contact. The bartender’s mine. She’ll get ‘em where they need to be.”

A beat.

“You knew Baron Haus wasn’t gonna be there.” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the only reason you promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Hesitation. “Yeah, it is.”

“Are you gonna track him down?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Seriously.” I tried again. He sighed, then looked at me. I was seeing his eyes clearly for maybe the first time all night. It was sobering, and he held my gaze.

“Yes. Yes, I’m going to kill him.” He said firmly. I looked away.

“He’s got a track record.” He explained. “Does shit like this, gets caught, and then uses his friends in blue to get a lighter sentence. Three months, maybe. Then, he’s back. I’m not the first one to catch him. But I promise you, I’ll be the fuckin’ last.” His vitriol was oil on concrete, and I decided it was better not to light any matches. The rest of the walk was quiet, neither of us making the catalytic initiative to part ways, coming down from the adrenaline the way we’d built it; in each other’s uncertain company.

We settled on top of St. Luke’s Hospital, towering defiantly amidst the smaller, crowded inner city neighborhoods below. It was 4am, but I wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite; I was awash with energy, by grace of the night’s feat and the biting cold. Jason had pulled his helmet off, and was leaning against the steel exhaust pipe, myself nestled at his side.

“I have another place I need to go. Three days- Mafia business in Little Italy.” He said.

“And you want me to come?” I asked. He tipped his head.

“What can I say, doll? You’re good at this.”

I looked over the city, brow furrowing.

“Unless,” He added in a low voice, wry and challenging. “You think it’s wrong. I am the bad guy, aren’t I?”

I didn’t look at him, because I knew he was wearing a darkly arrogant expression, and I didn’t want to see it. No, there was nothing wrong about what we did tonight. Even if there was; I’d do it all again for the relief on Tiffany’s tear-streaked face.

“I’ll go.” I said. “But you have to tell me something. Honestly.” I said firmly, bringing my eyes to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ask away.”

“Why me? Why don’t you hate me like you hate them?” Them. My family. Our family. Hate seemed a harsh word, but only after I supplied it, was I reminded of its truth. Jason studied me for a few agonizing moments, allowing only the sound of wind and distant, crying sirens.

“Carolyn Crawford.” He finally said.

“What?”

Carolyn Crawford.

I’d forgotten all about her. My life was sort of divided by this giant, barbed wire fence between before adoption and after adoption. Evidently, my brain decided that anything before adoption would be better of folded up, sealed with wax, and filed away. Traumatic memory suppression, the shrink Bruce sent me to called it- even though the only traumatic thing was the night my parents died, not everything that came before.

Nonetheless, Carolyn Crawford was somebody I hadn’t given any particular thought to in a long time. She was a woman of forty (at the time I was thirteen), and she had that snooty, Diamond District disposition that you only find in women who marry into wealth, but aren’t born with it. She was beautiful; pale skin, thin, with an air of 1950’s suave, accentuated by the auburn bob of artificial curls she always wore. Her husband was an investor in Wayne Enterprises, and she was sleeping with Bruce.

I had no reason to know, or care about this. But Jason did. When he found out, he was uncharacteristically devastated. I could imagine, in retrospect, that when you’re a boy of fifteen and you find out the man who adopted you- a man who was a holyfigure in your eyes, the good guy- was sleeping with a married woman ten years his senior, you may experience a bit of devastation. He had something, some virtuous perception of Bruce, ripped away from him, and he was given a concept that his father, too, had vices. His one vice; women.

Jason was angry. He wanted the world’s perception of Bruce to crumble alongside his own, and so he took all the valor in his teenage body and enacted his own justice.

An anonymous email was sent to just about every company partner or investor, including Carolyn’s husband, and my parents, disclosing a picture of Bruce in some secluded room at a gala, with his arm around Carolyn’s waist, leaning intimately into her ear. She had a wry smile on her face. Above the photo was a single tag line.

“Carolyn Crawford is fucking Bruce Wayne.”

My parents gossiped about the email, of course, when they thought I wasn’t leaning against the office door. But that was all I ever knew about it. Apparently Carolyn’s husband didn’t divorce her, but he did cut her off financially, which may as well have been the same loss.

That was all I heard of it, up until a charity event on a particularly cold January night. The January before Jason’s death. I was waltzing around as per usual, a cup of punch in my hand. Waiting for the clock to tick its way to eleven o’clock- when I knew my mothers would want to depart so they could get up for work the next morning. The music was lovely; fluttering strings.

“You!” It was a harsh sound, like a shrieking banshee, or the whining note of a violin when all the bow hairs are frayed.

Carolyn Crawford was marching right toward Jason, fury on her beautiful face. I didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation as I tried to make my way through the bodies, of which a few were also alarmed by the sound.

“...you’re the only one who could’ve done it, you little- don’t lie to me!”

Jason was defiant there, with his arms crossed and his lip slightly raised, but I could tell by the nervous look in his eye that she was pointing her bony finger at the right suspect. I’m certain it was Bruce who figured it out.

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” He said.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you sent that email. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’re outta your mind.”

“You’re going to regret this, I promise. I’m going to make sure that this follows you-“

“He didn’t send the email!” I said, pushing past a man who was eagerly watching, like it was the best thing he’d seen all night. I’m not even sure what possessed me to offer up the statement- maybe the way she was throwing her venom in his face and jabbing her finger at his chest.

“I did it.” I said. I didn’t look at Jason, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth fall open. Carolyn Crawford turned on me.

“What?”

“I sent the email.” I said. We’d drawn more observers now, a small, hushed crowd of people too polite to intervene, but too curious to look away.

“Who the hell are you? And why would you do that?” Up close, I could see that she looked like she hadn’t slept. Other little things too; a pearl out place, stray hairs. She’d probably been through hell since Jason sent that email.

I leveled my gaze on her. “You really need to ask? What kind of wife-“

Slap.

Her open palm swung across my cheek so hard that I nearly stumbled into a donation table. There was a pressure in my ear, and then a stinging sensation. I put my hand to my cheek, and when I looked back up at her, she was eyeing the shocked crowd. Then, she turned, and walked briskly toward the exit, heels clicking on the marble.

Everyone stood there, looking at me. I flushed, shrinking under the weight of their eyes, feeling like an animal in a zoo. My mothers were nowhere to be found, and neither was Bruce.

In a swift movement, Jason grabbed my hand, shooting angry glares like daggers toward anyone who was looking, and ushered me into a secluded corner.

“Why did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispered frantically, obviously battling whether he should touch my face or not. He decided not.

I gave him an insulted look. “I was helping you, jackass!”

“Well, you didn’t help!” He said, before adding, more exasperatedly. “You just got hurt.”

I shrugged, taking my hand off my cheek, probably to show him some modicum of strength, or defiance. “It’s not that bad.”

It was that bad. It was the first time I had ever been hit, by anybody. I actually wanted to cry. But I was dedicated to my tough girl role, so I didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” He said, surprising me with the fearful apologeticism in his voice. “I’m really sorry- you shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. I just fuckin’ stood there like-“

“Hey! It’s okay. I did it because I wanted to. Besides, it really doesn’t matter who did what. She’s just mad she ruined her own marriage.”

He shook his head and slunk down beside me on the cold marble. The AC was offensively imposing for the middle of January, and I hugged my knees to my chest as we watched the guests disperse, dragging back the events of the night to gossip about later, like foxes carry prized rabbits.

“Carolyn Crawford?” I repeated. “That’s what this is about?”

Jason gave me a wiry look, a lopsided smile, then threw his head back and laughed, contagiously so. I let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“I mean,” He added, “Not all of it. A little.” There was residual laughter in his tone, and it made me want to lean into him.

“A ‘little’. Okay. Should I be getting in touch with Carolyn Crawford and thanking her for rekindling this little partnership?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Send her an email.”

I laughed again. “Seriously, Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?”

His grin lingered, and his eyes fell over the city. I could see the gears turning as he considered his response. Then he just shrugged.

“You covered for me.”

“Yeah.”

“And...” He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the sprawling lights. “Somethin’ tells me you still are.”

I looked at him for a while, trying to wait him out and make him elaborate. But he didn’t. I resigned with a sigh.

“Yeah, well.” I mumbled. “Carolyn Crawford was a giant bitch.” His lips fought a losing battle against another smile.

“Personally, I’m still a little impressed she had the gall to slap you.”

“Haha. Hey- did you actually take that picture?”

He shook his head, hesitating before adding. “Dick did.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” He chuckled.

“So I took the fall for both of you.”

“Yeah, you did, Princess.”

He had this familiar, juvenile grin stuck to his face. And for the first time in a long, long time, he was Jason Todd.

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vivilove-jonsa · 4 years

Note

Spooky prompt: We're going to have to stay here tonight 🎃

Thank you for the prompt, honey! This isn’t really spooky at all but it’s inspired by Katrina and Ichabod’s first meeting in Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow with a slight twist. I hope you like it :)

“We’re going to have to stay here tonight.”

The announcement had been greeted with no surprise. Even without tales of headless horsemen, witches or evil spirits in the forest, autumn in Northern New England carries its own hazards. The weather can turn unexpectedly.

The blizzard had kept anyone of sense from attempting the journey home and their host had gallantly offered refuge for his guests beyond the harvest feast.

“Stay as long as necessary,” Eddard Stark had told them.

Some had chosen not to stay. The Umbers had set off that first night regardless saying they did not fear a bit of snow or any ghost stories. Jon wonders how their coach and horses fared along the indifferent roads in such conditions and if they Umbers reached their hearth. Or are they now headless victims of a malicious spirit? More likely, they might be frozen corpses, their eyes unseeing and their spirits wandering through the woods railing at their own folly.

Most had stayed, like the Tarlys. Samwell is his age, a likeable though bookish boy who often winds up the butt of jests which hardly seems fair since Sam’s twice as smart as most any man here. Jon is glad to call him his good friend. He is also secretly protective of him when it comes to settings such as this where Sam might not be shown due respect by some. His brother Dickon is here as well. Though he’s a few years younger than Sam, he does not need Jon’s protection.

There are some who Jon wishes hadn’t stayed as well, particularly Harrold Hardyng. A puffed up jackanape who charms the ladies with his compliments and looks down his nose as Jon’s old waistcoat, the only one he possesses decent enough for the Starks’ house, while cruelly poking fun at Sam’s fondness for sweets when the ladies aren’t present.

Jon almost wishes he had attempted the journey back to his own modest homestead himself. He knows Tormund won’t let his livestock starve or freeze but he feels his responsibilities as a newer landowner keenly and thinks he should be there, too.

But Mister Stark looks upon his former ward quite fondly and Jon could not refuse his entry to remain. “It’s four miles to home for you which may as well be ten leagues in these conditions. Pray, stay a little longer, Jon.”

And why shouldn’t Jon wish to remain at Winterfell during a blizzard? He spent most of his boyhood here after all.

Because of Mister Stark’s daughter Sansa, that’s why.

From gawky and somewhat missish at thirteen, she has blossomed into a beauty, willowy, graceful and sweet at seventeen. Jon had liked her well enough as a girl but they’d had little occasion to converse one on one. But now? Oh, he’d enjoy sitting by her side at the hearth for hours upon end if he could.

She’d been standing by her father’s side to greet their guests upon arrival when they’d met again for the first time in years. She’d shook hands with him, giving him a friendly smile and saying how much she’d missed him here. Jon had been enchanted and his enchantment has only grown since then as one night of her company had stretched into several.

Therefore, Jon cannot bear watching Harrold Hardyng’s obvious attempts to court her right under the nose of their elders. What does Mister Stark think of Hardyng? More importantly, what does Sansa think? For her part, Sansa only smiles politely at his oafish gallantry like the gracious young lady she is but is there any attachment blooming?

Jon hopes not though he is likely a fool to hope. He’s quite proud of his homestead but knows it wouldn’t have been unlikely for him without Mister Stark’s help and it is not a scratch on a grand house like Winterfell. If he thought an offer of marriage between him and Sansa might be accepted though…oh, he is a fool to hope.

On the seventh night of his unexpectedly extended visit, the young people are growing restless. There is only so much gossip to share, only so many stories to tell. Days and nights kept indoors with mixed company relaxes some of the usual decorum and makes them bolder.

“A game! Let’s play a game!” Sansa declares after supper while Tom Sevenstrings and his friends pluck out a tune.

“The Pickety Witch!” someone suggests and several more agree.

Sansa laughs as her friend Jeyne Poole covers her eyes with a length of fine silk. What a sight she is in her pretty blue gown with her red hair shining brightly, curled and coiffed just so. Her rosy lips and that bit of black silk upon her porcelain skin, she presents an image that Jon knows will revisit him in the night. Honor will have him attempting to banish the thoughts it will spur. Carnal desire will encourage him in them.

They twirl her around three times, the children, young ladies and gentlemen chuckling and edging about the limited allotted space for the game as their elders watch from nearby smiling with nostalgia for their own youths perhaps.

“The Pickety Witch, the Pickety Witch, who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch?” Sansa asks with her hands stretched out before her, eager to snare a victim and guess who it is she’s caught.

All around the little area, she takes a step and then another, grasping at thin air. She’s hemmed in by her would-be captures but the space is enough to leave her uncertain of anyone’s exact whereabouts.

Beth Cassel screeches and scurries when Sansa nears her. Samwell squeaks and dodges her at one point, making his brother Dickon laugh heartily and barely elude capture himself. Little Rickon stomps on his brother Bran’s foot in his eagerness to escape his sister the Pickety Witch. She’s by far the prettiest Pickety Witch that ever was in Jon’s opinion.

Jon grins as she nears him and stands his ground. He hates to see her stuck in the middle indefinitely. And he’ll gladly let her capture him especially if it means she might choose to give her victim a kiss (even if it means he’ll be the blind man next.)

But a sound from the left draws her attention before she gets close enough to touch him and she turns.

Jon scowls, seeing that Harry has knocked the fireplace poker from its place. From his smug grin as Sansa moves towards him, Jon knows he did that on purpose.

His heart clenches, waiting for her to reach him. Like Jon, Harry isn’t moving.

She’s nearly to him, no more than a foot away. At any second, she’ll put her hands on his chest, his shoulders, touch his face and Jon will have to watch it all with a feigned smile as the sickening feeling in his stomach increases.

But when she’s right in front of Harry, Sansa does something unexpected. She darts to the right and nabs another victim.

Sam yelps. Yes, it’s a bit undignified but Sam does startle easily. Jon sees her lips twitching with suppressed laughter as his own are doing the same.

Sansa gently rubs his broad shoulders and then touches his round face. She wears an expression of puzzlement though, surely, she knows who she’s caught.

Or perhaps she doesn’t?

“Is it Loras?” she asks sweetly.

“N-no, Mm-Miss Sansa,” Sam stammers while Loras Tyrell across the room looks positively aghast at being mistaken for Samwell Tarly.

His voice will have given it away, Jon is sure.

Or maybe not.

“Ah, it must be Dickon then!”

Dickon Tarly may be younger but he is a head taller than his brother and far less rotund. Sansa doesn’t know the Tarlys all that well but she has spent the past week in their company and Jon has never heard her call them by anything but their correct names during that time.

Unkind laughter from some of the other lads breaks out. Some of the girls present titter cruelly, the girls who look at Dickon with moony eyes and give Sam dismissive looks. Jon glares at them all as does Dickon.

“No, I’m not Dickon, Miss Sansa,” Sam says, apologetically. Jon feels sorry for him.

“You must be a stranger to me then but clearly you are a noble gentleman, sir,” Sansa declares before kissing Samwell Tarly softly on the cheek. Sam’s eyes are wide as saucers as she removes her blindfold. “Oh ho, my mistake! He is no stranger at all but I was right to name him a noble gentleman,” she tells the others in a firm but merry tone.

The unkind laughter and cruel titters from a moment ago dry up in an instant. Jon can hear pleased laughter from the true friends present and everyone’s spirits are jolly again as Sansa helps blindfold and spin Sam for his turn.

Everyone’s spirits are jolly except for Jon’s, that is.

He’d never thought to be jealous of Sam in this manner but now, there is no denying that he is. Sansa kissed Sam on the cheek. Sansa has named Sam noble, which he is, and Jon has never felt less noble in his life. Sam carries an old, respectable family name and is the heir to more money than Jon will ever know. Sam would make her a finer match than most of these fools would ever acknowledge if they had any inclination for one another in that manner.

Feeling depressed and ridiculous, Jon decides to leave the circle of players and goes to fetch himself some cider. Once he has it, he retreats to the Starks’ deserted library.

He entirely misses Samwell catching Gilly, one of the serving girls, naming her correctly at once even with his blindfold in place and chastely pressing a kiss to her hand, making the girl blush with pleasure.

It is there where he broods alone in the library with his hard cider that he’s discovered. She has caught him after all. Tis only fitting. She has held him captive from the moment he arrived here.

“Why did you leave the game?”

“I was feeling…” Jealous. “Tired.”

“I hope you’re not unwell.”

“Not at all, Miss Sansa.”

“‘Miss Sansa,’ is it? That’s terribly formal. We’ve known each other since we were children, Jon.”

“Yes, you’re right. Sorry, Sansa. You knew you’d caught Sam, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Why’d you pretend otherwise?”

“I don’t like the way some of our guests treat him.”

“Nor I.”

“I know. I know he’s your friend and quite dear to you.”

“He is. He’s a very good man.”

“Yes, everyone should open their eyes and see it.”

It’s true. Why are his spirits are in such turmoil? He agrees with her but envy is twisting it, turning it into snake in his guts that would eat his heart if it could.

“I have a confession to make,” she says softly next.

“A confession?”

She bats her full eyelashes. It seems to make those impossibly blue eyes look even bluer. “I knew I was right in front of Harry. I could see just a bit beneath the blindfold. I recognized his boots. I reached for the person next to him because I didn’t wish to capture him.”

That snake in his guts is withering away as something else swells. “Oh? You do not care for him, do you?”

“No, I do not. I was actually hoping to capture someone else. I was looking for a certain set of feet but never got close enough to see them.”

“Not Sam’s?”

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing as her cheeks flood with color.

His heart may eat that snake. There is no room for jealousy here tonight. “Oh? Whose boots were you hoping to find, may I ask?”

She smiles as their eyes meet. “Who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch, Jon?”

He licks his lips and grins back at her before cupping her satiny cheek. “I do.”

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #vivilove-jonsa fic

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youngdreamer3214 · 4 years

Text

The Wayne Ball

Disclaimer- I don't own anything.

Jason Todd is Red X; Jason and Raven pairing.

Enjoy.

He could actually list a million things he would be rather doing right now than listen to the businessmen talk about their boring lives and that would still be more interesting than being here.

He was in Wayne manor.

Attending one of the very exclusive and extravagant balls hosted by the billionaire philanthropist, Bruce Wayne.

And Jason was bored out of mind when he saw his brothers mingling with the guests with overly sweet smiles.

"Having fun Jaybird?" Dick asked after standing next to him. Jason took another champagne glass from the passing by waiters and said "No, remind me again why I am here?"

"Because it's a family event and you are family, whether you like it or not." Dick said with a smile taking a sip from the drink in his hand.

After the bat family got to know that he was alive and kicking, they immediately did anything they could to coax him back into the family. After years of them trying to make Jason understand (since his Red X days actually; Richard was shocked out his mind and his face was priceless when he got to know that Jason was the anti- hero). He was here in the Manor as Bruce Wayne's son that was found after many years of him being lost a young teenager.

He was talking to the Mayor when he saw the doors open grandly and she entered. His interest in the conversation which was already were low and his lungs decided to go on a vacation leaving his heart running when his eyes took in the sight of her.

She was wearing a black and silver gown and a black shawl over her shoulders, the dress hugged her chest before fluttering out from her waist. There were intricate black designs with a hint of silver on the fabric which sat above her waist; there were black silk straps under wiring her chest and showing off her thin waist. The dress below the waist was silver sequined with a black see through lace lying over it, dimming the bright color a bit.

She complemented her look with black elbow length gloves and a few silver accessories. Her-now long- black hair with deep purple undertones were pinned up in a delicate puff with her flick capturing her forehead and shadowing her gem, the rest of her hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose curls. She had applied light makeup, just smokey eyes and a light pink blush on her cheeks with her pinkish red pouty lips left idle.

She looked absolutely stunning.

She turned when the coat check girl took off her shawl and he could swear that his heart skipped a beat. The dress was strapless and her back was covered by a cross made of silk black straps attached to her dress. His eyes bulged out of his sockets when he saw her back dimples also.

Oh god, this woman was surely here to kill him.

Before he could do anything or approach the little bird, Tim approached her and offered her his elbow to escort her with a friendly smile. She smiled and took his offered arm and walked into the Gala with the young man.

As she walked all eyes turned towards her, their eyes not moving from her elegance and beauty; Jason just barely stopped him from glowering when he saw a few guys of the hero community and other eyeing her.

He said to man who was still talking, oblivious to Jason's un-interest "Excuse me." The man just nodded and found someone else to talk to while Jason sauntered towards a corner where he could see Raven talking to Bruce and Tim with a champagne glass in her hand, after a few minutes Bruce excused himself and Dick and Kori joined them.

Jason could hear their small laughs and he just smiled wider and shook his head thinking how beautiful she looked when she laughed. He chugged down the glass of whiskey in his hand and decided to make his presence known.

He was walking towards her when he saw Bruce gave him a nod; he groaned and redirected his steps walking towards the grand curved staircase. He stood on one of those steps with Tim, Damian, Cass, Dick all standing on different steps in the back ground with Dick standing in the front with a champagne glass in his hand and a warm smile on his handsome face

Bruce stood on the top most step while Dick addressed with a small smile "Thank you for joining us this fine evening…you know, whenever our father brings our family together for new year's like this, it's tradition to commence the evening with a centuries old waltz…so if you can find yourselves a partner please join us in the ball room." He ended gesturing his hand towards the ball room.

Raven turned and kept her empty glass on the table when she felt someone tap her shoulder, she turned with a smile but it faltered a bit when he saw Damian standing there with a charming smile on his face; he extended his hand towards her silently asking her to dance. When the ex- assassin saw the reluctance on her face he said "It'd be rude not to dance…."

Raven let go of a sigh when she knew that he wouldn't let her get away and smiled and placed her hand in his and said "It is tradition." He grinned a bit wider and hooked her arm with his and escorted her to the ball room, she just rolled her eyes but smiled a bit. She saw Dick also get Kori with him to the ball room.

Jason just stood there and whined in his mind, if he didn't get any time with the dark beauty soon then he would have to revert back to his old ways and steal her away. He smirked at that last train of thought and a plan formed in his mind. With that he approached the ball room.

The dance commenced, Raven placed her right hand on Damian's shoulder while her left hand cupped his' and the dark haired boy placed his hand respectfully on the small of her back, guiding her through the dance with expertise, she smiled and they glided through the music effortlessly. Soon Damian and Raven pulled away, hands still intact the he pulled her back towards him a bit and then spun her out of his grasp and into someone else's.

Raven gasped a little when she saw who she had spun into amethyst met aquamarine, Jason. He grinned cheekily and placed his hand on her waist pulling her close while his other hand cupped hers and she placed her free hand on his broad shoulder.

He looked handsome, in that black tuxedo and a white undershirt which would have made snow jealous and with a red pocket square just peeking out and a black bow tie; and with that white lock completing his look with a little bit of danger. His gorgeous tan just enhanced his aquamarine eyes.

"Finally, I got you to myself little bird…you don't know how hard it was with so many men here trying to get your attention." He said looking into her amethyst eyes with a large grin on his face.

"Is that so? And how do you know that you have my attention?" Raven asked with amusement lacing her words.

He raised an eyebrow and a smug smile adorned his gorgeous face "I know I have your attention because when I do this *he pulled her even closer to himself, teasing the skin on her waist with his feather light silky touches and he smirked when she shivered a bit and gasped lightly* you do that."

She tried to look unimpressed but her eyes were shining with affection and amusement. He was about to say something when there was a tap on his shoulder, he turned and saw a few guys who were waiting for the privilege of dancing with the dark beauty.

He reluctantly let her go and stood by the bar his eyes never leaving her and he ordered a drink for himself as he saw the bachelors dance with the empath. She gracefully switched partners at the end of every dance; after dancing a few dances she excused herself and approached Jason who got her a glass of water.

"I never knew dancing was such a tiring activity." Raven said with a hint of a smile as she looked at Jason. "It becomes a tiring activity when you have to dance with so many guys." Jason scowled, Raven smiled and took her hand in his as she guided him to the dance floor, he gathered her in his arms and she smiled loving the feel of his strong arms around her.

"I need to talk to you." He said slightly bending down and whispering in her ear, his warm breathe sending goose bumps down her skin. She retained her composure and said "So talk."

"Somewhere in private…" he pulled back, she took his arm and allowed her to lead him out of the party. He led her to a beautiful gazebo in between of a hedge maze.

They stepped inside the gazebo and Raven freed herself from his hand and stepped beside on the pillars, looking at the full moon shining in all its glory. Jason smiled and stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder. "I missed you." He whispered in her ears, he could feel her smile. She brought up one her hands to rest on the curve of his face as she leaned her face near his and said "Missed you too."

"I didn't expect to see you tonight…I thought you were still in Mexico." Raven said softly after a few minutes of comfortable silence. He smiled and hugged her even closer and said "And miss the sight of you in a ball gown, never."

Raven shot him an impressed look while turning her head slightly too face him, he just chuckled and said "My work finished quickly and I arrived just this morning…I wanted to surprise you."

"You did a good job of that."

"Why did drag me out here?" She asked in an afterthought.

"Seriously?! Inside all those guys had their eyes glued to you especially the demon spawn and they kept on interrupting us with requests to dance with you…" he said with a scowl gracing his handsome features.

"It was just a couple of dances Jason, nothing much." Raven dismissed.

"Really Rae, they were ogling you…but I really can't blame them you look absolutely stunning if it isn't obvious." Raven blushed a little at the compliment and he smiled seeing how beautiful she looked with that pink tint on her cheeks.

"Besides you know, the little twerp has a crush on you." He said with a frown.

"Who, Damian? No…we are just good friends." Raven said.

"He took you for the first dance this evening…the demon spawn never dances, usually Bruce or Dick have to threaten him to dance. And today he did it voluntarily." He said a little frantically, Raven just shrugged a bit and said "It's just a crush, Jason…besides; I am with his elder brother after all."

"Damn right, sunshine. You are mine and mine only…and I don't share, I am selfish like that."

She laughed a little and leaned against his touch, relishing the warmth he was providing against this cold December night. He saw her shiver slightly and he whispered moving her hair a bit to kiss her neck "Cold?"

He felt her shake her head a bit and say "You're keeping me warm." He smiled and started kissing down her neck while his hands wrapped even tighter around her; she moved her hair also to one side to give him more access, he smiled and nipped when he reached her collar bone.

"I can make you warmer still, little bird." He said seductively in her ear and she shivered again, this time not because of the cold. He smirked and he started kissing her jaw, loving the feel of her in his arms, as soon as he kissed the corner of her mouth she turned in his arms and claimed his mouth with hers.

He smiled into the kiss and –if possible- pulled her even closer to himself. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he tilted his head a little to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced her lips and she opened her mouth to give his tongue access. He smirked when he heard her moan a little, his hands traveling from her waist and discovering the rest of the hollows of her back.

He pulled away and bent down and started kissing down her throat, slightly panting for air while she just buried her hands in his hair. He kissed every part of skin available to him and wrapped his arms around her back pulling her closer to him.

He drew back when he heard the people count down for the New Year. He looked into her amethyst gaze and lightly kissed her nose before pulling away and loosely draping her arms around her waist.

Ten!

"So, crazy year." He said looking into her eyes. She smiled and placed her arms around his neck.

Nine!

"Even crazier people." She remarked and he laughed at that.

Eight!

"We suck at being a normal couple." He observed.

Seven!

She kissed his cheek.

Six!

"But we suck at it together." Raven replied.

Five!

"So true." He laughed.

Four!

He kissed the gem on her forehead after moving her bangs a bit.

Three!

"Here's to hoping for more adventures and having an even crazier year." Jason said as he took out a hip flask from his suit jacket and took a sip.

Two!

"And braving the craziest adventure which is yet to come." She said as she took a swig from the offered hip flask.

One!

"Our wedding." They said in unison with huge smiles on their faces.

Happy New Year!

Jason pulled Raven towards him and crashed his mouth on hers; kissing her with all the love he could pour into that kiss. His arms were around her pulling her in the shelter of his body while her hands buried themselves in his hair. Her leg hitched around his hip and he deepened the kiss.

They pulled back from each other when they heard the fireworks going off, Jason smiled at Raven and said "Happy new year, my little bird."

She leaned up to kiss his nose and said "Happy new year, Jason."

He hugged her tightly; they pulled away after a few second his arms still around her. She cupped his face in her hands and said "I love you, Mr. Todd." Fireworks were still going off in the background.

He smirked and said with love radiating his aura "I love you too, Mrs. Soon- to- be Todd." She just laughed a little before he leaned down and captured her lips with his and fireworks erupted in their hearts.

#jason todd #raven #teen titans #jayrae #raex #redrae

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spooky-z · 5 years

Text

CHP 2 - Funhouse

I've called the movers, called the maids We'll try to exorcise this place Drag my mattress to the yard Crumble, tumble, house of cards

P!NK – Funhouse

××××

« Previous • The Au • Next »

@ozmav

××××

“Good afternoon, Master Fu.” Marinette greets and bows.

Her mother had raised her very well and thank you.

"Good afternoon, Marinette." The man smiles. "It's good to see you, although I don't think this is an informal visit."

"And you're right." She sits on the mat, Tikki takes the opportunity to escape from the bag.

“We have important information for you.” The kwami says.

Fu's smile becomes smarter.

“I think I'll make some tea to accompany this conversation.

××××

"Interesting." The man mutters, his hands scratching at the gray goatee.

"But you should have brought the book!" Wayzz exclaims.

Marinette knows she shouldn't be annoyed at such a powerful entity, but she can't stop the small fire burning in her chest.

She had already explained it twice. Twice. The reason for not taking Adrien's book and rushing to the Guardian with it, but the little green kwami didn't seem to want to understand.

Well, her parents said age wasn't the same as wisdom. She believed that was the proof of that.

“Wayzz, Marinette has already explained why she didn't do that. Are you even listening to what we're saying?!” Tikki scolds.

He looks at both of them, frowning firmly.

"For all I know, she may well be acting for selfish reasons." Says petulantly. "Not letting the boy she likes in a worse deal with his father."

Marinette's patience breaks.

“Wayzz-“ Master Fu tries, but she cuts the man.

“I didn't do anything for the supposed boys I like.” Sharp as a scalpel “Have you ever stopped to think that if Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth, he might try to escape after discovering that the book is missing ?!” Growls through gritted teeth.

Wayzz seems skeptical at first, but soon his expression withers to regret.

"I-I"

“Alright, Wayzz. Everyone makes mistakes.” Fu intervenes. “But I really wish I could have seen this book. If it's the book I think of, then it's likely Gabriel also has the peacock's miraculous.” He sighs.

It seemed that things were getting more serious.

Marinette took her backpack off her back, opened it, and pulled out an obviously customized black tablet.

An insignia with two overlapping golden R's graced the cover.

“Here.” She reaches out to the man.

"Marinette thought of everything, Master!" Tikki says excitedly as she flies over their heads.

“And that would be?” The green kwami asks suspiciously.

"... The miraculous grimoire." Fu sighs in surprise as he flips through the virtual pages.

“How did you get this done in such a short time?” Asks to the girl.

"Tim." She says simple.

"Oh, the Red Robin boy." He turns off the tablet. "Tell him I really appreciate that."

Marinette smiles.

"Sure. Now I have to go. A friend of mine awaits me.” She gets up, Tikki goes back to hiding in her bag.

“See you, Master, Wayzz!” She squeaks.

“Marinette, Tikki.” Fu tilts his head in respect.

"Bye, bye." Wayzz.

“Bye guys.” Marinette nods and leaves the massage parlor.

Now she had to run or Kim would kill her.

××××

When she arrives at school, Kim is waiting for her at the entrance. He has two paper bags in his hand, the Dupain-Cheng bakery logo stamped on them.

“Sorry, Kimmy. Tim called me needing my help with something.” She says, her voice coming out slightly unsteady from running the streets of Paris to school.

Kim raises an eyebrow suspiciously. He knew Mari and the Waynes were hiding something from him, but he never forced Marinette to tell because he appreciated their friendship.

And he knew that one hour Marinette would tell him. Then Kim would be the best friend she needed and would wait patiently.

He extends one of the paper bags to the girl and softens the expression.

"All right. At least you arrived with plenty of time to eat.”

Marinette takes the bag, her guilty face melting into a huge smile.

“Thank you, Kimmy! You are the best."

Kim heaves his chest in pride.

"Of course, I am."

He waits until Marinette was by his side to throw his arm over her shoulder, a dangerous smile on his lips. A smile the brunette would recognize even in the dark.

A competitive smile.

"Let's go now. I bet you can't eat everything before the bell rings.”

She narrows her eyes, countering her friend's challenge.

"Well, I bet I can."

Tikki laughs from inside the bag.

She loved when her chosen acted according to her age.

××××

Mari wins the bet, but soon regrets. She can barely breathe under the weight of her stomach.

She almost throws up, but Kim is there to save the day.

Once again.

××××

"... And then Jagged Stone wrote a song in my honor." Lila tells.

She was surrounded by Ms. Bustier's class when Marinette and Kim entered the classroom.

Her nose high, haughty like royalty and the others excited about her story.

Marinette notices that Adrien is sitting in the back row of the right corner, alone. Probably wanting to keep as far away from Italian as possible.

She understands the blonde's behavior.

Lila's manner belied everything she claimed to be.

And as Bruce had once said ‘instinct never fails’.

Her instinct screamed, red everywhere, that the Italian was a problem.

Kim frowned at his best friend, who had frozen in the classroom door.

"MDC?" He whispers and pulls the brunette to their accents.

Marinette blinks, finally coming to herself.

"Sorry, Kimmy." She sighs. "It's just... I don't like her." She mumbles. "She makes goose bumps on the back of my neck."

The boy looks surprised at her. A vivid memory flashing in his mind.

“Really?” She nods and hides her face around his neck. "Wow."

Marinette has always had a kind of seventh sense for bad people. She was a kind child to everyone, but there were people she made a point of being rude to and it never seemed to make sense to her family.

Until one day Marinette had bitten the hand of a Dupain-Cheng neighbor. A nice gentleman who distributed sweets and played with the children in the street.

They were seven when the police showed up at his house dragging him arrested for pedophilia and the only thing Marinette said was "I said he was bad!" before drawing again.

Kim found out some time later (at 9) that the Dupain-Cheng had become suspicious of the man and along with the Wayne, had obtained evidence about him.

He caresses her friend's head. Arms over her shoulder, cuddled up.

“I understand, Mari.” Whispers “To tell the truth, it's kind of unrealistic that Jagged has made a song in her honor that we have never heard. Or her being Ladybug's friend if she has come to Paris recently.”

“Alya believed it. The class is believing it.” Marinette points out “I just hope she only tells fantasy fan stories and don't become a problem for us later.

“If she gets you in trouble, I'll have your back. As I always have.” Kim replies.

“Thank you, Kimmy. Same.” She smiles.

"MDC, I already said ‘Kimmy’ no!"

They did not notice certain Agreste listening to their conversation.

“So she's a liar, huh.” He whispers to himself and turns his attention back to the class around Lila.

He had managed to return the book to his father's safe without Gabriel knowing about it.

Plagg hadn't been much help, focused on eating his smelly cheeses. The little god had not even tried to check the book to know what it was about.

After Marinette returned it to him, he was left with nothing good to think about Lila Rossi.

Adrien still couldn't believe what she had done and it didn't cross his mind for a second that Marinette was lying about it. As little as he knew the girl, she was fair and honest with everyone.

And on second thought, he doubted his Lady would be best friends with someone so dirty like Lila.

“Adrien!” Lila calls, rising from Adrien's (old) chair and climbing to where he was sitting now. The whole class dispersing around the room.

He noticed the quick glance Alya shot Marinette after seeing the two of them (Lila and Adrien) talking alone in the back of the room.

This was a behavior Adrien didn't understand coming from Alya and some of the people in the class. Every time he did something, they would glance at Marinette as if expecting some reaction or for her to say something.

“Adrien!” Lila calls again, waving her hands in the boy's face to attract his attention.

And what before he could not see clearly, now he could see crystal clear.

He lived with models, knew fake smiles and opportunistic people. Adrien himself was a model, he was in the middle. Even so, he needed Marinette's help to be able to recognize the mischievous tone of those eyes and the plastic smile on this face.

He felt his stomach turn, but forced a polite smile on his face. The same one he used with his most... aggressive fans. So to speak.

"Hello, Lila."

She takes this as permission to sit by his side and claw his arm like a leech.

"Hi! I wanted to end our conversation from before.” She bites her lip, her eyelashes fluttering in an attempt at charm.

He shudders, trying to create a distance between them, but Lila was strong. Adrien is sure that as soon as he took off his shirt to look, he would find purple spots on the inside of his arm.

“Yes?” Questions “I don't even remember what we were talking about anymore.” Forces a bland laugh.

Lila's smile becomes bigger and sharper.

“Oh, no problem! Before Marinette-" Say the girl's name as an insult "-appear, I would tell you that..." She lowers her tone of voice "I was the one who gave the earrings to Ladybug."

Adrien gathers all his acting knowledge to force a surprised expression.

"Re-really?!"

She looks away as if embarrassed.

"Yes. Actually, I have the power of Volpina myself. It is inherited by worthy women in my family.”

Adrien doesn't even have to pretend to choke. It seemed like there was nothing she wouldn't lie to get attention.

Lila kept talking and talking about how she was leading Ladybug and Chat Noir, how she became the heroine of the fox, the most powerful of heroes and blah blah.

Something pops inside him. His passivity, maybe.

“Lila.” Cut her out. “You can stop lying to me now.”

"W-What?"

“You don't have to lie to fit in with everyone.” He says. “Alya and I were the new ones too, so I know what it's like to be the new boy and be afraid of not being accepted by the class, but you can already drop the act. They are very kind and friendly.”

Lila's expression wavered for a moment before returning to the act.

"But I'm telling the truth." Her lips quiver and her eyes fill with water.

God, she was a terrible actress.

“Lila.” Adrien stiffens the expression. “I know you're lying.”

There is a change of behavior coming from Lila. The serious face, the manipulative eyes.

It reminded Adrien of his father.

“Well it can't be helped.” She lets go of his arm and tosses the hair off her shoulder. "Now how do you- Oh."

Adrien looks at her and follows her eyes in the direction she is staring.

Marinette and Kim, sitting behind Ivan and Mylene.

“It was then, wasn't it? What did she say?” The voice dripping with poison.

Adrien believes that if he were a real cat, he would have hissed in disgust.

“Nothing.” He replies. “Or rather… Enough.”

Lila lets out a tired breath at the boy's words.

“Look Adrien, people like us-”

“People like us? People like you, Lila. Only you. Don't put us in the same category.” Growls “Either you are honest with my friends or you can keep lying and forget me. You choose."

The Italian can barely keep herself from laughing at the ingenuity of the model.

“Oh, Adrien. Do you really think that would work for me?” Purrs “I’m really surprised by your ingenuity. The big ones only stay big by lying and cheating. Even if you're beautiful and rich, I don't think you're worth the effort.”

She slides her finger over Adrien's arm that was spread across the table. He retracts his arm away from her, annoyed.

"So, I think you should leave me alone."

She seems to finally give up on the blonde as she gets up, but before leaving him alone, she leans toward him. The malicious look never leaving her expression.

"Then try to keep out of my way or I'll have the pleasure of destroying you." And get out, as if she hasn’t just threatened someone.

Neither of them notices Marinette and Kim watching the interaction.

××××

Marinette had to insist to Kim go home to take a shower that day.

The boy had not left her for a second for the rest of the school day. He had even turned down a dispute with Alix (which had left half the class in shock) to stay with Mari.

She could only convince him to leave her (finally) alone when she said she wanted privacy in her feminine affairs and after that they could have dinner together while watching Law & Order.

Marinette came through the side door of the bakery, which was now closed for business.

When she gets home, the scent of Kung Pao Chicken attacks her pleasantly.

“Papa, Māma, I'm back!” She calls, opening the bag for Tikki fly freely around the house.

“Huānyíng huíjiā sweetie.” Sabine responds “Your father had to make a delivery, but he should be coming soon.” Says when Marinette arrives in the kitchen.

Marinette kisses the woman's cheek affectionately.

"All right. I need to do something at the bakery.”

Sabine turns around, her face abnormally serious for her daughter.

"Ladybug?"

"Ladybug."

"All right. I'll call when the food is ready and your dad arrives.” She smiles again. “If Tikki wants it, there's a little chocolate mousse left in the bowl. She can eat while I wash the dishes...”

The kwami materializes in the kitchen, her eyes shining.

"YEA!"

"OK." Sabine laughs.

"I'll be right back." Mari says before leaving the house again and going down to the bakery kitchen.

There she pushes the heavy workbench, sliding across the floor until a metal trapdoor appears.

She rests her palm on the safety lock flashing red.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She says and the light is quickly replaced by green and the trapdoor opens softly.

It was the time of truth.

« Previous • The Au • Next »

And I know that Adrien is very OOC, but calm down! There is a reason for this that will be shown soon.

[Tag list]

@constancetruggle @mystery-5-5 @captainmac6 @northernbluetongue @redscarlet95 @ki117h3dr4g0n @bluefiredemon @mochinek0 @7-sage-7 @lunar-wolf-warrior @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @xxmadamjinxx @vixen-uchiha @crazylittlemunchkin @spicybelladonna @justanothersepticeyefan

#daminette #childhood au #damian #damian x marinette #lila rossi #adrien agreste #le chien kim #maribat #ml salt #ml sabine #miraculous ladybug

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danielslilangel · 5 years

Text

Make Love Not War- Daminette (Pt. Two)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

The four Wayne boys entered the gym and found Marinette excitedly stretching as she talked with Tikki about something they were too far away to catch.

“Marinette,” Damian called as he took his place on one side of the large circle mat the boys used as an attempt to soften the blows they landed upon each other. He gave her a brief smile as she made her way over to her place, happy to be the reason she was smiling even if it was because he was about to beat her in a sparring match. She really is the sunshine of Gotham. “How do you want to do this? Single round? Best two out of three?” He wanted her to at least think he was taking this seriously in the hopes that she would actually keep her word and not ask again.

“Multiple rounds are fine with me.”

Damian paused for a moment before looked around and spotted Alfred as he walked by the door. “Alfred will be the judge since he’s the only one in this house who knows how to be impartial.”

“Is anyone in this house really impartial when it comes to anything involving Marinette?” Jason whispered from the sidelines.

“Of course I will be young Master.” The aged butler made his way to the outer edge of the mat. “The victor will be determined after one person wins two out of the three rounds. A round is over when one of you pins your opponent to the ground for three seconds. The person pinned must have both shoulders touching the mat for the entire count in order for the win to count. No moves are off limits, but weapons are not allowed. Both of you must stay inside the outer circle at all times or the round restarts. Forfeiting a round is grounds for an automatic win for the other person. Are you both in agreement with these rules?” He looked at both his charges and held a hand up in the air as they nodded. “Are you ready then?”

“Yes.” Damian rolled his neck side to side and shook out his arms to release some of the tension. He needed to move quickly but accurately to make sure he didn’t actually hurt her while winning.

“Oh, wait!” Marinette squeaked before leaving her place on the mat and running over to the corner where Tikki flitted in the air like a boxing coach.

“Giving up already Marinette?” Dick called.

“Don’t be scared sweetheart! We’ll make sure he gets what’s coming to him if he roughs you up too much.” Jason laughed as Damian held up his middle finger in his brothers direction.

Marinette simply ignored the brothers calls and thankfully took a hair tie from her kwami’s outstretched paw before tying her hair up in a tight ponytail so none of it fell across her face obscuring her vision. She wouldn’t have spent so much time that morning straightening it if she had known she was going to do this today. Turning back towards the mat, she had another thought and decided to take off her loose cold shoulder top off, revealing the black sports bra underneath. She didn’t want the extra fabric there to impede her movements or allow Damian to get a better grip on her, but she also waited a second to appreciate that her action had served another purpose of bringing a small amount of pink to Damian’s cheeks. He refused to make eye contact with her as she jogged back to her place inside the circle. He has no idea what’s about to hit him.

“Now I’m ready,” she smiled and took up her fighting stance, falling so easily into the role of Ladybug that she could almost forget that she wasn’t wearing her spotted suit.

“Let me know if I get too rough Angel.”

“I could ask the same of you.”

He chuckled, the low sound making her shake her head to clear it. “I will keep that in mind.”

Alfred raised a hand and stepped back, knowing it was best to remain out of the way whenever he took up the role of referee. “Ready? Begin.”

Damian moved first, darting forward while aiming to grab her arms, swing her to the ground and quickly end this round without her getting the chance to come after him and accidentally hurt herself. He hadn’t expected her to move quite so fast though, having thought that his girlfriend would remain the clumsy girl he’d gotten to know over the past year that they’ve been together. At least she actually does have some self preservation skills, he thought as she managed to slip behind him. Spinning around, he aimed a kick towards her side, wincing as he felt it connect briefly with her ribs. He really didn’t want to hurt her, but he pushed himself to step forward and jabbed at her, catching the same side with his fist though he made sure to reign in some of the force behind the punch.

She bent down on the mat after his hit and wrapped her arms around herself causing Damian to instantly panic.

“Marinette… Angel, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Do you want to stop?” He reached out to put his hand on her head but she lightly smacked it away and turned her gaze up towards him.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? It’s okay for us to stop now, you did really well. I wasn’t expecting you to get out of the way so fast.”

In her mind Marinette was rolling her eyes, questioning how this boy could seriously think she’d already been injured not even a minute into their first round. If he had been less distracted trying to control himself so he didn’t hurt her, he would have been able to tell that he had barely tapped her and that she was totally playing him. She loved Damian more than life itself, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t judge him for being so obliviously gullible. Time to knock his ego down a few pegs. “It’s fine, really. Let’s keep going.”

“You’re sure?”

“You heard the girl, stop being a pussy and fight your girlfriend like a man!” Jason teased.

“I don’t know if I would use this situation as a testament to his manhood…” Tim sighed.

Damian got back into position as Marinette nodded once more. He caught her eyes shifting to the left of him briefly before her gaze returned to his face so that when she moved her foot to take a step towards him, he was positive she would be aiming for his right. Trying to counter her obvious move, Damian side stepped and kicked towards her middle, once again finding himself surprised when he touched nothing but air as she dodged him. He immediately rebounded and launched a low kick behind him before turning and jabbing at her in successive bursts with each fist. One finally connected and he used the other hand to reach out to grab her arm, forcing her to duck towards the ground as he kicked towards her once more.

Marinette rolled to the right to dodge Damian’s kick, before pushing off the mat in a graceful back handspring and found herself face to face with him, a tiny smile forming as she caught his surprise.

He had not been expecting that move and he sure as hell wasn’t expecting her to sweep his legs out from under him before throwing herself down across his back, holding his shoulders to the mat with a strength he hadn’t known she was capable of possessing in her barely five foot tall frame. Try as he might, Damian found himself unable to raise his body up as she lay with her chest pressed up against him. He faintly noticed that she wasn’t breathing any harder than normal despite his efforts to move.

“One. Two. Three! First round goes to Marinette.” Alfred’s voice brought him out of his daze and he felt Marinette remove herself from the floor and stand up before moving away from him.

“I win!” She proudly exclaimed, waving to his brothers who were cheering her on from the sidelines.

Jason and Dick gave her thumbs up while laughing, knowing full well that Damian had been going easy on her. Still, she did manage to pin me and I didn’t think that was going to happen. I need to put a little more effort into this match than I thought.

“You didn’t win yet Angel, that round was just luck.”

“Well luck is kinda my thing so…” she winked and stuck her tongue out at him as he resumed his place across from her.

“Round two.” Alfred stepped back once more and lowered his arm. “Begin.”

Wanting to keep Damian on his toes, Marinette decided to strike first launching a punch towards his face with a high kick to follow.

Just as her toes connected with his cheek, Damian pushed her leg away with enough force to spin her around and swept a low kick to knock her off balance. Once again, she managed to somehow dodge him by using the momentum to jump over his kick like she was playing jump rope. Not willing to let her get behind him this time, Damian grabbed her shoulders and pulled her forward, causing the heroine to lose balance and fall into him.

She lifted her knee, aiming for his crotch, but Damian expected the move from her being held in this position and grabbed ahold of her hands to spin her around so her back was facing him. Dodging a headbutt and before she could launch a backward kick, he gently lowered her to the ground in front of him and used a knee to hold her shoulders down. She reached a leg backwards to kick him off, but was too short to actually connect with any part of his body. Damian, being the man that he was, couldn’t help but notice her high level of flexibility. Muttering a curse as he felt her start to sit up, he, once again, gently applied pressure to the back of her neck with his hand to keep her face down on the floor.

“Winner, Damian!”

He stood up and extended a tanned hand down to help her to her feet and then stroked her cheek, tucking a stray strand of dark hair back behind her ear so it no longer fell across her face. “Guess your luck ran out, huh?” He smiled and leaned in to plant a small kiss on her forehead, but she stepped back and looked at him with a single eyebrow raised.

“That’s what you think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that she is completely screwing with you.” Tim’s laughter echoed through the gym, earning him a glare from the youngest Wayne.

“Excuse me?”

“Dude, she totally let you win that round.” Dick chimed in, already regretting his decision in the bet they had made. Marinette definitely had some hidden skills.

“Girl’s a freaking hustler!” Jason joined in on their teasing.

“What?” He turned from his brothers and found Marinette looking up at him with the face of an angel. “Are they serious?” She just kept looking at him with her eyes wide, lashes fluttering with feigned innocence. I just got played. “Weren’t you the one begging to see how you’d fair in a fight against me? Why would you purposely hold back?”

“I could ask you that same question.” She raised her hands up in exasperation. “You didn’t even try in the first round!”

“I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than I already had after that first kick!”

“You barely touched me and even if you had hurt me, I’m a big girl and I can handle a little pain.“ She felt her cheeks flush with anger as she moved back into her starting position. Chat had underestimated her back in France and it had led to him purposely throwing himself into danger more often than naught to keep her out of reach of the akumatized victims. She still firmly believed that his arrogance was the reason why it had taken so many years for the heroes to defeat and capture Hawkmoth and she wasn’t going to have a repeat of that situation here with Damian or the rest of the heroes of Gotham. She would show them that Marinette/Ladybug was an ally worth having around and not just some trinket they could keep in their back pockets for safe keeping. "Stop acting like I didn’t save Paris thousands of times, often on my own, over the last 3 years, nearly singlehandedly defeating a super-terrorist, and start treating me like you would anyone else you were practicing against!”

“You know what? Fine.” He let his mask as the Prince of Assassins fall into place and moved to face her on his starting mark. He would appease her curiosity, giving her everything he had from his seventeen years of training, and then tend to her wounds, both physical and emotional after the last round was over. “But I’m never doing this again.”

“As long as you take it seriously this time around, I’ll keep my promise and never ask again. But if you’re too scared to actually fight me, I’d forgive you. I won’t love you any less because of it.” Her smile was almost feral-something she had picked up from having Chat as her partner for so long- as she lowered herself into her fighting stance once more. She really hoped he wouldn’t hold back now. If she didn’t beat him when he was actually trying, he would never be able to let himself focus on anything else but her safety when they were out on patrol. More than her desire to be taken seriously and be respected for the hard work she had put in to be the hero she was, Marinette didn’t want to see Damian/Robin injured because he was trying to prevent harm from befalling her.

“While I appreciate how cute it is that you think you’re the scariest thing I’ve faced, I am absolutely not going to back down. I won’t be taking it easy on you this time either. Just remember to tell me if I’m too much for you to handle Angel.” He smirked and waved Alfred forward, eager to end this. The sooner she realized that he was there, willing and able, to protect her, the sooner they could go back to normal and stop the only disagreement the two of them had.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Alfred cleared his throat, briefly drawing the pairs’ eyes away from each other. “Round three. Winner decides the match’s victor.”

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#daminette #maribat #maridami #damimari #marinette dupein cheng #miraculous ladybug #my writing #first time writing an action scene #comments welcomed

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randomvarious · 4 years

Video

youtube

The Sugarhill Gang - “Rapper’s Delight” The Best Rap Album of All Time Song released in 1979. Compilation released in 1999. Hip Hop

“Rapper’s Delight” by The Sugarhill Gang is the most important song in the history of hip hop music. Period. It was the genre’s first commercial record and it sold millions of copies around the world. It suddenly introduced white people and everyone outside of the tri-state area, as well as countless people in other countries, to a Bronx-born, organic subculture whose popularity had previously grown through mostly word-of-mouth. It’s not the first hip hop song ever recorded (that honor belongs to “King Tim III (Personality Jock)” by The Fatback Band), but historians unanimously agree that it is indeed the genre’s runner-up record. And without its commercial success, hip hop might have only become a late 70s-early 80s New York fad, only to be cherished by its small set of original participants and Pitchfork-reading hipster types who wax nostalgic about those halcyon CBGB’s and Max’s Kansas City days where the city’s various strains of new wave, glam rock, punk, art punk, no wave, and the like all converged.

But I’m here to tell you that this iconic song, the one that made hip hop a viable commercial enterprise and enabled it to eventually become the biggest music genre on the planet, is actually a total fraud. And that’s for a couple reasons. Now, before you go all Rocko lavender hippo lady on me, let me just say that “Rapper’s Delight” is by no means a bad song. In fact, it’s one of the greatest songs ever made. But it was a total fucking cash grab, too; an absolute sellout record. And that’s ironic because, for a genre that’s had so many insufferable purists who bristle at the idea of inauthenticity (full disclosure: I was one of those people), they have no problem with calling this song an indispensable piece of “real” and “true” hip hop music.

Let me explain some hip hop history, first though.

Hip hop culture began in the south Bronx in the summer of 1973, about a full six years before “Rapper’s Delight” came out. It was started by a DJ from Jamaica named Kool Herc. Herc is the genius who figured out how to isolate the instrumental break on a record and extend it by having two copies of the record and lining up the second one to start after the break from the first one finished. This allowed people to dance to the same beat for extended periods of time, which gave birth to breakdancing and dance battles. Another thing the extension of the break enabled was rapping. Rapping came out of toasting, a Jamaican DJ tradition in which the DJ would bust out a nifty and rhythmic, spoken-word rhyme, often shouting out someone of note who was in attendance. But then that eventually morphed into an extended series of rhymes, which gave way to the MC.

Rapping at that point was largely a poetic, improvised stream-of-consciousness. MCs would rap for minutes on end, displaying their mental dexterity as they would do their best to keep on beat and try to make sense while rhyming the last word of each line with the next.

That’s where Sylvia Robinson comes into this story. Robinson was an R&B / soul / funk / disco artist and producer who had appeared plenty of times on the R&B charts and landed a top-three national hit with “Pillow Talk” in 1973. In 1979, she started her own label, Sugar Hill Records, which would become the most important hip hop label in the early part of the next decade. Robinson’s first interaction with rapping didn’t come inside a Bronx club or at a Bronx block party though. It was instead at her niece’s birthday party in Harlem, where DJ Lovebug Starski was doing a bit of call-and-response with his audience.

From The Independent:

"The DJ [was talking] over the music, and the kids were going crazy. He would say something like, 'Throw your hands [up in] the air' and they'd do it," she recalled. "All of a sudden, something said [to me]: 'Put something like that on a record, and it will be the biggest thing you ever had'. I didn't even know you called it rap."

At first, Robinson had no takers. No rapper or DJ she approached thought making a hip hop record was a good idea. It was just a fun thing people did at parties. It wasn’t something that would ever end up being profitable. According to cultural critic Harry Allen, when Chuck D of Public Enemy first heard that rap was going to be put on records, he asked, “'How are you going to put three hours on a record?' Because that's the way MCs used to rhyme. They'd just rhyme and rhyme and rhyme for hours."

But Robinson would eventually find some people to rap on a record. It’s unclear whether or not it was her son or her herself who initially found the first member of her rap group, but it happened at a pizza shop in Englewood, New Jersey, where Big Bank Hank was spotted rapping while working his shift. Robinson then brought Hank out in front of the parlor to audition. The next member, Master Gee, would then audition in her car, followed by Wonder Mike. Robinson couldn’t decide which rapper she liked most, so she decided to sign all of them. And thus, the Sugarhill Gang was born.

However, it should be noted that Big Bank Hank, Master Gee, and Wonder Mike were absolute nobodies at the time. They weren’t serious MCs or DJs. The guys who had been putting it down since hip hop’s inception like Kool Herc, Afrika Bambaataa, Grandmaster Flash, and Kool DJ AJ had never had these guys rap on their stages before. They were total amateurs.

But Robinson didn’t care and not long after she signed them, “Rapper’s Delight” came to fruition. The #1 song in the country at the time happened to be Chic’s “Good Times,” and coincidentally, it was also a superb beat for rapping over. Robinson probably thought that using an uber popular instrumental for her rap record would move units, too, and ultimately, she would be proven right. She enlisted a funk band called Positive Force to recreate the “Good Times” instrumental, and, incredibly, they and the Sugarhill Gang pumped out “Rapper’s Delight” in a single nineteen-minute take. There were no lyrical flubs and no mistakes by any of the players. It was an amazingly efficient use of studio time.

That nineteen minutes was then pared down to 14:30 and the recording was pressed to wax and then went to sale. However, “Rapper’s Delight” failed to catch on at first. Radio DJs were reticent to play such a ridiculously long song and hip hop party DJs had no idea who the Sugarhill Gang was. But once a radio version was cut, which is the version I’ve posted today, the record got radio play, which then translated to immense record sales. It made the Billboard Hot 100, peaking at #36, while hitting #4 on the R&B chart. And it became an even bigger hit outside of the U.S., reaching the top-five all across Europe, Canada, and South Africa. It also sold literally millions of records. The second hip hop song to ever be recorded for commercial purposes was a suddenly and completely unexpected global phenomenon. Hip hop had hit the big time.

But outside of the fact that this monstrous song was clearly a mere ploy to make money and was actually not an organic piece of Bronx-bred hip hop culture, there was even more fraudulence to it. Big Bank Hank, the second MC to grace the track, actually stole all of his verses from another rapper, the legend Grandmaster Caz. Caz was a member of a foundational hip hop group called The Cold Crush Brothers, who were known to rap at parties in the Bronx. Hank offered to become Caz’s manager and took out a loan to upgrade Cold Crush’s soundsystem. Then, to pay off that loan, he got a job at the pizza shop that he was eventually discovered in. But when he was seen rapping while working and was quickly auditioned afterwards, he used Caz’s lyrics. So, when Hank introduces himself on “Rapper’s Delight” with, “I’m the C-A-S-A, the N-O-V-A, and the rest is F-L-Y,” know he is spelling out one of Grandmaster Caz’s nicknames, and without his permission. And to this day, Caz hasn’t seen a single dime from “Rapper’s Delight”’s sales. Criminal shit.

But in the grand scheme of things, despite that bad sleight on Caz and the ultimate motive to record the song, “Rapper’s Delight” is still, by absolute happenstance, a masterpiece. It’s not just one of the first hip hop records, but it’s just so infectiously fun. But because of how fun it is, another thing that apparently pissed off other rappers at the time was that the song wasn’t about anything important. A lot of rappers were angry at the conditions in which they lived and they thought it was lame that a bunch of outsiders had cashed in on their artform while not even channeling any of the south Bronx’s inner rage. But a few years later, Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five would release hip hop’s second unmitigated classic, “The Message,” a socially conscious-painted picture of the South Bronx. And it was released on, funnily enough, Sugar Hill Records.

There’s a moral or something to this story somewhere. Without the selling out and without Big Bank Hank’s lyrical theft, who knows where hip hop culture would be today? “Rapper’s Delight” sure wasn’t made for the purest of reasons, but it exposed hip hop music, and then eventually the actual authentic Bronx culture, to the entire world. Had Sylvia Robinson not seen dollar signs in this fun and unique party gimmick, would Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five or Afrika Bambaataa or Kurtis Blow become household names? Would hip hop ever be sold commercially? Would the following, more lyrical Def Jam wave with acts like Run-D.M.C. and LL Cool J ever happen? And then would N.W.A happen or the Native Tongues posse with A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Busta Rhymes, Queen Latifah, and Black Sheep? I could go on, but you get the picture.

#hip hop #hip hop music #rap #rap music #old school hip hop #old school rap #music #70s #70s music #70's #70's music #70s hip hop #70's hip hop #70s rap #70's rap

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pamphletstoinspire · 5 years

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Jesus Chose Mary For Himself

If there is nothing more touching in the Gospel than the way God treats his reconciled enemies — that is, converted sinners. He is not content to wipe away the stain of their sins. It is easy for his infinite goodness to prevent our sins from hurting us; he also wants them to profit us. He bring forth so much good from them that we are constrained to bless our faults and to cry out with the Church, “O happy fault! O felix culpa!” His graces struggle against our sins for the mastery, and it pleases him, as St. Paul said, that his “grace abound” in excess of our malice (cf. Rom. 5:20).

Moreover, he receives reconciled sinners with so much love that the most perfect innocence would seem to have grounds for complaint, or at least for jealousy. One of his sheep wanders off, and all those who remain seem much less dear to him than the one gone astray; his mercy is more tender toward the prodigal son than toward the elder brother who had always been faithful.

If this is the case, then should we say that repentant sinners are more worthy than those who have not sinned, or justice reestablished is preferable to innocence preserved? No, we must not doubt that innocence is always best.

Although we appreciate health more when it is newly restored, we do not fail to value a strong constitution over the benefit of returning health. And although it is true that our hearts are moved by the unlooked-for gift of a fine day in winter, we do not fail to prefer the constant clemency of a milder season. So, if we may regard the Savior’s sentiments through a human lens, he may more tenderly caress newly converted sinners — his new conquests — but he loves the just with greater ardor, for they are his old friends.

Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is holiness itself, and although he is pleased to see at his feet the sinner who has returned to the path of righteousness, he nevertheless loves with a stronger love the innocent one who has never strayed. The innocent one approaches nearer to him and imitates him more perfectly, and so he honors him with a closer familiarity. However much beauty his eyes may see in the tears of a penitent, it can never equal the chaste attraction of an ever-faithful holiness. These are the sentiments of Jesus according to his divine nature, but he took on other ones for the love of us when he became our Savior. God prefers the innocent, but, let us rejoice: the merciful Savior came to seek out the guilty. He lives only for sinners, because it is to sinners that he was sent.

Listen to how he explains his mission: “I came not to call the righteous” (Matt. 9:13), because, even though they may be the most worthy of my affection, my commission does not extend to them. As Savior, I must seek those who are lost; as Physician, those who are ill; as Redeemer, those who are captives. In this, he is like a physician: as a man, he is more pleased to live among the healthy, but as a physician he prefers to care for the sick. And so this good Doctor, as Son of God prefers the innocent, but as Savior seeks out the guilty. Here is the mystery illuminated by a holy and evangelical doctrine. It is full of consolation for sinners such as we are, but it also honors the holy and perpetual innocence of Mary.

For if it is true that the Son of God loves innocence so well, could it be that he would find none at all upon the earth? Shall he not have the satisfaction of seeing someone like unto himself, or who at least approaches his purity from afar? Must Jesus, the Innocent One, be always among sinners, without ever having the consolation of meeting an unstained soul? And who would that be, if not his holy Mother? Yes, let this merciful Savior, who has taken upon himself all of our guilt, spend his life running after sinners; let him go and seek them in every corner of Palestine; but let him find in his own home and under his own roof what will satisfy his eyes with the steady and lasting beauty of incorruptible holiness!

It is true that this charitable Savior does not cast off sinners, and far from sending them away from his presence, he does not disdain to call them the most honored members of his kingdom. He set the leadership of his flock in the hands of Peter, who denied him; he placed at the head of his Evangelists Matthew, who was a tax collector; he made the first of his preachers Paul, who had persecuted him. These are not innocent men; these are converted sinners whom he raised to the highest ranks. Yet you should not therefore believe that he would choose his holy Mother from the same lot. There must be a great difference between her and the others. What will that difference be?

He chose Peter, Matthew, and Paul for us, but he chose Mary for himself. For us: “whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas . . . all are yours” (cf. 1 Cor. 3:22); for himself: “My beloved is mine,” and I am hers (cf. Song of Sol. 2:16). Those whom he called for others, he drew forth from sin, so that they might the better proclaim his mercy. His plan was to give hope to those souls beaten down by sin. Who could more effectively preach divine mercy than those who were themselves its illustrious examples? Who else could have said with greater effect, “The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,” than a St. Paul, who was able to add, “[a]nd I am the foremost of sinners” (1 Tim. 1:15)?

Yet if he treated in this way those whom he called for the sake of us sinners, we must not think that he did the same for the dear creature, the extraordinary creature, the unique and privileged creature whom he made for himself, whom he chose to be his Mother. In his apostles and ministers, he brought about what would be most useful for the salvation of all, but in his holy Mother, he did what was sweetest, most glorious, and most satisfying for himself, and, consequently, he made Mary to be innocent. “My beloved is mine,” and I am hers. The gift of innocence could not be distributed with prodigality among fallen men, but it is no excess for him to give it to his Mother, and it would have been ungenerous to have withheld it.

No, my Savior will not do that. We see already shining forth from the newborn Mary the innocence of Jesus Christ, as a crown upon her head. Let us honor this new ray that her Son has caused to break forth upon her. “[T]he night is far gone, the day is at hand” (Rom. 13:12). Jesus will soon bring about that day by his blessed presence. O happy day, O cloudless day, O day that the innocence of the divine Jesus will make so serene and pure: when will you come to light up the world? He comes; let us rejoice. You already see the dawn breaking in the birth of the holy Virgin. Let us run with joy to see the first light of this new day. We will see shining the sweet light of an unstained purity.

We must not persuade ourselves that to distinguish Mary from Jesus we must take away her innocence and leave it to her Son alone. To tell the morning from midday, there is no need to fill the air with storms or cover the sky with clouds: it suffices that the rays of the morning sun should be weaker and their light less brilliant. To distinguish Mary from Jesus, there is no need to put sin into the mix. It suffices that her innocence be a weaker light. That light belongs to Jesus by right, but to Mary by privilege; to Jesus by nature, to Mary by grace and favor. We honor the source in Jesus, and in Mary a flowing forth from the source. What should console us is that this flowing forth of innocence shines for the benefit of us poor sinners. Innocence normally reproaches the guilty for their evil lives and seems to pronounce condemnation upon them. Yet it is not so with Mary. Her innocence is favorable to us. And why? Because it is only a flowing forth of the innocence of the Savior Jesus. The innocence of Jesus is the life and salvation of sinners, and so the innocence of the Blessed Virgin serves to obtain pardon for sinners. Let us look upon this holy and innocent creature as the sure support for our misery and go and wash our sins in the bright light of her incorruptible purity.

#jesus chose mary for himself

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