#seems like an enterprise that might go for like a couple years before needing to file for bankruptcy

[la0hu]

applied to a new indie bookstore that will focus on romance books....... could be insufferable but could also be extremely fun

#p #they seem like they haven't even secured a physical location yet tho. rip #seems like an enterprise that might go for like a couple years before needing to file for bankruptcy #but i don't care! i don't want to code anymore!

[beauregardlionett]

you've walked a hundred times before - ch.3

AO3 Link

Despite Gotham’s many, many, many… many flaws - it had a pretty decent dog park. It was a decent walk from Mar’s apartment, but a manageable one, so they made an effort to get there at least every other week. Shelley and Ginny certainly enjoyed the stroll and loved playing with other dogs, too. There were walking trails, a fenced in area, lots of grass and sticks, and benches for people to sit on.

A sign at the entrance to the park stated that it had been funded in part by a start-up from Wayne Enterprises to offer a natural, safe environment for the city’s dogs to play in. Apparently, the CEO and his family had a couple dogs of their own and had noticed the lack of spots within the city for dogs to stretch their legs. Mar had later figured out that the family lived on a large estate in the suburbs of Gotham and didn’t really need the park for their own pets, but the sentiment was appreciated.

Mar was currently cross-legged on one of the benches, nose tucked into the scarf wound around their neck, as Shelley and Ginny chased each other through the grass. There had been a very sweet golden here earlier with his owner, but they had left a little while ago. They had also spotted an elderly gentleman with a kid and two big dogs on one of the walking trails, but that was about it. Since it was mid-November, the dog park was less populated than usual, but Mar didn’t mind a little chill. It was supposed to snow in the next day or two, and the incoming wind definitely smelled like it.

Raya had offered to tag along on this trip, but Mar turned her down and told her to spend time with her boyfriend. While that sentiment was true, Mar also needed some time alone. The past work week had been slightly…harrowing, was a word for it. Every other appointment felt like pulling teeth when it came to patient compliance, and while pro bono hadn’t been as bad, it was still extra hours put into Mar’s day that worked to drain them. 

Raya - bless her heart - seemed to understand.

She had been Mar’s friend for the last two years of Raya’s undergrad stint, and then by a stroke of luck, they ended up in the same graduate program. Since Raya was two years older than Mar, she had ended up being Mar’s student mentor in the program. Even though they only spent a year together there, Raya still checked in on Mar while they finished school. Raya was originally from Gotham and had returned to work here. Mar couldn’t say they understood the appeal of this city, but they also didn’t have the ground to stand on with that argument, considering they worked and lived here now, too.

The wind picked up a bit, making Mar shiver and duck further into their scarf. It was getting late, and Mar didn’t have any food in the apartment. With a sigh, they unfolded their legs from the bench and stood, pausing to stretch.

With a short whistle, Mar called Shelley and Ginny to them, crouching to put their leashes back on as the girls sat obediently in front of Mar. Their tongues lolled as they panted, eyes bright after being able to play for a few hours. Mar smiled and took a moment to give both of them an affectionate round of ear scritches before standing back up.

“Alright ladies,” Mar said, tucking the leashes into one coat pocket with their hand. “We’re going to swing by that deli a few blocks from here because I need dinner. If you act cute, the guy behind the counter might give you a snack again.”

“What do you mean you’ve never seen the Ring Ding Dong sketch? And you call yourself a SHINee fan?” Mar said, indignant and already pulling the video up on their phone aggressively. “Jiro, I am so disappointed in you.”

“Hey,” Jiro whined, pouting as he leaned his upper body on his rolling desk. “I was a busy kid, okay?”

“No excuse,” Mar said without mercy. They slid their phone over Jiro’s desk and pointed at it. “Watch it, now. Thank me later.”

Lydia and her patient were across the clinic, leaving Jiro and Mar to their own devices near the back. Both of their patients had canceled, leaving them to chat idly about nothing in particular until music came up. Jiro pouted at Mar again before scooping up their phone and playing the video. As they sat there, the sound of the front door opening echoed faintly across the floor, but Mar paid it no mind, focusing instead on Jiro’s face. Honestly, this sketch was iconic, even for people who didn’t listen to SHINee. Mar wanted to see his reaction.

A few seconds later, however, Fariha’s voice drew Mar’s attention away.

“Mar?” Fariha called from the front office. They glanced over and paused, taking in the stressed pinch to her mouth. Mar was halfway to standing before Fariha continued. “Can you come up here, please?”

“Keep watching that,” Mar instructed Jiro distractedly, leaving their phone with him. They walked briskly toward the front office, mind racing with possible scenarios. Fariha was an experienced worker, with almost ten years under her belt in this business. The fact that she was asking for assistance was beyond worrying.

Mar pushed into the front office and spared a glance at Shelley and Ginny curled up under the desk. Looking next through the window, Mar paused, confused.

Nightwing was leaning casually against the open window ledge, shooting a grin at Mar when they made eye contact. He clearly wasn’t the source of Fariha’s stress, but the looming figure behind Nightwing was. Mar noticed a second later that Nightwing’s free hand was wrapped firmly around the other’s wrist, seemingly keeping him in place.

“Uhm, hi,” Mar said, hesitant. “What’s going on, Nightwing?”

“Mar!” Nightwing said, overly enthusiastic. “Perfect. Fariha said you have an opening right now and I was wondering if I could snag that appointment.”

“Yeah, of course,” Mar said, stepping further into the office and dropping their hand on the back of Fariha’s chair in solidarity. “You know you’re always welcome, Nightwing.”

Nightwing’s smile softened at the edges, looking more natural and making Mar realize that it had been strained before that moment. Their eyes flicked over Nightwing’s shoulder to his companion (hostage?) and they raised their brows.

“Oh, nice to see you again.”

There was a moment of silence before the modulated voice spoke up from under the red helmet and said, “oh, hey lunch break,” casual as anything.

“You’ve met?” Fariha asked incredulously at the same time Nightwing’s smile slipped and he said, “you know each other?”

Mar blinked at the two of them and shrugged. “Yeah. I was trying to get to the pharmacy the other day on my lunch break and got caught up in a robbery. Red Hood was there, too.”

Fariha’s mouth made an ‘o’ in understanding as Nightwing appeared only more distressed by this information.

“Anyway,” Mar plowed on ahead, not wanting to explain further. “You can have the appointment, Nightwing.”

“Oh it’s—” Nightwing faltered for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at Red Hood again with a weird expression. “I have to meet up with some people, but I was hoping you could get Hood here set up with that open appointment.”

Mar blinked, staring at Nightwing before shifting their attention to Red Hood.

“Only if Red Hood agrees to the appointment,” Mar said. “I won’t evaluate a patient against their will.”

Nightwing’s brows shot up toward his hairline above his domino before he turned to Red Hood. “It’s not against his will. He knows he needs this appointment, right Hood?”

“I hate you, Dickwing,” Red Hood said instead of answering, grumpy even with the modulator.

Nightwing grinned and turned back to Fariha and Mar.

“Yeah, I’m really sold on his willingness,” Mar said flatly.

Nightwing groaned and dropped his head forward, chin to chest with exasperation. “Why are you all against me?”

“Maybe because I was dragged here against my will even after telling you that I’m fine?” Red Hood snapped, yanking his captured wrist against Nightwing’s restraint. Mar expected him to break free, but Nightwing was clearly more determined as he held fast.

“Christ, Hood, I’m not asking you to get surgery or anything,” Nightwing said, exasperated as he gave up on the pleasant persona and turned to Hood. “It’s just an evaluation appointment. You don’t even have to come back after if you don’t want to, but at least give it a chance. I’m vouching for Mar here and everything!”

As touched as Mar was by Nightwing’s praise and high opinion of them, this wasn’t how things worked. Ducking from the front office and going into the lobby, Mar stood in front of the two towering vigilantes and muscled down the intimidation brought on by their height difference.

“Nightwing, as sweet as it is that you care about Red Hood and want him to be taken care of here, that’s not how this works. You remember what I told you before? About your recovery hinging upon the choices you make and your own desire to get better? That applies to starting therapy, too. If you force Red Hood to see me, no one is going to benefit from it, especially if he doesn’t want to be here.”

Nightwing deflated, turning his face away from Red Hood and Mar, looking too much like a kicked puppy in that moment. As much as Mar could understand and appreciate his desires here, they wouldn’t back down on this. Red Hood, on the other hand, was overtly staring at Mar through the helmet, intense despite the lack of available expression. Mar refused to squirm or look away.

After a moment, Red Hood sighed, the noise strange through the modulator, as his shoulders slumped and he put his free hand on his hip.

“Fine,” he said, short and gruff. “I’ll take the damn appointment.”

“Really?” Nightwing asked, doing a complete one-eighty as he lit up and clung to Red Hood’s arm with both hands.

“I won’t make promises about regular appointments, but I’ll at least do the stupid evaluation.”

Nightwing cheered and threw his arms around Red Hood’s shoulders, beaming brightly. Mar half expected Red Hood to bodily throw Nightwing across the lobby, but he merely grumbled and shoved half-heartedly at Nightwing’s shoulders. Mar couldn’t say they were well-versed enough on the various relationships between all of Gotham’s vigilantes to know if this was normal or not. A glance through the window at Fariha’s expression, however, was enough to guess that this was certainly not a normal or expected occurrence.

“I have to run,” Nightwing said, still beaming as he released Red Hood and started for the door. “I’m proud of you, Hood! I’ll check in later!”

“Fuck off,” Red Hood said as Nightwing slipped out the door, leaving Mar to stand there and glance between the door and Red Hood. A moment of silence passed between them before Mar spoke up again.

“You don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to be here. I won’t tell Nightwing - not that I would be able to legally, anyway.”

Red Hood huffed a sound that might have been a laugh and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“I meant what I said,” Red Hood shrugged. “I know he means well, I just don’t trust the system, even with him vouching for you.”

Mar nodded and slipped their hands into the pockets of their scrubs, mirroring Red Hood’s stance. “I get it. It’s not a great system. But if you’re at least up for an evaluation, I promise I’ll do my best to take care of you.”

Red Hood stared down at Mar for a heavy moment before he made that noise that might be a laugh again. “I see why ‘Wing vouched for you, now. What do I need to do for this appointment?”

Mar turned back to the window and leaned up on the ledge to look at Fariha, who still seemed floored by this whole development. They could relate to the sentiment, but actively muscled down the desire to show it on their face.

“Can you put him on my schedule and hand me the intake paperwork, please?” Mar glanced over their shoulder at Red Hood. “Are you older or younger than Nightwing? We have to put an age into the system even if it’s not the right information.”

“Younger.”

“Gender and preferred pronouns?”

“Male, he/him,” Red Hood said.

Mar glanced back at Fariha, taking the papers from her. “Thanks. You get all that?”

“Yeah,” Fariha said weakly.

“Great,” Mar said, reaching into the office through the window and snagging a pen. “You’re the best, Fariha.”

“Mar,” Fariha whispered, low and frantic. Mar paused, raising their brows at her. “Red Hood is a crime lord. You know that, right?”

“Maybe out there,” Mar said with a shrug. They had figured as much based on what Red Hood had said to those robbers the other day. “But here, he’s my patient.”

Fariha gaped at Mar as they ducked out of the office window and turned back to Red Hood. “Follow me, please.”

Mar left their dogs in the office with Fariha, figuring she might need their grounding presence more in that moment. They also didn’t want to push it or overwhelm Red Hood with more variables. Mar showed Red Hood the room they were going to do the appointment in, left him with the paperwork, and went to get their desk. Jiro had put Mar’s phone back on their desk and was staring openly at Mar as they unlocked the wheels.

“Was…was that Red Hood? Mar - Mar, are you about to evaluate Red Hood ?”

“Yes,” Mar said casually, tucking their phone into their pocket and unlocking the wheels of their desk. “If you need to freak out about it, go up front with Fariha. I think she blue-screened.”

“Mar!” Jiro hissed as Mar walked off.

When they got to the room, Mar pushed their desk inside and gestured to the door. “Do you care if this is open or closed?”

Red Hood paused, staring at the door before he exhaled through the modulator. “Close it.”

Mar nodded and shut the door, sitting on the rolling stood they had dragged in, too. Red Hood leaned over and put the mostly finished paperwork on Mar’s desk. “If you change your mind about that at any point during the exam, let me know, okay? I don’t mind either way if it’s open or closed, so I’ll leave that up to you.”

Red Hood nodded as Mar refreshed their schedule and found that Fariha had added his appointment. They opened a new note and looked up over their laptop at Red Hood.

“Okay, formal introduction even though Nightwing already told you who I am. My name is Mar and I’m the physical therapist who will be doing your evaluation today. Can you tell me what brought you in today - besides Nightwing?”

Red Hood snorted (that was definitely a laugh) and folded his arms over his chest.

“I may or may not have let it slip to ‘Wing that I’m constantly feeling some sort of ache or pain when doing most things and he freaked out and dragged me here. It’s not like it’s life-threatening, and I don’t know why he brought me here, of all places.”

Mar nodded, typing even as they maintained their gaze on Red Hood’s mask. “How long would you say you’ve been experiencing this?”

Red Hood shrugged. Mar waited.

Eventually he sighed and said, “I had a bit of an…accident, you could say. A few years ago. My healing process was a bit unorthodox and I’ve been like this ever since.”

Mar typed as they nodded. As much as they wanted to press for details on this accident, it was abundantly clear through Hood’s body language that he did not want to talk about it. Mar made a quick note that read (PTSD?) next to the comments about the accident.

“Does your pain ever affect your sleep?”

“I never sleep well.”

“Okay, and how about your mood? Do you ever cite your pain as the source of bad temperament?”

“I guess.”

Mar nodded and typed out his answers before continuing.

“I’m assuming you’re familiar with the pain scale. On a scale of one to ten, where ten is I’m calling emergency services for you, what is your pain currently and is it in a specific location?”

Red Hood sighed, sounding both frustrated and tired at once.

“Sitting here - a six. Just kind of…my whole body.”

Mar nodded and said, “and on that same scale of one to ten, how distressing would you rate that pain?”

Red Hood paused and then asked, “what do you mean?”

“Well,” Mar said, pausing their typing and pushing their desk aside. “With patients who have chronic pain like you’re describing, the pain scale alone doesn’t exactly cut it when it comes to understanding that pain. You said you’re feeling the pain at a six, but the way you perceive a six versus how another patient who doesn’t have chronic pain perceives a six are probably very different. So, I’m asking for a distress rating. One being this is your normal level of pain and it’s not upsetting, to ten being this is a pain that is new to you and means something might be very wrong.”

Red Hood nodded slowly and took a few quiet moments to think before he spoke, slow and careful. “I guess…two or three? This pain is pretty normal for me.”

Mar nodded and reached over to their laptop, typing those numbers down.

“Can you tell me about things that might make your pain better or worse? Do you ever take medication and does it do anything for you?”

“Sometimes taking a few days off makes it more tolerable when it gets bad, but medication doesn’t ever really get rid of the pain, just helps me muscle through it. It usually only gets worse if I wear clothes that are itchy or don’t fit right, and if I get thrown around too much.”

Mar pursed their lips and typed his comments out.

“And I’m guessing ‘thrown around’ means hitting walls and pavement and the like?”

“Something like that,” Red Hood nodded, sounding faintly amused by Mar’s reaction.

“You vigilantes,” Mar sighed. “Alright, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to test your strength, sensation, and range of motion. I’ll need you to take your jacket off and…if you could take the helmet off, too, that would be helpful since I need to check your neck. I can get you a face mask from the front desk if you don’t have a different mask.”

Red Hood sat very still for a moment before he reached up and clicked something on the back of his helmet. The edges loosened and he slipped it off, revealing a domino mask underneath that kept his eyes hidden, much like Nightwing’s. He had a shock of dark hair run through with a strip of white and a sharp jawline with an even sharper smirk at his mouth. He set the helmet aside and shrugged out of his jacket.

“Have you worked with vigilantes before, besides ‘Wing?”

“Nope,” Mar said, pushing their desk aside and standing up. “Nightwing was the first one I’ve worked with and I’ve only seen him a handful of times.”

“Could have fooled me,” Red Hood said, sounding mildly impressed.

Mar didn’t know what to say in response, so instead they started on the sensation exam. Red Hood tolerated a majority of the light touch without complaint, but hissed through his teeth in certain places, mostly on his left leg, right shoulder, and upper back. At one point, Red Hood bit out that he needed a break. Mar immediately stepped back and sat on their stool.

“I have a therapy dog who is in the front office right now. Would you like me to bring her in here for you? She’s well trained, and you actually met her that day with the robbers.”

Red Hood glanced up, forehead dotted with beads of sweat as he gripped the edge of the plinth with white knuckles. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said, tone clipped.

Mar stood and slipped out of the room, keeping the door mostly shut for his sake as they did. Walking briskly to the front office and ignoring the heavy stares from Lydia and Jiro across the clinic, Mar poked their head in. They called Shelley quickly and waved distractedly to Fariha to indicate everything was okay. They returned to the examination room, knocking quickly to warn Red Hood they were coming back. Once they had heard his acknowledgement, Mar opened the door and let Shelley in, following behind and closing the door again.

Shelley sat at Red Hood’s feet, nudging his knee with her nose and wagging slightly. Red Hood released the edge of the plinth and buried his fingers in Shelley’s short fur. Mar left them to it for a moment, taking the opportunity to type a few things down. 

“I’m ready to keep going,” Red Hood said eventually, his hand still running through Shelley’s fur. 

Mar continued to run through a much more thorough sensation exam than they normally would, specifically because they had anticipated finding areas of high sensitivity like this. They checked a few reflexes and were less thorough with the strength and range of motion parts, opting to screen Red Hood instead and finding nothing out of the ordinary as they had expected. On a whim, and just to cover their bases, Mar took Red Hood through brief exams of his balance, coordination, and proprioception. 

With their hypothesis mostly confirmed, Mar typed out a quick summary of their findings in their notes to expand on later before turning to Red Hood. He scratched distractedly at Shelley’s ears before speaking up.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Red Hood asked, affecting casual but tense in the set of his shoulders.

“Well, you already knew you were experiencing chronic pain,” Mar said. “But I’m suspecting that you have something called chronic pain syndrome or CPS. It’s something that’s hard to define or categorize because patients all develop it differently and respond differently. But based on the things you’ve told me and the way you reacted to the exam, it’s a strong possibility for you.”

“So how do I get rid of it?”

Mar pressed their lips together and sighed through their nose. This was the hard part.

“There’s no official treatment that cures CPS,” Mar said honestly. “The best course of action is trial and error to figure out what works for you to make the pain more manageable. There’s a chance it will never fully go away.”

Red Hood’s fingers stilled against Shelley’s fur and Mar sat there watching him. These kinds of appointments were Mar’s least favorite, because it was such a shit piece of news to have to give people. It was never easy.

“So…what now?”

Mar blinked at the resignation in Red Hood’s tone, not expecting that reaction. They thought he would be angrier…defiant, even. But he just sounded tired.

“Well…we can start with education on what’s going on with your nervous system so you can better understand why you’re feeling the way you are. Then we can do some graded exposure and try to calm your nerves and see if they respond to that. A lot of this treatment plan is going to be focused on education, mostly on how to manage your pain.” Mar paused, taking in the fact that they could see most of Red Hood’s face, now.

There was something young about the curve of his jaw, and something ancient in the furrow of his brow. He said he was younger than Nightwing, but whatever was haunting him didn’t make it seem that way.

“This is probably a stupid question,” Mar said slowly, leaning their elbows against their knees. “But are you okay?”

“You’re right, that was a stupid question,” Red Hood said, voice cold and clipped.

“I acknowledge this is a pretty shit diagnosis to hear,” Mar said, allowing themself to be less professional with Red Hood, knowing he wouldn’t care given his general demeanor. “But part of this dynamic is that I’m here to listen and help however I can. What can I do that will help you right now?”

Red Hood paused for a moment and then scoffed. “Rip out my nervous system and be done with it? Like you said, there’s no cure, so might as well not bother.”

“I didn’t say that,” Mar countered calmly, far too used to this kind of reaction. “I said there’s no official cure, meaning the same treatments don’t work for every patient.”

“Right, so it’s pointless.”

“Do you think the treatment is pointless, or do you think treating you is pointless?”

Red Hood stared at Mar, lips pressed into a thin, displeased line. Mar stared back, tired and on edge. Their lack of friendly professionalism would have sent a former professor from school into hysterics, but Mar had always excelled at the communication portion of practical exams. They never stumbled when it came to knowing when to don the customer service tone and when to be blunt.

“I thought you were a physical therapist, not a shrink. Are you fucking psychoanalyzing me?”

“I’m trying to formulate a prognosis.”

“A what?”

“A prognosis, the likely course of progression for treatment, in this case. It’s like I told Nightwing earlier, if you’re willing to put in the effort, you’re going to get something out of this. But if you fight me at every turn, then we’re going to be stuck in this stalemate for a long time. So, tell me - do you think treatment in general for CPS is pointless, or do you think treating your CPS is pointless?”

Red Hood stared at Mar for a long few moments before he finally looked down at Shelley and scratched behind her ears. Mar let him sit for a little longer before speaking up again, voice gentler this time.

“I won’t make you answer that question if you don’t want to,” Mar said. “But I will ask, are you willing to try?”

Red Hood’s fingers tightened slightly where he was still scratching at Shelley’s ears and he sighed, tight and sharp.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Probably,” Mar said, honest and careful. “But you’re in control here. If we do something and you absolutely hate it, say so, and we’ll stop. Just like during the evaluation earlier, if you need a break, or you don’t want to try something again, we’ll stop. Everything that happens here happens on your terms.”

Red Hood stared at Mar again, letting the silence linger before he half sighed, half laughed. “You couldn’t make this easy on me, could you? You just had to be one of the good ones.”

“I do what I can,” Mar shrugged. “Not everyone is always pleased with me, though.”

Red Hood graciously let that slide and instead gestured vaguely. “I find that hard to believe, but whatever. Where do we start?”

“Well, I know we did your sensory exam through your shirt, but if you’re okay taking it off, I’d like to try a pretty simple technique with you where you’ll be laying down on your stomach.”

Red Hood hesitated, glancing off to one side as he worked his jaw. Mar opened their mouth to say that if he wanted to keep his shirt on it was fine, but he spoke up first.

“You have to look away until I’m laying down.”

“Okay,” Mar said, turning the stool so they faced the wall, back to Red Hood. To prove they really weren’t looking, Mar put their hands up either side of their eyes like blinders, completely blocking their peripheral vision. It was pretty clear there was something on Red Hood’s chest or stomach that he didn’t want them seeing, since he was fine with laying down without a shirt on.

Must be something from the accident he mentioned, Mar thought, trying not to fidget. Or it could be top scars he doesn’t want me to know about. Maybe he thinks I’ll react poorly. Maybe I’ll bring that up later.

“Okay,” Red Hood spoke up, voice muffled where he was laying on the table.

Mar spun the stool around again and used their heels to pull themself over to the plinth. Shelley sat next to the table near Red Hood’s head, alert and patient as always. Kicking around for the foot control, Mar gave Red Hood a warning before they started lowering the table. Once it was low enough for Mar to comfortably work with, they tapped their hands against the table either side of Red Hood’s head.

“I’m going to explain this to you before I put my hands on you,” Mar said. “This is a pretty simple sensation technique for people with heightened pain responses. If another medical professional refers to it as hyperalgesia or allodynia, that’s essentially what they’re talking about. All I’m going to do is place my hands against the part of your upper back where I found you were having heightened reactions to touch. I won’t apply any extra pressure and I won’t move my hands without warning you first. If at any point you become uncomfortable or the sensation is too much, tell me and we’ll stop. Does that sound okay?”

Red Hood grunted and Mar waited to see if he would say anything else. When nothing happened, Mar tapped the table by his head again.

“I won’t put my hands on you without explicit consent, Red Hood.”

There was a heavy pause before he said, “go ahead. It’s fine.”

“Shelley is on your left if you need her,” Mar said before lifting their hands from the table. Gently placing their palms against his shoulder blades, Mar left their hands against his skin as they had described.

Red Hood hissed out a pained breath between clenched teeth, muscles going taut under Mar’s hands. Shelley whined a low, sad noise and placed her chin against the mat near Red Hood’s face. He turned his head to the side, revealing his scrunched wince of pain, but he quirked a grin at Shelley and reached up a shaking hand to scratch at her ear.

“Deep breaths,” Mar coached, voice quiet. “I know it might be hard, but try to let go of the tension in your shoulders every time you exhale. It’s okay if you can’t get it in the first few tries.”

Mar sat with their hands against Red Hood’s back for a few minutes, quietly coaching him through breaths and feeling the tension slowly uncoil from his muscles. In between all that, Mar asked him more about the things that triggered his pain, promising to compile resources and educational papers for him the next time he was able to stop in. Once they sat there for almost ten minutes, Mar carefully removed their hands and turned their back to let Red Hood get his shirt on. They faced their laptop, typing up a few notes to remind themself what they needed to do for the next visit. 

“That technique is something you can try to do everyday,” Mar said, once they were facing a dressed Red Hood again. “If you have someone at home you can trust to work on that with you, anywhere between five to ten minutes at a time a few times a day can help. Over time, the pain response should start moving back toward a more tolerable baseline if your nervous system responds to this treatment.”

Red Hood nodded, shrugging on his jacket again and reaching for his helmet. “That’s it?”

“For now,” Mar nodded. “I’d recommend exercise to help, but it seems like you already get enough exercise given your lifestyle. I will say, try to reduce the amount of concrete you’re being thrown into if you can. That certainly isn’t helping.”

“Yeah, I’ll do what I can. I don’t exactly prefer it either.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mar said, tone flat but amused. “I’ll walk you out.”

As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Shelley standing at Mar’s side, a guy with a knife in the shadows made an alarmed noise and scrambled off. Mar sighed and turned to Red Hood. He had put the helmet back on before leaving the room, hiding his features again.

“What the fuck was that?”

“The nurses across the hall said there’s some violent people in this area that come around trying to get access to the heavy dose painkillers. Cheers to the opioid epidemic and all that.”

Red Hood glanced around before looking back at Mar.

“Your side of the office doesn’t have any security.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s not a big deal. We’re all pretty used to it.”

Red Hood stood there quietly before he shook his head and turned away. “Thanks…for the help.”

“Of course,” Mar said easily, reaching down to pat between Shelley’s ears. “I know vigilante schedules aren’t the most consistent thing in the world, so swing by whenever you can and I’ll do my best to get you on my schedule. Oh, and take this.”

Mar dug one of their new business cards out of their scrub pocket and passed it over to him. “My work email and work cell number, in case you need anything off hours or want to see if I have an opening before you come all the way here.”

Red Hood pocketed the card with a nod and turned to leave. “Night.”

“Get home safe,” Mar said on instinct as they went back into the clinic.

Fariha, Jiro, and Lydia were crowded into the front office when they entered the clinic, wide-eyed and waiting. Mar looked down at Shelley with a sigh.

“When did I become a vigilante expert, huh?”

#dc #batfam #batman #writing #my writing #pspspsps come get ur competent and compassionate medical care bats pspsppsps

[icepixie]

20 questions for fic writers

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

158 (22 of these are fanvids)

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

430,454

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Many. The top 5, per AO3, are Babylon 5, due South, Stargate SG-1, Farscape, and Northern Exposure. The most recent have been Strange New Worlds, China Beach, BBC Ghosts, Enterprise, and DS9. (Though to be fair, DS9 is an old fandom I started writing in again, and China Beach has been a mainstay since ~2014. Farscape...uhhh, oh, wow, I last published something for that in 2003.)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

I'm adjusting for the fact that the Agent Carter fics have by far the most kudos simply because it's the one large fandom I've written in. I'll count one of them and then go to the next-most-kudosed.

Necessary (Agent Carter; for once in her life, Peggy needs Jack for something)

Moves in the Field (The Cutting Edge; Yuletide fic where Doug and Kate visit Doug's brother and hometown)

Closing the Circuit (Enterprise; Baby Elizabeth lives and Trip and T'Pol spend their first night as parents)

Imperfect Recall (Strange New Worlds; Una and Chris recall his invitation to spend shore leave together 20 years ago very differently)

My Late Enchantments Still in Brilliant Colors Shine (Babylon 5; Susan Ivanova runs into a technomage)

5. Do you respond to comments?

98% of the time. Occasionally if it's a busy week they get away from me.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Either The Snow Maiden (Susan Ivanova childhood angst) or If Equal Affection Cannot Be (Marcus Cole, death and poetry) or Amo, Amas, I Love a Lass (more Marcus death and pining). Babylon 5 is the only fandom I've ever really gone angsty in.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like...most of them? I'm not much for angst. I guess A Way to Walk on Water and Not Drown ended with the big theatrical happily ever after business...

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I feel like I got some sort of weird LJ comment once, but I barely remember it and it may have been more spam than anything.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Love me a good crossover. I don't write them often because doing them right requires a lot of thought, but they're very fun to do. I've written the most for due South, and the conceit of "Fraser and Thatcher come to New Burbage for Shakespeare-related reasons" has worked well for me. I also quite like the Wonderfalls/Fringe crossover I did back when Peter was missing...I felt like I had a cool idea I followed through on, and the canons meshed better than one might expect at first.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

I vaguely recall someone asking permission to translate something into Russian once.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

When I was 13 or so, with a RL friend, we wrote several hamfistedly shippy DS9 and Voyager fics together over the (landline) phone.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

AO3 says it's Fraser/Thatcher (due South) with Ivanova/Garibaldi (B5) a very close second, which seems about right. I'm also extremely fond of Maggie/Joel (NX) and McMurphy/Richard (China Beach).

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'd love to finish the "Ivanova and Garibaldi try to honeymoon on Earth and get swept into defying a political plot against the president" fic I started years ago, but it always seems to require more plot than I want to deal with.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue. I can't write it unless I can hear it in the character's voice in my head, and it seems to serve well for accurate characterization.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plot. Plot plot plot plot plot. I just want to write characters vibing with each other, not have them do things!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it a couple times. Most of it was Russian, for the skating RPF, and for that I just googled a lot and apologized for any errors in the notes. I think it adds some flavor, and unless you're doing something really specific you're probably framing it so someone with no knowledge of the language can get the gist, so even if you've gotten it wrong it doesn't matter that much.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

It was either DS9 or Voyager. I would say I deleted all the evidence, but alas, usenet is forever.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

The Future an Affirmation (China Beach; the AU where McMurphy and Richard get married and we follow them for the next 25 years. Except backwards, because I very much enjoyed writing it like that. I feel like I effectively packed all my thoughts and feelings about McMurphy into that fic and did justice to what she would have done and been had these circumstances played out.)

I have a lot of honorable mentions, but maybe the most honorable is Out of the Ashes, a Northern Exposure fic where Maggie resorts to staying with Joel after her mother burns her house down. I got a fair number of "this reads just like an episode" comments, which I was quite proud of.

#writing #fanfic

[denimbex1986]

'In the end, Peaky Blinders got the send-off it deserved. The sixth season paid tribute to the late Helen McCrory, rounded off the ongoing war between Tommy Shelby and brother Michael – we can talk about how convinced anyone was that Tommy wouldn’t win, but anyway – and landed on a final shot of Tommy doing Tommy things having realised he wasn’t actually dying after all. It was a plot! Possibly involving Hitler!

There were some loose ends that never turned into much, like that whole storyline with the American bloke who stabbed a guy in the knackers and then melted away, and it might have been nice to get to know wee Ruby before she carked it. But it did most things it needed to, and did them while having one eye on the long-promised film too.

Now though the Peaky gears are creaking into motion again. There was the not particularly cryptic statement from showrunner Steven Knight on the 10-year anniversary a couple of weeks back. “It hardly seems believable that it’s 10 years since Tommy Shelby first rode that black horse through the streets of Birmingham,” Knight wrote. “The phenomenal global success of the show is down to the brilliant and hard work of the loyal team that makes it happen. Ten years on and the story is not yet over. Watch this space.”

And, if you’re on Instagram, you’ll perhaps already know that Paul Anderson, who played Tommy’s brother Arthur, has started his own Peaky-themed Instagram broadcast channel called ‘By Order Of…’ and administered by Anderson and his digital manager Nav Salimian. (Salimian also appears to have founded a clothing brand making some quite – ahem – zhuzh-y suits.) The channel isn’t really doing much breadcrumbing at the minute, just a picture from Anderson’s grid of Arthur lighting a gigantic cigar, then a contact sheet of headshots, and the message “Wishing you all a blessed day” with a saluting emoji. It’s cryptic.

Rounding off a series then coming back for a one-off story is a very, very hard thing to pull off. Usually these things need a few different factors to click if they’re going to work. Most obviously, it needs a reason to exist. Plenty of TV series have farted out a movie for the sake of it, and Peaky really shouldn’t be one of them.

It also needs to run pretty hard on the heels of the main series. That’s partly because of the third thing the movie needs: a motivated fanbase who are going to razz up the whole enterprise. To anticipate it, interpret it, and possibly get into arguments with other fandoms over it.

The fandom aspect is the bit that now makes a show or movie feel like it’s actually happening and has some purchase in the world. But the Peaky fanbase is quite different to the ones that follow Succession or Game of Thrones or The Last of Us. There’s an enthusiasm in those fandoms for drilling right down into characters’ psyches and mining the information we’re given from camera moves, editing choices and production design to navigate how each individual character is feeling and reacting to what’s happening in the story-space.

That is not the experience of being in the Peaky fandom. By and large, it’s not one which tends to produce fan theories or take apart scenes frame by frame; it’s more vibe-based TV fandom, and one more inclined to follow the story wherever it goes rather than throwing around counterfactuals and second-guessing what Knight has in mind.

Most Peaky fans seem happy to sit back and be taken on a rollercoaster ride, albeit a rollercoaster ride which is 30 per cent slow-motion. It’s actually quite a pleasant throwback to the way in which people used to discuss TV and film before the Redditification of fan discourse. It is not serious business. It’s people posting pictures of their ‘BY ORDER OF THE PEAKY BLINDERS’ mug or some quite derivative artwork of apes wearing three-piece suits captioned ‘Monkey Blinders’, plus occasional innocent enquiries as to why Tommy was having seizures if his tumour wasn’t real in the end.

The reason I raise this is that even those relatively chilled-out fans seemed a bit perturbed by the ponderous pace of the middle of the last series, and consider the whole thing pretty much cauterised. The Peaky kids who were introduced in season six aren’t being weighed up and played off against each other in feverish previews of where the film might go. There is no Duke Shelby hive. The idea of Tommy Shelby going to war – he’d be about 50 by the outbreak of conflict, so he ain’t going to be parachuting into Market Garden – was a popular one, and a showdown with Sam Claflin’s Oswald Mosley at the direction of Tommy’s occasional M figure Winston Churchill seems the most likely route into that.

But these are not things that anyone in the fandom is really talking about at the moment. There’s no real whirl of excitement or speculation right now. And Peaky Blinders really needs that to crank back up again if it’s going to make this movie, which we’ve known about for absolutely ages now, land with the impact which really befits it.

It’s got Cillian Murphy as its lead, for heaven’s sake. Drop a teaser. Leak a behind the scenes snap. Let Knight be a little bit indiscreet about it in an interview. Give us a crumb of something soon, before the last of the momentum runs out. Because if this is the last we ever see of the Shelbys and the Peaky Blinders gang, they ought to be swaggering into the sunset.'

#Peaky Blinders #Cillian Murphy #Sam Claflin #Oswald Mosley #Winston Churchill #Helen McCrory #Tommy Shelby #Steven Knight #Paul Anderson #Instagram #Arthur Shelby

[upismediacenter]

FEATURE: BTBBTS: Business Throwback and Behind the Scenes

Perhaps you miss the UPIS Fair; or maybe you’ve heard stories about the flurry of commercial and romantic activity in Februaries past. How about the Business Fair? Were you half as enthralled as these shop-obsessed writers were upon beholding their online pubmats? Join us in this lofty undertaking and let BTBBTS recount tales of old trades and demystify the present business climate in UPIS.

—Throwback—

In days long gone-by, both staff and students alike would anticipate jumping from table-to-table to eye arrays of goods touted by students from higher grade levels at the Practical Arts (PA) Pavillion. To the gratitude of teachers at their students’ replenished enthusiasm, classmates of Track and Field (TnF) athletes would be in less danger of dozing off mid-lecture so long as they’d been able to purchase some of the treats proffered to them by their fleet-footed peers in between classes.

From gushing about “cute higher years” manning stalls for their internships, to getting rattled over how the recipient of a Peer Facilitators’ love note might receive one’s sentiments, such reminiscences now seem like the stuff of dreams—viewed from lenses too greatly muddled by the abrading passage of these last two years.

Alas, the pandemic has put an end to many enterprises and events that once all seemed so deeply-anchored in the UPIS experience. To commemorate them and do their memory justice, a detailed throwback is in order.

While the UPIS Fair was one of the most anticipated events for the whole UPIS community, the weeks leading up to it were also some of the busiest and most taxing of the school year. It combined the stress of setting up booths, practicing late into the night for Power Dance (PD), as well as readying oneself for the other events that the pKA had planned. On top of all that, students were also likely to support the overhanging weight of either wistfully wanting or having to celebrate Valentine's.

Such is why a certain club in UPIS made it a tradition to sell small gifts and distribute them amongst the student body—an operation which was highly-favored by students who wished to either surprise their loved ones or maintain anonymity in relating their affections. In the past, the Peer Facilitators Club’s “Cupid’s Express” was everyone’s go-to service when it came to purchasing presents during Valentine's season.

Arrays of Valentine’s merchandise sold under the “Cupid’s Express” by the Peer Facilitators Club. Retrieved from: https://twitter.com/upispka/status/1095680340792815616?s=46&t=X_bY8iVgd34sk2KyH15CcQ

Their products ranged from stuffed toys to roses and polaroids, the latter having been the most popular amongst couples in school. Another service was actually delivering those gifts to the people whom they were dedicated to.

Days before UPIS Week, some might recall how the club’s members would come up and try to coax fellow students into buying their products. “Hindi naman kailangan i-dedicate sa crush, kahit sa tao lang na ina-admire mo—no harm in making them feel appreciated,” is a line, often accompanied with a wide and assuring smile, that students were more than all too familiar with.

According to Achilles De Leon, a former Peer Facilitators Club member, such inducements were utilized in order to reach their quota. Every member was given order slips and was tasked to sell the number assigned to them by a deadline.

This was to ensure that target sales were achieved without having to do last-minute selling during UPIS week. By then, they would have graduated to another mission—gift distribution. The funds of the club mainly depended on this single event, thus the need for risk-dispelling quota sales.

De Leon said that while stressful, knowing how it would benefit the club later on made it all worth the effort. That in spite of ruing his “lack of salesmanship” and frequent rejection by prospective customers, there’s much gratitude too from all he’d learned.

Sadly, the Peer Facilitators Club has since gone out of order along with all other school clubs because of the pandemic. Clubs were not the only organizations that sold products with the goal of raising funds however; so did some sports teams, but they too have regrettably halted their operations.

A shirt bought from the TnF team in 2019. Photo credit: Allana dela Cruz

In the past, the Track and Field (TnF) team would sell sweets and shirts in order to raise money for their athletes. They sold all year round, though with greater fervor come UAAP season.

The most popular amongst their edible goods were yemas and cereal bars—some might even recall them being lugged around in big containers. They were often bought during breaks or discreetly distributed when class was taking place. The latter would be much akin to a game of hot potato owing to the wariness of seatmates in dropping their classmates’ change; even conspicuous coin jingling was liable to a teacher’s, “Kaninong pera kaya yun?” Many delighted in the closer proximity to food as it saved them from trips to the canteen. The TnF team also made sure that their snacks were accessible to the entire student populace by providing a seller for each grade level.

Former TnF athlete, Aleah de Castro, said that their shirts’ popularity even extended to members of the students’ families because of the choice to customize and have their surname printed at the back. The organization had a quota of 10 shirts per member, but de Castro remarked that it was an easy feat as some students would buy more than one shirt at a time. She said that her past role in sales led her to learn a lot about business and consumer attitudes—particularly, in knowledge regarding products most sought-after and in the employment of various persuasive maneuvers.

De Castro relayed that she had a lot of fun with the selling—owing in part, she observes, to her past experience in it. She had already been selling cupcakes to her classmates from as early as fourth grade. Desirous she may be to carry it out in limited face-to-face, she is hesitant for fear of her products’ being possible cause for transmission of diseases.

At present, it appears that the only remaining school organization with entrepreneurial undertakings is the Pamunuan ng Kamag-Aral (pKA)—UPIS’ student council. As the student council, their services will continue for as long as there is a student body to lead; it will only ever have “defunct” stamped across its banners should UPIS be so too (and to that, we pray never). While one of its main objectives is to aid in upholding the four core values of Love, Truth, Justice, and Freedom, their business ventures appear to espouse an unratified fifth—School Pride.

Samples of merchandise from pKA 2018 and 2019. Retrieved from: https://twitter.com/upispka/status/1024248514895695873?s=46&t=6Alc-ewq6ZX1CnF4WaFEKA https://twitter.com/upispka/status/1024233925739085824?s=46&t=6Alc-ewq6ZX1CnF4WaFEKA https://twitter.com/upispka/status/1157969530485764099?s=46&t=uw-rHmQk5w6pQLkBgzq_9w

Prior to the onslaught of COVID, pKA products came in the form of various clothing attire and accessories such as shirts and lanyards embossed with the UPIS logo. They were more or less, as former Vice President Romi Okada would put it, school merchandise. Though generally met with much enthusiasm for their attractive designs, parental zeal was also a primary ascription for particularly successful sales amongst K-2 and Elementary students.

While the supportive community was integral to the student council’s commercial triumphs, chief credit lies within the efforts of its members for their thoughtful planning and strategic promotion via accessible publication material. “The design of the pub for the product really helped; kasi if it's more accessible and easier to understand, more people are going to get attracted,” said Okada.

The tickets sold by pKA for UPIS Fairs 2019 and 2020. Retrieved from: https://twitter.com/upispka/status/1094217774476345345?s=46&t=X_bY8iVgd34sk2KyH15CcQ https://twitter.com/upispka/status/1226499064444809219?s=46&t=X_bY8iVgd34sk2KyH15CcQ

The pKA trade wasn’t just limited to pursuits in the sartorial however. If the commencement of the school year was devoted to such, its incipient conclusion would see them vending tickets for the school fair—better known as UPIS Days. Earnings would be reserved for funding the succeeding year’s events such as the Leadership Camp (LC)—in which only a lucky few partook—and the aforesaid fair, wherein the organization would also plan for and host multifarious activities, namely: club wars, Power Dance (PD), and the Battle of the Bands (BotB).

Mandatory it may have been, rarely did exertion slacken—noble too, always remained, the student council’s intentions. To quote Okada, “It really taught me that it wouldn’t hurt to go all-out; more funds meant a better outcome or event. So of course more people would enjoy and be satisfied.”

Last year’s pKA merchandise sold during UPIS Days 2022 “Tanaw”. Retrieved from: https://twitter.com/upispka/status/1518538199764996097?s=46&t=-qPe4m2ONnSpx1IBU8XFbA

For the time being, the pKA business has continued to persist—selling still accessories and articles of clothing that brandish trademark UP icons and phrases. Unlike pre-pandemic procedures wherein most of the income would circle back to their treasury, for pKA 2021-2022, half of the sales went to the Save Our Schools (SOS) network which was dedicated to helping Lumad youth.

In line with their enduring retail, we now take a turn to the present state of the UPIS business situation and those at its forefront.

—Behind the scenes—

A compilation of the BE strand’s six start-up companies’ logos. Retrieved from: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=136251722484762&set=a.136251729151428&type=3

Since many school businesses have gone out of commission, the current UPIS marketplace mostly comprises the trades of student entrepreneurs both extrinsic and belonging to the Business & Entrepreneurship (BE) track. In our current set-up, some might say that the BE strand appears to be somewhat elusive—a collective whose inner workings outsiders are made privy to only through arrestingly persuasive pubmats promoting their sales internships.

Each company’s solo promotional material for DiskoBErey 2022: Beyond Expectations. Retrieved from: https://fb.watch/g6yTxaR9Pt/ https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=pfbid07kSTz1m4499MU3L74QKhYyfAfRpFCzSJmPTMvwzSr2yHtQCgPZwPBmDLyibwJj4kl&id=102315785777322 https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=pfbid027sRo1mAU3HS3RTPBVGRmmF5ahcWSan9pVf7Nbb52uck6j3FjY23ZNj7BSsiHq8AXl&id=102315785777322 https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=pfbid0Tdb91z1LiAjKvV2eUB3UeEsdvwuxakR5hpZvV33w6cLnK11J7Th5ZxmmimvCoLcLl&id=102315785777322 https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=pfbid0V2BmXZ11r74NBVg3bXBssKpSQCAFANgR217Ff3fY6Yu8EMbwCCwWcaJizoA6UcPLl&id=102315785777322 https://fb.watch/g6yYYswwmb/

As of now, the merchants of 12-Kasipagan are in the early stages of production and quality control. They consist of six start-ups: OOTieDye, Lolliloomps, Indie Ocean Co., POV, Beverage Joe, and RelEVENT. In that same order, each offers tie-dyed goods, lumpia desserts, customized t-shirts, tote bags, refreshments, and events management services. They will be up for sale and/or made available to the student body at the BE track’s Business Fair to be held on November 15 to 17.

Launch dates vary amongst the companies. POV’s Production Manager Jasna Seguban says that they’re to start pre-orders a week or two before the fair, whereas Erielle Arceo, the CEO of OOTieDye, has stated that their wares will be made available for purchase from as early as October 18. Both are united in the wish of garnering much love and support from the UPIS community. “We hope that our customers will enjoy POV bags as much as we, the creators, enjoyed turning our product ideas into reality,” said Seguban.

With preparations drawing to a close, and advertising alongside marketing looming ever nearer, it’s important to acknowledge the students’ immense efforts in paving the way, through perennially rocky terrain, for their businesses’ fruition.

According to Arceo, there is no doubt that the pandemic has closed many doors for new businesses. She explains that it’s done away with the possibility of selling their products in person and has posed much difficulty in shooting promotional material.

Notwithstanding, she keeps an optimistic outlook on the situation and believes that certain aspects are preferable and even conducive to advancement in their business. A certain advantage is that rather than having to open up a physical store, they need only to utilize delivery services. And due to the undeniable rise of social media users in recent years, their online presence has led to greater customer engagement—widening reach with their target demographic.

On the other hand, Seguban has admitted that her group struggled considerably with starting a business in the midst of a pandemic. Putting herself in the shoes of her customers, she has shared that she would prefer a physical store so as to properly inspect the products herself.

She is hoping that a smoother flow of production as well as greater ease in communication will ensue with the limited face-to-face mode of learning. For Seguban, up close and personal is more desirable than functioning remotely when it comes to talking to her team or any customers. Further stressing the importance of communication, she relates that, "Ideas would not become a reality if not communicated, and in turn, opportunities would be inhibited.”

For both interviewees, their time in the BE track has been well-spent as it has provided them not just with skills that they can use later on in life, but also with experiences that they otherwise wouldn’t have gained had they gone a different path. They’ve learned how to manage their time and energy with greater discretion—to refrain from worrying about things over which they have no control. But they have also proven that perseverance can be the answer to many things, no matter how impossible the tasks may seem. Everyone should understand that behind every business are individuals who dedicate much of their time and effort in building it.

According to them, the business climate of UPIS appears to be very healthy—one with a generally supportive community of buyers, as well as a diverse range of products and sellers. It’s possessed of enough variety, they say, as to deter very intense competition. They also note that an overlap in themes or products is something they generally avoid.

Both commended their fellow entrepreneurs for how they sell not just for the mere sake of gaining money, but out of genuine concern for their customers as they recognize their potential to provide them with their needs. As entrepreneurs themselves, they never fail to consider their clientele in drawing up every plan. And while up to date with trends, they ensure to integrate their own twists to make them more personalized to their brand. Lastly, they are adamant about how affordability should come hand in hand with good quality.

Because of the gradual transition back to physical classes, both entrepreneurs are positive that small businesses will also return—that it is only a matter of time before more students begin selling to their classmates again once the situation has become the norm.

For any readers who plan on starting their own business, this article concludes with a few words of advice from Miss Arceo. She advises that even though you are determined to go all out with all your plans, taking care of yourself is just as important. "We are not robots that can operate tirelessly and with little maintenance. Care for yourself. Care for your peers. Our mood reflects on our work. Therefore, it is when we, the entrepreneurs, are healthy and happy that our business can also be healthy and thriving!" //by Andrea Almeda and Allana Dela Cruz

#MC2023 #Feature #English #Andrea Almeda #Allana Dela Cruz

[giffingthingsss]

Me and the Treks

TOS

I’ve watched maybe a dozen episodes. Had never seen a single episode before last year.

I cannot even begin to articulate the experience of watching William Shatner repeatedly slap himself in the face. Or watching aliens make him be ridden by a little person like a horsey. Or watching aliens make him kiss a lady (historic! I actually had to google that that was in fact the historic kiss and it was and I died laughing.) Or watching aliens escalate it to a hot poker and a whip before thank heavens they were interrupted. I cannot articulate. I have no words. 

But there were moments underneath the hilarious fact that they actually made actors do things like that and the make up and costuming (I mean there was one that was a boot on a guy’s head. I swear.) where the heart of a Star Trek I could kind of recognize beat. And I began to realize that if I could turn off the visual, the tone would resemble the old sci fi radio shows I love, and that really made me warm up to it. So I like TOS. I have it, I just haven’t finished it yet. 

TNG

My parents watched this when I was a tiny kid. I had a very dim recollection. It apparently wasn’t a big deal to them because they did not remember. When I got older, something sparked a memory and I began asking if there was a show with a guy who had a thing over his eyes (that’s mainly what I remembered). Everyone just looked at me like I had two heads. But later I discovered that I had not dreamed it and borrowed the first season vhs tapes from a guy. But my interest petered out after that first season. I was basically there for Tasha Yar. I’ve seen a handful of the movies, but other than that I haven’t gone back. 

DS9

It’s the weirdest thing. When I got into Voyager, I decided that that must mean I was into all Trek, so I watched whatever reruns were on, and the only other show I could get at the time was DS9. I watched a bunch of episodes. I know the characters. I know what they were like. I cannot remember a single episode or plot point. Wait. I lied. I remember talk about the prophets. So if that’s a plot point, I remember one plot point.

I have tried a couple times to watch it again and I just... It just doesn’t do much for me. This is not a commentary on the show, I know a lot of people think it’s the best one, this is just my brain. Things either grab you or they don’t. It’s fine, I don’t need any more obsessions in my life. 

ENT

I was super excited when this first came out because I came to Voyager in its last season through reruns. So Enterprise would be the first Star Trek show I could watch in real time. Unfortunately, I watched about five episodes and peaced out. I guess it was just too different. The style, even the color scheme.

Fast forward twenty years or so, and every Trek has an ‘updated’ look. I might be a bit of a snob, but I saw the trailer for the 2009 movie, saw a lens flare, and was like, nope (okay so definitely a snob). And the new shows seemed to have that same updated look. It’s just distracting to me.

Enterprise was going off Netflix in a month and I decided to watch it because it would probably the only time I ever would. And I don’t know if it was the contrast with the new stuff or what, but suddenly, I was like ‘this is trek!’ Suddenly I had four seasons of nostalgia to watch for the first time.

I still don’t find many of the characters compelling, but the style, the episodic nature, and the production design (which I now suddenly liked) were enough. And there were enough characters to keep me interested. T’Pol and... well, mostly T’Pol. Phlox grew on me. Shran. I would buy an Exo-6 Shran.

I do think the time thing in the beginning was a bit much. A temporal cold war is a fascinating idea, but there was enough going on just introducing the audience to this world. The temporal stuff was more of a distraction to me. Maybe they could have introduced it later to spice something up, Enterprise’s version of Seven of Nine, because I do like the idea. 

It’s conventional knowledge that all Treks get better in their second half (with Voyager that case is overstated), Enterprise just had the misfortune to be cancelled before it could hit that second half. Season four was tying together things from the first three seasons and laying the groundwork for some really cool final three. It’s a shame they didn’t get to do it. I began to really get into the worldbuilding. 

VOY

Goes without saying. Obsessed. Watched it through reruns. Eventually got caught up in another obsession and let Voyager lie for around twenty years. Started it again (with a little trepidation) a couple years ago and found it held up. Reawakened obsession. And here I am. 

DISC and PICARD

Had planned on watching Picard for Seven, but ended up not. I won’t judge what I haven’t seen (and even people who have seen them and don’t like them need to just grow up and ignore and let other people like things), but I will say the promos for them don’t make them look like something that would be in my zone. I am a snob, this has been established. 

SNW

This one did have promising promos, I just haven’t bothered. Maybe someday.

LOWER DECKS

The first promo really turned me off, but I didn’t realize then what it was. I’ve seen a couple clips since and I would probably like it if I watched it. Another maybe someday. Maybe in twenty years, like Enterprise.

PRODIGY

Was initially afraid to try it, honestly. I’m cautious about the prospect of ‘ruining’ my faves. But hoped it would be successful regardless. Got Paramount Plus for a month to watch Evil, and decided to give it a go. I now wish I could get everyone to try it. I cross my fingers that it stays good. I’m very interested to see where it’s going. As of now, I accept it as a canon successor to Voyager. And that’s big for me. I’m picky. So good job. 

SUMMARY

It’s Voyager by a mile, with Enterprise and TOS in the distance. Prodigy is riding in Voyager’s wake, I just hope it stays there.

Apparently I very much like the one ship by itself motif. That seems to be the common denominator. 

#my experience #completely subjective #a diary entry basically #sure to piss at least someone off #skip

[kastrupfoldager02]

Replica Chloe Baggage

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[babyboibucky]

The Match - Part 9

Pairing: CEO!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky brings you and Mackenzie with him to an important meeting.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Uhhhh hmm work tension, sexual tension, idk Bucky and Mackenzie being annoying as usual lmao

A/N: ALSO I know I haven’t mentioned what the fuck Bucky’s company is all about because c’mon, I didn’t expect I’d get this far lmao so IDK there might be continuity issues or inaccuracies or whatevah, just ignore it lmao it’s fiction. ANYWAAAY, I just want to say how GRATEFUL AND OVERWHELMED I am with the amount of attention that this series is getting. I appreciate every feedback, every ask and every freaking debate about this shit lmfao. I love you guys. I can’t put into words how much I appreciate you all askcnasjkcnak bye

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

Don't let Bucky or Mackenzie get to you.

Mark's advice rang in your ears like a chant as you watched Bucky and Mackenzie's exchange about the project. Joining them in the conference room for a major brainstorming session was you and a couple of people from your team with Beverly taking down the minutes of the meeting.

The upcoming project was a huge one, given that Barnes Group of Companies was a huge name in the automobile industry. Meanwhile, Wilson Enterprises is one of the biggest autonomous vehicle technology companies out there. This partnership was one for the books, possibly an industry changer too.

You wanted to be a part of it, wanted to spearhead the entire thing and watching Mackenzie take the reigns on this one was truly making your blood boil.

"That sounds like a nice idea, Kenzie." Bucky praised, nodding his head.

Mackenzie shrugged, "It's what I do, Buck." she said.

"Yeah, it's a great idea. I do have some comments though, if you don't mind?" you asked.

Bucky and Mackenzie exchanged glances before turning to you. You glanced at Bucky for a quick second before ignoring the way he was eyeing you with genuine interest.

"I know that bringing in a celebrity to endorse this brand new model would definitely create noise around the partnership. Although I think that would take the spotlight away from the actual product we're creating here. We want customers to focus on the brand new car model and the technology that Wilson Enterprises will be providing it with, not on the celebrity endorser." you explained.

Mackenzie hummed, "I get where you are coming from. That's a good point, actually. But a celebrity endorser will pretty much do everything for the brand. Have him up on billboards and different advertisements and you're all set." she further explained.

You chuckled, "But then how will people understand what the entire partnership is all about? Aren't we supposed to be communicating a certain message to our consumers? Wouldn't it be better to hold an event to launch the product instead? Invite the press and key opinion leaders to spread the word. Have Bucky and Mister Wilson talk about this partnership. They're famous and powerful enough to get the message across. Why waste the budget on a celebrity when we literally have everything we need to make noise?" you shrugged.

The entire room was silent after your feedback, even Mackenzie wasn't able to respond to your suggestion. Glancing over at Bucky, you saw that he was giving you the look-- the one with half-lidded eyes matched with a head tilt, the one that often resulted to him giving you a very nice reward once office hours are over.

Feeling your breath hitch in your throat, you quickly looked away and shrugged your shoulders, "I mean, that's just my two cents. Having worked here for years, I just based it on my experience. You're the expert here, Mackenzie." you offered a proud smile.

Mackenzie tried to brush it off and turned to Bucky, "What do you think, Buck? I'm still into the idea of hiring a celebrity. That's good publicity. And let's not get worried about the budget now," she said, placing a hand on top of Bucky's that was resting on the table, "I have a lot of connections so I can definitely get an endorser for a much lower rate." she reassured.

"We may have a huge budget for this, but that doesn't automatically mean that we have to use it all up. We can allocate it somewhere else, maybe start a CSR campaign as well? We are, after all, coming out with an environmental-friendly model." you suggested.

You heard Bucky when he took a sharp inhale, bringing his hands up to rub his lips as if in deep thought. He then turned to Beverly, however, his eyes remained on you.

"Take note of everything she says." he reminded her before standing up.

He asked everyone else in the room of their opinions, whether it was your or Mackenzie's idea that the company will go for. The team was divided in half, some of them preferring Mackenzie's celebrity pitch probably because they didn't want to do a lot of work.

Bucky nodded, "Well, I guess we'll have to discuss both ideas with my partner Sam and let's see where we will go from there. I have a meeting with him this afternoon, I need you and Kenzie with me there." he said, looking at your before turning to Kenzie with a charming smile.

Don't let them get to you.

-

You've never wanted for the ground to swallow you up until this moment as you stood behind Bucky and Mackenzie in the elevator. This felt so much more uncomfortable than when you shared it with Bucky after swiping right with him on Tinder. There was still tension and it felt so much worse now because you didn't know whether it was between you and Bucky or him and Mackenzie.

Fucking Mackenzie and her nicely manicured nails which always seemed find its way around Bucky's arm. You eyed her hands as they squeezed his arm, the both of them talking in hushed voices as if you weren't standing behind them.

"I've been dying to try this restaurant, I heard they serve good food. Do you want to go have dinner there sometime this week?" she asked Bucky.

"I'll check my schedule, which restaurant is this?" he asked.

When Mackenzie uttered the name of that restaurant where you celebrated your promotion, you and Bucky choked on your own spits at the same time. Warmth crept up to your cheeks at the same time Bucky's ears reddened.

"Oh, what's going on?" Mackenzie asked with a nervous chuckle as she looked at you and Bucky, struggling with your coughs.

You recovered first and shook your head, "Sorry, I get allergies. Anyway, I've been to that restaurant. They do serve good food, the staff was very hospitable as well. I'm sure Bucky would enjoy it there." you said with a smile, pushing your way past them when the elevators door slid open.

Mackenzie asking Bucky whether he was up for dinner was the last thing you heard. Good luck explaining to her why he's banned from there, you thought to yourself.

Bucky led the way to his car and it instantly brought certain memories back. You weren't going to lie, you missed the fucking and how Bucky always made sure to take care of your needs. Seeing his car was enough to make your thighs clench at the memory of him fingering you as he drove.

His gaze was on you when he opened the door to the passenger's seat, his eyes inviting as you approached him. And just as when you were about to slip in, he turned over to Mackenzie and gestured for her to get in.

What a fucking asshole, you thought to yourself as you took a step back to ride in the back instead. You tried to keep your expression stoic when you saw that Bucky checked for a reaction. He seemed perplexed when he saw that you didn't react that much to what he did.

One hundred points to Gryffindor.

-

The location for the meeting was at a nearby restaurant so you didn't suffer that much during the entire ride. Mackenzie was busy with her phone anyway, typing out messages with those manicured fingers you were beginning to hate.

By the time all three of you arrived, Sam was already there. He donned a navy blue suit and he was rocking it. You'd seen his photos on the internet and knew that he was good-looking, but seeing him in the flesh, you were stunned at how gorgeous he was. Sam stood up when he saw Bucky, offering a kind smile to you and Mackenzie.

You weren't sure whether you were just being assuming or what, but you noticed how his eyes lingered on you longer that it did with Mackenzie.

"Sam." Bucky greeted, shaking his hand before introducing you and Mackenzie.

Sam shook Mackenzie's hand first before he turned to you. You took his hand and introduced yourself, "Mister Wilson." you said.

"Please, just Sam." he told you as he gently squeezed your hand before letting go.

"Have a seat." Sam said to Bucky and Mackenzie before pulling out the chair next to him, motioning for you to sit down.

You thanked him and sat down; straightening up, you were met with Bucky's watchful gaze as he sat down across you. Your attention was taken away when Sam asked what you wanted to order, he even suggested a certain dish and immediately went to discuss that it was his favorite thing to order.

This was going to be an interesting meeting.

And interesting it truly was, because you didn't expect for Sam to be so laid-back and easy to communicate with. He wasn't one of those uptight CEOs who were very intimidating to work with. Simply put, he was the complete opposite of Bucky. While Bucky was ice cold, Sam was sunshine and warmth with his attitude.

When it came down to pitching your and Mackenzie's ideas to him, you suddenly got nervous. Sam wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth; from what you've read, he started off working regular jobs before he climbed his way to the top. He was a self-made man and he had extensive knowledge in the marketing industry, having a doctorate degree in the said area.

Mackenzie was the first to discuss her strategy about hiring a celebrity endorser. She said it was fast and straight to the point. When it was your turn, you started off a bit shaky but eventually found your pacing.

"We wanted to ask you how this should go on about. I know that the offer for a partnership came from our end and that we're supposed to pitch the details for it. But we wanted you to be involved in this as much as we are." Bucky further explained.

Sam nodded and let out an amused chuckle, "I really appreciate this, Buck. I was going to ask you if I can contribute with the planning as well. I'm very particular when it comes to marketing our products." he said.

"That being said, I loved both ideas. I think hiring a celebrity endorser is good." he said, making Mackenzie smile proudly.

"But I would rather hold an event to launch the product. You understand the product and what we want to do with it. It's not just a brand new car, it's an innovation and the messaging is very important. I'm very impressed." Sam said, his attention geared towards you.

"Wow, I'm honored." you laughed. "Coming from you, I mean I've read about the marketing studies you did. Pretty big deal to receive a compliment from you." you admitted.

It was meant to be a genuine reaction, really. You had no ill intentions for it, you didn't do it to make Bucky jealous or get the upper hand. However, your passion for your career and area of expertise seemed to favor you. It had Bucky on edge, seeing you and Sam get along so well.

You didn't even need to check for Bucky's reaction because he simply cleared his throat and excused himself to go to the restroom. Mackenzie seemed unbothered though, when Sam favored your pitch over hers. You couldn't read her, sometimes she'd come off competitive but right now, she was unaffected.

When Bucky got back, he was quick to finalize the meeting, "I guess it's a done deal then. We'll work on the details of the launch and maybe we can set another meeting for the major presentation for your approval?" he asked Sam.

"That sounds like a plan. I'm looking forward to working with you." Sam told everyone, although he did seem to be directly addressing you.

"Alright, I'm leaving too." Mackenzie announced after Sam left the restaurant.

"Oh, you're not heading back to the office with us?" Bucky asked.

Mackenzie shook her head, throwing her bag over her shoulder, "I have another meeting. You know how it is with freelance work." she said as all three of you stood up to head outside of the restaurant.

"My Uber's here, I guess I'll see you both sometime this week." she said and waved at you before turning to Bucky and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

"I'm counting on that dinner, okay?" she reminded before slipping into her Uber, leaving you and Bucky to head back to the office together.

Alone with Bucky. In his car. The exact same car where plenty of fucking happened. Again, you chanted Mark’s advice in your head over and over again.

Don’t let Bucky get to you. And most of all, don’t cave in.

You quickly slipped inside the front seat of Bucky’s car before he could even open it up for you. The air was thick between you and Bucky and it almost felt like it was suffocating you. Reaching for the seatbelt, you tugged at it but it wouldn’t budge. Cursing to yourself, you tried again but to no avail.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked.

“Nothing. Seatbelt’s just stuck.” you grunted, using both your hands to pull down at it.

“Here, let me.”

Suddenly, Bucky reached over to your seatbelt and tried to fix it. His face was inches away from yours and you literally felt your insides jump at how you were immediately drowned in his perfume. If you moved forward so much as half an inch, your lips would already be pressing against the corner of Bucky’s mouth. And that thought was sending your senses into overdrive.

Do not. Cave. In.

The loud click of the seatbelt made you relax and thank goodness that Bucky was quick to move away from you, fixing his suit before starting the engine. The office may just be nearby but the fact that you and Bucky were together was making it feel like it was going to be an hour-long drive.

“So what do you think about Sam?” Bucky asked out of the blue.

He was gauging you, trying to get a reaction from you. Maybe he was expecting you to be flirty with your response, or be defensive even? You weren’t going to give him that.

“I think he’s great. Like I said, I’ve read his marketing studies and they were very insightful. I learned a lot.”

Plain, simple and safe. There was no hidden meanings and no malice; you were doing great at this whole not letting Bucky get to you thing. You made a mental note to thank Mark for his advice.

“He seems interested in you.” Bucky said again, shrugging his shoulders a bit and trying to be as nonchalant as he could.

“Well we are in the same field of expertise and I was very straightforward about admiring his skills. I’d be disappointed if he brushed off my ideas.” you slightly chuckled.

“I liked Mackenzie’s idea better, honestly.” Bucky blurted out.

By this time, you had Bucky’s plans figured out. He was coming for your job, using it as a bait to get a reaction out from you. He knew how much your career meant for you, how competitive you were in your field. Whenever his other tactics wouldn’t work, he’d always go for the career aspect.

“It was good.” you agreed, turning to Bucky with a small smile. “I think we can do that for other campaigns. Just not with this partnership. I like her.” you said.

“You do?” Bucky asked in surprise before he cleared his throat upon realizing that he sort of broke his facade.

You shrugged, “She’s a headstrong woman. She reminds me of myself actually.”

If you were alone, you would have given yourself a high-five because that statement truly made Bucky think. His forehead creased as he drove, his hand rubbing his chin and his jaw clenching as if he was in deep thought.

It was silent inside the car for a brief moment, before it was interrupted by the trilling of Bucky’s phone. He fished it out of his pocket but before he could even answer it, it slipped out of his hand and disappeared beneath his seat.

“Fuck.” Bucky cursed, both his hands on the steering wheel as he continued to drive, his attention divided between driving and searching for his ringing phone.

“Shit.” he hissed again, not knowing how to get his phone while driving. He quickly glanced at you before focusing on the road again. “Baby, can you get it for me?”

You almost missed the term of endearment. Almost. It was obviously a slip of the tongue because he genuinely didn’t seem to realize that he called you that. Bucky was more focused on the road rather than processing what he just said. You chose to ignore it the same way you did to the butterflies that erupted in your stomach.

“Yeah, okay.” you said and reached over to him, bending down to look for his phone.

In a split second, your face was right in front of Bucky’s crotch as you tried to reach beneath his car seat. You tried to ignore the bulge that was staring right at you and let your hand do the searching.

“Can you reach it?” Bucky asked.

You straightened up, “No. Can you pull aside?” you asked.

Bucky checked the surroundings and then the rearview mirror, “We can’t. We’re at a no loading and unloading zone.” he explained.

The phone continues to trill and it doesn’t seem like it would stop any time now. You sighed and removed your seatbelt before stretching your body over Bucky, slipping underneath his arms on the steering wheel so you can fully reach under his seat.

From another car’s view, you looked like you were giving him a blowjob. Not that you haven’t done that before, in this same car.

Finally, you felt his phone at the tip of your fingers and stretched further, your free hand coming to grip Bucky’s thigh unintentionally. It was only when you felt his muscles flex beneath his trousers that you realized how near your hand was to his crotch.

“Did you,” Bucky cleared his throat. “Did you get it?” he stammered.

You still have a certain effect on him, how very nice. Biting back a smirk, you hummed in response before pulling back and then handing him his phone casually. Mackenzie’s name was flashing on the screen as the phone continued to ring.

“Sorry, can you answer it and put it on speakerphone?” Bucky asked again.

You shrugged and did as you were told, holding the phone near Bucky as he continued to drive.

“Hey, Kenzie. Sorry, I dropped my phone. What’s up?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, so my meeting got cancelled at the last minute. I was thinking maybe we can grab that dinner tonight instead?”

Bucky stole a quick glance from you but your face remained stoic, your hand steady as you held out his phone.

“Sure, how does around 7pm sound? I can pick you up.” Bucky offered.

“Sounds great. So are we checking that restaurant I was talking about?”

Bucky’s ears turned red again but he quickly recovered, “I was thinking of trying out a different one. I honestly didn’t like their dessert.”

Huh, that was weird. You and Bucky didn’t even make it to--

Fuck, he was talking about you, you realized. Clenching your jaw, you tried to keep calm. He was trying to get a rise out of you, don’t give in. Don’t react. Bucky’s conversation with Mackenzie didn’t last long and ended when they settled the location for their dinner.

The ride back to the office was quiet again, until your phone lit up from a notification. Bucky was already parking in the basement when you checked your phone, an audible gasp slipping past your lips upon reading the notification from LinkedIn.

Samuel Wilson wants to connect with you.

-

The Match Special Tags:

@marvelslag @weird-mumbling @propertyofpoeandbucky @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @mostly-marvel-musings @squishybabies @megzdoodle @suchababie @annathesillyfriend @xhollycowx @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @5-seconds-of-mendes @gogolucky13 @countonthesun @iloveshawnieboi @learisa @borikenlove @scarlet-natasha89

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii​​ @jessou893​​ @stealapizzamyheart​​ @bagelofthelord​​ @mxnt​​ @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky​​ @ohladymacbeth​​ @wildflowergubler​​ @supraveng​​ @twinerd14​​ @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3​​ @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm​​ @charminivy​​ @amelia-song-pond​​ @iamvalentinaconstanza​​ @mcubqrnes @im-squished​​ @tcc-gizmachine​​ @sipsteacasually​​ @prettyintopeerpressure​​ @weloveyasmin​ @est19xxshit​ @bloodhon3yx​ @dressed-in-prada​ @lizette50​ @thatfangirl42​ @sunflowerbunny2​ @unmagically​ @okiegirl24​ @sugarpunch-princess​ @enlyume​ @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp​ @lyoongx​ @just-deka​ @nobody-will​ @jaziona92 @elisebuitron​ @dpaccione​ @suvikamahes98blr​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x​ @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes​ @iloveangstposts​ @weenersoldierr​ @asemistablehundredyearoldman​ @reidbuck​ @lizzarooni​ @girlfriday007​ @bonkywobble​ @lost-in-the-stars03​ @its-yasbxtch​ @whoth3hellisbucky

#bbb writes #the match #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #fem!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #sebastian stan

[ragingbookdragon]

Batsis Meet The Batboys

Batsis x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 4.1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: Y'all, I am slowly but surely making good on that promise to get all my stories reposted--also editing them so they're nice and neat! Enjoy! -Thorne

Dick:

She hummed in amusement as her father grunted and begrudgingly passed over another five into the man’s hand. “You know…it’s good to know that my perfect father actually sucks at something.” She turned and popped a piece of cotton candy into her mouth. “And it’s carnival games.”

He grunted again when he missed the balloon, and he handed her the darts. “Why don’t you try it, sweetheart?”

She handed him the cotton candy with a grin and took the darts, holding one up and making the repeated motion of throwing it. She couldn’t help but feel a little cocky as she asked, “Dad, if I get this, what toy do you want?”

She nodded to the bat in the corner. “I was thinking about the stuffed bat. Eh, dad?” He glared at her, but she laughed as she tossed the weighted dart, watching as it hit center and she pointed to the bat. “I’ll take that one.”

The man handed it to her, and they walked off; she held it up to her father. “Here. A bat for Batman,” she quipped, and he grunted at her.

“That isn’t funny, (Y/N).”

She shrugged and retorted, “It’s a little funny. You just have no sense of humor because you’re a stick in the mud.” (Y/N) shoved the stuffed animal in her backpack before reaching up and taking her father’s hand; she glanced down at her wristwatch on the opposite hand and said, “The performances don’t start for another twenty minutes. Want to go look at something else? I saw one of those spinning car rides. We could do that.”

When he didn’t give her response, she looked back up at him to see him staring off into the distance, his eyes set on the Wayne Enterprises tower. “Dad? You okay?”

He blinked as if startled from his thoughts and he directed his gaze down at her and after a few moments, he nodded. “Just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“I haven’t spent a lot of time with you.” He frowned and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I haven’t been a good—”

She cut him off with a ‘pfft’. “Dad, it’s alright. I’m not angry.” (Y/N) squeezed his hand in return. “I might be young, but I’m not an idiot. I know being a dad is new for you, especially since you didn’t get to watch me grow up the first decade of my life. But what matters is that you’re here now, and you’re doing the best you can. And that’s all I ask of you.”

At her little speech, he was stunned, and after a moment he knelt down and hugged her. “I love you, sweetheart.”

(Y/N) returned the hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, though they were so big and broad that she couldn’t meet her hands around his back. “I love you too, dad.”

Happening to glance over his shoulder, she immediately gasped. “Dad!”

He let her go, immediately moving to protect her. “What? What is it?”

(Y/N) pointed towards a costumed family walking and greeting the people. “It’s the Flying Grayson’s!” She grabbed his hand and tugged him along in their direction. “Let’s get a picture with them!” She could hear her father chuckle behind her, but he followed, and they stepped up to the family.

(Y/N) waved at them. “Hi Mister and Missus Grayson! Can we get a picture with you?”

The man and woman smiled at them and nodded, and a boy a couple years younger than her stepped up.

He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Richard Grayson. But you can call me Dick.”

(Y/N) took his hand and shook it. “(Y/N) Wayne. Nice to meet you, Dick.” She gestured to her father. “This is my dad, Bruce Wayne.”

Her father smiled and tipped his head towards the boy before handing the camera to someone and stepping beside her. She and Dick had become friends instantaneously as they slung their arms around each other’s necks, their grins cheesy and wide.

The camera flashed and the man handed Bruce the camera, and (Y/N) nodded to the family. “Thank you for taking a picture with us.” They started to walk away, but she stopped them, motioning to her dad. “Can my dad take a picture of the three of you? I know it seems a little weird, but it’d be cool to have a picture of you guys, and one with you.” They nodded at her request and she gestured to her father, watching him take the photo of the family. “Thank you!”

They waved and walked off, leaving them, and she turned to Bruce. “Wanna go find seats?” He nodded, and they began moving in the direction of the tent.

***

Time seemed to grind to a halt as (Y/N)’s heart stopped in her chest as she watched them slam into the ground. Chaos filled the tent in mere seconds, people screaming, children crying, and her father grabbed her arm. “(Y/N)—”

She nodded and pulled her arm away, already starting to make her way from her seat. “I’ve got him. Go.” She didn’t wait for his reply, hopping the seats until her feet hit the dirt ground and she broke into a sprint towards the sobbing boy in the center.

She twisted her feet and slid on the ground next to him, her heart tightened when he gazed up at her, sky blue eyes wide in agony. (Y/N) reached out, wrapping her arms around him. “I’ve got you Dick. I’ve got you kid.”

She felt his arms come around her middle as his head burrowed in her shoulder; his entire body shook with every heart-wrenching sob, and (Y/N) raised one of her hands, running it through his hair as she whispered repeatedly, “I’ve got you.”

(Y/N) heard GCPD officers shouting, and she looked up, seeing her father standing beside them. “Batman,” she whispered softly.

He glanced at her before kneeling beside them and blocking the way of the fallen couple. “You two shouldn’t look at this anymore.”

She nodded and squeezed the boy on the shoulder. “Dick. We need to get away from here.”

“I can’t…leave them.” He pulled back, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m…all alone.”

(Y/N) shook her head, and placed a hand on his cheek. “I’m here, Dick. You’re not alone.” His face pinched as a new round of tears sprouted in his eyes and he lowered his head, the sobs wracking his body, and she gazed up at her father’s face, knowing the agony behind the white slits. “You’re not alone.”

Jason:

She walked alongside her father, tugging at the collar of her suit. “Can’t we make a suit that doesn’t choke me as much as this collar does? I feel like I’ve got one of Ivy’s vines wrapped around my throat.” He didn’t say anything and she rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine. Ignore me. I see how it is.”

“You’re the one who designed your suit, Batgirl. I told you to choose breathable fabric but you refused and said you wanted adequate protection like mine.”

She blinked and glared at him. “Do you get some sick pleasure from repeating my apparent failures?” He chuckled lightly, and she looked around. “Whatever…I still think you shouldn’t have parked in Crime Alley. You know there’s always trouble here.”

“The Batmobile is fine,” he said, voice tired as if he’d answered the question a hundred times before—he had.

(Y/N) hummed, nodding to the car a few feet ahead of them and quipped, “Oh, so the kid jacking the tires off it is completely normal?”

Her father looked at her split second before turning to see it, his eyes widening in disbelief as he muttered, “I don’t believe what I’m seeing.” He moved soundlessly towards the boy, her following.

“Got to give it to him. It takes some big balls to jack the Batman’s ride,” she admired and he grunted, though she knew he was in agreement, and they walked up on the oblivious boy.

She watched her father pull his ‘Put-The-Fear-Of-Batman-Into-‘Em’ stance and he cleared his throat with an exaggerated, ‘ahem’. (Y/N) snorted at the way the boy jerked, twisting to see them staring at him; she swore he’d shit himself the way the fear bled into his eyes.

Her father glared at the kid. “You do realize that’s the Batmobile, right?”

The boy’s face pinched, and he tipped his head up, his voice haughty. “Duh. You do realize you parked your car in Crime Alley, right?” (Y/N) barked a laugh, but quickly coughed when her father turned his glower to her, and he turned back to the boy just in time to see him swinging the tire iron.

“Bad move, hotshot.” Her words fell on deaf ears as she watched her father catch the tool and grip the boy by the front of his hoodie, picking him up off the ground a few feet.

He squirmed, legs kicking out for few seconds before spitting, “You want to beat up on a kid, go enlist in the GCPD like every other bully in this city.”

(Y/N) saw the gears turning in her father’s head as he leaned in, his face inches apart from the boys as he demanded, “I’m only going to ask you this once…So give some serious thought to your answer.”

The boy craned his neck, eyes narrowed as he asked, “What it is?”

Her father gave him a smirk. “Are you hungry?” The boy’s brows furrowed in suspicion, and within the next ten minutes, they were sitting on the hood of the Batmobile eating burgers and fries and sipping on milkshakes.

At one point, she’d reached over and grabbed the boy’s hands; he looked up at her and she nodded to his burger. “Slow down, Jason. You’ll eat your hand at this rate.”

He snorted but nodded, eating a little slower than before as he said, “Sorry. This is the closest thing to a home-cooked meal since I’ve had a home.” He paused and looked out at the city. “It’s funny…I was here once, looking for Wayne Manor.” He looked between them. “I was trying to case the place, but I got lost.”

Bruce looked down at the boy and questioned, “Why do you think it’s okay to steal from people?”

Jason scoffed at his question. “Are you kidding me? Look at this view.” He motioned to the buildings in the distance. “Freaking ‘Billionaire Playboy’ thinks he’s the king of the world. Pfft.”

(Y/N) elbowed him in the ribs and quipped, “Oh honey, he doesn’t think he is. He knows he is.”

The two of them cackled, but the solemn look from her father made their laughter fall short and he said, “Sometimes you just have to give people a chance Jason…they’ll usually surprise you.”

Her father’s words made Jason pause, and she saw him sink into deep thought. After a few moments, she leaned across Jason and nudged her father.

He looked at her and she tipped her head to Jason. “Does this mean he’s coming home with us?” Her father looked at him and back to her, then nodded and she shifted her arm, grinning as she wrapped it around Jason’s neck. “Well then, welcome to the family…little brother.”

Tim:

She could sense the boy following her, and after a few moments, she realized he wasn’t giving up. It wasn’t just some coincidence that they were on the same path—he wanted something from her. She glanced over her shoulder before ducking into the shadows of an alley, waiting for him to follow.

Sure enough, he stepped into the opening of the alley, looking for her, then he shook his head and stamped his foot on the ground. “No-no-no. I was so close to finding her.” He sighed and his shoulders fell in defeat as he visibly deflated.

She stepped behind him and gripped his shoulder in an steel-tight grasp, inquiring, “Why are you following me, kid?”

The kid gasped like he’d been shot as his knees collapsed beneath him, falling from her grip and to the ground. He rolled and gazed up at her with a mixture of shock and wonder as he breathed, “Batgirl.”

She glared down at him and demanded, “Answer my question before I call GCPD for you being out past curfew. Why. Are. You. Following. Me.”

He swallowed thickly before nodding rapidly. “Right. You see, I’ve been looking for you, Batgirl.”

“Yeah, I got that from the tailing. What I wanna know is, why?”

“I need to talk to you about Batman.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at the mention of her father. “What’s a scrawny-ass kid like you, need to talk about Batman with me for?”

His mouth opened, then it snapped shut and he seemed to think on his answer for a moment. He looked at his hands and whispered, “It’s about your brother…Jason Todd.”

Hearing her deceased brother’s name knocked the air from her lungs and she barely managed to get the word ‘what?’ out without sucking in a breath.

He glanced up at her. “I know who you are Miss Way—”

(Y/N)’s hand shot out and she slapped it over his mouth before shaking her head. “Don’t say my name. You don’t know who’s listening.” He went silent as she removed her hand and held it out for him. “C’mon. If you know who I am then that means you know everyone’s identity.”

He nodded mutely and she clicked a button on her wrist; A few moments later, her bike pulled in front of the alley. “Get up. We need to go have a chat.” He took her hand, letting her haul him to his feet, and they walked over to the bike. (Y/N) climbed on before nodding to him. “Get on and hold on.” He followed her order, sitting in front of her, and she took off.

***

A few minutes later, they were stepping into one of the safe houses her dad set up around the city. She closed the door and flicked on the light, pulling the cowl off before gesturing to the table. “Sit.” He obeyed and she opened the refrigerator, pulling out two sodas. (Y/N) turned, taking the seat across from him and sliding his drink over. “Now. Who are you and how do you know about all this?”

He nodded and pulled out a giant book, placing it on the table. “My name is Timothy Jackson Drake, I’m thirteen, and I’ve been following the exploits of Batman, Batgirl, and Robin since I was two.”

(Y/N) cocked a brow at that. “Two’s a little young to be able to remember us.”

Tim looked at the book and nodded. “I know…but I have a photographic memory, and I remember the first time I saw Batman.”

“And that was?”

He paused and his voice quiet. “The night Dick Grayson’s parents were murdered.” (Y/N)’s eyes went wide, and he drew his eyes to hers. “I remember Dick swinging to the ground as his parents climbed the ladder. His mom went first, and his dad followed. Then…the rope snapped, and…they fell.”

Tim quieted considerably and she had to strain to hear him as he recounted, “I got scared, and I looked away. I couldn’t watch…then I heard the crash and Dick sobbing. And I saw you run down and hug him.” He met her gaze. “Then I saw this giant, dark shape falling towards you, and I thought it was going to hurt you two. But then I realized Batman wasn’t trying to hurt you…he was trying to help you both. And he went from being a monster…to becoming some great Dark Knight.”

Tim looked at her. “From them on, I’ve been having the same dream, over and over. I—”

(Y/N) raised a hand, stopping him. “When did you find out who we were?”

He nodded. “When I was nine, I was watching TV and I saw you and Dick, well, Robin and Batgirl. You—”

“Batgirl and Robin. In that order.” She pointed to herself with a face that could only be something akin to the ‘first-child-syndrome’. “I was first.”

A smile grew across Tim’s face and he nodded. “Right, Batgirl and Robin. Anyway, I saw you two on TV, and I watched Dick perform a quadruple somersault.” He grinned rather proudly of himself and declared, “I knew that somersault like I knew my own name. About six months later, Robin made his first appearance. And if Dick Grayson was Robin and Bruce Wayne’s ward, then Bruce Wayne was Batman, and you were Batgirl.” (Y/N) stared at Tim in shock, too stunned to even form words.

He shifted nervously under her gaze. “Um…Miss (Y/N)? Batgirl? Are you alright?”

(Y/N) blinked and shook her head as she muttered, “Holy shit, kid. What are you?”

“I—I’m sorry?”

She huffed a laugh and grinned at him. “You’ve got some damn good detective skills to have figured all that out.” Tim smiled sheepishly under the praise, then (Y/N) stood up from the table, stretching her arms over her head until she heard her joints pop, then she stared at him. “You got a place to sleep tonight?”

“I…no. Not at the moment.”

(Y/N) placed her hands on her hips and hummed. “And why’s that?”

“Well, in the course of looking for you, I’ve also been looking for Dick. But I can’t find him. He’s good at disappearing.”

She nodded and pointed to a room. “I know where Dick is. Go sleep in the guest room, and tomorrow we can go find him.”

As she walked past him, heading for her room, he questioned dubiously, “You’d do that for me?”

(Y/N) stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “Isn’t that what family does?”

Tim’s jaw went slack and he gaped at her as she stepped into her room and closed the door behind her.

Damian:

She shut the door behind her and locked it, though there really wasn’t any reason to considering the fact that no one could get into the manor, let alone across the front lawn without anyone inside knowing.

Hauling the bag up and over her shoulder, she found it odd that no one had greeted her yet and her oddity turned into unsettling when she didn’t hear anything.

She dropped her keys in the silver bowl on the side table and looked around the foyer. “Hello? Dad? Alfred? Timmy?” She stuck her head in the kitchen door. “Anyone home?”

There was no response and she hummed questioningly, knowing that on a Sunday, everyone was home relaxing. She made her way to the study and shifted the clock hands, watching as the entrance appeared, then she descended the steps into the cave. It was even quieter than usual, and she felt the hairs stand up on the back on her neck as she made her way to the Batcomputer.

She pushed a button on the keyboard, watching as the screen came to life and said, “Give me the most recent update.”

“Confirmation?” It replied.

“(Y/N) Wayne, Batgirl.”

The computer beeped for a moment. “(Y/N) Wayne. Batgirl. Access level high.” It paused. “Access granted. Welcome Batgirl.”

“Give me the most recent update.”

“Requested.” It processed the request then told her, “Talia al Ghul entered Gotham Bay approximately two days ago, leaving behind Damian al Ghul in Batman’s custody.”

Damian al Ghul? Who the hell is that? (Y/N) raised an eyebrow as she pushed another button. “Who is Damian al Ghul.”

“Damian al Ghul is the biological son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul. Conceived…month and day unknown…year was two-thousand-three.”

(Y/N) stared at the screen, not sure if she should feel shock that her dad had a second biological kid, or disgust that he slept with Talia to get one. All the sudden, her training kicked in and she felt someone behind her. She spun around, catching the blade of a sword coming at her. She looked down at a young child, no older than ten, glaring up at her. She’d seen pictures of her father when he was a child, and though he had Talia’s emerald green eyes and olive complexion, there was no mistaking the resemblance between him and her father.

Her eyes narrowed into slits as she shoved him away. “The hell are you doing?”

He raised the sword again and said, “Testing you.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms, her gaze curious. “For what purpose?”

He ran at her waving the sword. “To see if you are really father’s daughter.”

She chuckled at that and dodged each attempt to cut her. “Trust me short-stack, I’m Bruce Wayne’s kid.”

Her insult seemed to set him off and he swung the sword wildly. “I am not short!”

(Y/N) grunted as the blade grazed her arm, and she clenched her jaw. “Alright. I’m done entertaining you.”

She let him come to her, then she twisted, wrenching the sword from his grip before tossing it away and coming back around. She gripped him by the collar and used the momentum to slam him to the ground before pulling his arms behind him and putting her knee in his back.

It all happened within seconds, and he didn’t know how to respond other than to cry out in anger. “Let go!”

She pulled his arms tighter until he stopped squirming and she leaned down. “Take a chill pill, runt.” He still cried out in rage at the name, and she heard someone grunt a few feet from her.

“Let him up, (Y/N).”

She looked up to see her father and Alfred walking towards her. She obeyed, rolling away from the boy and to her feet. “I was wondering where you were.”

Bruce nodded to Damian, who was pulling himself off the floor in a rather heated fashion. “We were trying to find out where Damian had gone.”

(Y/N) eyed him for a moment before murmuring, “So, he really is your kid?”

Damian cut Bruce off, spitting, “Are you jealous?”

She looked at Damian and snorted. “Not even an ounce short-cake.” (Y/N) laughed at the way his face pinched in rage, and she turned to Bruce. “You just can’t help collecting them, can you?” He glared at her and she laughed, walking over and nudging him. “Smile a little, Scrooge. Your face will get stuck like that if you don’t.”

He sighed, and muttered, “I don’t know what to do with him.”

(Y/N) glanced at the boy who was picking up his sword. “Too angry?”

“Belligerent is more like it.”

She chuckled and patted his back. “Don’t worry. I’ve got him.”

“(Y/N) I don’t think—”

“Relax, dad. I handled Dick’s anger, didn’t I?”

“Damian’s got Dick beat by a longshot. I don’t think he knows any demeanor other than attack.”

(Y/N) waved as she walked towards Damian. “No one’s able to beat Dick’s anger. No one in a million years could reach the level of pissed off Dick Grayson stays at.” Bruce grinned as he watched (Y/N) take the sword and move Damian towards the stairs. “C’mon pint-sized. We’re going to explore Gotham.”

“I do not want to go.” He retorted, pulling away from her.

She grasped the back of his neck like a puppy and held him firmly as they walked and she quipped, “I don’t really give a fuck whether you want to or not. You’ve been raised by homicidal psychopaths since you were born.” She looked down at him. “You need to see the real world.”

“My grandfather and mother aren’t psychopaths!”

“Oh really? So killing people for money or because honor demands it, isn’t psychopathic traits? What about when Ra’s kills people because they disrespect him?”

“That is different!”

“I mean you don’t see me poppin’ caps in people’s asses when they call me a whore, do you?”

Bruce watched the two of them climb the stairs, arguing, and he sighed, sensing Alfred walk next to him.

“Almost reminds you of Master Dick and Miss (Y/N), doesn’t it Master Bruce?”

He looked at Alfred, then smiled and nodded. “In every way, shape, and form.”

Alfred smiled. “It is such a good thing that Miss (Y/N) is the oldest. The boys have needed her.”

“She’s their protector.”

Alfred paused, resting a hand on his shoulder; Bruce met his gaze and saw such a solemnity in them as he said, “She is everyone’s protector, Master Bruce. Even yours.” Alfred walked away, then Bruce turned and looked at the photo resting on the desk. It was the first photo he and (Y/N) had taken in their suits.

He smiled at it and nodded. “That she is.”

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batsis x batfam #batsis x batfamily #batsis imagines #batsis imagine #batsis x batfamily imagines #batsis x batfamily imagine #batfamily #batsis #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #alfred pennyworth #dc comics #dc #dc imagines #dc imagine

[soulmate-game]

Harley's Plea for Help ch. 6

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6-- you are here

Yet another night of barely any sleep, but this time Marinette didn’t have the coffee-angel Red Robin at her rescue. No, instead she had to go completely uncaffeinated until she and her class got to Wayne Enterprises. Madame Mendelieve could only sigh as she watched Marinette scamper off to the café as soon as they made it past the initial security of the building. A couple of her classmates chuckled or snorted at her familiar behavior.

It was the same barista at the register as before, but this time Marinette felt too tired to properly order or be adventurous in looking for new flavors.

“I feel like death. I don’t care if it tastes like pure bean oil today. Flavors will take away from the amount of coffee you can shove in one cup, right?”

The poor barista blinked, eyeing the deep bags forming under the poor girl’s eyes. She sighed. “I had hope yesterday that you were just a normal caffeine addict. Now I see we actually have a second Mister Drake,” she said it as if she was mourning at Marinette’s grave before poking a few buttons on her touchscreen order station and turning her head. “One Insomniac CEO, but not for the boss!” She called out. The barista making the drinks paused for a second with wide eyes.

“We have another one?!” He asked, shocked. “Piece of advice?” He turned to Marinette. “Get some sleep.”

“Sleep is for the dead,” Marinette deadpanned back. “I got stuff I need to do today.”

The guy just shook his head and sighed, making the drink as Marinette paid and left a good tip. The drink came out fairly quickly, and everyone behind the counter stopped for a moment to stare as she gulped down the hot drink with no concern for her tongue or throat. A satisfied sound left her as she finally pulled away from the cup.

“This is really good!” She complimented, turning to the Baristas with a still-tired smile. It would take a minute or two for the coffee to have full effect, but she already felt better. “A little too bitter for my usual tastes, but perfect for days like today. Thanks!” She waved at them before turning around and seeing that her class was already gone again. Before she could fully process that though, a hand slapped down onto her head and ruffled her hair.

Surprised (really, not a lot of people could sneak up on her anymore. Just how tired was she?) she let out a high pitched squeal.

“You’re a good kid,” the soft, slightly scratchy voice that said that made Marinette’s shoulders drop and eyes widen. Tilting her head back she was greeted with the widely-grinning face of Jason Todd. He was once again in the uniform of a security guard.

“Wha— Uh,” Marinette couldn’t quite find the right words right away. She was too stunned. Jason just chuckled, jerking his head to indicate the same door her class had gone through the day before and leading the way over there. Marinette scrambled to catch up.

Once they were far away enough from prying eyes and ears, Marinette cleared her throat.

“Um,” she started. “Did… I mean, do you..?”

“Yeah, our mutual friends had a chat with me last night,” he confirmed casually. He sent her a meaningful look even though his grin never left his face. “Like I said; you’re a good kid. And I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’re not responsible for the things your parents have done, you know.”

The girl at his side hummed noncommittally, not fully convinced but also not wanting to argue.

“You’re not,” he repeated firmly, stopping in the middle of the side-hallway. They could see her class at the other end getting checked in, but didn’t make a move to join them yet. “I mean it. The stuff that happened to me, none of that was you. Hell, you were a little kid back then. And there’s nothing you could have done to stop it, either. I’m not gonna hold anything against you just because you’re his child. You didn’t ask to be,” he shrugged. “Besides, I get it. Biological relation doesn’t equal family. Trust me,” his grin was gone and a tired one replaced it. “I know that better than most people.”

The pigtailed girl could only gulp, taking a deep breath as she forced down the tears that wanted to bubble up. She had had this conversation with Adrien a few times, but even then she had been convinced that he just didn’t understand. He was just being nice. But this— Jason’s words were more valuable than gold to her. He had no reason to be nice, so it had to be at least partially sincere.

“Thanks,” she whispered once she was positive she wasn’t going to break. She lifted her cup up and took a long sip of her coffee. The slight burn against her tongue helped ground her. “That means more than you know.”

Jason chuckled. “Nah. The fact that you stood up for me to the Bat,” his grin returned to his face full blast, making dimples appear on his cheeks. “Now that, you have no idea how much that means to me. You must have some serious guts to lecture that guy, too. Is it too late to adopt you for myself?”

That tore a quick laugh out of her, making her classmate’s head whip over to the opposite end of the hallway where she and Jason were. She quickly quieted herself, but her eyes danced with amusement as she looked up at Jason. “You’re too young to be my parent anyway, but I wouldn’t say no to a brother,” she joked. Jason’s eyes sparkled.

“Good, exactly what I was aiming for!” He slipped a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “That’s my number. Call me if you ever need anything, got it?” He turned to resume leading her back to her class and she quickly slipped the paper into her pocket before anyone saw and got the wrong idea. “And I mean anything.”

Marinette just smiled and nodded. By then, they were close enough for Alya to smirk and ask; “What took ya so long, girl?”

“Oh,” Marinette shuffled a little on her feet before an observation gave her a last minute idea and she straightened up with a wide smile. “We just got distracted talking about motorcycles!”

Jason’s eyebrows raised for a quick second before he settled his expression again and played along. He had figured that not many people knew about her biological family. That part made sense. But she had been a total mess just the day before when she had tried to lie about Paris’ little villain problem in front of Bruce. How was she able to actually come up with a good lie this time around, when she had been just as much put on the spot? He wondered to himself about what was different about this situation to allow her to lie more easily. Maybe Bruce not being there was part of it— she seemed easily flustered by famous people.

Think of the devil, because no sooner had that thought finished developing in Jason’s mind before Bruce Wayne walked into the hallway with a paparazzi-ready smile. Jason rolled his eyes and sunk to the back of the group silently, sinking back into his job and keeping an eye on their surroundings. He listened as Alya laughed softly and elbowed Marinette even as the group turned their attention to Bruce.

“You and your bikes,” Alya teased. “If someone knew enough about motorcycles, I bet you’d marry them on the spot.”

“Nah,” Marinette whispered back. “If they gave me a really nice one though? That’s marriage potential for sure.”

The two girls laughed for a second before focusing back on the tour. Adrien wasted no time making his way to Marinette’s side, silent questions in his eyes. Jason watched with interest as the two seemed to silently communicate with one another. It was obvious that Adrien was calling her lie, and Marinette was essentially silently telling him that she would explain later. It was so seamless and subtle that if Jason hadn’t been extremely familiar with that kind of communication already, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Once again his eyebrows rose a tick on his forehead, and he made a mental note of the interaction. That kind of silent conversation wasn’t an easy thing to do with people. It was most commonly seen in married or otherwise long-term couples, childhood friends, family, or hero partners. The childhood friends and family sections were already ruled out from their background check on her and Harley herself had mentioned that even though Marinette had once crushed on Adrien, she had unofficially adopted the boy as her brother since then. Though, their time as close friends was only documented as having lasted about a year. That wasn’t quite enough time for that sort of effortless silent communication to be possible.

Of course, Jason had his suspicions already. But there was no rush, either. The Clown was on the move and more important to focus on for now. He could focus on the puzzle that was Marinette and Adrien later.

Bruce took over the tour as he had the day before, and the class was instantly riveted once again. If the fact that they were being led through the building by the very man who owned it wasn’t awesome enough to get everyone’s full attention, the man’s personality was. He came off a little carefree and very kind, but there was an obvious undercurrent of just how much he loved his company that showed that he did take it and his job seriously. Just, not too seriously either. And he interjected everywhere he could with personal stories and anecdotes and little bits of his family history that the normal tour guides might not have known. It was not long after he announced that he was going to take them to a lower lab set aside specifically for their class’ tour, so that they could do their first interactive activity, that jason found the opportunity to sidle up next to Marinette on the opposite side from where Adrien walked alongside her.

“So,” he said casually. “How’d you know I ride a motorcycle?” he smirked to show he wasn’t upset as he looked down at her curiously. Marinette blinked, taking her attention away from Bruce to look over at Jason. Once his words registered, she smiled widely and pointed to one of his pockets. The corners of his bike gloves flopped over the edge.

“I noticed those. I figured you’d have a negative reaction that might give us away if my lie was too off the mark, and I do have a habit of saying stupid things if I don’t have a clue or something to play off of. I also had to make it believable for the class, and they all know that my Nonna has played a huge part in my love for motorcycles. I plan on getting a license to drive one when I turn sixteen later this year,” she told him softly. “I tend to gush whenever I see a cool bike, so I knew they wouldn’t question it.”

Jason huffed a little bit of laughter under his breath. It was like the trope of a character looking at random items in the room to come up with a fake name, but somehow it had actually worked for her. She was quick-witted and clever, he had to admit. And observant.

“I was running late, so I must have left them in my pocket when I was changing,” he admitted, unbothered. “Ah, here we are,” he nodded to return the two teen’s (he had noticed Adrien paying close attention as he and Marinette had their conversation) attention back to the tour. Bruce opened the door for the class with a flourish, gesturing for everyone to go in.

“Since these first few days are going to be tours and lessons about working in general, your first activity of your trip is to solve various problems we’ve given you based on real situations that WE employees have been in before. Split up into groups, and choose a table. Each table has a different problem covering a different industry. Reporting, Science— specifically research and development, business management, and entertainment…”

—*—*—*—*—*

“It’s straight,” Adrien assured her, trying to keep himself from laughing as Marinette straightened his tie for the millionth time. “I promise. And you look fantastic.”

Marinette stepped back, nodding at Adrien’s appearance in approval. “I know. We both look great, but…” she fidgeted and then stepped forward to go right back to over-straightening his tie. Adrien snorted, grabbing her hands before she could touch the poor thing again and lowering her arms to her sides.

“Calm down. Like you said, we both look great. You don’t have a single hair out of place, the outfits you made us look amazing, and my tie is at a perfect ninety degree angle to my collar. Take the model’s word for it,” he teased with a lopsided grin. “We look ready for the front cover of a magazine. So just take a deep breath, because we should get down to the lobby soon to wait for the ride he’s sending for us.”

“Right,” Marinette nodded. She followed his advice and took a deep breath. Once she was suitably calmed, she opened her eyes and nodded at him. Adrien smiled and held out his arm, making Marinette snort as she took hold of it gently and let him lead her to the elevator.

Bruce had not specified whether the dinner was going to be casual or formal, but with the fact that his kids were going to be present and it was at his own house, Marinette had a feeling it was going to be more of a casual thing than if they had went out to a fancy restaurant with a black tie dress code. At the same time, this was the Wayne manor they were talking about. She didn’t want to be underdressed, either. Not to mention that it was her design skills that had played a huge part in her winning the contest in the first place, so she felt like she had to show her work again to prove that they had chosen the right person.

A playful wolf whistle greeted the two of them when they got down to the lobby. Alya was, to no one’s surprise, the perpetrator. She stood in the lobby with Alix, Nino, and Max, who all had known about the dinner and agreed to be there to see the two of them off and put Marinette’s worries to rest. The four of them jogged over, Alix smiling and adding her own soft whistle of appreciation.

“You guys look great,” the short skater assured them, taking the time to skate slow circles around them to make sure that nothing was wrong with their outfits. “I think you’ve outdone yourself, Mari! Very cool.”

Alya nodded eagerly, bouncing in place with a wide, beaming smile on her face. “Ah! The both of you look ready to kick ass and woo rich people!” she added. Max pushed his glasses up on his nose with a small grin.

“There is a ninety-five percent chance of your work impressing all of the Waynes,” he said in his own version of encouragement.

“You guys got this!” Nino shot them a thumbs up. “They beat me to all the stuff I wanted to say.”

Marinette beamed, laughing along with her friends as she allowed herself to relax a little. Adrien’s outfit was of her own making, a subtle way for him to rebel since his father had sent him with his own Gabriel brand suit should an appropriate opportunity to wear it come up. Adrien had no plans of ever putting his father’s suit on his body. In an effort to spice up formal men’s wear a bit without making the whole thing white and silver like Gabriel wanted, Marinette had made him a classic silk shirt in black, with short sleeves that fell at that perfect halfway point between his elbow and shoulder. The sleeves had thick cuffs in a dark forest green, with decorative straight stitches on the seams in a bright magenta pink thread. On top of that was a corset-style sleeveless vest with a deep V. The majority of the vest was the same black as the shirt, but with dark green hand-stitched swirls that were just barely bright enough to be contrasted against the black. It created a very subtle pattern that would be hard to see in the wrong lighting, but would make it look that much more expensive and elaborate in the right lighting. The lapel of the vest was in the same dark forest green as the cuffs of his shirt, with a few decorative swirls embroidered on the very corners. The piping of the corset-vest made three curved lines on either side of his waist, curling from mid-rib cage to his waist. It gave him a slightly more feminine twist to his outfit, making his waist look smaller even though it wasn’t actually pulled very tight on him— it was mostly the illusion made by the piping rather than the actual tightness of the garment. The two outside piping lines were done in a magenta pink, while the middle piping line was once again in dark forest green. Unlike most corset-style vests, this one had no buttons or zipper on the front at all. Instead, it was closed only by corset lacing in the back, the laces done in such a dark shade of green that it was almost black, while the eyelets that the laces were threaded through were that same magenta pink as the piping and decorative stitches elsewhere on the outfit. The tie that Marinette had spent so long making sure was straight was almost entirely soft lace, but it was layered in such a way with layers of sheer green and pink lace that it looked like it was a constant swirl of the two colors. If someone got close enough to see the pattern of the lace tie, they would notice that it was a pattern of cats chasing a butterfly.

Underneath the artistic top of the outfit were black dress pants, once again with thick forest-green cuffs on the bottoms. But instead of the decorative stitching, the pant legs flared a bit at the ankles for just a little extra drama. Magenta-pink Oxfords peeked out of the wide cuffs. The green detailing made Adrien’s eyes pop, while the pink accents gave his boyish charm a little more of a feminine touch that almost seemed to highlight his naturally sensitive and charming nature.

In contrast, Marinette wore a sleeveless pink pantsuit. It was the same shade as the pink accents in Adrien’s outfit, and had a built-in corset as well that went only around her natural waist. The corset boning on Marinette was a solid black, while the rest was just the same base pink as the majority of the suit. The black of the boning seemed to flow downwards, changing from boning into thick hand-embroidery in thread of the exact same black. The embroidery flowed down the sides of both legs, in the shape of tree branches and apple blossoms. Pale green accents in the form of swirls at her high neckline and a pale green lace capelet that was the only thing covering her shoulders helped tie her outfit in with Adrien’s. She also wore pale green low kitten heels and her black hair up in a braided bun. With how her pant legs were form-hugging until they flared out slightly at the heel, and the lack of sleeves exposed her toned arms and shoulders and emphasized her strength there without making her look unbalanced or too masculine for the rest of the outfit’s style, she looked ready to rock the business world. Her bright blue eyes clashed with the green details of the outfit just enough to bring attention to them, assuring that people who met her eyes would not be able to easily look away.

The quick snap of a phone’s flash went off, drawing everyone’s attention to Madame Bustier. She was beaming at all of them, and had just taken a picture of her two students all dressed up. She waved her phone happily. “I’m sending this picture to the both of you. I’m so proud of you guys!” she gushed.

Marinette and Adrien both blushed deep red, shifting in their spots. They were confident in their looks, and Adrien was just as proud of his pseudo-sister, but neither of them was very good at handling so much positive attention aimed only at them. Especially not from their extremely sincere friends and teacher.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng?” An older gentleman with a British accent turned everyone’s attention to him. The first thing Marinette thought was that he had kind eyes. He also had soft wisps of white hair on his head, carefully trimmed and slicked back. Of course, Marinette and Adrien also couldn’t miss the high quality and perfect press of his carefully maintained suit. Once he had shown all the proper credentials to Madame Bustier, he introduced himself to the two well-dressed teens with a shallow bow. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the butler for Wayne Manor. I am to escort the both of you there for supper tonight.”

“Oh! Thank you so much, Monsieur Pennyworth,” Marinette said, walking up and shaking his hand. Adrien was right by her side the whole time, matching her smile watt for watt and shaking Alfred’s hand with just as much enthusiasm.

“Yeah, thank you for having us over. I know it was technically Bruce who invited Marinette, but you’re probably the one that has to do all the work. So, thank you. We really appreciate it,” he told the man sincerely. Alfred’s answering smile was soft, almost fond.

“Yes, I admit I am in charge of most of the work for tonight. But you shouldn’t worry, it’s no different from any other day at the manor,” he said lightheartedly, a little bit of good natured snark shining through his otherwise proper behavior— “Every last one of the Waynes would die in less than a week without me to keep everything in order,” he joked. “Allow me to lead you to the car.”

Marinette and Adrien followed behind Alfred. She didn’t know if it was the calming aura he put off, or if it was the gentle way his eyes sparkled that made her want to look after him. But whatever it was, she found herself wanting to protect this kind old man already. Which is why her eyebrows slightly pinched together. Before climbing inside the luxurious town car he had brought for them, she couldn’t help but turn to Alfred and ask;

“I hope you aren’t overworked. I don’t want to overstep, Monsieur, but isn’t the Wayne family rather large for one person to look after on their own?”

Alfred laughed gently at that, his eyes once again softening. “Do not worry about me, Miss Dupain-Cheng. They are family to me. And though, yes, you are correct in assuming they are a handful, they are also wonderful people. They help me where they can, but taking care of themselves is not their forte. Being able to do that for them is my greatest joy.”

The wrinkles in Marinette’s brow smoothed out and she smiled. “That’s so sweet. You’re making me want to meet them all even more.”

Something about that twinkle in Alfred’s eye made her feel like he was laughing at some joke she didn’t hear. “I’m sure all of you will get along swimmingly.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“I FOUND HER FIRST!”

Alfred had barely opened the manor’s doors to let Marinette and Adrien inside before the chaos started. Or rather, before they were let in on it— it seemed as if the chaos had already been going on for a while.

Jason skidded across the floor in a mad dash, having to grasp the doorframe he was running out of so that he could turn the corner sharply and veer towards them.

“Tell them, Marinette! I found you first, you’re my sister now, don’t fall for any of their Jedi mind tricks!”

Marinette just blinked, a little caught off guard. It hadn’t exactly sunk into her head until right that moment that ‘Wayne Family dinner’ would include Jason. Her mind was still catching up to the fact that she was seeing him out of his security guard uniform for the first time. He wasn’t dressed up at all, in a well-loved brown leather jacket over a white shirt and dark wash jeans. He still had his motorcycle gloves on. Marinette looked down at first herself, then Adrien.

“Are we overdressed?” She asked with a grimace. Jason huffed.

“Of course not, you guys look amazing! But seriously, tell them that I claimed you as my sister first and none of them are half as cool as me.”

Marinette and Adrien traded glances before laughing together.

“If we’re being technical here,” Adrien drawled mischievously as he straightened out his vest. “I met Marinette first, and she adopted me as her brother long before we met any of you,” he pointed out with a sharp grin.

“Ha!” a younger man laughed pointedly, following after Jason. The newcomer was dressed more formally, in a dress shirt under a very luxurious looking burgundy designer sweater. Under that, he wore black perfectly-pressed slacks and nondescript oxfords. His collar showed signs of housing a tie earlier, but he had clearly taken it off sometime earlier. His hair hung slightly long, framing his face with two long locks while the back of his hair slightly stuck up in all directions in natural tufted curls. Like Jason, his hair was jet black and he had bright blue eyes. He was also about half Jason’s size, much shorter and leaner than his adoptive brother. “He’s got you there, idiot,” he snarked smugly at Jason before turning to the two guests. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, Mister Agreste. I’m Tim Drake-Wayne, it’s nice to finally meet both of you,” he introduced himself as he walked over to shake their hands. “And your outfits are amazing! Did you make them, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

“Marinette,” she corrected with a lopsided grin. “My last name is a mouthful, and I prefer to just go by Marinette anyway. And yes, I made both of these outfits before we left Paris,” she admitted, trying her best to seem professional. She had already ruined her chances of that with Bruce and Jason, but this time she was prepared!

“They are just as impressive as the rest of your work that I’ve seen. And call me Tim, it’s only fair,” and then he smiled.

Damn his boyish grin. He wasn’t someone Marinette had a crush on— he wasn’t her type— but damn he was unfairly charismatic and charming. His smile temporarily short circuited her brain. That was exactly the kind of boyish smile that had started her crush on Adrien, and that she was unfairly weak for. Now she felt a deep-seated urge to protect this boy and his smile or so help her, someone would be sent to the ER if he was hurt and it wasn’t gonna be her. And she didn’t try to dissuade herself from that strong protective urge, her mother had already assured her that all the Waynes were trustworthy and that Tim in particular shared a lot of her bad habits. She could allow this little bit of vulnerability. Hopefully.

“... I’ve only known you for two minutes, but if anything happened to you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself,” she breathed. Adrien elbowed her hard, making her yelp.

“You said that out loud Mari,” he deadpanned. A deep flush immediately came over her face, and she covered her mouth with both hands.

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry— but you— just forget I said anything. Please!”

Tim was visibly shocked, his eyes wide and mouth agape. Jason snorted, overcoming his own brief moment of shock pretty easily.

“Careful there,” Jason chided good-heartedly. His gaze met Marinette’s with a slight weight in it though. “You barely know the guy. He’ll annoy you out of your mind soon enough.”

Marinette caught the hint, wincing and changing the subject. Jason could see that she had done exactly as her mother had warned— she had gotten attached to Tim almost immediately. And while he wanted to believe Marinette when she said that the same wouldn’t happen with Joker, that she was not going to repeat her mother’s mistakes…

He couldn’t help but worry. Joker was a slippery bastard, and good at getting past people’s defenses.

Tim eventually led them all to the dining room, where several people were already sat waiting for them.

“We decided it would be best if we didn’t all swarm you at the door,” Tim explained, grinning at her kindly. “Take a seat wherever you want, Alfred is probably going to be done with dinner soon.”

Marinette and Adrien both nodded, going to sit by each other’s side. Adrien put his hand on her knee when they sat down, and traded a meaningful look with her.

“Calm down,” he whispered. “We’re not in Paris. And if you slip, I’ll catch you. Promise.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed a little. Yeah, she could trust Adrien to make sure she didn’t slip up too much. Get too careless. He’d watch her back like she did for him. She’d be okay. They’d both be okay.

“Thanks, Adrien. I needed that.”

—*—*—*—*—*

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[apolesen]

Where in the galaxy is Keiko O’Brien?

I keep getting confused about when Keiko is on the station and when she’s away, and sometimes I get a plotbunny and then realise that she’s not even there at that time. When I sat down to look at it, I realised I have way too much knowledge about this, so here it is - all of Keiko’s known movements during Deep Space Nine. I’ve double-checked everything I remembered on Chakoteya and Memory Alpha. I can’t guarantee I haven’t missed something, but if I have, it’s on the level of going away for part of an episode. 

I hope this is useful for fic-writing and other endeavours!

1x01 The Emissary Keiko arrives to DS9 along with the Enterprise. She talks about taking Molly and going back to Earth, but then doesn’t. 

1x01-2x202 Keiko is on DS9. 

2x03 The Siege  Keiko and other civilians are evacuated from DS9, and are to the taken to the Korat system. However, the first shuttle with evacuees comes back at the end of the episode, so they may not even have made it to the Korat system before turning away. 

2x04 Invasive Procedures Everyone but a skeleton crew is evacuated due to a plasma storm. She is back on the station by the next episode. 

2x05-2x22 - On DS9

2x22 The Wire She is away at a hydroponics conference on Rigel Four for more than a week. 

2x23-3x03 On DS9.

Two weeks after 3x03 The House of Quark Keiko leaves for the expedition to the Janitza Mountains, taking Molly with her. Miles tells her in 3x03 that the expedition starts in two weeks. It’s unclear how big the gap between 3x03 and 3x04 is, as neither episode has a stardate, so it’s hard to say if she’s gone by 3x04. However, Miles does not appear in 3x04, so we could theorise that he’s helping her get everything ready and follow her down to Bajor (because you know Miles would fuss over that kind of thing). 

3x06-3x09 On Bajor.

3x10 Fascination Keiko and Molly come to visit DS9 for the Gratitude Festival, staying for two days. 

3x11-4x16 On Bajor. In Fascination she says she will be away two or three months longer. I lean towards this being longer than that. We know Keiko spends one night at DS9, at which point she gets pregnant. This could be the same time as Fascination, but I don’t think so, as they would have had to decide that they were going to try for a baby, and that is not something they talk about in Fascination (as at that point they almost break up). Furthermore, this must have been something that is planned ahead more. From events in s7, we know that Sisko takes a contraceptive shot once a month, and it seems possible or even likely that Miles is on something similar. That means that he has to go off it, and it also explains why he’s surprised she’s pregnant, because she says “I thought it’d take a couple of nights. To be honest, a lot more nights.” (That is partly just that he wants to have sex with his wife, but if he’s just stopped taking contraceptives, that might explain that further.) On top of all this, I have calculated (from when I wrote my Keiko/Kira fic) that Keiko is eight or nine weeks pregnant in Accession. (This was based on chronological markers within the episodes of s4 and counting backwards from Body Parts. Kira is pregnant for five months, so it’d be logical that Keiko is four months gone in Body Parts, and stuff in the episodes between Accession and Body Parts makes a two-month gap likely.) 

4x17 Accession The expedition having ended, Keiko is back on the station. 

4x17-4x25 On DS9. 

4x25 Body Parts Goes to Torad V in the gamma quadrant for three days together with Bashir and Kira. 

4x26-5x05 On DS9.

5x05 The Assignment Goes on an expedition to the Five Caves for five days. (Comes back possessed by a pah-wraith - man, she needs to stop going to places with ‘five’ in their name...) 

5x06-5x25 On DS9.

Two days before 5x26 Call to Arms Leaves the station to live on Earth together with Molly as the war is heating up.

5x26-6x24 On Earth. Memory Alpha says she is gone almost a year, and often, a series is about a year, but in 6x16 Miles mentions that she has been gone for six months, so it might be shorter. There is no mention that I can find that she was away a full year.

Before 6x24 Time’s Orphan Comes back to DS9. Considering the conversations in the beginning of this episode, it sounds like they have gotten back the day before or so. 

6x24-7x26 On DS9.

7x26 What You Leave Behind Moves to Earth with her family. 

#keiko o'brien #deep space nine #ds9 #star trek #long post

[andieperrie18]

Your Endgame

So this is requested by@raginghellfire. I haven’t written in a while due Uni and busy classes but I hope I did a good job on this. UwU Dami might be a bit OOC but I really think he is a passionate lover when he falls in love.

Bruce Wayne was one tough cookie. Unlike Tony, he held shackled himself with the responsibility of protecting Gotham city from its baddies that he barely let himself enjoy his life. He too cares for children very much but he wasn't as hands-on being there for them. He wasn't always there in those best events in their life to congratulate them that greatly hurt them. It would seem that he just adopted these children as soldiers for his endless war with crime, that they were nothing but expendable assets. But he does love them and had just recently been trying to reconnect with all of them.

Tony Stark had always let his child have free reign over their life but he never leaves the passenger seat. He will always be by their side no matter what choice they make. He was never strict as he was a free soul but he grows and understands responsibility everyday after returning from Afghanistan after being held captive. He wasn't a perfect father but he did try for Y/n, good thing for him is that she understands responsibility earlier made it easy for him to be there for him.

Bruce Wayne was notorious for being a play boy, same goes to Tony Stark. Both men has had another of flings that the paparazzi didn't miss to see. It took quite a while before two of them finally found out the true meaning of true love. The one decided to settle down while the other chose his job over attaining a lifelong happiness and peace.

Some of the Wayne kids also had their own flings through out their lives. Some had more the two and some, just one. Just one cause when the second came, they were their endgame.

---

The bright city lights of Paris slightly seeped in the glass panes of the balcony doors of the room. Across it was a king sized bed with undone sheets and two people underneath the high quality comforter. Damian and Y/n sat with backs against the head board, the latter former resting his against the latter's figure. His head slightly buried on her neck as her fingers combed through his bed hair her other hand around his bare chest.

"I'm pretty sure that photo reached them already," her voice echoed around the slightly dim room.

Damian hummed, "It did, which earned me quite a number of miss calls from my family,"

Y/n giggled that he found contagious making him do the same.

"I'm going back to Gotham in two days but I don't think I'm ready to leave your side yet," he snuggled his face on her neck, placing butterflies kisses on them. Her eyes close, a flutter vibrates within her chest as she pulled his head closer. Placing her lips on his head. Damian pulled her seated figure closer to his own, his face snuggling closer to her skin.

"Can I just postpone the flight for another month?" he mumbled, sending tickles on her skin making her giggle.

"Dami, you said that 2 months ago and you already bought a ticket home,"

Damian never whines but after almost two years of being in a relationship, there are certain childishness he had suddenly unlock being with her. Y/n laughed at his childish wiles as it send tingles in his stomach, he loves it when she laughs because of him.

"Besides, I already scheduled mine and my seat is next to yours, you can't expect me to have an empty seat beside me?"

Damian's head shot up from her neck, his eyes staring at her. Y/n bit her lip containing a fit of giggles after seeing his eyes sparkle like a child getting a new toy. He slumped his faced between breast.

"I really love you."

"And I really love you too, Dami,"

---

And probably the biggest public figures is youngest Wayne child and the eldest Stark Child. The most controversial couple that reached ears all over the world. No one knew of their relationship as until the paparazzi caught a picture of them kissing at Champ de Mars near the Eiffel tower. The news made use of the quote, "Pictures speaks a thousand words" rather well. Some are heartbroken by the news but the biggest people taken surprise by the news were the Wayne's.

Clicks and flashes surrounded the long trail of red carpet that lead to entrance of the Wayne manor that held another gala. This time it was a celebratory occasion for the youngest Wayne's return from a long vacation that he took a almost 2 years ago. A break he took after a rather peaceful yet melancholic break up with titan's member. Damian suddenly decided to toss the towel and told his Father that he doesn't want to be like Bruce, alone and brooding. He needs to breath for a while to which his father did not hesitate to agree. Bruce loves his children, he may not show it but he does.

A Grey matte Porsche 911 parked its way at the end of the carpet making some of the photographers to  it, awaiting the celebrities that will emerge.

"Do you think they'll like me? I mean Dad isn't really in good terms with Bruce Wayne you know," Y/n  eyed the silhouette of the Wayne manor and the crowding paps at the cat walk. This wasn't the first time she came to a Wayne gala, its just that this time she was going to be introduced as Damian Wayne's girlfriend.

The emerald eyed Wayne gently took her chin to meet his eyes. A gentle smiles grew from his lips.

"They will, beloved. I know they will because I love you," his voice said laced a such a tender tone that no one ever thought he could have.

A love sick grin emerged from her once doubting expression before she pressed leaned for a quick peck to which he returned in an instant. They pulled away with both of them sharing the same cheek tinted grins.

Damian emerged from the driver's seat followed by the loud camera clicks and calling reporters. He simply gave his signature Wayne smile before turning to the other side of the car to where Y/n emerges with the same celebrity like smile that she inherited from her father. From the moment they set foot on the carpet, the paparazzi just got louder and rather pushy that made the guards push them out a little harder.

"Mr. Wayne how'd you meet Ms. Stark?!"

"Miss Stark, how long have you two been together?!"

"Miss Stark look here!!"

"Mister Wayne! Look here!!"

To say that the paparazzi were going crazy would be an understatement, as they were going mad-crazy as the couple walking the catwalk is the biggest confirmation to the news that a union between the Wayne and the Stark has occurred. If they could only get to the couple to ask some, more like a bunch of questions would be the cherry on top of the new news for next day.

Upon entry within the Manor, their arrival turn heads and silenced chatters.

Y/n M/n Stark, the matriarch of the Stark Industries inheriting the nickname, 'Merchant of Death' in Manhattan. She was a much smarter tinker as she assured no such case like her father's long captivity ever happened again and all Stark weapons are heavily protected and can only be handled by the military hands.

Damian Wayne was no CEO but is a COO of the Wayne Enterprises. Helping his brother Tim in managing the affairs in the company. It's bad enough that the male is overdosing himself with caffeine while handling their nightly hero affairs, he was still his brother no matter how much they quarrel. Damian was willing to shoulder long painstaking meetings for him just to let him have a day off.

To see the two of them together would expresses a union.

Their matching outfit theme elevated the curiosity of all the attendants of the gala. Damian's slick three piece burgundy check suit made Damian look sophisticated but neat. Every young lady around the room were welcome to gawk at his figure as he glides with his partner. Y/n's own green gown greatly complimented his with its shade of green, its shape hugging her figure naturally that she loved. Every young man had their eyes on an emerald.

It didn't take long before the couple reached the group of people they are meant to meet. They didn't miss their wide eyes and dropped jaws. Y/n may be a stranger but they could agree that she is a beautiful stranger.It was only when Damian spoke that they have gained awareness of their surroundings.

"Good evening father, everyone. It's nice to see you all again," Damian began with Y/n holding on to his shoulder.

"I gotta say demon spawn you grew quite a lot for just two years," Jason earned a slightly hard nudge from Dick. Damian may have grown but he still has a tick with Jason's nicknames for him.

"Don't mind him Damian, why don't you introduce your company," the eldest said as he slightly push the white streaked hair male behind him that earned a look from his father.

Damian didn't say anything on the nickname thing and proceeded to introduce her which earned quite an awkward atmosphere on his family's side while the couple remained at ease in their presence.

"Stark its nice to finally see you again," Tim entered as he brought his hand out to which the woman took generously.

"Good to see you too Drake, and good evening to you too Mister Wayne,"

Bruce went forward to shake her hand, "How is your father by the way?" he asked.

"He is doing well, he's living by the countryside with my sister and mom," she replied with a smile.

"So he's settling down?" Bruce asked, quite surprised.

"Yes, he said life is short and he intends to spend it living it with us," She continued to which earned a bit of awkwardness with Damian's siblings. It was a rather sensitive topic but they didn't speak of it any further.

---

Damian had to separate himself from Y/n to help Tim a bit on the company. Seated by the bar, with his two brothers and his father, it was quite a company.

"How long have you two been going out?" Dick opened as you turned to him.

"We've been together for almost 1 year and half years, but we didn't started dating until six months later after we met,"

"We're you aware he just got out of a break up?" Jason raised.

Y/n took a sip of her drink, "I did, that's why I didn't let him to be with me until I totally confirmed that I was not a rebound,"

"And how do you know you aren't just a rebound for Rachel Roth?" Dick asked this time.

Bruce didn't say anything as he wasn't very much in touch with his son's relationship, but he did know that he loved her, Damian wouldn't risk his life for anyone if he did. As much as he wanted to stop Dick from pulling a rather sensitive topic on a person he just met especially when that person is someone close to his brother, he wants to know if the girl was just a fling. Y/n was known to have a number of flings before Damian came in to the picture.

"Damian is not mine to claim, whether I am a rebound or not, I still love him, you can try to make me say what we are having is just a fling but I know one thing," her tone was authoritative but calm.

They were doubting Damian's judgement with her relationship with her. Its not like she wasn't aware that he dated a co-worker of his. He was his first love and Y/n knew she might not be his last but she sure prays to whatever ethereal being that they last.

"I love him. Whether you believe me or not, I will always do even if he chooses her over me,"

Damian was her everything.

---

By midnight, Damian said his good byes with his family. He didn’t miss the slight look of sadness in her eyes so he took her away from his brothers' company. Damian was sure that they said something but she chose to protect them by not telling him anything.

When they got to the parking lot as they got to their car, Damian stopped and had Y/n face him. Before she could ask, he had already latched his lips on her. Giving her an ever so passionate kiss they always share. One that he always felt like he was having his first kiss the first time.

Y/n circled her arms around his neck before they broke off, forehead resting against each other.

"I may not know what went on between you and my family by the bar, but I want you to know that I love you. You may not be my first but I am deathly sure that you are my last…" he whispered to her.

#damian wayne x reader #Damian Wayne #song prompt #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #bruce wayne #batfamily x reader

[todoscript]

lilies & lilacs pt. i

SUMMARY: A dilemma with his grand charity gala brings Todoroki Shouto, CEO of Todoroki Enterprises, at your humble flower shop’s doorstep.

pairing: ceo!todoroki shouto x florist!reader

genre: eventual smut. fluff. slow burn. no quirks au.

word count: 5.6k+

warnings: none in this part, but expect sexual content in the future.

author’s note: this has been rotting in my wips for a couple of months now, but i finally decided to post it with the decision of progressing the story into parts. thank you to the lovely rosie aka @shoutogepi for initially betareading this and keeping the hype up for the fic in our chats together (love you <333)! feedback is welcomed and before you ask, im opening a taglist for the next 2 parts so just ask if you wish to be included

lilies & lilacs is copyright 2020 todoscript, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else.

The uneasy padding of her boss’ dress shoes across the floor of his office made the secretary restless. She knew the bad news she delivered would cause some displeasure to stir within him, but never would she expect his tough bearings to falter, his troubles conveyed in hasty steps and frayed skin skewing those handsome features.

During the past two years she’s worked for him, she always thought his expression was nearly unreadable. When it came to his high position, her boss was forward and direct at conducting business—calm, stoic, and a perfect representation of efficiency and strong work ethic in his field. So while she witnessed the man’s uncharacteristic distress before her eyes, she wasn’t sure how this could end well for her.

Sweat began beading her forehead at the tension creeping between each tap of his feet against the hardwood below, coming to an unnerving halt behind his desk. When her eyes found his, all she could gather in those gray and turquoise clouds was annoyance toward their current predicament.

“What do you mean we don’t have a florist booked yet?” he repeated the dilemma she relayed to him merely moments ago. Hearing the agitation in his voice caused a nervous gulp to drop in her throat. She clutched her clipboard firmly in her arms to keep herself anchored in the wake of her boss’ growing frustration. However, she was still unsure how to continue as the words remained sealed in her mouth.

“Well?” Noticing his secretary’s lack of response, he pushed forward, hands leaning against the edge of his mahogany desk. The woman urged herself to endure the obstacles by first breathing through her nose before swallowing the lump in her throat, responding quickly.

“Um, Mr. Todoroki, sir, it seems all the florists on our list have all been booked for other events for the rest of the month,” she said, but mentally scolded herself when she heard herself sputter in such an unprofessional manner. Despite that, she prayed the explanation was enough to sate even a fraction of her boss’ inner turmoil.

Shouto approached her answer with silence before that foreseeable sigh left his lips, spilling with exasperation. He turned, his back facing the secretary, gaze lined to the windows gracing him with sunlight behind his desk. Stuck in contemplation, he pinched the bridge of his nose, mouth pursed in a firm line.

Where am I going to find a florist in time for this damn charity gala? He internally griped, closing his eyes as if that would help him uncover the solution to this untimely mess.

His esteemed company, Todoroki Enterprises, had arranged a plan to hold a widely anticipated charity gala by the end of this month. The event was conducted to raise funds for all manners of different charities that would vary in the level of grandeur on display. And given that the organizing for the event would be under his very name, Shouto had the critical responsibility of ensuring nothing but peak quality to those that would attend.

His staff had long procured the venue and were managing the layout of the gala. They sought out some suitable entertainment, booked catering, and scheduled for the charity auctions and raffles to take place throughout the night. What was still needed were the decorations, and right now that was where they hit their deadend with no florist currently reserved.

And here’s the real kicker: the gala was two weeks away.

Two. Weeks.

How he allowed for such errors to occur was beyond him at this point. All that really mattered was that he found a way to correct those mistakes and fast.

As much as Shouto figured he could skip past the flowers and substitute them with some other kind of flashy decorations, he already had a clear idea of how he wanted the gala to look. The floral arrangements would compliment the theme of the event exceedingly well. Turning back on the plan would be an insult to everyone’s prepared attire for the evening, with the dress code already sent out to all the distinguished guests invited to this grandiose ball. No doubt in his mind, he needed that florist, and needed them stat.

Sure on his resolution, he finally shifted to face his secretary. The anxious expression plastered on her face greeted him, and at that, Shouto bit his lip. His guilt surfaced for allowing his emotions to affect his workspace. He knew better than to take out his frivolous thoughts on his staff, who very well had no control over the situation. So he eased the atmosphere, attempting to lift the tension surrounding his office in the dreary gray of his temper.

“Nishiyama, I’m sorry for my behavior just now,” he apologized. The secretary, in turn, was taken aback, eyes widened. Her anxiety slowly whittled away as she scampered to return his kind gesture.

“Oh no, sir, it’s fine! I’m sure you were just feeling stressed hearing the news. I surely would be if I were in your shoes.”

“No, it’s not. I was acting childish despite how much you and everyone have done so far for the event,” Shouto said, “I should be thankful for your time, considering you also have a family to take care of at home.”

While the woman stared at him, abashed by his sincerity, Shouto swiveled his chair around to take a seat. A much-needed seat to be entirely honest. His secretary was not kidding about how the bad news seemed to harrow some stress in his body. But, being accustomed to having this weight pushed on his shoulders from the very moment he was announced the head of the company many years ago, he more than anticipated the stress to come with the job.

Shouto spared his secretary one last glance before his eyes darted down between the important papers sprawled on his desk. “If that’s all the news we needed to address today then you’re dismissed, Nishiyama. Carry on with the rest of the organizing as planned,” he ordered. Nishiyama lowered her clipboard to her hip.

“R-Right. Thank you, sir.” She parted his presence with a curt bow. Shouto picked up on her heels clicking toward his office door until they suddenly stopped altogether, looking back at the man midway. “What about the florist, sir?” she asked, concerned at the unresolved predicament lingering in the air. Her question wasn’t met with an immediate reply, but Shouto eventually gave her an answer he deemed adequate of a response. His words were coated with as much reassurance as he could muster in this situation.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it myself.”

.

.

The task was easier said than done.

Usually, when it came to booking a florist for special occasions like this, you’d want to contact them months ahead of the scheduled date to ensure maximum efficiency and work out any problems that should arise. But there were only two weeks left until the awaited charity gala.

Shouto was certainly pushing his luck at this point and to a dangerous degree. If he didn’t find someone to arrange the flowers for the ball soon, the venue might be absent of all life and mood, essentially flopping from missing such a key element. Shouto could not allow for that to happen.

Given his word, he took it in his hands to rectify this mistake. For the entirety of the day, he sifted through the aforementioned list of florists his secretary had provided him—extended thanks to his team’s desperate search for more options.

All he had to do was narrow down the lineup. Unfortunately, those efforts may as well have been all for naught.

“Hello, is this Himawari’s Garden? I’d like to speak with the head florist there about arranging the flowers for a gala my company has been planning—”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but we’re currently busy preparing for a big wedding coming up next week. If you’d like, I can try and book our services for you toward the next month or so when we’ll be available?”

Shouto’s brows tightened during the exchange—a gesture he’d been repeating as of late while he dwindled the line of florists. If he kept it up, those wrinkles might be embedded into his skin permanently. He was at least grateful he managed to thwart the heavy breath of air that threatened to leave his lips and reveal his frustration to the woman on the phone.

“No, that’s fine. Thank you for your time.” With that, he hung up.

Shouto leaned back in his seat in exasperation, his weight pressed into the cushions as his eyes situated themselves toward the ceiling. The consistent taps of his fingers on his mahogany desk were all he heard amidst his deep contemplation. His eyes lidded shut in an attempt to seek a moment of refuge from the stress, but his conscience began eating at him.

Of course, what was he thinking? The beginnings of spring to late autumns were the mark of wedding season—the time where florists and other businesses specializing in decorative arrangements thrived and busied themselves with eager clients. Not only that, but it was also the month of June. The sixth month of the year was undoubtedly the most popular month among couples to hold their weddings, and he had witnessed this fact firsthand through his myriad of fruitless phone calls.

Shouto had thoroughly wrung through his rope and teetered on the edge of complete defeat. He sealed down his most recent loss at the hand of another busy floral business by striking a line across Himawari’s Garden on his list. At that, the total tallied to thirty whole flower shops. Thirty unsuccessful attempts.

That sigh he contained during the phone call found its way out of his throat in dramatic waves of displeasure

“You alright, sir?”

His administrative assistant, Midoriya Izuku, heard his huffs when he entered the threshold of Shouto’s office. He noted his boss’ hunched posture and the rare crease crinkled between his nose bridge, pressed against his hands that were clenched together above his desk.

“I’m guessing the new list of florists was also a no-go?”

Shouto didn’t offer any words, instead sliding said list—now fully crossed out—toward his assistant as his reply. Craning his head for a better look, Midoriya feigned a smile, not wanting to let the man’s defeat consume the mood entirely.

“Well... I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised… Wedding season is upon us after all.”

Oh yes, Midoriya. Shouto knew that very well. So much so that he sunk further into his desk at the reminder, head practically drooped with a gloomy rain cloud hovering atop him. The green-haired assistant fervently shook his head back-and-forth upon realizing his remark had thrown salt into his wound. “Oh, I-I mean... Don’t worry, sir! I’m sure we’ll still be able to sort out this problem in time before the gala!” he sputtered to help alleviate the despair that crept in, but it came to no avail according to his boss’ silent sulky demeanor. That was when Midoriya remembered the two cups of hot coffee held in each of his hands.

“Ah, right, I made you some coffee! I figured you could use one considering you’ve been cooped up in your office all day.” Setting one in front of him, Shouto perked up at the nutty aroma that slowly slipped into his senses. He eyed the fresh cup of coffee tentatively, the steam flitting above it in wisps.

Lifting the cup, the rich smell wafted further into his nostrils, imbuing him with that familiar peace he usually reveled in. On any ordinary day, he’d be accompanied by his classic roasted blend perched on his desk, with no problems threatening to disturb his peaceful routine. Not anything like today. Not anything like this dilemma of a desperate time crunch for a florist.

Perhaps that was what he needed. A filter of caffeine to wash away the ordeal like it was a bad morning plaguing him with baggy under-eyes and fatigue from a previous day of hard work. Though he’s sure not even caffeine could erase the headaches he developed throughout his day so far. If anything, indulgence would just make those headaches worse.

Nonetheless, he welcomed the smooth blend of flavors that ebbed down his throat through modest sips, rejuvenation quickly oozing in his veins. Headaches or not, the stimulation from the caffeine was essential if he wanted to combat the rest of the day with some drive.

“Thanks, Midoriya. I needed that,” Shouto acknowledged. He nodded at his assistant, who rubbed the back of his head modestly, saying how it was no problem at all, but the way his boss suddenly got up from his seat interrupted his words.

Shouto already felt the strong coffee going to work as his steps picked up in long strides around his desk that had the assistant’s brows knitting together, confused. “Where are you going, sir?” Midoriya asked, his voice sounding more distant to Shouto, who continued his way past him and toward the door.

“A quick drive,” was the blatant answer he gave. He downed the last of the cup before tossing it in the trash bin near the exit of his office. “Something to clear my head a bit. I’ll be back soon, but until then, keep reaching out to any businesses that could potentially be available to help us.”

“Yes, of course, sir! You can count on me!” Midoriya was prompt in replying. As expected, being Shouto’s right-hand man at the company.

With that, Shouto took to the parking lot below his building, twirling his keys over his index finger before hopping into his Mercedes and driving off.

The withering sunlight cast its glare over his car during his ride through the city. By now, the skies splayed vibrant red as the sun gandered above the horizon. He drove down the narrow and busy streets that kept the place bustling at these hours. It was likely the time when people finished up their workday and were eager to arrive home for much-needed rest.

During a particularly long wait at a red traffic light, he pondered over his predicament again. His thumb rapped against the steering wheel while he bit his bottom lip, that ugly feeling of regret seeping into his thoughts.

Maybe he placed too much faith in these flowers after all. Sure, he mentioned the vital role they played in aligning with the theme and complimenting the guests’ attires. But was it worth all the trouble he put his team through, searching through a throng of businesses already busy with their own events to organize? In a way, this could’ve been sorted out had he recognized the current times and planned accordingly to avoid the mess. But now they were trapped in this bind, crunching for anyone that could help them within only fourteen short days.

Just as he weighed the idea of calling Midoriya over the bluetooth in his car to drop the floral arrangements altogether, something caught his eye at the last second.

Shouto peered through his window, squinting at the corner, where he spotted a cart of flowers in front of a shop of some sort. His grip tightened around the leather of his steering wheel as he leaned in for a better look. Some kind of spark in him roused his anticipation the more he shifted forward in his seat, like the hope that was slowly fading inside was igniting once again.

Another inch further and he attained a better look of the shop. Its sign came into view just below the small boundary of his window—letters brushed in calligraphy on a long board of canvas with lilies painted on the edges that seamed together into a bouquet.

N… Neigh… Neighborhood Lily.

He deciphered the words, but didn’t give them much thought. All that enveloped his mind afterward was the fact the name wasn’t any of the list of thirty shops he phoned today. So the very moment the light overhead flickered to green, Shouto’s hold on the wheel tightened. His foot gradually stepped on the pedal with much more purpose.

He decided to take a brief detour from this casual little drive of his.

.

.

It was about six o’clock when you waved off your latest customer, who was leaving the shop with a basket of vibrant tulips swinging on their arm. The smile on their face was an adamant indication they were more than happy with their time here, something you always delighted in, being very passionate about your job as a florist.

“Thank you, and please come again!” The bell overhead gave a gracious chime at the customer’s departure.

With them gone, you drew your attention back to the flowers laid out on the small wooden table in the corner of the shop. Before the customer came in, you were at work arranging and crafting the blossoms you purchased from the flower market that morning into bouquets.

You’d be closing in about an hour and thirty minutes or so, but for now, you basked in the silence and the calming aroma of the flowers that surrounded you while you continued your work. A modest hum naturally sang past your lips and soothed its way into the shop that was devoid of all souls except yourself.

“Hm, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” You made some small talk with the rose in your hand. It was a habit of yours to spill a few words out within your own little world, imagining the flowers were keeping you company whenever you were alone.

“And there, now you all look even prettier.” An adoring smile embellished your lips as you finished off another bouquet by tying it with a silk ribbon. Looking over the bundle one more time, you thoroughly admired the shades of pinks and reds that complimented each other in the ensemble.

Then two more bouquets down, and you already made a good amount of progress. You figured that if you kept up the pace, you’d likely finish the rest of the batch and have them ready for display tomorrow. But just as you clasped three more flowers in your hand, the bell atop the door chimed, alerting you to a new patron.

You nicked off a thorn from one of the stems before turning around and giving your attention to the visitor. When your eyes found their way to the shop’s entrance, you were surprised to meet a man of slicked white and red hair. The few strands that found their way out of the gel must have been tussled from a long day of work considering the fatigue plain on his handsome face.

Despite the few wrinkles here and there, his attire was still surprisingly pristine. He wore a simple yet compelling suit, the fit seeming tailored to the contours of his body that rendered you a tad speechless at how good he looked just standing there. The sight almost made you feel underdressed.

You hadn’t realized you were staring for longer than you deemed appropriate. You couldn’t help it, being that the stranger was a stark contrast to the regular customers you were used to. The fanciest you’ve encountered since you opened your shop were the young boys that rushed in with nicely fitted tops and jeans, frantically inquiring about what kinds of flowers were right to give to a girl for a date they had later that day. Not anything like attractive businessmen in immaculate suits and shining silver wristwatches that surely cost more than all the flowers you tended here.

Noticing you were gawking, you blinked thrice to knock yourself out of your trance and properly greet the man.

“H-Hello, welcome to Neighborhood Lily,” you said, mustering the politest tone you could give to make up for the awkward moment of wordless eye contact. You must have kept your eyes on him for what felt like a good five minutes at least. The man, in turn, acknowledged you with a small grin, much to your relief.

“How may I help you this evening?”

“I’m…” he hesitated, seeming wary of how he wanted to go about his next choice of words, “just looking for now,” he decided.

Not paying much mind to his hesitation, you nodded. “Oh, well, if you have any questions or need any help on anything, please let me know. I’ll just be around the corner!”

Allowing him to go about his business, you returned to your table of flowers and oversaw the blossoms again. However, it was difficult for you to busy yourself with the task at hand. The mere thought of the other presence in the shop was enough to hammer you out of your concentration.

He was already a compelling figure on his own, what with his good-looks accompanied by his classy ensemble that felt more than out of place here. But what you were especially curious about was what business he had at a humble flower shop like yours during this hour.

That curiosity led your eyes straying to the side, where you peeped the man walking through the small aisle of flowers. He examined the bouquets and vases on display, even showing interest in the more decorative pieces hung in pots from the ceiling.

You tried to determine what his motives were. He was showing some considerable intrigue at your arrangements, though perhaps it was pure admiration for your work, and you were letting your self-consciousness get to you.

Well, spying would just get you nowhere, you thought. One way or another, he’d answer your curiosity by either coming to you directly or leave the shop altogether. You had to admit you hoped more for the former.

Until then, you tore your gaze away and resumed gathering flowers in your hands. You assessed their compatibility with one another while you fiddled around with their placement in the bouquet. The white lilies and the blue lilacs went very well, along with another set of light violet lilacs you couldn’t help but string into the bundle. As a result, the beautiful balance of cool tones made for an exceptional well-made bouquet. You finished the piece with a matching white satin ribbon and then let the arranged flowers thrive inside a glass vase.

“Those are very pretty.”

Startled at the voice, you whipped your head around, hands braced behind you against the edge of the wooden table. Your untimely lack of words were a result from realizing the owner of the voice was closer than you anticipated.

The businessman went from lingering around the aisle of flowers in the middle of the shop, to appearing in your proximity.

“E-Excuse me?” you asked, wondering if you heard correctly to which he pointed at the bouquets laid finished on the table. “In fact, all the flowers here are exceptionally beautiful.” He gestured to the entirety of the shop. His eyes quickly roamed across all the decorative flourishes before they came back to you.

“You do excellent work here in your shop.”

Words coming from a man like him made you bashful. You subconsciously played with the hem of your apron, eyes drifting to anywhere but his face at the compliment. However, the sliver of heat fluttering to your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Oh, um, thank you. It’s nothing really, I’ve been arranging flowers for quite some time while at the last floristry I worked for so I have a fair amount of experience.”

After another second of fiddling with the fabric, your hands ended up falling to your sides. You sauntered toward one of the flower vases that were already set on display, dawdling around the conversation. His eyes followed you, watching you nurture the blossoms. “I opened this flower shop of mine just recently actually. Been getting a decent amount of business here and there, but I’m just glad that the people who’ve visited so far like my work,” you told him, twirling a strand of your hair. The pads of your other hand brushed against the soft, abundant petals of a yellow chrysanthemum.

The man observed your actions, analyzing your face. He distinguished the devotion hidden in your eyes as you looked upon the flower with a luster. Despite your humble character, it was more than clear to him you were very passionate about what you did, relishing in the ambiance and admiring the modest appearance of this little shop of yours, covered in the wonderful aroma of flowers.

You didn’t detect that deep breath of air he earnestly drew in as he stepped closer. So close that his proximity broke your stupor to meet his rigid expression.

“How would you feel about an… opportunity to let more of your work be known?”

“An opportunity?” you echoed. “Wait… do you maybe have a wed—”

“No,” he interjected, so abruptly that you couldn’t help but quirk a brow. Catching himself, he took a moment to clear his throat, mindful of his behavior. “I mean, it’s not a wedding. Rather, a charity gala that my company has been planning for some time.”

“A gala?” Your mouth worked faster than your mind, accidentally blurting out your thoughts. The astonishment was evident in your tone; it made the man question your reaction by leaning in.

“Yes, a gala,” he said again like you didn’t just hear his words from a foot away, without even realizing the lengths behind his baffling offer. “Is there something wrong about that?”

“N-No. It just wasn’t the kind of opportunity I expected it to be is all… A gala…” Your voice hushed around the utter of “gala”.

What the man presented so blatantly was unexpected to your ears. Galas meant a pompous party full of people decked in lavish attires, drinking quality champagne from tulip glasses. Sizing up the man again, you could only imagine this gala would only include the most important and wealthiest people in attendance.

You had to ask something, “Um, about this gala... How many people will be there?”

“Maybe about... five hundred or so? I’ll have to check in with my assistant to confirm the full count again.” He shrugged nonchalantly and yet on your end, hearing the number almost reduced your head to a dizzy mess.

Five hundred guests? It was a number you couldn’t fathom. You hadn’t even been booked for an occasion as ordinary as a baby shower, but this man wanted you to arrange flowers for his big charity gala?

As oddly enticing of a job it was to you, there had to be anyone else more experienced and capable for this.

“Sir, I’m not su—”

“The pay, of course, will be more than generous, and I’ll even provide you funding for any necessary materials for this project,” he chimed in before you could voice your protest. It was then that you began to distinguish something laced in his voice and exhibited on his face.

Desperation.

This man seemed desperate for some reason.

“May I ask when the event will take place?” Your arms crossed against your chest. A gulp formed in his throat at the question, unsure if he wanted to unveil the news or risk scaring you off. Either way, if you were working for him, you’d learn eventually. A sigh came out.

“Two weeks,” he answered.

Oh yeah, that explained it. It also answered any questions you had over the tension rigid in his shoulders. At this point, you were bound to join him in his stress because, goddamn, organizing a whole assembly of flowers for a grand ball within fourteen days? The idea was beyond daunting.

While you reflected on the intimidating pieces of information, he was gauging your reaction. Would you say yes? No? Laugh at the idea that he thought he could find a florist to work for him at such late notice? There were a slew of uncertainties twisting in his head—an act unbecoming of him, but you were his last hope. Whatever you responded with next would either be the nail in his coffin or the wings that made him soar.

You would be treading on uncharted waters at a chance like this, having never sailed anywhere beyond your little island of floristry where people came and went with your humble little arrangements. But you also thought of this as a daring opportunity to find new land. See what the world had in store for you outside of selling the general bouquets and vases you had on display. Plus, when would a chance like this ever come up again?

Though it meant encountering difficulties along the way, taking on such a big challenge right off the bat, you figured you’d be able to keep your boat afloat. You were also sure the journey toward bigger regions would be worth the struggle in the end.

“So do you have your answer?” he pressed forward when your silence became unbearable to his nerves. He thanked the fact that his voice managed to sound steady enough not to give himself away. Your arms remained crossed in front of you, your hand coming beneath your chin the only sign that you were taking his offer to heart. It kept the flickering flames of hope blazing inside him.

“I just want to ask you something,” you replied. He nodded, allowing you to continue.

“I know you’re under pressure with this gala coming up in only two weeks,” you began. Your arms unraveled, and your fingers ran to your apron again. You formed the next bit of words with uncertainty, “but are you sure I’m the right person for this job? I mean, I don’t have much to offer you in terms of skill other than what I have here.” You nudged at the range of your shop, plain as can be though with a generous amount of flourishes on display. Yet nothing you thought special enough to be graced by him and his grand proposal that evening.

“I just don’t want you to regret your decision.”

There was a pause of silence after that. The man seemed to give your words some thought—a quick reflection on the situation. You couldn’t decipher much in his face, but you happened to take some time to admire how pretty his eyes were. The individual blue and gray shades were mesmerizing to you, resembling glaciers glittering beneath the moon high in the north. Another detail you jotted in his long list of attractive features. Before you could marvel at them any further, he whisked your thoughts back to earth with his response.

“It’s true that I’m coming to you because I’m in need,” he admitted, hands slowly closing into fists like he was reluctant to confess this, “but from what I can see, I genuinely think you’re more than capable for this job. So yes, I’m very sure I won’t regret this decision.”

It was clear to you that he was sure on his stance. But to reinforce his statement, he bent his head low into a bow, weight added to his next words.

“Please be the florist for our gala.”

The gesture briefly overwhelmed you, not something you were expecting, but you managed to acknowledge it by returning the bow.

“I’ll be in your care then.”

With all things said, you were soon tidying up the exchange and trading business cards. Yours was a standard card with your number, name, and business attached with a picture of a lily printed across the paper. His, a premium slip of stainless steel engraved with his information and then some, the fancy card reflecting off the lights hanging from the ceiling. You read the name etched in ebony black over the gray material.

Todoroki Shouto — CEO

“You’ll likely receive a call from either one of my assistants or me within the next day or so about when to meet up to plan for the arrangements.” Shouto’s voice brought your head up from the card, where you watched him glide toward the door.

“R-Right, I’ll leave my cell on,” you stuttered. The fact that this whole exchange had just transpired was still kicking in for you.

Shouto nodded, extending a wave out that you mirrored while he opened the door to the shop, the bell chiming above him.

“I’ll see you then.”

After that, the resonating tinkles of the bell were the last you heard.

You stared at the entrance aimlessly, mouth gradually gaping open at the mere prospect that you were really about to arrange your flowers for a grand charity gala in two weeks!

A mixture of elation and jitters erupted in your body all at once, uncontained as you whipped your head around and strode across your shop in giddy steps. Your eyes lit up at the steel card gripped between your fingers, clenched so tightly like you were worried the card would turn to dust when you woke up from this dream. But at the wide smile that bloomed on your lips, you knew that this was reality. This man, Todoroki Shouto, was giving you the opportunity to have your true potential shown at this big gala.

Meanwhile, on his way back to his Mercedes, Shouto was clicking open his phone. The screen beamed at him in the low light of the evening turning to night while he punched a number from his contacts list. It took only the cusp of the second ring for the person on the other line to pick up his call.

“Midoriya, call off the search,” Shouto commanded into his phone. He rested his back on the door of his car, leaning against it with his phone still attached to his ear. His gaze found its way back to the flower shop he had just departed, eyeing the light emitting from the windows to the sign hanging above them. Grinning, he took in the sight of the flowers dancing in the wind around the shop’s vicinity before finding your silhouette standing in the benevolent light inside.

“We have our florist.”

#bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha imagine #todoroki shouto x reader #mha x reader #bnha fic #todoroki fic #todoroki imagine

[fandomwriterstuff]

Rewind

Rick Flag x you

Rated T

~6.5k words (I could not turn it into chapters, it didn't work out right)

Warnings: canon typical violence

I highly recommend listening to this song because it is very epic and I listened to it while I wrote the dramatic end scene.

You were a petty thief, a modern Robin Hood; you stole from the one percent to gave to the needy. And you know what? More often than not, the one percenters never even noticed. And every time you got caught you used your powers to get out of the situation. However, you knew a day was coming when you wouldn’t be able to get out of a nasty situation. A feeling of dread was filling up your nightmares and seeping into your waking life. You were filled with anxiety that your next job would be your last. Of course, it was never an issue with your powers. That is, until it became an issue.

You were doing a job in Gotham, a shitty city if you did say so yourself. Nothing like the country home you grew up in. You knew the ins and outs of the city bank. You knew the guard schedules, you knew the camera angles, you knew the passcodes, you knew which day your target would be inside. Bruce Wayne. Local billionaire who wasted his time and money hosting galas for the rich and famous. You loathed the idea of him. He wouldn’t notice a couple million getting lost in the shuffle. You knew everything that Gotham City Bank had to offer. But what you didn’t know would get you caught and sent to a metahuman prison. What you didn’t know was why you’d been feeling the dread of this job creep up on you for weeks. You had a bad feeling about it, more than the rest. So when you walked in, in disguise, you thought nothing of the exhaustion and weakness that filled your body.

You’d barely slept the night before, so it was normal. And this wasn’t a cash job, it was all wire transfers. But Wayne had to be there for the biometrics to work. Unfortunately, he knew all about your little job. He knew and he had you caught. You were confused, at first, when all you saw when you walked in was an empty bank. It was just the tellers looking at you nervously, but there was a swish behind you and you whipped around, military training coming back to you from your brief time in the army as you took a fighting stance to see… the Batman?

“The Masked Marauder,” he mocked you in his autotuned voice. You scoffed, two could play at that game. You were posing as a man today, trying to throw the trail off of yourself. You turned on your voice modulator and laughed haughtily at him.

“The Batman. Fancy seeing you here,” you were unsure as to how Batman was involved with Wayne Enterprises, but you had no doubt he was there for you.

“Feeling a little weak yet? I can see you straining,” you were on guard as he approached you, coming close enough that you could see the stubble on his chin. If you could turn him around so you were closer to the doors you could use your powers to get out of there and make a quick escape. It was easier to change your own position with your powers and not an entire scene, but you could do it if need be.

But he was onto something. You did feel weak. You were tired, your limbs heavy.

“What did you do to me?” You asked, shifting on your feet but trying to keep the charade up. You were masked and cloaked, but he had a nerve-wracking effect on you.

“It’s new technology. Power blockers at every entrance. You’re powerless inside this place,” at his words you backed up, falling weakly towards the ground as your powers were seeping out of you. You tried to use them to get out of this situation, breath shaking and palms sweaty as the seriousness of the situation dawned on you. You were well and truly screwed.

It was only moments before the GCPD came and fixed you with a power-blocking collar, chaining you up in an armored vehicle and sending you on a long trip to Louisiana. You had no next of kin to notify, no friends to take care of your apartment. You were alone.

Belle Reve was a hell of a place. You were brought in under the cover of nightfall and were only given a brief explanation of the situation. You were in a metahuman prison. You had less rights than normal humans. You were being tried for multiple robberies and the associated injuries that people had gained when fighting back against you. You’d never killed anyone, not since the army, but it didn’t matter. The crimes had stacked up. You were looking at forty years in this place.

When they threw you into the cell you were going to stay in, you were relieved to see there was only one bed and it wasn’t occupied. Solitude, at least, was your friend. You could think. You’d have thought it would be less time in prison since you hadn’t killed anybody, but it didn’t seem like it mattered. You shrugged to yourself. It’s not that you had issues killing people, you were in a special metahuman unit in the army before you became the Masked Marauder. You had a different codename then, but working with them had made you a little crazy. You had to see your close friends and colleagues treated with less respect than dirt because of their metahuman status, and you had to see most of them killed in action. You barely made it out, and you came out with a raging hard on for disrespecting authority figures.

You were only in Belle Reve for six days before you met Harley Quinn.

“Live fast, die hard, baby. You gotta do what you gotta do,” was something you heard a lot out of her smirking mouth. If you were in another life, you’d have been instantly attracted to the beautiful blonde, but you had enough crazy in you to not want any more on your plate. Despite the lack of romance between the two of you, you still got close. “As thick as thieves,” Harley would say with a wry twist to her mouth. She loved puns.

“Chronos?” You whipped your head around at the sound of your military nickname. “What the fuck are you doing here you little slut?” Your eyes widened as you recognized one of your previous teammates. Another bad egg, turned away from the army and towards a life of crime.

“Who’s Chronos?” Harley frowned next to you at the lunch table you were at, she hated not knowing things.

“That’s what they used to call me,” you whispered, standing and facing the other woman. You were small in stature, and the Amazon-like woman towered over you.

“Annie,” you knew she hated being called by her real name. She was one of the cocky ones, thinking metahumans were better than regular old humans.

“You’re wrong,” another voice called. “Chronos is a dude,” that came from Blackguard, a weirdo that you were avoiding. You avoided most people, really.

“Chronos is not a dude,” Annie growled, suddenly looking at the smaller man. “You calling me a liar?”

“I think it’s time for us to get out of here,” Harley dug her fingers into your bicep and pulled you towards the rec yard.

“What’s up with you? You normally love people watching the fights,” you wondered, concerned when Harley passed her favorite guard without saying hi. (It was Colonel Flag, the fucking hottest guard at Belle Reve who you’d definitely formed a crush on. You couldn’t help it, he was compassionate and he didn’t spit on you or throw you around or humiliate you like the other guards.)

“You didn’t tell me you had a super secret past with a cool nickname,” she whisper-shouted when you got to a bench and she could slap you on the arm.

“It didn’t come up,” you shrugged sheepishly.

“What does Chronos even mean?” She asked and you were going to explain, but Colonel Flag sat down at the bench across from you with a warm smile.

“Harley, Y/N, just the two people I wanted to talk to,” he then raised an eyebrow at the bruising grip Harley had on your arm. She let go and he frowned at the angry half moon marks her nails had left there.

“Not now, Ricky,” Harley pouted. “Y/N’s been holding out on me! She has a cool secret life and never told me about it!”

“I doubt you ever asked,” he followed up in a deadpan way and you stifled a chuckle. It was true. She could be forgetful and also unobservant. She didn’t exactly ask you about your life a lot. You thought it might be an act, she did have a PhD, after all.

“She even has a cool nickname. What does Chronos even mean?” She asked again, but side-eyed Colonel Flag when he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Chronos? I thought they called you the Masked Marauder. You’re in here for theft.”

“They must not tell you all the deets,” you raised your eyebrows at the man. “Before I was a criminal I was a part of an elite army group of metahumans. But that went to shit and I’m considered a war criminal in several countries. Never got the pardon for working as a part of the US military because they wanted to keep my unit under wraps,” you frowned. You couldn’t ever leave the country because of it.

“Well you’re not going to like the proposal I have for you, then,” he looked like he was regretting coming over to you and you threw a smile on your face.

“What do you need, Colonel?” You asked, tilting your head, but Harley was bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Oh! Task Force X? Is it a new mission?” She looked so excited you nearly didn’t listen to her words. But you did.

“Task Force X?” You asked him, narrowing his eyes. Maybe that’s why he was so nice to you all this time. He was buttering you up. “I don’t think so. I’m not dying today.”

“You get ten years off of your sentence for every mission you do-” You cut him off.

“You had me at ‘ten years off of your sentence.’ Say no more. I’m in,” you grinned, shark-like, at him. He had the wherewithal to not look confused at your sudden change of heart.

“It’s always fun, like weeding out the weak!” Harley exclaimed as you were ushered out of the briefing with Amanda Waller, a woman who terrified you and chilled you to your core. You felt okay though because Rick was going to be your commanding officer. It had been three weeks since your conversation with him outside in the rec area. Three weeks and your relationship had shifted just enough to make you feel safe in his capable hands. If it wasn’t the genuine human respect he gave you, or the dirty looks and reprimands he gave the guards who manhandled and mistreated you, it was the lingering fingers brushing against your back when he led you places and the warm smile he had just for you.

“Flag,” you smiled softly as you passed him on the plane.

“Chronos,” he smiled back. You knew it was commonplace to call each other by their names (Bloodsport, Blackguard, Chronos, etc), but you felt a twinge of fear. This was your first time using that codename on a real life mission since you left the army. But, when Rick came up with a fancy electronic screwdriver and unhooked your power-dampening collar, you felt such a high. You were ecstatic, your limbs felt light, you felt like you could go a million rounds against Mayweather, you wanted to fuck-

“Am I missing something? Isn’t Chronos a dude?” Blackguard asked, again, and you scowled.

“Chronos is a myth, man. This is clearly just someone with the same name, right?” Boomer nodded towards you and you gave him a tight grin. But before you could respond, Rick did.

“She’s definitely Chronos, and you better hope her powers aren’t mythical,” you grinned at that. He had your back. However, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to save them all if it all went to shit. For several reasons.

You hadn’t used your powers since arriving at Belle Reve, so you didn’t know if you were at 100%

You only had certain amount of power over large situations, so you’d likely only be able to save yourself and a few others

You didn’t care enough about these fuckers and they didn’t care about you. Your priority was to get out alive with Rick and Harley

That’s when Harley made her first appearance to the team. She was apparently good friends with Boomer and you mentally added him to your list to keep alive.

After you set off, things happened quickly for you. You made eye contact with Rick (yes, you were mentally calling him Rick now, because you wanted to fucking date the shit out of him), and made small talk with Harley as Blackguard freaked out about Weasel. But when you dropped and made your way to shore, you stuck close to Rick. He had your back and you had his.

As it turned out, Blackguard had set you all up, giving your location to the enemy and getting his face blown off for his efforts. You watched as your elite team of killers was picked off one by one. Harley had run off and you were panicking that you didn’t have an eye on her. You needed her to get out of this alive.

“Follow me!” Rick shouted, nodding his head towards his intended destination - the forest.

“But Harley and Boomer are-” you shut your mouth as Mongal’s actions finally took their toll on Boomer. But maybe you could fix it, if you could use your powers-

“No, we have to get out of here, or we’re next,” Rick grasped at your arm and dragged you into a full out sprint towards the forest, gunshots echoing behind you. You slapped his hand away once you were deep in the forest, though the sky was darkening you cut your eyes to his.

“Harley is all I have,” you spat.

“She’s my friend too, you know,” he frowned. You’d never used that tone on him before. “She can handle herself,” as much as you were loath to admit it, he was right. She was crazy but she could get out of nearly any situation. You sighed and bent over, hands on your knees as you calmed your breathing.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” you muttered, but you gasped when a sudden pain shot through your right bicep.

“That was a warning shot,” you heard a voice call out in accented English.

“A warning shot?” Rick shouted as he crossed over to you, pulling you close to him and inspecting the wound. It went straight through, but it was bleeding badly. “Warning shots are supposed to be in the ground, not at people,” he spat, considering running but you were in too much pain and losing too much blood. “Don’t use your powers in front of them,” his lips brushed against your ear and you nodded imperceptibly. You wouldn’t want to show your hand.

“Take the colonel,” a woman’s voice called and you glanced at him, wide eyed as they dragged him off of you.

“Hey, hey!” He shouted, reaching out as you fell to your knees, putting pressure on your wound. If you could stifle the bleeding until they left you alone you could use your powers to fix it.

“Leave the girl,” the voice passed by you and you stared at Rick, panicking but unable to stop them as three men held him back and dragged him away. You couldn’t help but think this was the worst case scenario. The enemy was taking your leader but you had lost too much blood to put up a fight.

As the rest of the enemies passed you, you sat back on your heels, but one of them roughly bumped into you, making you lose your grip on your arm. The blood flow was back at full force and the world turned black around the edges. You were alone. You put your left hand face up in front of you, and your right hand an inch above it face down. Your hands were parallel to each other and you tried to gather your strength to use your powers, but you couldn’t. You hadn’t used them in so long and you had lost a lot of blood. The last thought you had before you lost consciousness was of Rick’s panicking face.

You awoke to gentle hands cleaning your wound with what you assumed was water and opened your eyes when you felt a tight bandage wrapping around your arm. It was a young girl, younger than you.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” she smiled softly.

“She’s awake?” A gruff voice came from behind you and you craned your neck to see a team of people behind you.

“Let’s get going then” another man said. “You patched her up, she can go on her own from here.”

“Who are you?” You asked the girl.

“We’re the Suicide Squad,” the dark skinned man growled. “Here to collect our Colonel.”

“No,” you sat up, quietly thanking the girl for patching you up. “I’m a part of the Suicide Squad,” you squinted in the early morning darkness. Was that… DuBois?

“Bloodsport?” You asked cautiously. Were these all other prisoners from Belle Reve?

“Who are you?” The guy in red and white asked you… Was that Peacemaker?

“They call me Chronos, but you might know me as the Masked Marauder,” you spoke cautiously.

“The thief? Why would they have a thief on a mission like this?” Peacemaker asked and you shrugged.

“My powers are useful for other things.”

“Chronos is a myth though, right?” A smaller man walked over to you, in a suit you didn’t recognize.

You shook your head. But that wasn’t the point, you had picked up on something DuBois had said.

“You’re looking for the Colonel?” You stood and approached the group, which apparently included a shark man.

“Yup, Colonel Flag was taken by enemies and is alive at their camp. He is our first mission,” DuBois spoke and you nodded.

“I’m coming with you. Colonel Flag helped me get out of the bloodbath at the beach. The enemy camp people shot me and took him away,” you frowned at the thought and the girl - Ratcatcher 2, she had specified - gasped.

“Why didn’t they take you, too?” She asked.

“I think they knew I wasn’t important. They noticed immediately that Flag was a military officer and took him away.” Likely to be tortured, you thought to yourself but didn’t say aloud.

“Well, let’s get going then,” Peacemaker said brightly and the group of you made your way to the enemy camp. You were lost in your thoughts on the way there. You weren’t sure whether or not you would kill anybody. Maybe hurt them or knock them out. You hadn’t killed since your time with the military. But they’d taken Rick and left you for dead. So you had very little qualms hurting them.

Turns out, it didn’t matter. Bloodsport and Peacemaker made what was almost a competition out of who could kill the most people in the sneakiest ways, but it got bloodier and bloodier as the rest of you approached the glowing tent. You heard laughter and glanced in, borrowed gun pointed in as you parted the flaps of the tent. But you immediately put your gun down. Rick was shirtless and all patched up, laughing with a woman who you’d seen the dark of the night before. You couldn’t help the rising feeling of jealousy, you’d never have that with Rick. The easy jokes, the equal ground. You were a prisoner, and you would likely die as one. But you couldn’t help the breathy “Rick,” that came out of your mouth when you realized that he was okay, and he wasn’t being tortured by enemies. He snapped his head over to you and stood.

“You’re okay,” he made his way over to you in three long strides, as if he couldn’t wait to be near you, and your heart swelled at the thought.

“So are you,” you whispered, and took a moment to look him over and let your body sag a little. You’d been so worked up that you had barely felt the pain of your wound.

“I didn’t know you were important to each other, I wouldn’t have let them shoot you,” the woman sort of apologized with a half smile and stood. “Let me get you something for the pain.”

It was then that she noticed the very silent camp, commented on it, and that’s when you looked down at your feet. Whoops, you’d let Bloodsport and Peacemaker kill an entire camp of rebels. People who were technically on your side. Waller had given you bad information.

Rick brushed a hand down your good arm and gently held you, pressing his thumb into your elbow as if making sure you were okay, that your pulse was strong.

“I was so worried,” he muttered, and you were sure only you heard it.

“So was I,” you looked up into his eyes, and if there wasn’t an audience, you would have kissed him then and there. Alas, you had another mission. Well, two. The first was to get the Thinker. The second one was to get Harley, and that was a plan you were ready for. You were down to clown, as Harley might say. As long as you had Rick by your side, you could do anything you set your minds to.

The Thinker would be frequenting one of his favorite bars, and as you left the shark dude in the bus you felt yourself relaxing a little upon entry. You knew bars. You knew how to blend in. You glanced over your shoulder, you couldn’t say the same for your teammates. So, you slinked away and found your way to the bar. The leader of the rebel camp provided you with a pair of stretchy black skinny jeans and a MCR band t-shirt. You’d fought harder battles in more confined clothing, so this wasn’t too bad.

“Una cerveza, por favor,” you spoke fluently. You grew up in the country, but your family was affluent and taught you several languages so that you could travel safely and easily.

The bartender smiled and grabbed you a bottle, and you watched the team gather around a table. They stuck out horribly, and you shook your head. Maybe with a few drinks in them they would loosen up, you watched as Peacemaker ordered drinks and nursed your own. You used to like drinking with friends, but other than Rick (and the missing Harley) you didn’t consider these people your friends. You had a tentative relationship with the Ratcatcher 2, and you were beginning to begrudgingly like Bloodsport. But, Polka-Dot Man freaked you out, Nanaue had the English understanding of a kindergartener, and Peacemaker was a dick.

“You going to join the team?” You failed to notice Rick coming over to you, and rolled your eyes, taking a sip as you mulled over your answer.

“Only if they start looking more interesting. You look like a bunch of tourists. I’d like to gather intel,” you scrunched up your nose at Rick and sipped at your beer.

“Yeah, you really look like you’re gathering intel, darlin’,” it was Rick’s turn to roll his eyes. “Sitting here, sipping on a beer and staring at us.”

You scoffed. How dare he call you out. But it was true, you were busy judging the team to actually get any good information.

“Fine, I’ll join you,” you swigged the last of your beer and glanced at the bartender. “¡Uno más!” You exclaimed, and the man smiled at you before grabbing you another ice cold bottle.

“You speak Spanish?” Rick raised an eyebrow at you.

“I speak a lot of languages,” you shrugged and took a swig of the drink before making your way to the now empty table. It seemed like your compatriots decided to go dancing. That left you with Rick.

“Oh yeah, and how did you come to know so many?” He seemed genuinely interested, though you were hesitant to talk about your past.

“My parents were diplomats and wanted me to be able to travel with them, so they had me learn Spanish, French, German, and Russian by the best tutors money could offer,” you shrugged, sort of stilted, at his curious glance.

“And I thought you were a thief because you were poor,” he shook his head with a smile. “Waller has very little info on you so I wasn’t sure.”

“My parents were cruel, and utilized their money to help bad people get into power,” you looked down at your lap. “I resent the things they taught me. And I tried my best to right the wrongs that people like them did.”

Rick sobered up and placed a hand on your arm.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he frowned and brushed his thumb over your skin. “I knew a little bit about your thievery and who you robbed and why, but it makes sense now. You were trying to help. I get it,” he sighed and took a sip of his drink while you downed yours. You hated talking about your family. You wanted to move on to something else. Anything else.

“I don’t want to talk about me anymore,” you sighed, brushing your hair out of your face and looking up into those beautiful eyes.

“What would you like to talk about then?” he whispered, not willing to break the reverie you were in. You were close, closer than you should be.

“I want to talk about you, Colonel,” you smirked and placed a delicate hand on his thigh. He dragged his eyes from that hand slowly up to your face.

“What do you wanna know, beautiful?” He smirked and blinked those pretty eyes at you. You’d both had too much to drink. It was a little scary making the first move, but you found him incredibly attractive and you were 99% sure he returned your feelings.

“I want to know,” you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear. “What those lips would feel like against mine,” you wondered aloud, and his sharp inhale was all you had to go on before a gentle hand was turning your face to his. The kiss was gentle, tentative even, but that’s not what you wanted. You wanted everything that Rick Flag could give you and you tightened your grip on his thigh, hoping to convey your thoughts, when everything went to shit. Peacemaker jerked Rick away from you and Cleo pulled you towards a darkened corner of the room.

“They’re asking for IDs,” she hissed, pulling you towards where you saw Abner had the Thinker.

“But what about-” she shushed you as you glanced back, making strained eye contact with Rick. Maybe you could use your powers to get out of this. But… You looked at the Thinker. This was the mission. You looked back at Rick. Would you get your brains blown out to save him?

You made your way to the exit, finding your way to the van and getting out of there. You were only vaguely paying attention while you were in pursuit of the truck holding your … friends? You panicked for a moment when it crashed, and when you pulled to a stop you sprinted out of the van and over to the fiery wreckage, thoughts racing about what could have happened to Rick when he, Bloodsport, and Peacemaker burst through the doors like some sort of boy band.

You couldn’t care less though as you threw yourself into his surprised arms and pressed your lips to his.

“That was stressful and I didn’t like it,” you muttered against his lips, barely noticing Bloodsport rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Rick smiled and pulled away to look down at you. “This is pretty nice.”

You scoffed and grabbed at his hand, not willing to let go just yet, and dragged him to your vehicle.

“Shut it,” you muttered as you all gathered. All he responded with was a light chuckle.

Your next mission was saving Harley, but as it turned out, she was no damsel. You were on your way into the place she was being held when she walked down the street towards you.

“Hey, guys! Whatcha doin?” She was smiling brightly and you rolled your eyes at the situation before hugging her.

“We’re here to save you, obviously,” you muttered and she looked from you over your shoulder to Rick.

“You came back for me?” She whispered and Rick came over to you, Bloodsport rolling his eyes in the background.

“Yeah, it was a really good plan, too,” Rick muttered, but still hugged back when Harley threw herself into his arms.

“Well I can go back in and let you save me,” she offered and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not necessary, Harley. Now that we have you we can get back to the mission,” you patted her on the back and nodded to the rest of your team.

Now, you could say that you acted heroically and saved the day, but you and your ragtag team… You were amateur heroes. It was a shitshow. You were setting up explosives with Nanaue when you had that bad feeling again. The one you had when you were going into that bank in Gotham. Maybe it was your intuition, but you knew some shit was about to go down.

“Keep at it!” You shouted at the King Shark and raced your way down the stairs to where Peacemaker and Rick were headed. If you remembered their part of the plan correctly, they were with the Thinker, but something went wrong when you were about halfway down.

“Fuck!” You shouted as you heard a great BOOM. They’d set off the explosives too early. Maybe you should have stayed… You looked up at the dust coming down from above. Your brain was telling you to get out before the building collapsed on you, but your gut was telling you to make it to Rick.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you chanted as you raced down the stairwell, crumbling concrete raining down as you danced around to avoid it. Your stomach cramped in warning, and you crouched into a ball as the floor beneath you gave out and you fell several floors. When your falling came to a halt you took stock. There was rubble above you, but not crushing you. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced as you clawed your way towards the fluorescent lighting. You grunted and groaned as your fingernails cracked and your fingers bloodied, but you were not about to die here.

You crawled out into the open and peered through the dark, dusty hallway. You didn’t see anybody, but you heard a scuffle and made your way towards the grunting and smashing sounds. The alarm bells started going off in your brain again, and you started running. Your feet pounded against the jagged edges of concrete on the ground but you didn’t stop. You whipped your pistol out when you came to the source of the sounds, but you froze.

Your eyes took in the scene very quickly, and you knew there was a decision to be made. You saw Cleo’s figure in the dark corner, eyes shining in the dusty haze. The others hadn’t seen her yet. At first glance, Rick was atop Peacemaker, and your initial thought was that he was winning this fight. But his eyes, wide and shocked, locked onto yours for merely a moment before he collapsed forward, a dead weight, and all of your breath left your body.

You also saw Peacemaker’s eyes shoot to a computer chip that had scattered across the floor right before you came in. Right before they shot over to you.

But you knew this: Peacemaker didn’t know who you were. He had no clue what you were capable of. He roughly pushed Rick’s body off of himself, but you were faster.

You put your hands in front of you, parallel to each other, and green mist started swirling around between them. You hadn’t had to use your powers to alter a scene this big or intense before, usually just using them on your own body, but you could do this. For Rick.

Suddenly everything slowed down, Peacemaker was still lying on the ground, Rick was face-first in the rubble, and Cleo was crouched in the dark, hand reaching out to the chip.

But you were alive as your powers raced through you. You had seen yourself in a mirror once as you used your powers, and you could imagine how you looked to them. Glowing green veins covered your skin as you altered the fabric of the universe itself. A wind picked up in the room, swirling in tandem with the green mist in your hands. You only needed a few moments. You didn’t need to go back and stop the fight, you just had to stop Peacemaker. You contorted your fingers and molded the green mist to your liking before throwing your arms wide, the green mist expanding to encapsulate yourself and the two men. You didn’t need to include Cleo, she wasn’t involved. The wind whipped around, the green mist blinding everyone but you, and things started to go into motion.

It would all happen very quickly for everyone involved. Just a rewind. But for you, you had to painstakingly watch as Rick’s body rose above Peacemaker, and you had to watch as the ceramic in his heart was drawn out. You had handcrafted this reality and you were forced to watch as your handiwork took place. But you had gotten to the moment you needed. They were near the end of the fight, Peacemaker had slammed Rick into a wall, and with a wave of your hand, the mist disappeared and everything was clear.

“Wait, what?” Peacemaker shot his eyes over to you, but he was too slow in his understanding. You had already whipped your pistol out of its holster and shot him twice in the throat. He grasped at his, trying to stifle the bleeding and crumpling to the ground, but your eyes were focused on Rick. A very shocked, but very alive Rick.

“What did you do?” He asked, and you weren’t sure if that was disgust or wonder in his voice, so you turned, walked slowly over to Cleo (who had witnessed the whole thing through a haze of green), and picked up the chip.

“I believe you were looking for this?” You asked, holding it out in front of yourself to him. He gulped, walking over to you, but your strength was draining from with a display of your powers. When he pulled the chip out of your hand and tucked it into your utility belt, you wavered, edges of your vision darkening as you slowly knelt to the ground.

“What are you doing, we need to get out of here?” Cleo shouted at you, but you waved her off.

“I just need to sit for a moment,” but your voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“No you don’t,” Rick hauled you up by your armpits and lifted you into his arms, princess-style. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered and followed Cleo out of the rubble and into the daylight. You squinted, the bright sun blinding you after being underground for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, shoving your face into Rick’s neck to avoid the light.

“So,” he sounded very casual and you tensed up. “I really thought you weren’t going to use your rewind powers at all, what happened to make you use them?” You bit your lip, not sure what to say.

“Peacemaker killed you,” Cleo answered for you and Rick stopped walking. You winced and looked up at his face.

“I panicked,” you whispered, not sure how he was going to react. But when he turned his head to face you, it was as if he was looking at you for the first time.

“You saved my life?” He asked and it was your turn to gulp.

Okay, so maybe you had feelings for Rick. You knew that. He was a hot piece of ass, and he was kind, and he respected you. And you kissed at the bar and after the van chase. So he definitely knew you liked him. But did he know your feelings were deep enough to save his life and endanger your own in the process? Well… Now he did.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to lose you to that prick,” you tried to shrug it off, but Rick gently let your legs fall and your feet touch the ground. You weren’t sure what was happening until he reached out and pulled you into the warmest, most all-encompassing hug you had ever experienced.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered into your hair, and you let yourself sigh and sink into the hug.

“Yeah well now you owe me one,” you muttered jokingly, trying to slightly ease the seriousness of the situation. He squeezed you tightly once more before pulling away and smirking.

“Anything you want, you can have,” he smiled that sunlight-bright smile at you and you blinked at him once before returning his smile.

“You can take me on a date once I’m out of prison, how does that sound?” You asked and his smile widened.

“I can do that.”

“That might be a lot sooner than you think,” Bloodsport had walked over to you and (you assumed) Cleo had explained everything to him. You blinked.

What did he mean by that?

Apparently he meant he was going to threaten Waller and keep the information hostage. It wasn’t exactly what Rick wanted, but he got out with his life, and you didn’t have to go back to prison. You were thinking about it as you settled into your new apartment, only two weeks after fighting Starro and killing Peacemaker, your first kill in years.

You were sitting on your comfy couch watching reruns of Adventure Time when Rick called you.

“Hey,” you answered warmly, and smiled at his voice when he responded.

“Hey, yourself. What’s up?” You drew a blanket over your lap and muted the TV.

“Just relaxing. What’s up with you?”

“I was thinking, how about I take you on that date tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven?” If your instincts were correct, and they usually were, he was nervous about it. He was unsure you would actually want him, considering how sheltered and uneven your relationship had been before. You were quick to dispel that.

“That sounds lovely, Rick,” you couldn’t help but bite your lip in anticipation when he hung up a few minutes later. You also couldn’t help the excited squeal you let out and the little dance you did. Things were finally falling into place.

#rick flag imagine #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag dc #rick flag x you #rick flag x reader #dceu #rick flag #harley quinn #peacemaker #ratcatcher 2 #starro #polka dot man #nanaue #king shark #bloodsport

[imperiuswrecked]

Did I miss something with the Inhumans? I mean, I know the show sucked, by why wouldn’t the Black Bolt actor want to return for a huge pay check?

The tweet is deleted now but I tracked down an article that mentioned it: here.

When people keep asking me if Inhumans might still come back. — Anson Mount (@ ansonmount) August 1, 2018

It looks like Mount has found the perfect way to throw shade at his panned Marvel gig while also playing up his latest role in the Star Trek universe. The actor will be appearing in the second season of Star Trek: Discovery as Captain Pike of the Enterprise.

Basically he showed a gif that indicated he was done with these kind of questions about the show. I don't follow celebs regularly and don't know if there were other comments but this is the one I remembered. The Inhumans show was supposed to be a movie, it was changed because of interpersonal behind the scenes power plays within the MCU vs Marvel TV people, and a lot of higher ups imo sabotaged the show on purpose.

They brought in mostly great actors, there were a couple I was meh about but the main leads were amazing actors proven in other shows, then the gave them the shittiest script possible, it was awful. They moved the Inhumans from the moon to Hawaii, and at the same time in the comic world they were pushing for the Inhumans to take over the prominence of the X-Men. Marvel really went: oh another group of people with powers? yeah no one will care/notice, let's just switch them out so we can push our products and make money. Which only served to drive sales of Inhumans down as X-Fans anger spread.

ALSO they made such a big deal about their filming equipment!!! It was mentioned constantly in the promos/interviews, how they had the newest, most awesome, camera and how people had to go see the first two episodes in theaters because that's the only way you could fully experience the crappy script they wrote and watch the actors try their best to work with nothing. Cheap looking costumes. Bad cgi hair, like they put more money into Lockjaw's cgi than Medusa's hair and no matter because they cut it right off and then congratulated themselves for being inspired by the 1998 Inhumans comic run.

So after the terrible way the actors were treated, the way fans and critics totally trashed the show (which honestly can't blame them bc the show was BAD, not even Inhuman fans liked it) and how it was canceled very quickly, yeah I do think it would take a lot for Anson Mount to return for Black Bolt.

Contrary to popular belief, not every actor is dying to get into the mcu or come back for it. Anson is not someone who needs to rely on the MCU for a paycheck, he has had hit tv shows, such as Hell on Wheels,

And currently has his own show, leading as Captain Pike on, Star Trek: Strange New Worlds which will be releasing this year.

So even if Marvel offered him money to come back, even if it was alot of money, he might not want to because of how bad his experience with Inhumans was, and he might have scheduling conflicts with his new show. Like Star Trek is a pretty major deal, much bigger than the MCU and why would he want to downgrade just for a show that he doesn't even seem to have any fondness for? As I said before I would be surprised if Anson did make a cameo for Black Bolt in the MCU, and even more surprised if he came back full time.

#anson mount #inhumans #black bolt #mcu criticism #imp answers

[forevercloudnine]

new 52 riddler origin/timeline

I noticed an older 2017 post by @batriddler​ about Edward’s possible New 52 origin story was going around again, so I thought I’d make a timeline adding what we’ve learned about his origins since then through The Riddler: Year of the Villain (2019).

Childhood

So Year of the Villain brings back several elements of Edward’s original backstory. The first was that, as a child, he won a puzzle contest and became fixated on that moment of victory for the rest of his life.

Unlike previous iterations of the character, however, there’s no obvious indication that Edward cheated in order to win it (other than the looming shadow of his future careers). Whether he won it fairly or not, winning the trophy was a turning point for him because it was the first time he was given undiluted positive attention, something he wasn’t getting at home.

Edward’s mother is heavily, HEAVILY implied to be an alcoholic (like there are even more bottles lying around in this panel, I cut them out for the screenshot), and he himself implies in the narration that she was neglectful to the point that he pretty much had to raise himself. Interestingly, there’s no mention of an abusive father, which is the bog standard for Riddler backstories in previous continuities. There’s nothing contradicting the existence of an abusive father in addition, so obviously there’s room for headcanons here (though I’m enjoying that Jonathan’s New 52 daddy issues replacing his retconned Post-Crisis mommy issues was finally mirrored by Edward’s Post-Crisis daddy issues being retconned and replaced with New 52 mommy issues. It’s equality).

[Side note: apparently his actual birth name in the New 52 IS Edward “Nygma,” which is also a return to form to his first origin. Personally I’m much fonder of him being born “Nashton” and changing his name as an adult, but that’s just me.]

He says that winning the trophy was the first time he “felt like [he] meant something,” which would seem to indicate that before this he’d internalized his mother’s neglect into a low sense of self worth. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like the high of winning it lasted very long, since his classmates weren’t very appreciative of his victory (which is also very in line with Edward’s previous origins, especially Chuck Dixon’s take in Questions Multiple the Mystery).

There’s not much other information about his childhood available, though Batman Annual #4 does seem to indicate that unlike many of Batman’s other villains, he did grow up in Gotham.

This is just based on him telling Bruce that “all of Gotham City” watched him grow up, and that Edward in particular read and watched a lot of tabloid news about Bruce when they were adolescents (is this a Batman Forever reference??? It’s probably not a Batman Forever reference).

Teenage Years

Assuming we’re supposed to take Bruce’s heat-of-the-moment psychoanalysis in Zero Year seriously (Edward is clearly irritated by it, so... confirmation?), Edward’s desire for attention in childhood results in him breaking into corporate data banks and government safe-blocks as a teenager.

Given what Edward is capable of in Zero Year, this definitely doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility, but it’s deeply hilarious in the context of what Year of the Villain confirmed he was (also?) doing as a teenager, which is working as a carnie.

I cannot tell you how hilarious I would find it if THIS is the “questionable past” that Bruce’s Uncle Phillip was talking about during Zero Year, but presumably he’s referring to the same kind of high profile crimes that Bruce was.

But seriously, how funny would it be if he was just talking about how Edward literally ran away from home to join the circus as a teenager...

Adulthood

The 2017 post theorizes that Edward started working for Phillip at Wayne Enterprises in his early twenties, and started earning the various degrees you can see stacked up in a corner in the image above during his employment there. That would seem to fit with this timeline, since I’m not willing to add “earned six different university degrees” to teenage years that are apparently already packed full of ripping off carnival goers AND corporate espionage.

In Batman Annual #4 there is the BAREST indication that Edward might have started working at Wayne Enterprises early into Bruce’s sabbatical abroad, since he talked about how “for months” there were nightly vigils at Wayne Tower where there were so many flowers people would have to cross the street not to step on them. Presumably this would have only been in the first year of Bruce’s disappearance, when Bruce was 18; at the very least this indicates that Edward still lived in Gotham when Bruce left, though it would make more sense for him to be visiting Wayne Tower as Phillip’s strategist than as a hacker/carnie.

In general though, Edward’s Zero Year plan is so ridiculously complex that I think it’s reasonable to assume that he took as long to prepare for his debut as Riddler as it took Bruce to train to be Batman.

[Another side note: Not to accuse Edward of projecting or anything (God forbid), but I think it’s interesting that Edward puts so much emphasis on criticizing Bruce for “disappearing for years” and “making everyone think he’s dead” in combination with the COMPLETE absence of his father from his origin story as presented in Year of the Villain.]

I do think it’s fascinating that Edward’s New 52 origin veers away from the whole “cheating” thing that’s so central to his character in previous continuities - not that he DOESN’T cheat when he feels like it (the whole carnie thing), but it’s not presented as an insecurity of his, and here he’s genuinely intelligent enough to mastermind crimes without needing to move the goalposts at the last second (cough Arkhamverse Riddler COUGH).

One final thing from Edward’s adult life that I think could relate back to his origin comes from Batman #23.2, “Solitaire.”

The issue starts with a flashback of Edward having a deck of playing cards confiscated from him in Arkham because he was playing Solitaire (like, genuinely playing Solitaire; he actually wasn’t plotting anything, it was just for stress relief). The comic is his quest for violent revenge against the Arkham guard who took his cards, which initially seems like a pretty average example of Riddler Brand Pettiness, but the story goes out of its way to highlight how much this really bothered him.

The Arkham Guard has moved on to become the head of security at Wayne Enterprises, so to get revenge Edward has to break into his old place of employment. An unexpected altercation with one of the executives leads Edward to totally freak out over her “touching” him, and afterwards he goes to meditate in her old office in order to calm down. His attempt to relax is interrupted by his old Arkham tormentor, who gets in a couple shots at him before Edward takes his revenge...

...which is BLOWING UP THE ARM that the guard used to take away the “small comfort” Edward had in Arkham. Afterwards, he goes up to the roof to play Solitaire, seeming to finally relax from his agitation earlier.

Given Edward’s isolation and neglect in childhood, it would make sense for him to have ended up playing Solitaire a lot: it’s a game that doesn’t require involvement from friends or family, but still requires a player to use strategy and skill despite the lack of an opponent.

[Yet another side note related to the previous side note: Batman is ACTUALLY dead during Solitaire, which takes place after Joker’s Endgame arc. Bruce and Joker are of course later resurrected through shenanigans, so Edward is right to think he’ll be seeing Batman again. But Riddler sitting on the Wayne Enterprises rooftop, indulging in a self-described “small comfort,” waiting for a man who’s disappeared to miraculously show up again is really interesting. Again, not to accuse him of projecting or anything, but... where’s your dad, Edward...]

His affection for Solitaire is also interesting, in the sense that one could argue that’s what he’s doing in Zero Year: playing a game with himself. He’s challenging other people to play with him through his “riddle” game, and he’s clearly prepared for the possibility of having an opponent (given that he has a whole rainbow disco death trap room set up at the end of Zero Year, which he seems DELIGHTED to have a chance to use), but he’s not expecting to have one. Whether this is a perspective rooted in his childhood or not, it seems to have changed after Zero Year, based on his riddle for Batman in “Alone.”

#riddler #edward nygma #zero year riddler #meta #if i missed something PLEASE let me know #i am by no means an expert on comics #i was considering titling this post 'here's how edward nygma can still have daddy issues in the new 52' #but ultimately i decided that was both not funny and not comprehensible #there are new bernie memes now #BUT i stand by it as a thesis statement