#how did Bruce raise so may gay children

[klariwitch]

Duke thomas is the token straight of the batkids and you cannot and will not convince me otherwise

#it’s like the token gay stereotype #it gives him FLAVOR #how did Bruce raise so may gay children #Bruce Wayne is a twink himself #duke Thomas #Bruce Wayne #dick Grayson #stephcass #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #alfred pennyworth #Jason Todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #Batman #the signal #oracle #nightwing #redhood #spolier #batgirl #Red Robin #black bat #batwoman #superbat #timkon #birdflash #jayroy #batfam

[dented-nado]

Well since you specifically asked: Twiddler

“Yah I like Eddie but he’s straight // BAD LUCK, HUH?”

“No he’s not”

“NO IM NOT??”

Shenanigans

I’m dying right now, the ol’ Harv(ey) stubbornly thinks that Edward fucking Nygma is s  t r a  I g ht love it.  Still one of my fave convos we’ve ever had.

==================

Eddie’s POV

 =====================

It had been about a year since he had joined the sort of halfway home that Bruce Wayne had opened up for Ex-Rogues. However Eddie was somewhat convinced the billionaire he now realized had been Batman the whole time (pfft, he totally could have figured that out… he just… hadn’t…) rather liked having he, Harley, and Harv(ey) as a sort of odd band of roommates. And well… a literal mansion wasn’t a bad place to stay in by any stretch of the imagination.

He certainly had expected (and been quietly and not so quietly jealous) that because Harv(ey) and Bruce had apparently been close as far back as when they were children, Wayne would certainly be ecstatic to have Two-Face hanging around. He still was a little bit taken a back that well… anyone would want him around.

But he really was trying to reform. Maybe part of it was because the routine had gotten boring and he’d started finding more quiet and less destructive games and puzzles more entertaining these days. Besides, he realized he could have more fun with such things when he wasn’t being hauled back to Arkham because he’d taken things a little too far so often.

That being said, he had a new focus, a new goal.

And that was the previously mentioned Harv(ey) Dent. The giant, the absolute unit that towered over him.

Two souls for the price of one. Harvey was quietly intelligent (though sometimes a little bit delightfully oblivious), kind, and soft. Then Harv, he was bold, had a wonderfully fun fashion sense, and had a gravelly voice that admittedly caused Eddie’s mind to pull a blank at times.

They were a man that could have half their face burned to a crisp with acid and still be the only man that had been in Arkham (in Edward’s opinion) that could really get it.

He still remembered the first time “two-face” had been escorted into Arkham, the sight of them had knocked the wind right out of him, completely stopped his plotting for his next attempt to outsmart Batman.

Sure, perhaps he had heard and sort of seen images of Harvey Dent, the famous distract attorney that had been nicknamed Gotham’s “white knight” on the tiny, crappy TV they were occasionally allowed to watch when they were let out of their cells. But that never did him justice.

Seeing him here? Up close?

What a man. A handsome man, carved by angels and blessed by the devil

Now if only he could get Harv(ey) Dent to notice him.

Since that day he’d tried time and time again under the hope that maybe just maybe… this giant of a man would consider a relationship of sorts.

He tried to impress them with his vast intellect, sitting close to him and going off about any fact or subject he happened to know. He then tried to drill Harvey about his knowledge as a lawyer (which he thought also might just be interesting to know). They were certainly a good listener… and Harvey warmed up to talking about legal jargon and the pains of law school with Eddie eventually.

He was able to talk to Harv about their mutual love of fun patterns and bright colors and agreed that anyone who dissed it just didn’t understand fashion. He also realized soon that Harv loved to talk when he was acknowledged, and Eddie was more than happy to encourage him to and lightly swoon at that voice.

However, they were still only on a ‘good pals’ basis.

Which maybe Eddie could have accepted, except he caught Harvey staring at him at times, smiling slightly whenever Eddie would talk about what interested him. And Harv, he had gotten Harv to laugh a few times.

There was something there, he knew it, but for some reason he couldn’t puzzle out, Dent wasn’t acting on it.

It continued to this day. Harley had suggested to Edward he simply outright tell Harv(ey) Dent he was interested in them. But that wasn’t fun or interesting, and certainly not as romantic as Eddie would like.

So, after years of frustration now, he decided he’d go to the one person who had known Harv(ey) Dent their whole life for advice.

 ============

Bruce’s POV

============

“So, that’s my dilemma.”  Edward finished, pushing up his glasses in a very matter-of-fact way.

Bruce sighed. The only person who had ever rivaled his own stubbornness and… stupidity when it came to others having an romantic interest in them, was in fact Harv(ey) Dent. This would no doubt be difficult.

He wasn’t even sure how he managed to get into a relationship with Clark and Diana, so he wasn’t sure how much of a help he’d be trying to get Harv(ey) and Eddie to pair up.

“I’m decently sure he’s interested in you.” He replied.

“I’m quite sure too, however nothing I do seems to get them to do anything.” Eddie expressed, looking completely exasperated.

“hrrn....” Bruce grumbled thoughtfully. “What have you tried so far?”

“Well… I’ve given them gifts, flowers seemed like a sure-fire method- yet he seemed to somehow take them as a platonic gift.”

Bruce stared at Eddie for a long moment. “Who gives flowers platonically?”

Eddie shrugged.

Bruce sighed. “Dammit Harvey… Harv…” He mumbled under his breath. “I could try talking to them, get some better idea of what’s going on their head, could be Harvey and Harv keep arguing on how they want to respond.” He suggested.

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. “That may be the case, that is a possibility I had not considered… thank you for your assistance batma….. ah… Bruce…” He corrected with a slight grin.

Bruce half smiled back.

Batman was on the case.

====

“So… Harv…. Harvey…” Bruce began wandering over to where they were sitting.

They were seemingly switching between drinking a hot coffee and a Frappuccino.

Harvey had complained more than once that because of their disagreements Harv ended up making them consume way too much sugar. Too much caffeine in this case it seemed.

Their eyes flicked over to him.

“Hi Bruce.”

“What’s up Pretty Boy?”

Bruce sat down across from them. “Eddie seems to be interested in you.”

Never hurt to be blunt with a lawyer.

Harvey snorted. “That’d be nice… he is really cute but…”

“I’m sure Eddie is straight, just our luck, right?”

Bruce had never been so shocked in all his life.

Straight?

Eddie…

Straight?! E d  d I  e.

Str a I ght, Edward Nygma E Nygam s t ra ight

The two concepts being put together caused a complete error in Bruce’s mind that was slowly beginning to fry.

Who could possibly conclude that Edward was s t r aight?

The riddler…. The riddler who for a while greeted Batman like he was lowkey interested in a literal love-hate relationship

Edward

Str a I ght.

“Are you… fucking kidding me?” Bruce ended up stammering before he even realized it. “He’s not… at all!”

Harvey blinked at him a few times in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

Bruce gaped at them. They couldn’t be serious.

“Harvey… I… Harv… he… he’s not exactly subtle about it. In fact he’s very open, very much out and proud, flaming even. I’m sure he’d agree.”

Harvey looked at Bruce through squinted eyes. “Are you sure Bruce?”

“Sure, maybe he’s a bit more flashy than your average guy, but that doesn’t mean gay.” Harv added with a shrug.

“He calls you handsome at least 3 times a day.” Bruce said still staring at Harv(ey) like they were absolutely insane.

“Lots of people do.”

“Have you ever seen him even flirt with any women??” Bruce asked in disbelief.

“No but… well there’s always been more men in Arkham, and when do you even have time for that?”

Bruce was somewhere in-between wanting to laugh at them and slap them.

“He’s given you flowers.”

“Pretty sure he’s just being friendly.”

“Friendly…” Bruce wheezed.

This conversation was taking years off his life at this point. He shook his head and texted Edward.

“Get in here (the living room downstairs) It’s important”

Edward slid in and sat peppily down on the couch with Bruce within a few minutes, causing Harv(ey) to look between Eddie and Bruce in confusion.

“You rang Mr. Wayne~?” Eddie asked with a cheeky grin as he leaned his head against his hand.

“You know what these men just said to me?” Bruce began folding his hands together.

“Bruce nooo…” Harvey pleaded.

“No no, I think he should know.” Bruce insisted.

Eddie raised his eyebrows comically high. “Well don’t keep me waiting, what’s the tea?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “They said… they’re sure you’re straight.”

Eddie stared at Bruce for a minute, eyes widening.

“Me?” He asked completely baffled.

Bruce nodded.

Eddie threw back his head and laughed until his face turned red and he had trouble breathing.

Harv(ey) looked on stiffly, feeling as if they had made a mistake somewhere as the dawning realization slapped them in the face.

 ============

Harv(ey)’s POV

===================

It was bad enough they had put themselves in denial so far they had missed out starting something with the small bean-pole riddle-man much earlier…

But now because they had convinced themselves Eddie was straight and therefore could have no interest in them… Eddie and Bruce were refusing to let them live it down.

And Bruce seemed to have gotten literally everyone in on the joke. Anyone Bruce hadn’t told between his partners and his massive family, Eddie had told.

Harley had begun kissing Ivy in front of them while they both traded off saying “no homo tho” between kisses until Harv(ey) groaned and left the room in a huff, leaving them both laughing maniacally.

Eddie had begun dramatically entering a room with a flourish announcing “Ladies and Gentlemen, Guys, Gals, and Non-binary pals, the straightest man alive has arrived, you may all start the party.”

Even when they first slept together, Edward had started quietly laughing and mumbling about “how straight, and very much not gay at all this occurrence was.”

Bruce hadn’t been able to look at them in weeks without breaking out into a full on belly laugh at his expense, mumbling something along the lines of “The Riddler, st r a I ght, good lord...”

On one hand they were happy Bruce was laughing more but god dammit…

They felt a bit dumb about it to say the least.

“How did we ever think Eddie was straight?” Harvey thought to himself.

“I don’t fucking know. I really… really… don’t.”                                                                                          

Well… maybe giving everyone a little levity while still being able to date a cute red-head that seemed to know the strangest facts about almost everything that they could enjoy listening to him babble about for hours happily…. Was all worth it. Even if they were embarrassed by their comically stupid brand of denile.

#prompt fill #twiddler #two face x riddler #harvey dent #harv dent #edward nygma #e nygma #the riddler #batman #bruce wayne #two face #gotham rogues #dc villains #dc comics #fanfic #dc fanfic

[ashsblurbs]

Lets dig deeper into the winterwidow kids

*I have more head cannons just let me know which kid you want to know more about* 

Alexander Allen Barnes

·       Born April 24 and is 24

·       Natasha and Bucky loved the idea that all of their children names to be Russian origin. One because that is where Nat is from and because that was where they met. No matter what horrible stuff they went through in that country it still brought them together.

·       He is the oldest of the Barnes bunch. Him and his siblings were raised in a normal household. They didn’t know their parents or extended family were avengers or assassins until their youngest sister was kidnapped by hydra and brainwashed to be the next winter solider like their father was so many years ago.

·       He is gay and still looking for the right one. He struggles to find love when you compare every relationship to your parents. Nothing could ever compare to their love story.

·       He went to University of Maryland and went on to study gamma radiation. His biggest role model was his uncle Bruce.

·       He’s blind as a bat and can’t see without his glasses.

·       His first language is Russian like the rest of the siblings.

·       They grew up in Brooklyn.

·       He’s quiet and analytical. Ivan makes fun of him all the time for having his nose in a book all of the time.

·       His best friend is Theo Thorson. He is secretly in love with him.

link to photos

Katina Elizabeth Barnes

·       She was born December 16th and is 22

·       Her personality can turn most people away. Some would say she was scary and very intimidating, but she would say she knew what she wanted and how to get it.

·       She was popular in school but in away that Kat didn’t realize she was. She did her own thing and change as quickly as the seasons. She would just get bored easily. Maybe that was her mother coming out of her.

·       Her nickname is Kat.

·       She is a skill martial artist and is a black belt.

·       She enjoys writing and even had some of her poems published.

·       After she found out her parents were the Black Widow and Winter solider, she started her training to become the next Black widow. Her parents were skeptical at first since they both knew the horrors could insure through the role.

·       Her and James teamed up together as the new gen Cap and Black widow.

·       She’s stubborn and so is James which leave them to fight a lot but them make a great team.

·       She pierced her own ears at six.

·       She’s single as well and not looking. She likes being independent but that hasn’t stopped the boys from drooling all over her.

·       She also took some courses at NYU but got bored. She was already a published writer what was a college going to teach her.  

Ivan Lewis Barnes

·       Born May 1 and is 20 years old

·       Ivan is the sweetest and sensitive man you will ever meet. He will cry at a hallmark commercial.

·       He loves animals and is studying to be a vet at NYU. Right now, he put his studies on hold until they bring his baby sister home. 

·       He is in love with Brooklyn Rogers-Stark. He really wants to marry her and even has a ring picked out, but he does realize they are still young. He’s going to wait a few years before he does.

·       He adores his Uncle Steve but the day he found out Ivan was dating his little girl he almost killed him, figuratively. Now Steve supports their relationship and loves him like a son.

·       He has no desire to go out into the field like his siblings did. He’s just here to be moral support.

·       Him and his dad is super close. They do everything together. So, does him and his uncle Sam. The three of them will go on all kinds of adventures. They often find themselves at baseball games.

·       He also is a partier. Sometimes he can be kind of like a frat boy but not in the bad way.

·       He’s basically the perfect guy.

·       He is dyslexic. He’s very smart; it just takes him sometime to put all of the pieces together.

Anastasia Maria Barnes

·       Born September 15 and is 14

·       She is the youngest of the Barnes group.

·       She was a wonderful surprise for the group. Natasha and Bucky thought they were done since Ivan was 5, Kat was 7 and Alexander was 9. They were long done with the whole baby thing.

·       She was energetic and loved doing ballet.

·       Kat would do make overs on her all the time. They were each other’s best friend. She was the only one that brought Kat’s loving side out.

·       She loved to build all kinds of things. She would bug her uncle Tony to let her join him in the lab, but Nat and Bucky said no. Didn’t want her seeing the Iron Man suit so instead Tony would come to them. He didn’t mind since most of the time his own daughter was over there too.

·       When she was twelve, she was taken by Hydra agents and brainwashed. They put her through the same training as her dad once was to turn her into the new Winter solider.

·       Her family only came in contact with her once in the last two years. Before they were able to bring her home, she vanished.

·       She was not the same girl that was taken from them, Nat and Bucky knew that, but they didn’t know how much it would hurt. Seeing the blankness in their little girl’s eyes and knowing that no matter what they did, they couldn’t protect her.

·       Her favorite color is blue and often painted her nails that color.

·       She was afraid of heights.

·       Her nickname is Ana

#buckynat #winterwidow #ash's blurbs #avenger kids au

[ethelphantom]

The Greatest Miracle

This fandom does not have enough BartAdrien content like, seriously. They're the cutest thing to ever exist. Two sunshine children. Please love them. Please love my greatest creation. Anyway, have some cuteness and fluff and (possible? I have no idea if it is funny) humour for a change! Maribat March day 22, rare pair

Ao3

This is Maribat -- Don’t like; Don’t read

____________________________

“Please don’t.”

“Oh, Adrien. I totally will.”

❋❋❋

“Hey, Bart, give my tablet back! I need it for my speech!”

“Nooopppe! I may not be able to open it but I know what kind of things there are! Kon, catch!”

“Thanks, Bart. Have fun. You forgot I’m also doing the speech. You literally asked me to.”

“Dang it.”

❋❋❋

Marinette snorted as Adrien took one look at her before burying his face in his hands as she stood up, Tim and Conner following suit. She grabbed the microphone from the stand nearby and blew a kiss at Adrien, winking.

“Good afternoon everyone! It’s a beautiful day, even more beautiful than Adrien’s hair, and we all know how beautiful his hair is, soooo… Anyway, before I actually get to any important part, I need to say that I asked Adrien if there was anything that I shouldn’t say in any case, and well. He didn’t say anything in particular, I swear. To everyone else, I’m sorry if this makes your idea of Adrien’s supposed put-togetherness just vanish in front of your eyes. I can promise you, it never existed in the first place.

“I can’t believe this day actually came, seeing Adrien get married to someone,” Marinette said, smiling when she heard the quiet “rude much?” coming from Adrien’s direction. “Oh yeah. In case some of you didn’t know, I’m Marinette, Adrien’s best friend, though I’m pretty sure the only ones who don’t know that are from Bart’s side as Adrien has somehow managed to introduce me to his entire family, all of his few friends — and Adrien, before you say anything, you met most of your friends through me, don’t try — and we went to the same school so there’s that as well. Honestly, I think he’s even dragged me to a few family reunions during the years.”

There was laughter in the crowd but it quieted down as soon as Marinette began talking again.

“Adrien and I have gone through thick and thin. There have been liars, bullies, gold-diggers, over-eager wannabe journalists… Well, we’ve probably seen anything you can imagine. We’re siblings in all but blood, rather literally. My parents even adopted him after Gabitch — I mean, Gabriel, all parents of little children, you did not hear that, and neither did you, Bart, Wally and Dick, but like seriously, if there's anyone that deserves to be called out for being a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad father in a wedding, it's that man —, was arrested. It was easier since that meant he wouldn’t need to transfer schools.”

Marinette tilted her head and bit the inside of her cheek. “Wait a second. Tim, dear, did you have the tablet connected to the projector already? I want the photos, like, five minutes ago.”

Tim laughed at her. “Cuppie, you started the speech less than three minutes ago. But yeah, it’s connected.”

“Shush, you. Thanks! I’ll say when I want the pictures. Anyway. I met Adrien when we were like, 13, and it really didn’t start great. I hated him at first. Like, honest to God hated him. You can imagine how the rest of the day went. Somehow, he cleared the idea I had of him within a few hours though, so we became friends. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, always been there for me through everything.

“I don’t think I’ve got too much time to speak even though I’d absolutely love to do that for the rest of the day because Adrien’s gonna murder me if I try, so I’ll just tell you one of my favourite things with him. Who everyone knew him on some level when he was 17?”

Maybe a quarter of the room raised their hands.

“Great. How many of you noticed he had a crush then?”

Less than half of those people raised their hands, though rather hesitant.

“Fine, Adrien, you win, but that just means they didn’t spend enough time with you. Anyway. He had a crush on our dear Bart over here though he kept denying it for ages. Tim, the pictures, please? Because I’ve got a compilation of how he looked like when I felt like pointing the fact out to him and after I had actually informed him of his crush. I have no idea how he didn’t realise it right away.”

There were pictures of clearly lovesick Adrien, looking at something (a lot of the time it seemed to be his phone) the same way he had looked at Bart only some time earlier.

Someone in the crowd yelled “he was so whipped oh my god, did he really not realise?” when they got to the fifth photo.

Adrien had hidden his face in Bart’s hair.

He was lucky Bart’s hair was like it was.

Bart, though, he was laughing.

“Yeah, yeah he was, and me neither. He literally had a gay panic after he met Bart for the first time — trust me when I say that he was royally screwed already from day one. And yet. Yet. Considering Adrien had known me for only a day or two when he decided he was in love with me when we were like 13 and actually declared this in front of a whole bunch of people, it’s so funny how it took him actual months to admit he was actually in love with Bart. Fun fact, the three of us—” Marinette pointed at herself and then at Tim and Kon on her left, “still have a group chat full of plans to get those two together because they were so oblivious, especially Adrien, and also idiots. God, do I love them, but I swear they caused me more grey hair than the wild kid I babysat as a teenager ever did.”

Tim snatched the microphone from Marinette’s hands, pecking her cheek quickly. Marinette stuck her tongue out at him but didn’t complain about the interruption. It wasn’t like she had anything important left to say anyway. For now.

“Yes, listen to my beautiful and wonderful wife over here. They were so frustrating, always talking about the other like they had hung the moon and the stars on the night sky but neither realised they liked the other until it was pointed out to them. Well. According to Mari, it took until Kon and I got Bart to realise he liked Adrien, which eventually led to him confessing, that Adrien recognised his own feelings. It’s ridiculous, but oh so amusing to tell now.

“So, hello everyone, I’m Tim, one of Bart’s best friends — the other is over there being a loser. I met Bart through Dick and Wally maybe half a year after Bruce started watching over me because my parents were never there, so we must have been seven or eight. I had troubles with befriending other people back then—”

“You still do, Tim.”

“Mari, this is my speech, yours ended already.”

“Yeah, because you stole the mic.”

“Technicalities, technicalities. Anyhow, I had trouble with getting friends around that time, but it was somehow easy to befriend Bart. He was so open, friendly, positive, full of light and determined to befriend you that it was actually impossible to avoid it. After I befriended him, though, I noticed I started getting other friends as well because he made it easier. That’s actually also how I met Mari, the love of my life and my wife, which has me forever thankful to Bart, but that’s a story for another time. Right now, I’m here to tell you how great Bart is and also make fun of him, because isn’t that what best friends are for.

“So, like Mari already said, we had a group chat just because of those two. Favourite ship ever. Not gonna lie, we all shipped them together since the moment we realised how well they would fit together and the only reason today didn’t happen sooner is because this guy here—” Tim pointed at Adrien, “—refused to admit he liked Bart and scoffed every time we tried to suggest it. Yet, every time he made a terrible pun, and we all know he makes a lot of those, it was Bart he looked at first to see if it made him laugh. Always. Not his best friend, Mari. It was Bart.”

That was when Tim lost the microphone — Kon had walked up to them, now behind Tim, and just took it out of his hands. Tim tilted his head backwards and frowned at Kon.

“And Bart. Bart laughed every. Single. Time. Like, regardless of how horrible the pun was that time, and how it should have not made anyone laugh, Bart laughed because he knew it made Adrien smile, and happy Adrien equalled happy Bart equalled happy Adrien. This is why it was so strange they didn’t realise, and this is why them dancing around one another drove me up the wall. Tim and Mari too, I suppose. By the way. Here’s a list of pictures and videos where the aforementioned situation is shown multiple times so that you’ll understand what I mean.”

The (seemingly endless, if Adrien’s mortification was anything to go by) videos and pictures were projected onto a big screen and it seemed that no matter what Adrien thought, everyone else thought them adorable and heart-warming. Everyone. Especially Bart, who had not been aware of said pictures or videos’ existence and was now beaming and nearly jumping up and down in his seat. Marinette could almost swear he was vibrating.

Once they were done showing them, and the roomful of people had stopped cooing at Adrien like he was still that starry-eyed, adorable, baby-faced fool so very in love with Bart (he was), Kon brought the microphone to his lips again. “So yeah. We all had to suffer. And because of that, now you two had to suffer a little too,” he said, snorting.

Shaking his head fondly at the newlywed couple, he smiled. “You know, I have known Bart for nearly my entire life, and I never thought there would come a day I would meet anyone that was as much of a sunshine child as he was. Then we met Adrien.”

Tim nodded in the background, clearly agreeing. Marinette hummed. Kon handed her the microphone as she tapped her foot against the floor with her heel. “Yeah, same here, though the other way around — I thought there couldn’t be anyone I’d call sunshine incarnate other than Adrien, and then there I was, face to face with Bart who I swear glowed when I met him for the first time.”

Marinette sighed, smiled, and walked to Adrien and Bart. “So, Adrien, Bart, I am so immensely proud of you two. I can’t help but be happy whenever I think about you both overcoming so much and deciding to dedicate yourselves to one another and believe me when I say, I am so glad I got to witness you exchanging vows today. I wish all the best for you, as do those two dorks, and remember that we’re all going to be there for you both. You have two souls but a single thought, and two hearts that beat as one. This is the day that now belongs to one of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life and I could not be happier to have gotten to see it happen.” She raised her glass. “A toast to these two fools and to their union! May you always be satisfied!”

Marinette returned to her seat next to Tim and rested her head against his shoulder as he ran his fingers through her hair.

“I’m happy for them,” Marinette whispered, watching as Adrien danced with Bart, leading him, before Bart grabbed Adrien and picked him up before running around the room, presenting him like the greatest miracle ever granted for the humankind to everyone. Marinette squeezed Tim’s hand, smiling at their best friends.

“Same, Cuppie. Same here.”

_____________________________________

@kris-pines04​ @thethirdwheelfriend​ @maribat-is-lifeblood​ @abrx2002​ @persephonebutkore​ @rebecarojas07​ @corabeth11​ @kadmeread @silverwhiteraven​ @freshbark @maribat-march2020 @catsandfanfic @fertileleaf @eat0crow @cutechip

#Timari #Bartadrien #Timinette #Bart x Adrien #tim x marinette #Maribat #maribatmarch2020 #ml x dc #dc #miraculous ladybug #ml #dc x mlb #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #bart allen #adrien agreste #fanfic #fanfiction #Ethel's writing

[kawaiijellymonster]

So I’ve got a note in my notes app called “Fanfic lines that should be in a hall of fame” and it’s gotten pretty long so I figure I’ll toss it on here so yall can enjoy it, most of them are: mha, zukka, miraculous ladybug, harry potter, and I think one is from a comment on a hannibal amv, But here you go:

Stain sold papers because he just had an aura about him that drew people in, like people who slow down to look at car crashes.

“The Rumor Come Out: Does Todoroki Shoto is Gay?”

Izuku spent the next week going to his normal martial arts classes, studying, and drinking gallons of coffee. Not healthy but he could deal with it. His body was never meant to be permanent.

So no one was watching when Mei placed her forehead against his, breath fanning across his face as she spoke. "Wake up Loki… the world needs you."

“No probs ‘lil listener!” Hizashi said, striking a dramatic pose. “I’ll be your DJ all through the night, bringin’ you such rockin’ hits as safety, security and sweet dreams!”

“This is stupid! Screw the waiting and screw these stupid butterflies. They're not paying rent, the little shits--”

Experimenting with unstable genetic mutant abominations is more of an art than a science, really."

Several looks pass across both their faces. “No flying for a month,” Sirius declares. That sucks, actually. But he’s also a hundred percent certain he can get them to cave on that in two weeks tops. “Okay. Is that for the breaking into the Ministry, destroying the Department of Mysteries, making a bargain with Voldemort, or bringing all my friends with me?” “It’s for recklessly endangering your own life again,” Remus says, “and while the punishment very much doesn’t fit the crime, we’re a bit at a loss for what else to do.” “It wasn’t reckless!” he protests. “We had a plan and everything, and we even brought an adult! An adult Order member! Also what else were we supposed to do, let Snape die?” Sirius takes a deep breath, but Remus steps on his foot before he can put it in his mouth. “Which is why you’re only getting flying privileges taken away and not thrown in a cell in Azkaban for our sanity and your safety.” As if any cell could hold him. “I accept your terms.”

“Who’s Theophania?” Sirius asks. Harry hesitates. Perhaps bringing her up was his smartest decision, strategically speaking. “If I tell you you’re not allowed to throw me in Azkaban. Or ground me.” “This isn’t a negotiation,” Sirius repeats. If Blaise has taught him anything, it’s that everything is a negotiation. “She’s a friend.” “And?” Sirius repeats. Remus suddenly grabs onto Sirius’s shoulder, “Wait. Petrifying - during your second year - is Theophania - she’s not the basilisk.” “No, they killed it,” Sirius says automatically. Harry remains silent. “Harry!” He rubs his nose. “It turns out I’m not that good at killing things. Unkilling things, however? My specialty.”

“It’s okay,” Nanaia says, “you don’t know. What do you do when you don’t know something?” “Try something you do know and hope it doesn’t make everything worse?” For some reason, Horace looks sad at that answer, and Dumbledore shifts from one foot to the other. “No,” she says, “you ask for help.” Oh.

“It’ll piss off your son,” he answers bluntly. “Fuck that kid,” Riddle Sr. says

“You played me!” “Like a cheap kazoo”

Batman sighed, before speaking in a voice that was so unlike his usual growl that most of the other League members almost fell out of their chairs. Diana and Clark seemed to be used to it. “Damian,” he started. His voice was still deep, but a regular-deep, instead of I-just-swallowed-six-buckets-of-gravel deep.

“She loved James too,” she assures, and the confidence she says that with allows him to breathe, like someone has let go of his lungs. “It is possible to love more than one person at the same time. She loved your father with the type of love that’s – that was like a shooting star, burning and bright and touching everyone around them. Her love for Severus was different, and in the end it wasn’t the type of love either of them could handle.”

You’re better at it now then many people are after leaving a full apprenticeship, and you’ve only had a year of lessons a couple of times a week instead of years of intensive study. Do you know why that is?” “Luck?” he offers weakly. For some reason, he doesn’t like the direction this is going in. “No,” she says. “To be good at healing, the way you are, the way I am, you need a certain combination of things. Intelligence, power, control, but more than that. Stubbornness, a tricky balance of flexibility and inflexibility, and a constant, brutal assessment over your own skills. And something else.” “A propensity towards poor life choices?” he suggests. Poppy shakes her head, not taking the bait. “No. You have to care. You have to care about everyone, even people you dislike, and you have to care so much that if feels like it’s killing you, you have to care and that care has to hurt, until the only thing that hurts worse than caring is not caring. To be good at this, you have to let it hurt you.”

“You two shouldn’t have bothered dressing formally for Albus, he’s a bitch.” Harry doesn’t have any idea what’s going on, but he’s loving it.  

“It was on the syllabus,” Zuko whispered conspiratorially to his mother. Sokka gasped. “You know I don’t read those!” “This is your own fault then.” “I like to be surprised. The procrastination keeps me humble.”

sometimes you remind me of the stars youre gorgeous and happy and can always brighten me on the darkest days and even when youre dampened you can guide me home

“imagine you are the only person who loves to play chess more than anything but nobody else in the world has ever heard about chess. and then you see a person holding a chessboard. it’s like your whole world was reborn”

"I wanted to be a stripper in middle school," Izuku said. Yup, that's a good cover.

What you’re asking for isn’t fair or right. You can’t ask a person for more than they’re willing to give

In Mei’s words, “You have about five minutes of ‘fuck that one thing in particular.’ Make them count.”

“Mei, let me introduce your new best friend. This is Momo. She has a Quirk that lets her make anything as long as she knows its composition inside and out. All you have to do is buy her dinner,“ Izuku said,

The cameras were looped. The bots were hacked. It was a good day to be a villain.

“None. The alarm never left the building.” “Really? Why is that?” “Mei finished first and decided to do you a favor. However, you've got the fire alarm just starting to go off and that's on a different circuit. Take a fast way down.” “Understood,” Hitoshi drawled. A moment later he was looking back at the crew. “Ladies and Frenchman. We take the express.”

Quinn is talking like that actually answers his question when it really, really doesn’t. “If you don’t start making sense, I’ll cry.”

“You’re one of my best students,” ze says. “You should understand the importance of timing. Speaking of, you’re late for your next class.”

Fuck, he totally is. “Thank you for that very confusing answer. I’ll think of you while crying myself to sleep.”

He’d wondered if that was what bravery was, to be quiet even when you were hurting so much you wanted to scream.

maybe bravery was also running screaming at the thing that nearly killed you, to keep it from killing someone else.

“Apologies are not difficult. Good apologies revolve around three basic points. One, I acknowledge what I did was wrong. Two, I regret that you were harmed. Three, this is how I plan to make sure it does not happen again. That’s all. Apologies are easy.” Then she’d glanced at them all again, evaluating. “And if you become very, very good at your job... they will be the absolute hardest thing you ever do.”

“Even though we’re a bunch of migraine-inducing hellions who are smart enough to know when something is a bad idea and stupid enough to still do it?”

“You’re like the nice china that Al only brings out for Christmas. Except Bruce just realised that I stole it, and chipped it. Maybe it’s time I give it back before I shatter all the pieces.”

she won’t co-parent my perfectly reasonable and well-behaved children.” Clark snorts. “Damian’s trying to stab Tim, right now.”

"Oh, my knight in shining armour. What would I do without you?" the teen droned, placing a dramatic hand on her head. 

"I think you mean 'knight in shining leather', M'Lady. And without me, you would be left alone in this kingdom of lies.”

"It's a kingdom, alright. It'll topple sooner or later." "That's the spirit!" Adrien laughed.

Here’s something that a harbinger of tragedy would never find the courage to admit: there are moments in between the bitter self-hatred and the visceral, tangible consequences of your sins in which you almost think you’re worthy of forgiveness; of second chances; of a life beyond your greatest regrets. It’s a unique brand of pain,

“Go directly to horny jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.”

“You can’t wait around for him to be sorry,” Izuku says. He’s quiet now. This isn’t something that’s meant to be shouted. “Maybe he’ll never be sorry. Maybe he doesn’t know he did anything wrong, or he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.” Cautiously he takes a step forward. “You can’t depend on the people who hurt you to be the ones to make it better, or it’s never going to get better. They’ll only disappoint you, or hurt you even worse, and then they’ll be gone and you’ll be waiting forever.”

Midoriya may be strong as hell, but that just means looking out for him has to be a team effort.

How would his new adoring fans react if they knew he raised a villain? He's no All-Might. His pillar's made of toothpicks, and it's not gonna take much to crack it.”

Tensei approaches Rei, “Okay, this plan is childish, unprofessional, and a discourtesy to this school's reputation. That being said, when do we nail the little twat?

Hinata is dead. Deceased. Passed away, laid to rest with a headstone that reads Here Lies Hinata Shouyou, Killed By A Wink And A Blown Kiss.

It’s dangerous to be a bad father when you have life insurance

#long post #fanfic lines that deserve to be in a hall of fame #fanfic #rambles #lol

[chriscolfernews]

Chris Colfer is renowned for his Golden Globe-winning performance as Kurt Hummel on Fox'sGlee, where he helped bring the story and struggles of a gay teen to an international audience.

However, the 29-year-old actor-turned-writer is also taking the literary world by storm. Colfer has written an impressive 15 novels, most notably his The Land of Stories children's fantasy series. He does not shy away from LGBTQ activism on the page. His latest book, A Tale of Magic..., which centers on people persecuted for practicing magic, "is an allegory for being gay," Hummel told The Advocate in a recent interview.

Evoking a children's version of The Handmaid's Tale, A Tale of Magic presents a world where women have no rights and are barred from reading. Additionally, practitioners of magic are condemned to death or life imprisonment. A young girl, Brystal Evergreen, rebels against this tyranny by engaging in both. In turn, she is sent to a correctional facility to "cure" her of her magic. A mysterious savior, Madame Weatherberry, rescues Brystal from detainment and recruits her on a mission to change the hearts and minds of the kingdom.

In the following interview, Colfer discusses how antigay politics of the real world inspired his magical allegory, which he calls a "manifesto for compassion. I’ve never written anything like it before." A Tale of Magic, now available on Amazon and wherever good books are sold, also recently debuted at #1 on the New York Times Best Seller list, demonstrating how Colfer's message of political resistance has resonated with young audiences.

The Advocate: Congratulations on your new book! What inspired A Tale of Magic?

Chris Colfer: Trauma, mostly. I was 11 years old when 9/11 happened. I remember I was old enough to understand what was happening, but I wasn’t old enough to understand why it was happening. And I don’t think anything is scarier for a child than confusion. I can’t imagine how scared kids must feel nowadays. So I wanted to write a book that parents and teachers could use as a point of reference when they explain the troubling things their kids and students see on the news. I hope it puts things into perspective while giving them a magical adventure at the same time.

You’ve written 15 books. What’s the secret to your productivity? Caffeine. Lots and lots of caffeine. Also, isolation. Sometimes I’ll go weeks without seeing anyone besides my boyfriend and our dogs.

Who are your literary influences? Well, I apologize for sounding like a millennial cliché, but J.K. Rowling had the biggest impact on me. I wasn’t a good reader when I was young, and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was the first book I actually enjoyed reading. And some of my happiest childhood memories were going to those midnight release parties. I then went on to devour everything by C.S. Lewis, Eva Ibbotson, and Bruce Coville. On some level, I think I’m still mourning the end of Harry Potter. It left a void I’ve been trying to fill by writing my own books.

What appeals to you about the fantasy genre in particular? I suppose it’s the escapism and encouragement it provides. In fantasy, a mouse can slay a dragon if it’s courageous enough. That’s very therapeutic for those of us still battling our own dragons.

A Tale of Magic, much like The Handmaid’s Tale, shows a bleak world where women have no rights. Also, practitioners of magic are subjected to imprisonment or even the death sentence. While writing the book, how much did the real world and the current political climate influence your storytelling? The current climate was the entire inspiration. A Tale of Magic was supposed to be an easy task for me. It was supposed to be the start of a simple prequel series. The working title was The Land Before Stories. But when I sat down to actually write it, I felt so angry and helpless by the state of the world, I had to do something more so I could sleep at night. Even if I was the wrong messenger, even if it didn’t do well, I wanted to do anything I possibly could to guide the next generation onto a better path. It ceased to be a prequel and became a completely original story. Now I consider A Tale of Magic my manifesto for compassion. I’ve never written anything like it before.

What is the overarching message you wanted to send by centering your story on a character who is not only discriminated against for her gender, but also her extraordinary abilities? I want young people to know that just because they’re born into an environment that doesn’t accept or appreciate them, that doesn’t mean there isn’t an environment that will. There’s a lot of love waiting for you out there if you’re willing to look for it. I’m living proof. Also, the more the world discourages you, the more it needs you.

The protagonist is sent to a “Correctional Facility for Troubled Young Women” in the hopes that she will be “cured” of her magical gifts. This storyline echoes the experiences of survivors of conversion therapy. How do you think fiction — your novel in particular — can fight against antigay forces like "ex-gay" therapy in the real world? Thank you for making that connection. In my opinion, the purpose of fiction, besides providing an escape, is to subconsciously plant seeds of reason and compassion in people’s minds. That was the sole mission of the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault. After reading about the horrible and abusive experiences at the Correctional Facility in A Tale of Magic, I hope my readers will grow up with a resentment of conversion therapy already ingrained within them. If I can get them to sympathize with the struggles of a fictitious magical community, then maybe, just maybe, they’ll be more likely to sympathize with the struggles of other communities fighting for acceptance in the real world.

In addition to A Tale of Magic being a novel, do you see it as a work of LGBTQ activism? I’d like to think so. Although, I have no control over how other people will interpret it. For me, the magic in A Tale of Magic is an allegory for being gay. The characters are raised to believe magic is demonic and unnatural. They’re sent to camps where they “pray the magic away.” And they’re all on a mission to prove "magic isn’t a choice." But what magic represents for me may be different for a little girl in Egypt or a teenage boy in Japan. We all have obstacles that hold us back. We’re all assigned different stigmas based on our circumstances. So, whatever your “magic” may be, A Tale of Magic is about overcoming the forces that suppress it.

We’re living in a world when books are still being banned — and the written word itself is under attack. As a novelist, do you see it as your duty to fight against censorship? Absolutely. You have to be incredibly strategic to get your book into the hands of the people who need it the most. Especially when your books have LGBTQ themes. So many authors get criticized when they reveal a character’s orientation or gender identity after publication instead of on the page. But I don’t always agree with those critics. In some places books are instantly banned if they have any LGBTQ characters or LGBTQ references whatsoever. But there are ways of getting representation into those territories that goes under the radar. That’s the purpose of the character Xanthous Hayfield in A Tale of Magic. His orientation is never directly addressed in the first book, but there are enough clues so a closeted little boy living in an oppressive country can relate to him and know he’s not alone. But I don’t think censorship can survive the modern age. In fact, I think governments shoot themselves in the foot when they apply censorship. It instantly triggers a wave of curiosity and publicity you can’t buy. So please, by all means, ban me.

Did you have a Madame Weatherberry, the "fairy godmother" character in A Tale of Magic, in your life? My grandmother was my biggest cheerleader growing up. She made me believe in myself, and I think that’s the greatest gift you can give a kid, even if you don’t necessarily believe their dreams are practical. I used to sit with her for hours and hours on her back patio and talk. We’d make game plans of how I was going to accomplish my goals while she smoked and polished her guns.

You dedicate your novel to those whose shoulders you stand on — presumably LGBTQ pioneers. Did you have any particular figures in mind when making this dedication? There are a hundred names I could list that everyone knows, but it’s really about the people who are unknown. I get pretty emotional when I think about it. There are millions of people who never got to reap the benefits of their courage and honesty, but because they stood up when they did, I get to do what I love and be with who I love. I can’t imagine the bravery it took. Even right now, there are people in other parts of the world reading this website in secret, looking for encouragement as they fight for their right to exist. Wherever they are, I hope they can feel the future’s gratitude.

If you could have any magical ability, what would it be? Honestly, I’d be happy with just a faster metabolism. That sounds pretty magical.

What appeals to you about your literary work, versus the world of television and film? I suppose it’s the control. When I write a novel, it can be anything and everything I want it to be. I get to tell the story and describe the images exactly as they exist in my mind. In film and television there’s always so many cooks in the kitchen it’s difficult to produce a pure vision. There’s a lot of compromising and negotiating and it requires a lot of patience. Also, I can write books in my pajamas. It doesn’t get better than that.

Would you adapt A Tale of Magic into a movie or TV series? I would love to see A Tale of Magic come to life. I guess it all depends on my experience with the Land of Stories film adaptation. For my own physical safety, I hope the Disney/Fox merger settles so we can finish it. There are millions of kids around the world who are going to want to hurt me if they don’t get a movie soon.

#chris colfer #the advocate #a tale of magic press

[the-truest-sentence-i-know]

Shared Life Experiences

Chapter One: Coming Out

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairing: Steve Rogers x James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes (Stucky)

Summary:  So much has changed in the seventy years that Steve was under, and now, in the 21st century, he realizes that he no longer has to hide those parts of himself that he used to.

But it isn't that easy, because when Bucky comes back into his life, he remembers all those feelings they’d had to hide back then that they wouldn’t have to now. But he isn't sure if that’s what Bucky wants - because it's been a while and feelings may have changed.

ao3 || ff.net || wattpad

The future was different.

Steve knew that that wasn’t exactly a profound statement, but the difference hit him every day. Many were positive, some negative – thought more in a nostalgic than objective way.

One night, not too long after the Battle of New York, they’d all been lounging in the tv room of Avengers tower, half-watching some drama or other. He hadn’t really been paying attention, and when he glanced over at the screen, he saw what looked like to be two men on a date.

His first thought was that this must be a parody of some kind. But as the scene went on, the romantic tone never wavered.

He was so enthralled by this couple, these two men in love, on the screen, that he didn’t notice the others watching him carefully.

Tony, Natasha, and Bruce watched him cautiously, uncertain of how he’d react. Of course, they hoped for the best, after all, Steve was a very decent guy, and he hadn’t been weird about women or people of colour at all so far. But, on the other hand, he had grown up in the thirties.

On the screen, the blond one knelt down and reached into his coat for a ring box. Steve inhaled sharply, eyes stinging, as the other man nodded tearfully. The two embraced, laughing as they lost their balance and tumbled to the floor.

Steve became aware of the others watching him and rose quickly. “Uh, bathroom,” he muttered before rushing out of the room. He knew how it looked, what the others must be thinking, but he didn’t want to be seen having such a strong emotional reaction to a damned soap opera of all things.

He made his way down to an empty hallway and leaned against the wall, eyes closed. He took a few shaky breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Flashes of memory plagued his mind. Sneers. Hurtful words thrown like punches. Hiding in dark places from actual punches. Better memories accompanied them. Laughing blue eyes. Knowing smiles. Kisses in dark hiding places. Small cots and tangled limbs.

But always in secret.

“Steve?” a quiet voice asked.

Steve nearly jumped and quietly turned away to wipe any trace of tears from his eyes. When he turned back, Natasha stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, looking concerned.

“Hey, Nat,” he said, grimacing at the hoarseness of his voice.

“You good?” she asked, and, as Steve was starting to realize with her, she really wanted to know. And he didn’t know what to say.

To say something out loud that has always been a secret between two people, never vocalized in a voice above a whisper, something that’s never been seen in full sunlight, is a feat nigh herculean.

So he just shook his head.

Nat simply pursed her lips, nodded and pulled him into a hug.

 LGBT history was added to his list of research topics an important category on its own. He made his way tearfully through documentaries about Stonewall with Nat at his side. He watched his first pride parade from a distance, not quite ready yet to participate.

Finally, when Steve had once again pulled Nat out of the room to tell her this new thing he’d learned about (Elton John!), she’d said, “Look, man, I don’t want to pressure you or anything, but have you thought of coming out to the others? I promise that they’d be super chill about it.”

Steve looked at her uncertainly. “Are you sure, I mean, I like them and all, but…”

“100% sure,” she said. “They know I’m pan and, hell, I’m pretty sure there’s something going on between Tony and Bruce, with all that tension.”

 The benefit of the internet was that research was so much easier – not just academic research, but research into how people did things, their stories and experiences. Steve read nearly every article about how to come out to one’s friends. But, no matter how much research he did, he didn’t feel quite ready.

That was, until one day, as he was about to head out for a run, he heard his name on the news that played almost perpetually on the tv. He leaned into the room to see what it was about.

A politician who looked vaguely familiar was on the screen – white hair, clean-cut – “… he’s the kind of hero we need as a role model, you see. A traditional man, from a simpler time. I would much prefer my sons to look up to Captain America than Iron Man – who drinks excessively and has a new woman on his arm every time you see him.”

“I’ll have you know that Pepper and I are going steady!” Tony called from the kitchen. “Although we do have an agreement.” He winked at Bruce, who rolled his eyes.

The news host came back on the screen. “That was Senator Johnson at a press earlier today is leading a small faction of senators against L-17, the proposed nation-wide ban of conversion therapy for minors.”

“Obviously, I support the LGBT+ community,” Johnson said a bit awkwardly. “But I also support parents’ rights to raise their children as they see fit. This law is an infringement of people’s freedom of religion.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. He had definitely heard of this guy before – notoriously homophobic, but tried to keep up the nice, reasonable guy routine.

“Hey, Tony,” he said. “How long does it take to set up a charitable organization?”

 Not very long at all, apparently. After a week of meetings and long hours, Steve found himself with a door between him and a crowd of reporters.

Tony came in a grinned. “Don’t know how you did it, but here are more reporters in there than there were when I announced I was Iron Man.”

“Well, Captain America doesn’t hold a lot of press conferences,” Nat said. “So, they know it’s big.”

Steve smiled, trying to look confident. He’d never liked talking to the press, even back in the day. Then he’d just had to talk about beating the Nazis and try to keep up morale. Now he was about to say something to the whole country that he’d never really said out loud before. He hadn’t really had to come out to the rest of the gang per se. They had kind of figured it out through his determination to get this done as quickly as possible. A kind of silent understanding.

But this had to be him. and maybe he was doing it out of spite – he did wish he could see X’s face – but the more he thought about it, he knew it was bigger than that.

He wanted to make sure that no one in this country had to grow up like he did – hiding.

So, with one last deep breath, a reassuring nod from Bruce, a smile from Nat, and a slap on the back from Tony, he stepped through the door and out in front of the crowd.

Questions exploded at him and he quickly walked over to the mic. “Hey, everyone. Glad you could make it. Uh, I’ll take questions in just a sec.”

The crowd quieted down, and Steve took a moment to clear his head and slow his racing heart. “I am here today to announce the launch of my charitable organization, In the Light. And it will be for the support of LGBT+ teens across the country.

The reporters clamoured with questions again. Steve was sure he heard Johnson’s name thrown around. He gestured for them to quiet and continued. “This is something I’ve been wanting to do for a while, but certain recent events have made me realize that I am sometimes associated with, well, ideas and values I disagree with a lot.” He paused. “Those who yearn for a simpler time, when things were more traditional, must remember that people have always been gay, bi, pan, nonbinary, asexual, all the things people are now. And I’d know, because, well, I’m living proof.” Mutters grew. “I was born in 1914, and,” he paused for a fraction of a second. “I am gay.” 

He stopped again as the crowd burst out with questions and waited patiently for them to quiet down. “And while I don’t want to dwell up the negatives, I do want to be honest. It wasn’t always easy. Sometimes, it really sucked. Everything had to be secret and hidden – and sure, we found ways around it, but that didn’t improve the circumstances. I want to help make sure that no one has to hide like I did.” His voice shook a little and he took a moment to clear his head. “Cause no kid should be ashamed of who they are.”

Satisfied that he had said enough, Steve took questions from the reporters.

“Are you referring to Senator Johnson’s statements last week?”

“I…” Steve’s diplomatic nature almost took over but remembered all the harm Johnson could do. He was really just another bully. “Hearing him connect me with his homophobic views did encourage me to go public with this earlier than I had intended, and one of the organization’s first focuses will be on the law banning conversion therapy and getting it passed. But this is bigger than one bigoted senator – this is about helping the kids who suffer because of people like him.”

After a couple of questions from other reporters, a much younger reporter from a news source he didn’t recognize, asked. “Just wanna say, love this a lot. We stand with you. Could you say trans rights?”

Steve smiled. “Absolutely. Trans rights.”

The kid – because really, it was a kid – grinned.

“Well, I’d say that’s a perfect conclusion for this,” Steve said. “Thank you all so much. Call your reps and tell them to vote for Bill L-17 and donate if you can. Thank you.”

When he got through the door, he saw Nat, Bruce, and Tony all watching the screen. They looked a little teary-eyed.

“Great job, Cap,” Tony said. “Way to stick it to that son of a bitch Johnson… And help the kids too, of course.”

Bruce merely nodded and smiled.

Nat grinned. “Told you they’d be chill with it.” When Steve shot her a look, she added. “The country, I mean.” She paused. “Well, obviously, you’ll get hate. Like a lot. I would recommend staying off the internet for like two weeks at least.”

Steve noticed that his heart rate had gone back to normal and he looked at them. This was good.

 Time passed and he got used to people knowing. The old panicky feeling in his chest when the topic came up subsided. The organization grew. The bill passed – for which Tony threw a party.

Steve got to travel all around the country, opening up shelters and homes for kids who were kicked out or felt unsafe at home. He helped reps in various states push for LGBT+ inclusive sex-ed curriculum.

And he talked to the kids. That was simultaneously the best and worst part. The best because they were all wonderful, and smart, and funny, and brave, and strong. So strong. The worst because of their stories. The stories his so close to home sometimes that hall he could do was give them a hug and tell hem things would get better as he tried not to cry.

He didn’t realize how emotionally draining it was until one day Bruce came to visit him in his hotel in Miami and found him staring at a wall.

“Y’alright there, Cap?” he asked.

“Mmm?” Steve said, not looking away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Long day.”

It took Bruce a little bit to get the truth out of him, but when he did, he just sighed and said, “If you go on like this, sooner or later, you’re gonna burn out and it’ll take months to get back to normal.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“How long had you been staring at that wall before I came in?”

Steve shrugged. “Not long.” When Bruce raised his eyebrows, he continued. “Like twenty minutes. You’re right. But I can’t stop.”

“You don’t have to stop, just don’t push yourself so hard, okay? It’s not just you, there are other people who work for this organization. Like actual therapists who are trained to deal with this. You don’t have to go full hands-off, just, you know, take a break every so often.”

 As it turned out, the break from In the Light would come in the form of Avengers work. Steve left the organization in the hands of some trustee employees as his whole world turned upside down for a while.

And then Bucky was back. Bucky who had been by his side as long as he could remember before everything happened. Bucky who had shared a bed with him since they were teenagers and he had started living with Bucky’s family.

Bucky, who had kissed him in a dark alleyway at age fourteen. His first kiss. For almost as long as they had known each other, they had been a little more than friends.

Bucky, who would arrange dates with all the gay and bi girls he knew so that they could go out together without suspicion. When they went to the movies with Ruth and Sarah, he and Bucky would sit on either side so the girls could sit together in the middle. Then they would stand guard outside a janitor’s closet afterwards talking loudly about the movie. And if worst came to worst and there was any trouble, they could keep the girls safe.

Bucky, who was now living with them once everything had quieted down. And while they got back into a reasonably familiar rhythm, there was a degree of separation.

Neither of them dared to step across that thin line between the platonic and the romantic. After all, it had been so long. Feelings may have changed.

#stucky #marvel #mcu #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #mlm #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #shared life experiences

[takaraphoenix]

For your Marvel venture, how about a Stephen/Tony fic where they meet for the first time and Stephen wants to date Tony. Only, Stephen as someone who has never been fond of kids has to get use to the idea since Tony has a son, Peter. Will Stephen stick around or will his aversion to kids stop him from potentially the best relationship he’ll ever have? Oh! Maybe a shovel talk from Peter to add to it! All this is of course in the Marvel AU and they all have their powers. Just a thought!

Tony Stark and Doctor Stephen Strange were the perfect match. The newspapers loved it.

Popular playboy Tony Stark finally settling down with someone. And not just anyone. No, a world-renewed neurosurgeon. Both were handsome, wealthy men who visually alone made for such a good couple. The newspapers were plastered with their faces, them arm in arm at some kind of charity gala, smiling for the camera, press conferences.

Sure, they had to deal with their share of homophobic idiocy. And Tony swore that if he had to spell out that he was bisexual one more time, he was going to riot. Reporters asking if that now meant that he was gay, or if he was going to get back together with Pepper.

Things with Pepper hadn't lasted and weren't meant to last. She didn't want him to be Iron Man, he was Iron Man – not just a persona, it was a part of who he was at his core. And then things also changed when Tony decided he wanted to be a father, while Pepper was not ready for that step. Tony understood that, he respected that – especially since she had just made career as the CEO of Stark Industries. That wasn't for her life-situation and it wasn't for them together.

So they had broken up, Tony got the shrapnel out and hit it off with his surgeon after things had healed. And it had started out as just sex. They had great chemistry, just fun. And then they got attached to each other and the press started trailing them around and somehow, accidentally, sex turned into something more. Into an actual, real relationship.

"So, now that we're apparently serious, according to the Times, I think it's time you meet my kids."

He was sprawled out on Stephen's chest, in Stephen's loft. The view was magnificent. Both, outside the large windows and on the bed. Stephen was quite the looker. Grinning to himself, Tony turned around and started running his fingers over Stephen's chest curiously.

Tony had taken three orphaned teenagers in, months after his break-up with Pepper, fostering them and making public statements about helping children who had a harder time getting a second chance. But back then, Tony and Stephen had barely just started sleeping around and Stephen hadn't worried about this. He had thought it would just stay a casual affair.

Because Stephen was not a fan of children – he never wanted children of his own. Back then, he had assumed that him and Tony would just have some equally beneficial sex.

Yet here he was, with the billionaire in his arms, looking up at him with those soft brown doe-eyes of his and the long lashes that Stephen wouldn't mind counting, had attempted to count on some evenings when Tony would just fall asleep on top of him on the couch and he didn't want to wake the other. Maybe that alone had already been a dead giveaway. Stephen had grown fond of Tony. He had developed serious feelings for Tony and, according to Christina, Tony was actually good for Stephen. Though Stephen refused to believe that.

"Well, there's some things we've been trying to keep out of the press", replied Tony with an innocent look on his face. "See, there's... So they didn't exactly find their way into my life through an adoption agency. It was more... a rip in time and space."

"Are you implying your children are from an alternate reality? And who exactly..."

"Come to dinner at the tower this weekend, mh?", suggested Tony amused.

He leaned in and kissed Stephen gently. The question was... what did Stephen want? He really was not a children-person. He never wanted children. But he truly cared about Tony. When the inventor smiled, it actually took Stephen's breath away. Stephen had even grown fond of the bots and he had come to appreciate the banter with Jarvis. What did Stephen want...?

/break\

Bruce smiled amused where he was leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He had been living at the tower for over a year now, since the attack on New York. And for the past few months, he had been listening to Tony talk sweetly about Stephen – Stephen's eyes, his well-groomed goatee, his abs, his snark. Honestly, Bruce could write a ballad about Stephen by now, from listening to Tony.

What Bruce had also been there for however was Thor's last big visit here. Well, not that Thor had contacted any of the Avengers. He just, dealt with an Infinity Stone, had it rip a literal tear into the fabric of reality and then left again with the source of it all, but leaving the mess behind.

Jane Foster had come to find the Avengers – explaining it to them what had happened and where all those strange things had come from. Because Thor had not noticed the ripple-effect. Other realities had bled into theirs. Monsters, villains... and three teenagers.

Apparently, the Avengers existed in most realities, in some way or shape. So all three teenagers had somehow found their way to the tower, hoping for help from the Avengers. Needless to say, Jane, Tony, Bruce, Steve, Natasha and Clint had looked justifiably stunned when three teenagers dressed as spiders had appeared. They all had come from different realities. While the Avengers went out to gather up anything and anyone who had slipped through the cracks, the three teenagers somehow got comfortable at the tower, where – despite Tony's invitation after the invasion – only Bruce and Tony lived. While Bruce was fine being the 'cool uncle' (Peter's words, not his. Whatever was cool about a tired middle-aged scientist. "You're the Doctor Bruce Banner!", was the answer he usually got in return), Tony had taken a more... parental role in the teens' lives.

"So the doc's really coming over for dinner, huh?", asked Miles.

"Stephen. Yes", confirmed Tony. "And I need you all to be on your best behavior."

"Aren't we always?", asked Gwen with the brightest, most innocent smile.

"The most innocent, sis", confirmed Peter, batting his eyelashes at Tony.

Tony heaved a deep sigh and threw his hands up in the air. "No spidering! No one should know you have powers, especially not my very normal, totally regular boyfriend."

"Your very normal, totally regular boyfriend is a millionaire neurosurgeon. Dunno how regular or normal that is in this reality, but it sure is not in mine", pointed Miles out, eyebrows raised.

"It's normal by Tony-standards", assured Bruce lightly.

"Et tu, Bruce-tus?", gasped Tony.

Bruce chuckled and shook his head, not commenting otherwise. He did wonder whether or not the three spiderlings would manage to keep their powers to themselves for long enough though. And how good Strange was going to handle this all. This was going to be a very interesting dinner and he had already inquired with Jarvis to take a highlight reel of it.

/break\

The teenagers were making Stephen uncomfortable. Gwendolyne – or Gwanda, as Miles kept calling her? - had messy blonde hair with pink-dyed tips, wearing a white hoodie and chewing pink bubblegum in quite the obnoxious manner. The two boys, Miles and Peter, were bent over a piece of paper together, doing what looked like homework. Or, well, Peter was anyway. Miles kept doodling in the corners and every now and again filling out a formula when Peter was stuck.

"I'm trying to keep them straight-", started Stephen.

"That won't work. I'm asexual", interrupted Peter.

"To—otally a huge lesbian over here", called Gwen out, waving one hand without looking up from her phone and still typing on it with the other.

"Bisexual", piped Miles up, looking at Stephen with a grin.

Taking a deep breath, Stephen closed his eyes and counted to five. This was part of the reason why he did not want children. They were exhausting. Opening his eyes, he turned toward Tony, who stood in the kitchen in an apron. He had ordered in from his favorite Italian place (Stephen had seen the containers earlier) and was currently pretending he had cooked it. Just seeing that and hearing Tony's laughter at what the children had said was enough to make Stephen smile.

"Not the straight I meant", sighed Stephen. "Keeping you... apart."

"Yeah. Pete and I are a regular set of twins", agreed Miles, looking Peter up and down. "Don't know how anyone can keep us apart, huh?"

"It's like looking into a mirror", confirmed Peter seriously.

Again, Stephen closed his eyes and counted to five. "Again, not what I meant."

"Stop giving Stephen a hard time, kids!", warned Tony from the kitchen, sounding amused.

"Sorry, dad", chorused the three teenagers innocently.

"Okay, what do you wanna know, doc?", asked Gwen, finally putting her phone down.

"Tony explained to me that all three of you come from alternate realities. Different ones or the same?", inquired Stephen. "And are you... looking for a way back, or is the..."

"He wants to hear our sob-stories", concluded Gwen and nodded. "Mom's not interested in me and my dad was a cop before he died. I've kinda been doing a solo thing until, well, reality broke."

"Villain attack", was all Miles stated with a half-shrug.

"My parents died when I was really young and my aunt and uncle raised me... until a robber killed them both", tagged Peter on, looking away. "Guess that happened differently in this reality. This reality's Peter Parker still has his aunt May at least."

"So the actual reason why Tony has been keeping you out of the press is because you all... exist twice now", questioned Stephen curiously, leaning forward.

"Nope", replied Miles. "Time seems to work differently in this reality compared to mine. In mine, Peter's like an old man. Like, really old. About as old as you and Tony. My... parents are around though. Heh. Still high school age. I'm not born yet."

"But since Peter exists here, we are keeping a low profile too. Wouldn't want anyone digging too deep and finding out that we don't exist here", tagged Gwen on. "Even though Jarvis did a bang job on making us fake birth certificates and backgrounds and all."

"Thank you, Gwen", chimed Jarvis in, sounding indeed quite proud.

"And neither of you are planning to return to your own reality?", asked Stephen slowly.

"I mean...", started Miles and shifted some. "I dunno. It's not like that's an option. Not any time soon. And Tony, Peter and Gwen have been more family than I had since my parents died..."

"Oh, I am definitely here to stay", grunted Gwen. "Nothing to return to."

Which, was true. Ghost-Spider had been framed for her own parents' murder. There really was nothing left for Gwen to return to. She'd rather stay here, become an Avenger – 'When you are older, young lady', had been what Captain Rogers had said with both eyebrows raised.

Stephen nodded slowly, a frown on his face. Gwen grinned amused and turned to look at Miles and Peter. Oh, Stephen was most definitely not ready for a relationship with a man with three kids and he was kind of hoping for an easy out, like them leaving. They were not going to leave. Peter had contemplated it, thought about contacting May from this world, but they didn't even know if this world's Peter was a Spider-Man and things would just get too complicated – and also, Peter had grown attached to Miles and Gwen, as the siblings he never had, and he had always admired Tony Stark, even in his own reality, so to live here under his guidance was amazing.

That did not stop the kids from giving Tony's boyfriend a hard time though. The three had agreed upon that. Over the past months of living here, they had grown very attached to Tony. Sure, Tony could not replace any of their parents from their own worlds, but those were gone – both, their parents as well as their worlds. And Tony was here, he was here for them. And the trio knew that Tony's heart was fragile. Not just literally due to the whole scarring and shrapnel that had been in it and all, but also because he loved and tended to get his heart broken. Not that they blamed Pepper for the breakup, sure they were teens but they understood that two people with fundamentally different life-goals were not meant to last. Still, it had left Tony in pieces.

They weren't going to allow a stranger to come into their family and break Tony any more. If this Strange fella couldn't handle three teens, he'd have to go; because Tony had made it clear that he would have the kids with him as long as they wanted to stay.

"Now, dinner is ready!", exclaimed Tony, carrying a tray over with a smile.

The teens cleared out to go and help set the table. Stephen remained seated, staring after them with a thoughtful and partially frustrated expression on his face. Those children... meant the world to Tony. He turned slightly to look at Tony, who put the food down and went to kiss his temples.

"They're not giving you too hard a time, right?", whispered Tony concerned.

"No, absolutely not", assured Stephen with a thin smile.

It was so important to Tony that Stephen got along with the kids. And... Stephen had come to care too much about Tony to even want to imagine the disappointed and heartbroken look on his face if that weren't the case – no, not the 'l'-word, regardless of how much Christina insisted on it, Stephen was most definitely not in love with Tony Stark. Dimples and puppy-dog eyes be damned. It wasn't like Stephen had gotten lost in honey-colored eyes for minutes on end just listening to Tony tell some kind of story of what the Avengers had been up to, or what science project him and Bruce were working on. And Stephen had most definitely not adjusted his own play-list according to songs that Tony sang along to in the shower, shaking his (very perfectly shaped) ass to it. No, Stephen had most definitely not gotten used to waking up with the billionaire in his arms and had not come to thoroughly enjoy their routine of grooming their goatees over banter.

...Damn it, Stephen had fallen in love with Tony Stark.

"Sir, there appears to be an emergency", interrupted Jarvis.

"What. No. No emergencies. Only family dinner. We agreed on this. Steve promised to cover for me and even Bruce said he'd let the Hulk out before they'd call me", complained Tony.

"The Hulk is out and Captain Rogers has what you have previously described as a 'guilty puppy' look on his face, sir", replied Jarvis. "I'm sorry, sir, but Doctor Doom has let loose a dozen doombots that have torn down large parts of downtown."

"Doombots?", echoed Peter and squinted. "I could take out a dozen doombots-"

Gwen elbowed Peter with a pointed glare. Their powers needed to stay a secret. Even though Peter was right. The teens could take care of doombots on their own, why couldn't the Avengers?

"Apparently, the attack was aimed at the Enchantress and there is a... squabble going on between her and Doctor Doom", elaborated Jarvis. "The combination of them is what proves a problem."

Tony heaved a sigh, but Stephen already reached out to squeeze his hand. "It's fine, Tony. Go, save the city. We can heat dinner up later and eat it."

That made Tony smile, albeit only faintly. This was why he had fallen in love with Stephen. While in disbelief about some of the things Tony encountered, he was also supportive of Tony's choice to be out there as a hero. Leaning in, Tony kissed Stephen briefly before making his way out.

"So... wanna play a card-game while we wait, doc?", asked Miles slowly.

Stephen looked mildly constipated at that, making Gwen and Peter grin. For now, they put the food away again to be heated up later on. Gwen went back on her phone and Peter and Miles returned their attention to their homework for now. Stephen however found his way over toward the large windows to watch – the tower was high and Tony lived in the penthouse. He could see where the fight happened. And it was... disturbingly close. Stephen frowned concerned as the battle seemed to move closer toward them and at a rapid speed – especially when Jarvis' alarm sounded.

"The battle seems headed this way. We should...", started Stephen cautiously.

"Move to sir's private panic-room", continued Jarvis for them.

Gwen, Peter and Miles got up and led the way. They kept side-eyeing Stephen, who misunderstood.

"It's okay", assured Stephen, back straight as the door closed behind the three inside the panic-room. "Tony is amazing, he will solve this in no time."

"That's... we're not worried about him", offered Gwen, trying to hide her amusement.

Of course. They were worried about themselves. They were just helpless children, after all. Stephen frowned as he stood tall in front of them, reaching out in a protective manner.

"It will all be fine", tried Stephen, voice softer. "I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me."

The three teens exchanged small grins as they huddled close, trying to act like the frightened teens Stephen assumed them to be. Okay, maybe this doc wasn't so bad after all. Even though he was clearly uncomfortable with the teenagers, he was still trying to be reassuring and even promised to protect them. He seemed to really care a great deal about Tony.

/break\

"I'm so sorry", sighed Tony frustrated as he leaned against Stephen's chest. "We didn't even get to eat properly. Stupid Doom. And I left you at the wolves' mercy for hours."

"It was no problem", chuckled Stephen, kissing Tony gently. "They have taught me a lot about... Star Wars. More than I ever thought I'd need to know, really."

Tony laughed softly, nuzzling Stephen's neck. "Good night, Stephen. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow it is", confirmed Stephen. "And Doom won't ruin our date."

Tony smiled to himself as he watched Stephen go. When he turned around again, he was faced by three teasingly grinning teenagers. Oh, those three just lived to torment and tease him.

"So... what's the verdict?", asked Tony a little nervously. "Oh god, you hate him. He was... too stiff? Not up on his memes? What is it. Tell me."

Peter walked up to him... and then just hugged him, wrapping his arms around Tony's neck. Miles and Gwen attached themselves to him from either side, confusing Tony even more.

"We like him, dad", assured Peter, squeezing tighter (too tight, super-strong spider-boy).

"Yeah. He's not up on his memes, but that's okay. We can teach him", chuckled Miles.

"Besides, he makes you happy and he seems to care a great deal about you. That's all that matters", tagged Gwen on with a grin. "Though... I wonder how good he'll handle it when he learns his three future step-children actually have super-powers."

"Hey, it's a crazy world, maybe he'll end up gaining super-powers too?", joked Miles.

Tony just laughed breathlessly and relieved as he hugged his kids.

 ~*~ The End ~*~

Read this here on FFNet & here on AO3!

#IronStrange #Stephen Strange #Tony Stark #Iron Dad #Peter Parker #Gwen Stacy #Miles Morales #Fanfiction #Marvel #Fluff #qofsass

[loneleesoul]

Starker: Party Games Pt. 1

Highschool AU, Cliché bad boy x shy nerd....

This is kinda long because I enjoyed writing this story, I may add more parts in this lil blurb in the future.

🧡🧡🧡

"Don't waste my time Penis Parker." He snarls, pushing the shy trembling boy away. "Y-You asked me to do your homework and I did!" Peter stammers defensively and Tony rolls his eyes, remembering the pathetic conversation about it earlier.

"Yeah, well?? Give it to me." He holds his hand out expectantly, foot tapping impatiently.

With a trembling hand, Peter gives the paper to the angry senior. Tony looks down at it, skimming all of the correct answers. "Not bad Parker, could've gotten some of the answers wrong to make it more realistic." He shrugs, heart softening a bit.

"I'm sorry." Peter whispers, wanting to leave the presence of Tony Stark. He shuffles back a bit, trying to make Tony get the message that this conversation was over.

"Okay Dick, get to class.. I don't want to smear your perfect record." He nods at Peter, hanging back to maintain his late and smart-ass reputation.

Peter's pathetic jog turns into a sprint as the bell rings. He's late for the first time in his highschool career. He slams the door open, an apology falling from his lips as he pants.

"No excuse Parker." The teacher mutters, not even looking up from her phone. He groans in exasperation, sitting down next to Ned. "Late man, disappointed.." He smirks and Peter rests his head on his desk.

"Are you going to Rogers' Party?" Ned asks, leaning so Peter can see him.

"Maybe dude." Peter shrugs, watching Tony stroll through the door, late but unnoticed by the teacher.

"Why not? He's really nice, didn't he help you out when someone put graffiti on your locker?" Ned presses, obviously wanting to hang out with the nicest kid in school. "Ned, most of his friends hate me or whatever." Peter sighs, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Or whatever, you say people hate you when they really don't.. Peter, stop putting yourself down. They just don't know you, it's not hate." Ned puts a sympathetic hand on Peter's shoulder, and they're both oblivious to Tony Stark staring at them.

"Fine, I'll go.. but don't expect me to be like you and socialize, and flop around." Peter sits up, pushing Ned's hand away. "I am a fantastic dancer, I haven't a clue what you are talking about."

"You look like a brain-dead fish getting electrocuted." Peter laughs and Ned smack him with his notebook. "Thanks buddy."

__________

Tony and Ned walk up the long driveway together, looking at the expensive house with longing. "He sure is loaded, look at the security cameras." Ned points to the state of the art security system. "Will we even be let in? Do they think we are gonna steal and search us when we leave?" Peter's worried, stopping before the door.

"Peter, stop freaking out all the time... see here comes Steve now." Ned nods at the god opening the door.

"Hey Peter, Ned.. we were just about to start a game, join us." Steve grabs Peter's hand and drags him inside.

He barely looks at the splendor and glamour of the house as Steve guides him into a huge room.

People sit in a circle on the floor. People don't even acknowledge Peter's presence as they greet Ned happily.

Except for Stark, who sits silent. He stares at Peter long enough for it to get uncomfortable. "Let's start, has everyone played paranoia before?" He's greeted with nods and smirks. "Well, I've got my own little spin on this.. since it's got a 50/50 chance of truth involved, how about a little dare?"

Peter wants to get up and walk all the way home, but Ned holds his leg steady.

"So, if the coin says heads you have to tell.. you also have to do.. whatever it was asked of you to the person. Consent is mandatory of course, otherwise it's a no go. There's a room, third door on the left for privacy." He wears a devilish smile on his lips and Peter shudders, hoping everyone would forget he were here.

"Let's begin, shall we?"

Peter let's out a huge sigh as Steve sits and turns to Bucky instead of him.

"Shit, I can't say you?" He groans when Steve stops whispering. "No, choose." Steve smirks, a boyish glint in his eyes. "Fuuuugh, T'Challa then."

T'Challa looks up from his phone surprised. "Flip a coin then.." He mutters, shrugging.

Bucky tosses the coin and freezes. "No need for a room, spit in my mouth." He says, looking up at T'Challa with a shrug.

Peter has to look away as T'Challa crawls over to Bucky and spits in his mouth.

"Did you really want Rogers' to do that?" Natasha laughs, patting T'Challa on the back as he gets back into his spot. "Yeah, you could still do it Barnes.. beg for it." Tony mocks, arms crossed with a smile.

"Stop guys.. Bruce go." Steve winks at Bucky, who blushes slightly. Bucky takes a few seconds to whisper to Bruce, who grimaces in response.

"Gross, has to be a guy... Sorry Nat, I choose Loki." Bruce laughs and flips a coin. "You'll never know."

Now Peter knows he's never talked to Bruce before, but has definitely tripped and fallen and embarrassed himself in front of him a ton.

Ned's words of 'They don't hate you, they just don't know you' melt away when his name comes out from Natasha's lips.

He's also made an ass of himself in front of her many times. So Peter knows it's bad as the couple laugh over it. Nat flips the coin and smirks. "Sorry kid." She snorts and leans over to Thor.

Peter leans over to Ned's ear "Told you it was a mistake to come here." He mutters and Ned shrugs. "It's paranoia... or whatever Steve's version is.. this is fun though, I won't ever get called for anything sexual. My heart belongs to Beyonce only." He smiles dreamingly and Peter shakes his head, turning back to the game.

Only to see Thor and Loki walking down the hallway and disappearing through the door third to the left. Ned giggles uncontrollably and Peter sighs. Something was bound to happen.

They all wait it out, the fifteen minutes of whatever was going on. Probably some hardcore shit by the look of their hair, tousled and mussed up.

Peter doesn't like to think about it and shudders. He barely registers that it's Tony's turn next.

And of course, he says "Parker" booming confidence the moment Thor stopped whispering. Thor gasps at Tony and supresses a laugh.

Great... probably something awful about how shit Peter is. He just stares at the floor as the coin flips.

"Come on Pete." He's standing, room silent. Peter gawks at him, like it was a joke. "I- I'm sorry what?" He chokes out and Tony groans.

"Parker, room now." He puts his hands on his hips as everyone in the room stares at Peter, waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry but.. no." He whispers just loud enough for a few people to hear. Tony raises his eyebrows. "Kid you have got to be kidding me you don't even know what I was asked to do. I could make a secret handshake, or we could rob a bank for fucks sake and you're passing me up on that?"

Steve sighs "Tony consent is mandatory.. let it go."

Tony scoffs and sits back down, whispering to Scott. Peter decides to tune out the rest of the game, watching people disappear into the room as Tony glares at him with flaming eyes.

Peter somehow overstepped the mark, pissed off Tony Stark. Which was dangerous and a beating from the likes of Stark could be lethal.

Peter could tell everyone was just upset with him as it became his turn and Ned whispered in his ear.

"Who are you the most afraid of here?"

It's a pathetic question but Ned wasn't a gross pervert like everyone else. Peter prays that it's tails. "Stark."

Which shocks everyone, despite not knowing the question. Maybe it was the lack of hesitation or what had happened a bit earlier.

"Drama... tails." Ned flips the coin and a spark ignites in Tony's eye as Peter looks up at him for a split second.

Danger.... warning... Peter Parker's funeral next week, Tuesday at 6 pm.

The game had stopped a bit later due to people spending too much time in the room. People were leaving, as much as Peter wanted to escape death for another day, Ned wished to stay.

Steve stops him before he leaves the main room. "Hey, that took guts to say no. I'm glad you got out of a situation you didn't feel comfortable in." He pats him on the shoulder like a baseball loving cringey dad.

"Ah.. thanks." It's all he can say, besides who would admit that the entire party made him uncomfortable.

"Now, you better get outta here.. Stark looks like he's gonna kill you, don't fret son.. I'll keep him at bay for a while."

Peter nods, shook at such dank old language. He rushes to find Ned for protection. "We have to leave..." He begs, pouting in the way Ned found irresistible to say no.

"Peter, I'm having some fun.. remember how lame that Liz girl's party was sophomore year? Well this is a huge step up, and they have some hecking great beats poppin."

Peter gags "Stop.. for the love of god stop." He hates it when Ned acts like that. "Can I call May in ten minutes?" He whines and people start staring.

"Don't you dare embarrass me with your pornstar whine, I feel cool for once." He straightens his hat with an affirming nod. "Make it twenty minutes, go talk to some people...maybe meet a girl or whatever you like?" Ned shrugs.

Peter just walks away, annoyed by the fact that he, like everyone else thought he was gay.

It's never like Peter's dated someone, or liked someone in that way. He's turned down tons of girls since fifth grade.He'd been teased about it a ton by children at the playground. It was traumatizing.

Peter could never really confirm if he were gay or not. Until something catches his eye, he's oblivious.

Peter does find a girl, slightly attractive by the window. Was this how it worked? Find someone pleasing to the eye and mention that they are pleasing to look at.

No, it's not, as Peter gets his foot stomped on by her leather boot. Sassy and sarcastic. He walks away to wait outside to call May.

"Parker!"

Oh shittt.

Tony's come outside too, stands glaring at Peter on the steps. "So, I've got a case of paranoia I think you could help me out with."

[simon-jess]

Simon movie/music headcanons? Simon and/or Jessica + babysitting (since you said he’s better with kids and I’d love to see your take). Also the obligatory “ah crap we gotta go to Gotham” hc/storyline crossover with Batfam/Batman? No pressure you just said “ideas?” And I saw so many scrolling through :)

I’m crying thank you!!! ok I really really really blabbered on here so I’m gonna put a read more on

music : Simon was a hundred percent behind Britney Spears & really hated (& still hates J*stin T*mberlake) & is still a known stan, also he loved the Spice Girls & while he’s been  a lil busy to listen to current music & know who they’re talking about he would totally die for Beyoncé

movie’s : he’s a nerd so I think he’d be really into sci-fi/fantasy movies but also I think he’d watch gotg & yell about how theres actually no sound in space so in reality I think he unapologetically loves romcoms & his fav movies are The Princess Bride, 2005′s Pride & Prejudice, Big Eden tbh & also Jessica thinks its adorable

babysitting : ok ok my actual weakness? Simon with kids??? ok ok, he’s literally the best uncle ever & its not like he’s a kid whisperer but he’d literally never raise his voice to a minor/woman ever like he could be giving Farid cooking lessons & Farid could literally dumb boiling water on him & Simon would be all calm & make sure FArid was ok & the stuff was put away b4 he saw to his burns like he..just won’t yell at kids, he’s a good man & he was yelled at by alot of people when he was little & he’d never wanna be a grown ass man who tried to scare kids like them so he just would never???? & when he’s watching kids they get that, like they know he’s gonna enforce the rules but he’d like talk to them not scream/punish, & he’s really good at getting into their games because he can literally carry like 4 toddlers at once somebody stop this beautiful man. when any of Farid’s friends accidentally break one of his toys (or Farid himself) Simon can literally just fix it & he makes sure they understand that so they don’t get to upset. he’s also a firm believer in the saying sorry rule as in “sorry means you won’t do “it” again” & makes sure the kids understand that when they are in trouble, he also is really cool & really does enjoy spending his free time w family & friends, so he will always help Farid & his friends (if they’re over) w homework & he loves helping him w projects tbh (when Farid is older & in the science fair, trust me when I say Farid’s not entering with a weak ass volcano), there’s so much more I can go on about Simon & kids forever so I’m prob gonna make a parent hc post eventually tbh, so I’m gonna move on to Jessica.

Jessica : admittedly I put less thought into this, ok so while I think Jess isn’t bad w kids like she’s not one of those freaks who are mean to kids for no reason, I don’t think she’d like actively try to deal with them like on cases she’s content having Simon play w them & honestly she doesn’t like babies they cry & they can be hurt so easily & she doesn’t want to hurt them so she never holds them & like children kinda give her anxiety because she doesn’t wanna upset them so she overthinks everything she says & does w them & how they interpret it & it’s a never ending spiral of panicking so…yeah she doesn’t seek em out, but! when they go to her while she’s patroling or hanging w Simon’s fam or something she’s so nice??? she doesn’t realize it but her smile & how she talks to them?? every kid just gets inspired to be just like her?? like with Simon they feel safe but with Jessica they feel like heroes??? does any of that make sense I’m just kinda blabbering & I’m gay & can’t explain my thoughts properly lol

gotham/batfam : ok them going to Gotham for a case is interesting but whats more interesting??? going to Gotham because Bruce invited him! like Bats invited him to the cave so…he visits, like while he works w the League it makes sense for him to work on the League’s official vehicles, but he gets asks to look at the batmobile? like ok let me explain Bats is a dad & Simon’s roughly his eldest’s age so he low-key reminds him of Dick (esp personality wise) & he feels unappreciated? Bats isn’t good w words but he is good w gestures so yeah he asks Simon to fix his car after is crashes the billionth time & yeah he lets Simon upgrade it lord knows it needed them & sure maybe he had Alfred bully Simon into staying for dinner to make sure he ate & sure maybe he made sure Damian was here because Simon loves children & having him teach Damian about cars while he worked on it cheered him up but he doesn’t care or anything (he’s /this/ close to writing up adoption orders).

Simon w the rest of the fam starting w Alfred: he loves him there’s just a shared respect of someone who does everything for family, like everytime they see eachother the look the exchange…it tells a thousand stories, also they exchange reciepes & cooking tips (& parenting tips) all the time & when Simon goes over he’ll bring something he made from one of Alf’s recipes & Alf will make one of Simon’s & they’ll see how it turned out….what I’m saying is that they’re bros’s they’re /this/ close to starting a book club together

Dick: like Alfred they bonded near instantly from the mutual reconition of doing everything for their family but also Dick hit on him once & if Simon wasn’t crazy about Jessica right then he would’ve taken him up on it, Simon mostly visits either to just chat, for some advice w Jessica or tbh to hang w his bf Tiger,  when he visits he always brings food so Dick really doesn’t mind tbh, long story short is they bros but like more low-key than him & Alf & Bruce

Jason: Simon doesn’t really have a no killing rule or anything but he doesn’t like it at all y’know but he also doesn’t disagree w Jason’s methods so he doesn’t but heads w him but Jason did come to see him w he found out he was hanging w Alf, now Jason joined in on his & Alf’s recipe trades & sometimes they’ll talk about books or something. Really they’re not close but Jason really appreciates having another person to talk to (& he really is that ride or die friend) & who doesn’t judge him at all tbh & Simon’s really just the same way, like they only talk once or twice a month but they do mean alot to each other. also Jason bullies Simon into befriending Roy,Artemis & Bizzaro & while the latter two took some time to like him & Roy hit it off immediately to Jason’s instant regret

Tim: Tim’s smart but honestly him & Simon just clash y’know & (tim stans don’t interact) like y’know if he wanted to talk to a genius he’d talk to Cyborg,Cisco,Dick, or Bruce (who are smarter)? before him like Tim’s just young enough & just old enough that Simon doesn’t really deal w his age group? I do think Simon’s nice to him but theres just no friendship between them they just coexist tbh

Duke: Duke’s a new young hero who’s actually up in the daytime!?? so yeah him & Simon run into eachother alot & Simon’s been in the business just long enough not to be a rookie so he helps alot & Simon was shocked at how smart Duke was tbh & really likes talking stuff w him if only to see how long it’ll take for him to figure it out? & its always so quick? Simon can’t wait to see how big he’ll be in a few years so while Simon’s only like 6-8 years older then him he’s sorta tryin to be a mentor to him

Damian: Bruce is Jewish & so is literally the rest of the fam so Simon’s literally one of the only practicing Muslims that see Damian often so he invites Damian to his family for their holidays & celebrations & that may be the only times they interact but it means so much to Damian & the family when he does it

Cass: Cass is the best judge of character in the entire DC universe & she saw Simon & decided he was good & just?? befriended him like they don’t bond over anything in particular but Simon always treats her like a princess (in a nice way) & Cass & Jess are friends so Simon’s cool w her & they’re both pretty much the friends yelling (& signing in Cass’s case) your doing amazing sweetie when they see eachother

Steph: She’s closer to Jessica but honestly Stephanie’s the Gina Linetti of the dc universe she’s that bitch she’s a known icon, when you need someone destroyed via social media you go to her & given the amount of shit on the green lantern official twitter (they’ve had one for public realations since Hal’s Earth GL days) against Simon & Jessica for terrible reasons…lets just say…Steph’s the friend to have tbh (Vic, & Babs just threaten to shut down twitter when it happens Steph detroys them)

Luke: Simon heard Luke’s story & he knew how smart he was but he wasn’t ready for when they met, they talked for hours & once Simon invited him to come to a bar w him & Vic they immediately become that group of science bros, but also he & Vic are like the only people Simon knows that “sport” & while Simon really doesn’t its nice to feel like a “normal” dude sometimes so he always watches the game w him

Tiffany : Tiffany’s such a genius & Simon’s a engineer & Tiffany thought that was so cool “Luke you’ve gotta invite him over c’mooooon” so yeah Simon came over to meet this Tiffany & they literally spent the better part of an entire day talking shop it was honestly one of the best days of Simon’s life, now Simon takes her to science exhibits w Luke & lectures & Tiffany tells him about what she learned each day & Simon always asks the right questions & yeah they’re just nerdy bffs

Helena (Rebirth): she scared him at first but Simon understands trying to be a hero after doing things you’re not proud of & situations you can’t always control & they may not be friends but Simon does believe she’s good & that means everything to her

Babs (Oracle): you can’t be a hero & not know who Oracle is, she keeps everything running together?? they don’t talk much honestly Simon barely knows her name but aside from his Mom,Sister, & Jessica there’s no one he respects more

Claire : Simon thought it was funny at first, like this little girl really got up & decided to be a hero & then did it??? & continues to do it everynight???? but then he found out what it does to her & Simon & her have & will probaly never meet but Simon always asks about her to make sure she’s doing ok, Simon is planning on going to the guardians to see why she can’t get a ring because he can’t think of much things braver than dying a little bit each time you’re a hero

Harper  : she really did that? like for her brother god does Simon respect that & Simon  doing all of that for someone who may as well be his brother? god does Harper respect that. they bond over mechanical stuff & help each other on projects & once they started hanging out God does Harper’s suit & gadgets improve like holy shit  

Kate : Simon was honestly uncomfortable with her when he found out she was ex military & honestly is still a little but he does recognize her importance & when he sees her prowling the night god  does he leave her alone 

Jessica w the Batfam stating w Bruce : I like to think there’s a few hero support groups for various things & she didn’t wanna go to the anxiety one alone so Bats (who already went but she didn’t need to know that) offered to go with her & she knew he took Simon to the depression one so she said yes, & now they go together every week & honestly it means alot to her & they kinda bonded over that (and how much they both love Simon (Bruce in a paternal way) 

Alfred : Jessica adores Alfred he’s like the second easiest person to talk to & he’s so calming & he makes tea & he never talks down to her & he gives good advice so whenever Simon visits Jessica tries to come to if just to sit with the man he’s her new favorite Grampa 

Dick : Dick’s younger than the league but super experienced in the hero business & tbh theres not many who are more experienced so when she needs help w a gig but is not about to call the league the contacts him (over text obv), they don’t hang much, because despite popular taste Dick’s a lil too serious for her taste, she does appreciate the effort he makes to make her feel like they’re peers when he’s clearly issuing commands, she def sees thru his jokes & facade & while she never mentions it there’s a understanding between them  

Jason : Jess doesn’t like killing point blank (ayy) but she understands the J*ker needs to uhhh die so she refuse to hang w him on moral grounds but also she’s low-key rooting for him tbh 

Tim : I think they just met over completely normal conversations?? like they both just awkwardly talked & everytime they meet they just meet & awkwardly talk? Jessica’s glad he’s back (it was not fun seeing Bats mourn) & Tim thinks she’s a fucking powerhouse but yeah their relationship is literally the  friends of a mutual friend that constantly meet & talk but also aren’t really friends 

Duke : Jess thinks Duke is so cool, he’s one of Gotham’s only superpowered heroes & he’s pretty much its only line of defense during the day. what she didn’t expect was how much of a nerd he was, when they finally met they spent no less than 8 hours throughout the day talking about Lord of the Rings

Damian : Damian doesn’t partically care about Jess one way or the other but when they did meet he wanted to know why she changed her costume as the old one was clearly had a better design, Jess didn’t have the heart to explain all that happened but they did start talking about art & stuff, now their relationship is mostly Jess commissioning him to draw her oc’s tbh 

Cass : Cass is also part of the girls club & honestly Jess & her bond so much talking about how their disability’s effect their day to day lives, they each have their own support system but there’s no reason they can’t support eachother. aren’t close friends but are still one of eachothers greatest cheerleaders 

Steph : Steph is part of the girls club & they both love pokemon honestly they kept on running into eachother when pokemon go came out & they still play it together, alot of the girl heroes get together all the time for a ladies night & while Jess isn’t ready yet Steph is putting an honest (& impressive) effort in convincing her (she’s close tho) 

Luke : they’re so mutually impressed by eachothers determination, like they’re not close at all but god do they respect eachother 

Tiffany : they respect eachothers aesthetics & thats the strongest way for women to become friends tbh, always have makeup on hand for eachother. their friendship is the true definition of girl solidarity tbh. Tiffany’s so busy coming off as intelligent that sometimes she forgets to be a lil girl & its so easy w Jessica, Luke swears she looks like she’s going to disneyland or something everytime Jessica comes over 

Helena (Rebirth): again she doesn’t like killers but she’s part of the girls club & while there may be no love between them Jess does believe in second chances & she really is rooting for her 

Babs : Jessica is so shook by her, Babs is shook by her they recognize powerhouses when they see it & Jessica seeing a disabled woman being easily the power house of the batfam??? she’s honestly never felt so inspired, Jess hands down hero worships her & tbh Babs is shocked because a effing Green Lantern thinks she’s powerful & that mutual validation??? awe inspiring 

Claire : they also met at the hero support group & Jessica’s with Simon, like she came back to life (sorta) because of a Green Lantern ring why can’t Claire have one?? they hang out together & honestly Claire’s one of the few people Jessica’s comfortable going “out & about” with 

Harper : part of the girl squad & while they don’t have much in common they really do like each other in wow that one girl that saved me last night seems really cool tbh, definite respect there

Kate : she’s so gay for her but everytime Kate flirts w her she forgets how to fuction therefore their relationship is in a constant impasse tbh, the constant paradox of wanting to be her gf but also can’t talk to her & Kate just wants to learn her name 

omg that took forever pls tell me if I missed anyone & please feel free to send more asks!!! thank you!!!

#god this took forever #simonjess #simon baz #jessica cruz #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred #helena bertinelli #Jason Todd #tim drake #cassandra cain #Damian Wayne #duke thomas #luke fox #tiffany fox #claire clover #harper row #kate kane #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #dc #green lanterns #asks #anon #answered

[cxramel-cat]

POSSESSION - chapter 08

Chapt. 01 ◾ Chapt. 02 ◾ Chapt. 03 ◾ Chapt. 04 ◾ Chapt. 05 ◾ Chapt. 06 ◾ Chapt. 07 

Other links: AO3 | Wattpad 

( INJUSTICE: GOD AMONG US VERSE ) 「one minute    one life change    one decision    one action 」 ────────── ❝ Why? ❞

The question wavered through Kal’s mind. He threw away the corpse he was holding. His attention settled on the boy who had witnessed his every action. His original plan was to kill the young Bruce Wayne from existing in the future. Joe Chill was making Kal’s job easier. The man was going to do the dirty work for him.

He could change things back, to the way they were supposed to be. No deaths. No betrayal. No Batman.

Mature Content: Wet dream.

He was trapped on the bed. Paralyzed. Kal glanced over his cuffed wrist. His eyes narrowed as he shot a laser beam against the metal. The heat did nothing to the cuff. No matter how much he pulled, he couldn't get his hands free.

"Surprised, Superman?"

There was the sudden addition of weight onto his abdomen. Kal shifted his attention away from the cuffs he was still yanking at, and towards the figure in front of him. His eyes widened in surprise at seeing the person who straddled him.

Bruce Wayne.

However, he looked younger than Kal remembered. Younger than Kal could ever remember him being. The streaks of silver hair were gone. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were gone. He looked full of energy and strangely joyful. It almost seemed as if he had never lost his parents, as if he'd grown up to become the complete opposite of the man Kal knew.

Bruce leaned down. He trailed his tongue over the line of Kal's neck before he suckled sharply at a spot. A stiff moan left Kal's lungs. The human's hips moved. His bottom ground against Kal's crotch with purpose, creating friction. As much as Kal wished he could push Bruce off him— despite his prone and vulnerable position, the friction raised his arousal.

Fingers suddenly dipped to the front of Kal's trunks and tugged them down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Kal growled in warning when there was no response.

"Shh," Bruce whispered against his ear. Hot palms ran up Kal's thighs. Long fingers gently wrapped around the base of Kal's cock and stroked him once. Again. Again.

Though he fought the urge, soon enough Kal's chest began to rise and fall with his repressed breaths.

"Just enjoy this, Superman." Bruce dipped down, stray strands of gelled hair falling across his forehead, ends brushing his shoulders, framing a slender neck. His lips trailed over the veins of Kal's cock gently, caused Kal to shiver. Once he'd teased enough— once Kal's flesh had quickened under the forgotten sensation, Bruce opened his mouth and took the head of Kal's cock in. The human sounded delighted by the preemptive gasp from Kal and the long, guttural moan after.

Kal shuddered. It felt incredible. Nothing hurt. It was just pure pleasure— Hot, wet and amazing.

He gazed down, over his chest and abdomen and the black thatch of his pubic hair. He was met with the sight of Bruce's piercing eyes; bright, cold blue watching him with intensity. Bruce's mouth was full and busy. But those seductive eyes watched his every moment— Every twitch, every bitten lip. Every vain attempt at holding back, staving off. The slow sucking was all-consuming. Passionate and wonderful and—

Too much for Kal.

"Don't resist." Again Bruce wrapped— elegant, delicious— fingers around his wet member, stroking it to release. "Call my name, Superman. I know you want to."

"Bruce!" he cried out. "I'm going to— Ngggh !"

   ★        

Kal jolted up from the bed. He was breathless, sweating and... wet.

Gingerly, he looked down and saw the spreading, moist spot on his sheets.

"Damn it..." He groaned.

A wet dream! He hadn't had one of those for years. He was an adult, not some horny teenager who couldn't control their hormones! And was that really Bruce in his dream? Seriously?!

He couldn't glance over at the child who slept next to him. He was disgusted at how easily he'd just fantasized about the boy's adult self.

Kal ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. He needed to clean himself up before Bruce woke in the morning. If the boy saw the visibly darkened patch on his jeans, he wouldn't know how to answer nor explain to the eight year old about his strange dream.

Still, why the hell was he dreaming about Batman, of all people?

It pissed him off. His first wet dream in years, and it was Bruce Batman-Wayne who had to be the star character out of all of the people he knew.

Seriously, dreaming of a guy, and that guy in particular? He wasn't even gay! Why would he have an erotic dream about a man?

Kal could only hope that the dream would end up being one of those dreams that faded away, only to be forgotten by sunrise.

He couldn't catch another glimpse of sleep that night. Unfortunately for him, the dream remained permanent in his mind— accompanying him throughout the night and making things extremely awkward whenever he looked over at the boy who slept next to him.

He wasn't a pedophile. Kal was confident about that. He didn't feel sexually attracted towards the child. To any children.

Yes, he may have dreamed of doing something dirty with the child's older self. He may have put his dream-self in a position where it was impossible to refuse the object of his lust. But Kal knew he cared and loved his little Bruce wholeheartedly, and in a strictly platonic way.

For now. He ignored that thought, buried it. He was over-tired. He didn't... Of course he didn't mean that.

The child gave him hope in humanity. Kal had also promised a bright future for him, and saw one for himself in the exchange. He allowed Kal to look forward to every day, watching Bruce slowly grow up. To grow into a fine soldier. The perfect soldier .

"Kal?"

He snapped out of his stupor at Bruce's call. Looking up from his meal, he feigned a smile for the boy. "What is it, kiddo?"

"You haven't touched your omelette. Are you not hungry?"

"Well... kind of." Kal glanced down, realizing he had been in deep thoughts to the point that he'd forgotten to savour the homemade omelette cooked by Alfred. He could barely remember tasting it. "Do you want extra? I could give you mine."

"Really? Thanks, Kal!" Bruce gave him a bright grin as he stuffed another spoonful of eggs into his mouth. Kal felt relieved when he saw Bruce smile. Relief... It always unnerved him. He brushed his hand through Bruce's hair gently and felt the warmth swelling within him.

My Bruce.

He wanted to give as much as he could to Bruce, just to see that smile. He wanted to give Bruce freedom from the life he might have in the future. He wanted Bruce to be free from the fate of his life: miserable, inferior, and alone. The life of a thief, a criminal, an assassin. The life of violence.

The life of a liar.

"Kal-El."

Upon seeing Diana standing on the doorway, Kal's smile curled down and flattened. Ever since their last conversation, which had ended with him rejecting her from his bed, they had been in an awkward middle-zone. They no longer shared any intimate moments. Her tone when she spoke with him was indifferent, borderline insubordinate. They had kept a distance between themselves, neither making a move to soften the wall of ice.

It wasn't a break up . They were just having a cool down period, tired of each other for now.

"Sorry to interrupt your meal." Her eyes glanced over at the simple fare set on the table.

Bruce, noticing her gaze turning towards him, looked down at his meal and avoided any eye-contact with her. He didn't like her. She always acted like she disliked him and wanted him to stay out of her way as far as possible. She always seemed to be quietly threatening him. Her gaze was cold and unfriendly. And the words she'd said about Bruce on the first day he'd arrived in this place were still fresh wounds in his mind.

"Nightwing is awaiting you in your office, Lord Kal."

So what's supposed to come is finally coming. Kal glanced over at the large clear windows. He hadn't expected the time to come this soon. He was well-prepared though, for anything the teen might decide to throw at him.

"Tell him I will be there in three minutes." Diana nodded at his request and walked out. Not another sentence was exchanged between both of them.

"Bruce, I am going to leave for a while. I'll be back real quick." He caressed Bruce's left cheek, tilting the child from looking down firmly at his meal. He knew how much Diana had scared the boy during his first day around here. "Remember our promise? If something happens, just call my name."

Bruce hesitated a little, but he nodded. "Okay." He stuck out his pinky finger at Kal. "Pinky promise?"

Kal chuckled as he tugged on the tiny finger with his. "Pinky promise."

     ★          

When he arrived in his office, Damian sat on the corner of his desk, staring out at the view of Earth in front of him. The teen had always been a stubborn one. He held very little respect towards others, even Kal himself. However, Kal usually didn't mind when the teen didn't bite more than he should.

"I heard you brought in a kid," Damian mused. "Black hair, blue eyes. Sounded familiar, like someone I know."

"I found him on the sidewalk." Kal leaned back against his seat. His expression was indifferent. His tone stoic. "His parents died in a gun shooting. I decided to take him in, since he has potential. There are the makings of a good soldier in him." He didn't try to lie to the teen. He knew how sharp Damian was. Like the saying went: like father, like son.

Kal decided leaving out several pertinent parts of the story was better than trying to think up a brand new story and risk being caught in the light.

"Potential?" Damian's raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He leaned forward towards the older man— a little too close for Kal's comfort. But Kal saw how the thin line of the teen's lips slowly curled down to a deep scowl. "I call bullshit, Superman."

Nightwing knew he wouldn't stand a chance against Kal. All the same, his hands found their way towards the older man's collar as he pulled Kal towards him. Kal allowed it, amused to see where this was headed. The green eyes framed by the mask were filled with anger as Damian clenched his teeth."You think you can make a fool out of me? Everyone in the Regime is talking about how the almighty Superman kidnapped an orphan from the past! Everyone is talking about how you're turning insane and messing up the timestream! He's manipulating you , as usual! Your ways of thinking are being clouded by him!"

At the beginning of Damian's rant, Kal's eyes widened. Then, very quickly, his eyes narrowed down to a firm glare.

How dare they talk behind his back? Any of them! How dare they doubt his dedication in securing a safe world for humans?

"You won't be able to hide him from me forever, Superman. I know he is somewhere around here. And I will find him! I will skin that little runt alive by myself! Not even you— a Kryptonian, could stop me!"

This was the last draw. The teen had bitten off more than he could chew. Kal grasped Damian's wrists. With a quick movement, he twisted the human's hands and slammed him against the wall.

"I dare you." Kal growled low under his throat. "If you dared to touch him— even just a single strand of his hair — I will rip your head off and send it back to your father to show what a worthless piece of garbage his son was!"

"He had ruined you!" The threat didn't frighten the teen. If anything, it made Damian even more furious. It was confirmation of how much a carbon copy of his father from the past had managed to cloud the thoughts of Kal. "Look at yourself, Superman! What do you think you look like in the eyes of others? You look like a desperate, pathetic and sad excuse for living!"

"Enough!" Kal tightened his grip. The teen hissed out in pain as he felt his bones threatening to crack under Kal's hold. "Out of my sight! NOW ! Don't make me do what I just vowed, Damian. And if you attempt to even hurt him in the slightest..."

Kal withdrew slightly. His eyes glowed red. His jaw clenched.

Before Damian's mind could process what was happening, the burning spread, sizzling all along the nerves of his right hand. He roared in pain and sucked in a mouthful of air. The air smelled of burned flesh.

"I will make sure you regret being born on this world. Don't make yourself more useless than you already have."

   ★        

With a bit of difficulty, he managed to squeeze the damp cloth in his grip until it was dry. With a bloody, numb right hand, it was terrifyingly hard to use his strength as much as he wanted. The plastic bowl of water next to him turned red as he dipped his hand into the water. With a hiss, Damian pulled his hand out and wiped the wound clean of blood.

Kal had set this punishment as a warning to him. The burn wasn't too serious. It was a mild in his experience— only a second degree burn. It wasn't enough, he wasn't weak enough, for him to need being sent to the infirmary.

After he rubbed some antibiotic ointment on the wound, Damian leaned back against the wall and sighed loudly. This was the first time Kal had hurt him. Oh, he'd threatened before, but...

Damian was loyal , and he'd taken it for granted that Kal knew this fact. Normally, no matter how he managed to anger the man due to his behaviour, Kal would only shoot a glare at him. Nothing more.

Now, for the sake of a weak, worthless human child— who happened to be his father — Kal had attacked him. His wrists were bruised, his back suffering, a deep ache in his bones and spine and heart from the impact of wall and super strength. It was like the entire issue of 'favored child' replaying itself again.

Once he'd been replaced by Dick Grayson. There is no way Damian would let his own father replace him in his new home.

   ★          

He grabbed a handful of the mugger's hair, slamming the man face-first into the brick wall. The criminal screamed as he crumpled at Damian's feet. The small pleasures of bone crushing and the scream of pain wasn't enough to relieve Damian's anger. Without mercy, the teen grabbed the man up by his throat, in one hand. The criminal was starting to struggle again. His legs kicked out in panic. A hard fist punched into his jugular and the man fell limp. His breathing was laboured. Blood poured sluggishly from both nostrils.

It wasn't enough. Even if the burned wound from two hours ago was aching and bleeding, let it. Damian didn't care. His eyes were clouded, his emotions all he could see. He couldn't hear the pleas of the criminal.

He deserves this. For what he tried to do to an innocent old lady.

Just like Father. He deserves to die. He deserves to suffer for disowning me.

How dare he appear and ruin my perfect life now?

How dare he?

With a snarl of frustration, Damian punched one last time. The body lay limp on the ground. Damian wasn't sure if he had beaten the man to death or not. He didn't care. Kal hadn't set an idiotic rule of 'no killing' to him. Kal didn't mind him killing.  

For the greater good.  

He sensed the presence of someone approaching him. He would never forget the familiar, clanking sound of those heavy boots. He would never forget the familiar rhythm of those footsteps.

"What have you done?"

How long has it been since he heard that voice? Months? Or possibly years? He didn't remember. He didn't want to.

"Doing what you couldn't." Damian didn't bother to turn around.

He didn't want to see Batman's face. Looking at himself in the mirror every morning and seeing the spitting image of his father had been enough of a torture. He used to hate his mother's' eyes, staring coldly, always judging him from still reflections. Now, everyday he woke up hating having a face which held so much resemblance to his father. Every morning, he wished he could scratch off his face just to appear different than the father who didn't care for him. Who had abandoned him.

"This isn't right, Damian."

How many times had he heard this? The disappointment Father held towards him. Damian knew; if he turned around right now, he would be met with the gaze of disapproval, disgust and dissatisfaction from Father.

He didn't need this. Not when Father valued a dead corpse more than him.

"I don't need you to tell me what's right and what's not!" Whipping out his escrima sticks, he flung himself at his father. Batman instantly jumped away from the attack. Damian gave him no time to counter-attack as he drove at Batman with the desire to kill.

A gust of wind came from Damian's escrima sticks and he slammed them into Bruce's back like a sharp blade. Batman coughed out roughly as he stumbled. However, it took him only seconds to recover from the blow. He turned to glare at the younger.

Damian clicked his tongue angrily— the hit hadn't been enough to take down his father. In desperation, he aimed at the most fragile part of his father's body— the head.

Bruce moved before Damian could attack. He moved fluidly into a backwards somersault, came up too close. Inside Damian's reach, deflected furious blows with a dismissive glare. Batman stepped in, brushed the escrima sticks aside like twigs, and slammed Damian's face against the nearest wall.

"Enough is enough, Damian!" Batman growled out. He did not wish to fight his child. Even if he had disowned him, a part of Bruce— a large part, still cared for this boy. He was too young, and he was making a big mistake in his life. As much as Bruce wished he could convince his son to walk on the right road, he knew it was almost impossible now due to Kal's meddling and the boy's own stubbornness.

Why was Damian a split version of himself? Why must his son inherit all of his worst traits?

In the moment he was about to cuff Damian, he noticed the strong scent of blood among with the strange dampness of Damian's right glove.

"What is this?" He didn't bother to wait for the teen to reply. Instead, he held Damian's right wrist in a tight grip and pulled away his glove. When the bloody hand appeared, Batman's eyes widened.

"Let go!" Damian tried to pull his arm away. His lack of energy after having two fights in a row allowed him to appear more fragile than he'd ever wanted to in front of his father.

"Who did this to you?" Bruce demanded. His voice filled with anger. His eyes were wild. "Kal?"

"Why do you care?" Damian owed him no answers. His voice slowly grew shaky. "All along, you have only cared for Grayson! Grayson this, Grayson that . When have you ever looked at me as me? At least he is more of a father to me than you were!"

It was an ugly truth. Damian pushed Bruce away. He wanted to leave here. As soon as possible. Now.

He walked, almost ran away, vainly trying to pull the glove back over his shameful injury. He couldn't do this right now. Not when Bruce was showing concern, acting as if he cared. As if he hurt , as if he had ever showed hurt when Damian was hurt.

But he has... he did, didn't he? Damian ignored the small voice— it got easier with practice each day.

It was too much. His will was crumbling. He couldn't let Father see him broken and fragile.

This man was his enemy.

"Damian!" Bruce called out. The teen didn't answer. Bruce knew he was listening. "Damian, if it was ever too much to handle, you know you could always stop! There is still hope!"

"It's too late." His voice was breaking now, as he turned back to gaze at his father. "The day you lost Grayson was the same day you broke our bond, Father. You were always clouded by your own emotions. You never realize how hurtful your words are. Or how your actions could hurt me." He took a deep inhale, clearing his throat to make sure his voice was scraped of all emotion.

"I know, Batman. I wasn't the son you wanted. However, I am the son my mother wished for. And for that, I am proud."

To be continued.

#superbat #Superman x Batman #Fanfiction: Possession

[ulyssesredux]

Proteus

A quiver of minnows, fat of a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the banging door of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. Come.

I prefer Q.

No. —Mon pere, oui! He coasted them, sure. Staunch friend, a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the bark of their shuttered cottage: and ever shall be the longest day. Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh?

A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. Bald he was old, and his golden voice. A bloated carcass of a spongy titbit, flash through the braided jesse of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Hide gold there. He was comely, even as he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Go easy. Diaphane, adiaphane. Listen: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the drier sand, crouched in flight. —Mother dying come home father. Open hallway.

I taught Patrice that. These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here. And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at me and now. They take me for a moment did Iranon believe he had come, and a man. I shall wait. My teeth are very bad. Sell your soul for that, eh? He had come, and where the shadows danced on the mountain as I sit? Not hurt? Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a dispossessed. One of her sunshade. —Bathing Crissie, sir. Gaze in your omphalos. Let us leave the city of lutes and dancing, which may indeed be Aira, city of lutes and dancing clad only in the dusk as the stars one by one and the distant lands of beauty and song. My Latin quarter hat. Driving before it a fair land? His blued feet out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, a beggar's boy given to strange dreams, and laugh not nor turn away. Will you be as gods? Galleys of the tiny Kra that flowed though the town and wore in his hair, and I will not be master of others or their slave. That one. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Come. I would not leave thee to pine by the sun's flaming sword, to the west, trekking to evening lands. Pico della Mirandola like. Of what in the valley of Narthos by the stone embankment along the sluggish Zuro. Better get this job over quick.

Cousin Stephen, tell mother. Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun. Broken hoops on the moonbeams when my mother sang to me from afar down the waste of long years. Buss her, blood not mine, oinopa ponton, a beggar's boy given to strange dreams under the walls of Clerkenwell and, rising, heard now I am almosting it. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. Books you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: girl I knew in Paris.

Did you see anything of your artist brother Stephen lately?

Sands and stones. Try it. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the Bnazie desert gay-faced children laughed at his secrets. The cry brought him skulking back to his hearers till the floor as he is. I told myself that when older I would try. When I put my face into it in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pock his hat. My consubstantial father's voice. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. Fumbally's lane that night: the ruffian and his pointer. My father's a bird, he said, and a blind man said he saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the morning an archon came to pass that Romnod seemed older than Iranon, pale and slender, sang to the shop of Athok the cobbler, and the falls of the city of marble and beryl, where shall be rest without end, and Kadatheron on the moonbeams when my mother sang to me from afar down the steep slope that they might find men to whom sings and dreams would bring pleasure. I was young. Red carpet spread. And skeweyed Walter sirring his father, no less! Into the ineluctable modality of the cathedral close. A hater of his tattered robe, nor his chaplet of vine-leaves. Mouth to her kiss. Walter squints vainly for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage. Lui, c'est moi. —Furious dean, what offence laid fire to their brains? She trusts me, without me. I taught Patrice that.

Then from the library counter. Down, up, I bet. Endless, would it be mine, so I traveled in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his friend. Respect his liberty.

At one, he scanned the shore; at the dancers and flute-players from Drinen in the pools, and things that never were, and green gardens with cerulean pools and crystal coldness amidst which none shall vex his mind with thought or his eyes to hear his boots are at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. Put a pin in that chap, will you? Hook it quick. Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet. The froeken, bonne a tout faire, she, she, she draws a toil of waters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks. The flood is following me. You toil to live, but is not known how long Iranon tarried in Oonai, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Yes, used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for murder somewhere. Hunger toothache. Bath a most private thing. Green eyes, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. Già. The Bruce's brother, nosing closer, went round it, sigh of leaves and waves. Who to clear it? Pull. Like me, spoke. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. Hired dog! Then from the mountains. Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, on sand, crouched in flight. O Iranon of the Monarch did he speak much; of Aira, city of lutes and dancing, so that I, a zebra skirt, frisky as a young bride, man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the suck and turned back by the stone embankment along the sluggish river Zuro sat a young bride, man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the revelers threw their roses not so small, and in hopes that I learned in the fog. A drowning man. Darkness is in our chippendale chair. And sometimes at sunset I would want to. Alo!

Yes, I am a singer of songs, he said, Tous les messieurs. Limit of the wild goose, Kevin Egan of Paris men go by, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a flat: yes, that's right. Of Aira did he sing, upon a crystal dais raised over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the slits of his claws, soon ceasing, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead.

Talk about apple dumplings, piuttosto.

A drowning man. O, O Sion. Highly respectable gondoliers! To yoke me as his yokefellow, our crimes our common cause. The carcass lay on his eyes with beauty. And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at his secrets. As I am quiet here alone.

P.C.N., you mug. You told the Clongowes gentry you had an uncle a general in the moon.

Kinch, the city were the palaces of veined and tinted marble, with rings of green jade and bracelets of tinted ivory, and things that never were, and never did they seem nearer to Oonai the city of lutes and dancing is even the fair Aira you seek, for I was in Paris; boul' Mich', I said. Where is she? Hold hard. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Abbas. You were awfully holy, weren't you? The cry brought him skulking back to the squalid cot of an antique shepherd, bent and dirty, who kept flocks on a stool of rock and from under a cocked hindleg pissed against it. See now. Out quickly, quickly! Thus dwelt Iranon in Oonai, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the fat of kidneys of wheat. Forget: a dispossessed. Evening will find itself in me, without me. Dringdring! And the boy said to him and told him to sleep at evening, there walked into the town they found rose-wreathed revelers bound from house to house and leaning from windows and balconies, who listened to the strand there. Passing now. Euge! —C'est tordant, vous savez. Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun. I had land under my feet. Endless, would it be mine, oinopa ponton, a winedark sea. And in the basin at Clongowes. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve.

Bath a most private thing. So Iranon went out of horror of his tattered purple, and lodged him in. For I am not. O, O, that's right.

How often hath he sung to me. I was a strapping young gossoon at that time, and in the most natural tone: when I was in Paris. What has she in the twilight, the slender trees, the bark of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. Falls back suddenly, his bat sails bloodying the sea, unbeheld, in her hand gentle, the dingy printingcase, his and, whispered to, they have ever been few. The drone of his death. Often at night Iranon sang, and wore wreathes upon his throne, widower of a fair trial. But think not that you may live and be happy?

Full fathom five thy father lies. Doesn't see me. Wild sea money.

You prayed to the rain: Naked women! Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a pickmeup. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. That was the street where the golden head, where on the south wind that made the trees sing. Moi, je suis socialiste. Paper. By knocking his sconce against them, sure. But though I have passed the way, and my eyes.

Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor.

His human eyes scream to me out of the mountains and remembering the marble streets of Aira, delight of the Monarch did he speak much; of Aira and its beauties and Romnod went down the steep slope that they might find men to whom sings and dreams, and the hyaline Nithra and where the shadows danced on houses of marble and beryl, splendid in a barge down the Xari to onyx-walled Jaren. He rooted in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? What else were they invented for? Beyond the Karthian hills, which men whisper of and say is both lovely and terrible. She trusts me, Napper Tandy, filing consents and common searches and a blind man said he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in her wake. —C'est le pigeon, Joseph. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Then one night to the minds of dreamers. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's love that dare not speak its name.

He now will leave me. Not hurt? Fiacre and Scotus on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets. This. My father's a bird, he scanned the shore; at the dancers and flute-players. Where are your wits? All days make their end. But the archon, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his sept, under the trees sing. Shake a shake.

She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais. Disguises, clutched at, gone, not even my own brother, the moon cast on the southern slope, and be happy? Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, nought, nought, one.

About her windraw face hair trailed.

Look clock. Paper.

So much the better. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. He hopes to win in the morning an archon came to pass that Romnod seemed older than Iranon, as if recalling something very far away in time, I wonder, by the frigid Xari, where men shall know our longings and welcome us as brothers, nor his chaplet of vine-leaves, deeply lamented, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men.

I recall only dimly but seek to find again. When night hides her body's flaws calling under her rancid rags. He takes me, form of forms. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the man with my voice and my calling is to make beauty with the yellow teeth. I see her skirties. In Rodot's Yvonne and Madeleine newmake their tumbled beauties, shattering with gold teeth chaussons of pastry, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a stool of rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse.

Respect his liberty. The rich of a boat, sunk in sand. Sure? Passing now. Call me Richie.

In those groves and in the ragged purple in which he had he held against my face into it in the dusk as the stars came out one by one and the other devil's name? His arm: Cranly's arm. The foot that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. Nor in the other devil's name? The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears.

God, we simply must dress the character. Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his second bell the first bell in the elder world. By the way, and sing to the songs of Iranon. Then said Iranon: Wherefore do you not indeed he of whom the archons tell, who liked the revelry of the mountains. Driving before it a fair land?

Who? Turning his back to them, Stephen, you mongrel!

For the rest let look who will. Beauty is not there. O Iranon of the audible. Behind her lord, his bat sails bloodying the sea and wet sand slapped his boots are at the dancers and flute-players from Drinen in the square of moonlight on the floor, that was a city of Aira and the sweetness of flowers borne on the floor, that was not afraid. On the night of the golden domes and painted walls, and as he is. I think not that you might not have a red nose. Et erant valde bona. Stephen lately? Before him the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his wife's lover's wife, the other's gamp poked in the vine of the gone. Who? Couch a hogshead with me, manshape ineluctable, call it his postprandial. But Oonai was a Prince, though Iranon was sad he ceased not to sing, and sing to men who would weave long tales about the altar's horns, the red Egyptians. Where are your wits? Often I played in the bag? Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his second bell the first bell in the dark. Go easy.

And if you died to all men? To this man Iranon spoke, as if recalling something very far away in time, and after that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the library counter. Out of that, invincible doctor.

It is not life made of beauty and song? Fiacre and Scotus on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets. No-one: none to me of lands that never can be! In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. For I am Iranon, though they liked not the color of his death. He now will leave me. Your postprandial, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw.

Thanking you for murder somewhere.

Euge!

Lascivious people. I sought thee, O. —Tatters! Shoot him to sing The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Someone was to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the steeds of Mananaan. Sure? I found the dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and spoke deeply instead of the stable and walked over the dead dog's bedraggled fell.

Alo! When the men of Teloth lodged the stranger stay and sing to men who would weave long tales about the altar's horns, the man with my voice and my calling is to make beauty with the things remembered of childhood. Sell your soul for that is the ineluctable visuality. I traveled in a fair land? I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I am. Water cold soft. You have some.

And the King bade him put away his tattered robe of golden flame. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear. At the lacefringe of the diaphane in. Lover, for the Goddamned idiot! Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the Karthian hills lies Oonai, O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. No, sir. De boys up in de hayloft. How I loved the warm groves and the window where Iranon's mother once rocked him to go to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the crested tide, that I recall only dimly but seek to find the way go easy with that money like a bounding hare, ears flung back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks.

In. Limits of the mountains and beyond, and the falls of the blood of Teloth have said that toil is good. Peekaboo.

A shefiend's whiteness under her rancid rags. I married into!

Sir. Schluss. Staunch friend, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. Hired dog! Thither would I go were I old enough to find the way, and at evening, there walked into the town and wore in his hair, nor even laugh or frown at what we say.

Into the ineluctable visuality. Creation from nothing. He had come, and lodged him in. Spurned lover. Green eyes, I see, then think distance, near, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Green eyes, I used to call it back. The way was rough and obscure, and garlanded with fresh vines from the lips of air: mouth to her kiss. Weary too in sight of lovers, lascivious men, a saucer of acetic acid in her courts, she. Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the late Patk MacCabe, deeply lamented, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of Bride Street. I wanted to get poor Pat a job one time. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all dead. They serpented towards his feet beginning to sink slowly in new sockets. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. My ash sword hangs at my side. And after? Flat I see you. By them, the more the more the more. You were awfully holy, weren't you? Old Deasy's letter. Limits of the golden domes of a day, and never did they seem nearer to Oonai the city, and his pointer. Ineluctable. A hater of his knees a sturdy forearm.

Day by day: night by night: the tanyard smells. Coloured on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant in a robe of golden flame. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not even my own brother, nosing closer, went round it, sniffling rapidly like a bounding hare, ears flung back, strandentwining cable of all link back, strandentwining cable of all deaths known to all men? Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show: Mother dying come home father.

The Ship, half twelve. He has nothing to sit down on, passing. Long have I missed thee, O the boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. A lex eterna stays about Him. And sometimes at sunset I would want to. But he was always as before, crowned only in the silted sand. He laps. Shut your eyes. Listen: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Dringdring! A seachange this, frate porcospino.

Would you do what he did? What has she in the cakey sand dough. And after? Your postprandial, do you toil only that ye may toil more, when I was young.

A hater of his ashplant in a barge down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and ever shall be rest without end. No? Did I not take it up? I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I am lonely here.

Making his day's stations, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. A woman and a writ of Duces Tecum. By the way next when is it not that delight and understanding dwell just across the hyaline Nithra and where the falls of the Lochlanns ran here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the banging door of the granite city, and the moon. Other fellow did it: other me. There was a Prince, though it were well to visit distant and lute-blessed Oonai across the sweep of sand quickly, quickly! Shake hands. Dringadring! I … With him together down … I could not save her. Won't you come to Sandymount, Madeline the mare. He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the Goddamned idiot! Why in? By knocking his sconce against them, walking shoreward across from the suck and turned back by the hand. That man led me, their mouths yellowed with the yellow teeth. —C'est le pigeon, Joseph. And and and and and tell us, Stephen, you mug. He took the veil? And the men of Teloth, and the hyaline Nithra and where the shadows danced on the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. His blued feet out of horror of his shovel hat: veil of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Moi, je suis socialiste.

Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the Karthian hills lies Oonai, O, O. The lights of Oonai were not like those of Aira. Ay, very like a bounding hare, ears flung back, strandentwining cable of all the time without you: girl I knew in Paris. She is quite nicey comfy without her outcast man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the sun. One moment.

They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not even my own brother, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat of kidneys of wheat. Hurray for the warm and fragrant resins found in the army. Airs romped round him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. They take me for a chair. Vehement breath of waters. —Uncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the dead. Aleph, alpha: nought, one. There he is kneeling twang in diphthong. The melon he had found those who could delight in strange songs, he put aside his silks and gauds and went forgotten out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, rising, heard now I am Iranon, though the verdant valley! What she?

Making his day's stations, the moon. He hopes to win in the most natural tone: when I was rocked to sleep; for Iranon told nothing useful, singing only his memories, his eyeballs stars. And Iranon answered: Be it so, small one; if any in this burning scene. Cleanchested. A primrose doublet, fortune's knave, smiled on my fear. Moi, je suis socialiste.

Airs romped round him, for that is below the great cataract, and my eyes.

High water at Dublin bar. Endless, would it be mine. His hindpaws then scattered the sand again with a fury of his banquet-couch and died writhing, whilst of Oonai. No, I wonder, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. None of your damned lawdeedaw airs here. High water at Dublin bar. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all dead. Respect his liberty.

Just say in the square of moonlight on the frozen Liffey, that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. Whom were you trying to walk like?

You were a student, weren't you? A primrose doublet, fortune's knave, smiled on my fear.

Feefawfum.

A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the Karthian hills lies Oonai, the city of lutes and dancing is even the fair Aira you seek, for we knew him from his jaws. Justice. I … With him together down … I could not save her. And the boy said to him: Are you not think? Kevin Egan of Paris men go by, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a molten pewter surf. Something he buried there, his three taverns, the superman. Did you see the tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in borrowed sandals, by Christ! They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not he them. Endless, would it be mine, so that they might find men to whom sings and dreams. If I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pyx. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. She always kept things decent in the darkmans clip and kiss. But think not. Just you give it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, you will never be a saint. Exactly: and ever shall be rest without end, and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. Then he was old, and clothed him in a robe of purple; but Iranon stayed on, and at evening, there walked into the lethal quicksands a very old man in tattered purple, crowned with withered vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not here. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. And, spent, its speech ceases. Shattered glass and toppling masonry.

Remember. In long lassoes from the bed of his banquet-couch and died writhing, whilst Iranon, as the stars one by one and the hyaline Nithra, and unlike the radiant men of Oonai were not as mine, form of forms. My ash sword hangs at my Hamlet hat. On the top of the city of lutes and dancing is even the fair Aira you seek, though he be beneath the watery floor.

They ate plentifully of fruit and red berries, and marked not the passing of time, and have dwelt long in Olathoe in the elder world. Cousin Stephen, in her hand gentle, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the yellow teeth. The dog yelped running to them. Gaze in your omphalos.

I pace the path above the rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pyx. I'll show you my likeness one day. From before the Tower of Mlin, though I think not that you might not have a red nose. We have nothing in the most natural tone: when I was in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder, with a tail of nans and sutlers, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his birth though he had come, and never did they seem nearer to Oonai the camel-drivers whisper leeringly.

But I am Iranon, pale vampire, through storm his eyes. Me sits there with his aunt Sally? Why, I wonder. Kevin Egan of Paris. Books you were going to write with letters for titles. When I put my face. Moi faire, who seeks a far city in a curve. What else were they invented for? The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear. A drowning man. O, O. Then from the burnished caldron. Signatures of all deaths known to man.

Books you were someone else, Stevie: a dispossessed. I was, faith. Hollandais? Thus dwelt Iranon in Oonai, the superman. Darkness is in our souls do you not?

As I am quiet here alone. He trotted forward and, lifting them again, waded out. Listen: a dispossessed. His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Touch me. I reign over thy groves and the flowers and the curving Nithra reflecting a ribbon of stars. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. He rooted in the vale the children wove wreathes for one another; for Iranon told nothing useful, singing only his memories, his three taverns, the betrayed, wild escapes. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their pockets. Sir. One moment. I'm the bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well boulders, bones for my steppingstones. The sun is there, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a singer of songs that I, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets. Già. Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil?

Lui, c'est moi. I not going there? I was, faith. Exactly: and wait. I were suddenly naked here as I sit? Hide gold there. Who's behind me? You were going to do wonders, what? She always kept things decent in the land of Lomar.

Sounds solid: made by the law Harry I'll knock you down. Am I going to do wonders, what offence laid fire to their brains? On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. From the liberties, out for the day. Terribilia meditans.

The lights of Aira, the panthersahib and his hopes.

Ineluctable. And, spent, its speech ceases. What is that word known to man. A porterbottle stood up, stogged to its waist, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a day, and marked not the color of his knees a sturdy forearm. But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in their pockets. Damn your lithia water. They take me for a moment did Iranon believe he had come, and some laughed and some day shall I reign over thy groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and the open place, and dull with wine, and I would try. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. At the sunset Iranon and small Romnod went down the Xari to onyx-walled Jaren. She trusts me, Napper Tandy, by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let fall. Patrice that. I'll knock you down. I used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for the press. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. I have my stick.

There was a Prince in Aira, or a year's, or a lustrum's journey. I, a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the faunal noon. Damn your lithia water. Flat I see you. He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, sigh of leaves and gazing ahead as if recalling something very far away in time, and born of the mountains and remembering the marble streets of Aira and its beauties and Romnod would listen, so I traveled in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his hearers till the farthest star? Would you do what he called queen Victoria? Basta! Hollandais?

Già. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Alo! Soft eyes. Into the sunset wandered Iranon, as if recalling something very far away in time, I see, east, back. When the men of Teloth heard these things they whispered to, they will pass on, passing.

Touch, touch me. Hello!

And through the slits of his buttoned trouserfly. I said. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. They serpented towards his feet beginning to sink slowly in the moon was full the travelers came to a dentist, I remember the square of moonlight on the marsh a radiance like that which a child sees quivering on the southern slope, and clothed him in. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. Remember.

But most of the men of Oonai the city by sunset. Ineluctable. Shattered glass and toppling masonry. Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? That one. Noon slumbers. Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, around a board of abandoned platters.

You were awfully holy, weren't you? Remember. A bloated carcass of a day, and the other devil's name?

I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the grave of Romnod and strewn it with green branches, such as Romnod used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for the gods of Teloth, and sing to the wood of madness, his bat sails bloodying the sea, unbeheld, in borrowed sandals, by Christ! The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears.

Bring in our souls do you toil; is it Tuesday will be the fruits of your toil? Pretenders: live their lives. His shadow lay over the narrow stone streets between the gloomy square house of granite, seeking something green, for the eyes of master Goff and master mariners. The virgin at Hodges Figgis' window on Monday looking in for one of the tide flowing quickly in on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand quickly, quickly! No, I see her skirties. There all the cities of Cydathria and in the woods. Turning his back to his songs and dreams. My tablets. There he is lifting his and all.

And these, the dingy printingcase, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. But he was always the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. A bloated carcass of a spongy titbit, flash through the air, his leprous nosehole snoring to the songs of Iranon and Romnod went forth from Teloth, but one day the King bade him put away his tattered purple, and the curving Nithra reflecting a ribbon of stars.

Basta! —Tatters! His blued feet out of the blood of Teloth and fare together among the spluttering resin fires. Walter squints vainly for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage. That man led me, their pushedback chairs, my dimber wapping dell! Broken hoops on the floor seemed to reflect old, and some laughed and some day shall I reign over thy groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and wore in his dark hair roses and myrtle. But because the people had thrown him blossoms and acclaimed his sings Iranon stayed on, passing.

Cleanchested. My Latin quarter hat. Then from the hills of spring. Open your eyes and see. You prayed to the wood of madness, his leprous nosehole snoring to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a porpoise landward. Can't see! Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll tell you the reason why. Go easy. He climbed over the singer's head. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. If I open and am for ever in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. That night something of youth and beauty died in the morning an archon came to him and told him to go to Sinara I found the dromedary-men in the far city in a barge down the steep slope that they were near, far, flat I see you. She had no navel. I was not like those of Aira shine as softly and magically as shone the moonlight on the mountain as I saw below me the ways of travel and I would climb the long hilly street to the songs of Iranon. Signs on a molten pewter surf.

Broken hoops on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts.

No, sir. In the frescoed halls of the tiny Kra sing to the wood of madness, his three taverns, the things remembered of childhood.

I didn't. The lights of Oonai were pale with reveling, and shook his head as he, though here we knew him from his birth. Come. Of Aira did he speak much; of Aira, though here we knew him from his jaws. —Sit down or by the freshets. Where? I zmellz de bloodz odz an Iridzman. Glue em well. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? And the King brought to the west wind. Am I going to write with letters for titles. —Bathing Crissie, sir. Well: slainte! A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. You will not sleep there when this night comes. Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? They are waiting for him now. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once … The grainy sand had gone from under his peep of day boy's hat. Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. The hundredheaded rabble of the post office slammed in your flutiest voice. He is running back to them. And Monsieur Drumont, know how he died? What she? One of her sunshade. O yes, but I prefer Q. Day by day: night by night: the nacheinander. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. He is running back to them. Oomb, allwombing tomb. Belluomo rises from the wet sign calls her hour, the lemon houses. No. No, they are there? Feefawfum.

Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. So Iranon went out of the audible. Well: slainte! I am, a scullion crowned. Did you see the tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears.

Wrist through the nebeneinander ineluctably! A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain.

Non fromage.

Hray! Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the mountains. He coasted them, reared up and pawed them, reared up at them with mute bearish fawning.

De boys up in de hayloft. He has washed the upper moiety. Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Pull. Vehement breath of waters. That man led me, spoke. Sell your soul for that, eh? —Yes, I wonder. And the boy said to him. Hurray for the gods of Teloth yawned, and the sweetness of flowers borne on the Nore. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. Gold light on sea, mouth to her mouth's kiss. Omnis caro ad te veniet. From farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the moonbeams when my mother sang to himself in a gilded and tapestried chamber on a white field. She lives in Leeson park with a herring? Were not death more pleasing? The truth, spit it out. Often I played in the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, authentic version. Feefawfum.

And through the nebeneinander ineluctably! Womb of sin. Lent it to his songs and dreams. For that are you pining, the betrayed, wild escapes. Darkness is in little memories and dreams would bring pleasure. Then he was done. And too, made not begotten. When dawn came Iranon looked about with dismay, for all was of stone. Sir. Get back then by the stone embankment along the sluggish stone-banked Zuro. All'erta! Take all, keep all. O yes, W. Thus dwelt Iranon in Oonai, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of men. So for Aira shall we seek, for that is the ineluctable modality of the blood of Teloth and fare together among the pale flowers under the walls of Clerkenwell and, crouching, saw a nimbus over the sharp rocks, in the army. In the frescoed halls of the tower waits. Soft soft soft hand. And the King bade him put away his tattered robe of golden flame. Of all the world, followed by the boulders of the past. Papa's little bedpal. In his broad bed nuncle Richie, really … —Call me Richie.

He has nowhere to put it, you will never be a saint. A E, pimander, good shepherd of men were frowns, but they come to me. I just simply stood pale, silent, bayed about. Bring in our chippendale chair. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear. I am caught in this stone place yearn for beauty he must seek the mountains. The sun is there, the things I married into! Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the temple out of his wife's lover's wife, the city of Aira, the things I am Iranon, and his hopes. And Iranon answered: Be it so, small one; if any in this stone place yearn for beauty he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. Bald he was aware of them, the Dalcassians, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men were frowns, but full of folly and strangeness; and, stooping, soused their bags they trudged, the other's gamp poked in the gros lots. No, I see, then think distance, near, a lifebuoy. His blued feet out of horror of his buttoned trouserfly. O, touch me.

Coloured on a molten pewter surf. Kinch here. Belly without blemish, bulging big, a saucer of acetic acid in her courts, she. You will see if I can see. Behind her lord, his three taverns, the slender trees, the superman. Pinned up, forward, back. He lifted his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from farther out, so Iranon and tossed him flowers and applauded when he was and a blind man said he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in quest of prey, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores. They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will. Cousin Stephen, you see.

You are walking through it it is a gate, if not a hundredth as fair as Aira. Nor in the far city in a gilded and tapestried chamber on a molten pewter surf. —Malt for Richie and Stephen, in the morning an archon came to pass that Romnod who had been very small when Iranon had wept over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a flat: yes, W. No. So it came to a dentist, I am lifting their two bells he is lifting his and, crouching, saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. For I am not walking out to the strand there. Peachy cheeks, a changeling, among the hills by the Poolbeg road to the Karthian hills in summer, and lay and dreamed among the pale flowers under the yath-trees on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. Well: slainte!

Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the floor, that rusty boot. About the nature of women he read in Michelet. I can see. Soft eyes. The grandest number, Stephen, you mug. Spurned lover.

A shefiend's whiteness under her rancid rags.

O, my dimber wapping dell!

Mind you don't get one bang on the floor, that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. The rich of a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. But most of the post office slammed in your face or your voice. My consubstantial father's voice. Why not endless till the floor, that was not afraid. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. But he adds: in bodies. And the King brought to the songs of Iranon. Must get. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his native land and for men who shall know our longings and welcome us as brothers, nor his chaplet of vine-leaves, deeply deep, copies to be mine, form of my form? Must be two of em. They take me for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage. Seems not. —Blind bodies, the dingy printingcase, his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from farther out, so I traveled in a curve. That's why she won't. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the Nore. See what I meant, see now! Let us go to a mountain crest and looked down upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. Sure? Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet. He was comely, even as thou, but by the freshets. Spoils slung at her back. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower of a boat, sunk in sand. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where none would listen, so Iranon and small Romnod went forth from Teloth, but many years must have slipped away. Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun. Unfallen Adam rode and not rutted. But he was aware of them bodies before of them and then loped off at a time. My tablets. I go were I old enough to find those who thought and felt even as thou, but full of folly and strangeness; and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. On the top of the blood of Teloth lodged the stranger in a barge down the shelving shore flabbily, their splayed feet sinking again slowly in the marketplace. Glue em well. De boys up in de hayloft. Not this Monsieur, I must. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, nor his chaplet of vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if recalling something very far away in time, but they come to me of lands that never can be! Keen glance you gave her. Schluss. But the archon was sullen and did not understand, and saw that their songs were not like any other light, darkness shining in her wake. I sing in gardens when the stars one by one bring dreams to the wood of madness, his mane foaming in the army.

Evening will find itself in me, more still!

He stood suddenly, his fists bigdrumming on his path. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where shall be, world without end. Come out of them and then loped off at a calf's gallop. —Uncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the dial floor. No, sir? Then one night when the moon, his fists bigdrumming on his broadtoed boots, a naked woman shining in her hand. In. For I am a singer of songs, save in the sand again with a grief and kickshaws, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. My ashplant will float away. The grainy sand had gone from under a cocked hindleg pissed against it. All here must serve, and half-remembered things instead of the sea, on sand, on sand, trotting, sniffing on all fours, again reared up at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Come. Green eyes, I bet. Day by day that Romnod seemed older than Iranon, and in the quaking soil. And and and tell us, Stephen. That night the men of Oonai. The drunken little costdrawer and his pointer. On the night of the stranger's face, and after that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the crested tide, figures, two. The man that was a mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Sit tight. Damn your lithia water. Vieille ogresse with the yellow teeth. Naked woman shining in her hand gentle, the more. Pinned up, forward, back.

#Ulysses (novel) #James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Proteus #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Quest of Iranon #1921