#Tim's CD cases
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I'm starting a post about every time I see Tim leave a CD case open. Close the CD cases. First, an open CD on the floor, but next, he clearly had time to move a CD to his bed. He can spend time closing the case.
The rest of the mess doesn't bother me. My room has looked worse, what bothers me is the CD. The dust, the damage, and the possible scratches. Also, the sun damage can come from an open window.
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tim laflour dating headcanons
tim laflour x reader
warnings: none
a/n: after not writing for some time, i wanted to upload something short ! not proofread, enjoy !
- he asked you out right after winning a hockey game !
“i was just wondering um, if you would maybe want to have dinner with me?” he said while touching the back of his neck, looking nervous. “we just won the game so—“
“are you asking me out on a date tim?” he chuckled “no i mean—umm yeah, yeah i’m asking you out on a date” you giggled at that.
“i’ll meet you outside tim, your pick !” he went rushing back in to change quickly while blushing like a little kid.
- it was a really cute date in this lovely little mexican place, it was his favourite.
- he walked you back home where he kissed you goodbye, softly not wanting to seem eager, which you gladly accepted
- after that you always go to all of his games, which he loves since he doesn’t act as violent when you’re around (which his teammates are grateful for)
- he gave you his spare jersey to wear to his games, so that everyone can see you’re his
- you share earbuds on your way to class
- he greets you he comes up behind you he grabs your waist and pecks your neck
- calls you babe, all.the.time. it may be basic, he still loves it
- you guys go rollerblading everywhere !! he always holds your hand, his reasoning for this is just in case any of you two fall, so you fall together, it would be embarrassing if any of you fall alone, so he has an excuse to hold your hand !
- takes up the whole bed, like a starfish, if you want space you’ll have to fight for it, same thing with bedsheets, hell hoard them in his sleep (you’ve ended up waking him up and scolding him several times)
“but i’m asleep it isn’t even my fault!” “we’ll see about that tim” you say, teasing him.
- which he makes up for by kissing you, a lot.
- about kissing, he’s so obsessed with you and kissing you 25/8
- middle of class ? “just a quick peck babe”
- after a game ? he’ll kiss the soul out of you
- getting a new piercing ? “if you kiss me it’s less scary”
- he has no limit, he loves you too much
- always let’s you have the first bite of food, no matter the ocasion, and also the last
- you guys have sleepovers all the time ! it always involves some bad slasher from the 80’s and snacks, and sometimes darryl
- when you stay over you always wear his jersey (which makes him very shy)
- he doesn’t care if it’s extremely hot, he will cuddle you to sleep always
- he loves being the big spoon, but most of the time you end up holding him (he loves being in your arms)
- records cd’s and cassettes for you to listen to !
#matthew lillard#matthew lillard x reader#tim laflour#tim laflour x reader#senseless 1998#matthew lillard fluff
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those who serve.
CHAPTER FOUR: a job.
read chapter one, two, three on tumblr or the entire fic on ao3.
10k+ words again..... i remain the queen of not shutting up <3
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“Wait,” Dick says, reaching over to open the glove box, “Before we go, we need these.” He pulls out some hats, squished together to fit on top of the many CDs rattling around. He smooths out a dark blue baseball cap, then hands a black hat to Danny. “Disguises, kind of,” he explains.
Danny looks down at the hat in his hand, then back at Dick. Sure. Why not. He’ll wear a hat as a very bad disguise since Dick seems to think it’s important. He doesn’t really want to know the details as to why they need to do this, so Danny’s gonna roll with it.
He puts the hat on and looks at Dick for further direction.
Instead of getting any of that, Dick slips on a pair of sunglasses and grins at Danny. “Alright. Ready to brave the dangers of a Gotham shopping mall?”
“...Sure?”
“Great!” Dick kicks open his door and hops out. Danny follows much more sedately, getting out of the car more like a normal person, then closing it quietly. He takes a moment to look up at the mall, a large building with strings of lights hanging above the walkways. The parking lot is filling up quickly despite it being a weekday morning and people are bustling about, heading into stores or cafes.
It’s much bigger than the two malls in Amity Park. This is the kind of place Paulina and Star would be spending all their time at if they could, wandering around and buying whatever caught their eye.
Danny would have just hung out in the food court with Sam and Tucker, maybe caught a movie or wasted the hours away in the arcade.
Being here, without them, aches like a bruise. He would give anything to just be a normal teenager hanging out at the mall with his friends. He wouldn’t have to worry about ghosts or avoiding his parents or dreading going home because he’s too tired to fully dodge all of his parents’ weapons.
“Ready to go in?” Dick asks. He moves closer to Danny and his voice is much softer; it’s more gentle and concerned than excited, now.
Danny tries to plaster a smile onto his face, hide his true feelings and not ruin Dick’s day out. “Let’s go,” he says, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie just to have something to do with his hands. It’s better to focus on twisting the fabric than to think of the life he lost long before he ever ran away to this dimension.
He starts walking before Dick can grow any more concerned about Danny. They’re here for a reason and that’s to get Danny daily necessities so he can start working. It’s not for fun, it’s just an errand to run.
He doesn’t get too far before Dick is besides him, throwing an arm around his shoulder to keep him close.
“Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable,” Dick murmurs, “But we need to stick to each other. Just in case, you know?”
“Just in case of what?”
“Kidnappings, usually. Or so we don’t lose each other if we need to evacuate. Or to stick together if a rogue attacks.”
Sure. Why not. This is just what happens in Gotham, apparently.
“Okay,” Danny says, weakly. “How likely is any of that happening, by the way?”
Dick hums, considering the question as they reach the walkway, full of potted plants and a fountain, lined with small stores, cafes, and a bakery. “I’m not too sure about the numbers, that’s something you’ll have to ask Tim. But the risk is definitely higher with us, being part of the Wayne family and all.”
“I’m not part of the family, though.”
“You’re close enough that the distinction doesn’t really matter. Criminals will see you as an easy way to either access the Manor and family, or an easy target for ransom. Though the average citizen is still at risk too, so you’d have been in danger either way.”
Apparently, there was a point in having Tim and Bruce discuss insurance and kidnapping policies. For once, it’s not absurd rich people things; it’s a legitimate concern in Gotham.
“Anyways!” Dick says, smoothly moving along, “What do you want to get first? Clothes? Things for your room? Weapons?”
“Weapons?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re trained in whatever you’re interested in using.”
Danny side-eyes Dick as they enter the mall proper. “I prefer martial arts to weapons,” he says.
Dick just nods. “We can train you in that too. Whatever you want, Danny.”
“Let’s just get some clothes, first.”
Inside, the noise of the morning crowd echoes off the walls of the mall. The ceiling is high and lined with skylights that don’t do anything when most days in Gotham are cloudy. It’s the most people Danny’s been around in a while and all the noise and movement makes him jittery, anxious, and close to clawing his skin off.
“This way,” Dick says, lowering his voice. He easily guide Danny through the groups of people walking around the mall, heading towards a clothing store with dim lights and barely audible music playing. There aren’t many people in there and it’s quieter in the store. Quiet enough for him to feel like he can breathe without feeling his throat tighten with oncoming panic, at least.
“All good?”
Danny slips out from under Dick’s arm and takes a slow, steady breath. “I’m fine.”
“Alright.” Dick doesn’t push, but he clearly doesn’t believe that Danny’s fine. Which, yeah, he’s not and he’s clearly bad at hiding it if Dick can pick up on it immediately, but Danny also doesn’t want to talk about it ever. So Dick will just have to take all the bad lies Danny’s giving him and deal with it.
He moves around the store, hoping to stop the conversation from continuing. He idly flicks through the racks of clothing, searching for things that are in his size.
Most of the clothes in the store is more suited for Sam’s style, really. Danny doesn’t think he can really pull off fishnet tights, especially while working as a butler. He does grab some plain black shirts, both short sleeve and long sleeve, and a gray sweater.
“That’s all?” Dick frowns at the few pieces of clothing Danny’s taken, but he leads them to the cashier regardless of his disapproval. He also takes out his wallet and hands over a card before Danny can protest.
“I can pay,” he says, and Dick shrugs.
“Sure, but I have more money than I want to deal with. I’m more than happy to pay for you, Danny. Don’t worry about it.”
The cashier scans the items, bags them, and hands the receipt to Dick.
Her eyes widen when she does and she makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat. “You’re—!”
“Shhh,” Dick shushes her, a finger to his lips.
She presses her lips together tightly and nods.
That is… a weird reaction. Is she scared of Dick? Is Dick well known enough to the average citizen of Gotham that they clam up and get nervous when they see he’s around? What exactly is his role in the Wayne mob family?
He glances at Dick just in time to catch him lowering his sunglasses a bit to give the cashier a wink, then takes the receipt while Danny grabs the shopping bag and considers going invisible so he’s not seen near Dick any longer. But the cashier doesn’t seem scared anymore, not with the red on her cheeks and the smile she isn’t quite able to bite down.
“Is that going to happen often?” Danny asks as they exit the shop and back into the crowds of the mall, which are steadily growing louder as morning fades into afternoon.
“Hopefully not,” Dick answers, “We’re kinda big in Gotham, so I might get recognized. But that’s why I got disguises!”
“Disguises that barely work.”
“Well, I wanted a wig, but no one else let’s me have one. The few times I’ve bought some, they immediately go missing.”
“Can we leave and just order everything I need online?”
Dick sighs, looking over Danny with a critical eye. “If you really want to, I suppose we can. But part of the reason why we’re here right now is so that you can get used to Gotham. This is a busy place full of people and it’s the best way to acclimate you to the city that’s not throwing you at a rogue or a gang.”
It hits Danny then that this might be part of his butler training. A way to prove that he can handle himself and that the Wayne family mob won’t need to worry about him too much. The weak disguises might be to test if he can keep secrets and not blow Dick’s cover.
Would they do that to him?
Well… Danny can’t confidently say that they won’t, so it’s safer to assume that this is something they would do. Are actively doing, even.
He lets out a slow breath, rolls his shoulders back, and resolves himself to seeing this through. “Alright,” he says, “Let’s keep going.”
“That’s the spirit!” Dick grins, and Danny can’t help the way he twitches, biting down on a reflexive need to respond with no, I’m the spirit. Another downside of being in a new dimension where no one knows his secrets: everyone’s missing out on his death jokes. It’s a shame, really, because Danny is hilarious.
Dick leads him through the mall, keeping an arm around Danny’s shoulders to steer him through the crowd. Danny peeks into the stores they pass, hoping something will catch his interest so he can finish up with this errand and leave the mall sooner rather than later.
He stumbles to a stop when he spots a NASA shirt on a clothing rack, and a black hoodie displayed beside it, Ursa Major and Minor decorating the front.
“Hm? Find something you like?” Dick asks as he urges Danny in. He follows Danny’s gaze and makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “Here, let’s see if they have your size.”
He’s rummaging through the racks before Danny can respond, pulling out shirts to check their size. As soon as he finds a medium, he’s holding it out to Danny, who takes it without thinking, moving on autopilot.
“Wait,” he starts, “We don’t need to—”
“Of course we do! We’re here to build up your wardrobe. What’s the point if you’re not getting things you actually like?”
And then he grabs one of the hoodies for Danny too, as if to make a point.
Dick holds it up and looks at the design with a critical eye, then asks, “Do you like space?”
“Yeah,” Danny says. There’s so much more he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. This isn’t the time or place to start gushing about how much he loves space; he needs to buy what he needs and then leave. That’s all he needs to focus on.
“Well?” Dick prompts, “What do you like about it?”
“Can I just buy these and go?” Danny asks, “Talking about space is too distracting.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I can ask again later, yeah?” And Dick actually looks disappointed. He’s got this kicked puppy dog look that makes Danny feel incredibly guilty, but he won’t allow himself to be distracted. He’s on a mission and he’s going to see it through.
They spend another few minutes browsing that store. There’s more clothes here that’s to Danny’s taste and he pulls a few pairs of pants he can wear that don’t scream ‘teen hooligan’. Which mostly means there are no holes or rips in them. He checks the prices and tries not to wince at the prices; mall stores are always more expensive, and while it’s not a big deal to rich mob families, it is to Danny, who has spent most of his time in this dimension homeless and penniless.
The cashier of this store barely glances at them as they scan tags and stuff clothes into a large bag. They don’t notice anything about Dick when he shoves Danny’s hand down and holds out his own card, again, and pays.
Shockingly, Dick’s bad disguise works. Though it might just be because this store is much busier than the first gothic store they shopped in.
Danny hurries out of the store, hoping that he can stop here for the day. He doesn’t get his hopes up too high, though, when he catches sight of the way Dick’s eyeing the food court.
He’s trying to come up with excuses to avoid the area—full of people and noise and too much everything—when Dick’s smile suddenly falls and his eyes go cold as ice.
He grabs Danny a second before the first gunshot rings out.
Immediately, the mall is full of shouts and movement as people rush to get away; either to find a way out of the mall, or into a store where they can hide. More gunshots follow, and a skylight shatters, raining glass down onto the frantic crowd.
Dick grabs Danny’s arm and pulls him away from the food court. Danny keeps pace with him as they sprint through the mall, searching for safety.
Behind them, Danny can hear people screeching and laughing. Before them, at one of the mall’s entrances, he spots a group of people dressed in dark, torn clothing, and strange metal bands around their bicep. Some hold large guns while others have spiked baseball bats or machetes.
From the sounds if it, there’s a group at every entrance.
They’re trapped in.
Dick hisses a curse under his breath and ducks through the crowd, dragging Danny behind him, and ducks into a small space between two stores. There’s a door that leads to an employee only area, but it’s locked.
Most of the crowd goes quiet after that. Danny looks behind them to see people cowering in stores, frantically typing on their phones; he hopes at least one of them is able to contact someone who can help. A few are still out in the open, crouched behind benches and massage chairs, holding onto each other.
“Aww, don’t be so scared,” someone croons, “We ain’t gonna hurt you too much. So long as you give me your wallets, we’re all good.”
A robbery, Danny realizes, an extreme robbery.
He’s not a hero. He doesn’t want to be a hero when he doesn't need to be. There are, apparently, many heroes in this world who can help but none of them are here. It’s just Danny and a bunch of civilians, at the mercy of whoever this gang of thieves is.
It’s just Danny and Dick, stuck hidden away, because Dick is a bigger target than anyone else.
“We’re going to be fine, Danny,” Dick whispers. He’s tucking his phone back into his pocket and taking off his hat and sunglasses. “Don’t worry.”
Danny’s not worrying. He’s concerned for the safety of everyone else, but he’s not worried about himself. What are they going to do, kill him a second time? Fat chance.
The problem is that the only way Danny can do anything is by going ghost, and he can’t do that with Dick holding him back.
Outside their hiding spot, glass shatters and more gunshots go off. “Don’t be greedy now!” someone shouts, then cackles, “Just pass over what you’ve got in that cash register and we’ll be on our way.”
From farther away, someone says, “Don’t get smart with me,” and smashes a counter. From the sound of it, they actually smashed their fist through the counter.
Most people don’t have that kind of strength.
“Dick,” Danny says, and Dick shushes him.
“It’s fine. Help will be here soon.”
Danny focuses his hearing, trying to make sure no one is getting hurt or killed. The gunshots and destruction are just intimidation tactics. As long as people cooperate, this day won’t end with a body count. Footsteps get closer, loud against the tense stillness of the mall.
He shifts his weight, then steps forward, placing himself in front of Dick.
“Danny, what are you—”
“Dick.” He can hear the echo in his voice, the sound of something inhuman rising to the forefront. “Stay behind me.”
There’s no time for any warning, for any reassurance. Three gang members walk by and find them.
“Well look what we have here!” one of them jeers, swinging around a baseball bat, “Two little pigs tryin’ hide from us!”
“Come on out, piggies, before we have to drag you out,” another grins, all teeth.
The third is a large man who doesn’t seem very… cognizant. He twitches, breathing heavily as his eyes dart around. All three of them have a strange gleam in their eyes, one that reminds him of the mugger who went after Alfred.
Are they drugged?
Danny slowly steps forward, eyes fixed on them. They make condescending whistles and clicks, treating him like a scared animal. They don’t know how tightly Danny’s holding onto his humanity, how badly he wants to let go and make them beg for mercy.
A hand grabs his. “Don’t, Danny.”
“Well, shit!” one of the gang members says, “That’s a Wayne! How much do ya think he’ll sell for?”
They don’t wait any longer. They rush in and grab Danny by his shirt, dragging him out. Danny takes a moment to glance behind him to see Dick caught by one, arms twisted behind his back. There’s a furrow in his brow, a look of barely concealed panic on his face, and he catches a single comment about making good use of a pretty boy like him before the rush in his ears drowns it all out.
The first one doesn’t even have a second to understand what’s happening before he’s on the ground, knocked out cold. Danny slips up, his humanity pushed back, and claws at the end of his fingers cut through the skin of the his temple, leaving the gang member to bleed onto the floor.
Cold mist wafts out of his mouth and he runs his tongue over the sharp fangs in his mouth.
“Danny, don’t!” Dick cries, and then he’s twisting his body into a strange shape, easily slipping out of the grasp of the gang member who holds him. He swings a kick up, knocking them out quickly, and reaches for Danny but Danny’s already moving.
The big guy slams his fists into the place where Dick was standing. Danny hisses at him a few feet away, dropping Dick back onto the ground, safe and sound.
“Touch him and I’ll rip every bone out of your hand,” he growls.
The big guy doesn’t care. The big guy might not even understand what Danny’s saying, too lost in his drug induced delirium. He charges, bellowing, and Danny grabs one of his arms and throws him onto the floor. Before he can get up again, Danny slams his foot onto his chest and holds him down, slowly pressing the air out of his lungs. He’s baring his teeth in a snarl, leaning closer, ready to rip into his flesh and make him cry when Dick smashes a baseball bat into the big guy’s head and knocks him out.
Danny doesn’t let up. Doesn’t move at all, still too lost in the instinct to protect, to end the threat through any means necessary, to feel more than a distant glimmer of panic. He knows he doesn’t look very human at the moment, can feel his more monstrous, ghostly features take over.
But Dick doesn’t look scared. He has his hands up, carefully reaching for Danny.
“Hey, come on. It’s fine. We’re fine. Help is almost here.” Another gunshot rings out, breaking the silence, and Dick glances over to the entrance. “Help is here, actually.”
“Either you give up now or I make you wish you had given up. Make a choice, fuckers! I don’t have any patience left for you.” The voice that speaks is strangely mechanical, and when Danny looks over to take note of this new player, he has to wonder why anyone would ever wear a full face red helmet.
“That’s Red Hood,” Dick says, “He’ll take care of them and get everyone out safe, okay? So can you come over here, please?”
Red Hood. Was this one of Gotham’s heroes? This is one he hasn’t heard about yet, but Dick doesn’t seem all that worried, so Danny steps off of the big guy’s chest and allows Dick to pull him over to the side.
No one pays any attention to them once Red Hood throws himself into the fray, a whirlwind of violence as he takes out every single gang member who rushes at him. A few try to run away, but well placed shots take out their knees and leave them curled up on the ground in pain.
He catches a few whispers from a nearby store, as someone says, “God, he’s hot. I kinda want him to punch me like that.”
Danny tries not to make a face at that because 1) he’s dealt with the Phan Club and he’s used to those kinds of comments and 2) Red Hood is literally punching people into the ground. With great force. A lot of violence. The brutality with which Red Hood is dealing with the gang is honestly impressive.
While he doesn’t want to be punched like that, he does want to know how to do something similar. It would be a good move to add to his arsenal.
It takes only a few minutes to deal with all the gang members on this end of the mall. The atmosphere relaxes and Danny sees more than a few people slump over in relief, leaning against walls and collapsing on each other.
“You’ll be fine now,” Red Hood says, “Just sit tight for the police to get these guys, and then you’ll be out of here.”
A few people call out their thanks as he walks by, and Danny thinks that he’s going to leave, deal with the other gang members scattered around the mall. But a few more steps and it’s clear that Red Hood is making a beeline right for him.
Tensing, Danny shoves Dick behind him, feeling a growl begin to build up in his throat.
“Woah, woah, Danny! It’s fine! Red Hood’s not going to hurt us!” Dick hurries to assure, trying to step out from behind Danny. He doesn’t manage to take more than a single step in any direction before Danny is herding him back.
Red Hood slows down as he approaches, no longer marching towards them with danger written in every line of his body. “Huh,” he says as he comes to a stop just a few feet in front of Danny. He keeps one hand on his gun, ready to pull it out of its holster at any moment. “Dick,” he greets, but it sounds less like Dick’s name and more like an insult.
“Hood! So glad you got my message.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get to save a Grayson in distress. You owe me for this, by the way. I could be home watching telenovelas right now.”
“Aw, come on, Hood, would you really abandon me like that?”
Red Hood laughs, and the hamlet makes it come out staticy and unnatural. “I’d shoot you for fun, Dickface.”
Danny hisses at Red Hood and delights in the way he shifts nervously, not stepping back but clearly apprehensive. He should be nervous; threatening someone under Danny’s protection right in front of him is bold, to say the least.
“It’s okay, Danny,” Dick says again, trying to soothe him. He doesn’t try to move around Danny again, just stays and puts a hand on Danny’s shoulder. The single point of contact grounds him enough to pull his ghostly features back partway, leaving only the toxic green of his eyes and the fangs in his mouth. “Red Hood’s not going to hurt me. He saved us, didn’t he? He’s one of Gotham’s heroes, he’s a good guy.”
“Excuse you, Dick, but I am a crime lord not a hero.”
“A crime lord who helps people! Who is considered Crime Alley’s hero! Just admit it, you’re one of the good guys.”
Red Hood being a crime lord is much more believable than him being a hero. It also makes the familiarity between him and Dick seem less strange; surely, as a crime lord, he’s dealt with the Wayne Mob before. They’ve probably made deals between themselves and done super illegal things together. Dick is the eldest Wayne child, of course he’s friends with crime lords like Red Hood.
The hero thing is something he takes with a grain of salt. From the sounds of things, it’s really just a matter of perspective, and Danny is solidly on the side of not a hero. Sure he saved them, but he could have just had beef with this gang to begin with and decided to get rid of them when he had the chance. He’s like Red Huntress in that way: focused more on attacking threats than protecting the people in danger.
“Hey, kid,” Red Hood says, looking down at the big guy Danny took out, “Are you sure you’re human?”
“Oh my God, Hood, you can’t just ask people that!” Dick groans, slumping onto Danny’s back.
Red Hood crosses his arms. He doesn’t look away from Danny. “It’s a valid question. No one normal can just knock down a guy like this so easily. You take any drugs?”
Danny blinks, thrown by the sudden question. “No?”
Red Hood tilts his head. “Are you being drugged by someone else?”
“Definitely not. At least, not that I’m aware of.”
“Wait,” Dick says, “You think—”
“Well, these guys,” Red Hood kicks the big guy, “have been running around Gotham hopped up on Venom. Or something close to it.”
“Have you talked to Batman about it?”
“Why the fuck would I do that? This is shit in my territory. This is affecting my people. The big bad Bat can keep his nose out of this. It’s my case, alright.”
Dick shrugs, and Danny shifts, trying to keep balanced under the movement. “It’s not staying in your territory, though. They came here in the middle of the day. And speaking of the day, is Signal here?”
“He’s taking care of the other side of the mall.”
“And he’s alright on his own?”
“Relax, he’s a big boy, he can handle himself. If he needed any help, he’d let me know.”
Dick pulls Danny back, smoothly stepping to the side so they stand together, Dick’s arm heavy around Danny’s shoulders, clearly holding him in place. “Signal is another one of Gotham’s heroes. He’s our daylight hero,” Dick explains.
He remembers Duke mentioning Signal at dinner. “Duke likes him, right?” Danny asks, “Signal and… Nightlight? Nighthawk? Something like that.”
“Nightwing,” Dick corrects with a strained smile. Red Hood snorts, and quickly clears his throat to act as if he wasn’t about to laugh when Dick shoots him a poisonous glare.
“Yeah, him.”
“Well, as fun as this has been, I think it’s time for us to go! Bye, Hood, try not to cause too much of a mess once we leave.”
“Don’t worry,” Red Hood says, “I’ll make sure the blood is easy to clean up.”
“Great! Bye!”
And with that, Dick steers Danny away, turning their backs on the dangerous, gun-wielding crime lord. They go back to where they were originally hiding and instead of stopping at the locked door, Dick kicks it open and keeps walking. There’s no time to ask questions when Dick is rushing them through the back, following the green signs pointing towards the emergency exit.
It’s a relief to be back outside. A few rays of sunlight manage to get past the gray clouds that cover the sky, and all the noise and chaos of the mall suddenly feels far away. Sirens fill the city as police cars speed down streets, heading their way, but they’re not here yet.
“Sorry about your first day out being such a mess,” Dick says, “We can try again some other day.”
“I’d really rather just do some online shopping.”
Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Totally fair, after today. C’mon, let’s go home.”
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The foyer is spotless. Danny can’t help but feel proud, even if Alfred did most of the work. The section that he handled, after Alfred showed him which cleaning supplies to use and the necessary steps to ensure everything was properly cleaned, is tidy and almost sparkling.
It’s surprisingly enjoyable work. He’s always hated cleaning, from his own room to any place his parents tried out a new invention or did experiments. But this? Cleaning the manor with Alfred? It’s actually fun.
Seeing everything come together after all their hard work is just as rewarding.
He’s glad he’s allowed to wear casual clothes; there’s no way he can do any cleaning in a suit and have it come out stainless and clean. Alfred probably uses his special magic to remain put together no matter what he does.
“Very good, Danny,” Alfred says once he looks over Danny’s section of the foyer. “You pick on everything so quickly. Soon I’ll have nothing left to teach you.”
“I’m not that good, Alfred, you don’t need to lie. Besides, it’s just cleaning. I’m not coming up with meal plans and organizing events and all the way you do.”
“And you’ll find that those tasks are just as easy to complete once you know how to go about them. Don’t discredit yourself, Danny, you’re an incredibly smart young man.”
Danny ducks his head, bashful, and shrugs. “I’m really not, but… Thanks.”
“Come now. With everyone out of the manor, we can tidy up all the spaces they usually occupy. Let us begin in the family den.”
It’s not like they have anything else to do. For once, the manor is empty of everyone but them so there’s no one Alfred needs to tend to. He doesn’t need to worry about preparing large lunches, either, when Danny is still slowly recovering his appetite.
The family den is one of the rooms that Danny can find on his own, so he doesn’t trail after Alfred, helplessly lost. It’s a nice change of pace. They stop once on the way to grab a vacuum and a duster from a small supply closet in the hall. Danny grabs the vacuum before Alfred can and carries it the rest of the way, feeling inordinately pleased at being able to help Alfred before he can insist on doing everything on his own.
The door is already open when they arrive. It’s one of the few doors in the manor that is almost never closed, except for when they have a lot of food out and don’t want any pets stealing some, according to Alfred. Danny has yet to see any pets, but he’s looking forward to it. There’s so many places they could be hiding and it has Danny glancing around everywhere he goes, hoping to catch at least one of them. He’s hoping for one of the dogs. Maybe a cat.
Damian is the one who primarily takes care of the pets, so Danny doesn’t get to have that responsibility, which he’s only a little upset about. It’s fine, really.
He misses Cujo.
There’s a lot he didn’t realize he was going to lose when he ran away. It just hadn’t been on his mind, not when Jazz was yelling at their parents, and Jack and Maddie were shooting at him, Fenton Thermos at the ready to trap him again. There wasn’t any time to focus on anything besides the panic, the pressing need to go as far away as possible, the fear fear fear taking hold of him and leaving room for nothing else.
It was Jazz who had opened the portal, who screeched and threw things at their parents, creating a distraction as she pretended to be afraid of the ghost who had escaped. But it was Danny who flew in, thinking please take me away to someplace they can’t hurt me.
The Ghost Zone is strange. It’s only a part of the Infinite Realms. More than ghosts exist within that space, living within the fabric that holds the universe together. Full of that much ectoplasm and emotion and constant movement, it’s like nothing else. Danny didn’t know before that moment, hadn’t had the time to realize it until it was too late, that the Infinite Realms are alive.
It heard his plea. It reached out to him, crooning a dizzying song that shook every string crossing the universe, and gave him what he asked for.
Danny didn’t remember much after that. He felt his core spark, wrapped in the embrace of the Infinite Realms, and then he was taken away. The brief flashes he does have of the journey don’t help him piece together what happened. All he has is the fading memory of being surrounded by stars, of aurora borealis dancing around him, of a sudden cold as he was ripped away from home and left in someplace foreign.
He woke up in this universe where he doesn’t exist. Where no one he knows exists in any way. There are no ghosts, no ectoplasm, not Fentons or GIW or Amity Park.
There’s no one, and Danny stares down at the floor, clutching the vacuum in his hands as he’s hit by the sudden grief of losing everyone he’s ever known.
He knows that there’s no way for him to return to his universe. What was once his home is far out of reach. He’ll never see anyone he loves again. Not just Cujo, but Jazz and Tucker and Sam. Frostbite. Pandora. Even Walker and Wulf.
“Danny?” A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, the touch light and gentle. “Are you quite alright?”
He sucks in a shuddering breath and tries to plaster on a smile. It falls flat, and he gives up completely. “I don’t think I can ever go back home,” he confesses, and blinks back the burn of oncoming tears.
“That’s alright,” Alfred says, “You have a home here.”
It’s a nice thought, but it’s not the home he wants. Maybe one day it can be; he’s staying for Alfred, but maybe he’ll want to keep coming back for the other members of the Wayne family. They’ve been nice to him so far, despite being part of a mob, and he thinks he can come to like all of them given enough time.
But none of them will ever be enough to fill the void that comes from the loss of Jazz, Tucker, and Sam.
“May I ask what brought this on? Is it because this is the family den?”
Danny latches onto the suggestion. It makes more sense than thinking about dogs and missing his own ghost pet. And missing his own section of the Infinite Realms. He shrugs and says, “Yeah, a little. Sorry for getting emotional all of a sudden. I’ll just… start cleaning.”
He glances up to catch Alfred’s frown, but gets to work before he can be told to take a break or, worse, talk about his feelings.
He goes straight to an outlet in the wall to plug in the vacuum; it’s an old model with a cord, and he wonders if this is just what Alfred prefers when he’s sure that cordless vacuums exist. It can’t be that the Waynes don’t want to get Alfred decent cleaning equipment because they all defer to him despite him being their butler.
“If you’ll allow me,” Alfred says, grabbing hold of the vacuum before Danny can protest. “These settings,” he changes a few settings on the vacuum, “are best for cleaning carpeted surfaces.”
And then he gets right to it, leaving Danny behind.
While Danny’s plan to just do stuff before Alfred can tell him otherwise works, he forgot to account for the fact that Alfred can, at any moment, hit him with a reverse Uno..
Alfred makes his way through the family den fairly quickly, moving in straight lines across the room. Danny trails after him, making sure the cord doesn’t get caught on anything or tangled, and takes hold of the duster to clean off picture frames on the wall.
One frame tilts as he dusts it, and Danny reaches out to fix it when he pauses. There’s a strange sound of something scraping against the wall. It doesn't sound anything like a frame, so Danny looks back to Alfred to make sure he’s turned away, then slowly lifts up the frame.
Stuck to the back is two daggers in sheaths decorated lightly with gold accents.
None of my business, Danny thinks, and quickly lays the frame to rest flat against the wall, straightened out.
He rolls the duster down from where it was resting in the crook of his elbow and into his hand. He twirls it around once, spots a flurry of dust falling off of it, and resolves not to do that again.
He’ll… get the handle of keeping things clean eventually.
The vacuum cuts off suddenly, and the silence that follows rings a little in Danny’s ears.
“Danny,” Alfred calls out, “Would you mind lifting the couch so I can clean underneath it?”
“Sure,” Danny says without thinking. He reaches the couch and leaves the duster on the edge of the coffee table. He moves to grab the couch and start lifting it when he realizes that couches are heavy and most people are unable to lift one on their own.
He glances at Alfred. “Umm…”
“You may use whatever powers you have at your disposal,” Alfred says very casually. Danny swears he can feel his heart stop at the words. It’s not that he’s been very good at keeping his ghostliness hidden, but it was mostly used for fights and intimidation, but he was hoping no one would talk about it and they could all just ignore it.
Whatever expression is on his face must be bad because Alfred visibly softens. He doesn’t move to touch Danny again, which is a relief because he feels like jumping out of his own skin and disappearing. Instead, he sets the vacuum down and gives Danny his full attention.
“I am well aware of the fact that you are a meta.” Again, what is a meta? He heard it at dinner with the Waynes, but he hasn’t gotten an explanation. So he can’t say that he is a meta, but he also can’t say that he isn’t. “You don’t need to worry. The Wayne family is very good at keeping secrets.” There’s a hint of a laugh in his voice.
That didn’t sound funny or reassuring, it just sounded a little like a threat. The Waynes probably are good at keeping secrets, such as where they hid the bodies of those who were foolish enough to cross them. Danny really doesn’t want any details.
“Metas are protected, and I will never force you to reveal any details about your powers to anyone, including me. But if you have these powers, then it will be good to use them. Cleaning and other small tasks are a good way of practicing with your powers and giving you greater control of them.”
It takes a moment for Danny to process the words, and another minute for his brain to fully reboot after understanding what Alfred’s attempting to do.
He’s trying to train Danny on how to use his powers through simple, every day tasks. This is Danny’s Karate Kid moment, but instead of learning how to fight with wax on wax off, he’s learning how to butler.
Which might be the same thing in Gotham, according to the things he’s heard.
“Okay,” he says weakly, “Sounds good.” And then, instead of lifting the couch, he turns it intangible and invisible so Alfred can vacuum straight through it.
“Oh my,” Alfred says, eyebrows rising at the display of his powers.
“The couch is still here, you can just… ignore it while I’m touching it.”
Efficient as always, Alfred doesn’t let this throw him off his rhythm. He flicks the vacuum back on and continues cleaning, calming walking through the couch as if he does this all the time. Even Jazz always hesitated before walking through anything he made intangible, unable to help it. Butlers are just built different, apparently.
As soon as he cleans the floor underneath the couch, he nods to Danny who takes his cue to release the couch from his powers. It pops back into the visible spectrum, fully solid and intact.
“Would you mind fluffing the cushions and folding the blankets?”
Danny salutes Alfred and gets to it, shaking out each blanket out before folding them, taking the time to make sure each corner lines up and all the edges are straight and even. He leaves them thrown over the back of the couch, piled on top of each other, ready for the next Wayne to collapse onto the couch and bundle up for a movie.
By the time he’s finished and is satisfied with his work, Alfred has finished vacuuming the entire room. It’s a large room and Alfred hadn’t exactly been rushing through it, so Danny’ not quite sure how he got it done so quickly. It keeps surprising him, how competent Alfred is. No one else he’s ever met has been this put together or skilled, especially in the realm of domestic work.
Alfred gathers up the cord of the vacuum and looks over the family den with a critical eye. When he nods, satisfied with the state of it, Danny lets out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Shall we head to the kitchen for lunch, Danny?” he asks, reaching down the lift up the vacuum. Which is unacceptable! Danny carried it in and he’ll carry it out.
He uses a bit of flight to cross the distance between them faster, not held back by friction. He swipes the vacuum from Alfred’s hand and gives him a cheerful grin. “Sure! Now’s a great time for a break, anyways.”
They had spent the morning doing laundry, which mostly consisted of separating everything into different loads and starting the washer. The clothesline strung up outside is primarily for bedsheets and blankets, so they didn’t even need to wait a long time for clothes to dry. Even folding everything and putting them in piles based on whose clothes they were didn’t take more than an hour between them. It wasn’t intensive work, as most of it was just waiting around, drinking tea and talking to each other.
Even cleaning barely put a dent in Danny’s energy levels. He hasn’t done enough to be hungry quite yet, but the thought of eating isn’t as uncomfortable as it once was.
Progress. No matter how small it is.
Hell, soon he might even be able to start asking for snacks in between meals. That will probably have Alfred weeping with joy. Internally, of course, seeing how he’s an old British guy who keeps most of his strong emotions hidden behind the facade of professional calmness.
But while he may be fine on eating for a few more hours, Alfred needs to sit down and have lunch. It didn’t feel like it, but they did get a lot of housework done. They did it together, which cut down on how long each chore took, and Danny can’t fathom how Alfred has kept this manor running by himself all these years.
It’s so much ground to cover for one person, especially one as old as Alfred.
And since he’s busy taking care of everyone, who takes care of him?
Danny, now. He’s determined to return the kindness Alfred’s shown him tenfold.
He’s cemented the location of the hallway closet now. Everything is organized neatly within and it takes barely half a minute to put everything away, bodily blocking Alfred from doing anything to help.
“I will say, I’m unused to having so much free time,” Alfred chuckles, “You are incredibly efficient. You’ll be taking over in no time.”
“As if I could ever replace you, Alfred. Besides, you’re the best cook around! No way will I ever be able to compete against you in the kitchen.”
“Don’t discount yourself so soon. You’ve only recently begun your cooking journey. I have no doubt that you will take to it as quickly as everything else.”
Danny thinks back to the Fenton kitchen, full of tech and wires and scrap metal and tools scattered around. He thinks of food coming back to life, of needing to keep chains and padlocks in one of the cabinets just in case, of constant ecto-contamination. Their house would fail every single safety inspection to exist.
That kitchen wasn’t safe to cook in, and due to that, nothing cooked in it was safe. Most of what his parents made was edible! But it definitely wasn’t safe.
“If you say so,” Danny says, trying not to grimace. He hopes his own halfa biology won’t lead to a food contamination. It’s never happened before, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
Maybe he could brainstorm some safety measures with Alfred. Just in case.
Unfortunately for him, the very thought of discussing his halfa status and nonhuman biology makes him feel nauseous. Alfred is kind and clearly wants the best for Danny, but in that case, what he considers to be best for Danny might be handing him over to scientists or doctors to learn more about him and it’ll be like he never left his parents at all.
“Come now, Danny, it’s time we work on your confidence in the kitchen,” Alfred says, already turning on his heel and walking down the hallway with purpose.
Danny tries to shake all thoughts of violent hotdogs out of his head and hurries to follow, keeping close to Alfred until the halls begin to look more familiar. Being within the walls of Wayne Manor doesn’t feel so intimidating, but it is hard to be intimidated by a place when he’s helping clean it.
The steady disappearance of his anxiety around staying with Waynes is nice. He’s tired of being scared and he hasn’t felt comfortable anywhere like this since before his accident.
And he’s barely run into anything involving their mob business! That’s more than he’s gotten from Vlad or his parents. They’re actually sticking to the conditions he set, including the keep me out of shady shit one.
Maybe Jazz was onto something when she was lecturing him about enforcing and respecting boundaries. This is great.
This job could end up being really good for him. More than he ever expected.
“Do you have anything in mind for what you’d like for lunch?” Alfred asks as they enter the kitchen.
Danny shrugs. “Anything’s fine, really.”
“I would appreciate an actual answer, Danny.”
“Then… how about something easy to make? So I can try my hand at making my own lunch.”
Alfred nods once, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Something simple. Perhaps a sandwich?”
“Yeah, a sandwich sounds great.” He doesn’t say that he already knows how to make a sandwich; pretty much everyone knows that much. It’s just slapping various ingredients in between two slices of bread. Easy. But if that’s what Alfred wants to make, then that’s what they’ll make.
“Let us begin by going to the garden.”
The thought of going outside perks him up, and Danny’s by the door even before Alfred is. The small vegetable garden Alfred’s cultivated is just outside the kitchen, organized into raised beds full of crop.
He accepts the gardening gloves Alfred holds out to him. They’re large on his hands, but not enough to hinder him as he kneels next to the tomato plants. He watches carefully as Alfred clips off ripe tomatoes, carefully holding them as he positions the garden clippers above the stems.
Each tomato is perfectly round and red and he’s half tempted to bite into one just to see if it tastes as good as it looks. As if hearing his thoughts, Alfred drops one into Danny’s hand.
“Go on,” Alfred prompts, and Danny looks up from where he’s been staring at the tomato.
“Huh?”
“Eat it. I can see that you want to.”
Danny flushes and moves to give it back, caught. “Sorry.”
“No need, Danny. I have helped raised quite a few children and teenagers in my time. I know to offer some of the crop when they accompany me out to the garden.”
He should give it back. He’s here to help Alfred, not add to his workload. He should be focused on working because this is his job, the first and only one he’s ever had, and he doesn’t want to mess it up.
But no one else is here at the manor. It’s just him and Alfred and Alfred has given him permission. So Danny takes off one of the gloves to hold the tomato up to his mouth, thanks Alfred quietly, then carefully bites into the tomato.
His carefulness doesn’t matter at all when the tomato is as juicy as it is. He startles and leans forward to let the tomato juice drip off his chin onto the ground instead of onto his clothes. Besides him, he can hear Alfred chuckling lightly as he sets all the tomatoes he’s gathered into a large, woven basket.
“How is it?”
“This is the best tomato I’ve ever eaten,” Danny says, taking another bite. “Ho’ do you do thi’?”
“Don’t speak with your mouth full, Danny,” Alfred reprimands lightly. “I’ve simply had many years of experience tending to vegetable crops in this garden. I know very well what works and what doesn’t. Though the garden has gotten smaller over the years, it is still one of my proudest works.”
He finishes the tomato and shakes his hand to get some of the juice off. He tries to wipe his face off, but it’s hard when he doesn’t have anything to clean up with, so he settles with getting the rest of the drops off and resolves to clean up properly once they’re inside again.
Alfred stands slowly, his knees clicking, and Danny winces sympathetically. He takes hold of the basket for Alfred and rests it in the crook of his elbow.
“Spinach or cucumbers?” Alfred asks suddenly.
Danny blinks at Alfred, then thinks about it. He doesn’t eat much of either, but he’s heard Sam talk about how cooking spinach makes it shrink to the point of there being no spinach. Cucumber would probably go easier, so he says, “Cucumbers. Why?”
“That’s what we will get next to make lunch with.”
Are there cucumber sandwiches? Is that a thing? If it is, Danny’s never hear of it, but he trust Alfred to make it good.
Alfred leads the way to a shadier portion of the vegetable garden where long tendrils full of dark green leaves twist their way around a metal trellis. Hanging from the vines are cucumbers in various stages of growth; some are large and heavy, while others are still small and not quite green, covered in bumps.
“Why don’t you pick a few, Danny?”
“How do I know if it’s ripe?”
“Look for ones that are large and have a good color to them. The less visible bumps in the skin, the better.” Alfred holds on up as an example, then cuts it with the gardening clipper and lays it into the basket besides the tomatoes.
Danny takes the clippers and begins shifting through the leaves and vines, looking over all the cucumbers he finds with a critical eye. He finds one that looks good close to the dirt and takes it in his hand to look over. Alfred doesn’t stop him as he lifts the clippers, so he figures it’s good enough and adds it to the basket.
“How many?” he asks, finding another cucumber ready to be picked.
“As many as you like. We can always get more later.”
Just to be safe, Danny gets five cucumbers. This lunch may be for just the two of them, but the rest of the family requires a lot more food. Whatever’s left over after Danny eats can be used in other dishes for the Wayne family.
He has no doubt they’ll be stopping in the kitchen first as soon as they return. With cooking like Alfred’s around, even Danny would be visiting the kitchen often in the hopes of sneaking a few bites of what he’s making.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to by virtue of being Alfred’s sous chef.
They don’t get anything else out in the garden, leaving with their small basket of fresh produce. He’s looking forward to seeing what Alfred can make with these just as he’s starting to look forward to eating.
He’s not super hungry, but that doesn’t mean he can’t eat as much as a regular human.
They return to the kitchen after putting away their gardening gloves into the small storage box by the door, and Danny sets the basket down on the counter as Alfred goes through the fridge, getting ingredients.
As he’s pulling out plates and a butter knife, he asks, “Would you mind setting out a small frying pan onto the stove?”
“Sure!” Danny chirps, then looks through the cabinets below the counter until he finds what he needs. He sets the frying pan out just as Alfred’s pulling the bread box closer from where it was placed against the wall.
“Now,” Alfred begins, “This isn’t quite a sandwich, but it is very easy to make. You may adjust everything to match your own preferences, or the preferences of others.” He pulls out two slices of bread and sets them on the counter.
“Wait, don’t we need a cutting board?”
“A very good observation,” Alfred says. “But not in this kitchen. When it was remodeled many years ago, I changed the countertops. Instead of granite or marble, these are butcher block counters, which are used as cutting boards.”
“So the entire counter is a cutting board.”
“Precisely.”
With that, he grabs the butter knife to cut a small slab of butter to drop into the pan. “I will be teaching you how to make bruschetta and crostini. These are toasted breads that come with a variety of toppings. We will stick to a classic bruschetta and a salmon, cucumber, cream cheese crostini.”
Alfred pulls open one draw to reveal a knife block and wide range of knives, all different sizes.
“For smaller and softer ingredients like the ones we will be using, you may use a smaller knife. A medium size will be best.” He takes hold of his own knife and Danny gauges its size before grabbing one that seems to be similar.
He sets the knife down on the counter, keeping the blade pointed away from him, and grabs the basket to place in front of them, easy to reach. He follows Alfred’s lead and grabs a tomato, washing it off lightly in the sink, then sets it down in front of him.
“When you are using a knife, always keep the fingers of your nondominant hand curled so you do not accidentally cut them.” Alfred demonstrates, holding his tomato in place with his left hand, curling his fingers so he makes a loose fist. He slides the flat blade of the knife against his knuckles to show how it can’t cut his fingers, then waits for Danny to do the same.
As soon as he does, he’s showing Danny how to cut tomatoes without squishing them or getting juice everywhere. Then he instructs Danny on how to peel cucumbers and cut them.
Once they get everything slices and ready, Alfred flicks on the stove and moves the slab of butter around to make sure it coats a much of the inside as possible. He then takes a slice of bread and places it into the pan.
“We don’t want it toasted too much. Lightly on both sides will do.”
Danny hesitantly accepts the spatula held out to him and hopes he doesn’t make Alfred waste bread. His attempts at making toast without a toaster usually leads to at least one side being charcoal black.
But Alfred is patient and attentive, instructing Danny when to flip each piece of bread to ensure they are lightly golden on both sides. He goes over what to add to make bruschetta, what to add to make crostini, and allows Danny to assemble both.
It doesn’t look very pretty, but it tastes amazing when they sit down to eat.
“You’re a really good teacher,” Danny says, finishing up the last of the bread.
“Thank you,” Alfred smiles. “It helps that I have a wonderful student.”
“Can you teach me more? It can be later if we need to do more cleaning or something.”
“All of that can wait until tomorrow. Would you like to try your hand at baking?”
Danny lights up, grinning, and says, “Yeah! Can we make cookies?” Cooking is one thing, but baking in another. He’s not half bad at baking when he can muster up the motivation to make things. Following recipes is easy and unlike with cooking, baking requires precision and sticking to what’s written. He doesn’t know how to make too many things, but brownies were easy for him during the few times he actually baked them.
“Of course. Shall we make chocolate chip or would you like to do something else?”
“Chocolate chip to start, I think. And then we can see what else we can make, if that’s okay?”
“That sounds perfectly fine,” Alfred says, “Let’s clean up first before we get started.”
Danny all but leaps out of his chair, eager to start, and gathers their dishes to put in the sink. He washes as Alfred takes hold of a dish towel and gets to work drying, putting everything away where it belongs.
The time spent baking goes by quickly after that. It’s much easier and less stressful than cooking, and each time a batch of cookies comes out picture perfect, Danny can’t help but grin.
They’re all placed into various containers once they cool, each one filling up with just half a batch. The chocolate chip cookies where then changed into double chocolate cookies, followed by jam cookies and lemon cookies. The smell of it all fills the air and Danny doesn’t bothering smothering the pride he feels when he catches sight of all the cookies covering the counter.
From there, it’s easy to transition into preparing for dinner as the late afternoon hour brings with it a promise of everyone returning home.
He puts his newly learned cutting skills to use as he helps Alfred make a potato gratin to accompany the carbonara he’s making for dinner. He’s even able to make the salad by himself, although it didn’t require much except cutting and tossing once he added the dressing.
The first people to arrive back in the manor are Damian and Bruce. They appear in the doorway of the kitchen suddenly, and Danny only had a split second to realize that he’s being watched before Bruce greets them both. The sound of his voice makes Danny twist around to look at him, make sure he’s not too close.
Bruce doesn’t move from near the door. He only goes a few steps into the kitchen, enough to get close to the island where the last batch of cooling cookies lays. Damian looks over Alfred, then turns his sharp gaze to Danny, studying him.
He leaves without a word and Danny can only hope Damian wasn’t looking for anything nonhuman about Danny. That’s really the only reason he can think of to explain to scrutiny, and he doesn’t like it.
“Did you make these?” Bruce asks, picking up a lemon cookie. It’s supposed to be dusted with powdered sugar, but they hadn’t cooled enough before both he and Alfred got caught up in preparing dinner.
Danny nods, a small thing, barely noticeable, but it makes Bruce smile. Not a big, theatric smile meant to distract. This one is smaller, more genuine and soft.
“May I?” He lifts the cookie up, waiting for permission.
Bruce is the master of the house. He doesn’t need to ask for permission. It’s not like any of the cookies are for Danny, anyways. He doubts he has the stomach to handle one, let alone the five batches he made.
He glances at Alfred, hoping the butler will take over. But Alfred simple keeps himself busy at the stove, firmly keeping himself out of the conversation.
“Um, sure,” Danny answers, hesitantly.
“Thank you,” Bruce says, and takes a bite. Danny watches him carefully for any signs that it’s bad, that he doesn’t like it, that he’s disappointed that Danny doesn’t live up to Alfred’s skills. But he doesn’t. He eats it calmly, then grabs a second on. “These are delicious.”
Danny’s shoulders slump; he hadn’t realized how tense waiting for an answer had made him.
“If that is all, Master Bruce,” Alfred cuts in, “Do go wash up. Try not to spoil your appetite before dinner.”
“Alright. Do you know if Tim is going to be here for dinner tonight?”
“I haven’t heard from him today. Perhaps you should reach out to him if you would like him to be here.”
“Right. Right, I’ll… do that. And Danny,” he turns his attention away from Alfred, the lightness of his tone at odds against the dark light of his eyes. It almost feels as if Bruce can see through him, searching for all his secrets. “I’ll be in my study if you need anything, alright?”
“Okay.” Danny turns around and ducks his head, trying to focus but he can barely remember what he was doing before. He just stands, tense, frozen with his hands gripping the edge of the counter.
He hears Bruce move, his suit shifting as he straightens out. “I also heard about the incident at the mall, yesterday. Dick only told me about it today.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Though this isn’t required of you, if you’d ever like to learn self-defense, let me know. I have trained in many different martial arts and I would be happy to teach you.”
That… wasn’t at all what he was expecting to hear. He was more prepared for an interrogation about what he is. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Bruce fired him for being inhuman. Half-human. Whatever.
He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of no thanks I don’t plan on being seen in public ever again, but what comes out instead is, “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t. We can get started this weekend.”
Danny’s traitorous body nods even as he mind goes what the hell do you think you’re doing. This was not in the plans. This was not in any plan! There was no previous discussion about that. Danny was fine with the kidnapping policy and the very specific types of insurance he was given.
Having Bruce teach him self-defense feels like something from a fever dream. But here they are, Bruce leaving the kitchen with an agreement from Danny to have weekend self-defense lessons.
“Alfred,” he says, blankly, after Bruce leaves.
“Yes, Danny?”
“Is it too late to fake my death and run away?”
“No need for such dramatics. Self-defense is important, especially in Gotham, and Master Bruce has trained every child that has been in this manor. He will teach you well.”
That’s not really the problem.
The problem is that Danny doesn’t know his limits against regular humans. He has no idea how much strength to use against them. He’s even worse about staying human during a fight. The last thing Danny wants is to go full angry ghost against Bruce for the high crime of trying to help him.
But if Alfred says it’ll be fine, then Danny will need to trust in that. Surely Alfred will talk to Bruce about Danny’s powers and they’ll be better prepared to face him.
He’ll just have to do his best to be a normal-ish person and hope things work out. Knowing his luck, however…
At least he has cookies to accompany his misery.
#dc x dp#dp x dc#dp x dp fanfic#alfred's apprentice au#butler danny au#fic#my writing#sooo much worldbuilding here. v excited to share my plans for danny and everyone and gotham#can guarantee that no one can predict what i'll be doing with this fic#in the last three chapters#(pls let three more be enough)
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i need something where the batfamily find out what tim is actually like when he's with the yj (not steph or cass as they'd already know),, idk how they'd find out,, maybe they see a video of the core four or tim is actually sleeping for once and bart and kon try to prank call bruce and just end up talking for ages and the other batfam members are listening in as bart and kon tell them stories about tim. and they're just. in shock. because they know tim as this teen detective who spends all his time on cases or wayne enterprises and doesnt really do anything outside of that. and they find out tim is a gamer?? and goes off-world all the time?? and is still into photography?? and isn't actually the leader of young justice?? and actually has a sense of humour and plays pranks a lot?? and made out with kon?? and actually likes tea more than coffee but drinks more coffee to stay awake?? and makes jokes about dick's name?? and has a blog about indie film reviews and world issues?? and has a huge cd collection of 90s music??
and the next time tim goes to wayne manor,, dick gives him some of his old cds out of the blue and alfred buys a large assortment of different teas, and bruce asks if he wants to watch the seventh seal with him, and damian actually talks to tim and asks him to join a game tournament against jason and roy,, and tim is so so confused because when he goes back to the manor and the batcave its always just for work. he never really interacts with his family outside of vigilante related stuff, that's just what he's like with bernard and his friends. but now the bats are actually actively trying to spend time with him outside of work
just,, the batfam not realising tim is just acting like he's at work with all of them all of the time and never showing them what he's actually like or interested in outside of that
#when tim first became robin he knew the bats weren't looking for a new family member and neither was he#so he just got used to interacting with them in a purely professional/ worklike manner and even when he got adopted that didn't change#he thinks all the bats care about in relation to him is his work so that's all he mentions when he's with them#tim drake#dc#batfam#batfamily#red robin
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Video Tapes (from when we were happy)
Jay stares down at the tape in his hand. He recognizes the messy and smeared sharpie handwriting on the label.
"Birthday :)"
He's hesitant. But he doesn't really have a choice. He tells himself he has to scour all of the tapes for more evidence and that includes the ones he is sure will be unimportant.
"You know we can take a break if you need to. It's hard... watching these. And I don't even remember most of my time with him." Jay's brought out of his trance-like state when the man beside him places a hand over the tape in Jay's grip (which Jay only just then realized was shakey).
"No. I don't wanna prolong this any longer than I need to. I have to go through them at some point." Jay sighs, and avoids Tim's pensive stare that seems to see right through the walls Jay holds up.
"I can go through them for you-"
"I said it's fine, Tim." Jay responds, tone a bit more sour then he originally intended. There was a bit of silence, before Jay sucked in a deep breath. "Sorry." He refused to look at Tim as he finally shoved the tape into the tape player, eyes glued to the screen.
_
The camera is out of focus for a moment, but Jay can tell who the subject is from the blurry shape of his brightly colored side-swept fringe.
"Alexxx! Come here, birthday boy!" A much younger sounding Jay coos from behind the camera, and Alex's head perked up, his face finally coming into focus.
Jay assumes this must have been around Alex's nineteenth, right in the midst of his scene phase. (The Alex they see on the tape would have cried if someone called it a phase.)
As Alex's face comes into focus, Jay takes note of the messy guy-liner and snake-bites. Jay missed those piercings, even though he complained about how dumb they looked, Jay thought they were totally hot and Alex knew that.
As Jay gets up from his spot on the couch, nursing a bottle of alcohol that he definitely was not allowed to have, Jay meets him halfway in the living-room, holding out a poorly wrapped CD case. Alex takes it, meticulously pulling at the edges and unwrapping the paper without tearing it.
"Can't you just rip it open?" Jay complains, and Alex shoots a playful glare at him.
"It's my gift, I can open it however I want to." Alex shoots back, before finally freeing the case from its terrible paper cage. He admires the case as if it were an ancient relic. The typically clear case is replaced with a picture of the two boys holding onto eachother and holding peace signs behind eachothers heads. Alex's tongue is poking out, and Jay notices the tongue piercing that he also missed very much.
"It's us." Jay points out, and Alex snorts.
"Yeah, no shit." Alex playfully retorts, and Jay let's out a dramatic whine from behind the camera.
"Whatever, don't be an asshole. Open it up, there's a track list on the inside." Jay urges, and the excitement is practically evident in his voice.
Alex opens the case, finding a CD with the words "A+J's epic soundtrack" and a few simple stick figure drawings, very clearly done by Jay. Alex was always the better artist.
Alex read over the track list, his grin growing wider by the second.
"Oh my god, Jay. You got like... all the jams on here. I could totally kiss you." Alex gently closes the case and looks up at Jay.
"Then do it." The smirk was audible in the voice, and he moves to set down the camera, making a point to angle it towards him and Alex. The footage cuts a bit, but it catches them leaning in and crashing their lips together, hands starting to roam like the horny adult-age teens they were, before the footage began to distort and Jay quickly ejected the tape.
_
Jay sighs, staring down at his hands. They were still shaking. Tim seemed to notice, and reached a hand forward, grabbing one of Jay's hands perfectly intertwining their fingers together.
Jay doesn't realize he's crying until a tear falls down on his and Tim's intertwined hands.
"What... what happened to him..." Jay whispered, voice cracking.
"People change, Jay." Tim, replies, trying his best to soothe the other, although he's not the best at doing so.
"Yeah but, not like that! He... I don't get it. He loved me... I thought? I just... I don't understand how he could do... all this!" Jay hiccups, and Tim uses his fee hand to turn Jay's office chair so that he's facing him. He pulls Jay into a hug, and Jay doesn't have the mental or physical strength to refuse.
"He's still... he's still there, you know. I know it. When he tried to shoot us... I... I saw it. In his eyes. My Alex... hes still in there." Jay babbles, and Tim just takes a deep breath, shushing Jay and rubbing his lower back.
"Yeah but... Jay. It's gonna be hard to... get him back. Trust me. I'm not saying its impossible but... fighting that thing isn't easy." Tim wants to comfort Jay, but he can't lie to him. He deserves to know the truth.
Tim expects Jay to get angry at the statement, but he doesn't. He just curls his fist into Tim's shirt, nodding and hiding his face as another hiccup breaks loose. "I know... I just... I just miss him. I celebrated his birthday, even after he left. I never stopped."
The statement makes Tim feel almost upset that Alex could do so much harm to such a kind-hearted man. Tim makes a silent promise to himself that he's never gonna hurt Jay like that.
He just holds him, let's him cry until his voice breaks and he complains of a scratching throat. They sleep in the same bed that night, mostly because everytime Jay tried to close his eyes on his own, he was plagued with visions of Alex before he even fell asleep, and he crawled into Tim's bed before he could even protest. Not like he was going to anyways. Tim holds him, comforts him, and listens to the steady rhythm of his breath before they both drift off to sleep.
#jaylex#jam#marble hornets#alex kralie#jay merrick#tim wright#mh#“oh op werent u just complaining about too much jaylex angst”#no i wasnt shut up#this was cross-posted on ao3 as well my user there is Ozzyzz :3#jaylex mh#jam mh
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Lessons from a Twenty-Year NaNoWriMo Run
What lessons have you learned during your experiences doing NaNoWriMo? Long-time participant Kathy Kitts shares some of the takeaways from her impressive twenty-year streak of writing novels:
NaNoWriMo has always been an important part of my November, but this year it’s more so. It will mark my twentieth win in a row. (If I make it. No pressure.)
When HQ found out about this big milestone, they asked me to describe the lessons learned over the years as a participant, Municipal Liaison (a.k.a. ML, a volunteer regional leader), ML mentor, site debugger, ML handbook contributor, fundraiser, translator, and occasional MOD. (If you stick around long enough, nonprofit organizations will always find something for you to do.) I agreed. Why? Because NaNoWriMo has had such a profound influence on me, it actually altered the direction of my life.
2003 – The First Year. At the time, I was a planetary science postdoc and should have been concentrating on my research, but I was tired of writing about what is. I wanted to write about what if. Except, what if I failed? Taking no chances, I told no one. Under the name Apollo16, NaNoWriMo became my late-night secret. And I won! I donated out of gratitude and got a tiny little pin that read: I WRITE BOOKS. Nah! It was a fluke, a one-off. That “s” was a problem.
2004 – October Is For Preparation. This is when I learned about crockpots. You could make a bunch of soups and stews and freeze the leftovers. I won and treated myself to a chest freezer. You know, in case I tried for a third year. (And yes, that sucker is still running.)
2005 – The Magic of Write-ins. Being brave, I told a few friends about this November writing thingy, and we had our own unofficial write-in. I fetched my “I WRITE BOOKS” pin and wore it to our celebration party. Three was a big enough plural.
2006 – Cheap Halloween Candy and Perth, Australia. As a newly minted ML, I passed out pixy stix at every write-in. (Or as it is known in Wrimo circles, Writer’s Crack.) As for Perth, our two regions fought word wars, exchanged care packages, and egged each other on. I can still taste the Tim Tams, and they are probably still buzzing from the pixy stix.
2007 – Some People Lack Imagination. While running a word war, a Wrimo yelled out, “How much time do we have? I have to kill someone.” I shouted back, “Seven minutes. I could kill billions in seven minutes.” All twenty plus writers whooped in agreement. A woman who had just purchased her coffee stared at us in horror. She backed out of the coffee shop not daring to stop and collect her change.
2008 – The Muse and Flexibility. Many Wrimos have significant others who are not writers. Shocking but true. To make them feel loved before we utterly abandoned them for a month, we hosted a Halloween party from 9 to 12. At 12:01 AM November 1, we pulled out the power strips, sent the non-writers packing, and started typing. Up to this point, I’d always considered myself a “plotter.” Such a hardcore plotter, I once calculated the amount of CO2 in the atmosphere of an alien world to get the weather I wanted. With my stack of notes at the ready, prepared to bang out my 1667, a little boy appeared, saying, “You have to tell my story.” I argued, “But I have all these orbital calculations!” Didn’t matter. I learned not to argue with the muse and that flexibility makes winning easier.
2009 – How to Suck It Up. That was a terrible slog of a year. I really wasn’t feeling it. I was farting around on the forums when I met a Wrimo who had to finish early. Why? She was deployed in Iraq. She had put her novel on a CD, handed it to her CO, who returned to the base, and uploaded it for her so she could win. Yeah, no inspiration there. I faked a cough to get out of a faculty meeting to make my word count.
2010 – The Reach of NaNoWriMo. To make new friends after my move, I volunteered at the local community library. I was shelving books, when someone shouted, “Apollo16! Is that you? Mom! It’s Apollo16!” I recognized one of my Young Writers from Chicago. Her family had moved a couple of months before I had. She dragged over her mother and explained how excited she was to still have her Wrimo friends. Her mother gave me the eyeball and said, “You know, she’s going to be a writer now. It’s all your fault.” I grinned. “No, ma’am. It’s Chris Baty’s fault.”
2011 – Debugging and Love. With the growth of NaNoWriMo worldwide, the old website just couldn’t hack it. After some fundraising, we moved on from Druenemy (okay, Drupal but that’s not what we called it) to Ruby on Rails. We had a massive “debugger” team that spanned the globe. We slew bugs like they were dragons and we were Knights of the Round Table. Few organizations could ask and get so many volunteers to donate so much time and resources. It was awe-inspiring.
2012 – No Plot No Problem v. 2. Chris Baty asked a bunch of the MLs to provide quotes for his second edition of No Plot No Problem. All the lessons I’ve learned can be found in that book. While you wait for it to be delivered, here are three I shared with him. (1) Buy lots of underwear for the entire family so you won’t have to do as much laundry. (2) Rack up a bunch of childcare credits early in the fall. That way they are beholden to you and can’t weasel when November rolls around. (3) As for the transition to normal life, sometimes it doesn’t happen. Sometimes you get the strength to retire early or change careers so you can continue to write. This quote will haunt me later.
2013 – The Year I Tried To Cheat. I decided to turn one of my scripts into a novel. Should be simple, right? Nope. At day 18, I hit the wall. The script was a script and not a novel. Panicked, after this long of a run, I had to win! I was an ML, a mentor! So, I did what I’ve told countless other Wrimos to never do. I deleted the whole dang thing, all 30,00 words. On day 19, I came clean and started over with a blank page. I made 50,284 at 11:52 PM on Nov. 30.
2014 –The Night Of Writing Dangerously. The year I finally got to attend. To go to San Francisco. To have dinner in that fantastic ballroom. To sew a costume for the grand event. Unfortunately, I had just developed a food allergy. How could I go and not be able to eat? Grant Faulkner and Sarah Mackey invited me to come up to the buffet table and serve myself first to avoid cross-contamination. The staff of the Office of Letters and Light didn’t just care about writing, but about the writers too. Did I win that night and get to ring the bell? No. I wrote a total of six words. Yet, I was so inspired, I finished early. I didn’t have to hide in the bathroom with my laptop during Thanksgiving like all the other years.
2015 – The Grad Student Figures It Out. When you are the prof, you get to make up the syllabus and control the timeline. For years, mysteriously, there were few tests, problem sets, or projects due in November. Occasionally, one of my grad students would join me for NaNo. In the middle of a write-in, one such grad student jumped to their feet and shouted, “Oh my god! It was never about us! About being nice to us during crunch month! It was always about NaNoWriMo!” Duh.
2016 – Lack of Imagination Part II. That year at our write-in, a guy walked into our section with his food, shot us a judgy glare as we typed, and plunked down opposite my table. A new Wrimo began to cry. I asked her, “Are you okay?” “Yes,” she sniffled, “I just killed someone. I’m embarrassed.” “Oh don’t worry, we all cry when we kill someone. It means you’re doing a great job.” The guy’s eyebrows met his hairline and he hustled right back from whence he came. For the record, this time, we did have signs up everywhere.
2017 – Catch-22. This is the year I started to teach creative writing on the side. Being new and unknown, I feared nobody would sign up. My Wrimo buddies filled the class. I told them how grateful I was. They said the joke was on me. “Now, you have to read all of our novels.” D’oh!
2018 – The Prof Figures It Out. That was the year I taught NaNoWriMo. Got paid to do what I was going to do anyway.
2019 – Website and Young Writer Redux. Technology marches on and we fundraised for yet another website that folded NaNo, Camp, and Young Writer’s into one place. Speaking of young writers, remember the girl from 2010? She got a novel published, and dedicated it to her Wrimo support group.
2020 – 2021 The COVID Years and Family. I was never worried about the survival of the Office of Letters and Light. The support runs too deep, but what of the local groups without in-person events? Silly me, the pivot went without a hitch. We ended up having Zoom write-ins for thirty days straight during both Novembers. Even on Thanksgiving. Why? Because we’d become family. But mostly, because we didn’t force anyone to eat lime Jell-O with an expired can of fruit cocktail suspended inside it like a scene from The Blob.
2022 – Twenty Years and A Million Words. According to my lifetime word counter, I have written 1,380,023 words. However, that number includes all my revisions from Camp. In my heart of hearts, I know I won’t break 1,000,000 until this November. Malcolm Gladwell suggests that we become experts at the 10,000-hour mark of working our craft. Several writers have translated that as 1,000,000 words. I’ve been selling my work since 2010, but with 1,000,000 words so close, I have faith that some of those words might be good words.
Remember, up at the top of this stroll down memory lane, I mentioned how NaNoWriMo altered the course of my life? After twenty plus years as a planetary geologist, I have retired. This fall I will be starting over as a graduate student in an MFA program in Creative Writing. But this time, it isn’t entirely Chris Baty’s fault. It’s Grant Faulkner’s too. He wrote one of my letters of rec.
See ya in November!
Dr. Kathy Kitts, AKA Apollo16, is a planetary geologist who has served as a science team member on the NASA Discovery Mission Genesis among others. Her latest speculative short fiction has appeared in Compelling SF, James Gunn’s Ad Astra, and Amazing. She has a collection of stories titled Getting What You Need available worldwide on Amazon. Born and raised in the desert southwest, she is moving from New Mexico to Alaska mostly because she isn’t dead yet.
Top photo by Nils Stahl on Unsplash.
#nanowrimo#writing#amwriting#national novel writing month#by nano guest#kathy kitts#nanowrimo experience
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5, 13, 19, 21
5. do you have any mechs merch (official or otherwise)?
yes!!!! I have a poster I made, it has the mechs logo in the middle and says THE MECHANISMS and then their names and then COMING TO A PLANET NEAR YOU! I also have burned CDS and my phone case has a jonny pattern on it
I'm gonna try my best to get the merch when it reopens
13. favourite non-singing album character? (credit to @/x-ca1iber)
am I allowed to say nastya? lmao other than that probably rose red, since she's the only one I can think of atm (to my knowledge, she doesn't even have a line in any of the songs)
19. which mechanism gives you the most gender envy?
gunpowder tim but specifically when she's genderfluid (I'm a silly fella)
21. what’s your favourite mechanisms headcanon? (maybe some big worldbuilding thing or can just be I think this mech is asexual for example)
big fan of the polymechs hc, and also someone mentioned that tbi happened before all the other ones and I kind of love that (not sure if that's closer to lowkey canon or not)
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Hey guys so I really need help. A couple months ago, my mom lost her CD case that she kept in her car. The CDs, well she has been collecting them in that case for a long time. And Idk if they fell out of her car in a parking lot or they got stolen, but they’re gone now, and she’s sad about it. And for her birthday/mothers day gift, I want to get a CD holder, and try to recreate her collection as best I can, with maybe some new additions. I’m starting on this really early because I know how expensive CDs are and I need a lot of time. The issue is, IDK shit about half of the bands/artists she likes. Idk what albums are the best, which albums she had, etc. These are some of the artists that she likes and I think were in her case:
Taylor Swift
Keith Urban
Jason Aldean
Luke Bryan
Halsey
Billie Eilish
Sam Hunt
Andy Grammer
Journey
Aerosmith
Miranda Lambert
Little Big Town
Rascal Flats
Sugarland
Tim McGraw
Walker Hayes
Zac Brown Band
Stevie Nicks / Fleetwood Mac
Creedence Clearwater Revival
Luke Combs
John Mellencamp
Pat Benatar
Van Morrison
Matchbox Twenty
Brad Paisley
If y’all could help me figure out which albums to get, other artists she might listen to, etc, LET ME KNOW.
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Paid Programming: "Icelandic Ultrablue" | November 3, 2009 - 4:30AM | Infomercials
At this time I was a very diligent Adult Swim recorder. The idea that the network might, at any time, air something weird caused me to record entire blocks, “just in case” on my TiVo. I would then scan through everything and save anything that looked interesting or novel to a DVD-R. For a short time, I archived bumpers as completely as I could.
I would also pour over schedules and look for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. I can’t say this with certainty, but I feel like I must’ve seen “PAID PROGRAMMING” on a schedule or maybe on my TiVo program guide and thought “wait, Adult Swim doesn’t air PAID PROGRAMMING usually. I wonder if that’s going to be something?” And so, I recorded Paid Programming and, eventually, I watched it, and a few minutes in I heard what was clearly David Cross’s voice and thought “oh, okay. I get it. He’s trying to do something here.” And that was roughly how I’ve felt about this ever since.
This one is fairly auspicious for the fact that it's technically the first entry into Adult Swim’s celebrated (but wildly hit-and-miss) “Infomercials” series. The concept was that people watching at home would see “PAID PROGRAMMING” in their cable guide while flipping around and, of course, they’d turn right to it, awaiting an earnest infomercial trying to sell them the Phillips CD-I or something like that. But instead of that, you get something CRAZY and WEIRD and HILARIOUS! Is this crazy and weird and hilarious? Well, I guess those descriptors are in the eye of the beholder. But since this blog is about my beholding eye, I will answer: “nah, not really”.
The content is, roughly: an infomercial for what appears to be a miracle drug, whose applications are somewhat vague, other than it making you feel better or solving whatever terrible personal problem you have. This is hosted by a “doctor” (admittedly he’s just dressed as a doctor, and refers to his experience as “36 years” ”spent hanging out in the medical community”), who eventually introduces a jingle contest for the wonder drug. This leads into clips of various entries, which eventually leads to a video of the producer of the most professionally produced entry talking about the importance of air-filtration while producing music. This leads to an extended pitch for the Icelandic UltraBlue air-filtration system, which is illustrated with a cartoon where good air particles round up bad air particles in an over-the-top, Nazi holocaust-esque cartoon.
This is roughly how the rest of the show plays out: a commercial for one aspect of the Icelandic UltraBlue empire suddenly turns into a different commercial, usually for a different iteration of Icelandic UltraBlue. The previous sketch segues into a sketch about a cash-for-Nazi-gold place, which segues into a sketch about a medical office that specializes in removing splinters (the owner of this establishment casually wears a diaper, and it’s treated as a very normal thing. It’s one of two times I laughed), which segues into a commercial for an embalming fluid that keeps your beloved’s remains fresh for up to three months after passing, so you can continue hanging out with their corporeal form. This segues back into a jingle entry, which turns into a sketch about chest-rash cream set at a gay guy bar. There’s gross zoom-ins, awkward acting, macabre premises, sexual inappropriateness, transgressive invocations of touchy subjects, and, uh, well? Maybe two laughs. If you’re wondering what the other, non-diaper-related one was, it was the racial slur. I’m sorry.
The problem is, this very much feels like the writers (David Cross and H. Jon Benjamin) are trying very hard to approximate Tim & Eric’s entire carefully cultivated style of humor. The casting of awkward, borderline-amateur actors, the jokes about consumerism, the attention to verisimilitude, etc. There’s a little more Mr. Show-style satire thrown in, but the entire thing comes off as a pale imitation of either or both of those things. If one can glean a set of objectives from creating this (other than “it’s called PAID PROGRAMMING and it’s gonna MESS with people, man!!”) one could also easily observe Tim & Eric accomplishing those things much better, in a less forceful way.
The casting in particular is far less inspired than Tim & Eric’s; it runs the gamut of people who either seem like they themselves are trying to imitate pre-existing characters from Tim & Eric’s wack pack or at worst seem like they were poached from a low-level UCB class. Not that Tim & Eric are exactly pure in their intentions with their cast of “outsiders”, I sense more mean-spiritedness in hiring some guy, calling his character “Fatfuck” and having him wear a diaper.
This was retroactively deemed the first episode of “Infomercials”; a proof-of-concept that, for my money, exemplifies the worst aspects of the “miss” installments in the “hit and miss” tapestry of the Infomercials milieu. Wow, what a great, non-pretentous sentence I just wrote. Anyway, it feels especially pathetic to me that David Cross had previously put Mike Lazzo on blast for taking the concept of Paid Programming and running with it. I too, would feel wronged, but feigning any kind of pride over this is, well, I already used the word pathetic. But it’s pathetic.
David Cross is a person who I still respect and think can be brilliant. I even watched a few of his new video podcasts on YouTube. It was nice, like checking in on an old friend. Cross is one of those guys who, when many people discover him and become fans, seems impossibly funny and almost infallible. The more you become familiar with the whole package, the more you realize that he’s a pretty regular guy, who is capable of turning out bad work. He’s also not a particularly friendly person, and can rub people the wrong way very easily. I am not trying to damn him here; I find him to be uncomfortably relatable. Many of his flaws are also my flaws. I should basically be best friends with him. Unless he reads this, that is.
An illustrative example of his humor to me is the embalming fluid sketch. In it, a man uses it on his wife, who dies of a splinter. They both lay in bed, and he takes her hand, puts it in under the covers, and uses it to jack himself off with. I’m not knocking it for any other reason that I just found it to be not particularly funny; it’s an easy vulgar laugh.
A sketch from Mr. Show featured a similar gag; a riff on the song Monster Mash about a guy who is working through a traumatic mental breakdown from experiencing this horrifying monster party. While he’s confessing some sexual encounter or something, we cut to an “expert” who has been seen in talking-head segments watching this footage, furiously masturbating. I recall Cross proudly inserting this joke into the sketch, noting the big laugh it gets from the studio audience, despite apprehension from the other writers. Even as a teenager, I remember seeing that and thinking “I could do without that joke”. It’s too easy, and it just makes ME want to masturbate.
The episode ends (after a sketch set in a gay bar that already felt stale in 2009) with the “doctor”/host ominously talking into a wrist microphone that “phase one is complete”, and then it cuts to a “To Be Continued”. I reread the back-and-fourth between Cross and Lazzo, and he actually does mention his plans for the series arc: it’s aliens. Cool!
I don’t mean to minimize the Lazzo-theft accusations or imply that they aren’t valid. I also don’t mean to imply that David Cross is completely in the right, either. If I were in either of their shoes I’d feel like the other guy was slinging at least a little bit of bullshit at me. Cross’s specific gripe is that he pioneered the concept of airing the thing at 4AM with a deceptive title, which does make a little sense. Lazzo’s defense is tenuous at best, and sorta clouds that main issue.
But, I don’t know. It does sorta seem like the kind of idea a lot of people have had, but then deemed impractical. I’m sure other people have thought “wouldn’t it be cool to air a parody infomercial at the time actual infomercials air?” I guess I can’t think of anything else that’s really done that. The closest I could come up with were tongue-in-cheek infomercials that behaved like parodies of infomercials, but actually were unironically selling something. In 2003, The Ben Stiller Show came out on DVD, and they produced an infomercial called “Wake Up Your Smile”. The Beastie Boys did one in 1998 for Hello Nasty. Mystery Science Theater did one in 1996 hawking their mail-order VHS tapes. Hell, Adult Swim did actually produce an infomercial for Williams Street records, as noted on this blog. It sorta seems like the ingredients were all right there, man. You know?
Mr. Show did a fake infomercial too, as a best-of special for season one. Damn. I guess David Cross really did invent this shit.
MAIL BAG
handbananad writes:
I am so genuinely sorry you're stuck in titan maximum hell. At least it's almost over? Is it almost over? Was this one of those early 2000's shows with a 40 episode season and you're going to be here forever?
Thank you. The show is only 9 episodes (including a half-hour first episode), so that's a silver lining. But yeah, it feels much longer. But it is nice having a show that I can outwardly hate and gloss over defiantly. It also makes me appreciate Robot Chicken more, which is tough to do.
On the other hand, I'm real glad to be watching Venture Bros, but those write-ups are much more demanding. What's a blogger with readers in the single-digits to do?
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Hey look, it’s another instalment of that Jon/Elias fic I never planned to write, because I want them to be soft and they just keep fighting.
Part 1 | Part 2
***
Jon cannot rest.
On his way home, he glances upwards, only to see the familiar grey eyes in the face of the woman opposite him. The train lurches; the woman blinks. Jon must have imagined it, because her eyes are dark, almost as dark as his own. And she notices him staring, because she stands up and moves further down the car, very blatantly avoiding Jon.
He cannot blame her.
Back in his flat, he drops his briefcase and collapses onto his own (much less comfortable) couch. He fixes himself a cup of tea that isn’t nearly as nice as the tea Martin makes for him. He stands up, and paces, and then sits back down again, only to bury his face in his hands.
There is a pile of old magazines on his coffee table. He breathes in, sharply, because the man on the cover is watching him—
He isn’t, of course. Jon rolls up the magazine just in case, and then stuffs it in the bin.
There aren’t many pictures in his flat, thankfully. Not even of his grandmother, which he feels vaguely guilty about. But not as guilty as he does now, as he retrieves duct tape from his cupboard and carefully, deliberately tapes it over every eye he can see. CDs. DVDs. A paint-by-numbers painting of owls, which was supposed to help with his anxiety. Even the little ghost magnet on his fridge that Georgie gave him at some point.
It's stupid. It’s really, really stupid. But it makes him feel better, lessens the prickling sensation on the back of his neck.
He goes to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and then looks up, startled to see his own reflection. Is there grey in his eyes, to match the grey in his hair? Can Elias even do that? Spy on Jon through Jon’s very eyes, without alerting him to his presence?
There must be limits to his abilities, and it’s maddening that Jon doesn’t know them. If he understood more, he could protect himself better. Protect Tim and Martin and Sasha, too.
Tim shoved him away as soon as they left Elias’s office. Whatever it was that Elias forced him to see, Jon couldn’t even begin to guess. But he shouldn’t have let Tim go, either. He offered to walk him home, at the very least, but it only brought back unpleasant memories of when he used to stalk Tim; an unforgivable breech of privacy. Tim angrily rebuffed his offer.
Jon would have to face him tomorrow. Find some way to apologize. Even though he was running out of excuses for his own inadequacy. There’s only so many times a man can apologize, after all, before it all rings hollow.
He takes the mirror off the wall. Just in case.
***
Next week, Elias is busy. Something about the board of directors, Rosie says apologetically; meetings to have, reports to give, budgets to submit for acceptance. It’s mundane to the point of grotesque.
Jon requests a meeting anyway, and isn’t granted one until next Wednesday. His heart is in his throat, the way it tends to be when he enters Elias’s office lately. It’s thankfully late in the day, the Institute being almost deserted. He wonders if Elias scheduled it that way on purpose, so that they can be alone.
If so, he is almost glad.
“Elias,” he says. And then, because nothing in his life makes sense anymore, he follows up with: “I hope everything went well with the board meetings.”
“Quite so,” Elias says. “Even if we had the exact same bloody conversation hundreds of thousands of times. You’d think Peter would get bored of it by now.”
He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its neat, stylish lines. It’s strange to see Elias in any state of disarray; he looks disconcertingly human right now. He seems to almost forget about Jon’s presence, before he looks up.
“Come on in, Archivist. Lock the door.”
Jon does so. There is something final about the click of the lock; he almost shudders at the sound.
“Any particular reason?” he asks, belatedly.
“It’s been a long week. I don’t want any of your annoying assistants pestering me today.”
“They wouldn’t do that if you hadn’t—”
“What? Assaulted your precious virtue?”
Jon is blushing. He must be, because he feels the warmth in his cheeks. But he refuses to back down. Not with Elias smirking at him the way he is right now, leaning back in his fancy chair. Jon takes the opposite seat and folds his hands in his lap; his mind helpfully brings back the memories of his job interview; the day he signed the contract and unknowingly pledged himself to the Institute and the Beholding for the rest of his life; the day Elias offered him the promotion.
Knowing what he knows now, he wishes he could have refused at any of these occasions. He could have told Elias “No” at any point. But—in truth, he isn’t sure he could have. He might have walked away, but he’d spend the rest of his life wondering.
“You were listening, then,” he says.
“Yes,” Elias says simply.
“Is this why you hurt Tim?”
Elias’s sharp laugh cuts through the silence. Jon fidgets in his seat.
“No. But he annoyed me.”
“You can’t do this sort of thing just because someone annoys you, Elias!” Jon snaps.
Tim still isn’t quite all right. He pretends to be, but Jon’s been watching him too carefully, and too long, to miss the obvious signs. And he knows that his watchful concern is driving Tim insane, but he still can’t bring himself to stop.
“Why not?” Elias asks, with an infuriating little smile.
Jon struggles for an appropriate response, but all he can come up with is: “It isn’t right.”
“And who is to decide what is or isn’t “right”, Jon? You? Me? An impartial and uncaring God? Because I can assure you, the Eye loved that particular display. Or could you not feel it?”
“Whatever it is your God wants from you—”
“Our God, Archivist. Do not ever forget that.”
Jon bites back a sharp retort. He has little to gain by challenging Elias’s delusions—
“Do you need any further proofs?” Elias asks calmly. “Because I can provide them. In abundance.”
“Get out of my head,” Jon seethes.
“Learn to stop me,” Elias says. “Make it difficult, at the very least.”
“Tell me how.”
“Why would I give you answers it took more than one lifetime to procure?” Elias asks. “You have to work for these things, Jon. Otherwise they have no meaning.”
Jon forces himself to breathe evenly. He didn’t ask for this; he doesn’t need to know. He can ignore the gnawing hunger that’s consuming him; that has already consumed Elias. The Eye demands a hefty price for its gifts, and Jon isn’t willing to pay it. He must remember that.
“Let them go,” he says, as calm as he can manage. “Tim and Martin and Sasha. They shouldn’t be here.”
“They are bound by the same contract as you are,” Elias says.
“They didn’t know. None of us knew.”
“Yes, it is frustrating, isn’t it?” Elias smiles. “Ignorance. Uncertainty. Doubt. Wouldn’t you rather be rid of them, Jon?”
He doesn’t bother denying. What would be the point? Elias can see right through him already. But there are lines Jon cannot cross. And there’s some comfort in knowing his own limits; he wonders if Elias has any such compunctions. Knowing that about him would be an immensely valuable asset.
It is hard to imagine. Harder to imagine still that he might come to know Elias so intimately, and what that knowledge might do to him. How well can you know another person, Jon wonders, before it changes something irrevocably and fundamentally about your own self?
“Elias,” he tries again, in a softer voice. “Please. Let them go. I don’t want to see them hurt.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Elias says. “So what is it you can offer me in exchange, Archivist?”
And Jon laughs. He can’t help it. His shoulders tremble with the effort of holding it back, before he gives up entirely, and dissolves into giggles, wiping more than one tear from his eyes. His thoughts are such a complete and utter mess that not even Elias can read them right now, if his puzzled frown is any indication.
“Something funny?”
“I was just thinking about what Tim had said,” Jon says.
Elias isn’t pleased, he can tell as much from the frown on his face. Jon is half-heartedly expecting him to take out his anger on Jon himself – he tries to prepare himself for a barrage of horrifying images that Elias might want to push into his mind. What shape would they take? It is unsettling to consider, but some detached part of himself can’t help but wonder what Elias thinks Jon’s worst nightmare is. If that’s even how it works, of course.
“I’m not going to do that, Jon,” Elias says.
“Why not?” Jon asks. Yet again Elias is picking through his thoughts as if it was his right to do so. Yet again he shows absolutely no regard for other people’s privacy. It’s maddening, and Jon wants very badly to stop him, but since he doesn’t know how, he just thinks the word: Bastard as clearly as he can, and hopes it makes its way through their mental link.
“There is no reason to,” Elias says. “It’s just that, you see… considering how well-suited you are for your role, and how quickly you are adapting to it, I find the idea that my interest in you is purely sexual to be unacceptable and downright insulting.”
That—Jon doesn’t quite know what to make of that. What does one make of that?
“You think I’m good at my job?” he asks. Clarity, he needs clarity.
“Yes, Jon. I knew you would be. This is why I picked you.”
“Oh.”
Jon looks at the floor. Elias isn’t looking at him, either, his gaze focused somewhere on the ceiling.
“But—” No, he can’t bring himself to ask. You do want to have sex with me? Hangs at the tip of his tongue, caught in a limbo of shame and mortification. People don’t ask questions like that. Do they? For them this is just—perfectly natural. They don’t need to be told these things.
He should have dated more. He should have tried, actually tried, to get the experience he is so utterly lacking. Maybe then he might have a frame of reference for how to talk to Elias, or how to act in this situation. What is he even going to do?
Tim should be here. Or Sasha, or Martin. He still wants to keep them as far away from the supernatural as possible, still needs to keep them safe – and he can do it, really, he can do his own research, it will only take more time without Sasha’s technical skills or Tim’s charisma, without their combined dedication and efforts. He can—he must learn to handle it all alone. There’s no other way to proceed, it’s too dangerous otherwise. But – in this particular situation, with this particular subject, Jon could really use some bloody assistance right about now…
“Jon. You’re spiralling.”
“Hm?”
He looks down at his hands, twisted in his lap. He unclenches them carefully, and tries to wipe the sweat on his trousers without making it too obvious that this is what he’s doing.
Elias is smiling at him, that inexplicable, infuriating little smile that spells out that Elias knows he is the smartest person in the room, and is very much enjoying it. And oh, how Jon aches to wipe it off; to finally, finally see Elias Bouchard trip on his own ego and admit he isn’t as perfect as he likes to pretend.
After a long silence, Elias finally decides to take pity on him, and Jon hates him for it.
“Yes. I would rather like to have sex with you. But I am aware this isn’t something you would be interested in, it is irrelevant to the greater work we are trying to accomplish, and forcing you into it might negatively impact your ability to follow my orders. So I decided not to pursue the matter.”
“Negatively impact—? Oh, fuck you!”
Elias shrugs. “You wanted a clear answer.”
“I’m—you’re unbelievable.”
“It’s not my fault that the truth isn’t what you wanted it to be, Archivist.”
Elias is enjoying himself, still. And Jon wants to punch him. It would solve nothing, and create more trouble than it’s worth, but oh, he really, really wants to do it.
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Okay but of course because my brain has to make everything angsty, I now want answers as to why Shadow, the edgy industrial metal enjoyer, likes Taylor Swift. (Haha he's just like me fr)
During the Twitter Takeover he said it's because her music is catchy. And fair enough, that could be all there is to it. But my angsty brain wants to take this further.
"She's made remarkable country albums."
Did Shadow spot the cover of Taylor's debut album, Taylor Swift 2006? Was he startled to see a young woman with large mass of wavy blonde hair and striking blue eyes looking back at him from this cover? And without knowing a thing about it, decide he had to have it?
Did the first strums of that country guitar as "Tim McGraw" filled the air take him back to the days on the Ark? To the sound that could be heard echoing throughout those metal hallways as Gerald burned the midnight oil, working tirelessly away with a little old radio playing some country station in the background? Did Taylor's soft voice remind him of Maria? The way she would tell stories and sing and hum along to those country songs? Did her singing about love and life from the perspective of a young woman only force Shadow to think of Maria that much more? Of the life she had and the life she could have had? About her trying to be strong when it's hard (Tied Together With a Smile)? Sure many of the songs are about love but it becomes all too easy too reimagine them with a different meaning? Just like the so many what ifs of that day, if he could have saved her? Would they be sitting here together, listening to this earth singer and Maria's face lighting up as she realized she loved this artist? And apparently there's this thing called "concerts" where people go and watch singers perform live! Wouldn't that be so much fun to go do Shadow!? You and me in the front row! I'll carry you on my shoulders so you can see better!
There are no teardrops on a guitar here. But one does slide down the lonely lifeform's face. Dropping onto the CD case that he grips tightly in his hands. That he now quietly treasures. It's not something that would be "normally his thing." But it certainly is his thing now. It would have been their thing.
●
Or I'm just full of angst and this is ridiculous and it's nothing more than Shadow having a guilty pleasure for a country/pop artist hahaha.
#tomb talks#shadow the hedgehog#maria robotnik#gerald robotnik#sonic the hedgehog#taylor swift#twitter takeover
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just because my brain is a lil mushy for writing-- and the mood to do this struck me-- imma piggy back off some earlier chatter with Jackie ( @akumanoken ) on that "list of voices that 'do things™'" just because--
Disclaimer before i start: For the VA entries here, reference points are going to be given via the characters i know them best as/who's performance best fits the sprit of this list-- These are also in no real order, mainly just whatever order i thought of names first lol
Morikawa Toshiyuki
{as Tsukinami Carla - Diabolik Lovers}
Okay so, Carla is slightly an outlier in this group-- seeing as I've never had the chance to play any of the game series he's from (and may not ever be able to, unless i find finished English patches and try to fuck around with that route--) But regardless of that, i've heard his voice via some videos online in the past-- and My God-- this man could end me. (and i should i get to play any game routes featuring him, imma probably die on the spot--)
Sakurai Takahiro
{as Mukami Ruki - Diabolik Lovers}
Again, i doubt i'll ever be able to play his routes in game, but-- i do believe at one point i watched the anime adaptation that was made for More Blood, and even if it was a train wreck (like the rest of the anime for this series lol) i can at least recall enjoying Ruki's VA out of all that mess XD {also, bonus mention for one of his characters songs here, as i just now heard this one today-- and rather enjoyed it u w u}
Daisuke Ono / J. Michael Tatum
{as Sebastian Michaelis - Kuroshitsuji}
I-- don't really have much to say on this point lol, aside from the fact that these men doing their voices for Sebastian 100% fit the spirit of this list XD (i'm also skipping giving a link here, because i'm sure anyone reading can go find an example of both VAs in this role very easily lol)
Morita Masakazu
{as Yanagi Aiji - Collar x Malice}
Yanagi sits in kind of an odd space honestly lol-- because on the one hand, i enjoy just listening to him-- thanks to "older brother/caring dad" sorta vibe he gives me... but at the same time, i can't deny that certain voice dips he does-- they do hit a lil different. {for a better show case of what i mean, check out this vid of his "interview" via the voice recorder extra-- tho i sadly couldn't find one with the eng sub}
Kimura Ryouhei
{as Shiraishi Kageyuki - Collar x Malice}
hhhh-- Shiraishi, my boi... i love this man-- and like, his voice wins a spot here because, much like with Micchan-- i'd lowkey die if i ended up as a target of the teasing he enjoys doing. {and the bonus voice recorder section for him as well--}
Suwabe Jun'ichi
{as Abraham Van Helsing - Code: Realize}
Van somewhat falls in line with Yanagi, as i find his voice rather soothing to listen to... and i admit, my frame of reference for them both is a little fuzzy--thanks to not having played either game for a while... But-- i do remember an extra story from the first C:R game, which gives us all sleepy voice Van, and just-- that one lowkey ended me.
Hirakawa Daisuke
{as Saint-Germain - Code: Realize}
{& Itsuki Mito - Secret xxx / Therapy Game}
listen-- just... listen-- Hirakawa earns his place here because as both bois, i could listen to this man talk for ages-- (much like the mentions below--) But-- thanks to certain scenes from the Secret xxx CD... i can not unhear this man doing spicy audio-- and that fact is forever going to end me. (and Itsuki doesn't get an example link, simply because i don't think i've got anything timmed from the CD he mainly features in--)
{Honorable mentions}
This section is for voices that I adore listening to, but, they don't quite fall into the same category as the above list-- More so just that type of mood where it's the "i could listen to you talk for ages" sort of vibe lol
Hirakawa Daisuke's performance as Laito Sakamaki {Diabolik Lovers}
Taniyama Kishou performance as Ikki {Amnesia VN Series}
#{|ooc post|}#this uh... i feel like i went too hard with this post after a while lol--#but-- i'm gonna throw it into the wilds anyway-- because why the hell not?? XD#and honestly-- i probably could've eaten at least three or four spots on this via just bois from the Diabolik Lovers cast--#but that felt like major cheating lol--#especially considering that most of them would've been thanks to the virtue of 'the noises these men make when biting'--#so imma resist that lol#and my og plan wasn't to make this list out of mainly japanese VAs-- or those from visual novels-- but uh--#if we tried going into singers-- then posting this would've taken me like three more days probably LOL
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I love 1989 with all my heart. the aesthetic, the raw emotions, how it sounds, and I can’t wait for taylor’s version. I’ve been collecting cds since I first heard tim McGraw on the radio and I’ve never strayed from her music. reputation was the first tour I actually got tickets to. my mom got me them for Christmas. It was unforgettable even in the nosebleeds. I will always have a special place in heart for debut, because it’s where my love for taylor started. and reputation was just as special. I know she may never notice me, and I’ve accepted that, im only one of millions of fans. she has always felt like the older sister I never had. I don’t have the closest relationship with my mom, I have three brothers and I’ve never really been good at keeping friends. so I guess that’s why I love taylor so much, she’s the best friend and sister I never had. these last three re-records mean the most to me. I can’t wait for them all. she’s worked so hard to get where she is and I couldn’t be more proud. she’s the one consistent thing in my life. when life gets messy, her music is always there. through the heartbreak, through the tragedy, through the depression, through the eloquent way she encapsulates all the emotions I don’t know how to express, she’s just there. and I’m so grateful for her. even though I may never get to meet her, I’ve always wanted to be one of her dancers. dancing has helped me express myself in the same ways, music has been a way taylor expresses herself. one quote I’ll never forget since the first day I read it, is “I’m not that complicated. My complications come out in my songs. All you have to do to be my friend, is like me.. and listen” and that quote alone brings me comfort and peace. Even though I may never get to meet her, she’s my friend. I’d even say best. if by chance I do ever meet her, I’d know we’re already be friends. and I think that’s beautiful. taylor swift truly is one of one. I would say one of a kind, but she stands alone in that aspect. no one could ever replace her, and no one ever will. I’m grateful just to be alive at the same time she is. I’m sorry about my run on and choppy sentences. I guess you don’t really worry about proofreading when you’re writing from the heart. I just had to put this out here, in case anyone doesn’t know how I feel about taylor, or doesn’t understand why I get offended to people that hate on her, cause how can anyone hate someone so real? maybe it’s fear. or maybe it’s jealousy. I guess we’ll never know. one last thing I wanted to note, is if there’s a one in a million chance taylor sees this, I want her to know how her song “forever winter” impacted me. I struggle with depression and anxiety and bipolar. and I’ve had many attempts on my life, struggles with self harm, and I listen to that song when my thoughts get too loud. it makes me cry but in a good way. It’s almost as if she’s telling me it will be “forever winter if I go.” and that song has truly saved my life. It’s kept me from making really impulsive decisions when I’m upset. I know that even though taylor doesn’t know me, that’s how much she means to me. her melodies have coaxed me out of self loathing spells, and from feeling like no one would care if I go. I have a daughter to live for and so now I only have thoughts, and as much as I wish that those feelings went away and would never come back, that’s not how depression works. taylor helped me accept the darkest parts of myself. she inspires me in her own ways how to get through them. I know this is really long and I’m sure no one will read it. but I wanted to get it off my chest. at this point I just feel like I’m writing in my diary. long story short, I love you taylor. I hope some day I get the chance to meet you.
that’s all for now.
xoxo Melanie
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in episode 297 of Insert Credit, Tim mentions that he saw a gamer (he did not name obviously) he claimed was 25 years old "shocked" to learn that Final Fantasy VI (the SNES one) didn't have voice acting. This was during a conversation about how people today understand the divides in video game generations.
but also like. how the. I mean I'm assuming the person he's talking about has played later Final Fantasy games or is generally a jrpg player
but like. in case you don't know.
Super Nintendo games only had the capacity to hold a few audio files at most and to a lot of compression. video games only began to have voice acting with the CD-based systems like the SEGA CD and the PlayStation 1
the PlayStation 1 however, did not have this guaranteed. all three FF games in the system (VII, VIII and IX) did not have it either! it began with FFX on the PS2!
there's a very true idea now that gamers of today don't really know the difference between 5th and 6th (or even 7th) gen systems but it still genuinely baffles me.
still, I already know a lot more than this stuff, so any basic mistake SEEMS like a big deal to me, even when it isn't. I try not to let this get to me but sometimes I'm just like 😅 oh boy
#video games#also dont come at me saying 'well I didn't know that either' if you wouldnt have made this assumption for sure#if you just don't care I dont either. I'm not here to police your knowledge on things you dont claim to know about#I would just expect someone to know about video games if they want to know about video games
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i need to read minimum of two by tim winton for school and the contents page looks like something you’d see on the back of a cd case
^ this is an album
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10 First Lines Tag Game
Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.
I was tagged by the amazing @fangqueen, and I’m with you on the haven’t-written-anything-in-a-while thing. I keep saying that I’ve been “getting back into it,” but I’ve said that for months now, lol. It has been a rocky process for sure. Thank you so much for your tag! I loved reading your snippets, especially number 10. 👀
My first four entries are from WIPs, since those are technically my most recent even if they aren’t published yet. The rest are in chronological order from my AO3. Looooooong text below the cut.
1. Cleaning out the studio was an all-day endeavor. There were old instruments gathering dust and new ones littering the chairs from their earlier practice, leaving no room for walking when combined with the boxes and knickknacks strewn across the floor. Roy carefully stepped over a fallen mess of rolled-up posters, then sidled on tiptoe around the corner of a CD rack he’d gotten from Ollie years ago, back when CDs were still cool. (Roy/Dick/Joey band AU.)
2. Harley can admit she’s a party crasher. That’s what she’s doing now, since she wasn’t officially invited to Mister Wayne’s fancy shindig at the opera house, but Selina had insisted her presence wouldn’t be a disturbance. Harley believes her. After all, Selina is Brucie’s favorite on-again-off-again squeeze, so she would probably know. (Harley/Selina cross-dressing PWP.)
3. Dick can admit when he has made a bad decision. The thing is, admitting his problem does not actually solve it, so here he is, the day after Bruce fucking Wayne put his phone number in Dick’s contacts list, paying more attention to the man’s texts than he is to his own job. He can feel Tim’s eyes on him from across the locker room, but he waits until he finishes replying to Bruce before he acknowledges the stare. “You look cute,” he says, like he wasn’t just ignoring him for the most eligible sleaze in Gotham City. (Club AU, part 4!)
4. The wind was picking up early tonight. Jason shivered through another gust, the chill biting through his insufficient layers like nothing. There would be no glory in quitting patrol early, though—least of all on Halloween night, when Gotham’s most colorful rogues always liked to create pandemonium. ‘Tis the season. (A Man-Bat/Jason PWP that was supposed to have been for Halloween/Kinktober last year...oops.)
5. Tim sits in the center of a dark garage, feeling hunted. There are two things he knows to be true in this moment. One of them is that he’s sitting on a chair with his arms bound behind it, wrists locked in place by mere cuffs. Nothing he can’t pick his way out of, given enough time. The other thing, the one that makes goosebumps rise on his skin, is that he’s here because he has pissed off the wrong man. (Caught On Tape. JayTim CNC kink—rated E.)
6. Dick had been working at this gaudy little nightclub for months. For a case, of course, and although the term undercover didn’t technically apply since he was using his real name and face, he considered it a near thing. (Let the Whole World Look In. BruDick costume kink—rated E.)
7. He found the Bat in the rubble of their latest engagement.Tonight had been disastrous for a variety of reasons, and with the latest Batarang swipe to the face—close enough that Slade swore it trimmed some stubble—he could admit he was reaching his patience threshold. (Gridlock. SladeBru stuck-in-a-wall non-con—rated E.)
8. The training room was supposed to be empty. Considering the time, with the sun beaming at its midday peak, Dick’s assumption had been that no one would be around to disturb his quest for solitary gymnastics. Damian was at school, and everyone else was usually still sleeping off the events of the previous night. (Whatever We Deny or Embrace. BruDick family fluff—rated T.)
9. Right now, there are a number of things Jason would like to address. An elbow is digging into his ribs, and he isn’t bound to anything, so it’s reasonable to assume he and whoever Dingus here is have been carelessly knocked out and dropped somewhere unsavory. (Boxing Clever. A body-swapping fic with many ships, but mainly SladeJay and RomanDick—rated E. This is only in my most recently published fics because of the final chapter update. This fic is from Kinktober 2020, lol.)
10. Tim was standing outside the door to Bruce’s office, headset hanging around his neck, mouth full of bubblegum, one hand poised and ready to knock. Casual as could be. A simple man on a simple mission who did not anticipate anything other than a brief interaction with his father figure. Inside the office, though, two voices spoke. (The Importance of Knocking. BruDick Tim’s POV—rated M.)
That’s a lot of text, phew. Tagging @withthekeyisking-writer @zeroducks-2 @sladedick !!
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