up close and personal with richard

The Flying Graysons

Prompt: Batmom meets Dick Grayson.
A/N: This is the first part of my new series, which is mainly about Batmom meeting the batkids. I’m going in order, so Jason is next!

When you first heard that Haly’s Circus was coming to Gotham, you had immediately begged Bruce to go with you.

It’s been ages since the last time you both did anything fun. Usually, you’d only go out in public for galas and charity balls, but now that the circus was in town, there was no way you’re missing out on it.

Luckily for you, Bruce gave in to your begging, much to your satisfaction.

“Bruce, come on!” You ushered, pulling on his arm to try and make him walk faster.

Bruce chuckled, “The show doesn’t even start until 7:30, and it’s not even seven yet.” He said, amused by your eagerness.

The billionaire knew exactly why you were so excited. Today might be your only chance to see the Flying Graysons up close and personal. Ever since little Richard joined in on his family’s performances, the act had gotten more popular, and you were one of their biggest fans.

“We need to get good seats.” You said, trying to defend yourself.

Your husband gave you a ‘really?’ look. “Did you suddenly forget who you’re married to?” He asked teasingly.

You stuck out your tongue childishly and continued to drag him closer and closer to the large tent.

As soon as you were inside, you picked the seats closest to the front and sat down happily.

There were already several people inside waiting for the show to start, some of them even pulled out their phones and started to not-so-subtly take pictures of you and Bruce once they caught sight of Gotham’s most famous couple.

Bruce wrapped his arm around your shoulders and started to whisper random things in your ear.

One of the main reasons why he even agreed to go with you was because of the publicity, which sounded bad but you understood. He was the Batman. The more Bruce Wayne went out in public with his wife, the less people were suspicious of him.

Time flew by fast as more and more civilians entered the tent. You caught sight of familiar faces such as those of the Drakes and their young son, Tim.

You weren’t particularly close to them, but Tim was just so adorable. So when he waved and smiled toothily at you, you couldn’t help smile and wave back.

A minute later, the ringmaster appeared and you looked up at Bruce with an excited grin. He affectionately smiled back down, happy to see that you were happy.

You watched in wonder as the opening acts came out and performed. Though you hadn’t exactly came here for them, their performances still had you blown you away.

When the ringmaster finally announced the Flying Graysons, the whole tent bursted into cheers.

You and Bruce watched as the family took their place atop the trapeze.

After seeing how small Dick Grayson actually was, you couldn’t help but worry about his safety, even though you knew acrobatics was probably second nature to him.

The crowd cheered loudly in amazement as Dick started the performance off with his famous “Quadruple Flip of Doom,” a maneuver that only the Grayson family was able to perfect.

You sighed in relief and clapped as Dick swung to safety, causing Bruce to chuckle amusingly. Seeing you so worried about a child’s wellbeing brought a warm feeling in his chest. ‘She would be an amazing mother,’ he noted.

John and Mary Grayson, Dick’s parents, prepared to attempt a simultaneous triple flip.

The two acrobats smiled lovingly at each other before swinging out together, earning ‘oohs’ from the crowd.

Everyone waited for the two to land, but they never did.

Not even a second later, you and Bruce heard a terrifying snap. The both of you immediately tried to find where the noise was coming from, but in the end all you could do was watch in horror as the two Graysons plummeted several stories to their deaths.

Screams erupted and many began to rush out of the tent, not even giving a second glance back at the scene before them.

It was like a switch flipped in your head. Your eyes instinctively sought for Dick, who had been watching from above with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Without even thinking, you ran from Bruce’s side and climbed up the ladder while ignoring his calls for you. Your first priority was the hysterical boy grieving all by himself.

Once you reached the top, Dick’s head snapped from his parents’ bloodied bodies to you.

The pain in his eyes reminded you of Bruce’s right after his own parents’ deaths.

Your lips quivered at how utterly broken he looked.

You knew you couldn’t offer him much, but what you could give him was comfort.

No words needed to be spoken as you bent down in front of him and embraced him in the tight hug. He wrapped his shaky arms around you, crying excessively into your shoulder.

You could care less about the tears and snot getting on your expensive clothes. The only thing that mattered was the sobbing boy in your arms

cinderella of sorts (pt. 1)

synopsis: a servant girl’s change of position has prince wonwoo in a debacle (♥ω♥) modern royalty!au part 2: x part 3: x part 4: x

genre: slight angst, fluff 

word count: 5,033 ♕

“Back straighter!” The woman barked at you from behind. “If I see even the least bit of slouching, I’ll add another hour.”

“Yes, Lady Margaret,” you responded instinctively. There was a dull pain at the bottom of your spine from the endless time you had put in to your new training as a personal servant. Lady Margaret, the harsh noblewoman whose sole job was to break the resolve of rebellious servants, had chosen you to become Prince Wonwoo’s personal hand. In those moments, you even longed to be back slaving away in the kitchens. But those thoughts came in passing as you were afraid to focus on anything but the teetering books atop your head.

“You have one week until Sir Richard officially retires and then you will be Prince Wonwoo’s sole confidant,” she repeated. Poor Sir Richard, you thought. He’s been the prince’s teacher and butler since before I can remember, but now he is too senile to button up a waistcoat. “I expect you to not disappoint me.”

“Of course not, Lady Margaret.” Your legs were going numb for sitting absolutely still in the throne-like chair you had been forced into and the dress’s countless layers itched at your already irritated skin. You didn’t dare ask why you had to go through the same training as a noblewoman, seeing as the most you had ever done was served food to the royals, and your future job only really entailed dressing and following the prince around like a miserable puppy. A part of you appreciated being a kitchen maid, but your pay and status were going to be better, so the suffering almost felt worth it. Hopefully you could finally escape the palace after working there since you were a young teenager– all to pay off your family’s debts.

“A prince’s daily dress is in what order?”

“If it is cold, a cotton undershirt that has the same sleeve length as the overshirt is necessary. The overshirt should always be steamed and pressed as to not have a wrinkle, but not be too crisp that it is uncomfortable or unflattering. The prince is allowed to choose his own cufflinks, but is pleased to be gently advised. The prince’s waistcoat or officer’s coat should always be fastened to conceal his overshirt when he is outside his room or unless he specifically requests otherwise. If the prince is going to an official visit or parade, it is necessary that he be wearing his belt, sash, and epaulettes fastened by matching passants.”

Lady Margaret gave you her regular cold smile, but she seemed rather proud. “And his shoes?”

“The prince is allowed to choose, but he must be reminded of common fashion faux pas.”

“Must I be reminded?” A deep voice said from behind you.

You watched Lady Margaret’s eyes widen and would have spun around immediately if not for the delicate tower you were balancing. She stooped into a deep bow and you quickly swiped the books off of your head and placed them on the long table gently, suddenly keenly aware of the heat crawling up your neck and reaching your face. You stood and faced the image of Prince Wonwoo descending the large staircase, the huge window behind him throwing sunlight across his broad shoulders.

“I dare say all of us need be reminded of certain things each day, Your Highness,” you tried to diffuse the tension with a deep bow that matched your instructor’s. You heard Prince Wonwoo chuckle and a deep sigh of relief from Lady Margaret.

“Right you are,” he nodded. Your breath hitched in your throat when he reached the bottom and took calculated steps towards you while you finally garnered the courage to stand up straight. It was a rare moment of seeing Prince Wonwoo alone before you, without being surrounded by councilmen or tailed by Sir Richard. He was breathtaking, you had to admit, especially up close. Even in simple black slacks and a white dress shirt he seemed to be beaming.

“She is the young woman who is to become your personal assistant, Your Highness,” Lady Margaret interjected. “I was simply quizzing her on your daily dress.”

Wonwoo’s wide eyes traveled back to you. “Does my future personal assistant not have a name?”

You bowed quickly. “I’m Y/N, Your Highness. I am a kitchen maid at the moment.”

“Ah, I knew you looked familiar,” he hummed, one side of his mouth tugging upward. “I’ll leave the both of you alone, then,” he concluded, nodding at each of you before you found yourself once again bowing while he disappeared behind one of the many doors in the dining hall. Lady Margaret let out a huff that made her shoulders fly up before falling again. Your heart finally returned to a steady beat and you made a similar sound of solace.

“Disaster avoided,” she cleared her throat. “Well done, Y/N. I believe we’re finished for today.”


Dinner that evening was uniquely awkward. Kitchen servants generally didn’t interact with the royals outside of meal times, and it was strange pouring wine and holding platters for someone you had spoken to just hours earlier. Wonwoo held an odd smile that was distinctly out of character for him throughout the meal.

“That’s enough,” the king held his hand up to you to stop pouring into his tall glass. “What of you, Wonwoo?”

“I’m quite fine. Y/N already took care of me,” Prince Wonwoo held up his glass as evidence. You stepped back from the table and gulped, instantly feeling the king and queen’s eyes on you.

“Oh, forgive me. Lady Margaret introduced me to Y/N earlier. Father, Mother, she is going to be my new personal assistant,” Prince Wonwoo explained, gesturing in your direction.

“Is that so?” The queen sang, looking you up and down. You felt rather self conscious before the royal family in nothing but your bland servant’s dress and holding a bottle of wine that was certainly more valuable than your life’s savings.

You bowed, clutching the bottle harder than what was necessary. “Yes, Your Majesty. I will do my best.”

“Wonderful,” the king chuckled. “Then you must already be acquainted with Sir Richard.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. He has informed me of everything that will pertain to my duties,” you spoke. They nodded in pleasant agreement and you excused yourself back to the kitchens to fetch dessert plates. When you returned, Wonwoo was standing and pushing his chair in. “Your Highness, are you not going to stay for the cake?”

He shook his head decidedly. “I’m going to see Richard’s car off,” he said, his voice wrapped in sadness though you could tell he had tried to hide it. “Goodbye,” was all he uttered before he paced out of the hall, his coat thrown around his shoulders. His parents watched him go with painful gazes, and all at once you felt their simple family dynamic heavily. You couldn’t help but feel a pang at your heart as you imagined Wonwoo having to let go of the man who practically raised him.

“Y/N, you’ll do well for our boy, won’t you?” The queen mumbled absentmindedly.

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” you answered. You bowed and fled to the kitchens where you let out the breath you had been holding. The other servants were fervently washing dishes but you threw off your apron and gathered your skirt in your hands so you could jog to the main hall. When you finally arrived, you saw Prince Wonwoo coming back through the main palace doors, from the darkness into the light. He was looking at his feet and had his hands stuffed into the stiff pockets of his slacks.

“Your Highness,” you called to him, your feet flying across the plush rug. His head snapped up and shocked eyes met yours, and you gave a short bow to him when you were just a few feet apart. “I came to give my apologies that Sir Richard has to leave. Your Highness must have been very attached to him.”

“Indeed,” he murmured. His fingers were fiddling with the cuff of one of his sleeves as he searched your face. “Why you?”

“Pardon?” You asked, your head tilting slightly.

“Why did Lady Margaret choose you?”

You had given the same question extensive thought and still had no answer. “I’m not sure, Your Highness. I promise I will do my best to provide like Sir Richard.”

He looked down at you– you always forgot just how brooding he was– and nodded. “I would hope so. I’ll be off to bed now.” With that, he walked past you, in the direction of the residential wing. One of the guards at the door gave you a shrug. You shook your head in minor disbelief and slowly walked to the servants’s dormitories.


The Saturday’s blue dawn barely lit up your small room in the servants’s wing; you rolled out of bed reluctantly, but padded around getting ready as you had no intention of being late on your first day. You crept past the other soundly sleeping maids, many of whom were grateful they weren’t on breakfast duty. You threw open your wardrobe after brushing your teeth in the communal bathroom, even pressing on some make-up (Lady Margaret’s voice echoed in your head: you will be in the presence of the prince around the clock, after all). New dresses filled the rack, replacing the old maiden outfits you had worked in for years. Your heart swelled at their beautiful simplicity, but a part of you longed for the practical skirts you were used to. Nevertheless, you pulled one off of its hanger and put it on, your hands running over the soft skirt. It had elbow-length, breathable sleeves and its cream skirt fell just below your knees. The feeling of having your hair down was pleasantly unusual, and you had a bounce in your step as you headed to the kitchens to pick up Prince Wonwoo’s breakfast platter.

You carefully ascended the stairs with the silver tray which was weighed down with toast, fruit, and the type of coffee that Sir Richard had described to you in annoying detail. You knocked on Wonwoo’s door softly, one arm balancing the food, and turned the knob when his crisp morning voice said you could come in. You entered, struck by his messy hair and his normally prestigious frame adorned with black silk pajamas. He was sitting on the side of his bed, his long legs slung over the side, and gave you a weak smile as you set his breakfast on a coffee table just a few feet away. “Good morning, Your Highness,” you chirped, walking over to the window and throwing the drapes open. “I do hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you,” he yawned, wobbling over to an armchair and sinking into it. You threw open the door to his closet and began picking out each aspect of his outfit precisely before laying each piece over the foot board of his huge bed. Finally, you grabbed the polished wood box filled with cufflinks and presented it to him.

“What would you like today, Your Highness?”

His tired eyes scanned the rows intently while he sipped on his coffee. “You pick.”

You raised your brows, but plucked out a pair of silver cuff links with metal that appeared to be tied in shiny knots. You heard Prince Wonwoo chuckle as you returned the case to the closet. “Is something the matter, Your Highness?”

“Not at all. It’s just that those were Richard’s favorites,” he said, more to himself than to you. You felt your chest deflate and busied yourself with selecting a gray waistcoat. “Y/N, this coffee is good,” he changed the subject.

“I’m glad, Your Highness,” you smiled, finally done with the meticulous process of putting an outfit together. “If you don’t mind, it’s time for you to pick some shoes, Your Highness.”

He got up and was suddenly just inches from your face when he playfully asked, “Are you sure you don’t need to remind me of common fashion faux pas?”

It was rude to break the gaze of a royal, but you instantly turned your head in embarrassment. “I apologize for that incident, Your Highness. It was not our intention to insult you.”

“If you don’t wish to insult me,” he stepped around into your field of vision again. “Then call me Wonwoo.”

You were so shocked that you stuttered for several seconds before you finally insisted, “That’s simply not possible, Your Highness.” You intentionally avoided his warm brown irises.

“Why is that?” He inquired, taking another step toward you. “Richard called me Wonwoo.”

“That– that was a very different circumstance,” you stumbled, hurrying over to his foot board and snatching clothes off their hangers in urgency. You could hear him laughing behind you, but you were so red in the face that you couldn’t bear to turn. He stepped in front of the full-body mirror that hung over his closet door and began unbuttoning his pajama shirt, letting it fall from his shoulders. Your eyes were glued to the floor so you weren’t tempted to stare at his bare torso. You helped him button his white dress shirt and light gray waist coat and turned away while he pulled on gray slacks; he stepped into the shiny black shoes he had finally decided on and tugged on a fitted gray sports jacket.

“Bow tie?” You suggested, holding up a black one, which you tied around Prince Wonwoo’s neck after a swift nod from him. You stepped back and admired your work while he fastened his cufflinks.

“I have a luncheon with the prime minister, so I won’t be seeing you until afternoon tea,” he explained. “While I’m away, I would appreciate you dusting my study.”

“Certainly,” you agreed, beginning to make his bed. He popped another strawberry into his mouth and watched you work. The two of you sat in comfortable silence while you went about the room, familiarizing yourself with the space Sir Richard had told you so much about. You grabbed a kerchief from the dresser and Prince Wonwoo watched in a daze as your delicate hands folded it into a neat square before you bashfully slid it into his front pocket. “Perfect.”

You took the mostly empty platter from the table, including the drained coffee cup, and made your way towards the door. With one leg holding it ajar, you called, “Have a good day, Your Highness.”

A flattered smile spread across his face. “You too, Y/N.”


Prince Wonwoo’s study smelled of old parchment and the wood that sat charred in the fireplace. Thick books of laws, poetry, and stories lined each wall with each tall set of shelves presenting a new part of his collection. A thick layer of dust covered every inch of the room, apart from Prince Wonwoo’s tidy desk. You imagined that the prince had kindly refrained from asking Sir Richard to clean in his deteriorating state; you subconsciously smiled at the sweet thought.

You gripped your feather duster, furniture polish, and rags and got to work. Your eyes scanned all of the interesting series that decorated the shelves. A surprised laugh sprang from you when you came across a stack of records that contained Frank Sinatra and Perry Como. “To think Jeon Wonwoo likes easy listening on records,” you said under your breath, sliding a Perry Como record out of its case and carefully setting it on the nearby antique player. The needle glided across the vinyl and you sang along as you cleaned.

Don’t let the stars get in your eyes
Don’t let the moon break your heart
Love blooms at night
In daylight it dies
Don’t let the stars get in your eyes
Or keep your heart from me
For some day I’ll return
And you know you’re the only one I’ll ever love…  

Hours later, you were finally finished with the meticulous dusting around the spine of each book and you spent the next several hours steaming and pressing Prince Wonwoo’s shirts, another mind-numbing process. You were just hanging the pristine shirts when you looked down at your wristwatch and nearly cursed at the time– three. You hissed to yourself in annoyance and darted out of the room and down the staircase to greet Prince Wonwoo and accompany him to tea with his family and, presumably, some councilmen. He was just coming through the palace doors, waving goodbye to his driver, and you suddenly thought back to the sad farewell of last night but shook it from your mind and smiled at the prince.

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” he greeted you with a bright smile. You grinned back at him and bowed.

“Welcome home, Your Highness,” you said. “You seem to be in a good mood.”

“Policy is going well,” he told you, gesturing that you follow him to the dining room. “Tell me, how miserable were you while dusting today?”

You resisted the urge to laugh. “Not at all. You were very gracious to Sir Richard, Your Highness.”

He busted out with laughter in a way that made your fingertips tingle and cheeks raise up. “Perhaps a little too gracious. Thank you for doing it.”

“There is no need to thank me, Your Highness,” you contended, walking past him so you could hold the door to the dining room open to him. He raised a brow at you and paused his walking.

“There’s always a need.” You could have sworn he winked at you in that moment, but he disappeared past the door frame and you were obligated to follow, regardless of your pounding heart.

“Ah, Father, Mother,” he yelled, much to the surprise of the king and queen. “Good afternoon.”

“Why hello, son,” the king chortled while Prince Wonwoo kissed his mother’s cheek. You pulled out a chair for the prince and slid it back into place before stepping away from the table, like you were used to as a servant. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing in particular. The Prime Minister was in a fine mood and I learned this morning that Y/N is a barista in her own right,” the prince chatted, and you nearly jumped at the sound of your name. You weren’t sure you were ever going to get used to the royal family speaking of you so much.

“How lovely,” the queen said, her warm eyes finding yours. “So you’re getting on well, Y/N?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” you clasped your palms together with nerves.

The family talked among themselves for the rest of the hour about national affairs and other matters you didn’t understand, so you ended up drifting into your own thoughts while you stood several feet behind the prince’s chair. You were astounded at all you had discovered about him in just the few months of training you had done, and the one day of actually knowing him personally. The man you had always perceived as cold and off-putting liked his coffee in a very particular way– so sweet it could hardly still be called coffee– and kept his own vinyls of big band music. He was surprisingly sweet and just wanted to be called by his first name, despite your status forbidding that. You almost wanted to cry at just how ignorant you were before. How could you have served the royal family for so long and still not known him?

“I’d like to go for a walk now,” the prince announced, standing and throwing his sports jacket over one arm. You bowed to the king and queen and followed him out to the courtyard. The two of you began your stroll through the royal arboretum, you offering to carry his sports jacket beneath the leafy shade offered by the rows of trees, and he only gave in after you insisted. “You know, Richard would be giving me a lecture about every single tree we passed.”

You gave him a sad smile. “Well,” you began, pointing to a mature oak just ahead on the path. “I fell out of that tree while I was playing with one of my servant friends when I was ten. I broke my arm and Lady Margaret still hasn’t let me live it down.”

The prince let out a hearty laugh that you found yourself wishing you could hear all the time. “So you’ve been here for that long?”

You tilted your head in thought. “I suppose, Your Highness. It’s odd now that I think about it.”

He shook his head, apparently not comprehending. “What a life. I couldn’t imagine…” He trailed off.

“Don’t misunderstand, Your Highness, I enjoy serving here,” you declared. The pang of loneliness and homesickness in your chest was painful, but who were you to complain to a prince?

He remained silent and you could tell he was lost in thought. His hands were tucked in his pockets with each thumb sticking out, like they always did when he was dazed. Maybe you had studied him more than you thought. The two of you walked the path full circle, both wandering through your own thoughts, and arrived back at the start before you realized that time had passed.

The prince cleared his throat and took his jacket from your arms. “I think I’ll go to my study now, as I do believe I have some work I need to finish. I’ll meet you back in my room… after dinner?” He suggested. You nodded and bowed to his retreating figure. As you walked back to your own room for some pleasure reading, you wondered if the heat on your face was from the afternoon sun or the thought of undressing the prince later on.


“Come in,” Prince Wonwoo called to you on the other side of the door for the second time that day, and you were no less nervous than before. You twisted the gold knob and found him lounging in the armchair next to his bed, feet crossed and propped up on the coffee table, with a novel in his hands. He shut the book decidedly and tossed it on the table, walking over to stand in front of his mirror, while you set your empty laundry basket on the end of his bed. He watched the news on his huge television while you undid his cufflinks and the buttons on his dress shirt before tossing it in the basket.

“I found something rather peculiar in my study today,” he smirked, unfastening his Rolex and handing it to you.

“Did I not dust well enough?” You asked.

“No, no,” he chuckled. “There was a record that I haven’t listened to in ages still spinning on my player.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness, that was my mistake,” you gasped. “I should have never touched it–”

“You like Perry Como?” He said, barely audible. You stared at him in absolute awe, confused and amused all at the same time.

“Quite a lot,” you admitted while polishing the face of his Rolex with your skirt.

“Excellent.”

He pulled the cotton shirt underneath off and discarded it, too, before handing you his belt to put alongside his cufflinks in the closet. You did just that while he stripped entirely and you heard him start his shower. You left with the laundry basket on your hip, the tones of the prince’s singing following you into the large hallway; you wouldn’t dare tell anyone, but you lingered outside the door just a little while to listen.

Months went on like this, with you bringing breakfast and dressing him every morning, while you did chores or errands for him throughout the day. He finally convinced you to call him Wonwoo (This stays exclusively between us, you threatened), and he confided in you about a surprising number of things. He complained that you were too reserved around him, but you didn’t dare to become more casual with him in fear of being improper or, even worse, falling in love with him. You began being rather short in your conversations and limited your time with him.

One night, you entered to start his regular routine to find him surrounded by papers, bottles of expensive whiskey, and rings of condensation from him moving his glass around. You sighed and began to organize the papers on the table. “Rough day?”

Half of his face was covered with one of his large hands while the other held a half-empty glass. From what you could see, he had a bitter smile on his face and his cheeks were aflame with the obvious rash of drunkenness. Wonwoo didn’t answer you, which was really all the answer you needed. You helped him stand and it took all the strength you had to not laugh at his hiccups, though a large part of you was sad that he had drank himself into this state. Nervous hands stripped his top half, while his miserable head was slung over your shoulder.

“I– I hate when they do… that,” he slurred into your ear. Both of you almost toppled over when you tried to get him step out of his slacks, but you steadied him and practically carried him over to his bed, sliding his pajama shirt over his arms and working on its buttons.

“What do you hate, Wonwoo?”

He laughed. It was a pitiful, lonely laugh that made you feel worse than if he was sobbing. “I hate when they say– they say that I’m s’pposed to marry some random girl,” he hiccuped again. “Their efforts are… use– useless,” he muttered, looking over your shoulder to some dejected place.

“It’ll be alright, Wonwoo,” you tried to comfort him, giving up on the idea of getting him in pajama bottoms and simply pressing his shoulders so that he would lie down. You pulled the covers up to his neck and found that his glazed-over eyes were looking at your face again.

“No, no it won’t,” he whispered. His eyes fluttered until they were barely open.

“I don’t see why not,” you consoled him while gathering his clothes and throwing them into your basket.

“It’s because I…” he shook his head. “It’s awful, Y/N. Just awful.”

You sighed and put the basket down on the carpet before slowly sitting on the side of his bed. “What’s awful?”

“It hurts loving you this much,” he groaned. His eyes were closed. Your heart fell to the floor.

“You don’t mean that,” your voice broke and you were thankful he couldn’t see the tears fall down your face and onto his duvet. He had certainly passed out, while you felt your chest could explode with admiration and anguish. You reached a hand out and stroked his cheek. “Wonwoo, darling…You let it happen.” The sleeves of your dress dabbed away your incessant tears. “You let the stars get in your eyes.”

You took the laundry basket and finally left. Every time you tried to sleep that night, you saw his face and were jolted awake.


Your steps were horribly slow up to his room the next morning: you even considered feigning illness and sending a butler up there for him, but you didn’t want to embarrass him by exposing his hangover. So you took the grim march with the tray that held his breakfast (including ice water and aspirin, the medicine you had sneaked out of the infirmary) and hoped that your exhaustion wasn’t painfully obvious.

You knocked on the door and weakly called out, “Prince Wonwoo?” There was no answer and after waiting several seconds, you pushed the door open and walked in anyway. You were surprised to find him fully dressed, sitting in his regular armchair, with the drapes still closed. The only light in the room came from his bedside lamp. You kicked the door closed and melted at his sorrowful gaze, his hands pressed together in front of his mouth, and his tall frame slouched in the chair. Dark circles lined his eyes, and there was a definitive crease in his forehead, probably from his headache. He said nothing as you walked over and put the tray on the coffee table.

All you could think to do was crouch beside him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, so you did just that. He exhaled deeply and stood to hug you back, his arms firm around your waist and your head tucked under his chin.

“I really did say it, then,” he mumbled, to which you simply squeezed him tighter. 

“One of us had to, I suppose,” you tittered, leaning back so you could see his face. You used the pad of your thumb to swipe away the one tear that escaped his eye. “You know this is no good, Wonwoo.”

He shook his head slowly, pursing his lips. “Say it.”

“What?”

“Say you love me too. I’m fully aware this is in no way easy for you, but I can’t imagine that you could look me in the eyes in this exact moment and tell me you don’t feel this.”

You sighed in disbelief and a stinging adoration for the man who still had his arms locked around your waist. The dull light of the room highlighted the tired features of his face, but you still thought he looked like pure art. Thoughts of his dismal state the previous night in contrast to his lighthearted personality in the day raced across your mind. Did he even know what he was getting himself in to? Could you stop him from barreling down a road of uncertainty even if he did know?

“Wonwoo, I love you more than you’ll ever know,” you sniffled. “That’s why I can’t let you–”

His large hands held each side of your face and instantly his soft lips were pressed to yours. You took in the smell of his musky cologne and the way your fingertips felt clutching his sides. One of his hands wandered to the nape of your neck and cradled your head.

Wonwoo broke away with the most dazzling smile you had ever seen. “I’m the prince. I’m fairly sure I’m the one who makes the decisions.”

“Lady Margaret is going to give me an earful about this.”

Worth It (Jason Todd x Reader)

A/N: I really hope you guys like it! I’m sorry if its not my best.. I stayed up till 5 am yesterday trying to finish it so i could post it today so if it sucks i apologize!

Y/N- Your Name

Y/S/N- Your Superhero Name

Warning(s): Yelling and cursing

Request: “Can you do a Jason Todd x reader where the reader is best friends with Dick and Jason is jealous” -anon



Tonight you were on patrol with Dick, it had been a while since you got to go out and kick ass with your best friend and you really missed it. Recently you’d been paired up with Red Hood.. not that you were complaining. You’d always had a crush on Jason and spending more time with him and getting to know him better was nice. But you were always slightly on edge with Jason. You wanted to make a good impression so you were always on ans ready to make a witty remark. With Dick though it was different, you could be a total doofus with him and you knew he wouldn’t judge you.


The night had been pretty tame though.. just a few low grade thugs running around. Nothing you and Nightwing couldn’t handle. Tonight’s shift was slowly coming to an end and you and Dick decided to go relax in one of your favorite spots. You both grapple up onto the roof of an abandoned apartment building to star gaze. You sit down on the edge of the building letting your feet dangle off the side. Dick sits down next to you.


“You ever think about leaving Gotham?” you ask. He turns to look at you. “Maybe even leaving the east coast completely. Going to California, get some sun, have a normal life…” you continue. He leans back on his hands really thinking about it. “I think id miss the action too much.. and you.. id miss you.” he says, leaning forward. His face now just mere inches in front of yours. Just then you hear the click of a camera come down from the streets below. You look Nightwing dead in the eyes and lean forward a little more, your lips now nearly touching.. and that’s when you both burst into laughter.


Nothing even remotely romantic had ever happened between you and Dick. But a few weeks ago Vicki Vale had released a piece on the “blossoming love” between Nightwing and Y/S/N. The media has a hard time believing the two of you are just friends because of how close you are and you knew it was only a matter of time before it became “news”. And since you and Dick both found it hilarious youd often put yourselves into suggestive situations to mess with everyone. All of your superhero friends got a good laugh out of it as well.. except for Jason that is. He never really found the humor in it and you could never understand why.


You and Dick sat there a little while longer just filling each other in on the day to day details of your lives. Eventually though it was time to head home. You had to get up early and go in for your day job. You wished you could just quit your job at the coffee shop and be a vigilante full time. Unfortunately as much as you loved it it didn’t really pay the bills.. so you say your goodbyes to Dick and grapple off the building. You decided to take the streets home instead of the roof tops. The city was actually quite beautiful when there weren’t superhuman criminals blowing it to bits. Your thoughts were cut short though when someone grabbed your shoulder. Your instincts kicked in and you grabbed the arm of whoever was touching you and flipped them over your shoulder, slamming them onto the floor.


“Holy shit, Y/N. Its me! Its just me!.” the person says. You suddenly realize that you almost accidentally beat the shit out of Red Hood. “Oh god! I’m so sorry. I was lost in my own thoughts.. you scared the shit out of me.” you say, helping him up. He brushes himself off. “You know as well as I do that you should always be on alert.. even on quiet nights like this.” he says. “Yeah, yeah. Spare me the scolding.. I get enough of that from Batman.” He laughs at that. “You and me both.” The two of you start walking down the street together.


“So.. I saw you and Nightwing back there.. looked pretty cozy.” he says. If you hadn’t known better you’d say he sounded annoyed. You snort. “We were just fucking around. Someone was taking pictures of us..” you laugh. “You looked pretty into it.. you know he goes through girls like shoes.”


“Hey! That’s my best friend you’re talking about.. and your brother might I add.” you say, getting mildly pissed off. “Whatever” he mutters and starts to walk the other way. “Where are you going?!” you shout. “ Home.. pay attention to where you’re going.. don’t go around body slamming any civilians on your way back..” you roll your eyes and continue on your way back to your apartment. Maybe you were wrong about Jason Todd.. maybe he really was just an asshole in a red helmet.



THE NEXT DAY



You couldn’t wait for the day to be over. You just wanted to go home, put on your bad ass outfit, and go kick some bad guy ass with Dick. After your morning shift at the coffee shop ended you decided to head over to Wayne Manor.. or as you liked to call it, your “home away from home”. As soon as you walked through the front door of the manor you were greeted by Dick. He pulled you into a giant hug. A small shriek escaped your lips as he lifted you up off the floor. He sets you back down and his face quickly becomes serious. “I have some bad news.” he says. Your smile quickly fades. “What happened? Who’s hurt??” he laughs. “No ones hurt, Y/N.”


You breathe a sigh of relief. “Then what is it?” you ask. “I have to go back to Bludhaven early..” he says. “What?! Why?!” you shout. “Penguins causing trouble out there again and I have to go deal with it.. I actually have to leave now. I just wanted to wait till you got here so I could tell you in person.”


“Well, I could go with you!” you say in a cheery voice. “No.. you’re needed here.” he chuckles. “Besides I heard about your and Jason’s little scuffle last night and I convinced Bruce to pair up the two of you so you could make up.” he says, grabbing his things. “What?!” you screech. He kisses your cheek and heads out the door. “Have fun! I love you! Stay safe!” he smiles. “Screw you, Richard Grayson!” you yell. All you hear as the door closes is his laughter.


As the day goes by you start to dread tonight’s patrol more and more. You didn’t want to have to deal with Jason’s snipping and you were pretty sure he didn’t want anything to do with you either. But time always has a way of going by faster when you have to do something you dread and eventually its time to go out. You and Jason decide to meet out in the city, and surprisingly the night goes off without a hitch, aside from Jason ignoring you basically the whole time you’re out. But him ignoring you was better than him yelling at you the whole time.. or so you thought. At some point the silence between the two of you becomes too much to handle and you snap.


“What the fuck did I ever do to you, Hood?! You act like I kicked your god damn dog!” you yell. “I dont have a dog.” he says shortly. “You know what I mean! Don’t play dumb.” you fire back.“You know what? Why don’t you just go back to playing house with Nightwing. I know you’d rather be out with him than here with me.” he yells, yanking off his helmet revealing the small mask underneath. “I told you that Dick and I are just friends. Why are we even talking about this still?? Its not like you have any interest in who I date anyways!” you yell back. “Yeah? Well maybe I DO.” This stops you in your tracks. “What?” you ask.


“Maybe I do care who you date..” he mumbles. “Why?” he sighs. “Come on, Y/N.. Don’t make me say it.” he begs running his hands through his hair. “Say what?” you say, quietly. “That.. fuck. That I like you as more than just a friend. I always have.” you’re stunned. You don’t know what to say, so instead you just stand there with your mouth hanging open like an idiot. Jason must take this as your disinterest  because with that he starts to walk away. But before he can make it more than a few feet away you reach out and grab his hand, pulling him back to you. “What? What is it? Spare me the rejection, Y/N. I know when I’m not wanted.” he starts to put his helmet back on when you grab it out of his hands and throw it to the ground.


“Hey! That’s my last one! Be care-” but you cut him off when you press your lips to his. Hes surprised but that sure as hell doesn’t stop him from kissing you back. His arm snakes around your waist pulling as as close to him as the two of you can manage. That’s when you hear it.. the familiar sound of a camera clicking. You pull away. “Someones taking pictures of us..” you whisper. “Let them” he says, smiling. This makes you laugh. “The media is gonna have a field day with this one. ‘Y/S/N CHEATING ON NIGHTWING WITH THE RED HOOD. IS THIS THE END OF THE BATFAMILY AS WE KNOW IT?‘”  you say dramatically. “You’re worth it, I think.” he smirks. “Oh, you think??” you say raising your eyebrows. “Yeah.. we’ll just have to wait and see, I guess..” he jokes. “Just shut up and kiss me, Todd.. before I change my mind.” and just like that you’re kissing again. You had to make a mental note to thank Dick for ditching you tonight.. guess his plan worked out pretty damn well..

****************************************************************************************************

Victor von Doom isn’t white, he’s Romani

As I’ve seen a number of posts depicting Infamous Iron Man as the ‘white male protagonist’ alternative to Riri Williams’ Invincible Iron Man, I feel a point has to be made:

Victor von Doom is Romani, a highly problematic racial / ethnical and cultural identity within the history of European racism in particular. His non-white identity and the marginalisation following from it have always been a core part of his mythos.

His ‘original wound’ that leads to him becoming Doctor Doom is tied to the cruel fate his family suffered. His mother, dabbling in the arcane arts, sought to rectify the persecution she and her people, a clan of Romani, suffered:

(Books of Doom by Brubaker, 2006; all panels will be from this because I have it at hand, however, the basics of the story remain the same in all its versions)

But trying to make things better doesn’t work, and his mother gets possessed by a demon that goes on to slay some soldiers and every child of the village the Romani camped outside of.

His mother gets killed, which leaves Victor and his grief-stricken father alone.

A few years later, Doom’s father gets called to the Baron to heal his sick wife. Victor immediately fears for the worst.

At nightfall the next day his father returns - he hasn’t managed to save the Baron’s wife and is now persecuted by his soldiers, to be shot like a dog. Victor and his father flee into the mountains, trying to evade the soldiers, but winter is cruel, and at night Victor’s father freezes to death while holding his son close, giving him the last of his warmth.

The Baron’s men come to take the body away and present it to the Baron like a trophy, and young Victor becomes cold and furious, seeking revenge on the people who caused this suffering. The first person he kills is a soldier devalueing his life on account of him being Romani:

His main quest in many subsequent storylines is trying to free his mother’s spirit from hell, where the demon who possessed her trapped her. The reason for his disfigurement is one experiment going tragically wrong and literally blowing up in his face. The fact that young Reed Richards had tried to warn Doom and correct some of his calculations spawns the feud between Reed and Victor that lasts to this day.

Even when at University in the US, Doom is by the way confronted with a perception of his as ‘foreign’:

Depending on the storylines, there’s more explicit examples of discrimination he suffers.

Evidently, there are problematic and stereotypical aspects to that origin story, but those aren’t the point of this post. The point is that Doom belongs to a marginalised group and is hardly fit to be cast in the ‘default white male protag’ role that some seem to expect him to be cast in as Iron Man.

Don’t erase the well-established non-white identity of a character to make your argument about the series’ concept sucking.

We’ve seen Billy before!

All right, friends. We need to talk about Audrey, Billy, Chuck, and the truck. We’ve seen Billy and his truck before in episode 7. After Richard hit the kid with the truck, he returned it to its unnamed owner, who we now know is Billy. Later, Andy shows up at Billy’s house to ask him about the incident. Billy keeps looking back towards the house and seems really afraid of being overheard, but agrees to meet Andy at a different location. He never shows up. At the end of the episode, we see a man run randomly into the RR café and shout, “Anyone seen Billy?” It seemed unimportant at the time, but now we know that Billy was the owner of the truck, and now he’s missing. In episode 11, we see Audrey for the first time, and she seems distressed that Billy, who she apparently has a close relationship with, has been missing for two days, and says that someone named Chuck said that someone named Tina was the last person to see Billy before he disappeared. She asks her husband Charlie to call Tina and ask for the details, but Charlie first relates a story about Chuck taking Billy’s truck. It isn’t clear who Chuck is, but possibly he is the person who ran into the RR café at the end of Episode 7 looking for Billy. It’s clear that Billy has been missing since he didn’t show up to meet Andy in Episode 7, and it seems likely that Richard killed him. Some unanswered questions are: Who is Tina, and what is the relationship between Audrey and Richard? It seems like he is her son, but she doesn’t seem to have much of a relationship with him. Time will tell how all of these storylines and relationships connect.

Are You Okay

(Dick Grayson x Batmom!Reader)

Summary: After ignoring Penguins constant flirting on a mission he hurts you but Nightwing is there to protect you

Requested: yes, by an incredible anon

Request: Can I request an imagine where batmom is out with nightwing on a mission and the bad guy they’re fighting is targeting or flirting with her and she gets hurt so nightwing gets protective? Thank you so much 😍❤️

Warning/s: blood, I guess?

Authors note: In honor of my blog hitting a hundred followers I am finishing this today. ENJOY!


It wasn’t your intention to go on a mission with Dick. You were retired from the vigilante life after you and Bruce adopted Dick. But it can’t hurt for (v/n) to come for one more night, right?

“Are you sure you want to do this mom? I can go on my own.” Dick told you already dressed in his Nightwing suit. “No way am I going to let you go on your own Dickie. I’ll be fine.”

“She won’t just be fine, your mom will be magnificent out there.” Bruce’s deep voice echoed in the cave as he came behind you and hugged your waist, pulling your body close to his. “It’s been a while since I last put on this suit.” You said looking at your suit in the glass tube.

“You still look sexy in it.” Bruce said as he spun you around and kissed you passionately on the lips. Groans of ‘ew’, ‘gross’ and ‘get a room’ were heard around the cave.

You looked back at your boys giving them a dirty look which shut them up pretty fast. Nothing compares to your glare, not even Bruce’s Batman glare. “tt. Richard if Ummi comes back home harmed I will personally harm you.” Damian said to his eldest brother.

“Oh come on little D, you wouldn’t really do anything to me would you?” Dick asked flashing a smile to Damian, but after seeing the thirteen year old do nothing but give him a cold stare Dick’s smile was quickly wiped of his face.

“Don’t worry demon brat, ma can defend herself just fine.” Jason chimed in the conversation.

“That does not mean that I still won’t hurt Grayson if I see as much as a scratch on Ummi.” Damian said his last sentence and climbed in the Batmobile waiting for Bruce to come. Bruce gave you one last kiss and whispered, “Be careful,” to you and went to the Batmobile himself.

“Okay mom, how about we get this show on the road?” Dick said as you finished getting in your suit. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You two jumped from buildings trying to get to an abandoned one where Oracle told you Penguin is hiding. Apparently he has a plan to take over Gotham.

“Ahh Nightwing, I was expecting one bird to show,” he said looking at you, “But I suppose a fine lady next to you is an equal surprise. Who might you be pretty woman?”

“I’m the one who’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“Feisty. I like ‘em like that.” He smirked lightly.

You wasted no time in attacking the long nose man. You applied every move you knew from your training with Bruce. You glanced at Dick to see how he’s handling the Penguin’s associates and the next thing you knew one of Penguin’s guns shot through your arm.

You cried out in pain, clenching your left arm and falling on your knees. Dick, seeing you hurt and open to Penguin, quickly fought off the associates and began fighting Penguin, knocking him out cold not long after. 

He threw a smoke bomb and got you both on a rooftop for safety. “Mom! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Dick, just a little scratch.”

“A little scratch?! That’s not a little scratch! That’s a hole in your arm and it’s bleeding! We gotta get you to the cave.” He speed off on his motorcycle to the Batcave, Oracle already contacting every Batfamily member.

Once at the cave there was a whole lot of yelling from Jason and even Tim at their eldest brother. Alfred was quietly patching you up while you were sitting on the operating table waiting for Bruce and Damian to come.

“Maybe I’m not cut out for vigilante life anymore, Alfred.” You told the dear butler with a sigh as he finished his work. “Well mistress (y/n) you were absent for quite some time now, it is only natural.” The butler said picking the fist aid kit and going back upstairs. 

With another sigh you pushed yourself off of the operating table and heard the familiar engine of the Batmobile. Bruce stepped out slowly while on the other hand Damian jumped out like a maniac, screaming, “I am going to murder you Grayson!”

“Are you alright honey?”

“I’m fine Bruce, I would’ve been worse if Dick didn’t step in and helped me.”

You looked at your fist adopted son, seeing him getting jumped on by Damian. “Damian leave your brother alone.” Bruce said to him, “But father because of this imbecile Ummi got hurt.”

“Damian, stop trying to kill your brother.” You said, Damian immediately stopping but not after glaring at Dick one last time.

“I am really, really, really sorry mom, I shouldn’t have brought you alongside me. I-”

“Dick, it’s alright,” you told him, walking up to him and giving him a hug, him hugging back carefully as to not hurt your arm, “I am proud of you Richard. If it weren’t for you I could’ve been gone right now. Thank you.” You whispered to him, giving him a kiss on his forehead.

“Any time mom.”

archiveofourown.org
The Only Moment We Are Alone - Chapter 1 - DawnsEternalLight - Batman (Comics) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

For the Batfam content war that @camsthisky has been so gracious to put on for us. This fic ended up MUCH longer than I expected it to be, so much so that I broke it up into two parts (both are posted and the fic is complete, don’t worry I won’t make you guys wait all day for the whole thing). It’s a little exploration of the first, and then later times when Damian or Dick needed each other after a nightmare. 

Let me toss out a quick thank you to @audreycritter for helping me with this, @laquilasse for accidentally inspiring part of it and waiting so patiently on it, and @camsthisky for also helping with it. I asked you all questions about it and somehow all the pieces ended up in this fic.

Words: 7,974
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: There is some late night self hate that shows up in this fic, which is a little out of my norm, so please be aware of that. It’s nothing that warrants a rating change, but a general warning for you guys.

Summary:
Dick Grayson likes to ward off nightmares by holding the person closest to him. Damian Wayne believes nightmares should be suffered in silence. This is how Dick managed to convince Damian that comfort is okay. Or two times Dick comforted Damian, and two times Damian returned the favor.

Fall TV Spoilers 2017: Scoop on Arrow

Picking up months after that explosive finale, the Season 6 premiere will gradually reveal who did and did not make it back to Star City alive, punctuated by flashbacks to the fiery aftermath — at which point new threats bear down on Oliver, including the CW series’ spin on Richard Dragon; a mystery character being played by Michael Emerson; and FBI Agent Samandra Watson (GLOW‘s Sydelle Noel). “Oliver is going to be in some hot water, in a way we haven’t seen before, and Samandra Watson is going to be spearheading that cause,” says co-showrunner Wendy Mericle. “She’s going to get very close to the truth about what Oliver has been up to.” Among the officially confirmed survivors, Dinah’s new Black Canary costume brings with it a new swagger, while Slade will invite Oliver to make good on his Lian Yu promise. “We have this amazing story that is going to tie in with Oliver’s dealings with his own son, as he helps Slade find Joe Wilson.”

BONUS SPOILER!: Yes, it’s true — Vigilante will finally be unmasked. “Who he is and what he’s up to is very personal,” Mericle says, adding: “He’s got a very close connection to one of our series regulars that I really hope will blow the fans’ minds.”

RETURN DATE:  Thursday, Oct. 12 at 9/8c (The CW)

Every Nancy Drew game suspect ranked from worst to best.

Methodology: All rankings are personal taste. I only included characters that both had character models and were presented as suspects during the course of the narrative. Obviously, spoilers for every game.

Keep reading

Follow forever: @patanghill17 @queenmariatheresia @fullvoidmoon
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Originally posted by riepu10


You had been seeing a guy you worked with now for a few months, and you knew in the deepest depths of your heart that you had no intentions of your relationship ever going anywhere. He was kind enough, very introverted and a little socially awkward, which seemed to fit well with your geeky side, but he lacked the adventurous streak that you were so badly yearning for. He was happy going to the cinema every Friday, listening to music at your house and just taking things slow. You wanted romance, a thrill and someone who would sweep you off your feet. 

In fact you had been chatting with your best friend only the day previously, the very person who had introduced you to one of your close friends, Richard. Now Richard, on the other hand, was someone who you greatly admired and thought about often. Sometimes at work, while you were taking inventory and you would day dream in the stock room, wondering what Richard was up to with his filming schedule. You both text daily and you had even stayed up until after midnight, laughing about the events of that day or discussing personal matters close to your hearts. You had never had that with your current boyfriend. 

You sat on your bed that evening, your journal open at a blank page. The words would not come, instead tears did. The pain of living a lie with a man who you had no feelings for was crippling you. And you were doing all of this for one main reason: you felt that Richard would never look at you twice in such a manner as attraction. He only saw you as a close friend and nothing more. 

Suddenly your phone rang and Richard’s name appeared on the screen, flashing boldly as a classic rock tune played. “Hello?” you answered, grinning. In that moment you temporarily forgot your pain and allowed Richard’s baritone voice to curl around you and caress your very soul. That voice. And the day dreams you often had of his large, gentle hands trailing down your body. His lips on yours; your bodies fitting together. It would only ever be a dream. 

You remained quiet as Richard said his normal hello and apologised for not calling you earlier. “Are you alright? You’re quiet,” he enquired. 

You closed your eyes and sighed. “Um, yeah, I’m fine, Rich. Just a bit tired. Had a long day.”

“Are you sure?” Richard asked. “I’ve been worried about you lately.” 

You felt something rise in your chest at his words, a hope and a fluttering sensation which always made itself known when you saw his handsome face or heard his breathtaking voice. 

He continued talking as you remained quiet, unable to speak. Your heart was hammering in your chest and your nerves were beginning to rise again, rendering you speechless. 

“I don’t want to pry into your personal life, but I know you’re not happy. I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice, and it all started when you got with the bloke you’re with now. I should probably mind my own business, but I care about you…God, so much more than you realise. I want you to be okay, and I want you to see how beautiful you are.” 

Was he really saying this to you? Richard had always tried to dispel your negativity whenever you were critical of yourself, but he had never been so forthright in his opinion of you like today. How could Richard find you beautiful? You were slightly overweight, mediocre in your looks, nothing spectacular like the actresses who he crossed paths with daily. You were normal in every sense of the word and only deserved a man who would keep you confined to the rut you were currently living in. 

“I’m not…” you began, your chest finally allowing you to speak. 

“You are. Stop with putting yourself down. I just know you’re not happy, and I want to see you out there being the best you can be, showing the world that amazing side of you which I know is there.” 

“No, I’m not happy, Rich,” you said suddenly, the words tumbling out of your mouth in quick procession. “There’s a gaping hole in me and I felt by going out with someone that it would heal me, but there’s only one thing that can heal me. And I can’t have it.” 

“What’s that? Talk to me, angel,” Richard reassured. He used his pet name for you which you loved. Never a day passed when he didn’t call you ‘angel’. 

“I can’t…” You sobbed. “I’m sorry…” you just about managed to utter down the phone. 

“Angel, talk to me. I will never walk away from you, I promise. I love you too much to walk away…Fuck! I shouldn’t…”

“As in a friend, right?” you couldn’t help but ask. 

Richard sighed. “No, not just as a friend. I want to be there with you, kissing your tears off your face, telling you in person how stunning you are in every way. I’m in love with you.”

5

Periodically, the Parallel Julieverse likes to profile some of the many talented photographers who have worked with Julie over the years. One of the more fascinating, and possibly lesser known, was L. Arnold Weissberger (1907-1981). 

An entertainment lawyer who first rose to prominence as legal representative for Orson Welles – he drafted the actor’s much-ballyhooed 1940 contract with RKO (Chapman, G-3) – Weissberger was for many years the resident go-to attorney for the theatrical haut monde. “[O]ne definition of high and mighty,” claimed a newspaper report, “is to be a client of his” (Hunter, D3). Indeed, with a client list featuring everyone from Sir Laurence Olivier, Cecil Beaton and Lillian Gish to Garson Kanin, Billy Rose, Helen Hayes and Igor Stravinsky, Weissberger could have given MGM a run in the “more stars than there are in the heavens” stakes. 

A gentleman of the old school who always wore a suit jacket and trademark white carnation, Weissberger was as admired for his charm, grace and unerring discretion, as his legal nous. Quipped Orson Welles:

“Like the Rolls Royce, this lawyer is valued not only for the pleasing elegance of his appearance, but for performance, which can be formidable. A terror and a scourge to producers, he is a wonder to observe. Yet the loudest thing on Arnold is his Patek Philippe watch.” (Weissberger 1973, 337)

 Weissberger was also life partner to Milton Goldman, a successful theatre agent in his own right and vice-president of International Creative Management. Together the two men – equal bons vivants and talented socialites – formed a show biz power couple that presided over the trans-Atlantic theatre scene for decades. Their weekly Sunday cocktail parties were legendary and their swanky Sutton Place apartment “became the party place for theatre personalities from three continents” (Lawrence and Lee, 227). Each summer, the couple would relocate to Europe, spending a month in the River Suite at the London Savoy where they would host a whirlwind of social affairs with “every famous name you have ever wanted to meet” (Harris, 47).

It was in this context that Weissberger developed what he fondly called his “double life” as a celebrity photographer (Wise, B-1). A self-avowed “shutterbug” since youth, Weissberger never went anywhere without his trusty twin Leicas, “loaded at all times, one with outdoor, the other with indoor colour film” (Glover, 10-A). Though unabashedly amateur – he was entirely disinterested in the the technical dimensions of photography, “never uses flash, hates to be bothered with filters and won’t have a light meter around” (ibid.) – Weissberger honed his talents through a good eye and sheer voluminous slog. By the mid-70s, he estimated having shot 50,000 pictures of people and another 60,000 on travels (Anderson, 25).

It didn’t hurt, of course, that Weissberger had ready access to some of the most famous people in the world. How many photographers, marvelled one newspaper report, “run into Orson Welles, Marlene Dietrich, Noel Coward, Lord Snowden…Alice B. Toklas, Marianne Moore, W.H. Auden, Peter O’Toole, the Redgraves, Beatrice Lillie and Judy Holliday in their daily rounds?”  (Wise, B-1). The fact that he knew these celebrities personally and was, for the most part, photographing them in the context of private social events afforded a genuine intimacy and unguarded spontaneity unmatched in most other celebrity photography of the era. 

“His subjects are his clients and his clients are his friends,” noted Orson Welles, “We all smile in front of his camera because Arnold is behind it” (Weissberger, 1973, 337-338). In a similar refrain, Douglas Fairbanks Jr remarked that Weissberger “is a gregarious host with a catholic taste in friends” all of whom “have long since learned to repose their collective confidence in [his] gentler disposition and infinite discretion” (ibid, 183).  

For the most part, Weissberger took his photos for the simple fun of it and as personal mementoes. He was known among intimates for compiling the shots as “gifts for friends, to be presented in elegant gold-tooled, white-bound albums on Christmas or birthdays” (Weissberger, 1973, 282). As Weissberger’s archive of celebrity photography grew, however, so did its fame and in the late-1960s he was invited to hold several exhibitions of his work, including a major showing at the Museum of the City of New York (Weissberger, 1967). 

The highpoint of public recognition was undoubtedly the 1973 publication of Famous Faces, a lavish 450-page coffee table book from prestigious art publisher, Harry Abrams, that featured almost 1500 of Weissberger’s portraits taken over a 25 year span from 1946-1971. The literal heft of the tome was such that, when Weissberger gifted a copy to longtime friend, Hermione Gingold, she quipped, “Thanks but this isn’t for my coffee table. From now on, this is my coffee table!” (Lyons, 13).

Famous Faces is an astonishing catalogue of mid-century Anglo-American celebrity culture and a dynamic visual immersion in a long vanished world. “[A]s succinct as Boswell’s Diaries and [with] an even larger cast of characters,” notes Anita Loos in one of several appreciative celebrity “comments” peppered through the tome, “This is more than history; it is poetry and it is art” (Weissberger, 1973, 283-84). 

Certainly, these charmingly candid shots of our Julie, which are drawn from Weissberger’s gallery of greats, possess a decided poetic allure. Disarmingly simple, they arrest with their potent combination of playful ordinariness and historical import. The shot of Julie glimpsed in the background between Flora Robson and Judith Anderson is especially entrancing. Taken in 1960 when Julie had not long wrapped her long star-making turn in My Fair Lady and was about to embark on Camelot, it captures a spontaneous moment of apparent banality  – “three women at a party” – and, through serendipitous framing, lighting and, even, costume (the contrast of matronly black and virginal white), imbues the scene with a symbolic cast that borders on the epic. A triangulated drama of looks as the once and future queen of musical theatre apprehends her own - as yet only glimpsed – grande dame destiny. 

Weissberger had ambitions to develop a second volume of photographs and was also working on an autobiographical memoir to be titled “Double Exposure” when he died suddenly of an embolism in 1981 at age 74. His partner, Milton Goldman organised a special memorial at the Royale Theatre on W. 45th – where incidentally Julie made her bow in The Boy Friend which, by all accounts, played to an adoringly packed-house. “The outpouring of affection was so enormous,” reported famed Broadway correspondent, Earl Wilson (1981), “that VIPs sat in the balcony or stood” (15B) as from the stage a series of heartfelt reminiscences were delivered by, among others, Orson Welles, Ruth Gordon, Garson Kanin, Martha Graham, Louise Rainer, Douglas Fairbanks Jr, Meryl Streep, Beverly Sills, and Lillian Gish. 

It was a fittingly star-studded close to an extraordinary life for this man who remained enthralled by celebrity culture both professionally as entertainment lawyer and artistically as “the Proust of American photographers” and “the chronicler of the headliners” (Wise, B-1).

Sources

Anderson, George.”A Man of 1,500 Faces, None of Them His.” The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. 15 March 1974: 25.

Chapman, John. “Orson Welles, the Movies’ New Mr. Moneybags.” The Chicago Tribune, 13 October 1940: G-3.

Glover, William. “Fastest Shooting Lawyer Shoots Uses Camera in Hobby.” The Daily Times News. 6 March 1968: 10-A.

Harris, Radie. Radie’s World. New York: Putnam and Sons, 1975.

Hunter, Stephen. “Christmas is A-Coming and the Books are Getting Fat.” The Baltimore Sun. 6 December 1973: D3.

Lawrence, Jerome and Lee, Rober E. “Inward Bound.” William Inge: Essays and Reminiscences on the Plays and the Man. Eds. Jackson R. Bryer and Mary C. Hartig. Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Co, 2014.

Lyons, Leonard. “Lyons Den.” The Times. 7 January 1974: 13.

Weissberger, L. Arnold. Close-Up: A Collection of Photographs. New York: Arno Press, 1967.

____________.   Famous Faces: A Photograph Album of Personal Reminiscences. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1973.

Wilson, Earl. “They Faced the Critics…” Fort Lauderdale News. 12 March 1981: 15B.

Wise, Gabrielle. “'Faces’ Author Likes Unusual Mixes of His People.” The Baltimore Sun. 15 March 1974: B-1.

© 2017, Brett Farmer. All Rights Reserved.

Jerome Valeska - Captivated Crazy Pt 2

Part One - here

Part Three - here

Part Four - here

Part Five - here

(y/n) = Your name

It had been a few weeks since Y/N had been released from solitary confinement and she had already clawed her way to the top of the food chain through association. Barbara, as it turned out, was quite cosy with the millionaire serial killer, Richard Sionis. She had to admit, the blonde was smart, Barbara had effectively manipulated Sionis’ affections, and she had basically turned this hellhole into something almost liveable. Not that Y/N herself wasn’t reaping the benefits of her new friendship group, the food was far better and the company actually made waking up every morning worthwhile. Sure, the asylum was boring, but the occasional fights and hilarious jokes supplied by Jerome made her feel sane.

It was true that Y/N had grown very close to her insane redheaded friend over the weeks, his comical personality and violent behaviour drew her to him, being so complimentary to her own outlook on life. There was only one member of the group who she loathed with a passion. Robert Greenwood. It was probably due to the way he salivated whenever she was in his presence. But, if she clenched her jaw and ignored him completely, she could tolerate his existence and actually have a good time.

And that is how she was enjoying herself at the present, sitting, cross legged on the cafeteria table, playing slapsies with an over exited Dobkins, whilst the infuriating ginger took every opportunity to graze his arms against her leg, poorly acting as if he were simply readjusting his hands on the plastic table top. Over the weeks, Y/N had noticed that her friend seemed to go out of his way to grab her attention. Not that she minded much, she always had the most fun when he was around.

From somewhere behind her, she heard Barbara sigh loudly, lounged across Sionis’ lap, having her toenails meticulously painted by Helzinger.

“I’m bored,” she deadpanned, “Someone tell me a funny story.”

Sionis, ever the centre of attention, spoke up, “I have a good one, so when I was is college, I played for the varsity polo team…I had a string of ponies”

Y/N chuckled; she could almost hear Jerome’s eyes rolling dramatically beside her, and was about to make a wildly inappropriate comment about where Sionis could shove his ponies, before she was interrupted,

“Greetings, I am Zardon, the Soul Reaper!” a heavy, greasy man announced as he stumbled into the room, causing everyone to pause briefly, before resuming their conversations,

“And the maître d’ says, ‘you can’t bring them in here’”, Y/N lent down to Jerome, whispering,

“Its people like Lord Zardon over there that should be in these stripes, we’re obviously not crazy compared to him.” The ginger nodded enthusiastically, resting one his chin on one hand, looking up at you,

“I couldn’t agree with you more, doll fa-.”

“Hear me slaves my patience is wearing thin, surrender your soul to my mercy or, I swear by the Master, I shall feast on your pain, I shall gorge on your torment, I shall crush you like a bug.” And then, the fat, bald man collapse onto the table he was standing on, hacking coughs erupting from his chest.  

Y/N’s eyes grew wide, “Do you think he’s going to choke to death?” she asked, perking up considerably at the sight of the dying man, enjoying the view of his pasty skin gradually turning purple as he sputtered desperately on the  table top. Jerome began laughing maniacally at her comment as Dobkins bounced in his seat and clapped his hands together excitedly,

“I sure hope so, doll.”

Suddenly, the man halted his struggles, his body relaxing as a thick blue gas seeped out of the corpses mouth. Acting on instinct, Y/N dropped to the floor as chaos erupted around her. She may have been crazy, but Y/N was smart, smart enough to realise that the gas wasn’t falling past knee level. Through the throng of stampeding feet, Y/N crawled on her stomach to the furthest corner of the room, pushing herself away from the fumes as fast as possible. A heavy body collapsed over her leg but, with a swift kick to the head, the unconscious heap rolled off of her, giving Y/N enough room to force her head between the barred and locked doors of the cafeteria.

As the gas dissipated, Y/N spotted dark figures approaching the room, armed with guns and shooting any guard that approached them. A strained smile stretched across Y/N’s face as she watched the strangers enter the opposite end of the room. They seemed to be searching for specific people through the web of comatose bodies. A dark skinned woman, who Y/N presumed was in charge, pointed wordlessly at Dobkins and nodded, which prompted one of the men with her to heave him carelessly over his shoulder and leave the room.

It became quite apparent to Y/N that she was on the list of abductees when she felt three pairs of rough hands seize her. Shaking her head quickly to clear herself of the fumes she inhaled, Y/N’s right hand shot out. With a little gurgle, one of the men staggered backward, clutching at his bruised throat. A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout Y/N’s body. As her threat to life became more obvious, more and more assailants joined in securing her, her stomach ached, and legs began to weaken. Bruised and winded, with a leg in agony, Y/N’s head swung forwards with the force of the butt of a gun. With her tongue soaked with the taste of blood, Y/N felt herself shoved into something, before she descended into darkness.

Originally posted by caspersbastardchild

Too Much to Handle

Pairing/s: Richard Armitage x fem!reader

Warning(s)/Genre(s): Fluff, (can RA’s sexiness be considered a warning?)

Word Count: 807

Context © me

Based on @deepestfirefun‘s prompt “That look should be illegal in this time of the day.” Which is also included in the request.

A/N: First Richard Armitage drabble/one-shot, so please bare with the crappiness if there’s one. And sorry for making the reader (you) look like the girlfriend kinda obsessed in how good looking Richard is (but who wouldn’t be obsessed?!)

Now that I’m finished, @deepestfirefun you can now fire me with your Thorin request!

Masterlist: HERE

Originally posted by ausschweifendemotte

Mornings are clearly not your cup of tea, or coffee, since who knows when, especially if it’s too early in the morning.

And as much as you wanted to stay in bed all day long, you unfortunately have many things to do for the day. Like, start getting ready because your ever so loving and ever so sinfully sexy boyfriend planned to spend the rest of the day for your anniversary today.

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Supermarket Flowers by Ed Sheeran

3rd song. BTW, this features an Alex ship I’ve liked since s11, that is NOT JOLEX. Don’t read if you stan them. (I don’t have anything against them, they can be happy in canon, fine by me, I just feel like I can write whatever ship I want in FF). This is obviously a japril fic, but more or so concentrates on Jackson and Catherine’s relationship for obvious reasons. 


I took the supermarket flowers from the windowsill
I threw the day old tea from the cup
Packed up the photo album Matthew had made
Memories of a life that’s been loved

 "Jackson, honey, are you ready to go?“ 

He didn’t really remember what he was doing before his wife had called him that day, asking him to come to the hospital. There had been an accident. She’d fallen down the stairs. A misstep. There was bleeding. He needed to come. Soon. 

It had been his day off. He must have woken up and made love to his wife, he must have leisurely dropped the kids off at school, and then he must have come home, watched the game, or maybe he did the laundry. He’s not sure. There is one memory that sticks out though. Somewhere during the day, he’d gotten a call from his mom. He usually does. She’s retired now, from her job and the foundation. She has too much time on her hands. It’s usually him, April, Richard or the grandkids who are on the receiving end of her constant boredom. She called for the most mundane things, to talk about a party she’d gone to, or ask him about a surgery. Sometimes to inquire about a highly inappropriate aspect of his marriage. So, he usually didn’t answer. Sometimes he was in a surgery, a board meeting, but sometimes, he just hadn’t wanted to. That day, he just hadn’t wanted to. He was watching the game. The bloody, precious game. He’d answer tomorrow. He’d call her tomorrow. It never crossed his mind, there would be no tomorrow. 

He feels April’s hand on his shoulders, and he looks up.  

"Babe, if you need more time, we can-" 

"No. I’m done.” He nods, closes the box, and stands up. Richard had asked him the day before to come in and take whatever stuff of hers he needed to. He was giving the rest off to goodwill, apparently. The funeral hadn’t even happened. Jackson wasn’t sure why the hell he was trying to get rid of this stuff, anyway. It’s not as if he wanted to keep it forever, he wasn’t looking to create a shrine out of her room, but he wanted more time. He just needed some more time. But, Richard lives here. Jackson understood, in a way. If it was April, he wouldn’t be able to live in a place which reminded him so much of her. Still, she was his mother, first. Childish, he knew, but he didn’t feel very adult these days. 

He stands up, adjusting the box in his hand, and looks around the room once more. It’s not the last time he’ll see it. Richard will still live here. He’s still his step-father, his wife’s father-in-law and his children’s grandfather. He’ll visit, he’ll have to. But it won’t be the same. There will be a gaping hole, a silence that no one can fill. 

She loops her hand through his, and they walk out. 

“Did you take everything, son?” Richard asks, and he pats him on the back. There’s a sadness behind his smile, it never reaches his eyes. The only time he sees it full is when his grandchildren are there. Jackson understood that. He found solace in his wife and children too. Well, as much as they could offer him now. 

He nods, doesn’t really say much. There’s nothing to say, really. Nothing will make it better for anyone. Nothing stops the ache in his lungs every minute he remembers and the deep pit of guilt that never seems to go away. It never seems enough. When they’re alive, well, people don’t say I love you enough, they don’t pick up the phone enough, they never do anything that is enough. Because they always assume there’s time. He feels the hate settle in. The anger. He clenches his fists and take a deep breath. He needs to be calm. 

“How about we take this picture, hm? If Richard doesn’t mind, of course.” April asks, walking to the fireplace which was lined with frames of memories. 

“Take as many as you’d like.” He replies. 

April looks at him, and smiles hopefully. He doesn’t want a bloody picture. What good is that going to do? It’s not her. It’s an image, of a time when she was here, when he could’ve thanked her, when he could’ve been nice, when he could’ve cared enough to pick up the phone. He doesn’t need the stupid pictures. He doesn’t even need anything in this box. He’d taken it because he didn’t want to be rude. But what the hell was he going to do with the diaries she apparently kept, that he didn’t know about, or the sketch books she kept of all his achievements when he’d gone his whole life thinking she never really cared or believed in him, all that much. What the fuck was he supposed to do with those? 

He runs his fingers along the edges of the frame April is pointing to. It’s a picture of the two of them, at his high school graduation. He didn’t think anyone would come. But his mother did. And she clapped and yelled as loud as she could when he walked onto the stage. He’s absent in the picture. His eyes are looking elsewhere, probably at a friend, or a girlfriend. He wants the photo to be done. He’s looking to leave, get out. She’s looking straight to the camera, and he’s looking away. He takes it, and it takes all he has not to throw it across the room. 

He looks at the other pictures, ones with Richard, on their wedding day, a holiday with her nieces and nephews, a shopping trip with April. She was loved. Every person in that picture was looking at her with love and kindness and care. She was loved. 

“Thank you.” He nods at Richard, and walks away to the car, while April lingers behind. 

“How are you?” He hears April asking, “I’ll bring more food tonight. Call Maggie and Alex. Ask them to stay over.”

“No no, I’ll be fine. It’s a school night for the boys, and those two were here yesterday as well,” Richard replies, and Jackson can hear the smile in his voice. His step-sister Maggie had found a home with the person they all least expected her to. Alex, of all people. But they worked. Different, true, but Jackson and April knew that you didn’t need to be alike to be happy together. They had 2 boys, and a good life. He knew she was here for her father, she’d even chastised him for not grieving with Richard, but he wasn’t looking to grieve with anyone. He wasn’t looking to grieve, period. 

“How is he?” Richard enquires.

“He’s…. angry. He’s closing up, and he’s building all these walls, and I’m not really sure how to get through to him,” She whispers, and he feels a little guilty because she sounds stressed, “I’m not expecting him to get over it. Of course not. I just want him to let me in. Let me grieve with him.”

“He just need some time. This is how he’s choosing to deal with it. Alone. So give him some time. He’s his mother’s son, after all.” He laughs, but it’s a sad laugh, and Jackson is sick of hearing sad laughs. He walks away before she finds him eavesdropping on the hallway. 

She gets in the car, and faces him, “Ready?" 

He doesn’t respond. He’s not sure if he is. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be.  

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anonymous asked:

I was wondering, Bruce and Dick relationship is more of a older brother/younger brother or father/son? It makes me think everytime I remember the scene after Bruce "death" where Dick says he was his brother and best friend (Batman and Robin #7). Despite not feeling this way about their relationship this scene always get my attention and makes me think.... This one is a little silly question, but do you think if Dick had a kid it would call Bruce uncle or grandfather?

I sometimes refer to Bruce and Dick as non-romantic soulmates (in the comics. Your mileage may vary in regards to the romance). I put the non-romantic in there because I have always heard soulmates used in a romantic sense, although I don’t think the term has to be romantic. Anyway, Bruce and Dick have a big brother/younger brother and father/son and mentor/mentee and partners relationship that defies easy categorization. They have had their troubles, but they are so close. As Bruce said, Dick saved him from a dark place and is still saving him every day.

While sometimes DC’s lack of consistency (Bruce adopting Dick; Dick calling Bruce his brother) bothers me, at others times I think it’s a nice touch. It gives a bit of flexibility to their relationship that makes it easier for all kinds of people to identify with it. Personally, I prefer father/son because it reminds me of my own close relationship with my mom (minus the whole getting fired aspect), who had me when she was younger than your average parent. It’s not difficult for me to imagine Dick seeing Bruce as a parental figure, even if Bruce is only 12-18 (I guess?) years older than him.

But that might not work for some people. Not everyone is close to their parents; some people are much closer to their siblings. Some people might see the Dick-Bruce relationship as not parental enough since Bruce lets Dick become a vigilante and that’s dangerous. Some people might have much older or much younger siblings, and filter Dick and Bruce’s relationship through those experiences. I don’t have that personal experience, but I was recently reading a historical fiction novel and was fascinated by the parallels I saw between Bruce and Dick and the way the author wrote the relationship of the future Richard III to his (10 years older) older brother Edward IV. Obviously it wasn’t exact, and the parallels might have been more that the fictional future R3, now fatherless, was looking up to his brother as both a big brother and a father figure. But it helped me understand just how close siblings with a large age gap can be.

Which is to say: I think the Dick and Bruce relationship is one of, if not the, most important relationship in their lives. The difficulty in classifying that relationship, though, can allow fans to relate to it through an important relationship in their own lives, whatever that may be, instead of seeing it as strictly father/son or brother/brother or whatever. It’s flexibility/ambiguity gives it so many layers and makes it one of the most fascinating (and probably discussed) relationships in comics.

If Dick had a child, though, I think Bruce would totally be Grandpa and not Uncle. With Dick being the older brother to the other batkids, who have a more straightforward parental relationship with Bruce (not that they are easy relationships but that DC has depicted them more clearly as parent/child or parent-figure/child), it would be too weird for Dick’s kid to call Bruce “uncle.” With Damian as the child’s uncle, it would be too much to have Damian’s father also be an uncle. It would confuse people and require too much explanation. Grandpa is the path of least resistance.

Rockwood Photo ops

Here’s my photo ops from Rockwood 2017.

Well I just wanted to hug Rob he gives really good hugs. For the record I’m actually the same height as him he’s on his tiptoes.

I did this to have a laugh with my cousin Allen who refuses to acknowledge my Facebook posts about how him and Stephen Norton look alike only Stephen has more hair, but Allen’s siblings and nieces and nephews find it hilarious. We also have the same last name Norton, but we’re not related his Norton descendents came from Norway mine from England. Talking to him about it though on Friday we think we’re probably very distantly related on his mother’s side of the family they came from Scotland and my Dad’s mother’s side is decended from Scotland.

Also on crazy coincidences Allen has a sister Pamala who’s married name is Swain, and I used to have a cat named Lucky that I found and rescued so the cat was also Lucky Norton.

Nothing to tell really just a photo op of me and Jason. Jason Manns is the most awesome guy though and super approachable. At the start of the weekend I was internally fangirling and panicking when run into him, by the end of the weekend it was “hey Jason. You seen my friends out here? I thought they were out smoking.”


Rob being the adorable nerd he is wrote long live the Swaingels on it when signing my op. I chose to get Rob to sign this one along with Jason because the printing organisation was terrible for the ops, also the ops are all different and odd sizes. As for Jason after his last stageit when he kept getting cut out all the time I made him a really really long cat5 cable and gave it to him. I’m not sure how long the cable is exactly but it stretches from one side of my house to the other.


Some of you probably seen this one before it was all over twitter. I had no idea what I wanted them to do, so I said make something up. They decided to do the poses on my tshirt. I got them to sign it and I was joking with them as they did and said “well Scout should call foul on that, technically you didn’t make it up, she did.”

And Billy replied, “tweet that to Scout, CC us,” with this real mischievous tone. So me being the playfully mischievous type myself tweeted it to @consulting-cannibal soon as I could get a good picture of it.


Group hug! Gil actually excitedly greeted me and said, “hay Rachel” then to Rich who had just got there a few hours ago because he’d been directing an episode of Supernatural, “or maybe we’re just making up names now.” I think they’d all been teasing him for being a Sunday person in different ways like that.


Another make something up op. So Rich said, “we’re a basketball team and we’re standing really close for a team photo and we’re really mean so make mean faces.” Only problem was Richard was deliberately trying to make us laugh and the whole room couldn’t stop laughing yet alone us.


My op with Rob and Rich


Scottish Country/Blues/Classic Rock singer Paul Carella. I’ve always been a fan of country music, and a fan of Paul’s since the Station Broke in London.

Worst Fear Part 3 - Peter Parker

Summary- Wanda and Peter get into a fight, so she shows him his worst fear to shut him up, surprisingly finding out Peter has a massive crush on you

Part Two  Part Four

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Originally posted by manny-mellark

You jumped at the sound of someone crashing into the locker next to your own, making you glare in the direction of the person who made the loud sound.

It was Richard. The boy had been trying to get you to go on a date with him for at least two years now, all because you dated for about two hours in fifth grade. He’s been obsessed with you ever since.

You had to admit though, he was kind of attractive, with his hair that was always perfectly in place, and that smirk that would literally make girls weak at the knees.

Not you though.

Apart from being attractive he was also a massive asshole. He treated people like they were disposable, as if they were lucky to be in his presence. As if! You couldn’t stand to be within ten metres of the guy.

That didn’t stop him though. This routine worked like clockwork. Every morning you’d get the books from your locker that you knew you needed, and he would use some cheesy pick up line he’d found online, or would just straight up ask her out.

“Hey sweet cheeks.” 

You were tempted to bang your head on your locker, hoping then he’d maybe get the idea. Instead, you opted to slam your locker, then lean upon it.

“What do you want, Richard?”

“Are you religious?”

You let a groan at where you thought this was going, but decided to let it play out.

“No-” “Because you’re the answer to all my prayers.”

The smirk he wore made you want to slap it off his smug little face.

“Go on a date with me, tomorrow night?”

You were so close to laughing in his face, seconds away from humiliating him in front of the entire corridor, including his mates that were standing just metres away. Close enough to hear every word.

Then of course there were his little fans that followed Richard around like lost puppies, who were currently glaring into the back of your head, probably hoping that it’d explode.

It was then you saw one person pass that you knew could help you, unknowingly and probably unwillingly of course.

You pulled him by the back of his rucksack, missing the look of surprise on his face, then interlocked your fingers into his own and smiled up at Richard.

“As much as I really would love to, I’m afraid I’m going out with Peter tomorrow night.”

Pushing past the teen that looked like he wanted to murder Peter right now, who was dragging behind, trying to hide the blush on his face from the close contact with you.

When you were out of shouting distance of Richard, his friends and his fan club, you pulled him round the corner and finally let go of his hand.

“Umm Y/N…” “Yeah, Peter?” “What the hell just happened.”

You turned to him, as you’d been looking whether Richard might follow you down the corridor to bug you two more. 

“Well, you just saved my ass, you’re basically my hero right now.”

Peter’s eyes bulged slightly, but you dismissed it as you knew Peter was quite awkward when he got complimented.

“Hey Y/N-” “Shh!”

You peeked your head around the corner, hearing Richard messing about with his friends. For once in your time of knowing him, you were thanking god for the fact he was so loud.

“Peter he’s coming, what do I do?” “I don’t know.”

Richard’s footsteps were growing louder and louder, his obnoxious laugh getting more annoying as both you and Peter were panicking.

He was too close now to make a run for it down the hall, and there was nowhere to hide, so you did the only thing you knew would stop him talking to you.

Just as Richard rounded the corner, you grabbed Peter’s arms and pulled them to your waist, making his lips collide with your own.

At first Peter froze. Then he sort of figured he should close his eyes.

They fluttered shut when you brought your arms around his neck, fiddling with the baby hairs at the bottom of it.

Your lips slowly synchronised and the pair of you couldn’t help but melt into it, his arms finally pulling you closer to him instead of them just being awkwardly locked around your waist.

You didn’t even realise Richard had been and gone, it was only when the first bell of the day rung out that you two separated.

You removed your hands from Peter’s now disheveled hair, and his arms came loosely by his side.

“I should go to Spanish…”

You didn’t let Peter get a word in as you walked away, trying to forget about the sparks you felt when his lips came in contact with yours. 

Trainee Killer

A/N: I changed it a bit where the reader is sort of James’ apprentice in killing all because I didn’t get what you meant by ‘future serial killer’ I don’t know if im being stupid or what. Hope that’s okay but other than that slight change everything follows what you wanted me to write. Sorry if its not that good I had writers block with this one… 

ONE SHOT REQUESTS ARE CLOSED!

James x Reader

Word Count: 1,205

Requested 

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