bruce wayne & ra's al ghul | i got you crawling up a mountainobscuronoctisMarch 14 2010, 12:30:28 UTC
(Sometimes you fuck it up; sometimes you get to go back.)
It's not unusual for a teacher to discipline his student, particularly this teacher and this student; Bruce Wayne is brilliant and adept and a white-hot star burning at the very center of the goddamn universe, but he has something of an aggression problem and something of an ego, and occasionally he needs to be pinned to the floor by his throat until he fucking behaves. Oiled, ancient wood, even cared for as it is, splinters through wool into flesh and it's only when Bruce is on the brink of asphyxiation that Ducard lets up. There's something weighted about this moment, more desperate and more dangerous, and it's not just the fact that Bruce has managed to jam his right thumb through skin and muscle into his mentor's bicep in an attempt to break his hold. Blood seeps through his uniform and over his student's hand, and neither of them move
( ... )
bruce wayne & ra's al ghul | hanging 'round my neckobscuronoctisMarch 14 2010, 12:31:25 UTC
(There's no such thing.)
It's not an unreasonable plan. Not a proposition, not an idea - a plan. Something that's going to happen because it's always been the reality of things because it's the right path. To map eternity you must understand the projection of your footsteps and the echoes you make; to bind that blood and fire, it must go on, and immortality is something carefully groomed and practiced. Talia is a warrior woven of iron meant to be tempered, strong enough not to be incinerated. Furthermore she is his daughter and will do what he damn well tells her to do.
It is not, in no particular order, 'fucked up', 'sick', 'a betrayal', 'really disturbingly reminiscent of Nazi experiments', 'and not even the man I want to marry anywayBruce holds him and it's not like a lover, not anymore, but like someone furious and on edge. Henri can see the wounded shade to his heartbeat and feel the way his hands dig into his arms, fingers pressing against that scar, and he knows they're on a precipice
( ... )
bruce & cat | when you were here beforeobscuronoctisMarch 15 2010, 06:30:25 UTC
Dreams end.
That isn't to say they aren't worth having, or that they're fruitless, but that's the simple nature of them: they end. They are fleeting, mostly-forgotten, and difficult to understand. You wake up. You move on. The haunted feeling something poignant can birth within you is not a dream chasing you, but your own subconscious.
Dreams end.
When Bruce Wayne wakes up in his penthouse, stitched in more places he thought he had and reeling from all the painkillers Alfred could inject into him without causing heart failure, that's all the alien city is. A dream that's ended, and one whose details melt away into obscurity in his mind like ice under a tap. He doesn't forget, because he doesn't forget anything, but life-awake takes the forefront of his mind, as it always does, and dreams are just dreams, after all.
It takes him a while to make the connection - not because the world's greatest detective is slipping, but because dreams in which dark-haired pretty-eyed women watch him as he dies are not exactly inspired uniqueness
( ... )
bruce & cat | couldn't look you in the eyeobscuronoctisMarch 15 2010, 06:31:15 UTC
-The blackness takes him and he doesn't remember how he manages to pull himself to the surface, but he does remember warm hands on his face in the water, and soft lips against his, granting him air that doesn't split his ribcage and shielding him from the tide. He coughs and shakes for an hour on an inlet of the rocky harbor barrier before he can manage to make the call, and then for another hour before his poor beleaguered valet can even find him.
“It's not a succubus,” he announces before he passes out, “She's a mermaid.”
Alfred keeps him in bed and on Valium for a week.
As it turns out, Catherine Ruhamah is neither a succubus nor a mermaid, but an oneironaut; specifically, an oneironaut who had been in her astral form when all the dreamers were woken up and cast from that alien city Bruce doesn't quite remember. Cat, however, remembers it quite well. So well in fact that instead of becoming unmade - a psychic death, mortal as anything else - her consciousness clung to that of another, one that she'd already been steeped in and
( ... )
bruce & cat | you're just like an angelobscuronoctisMarch 15 2010, 06:32:09 UTC
He dreams of her and her steely gaze, hands clasped around the shoulders of a young boy who stands with his back to her chest, who watches him with blue eyes that are familiar in a way he can't place and doesn't want to, but Cat's already made her decision and in doing so, she's made their decision.
“You're going to do this,” she informs him. “I won't threaten you because I don't have much to threaten with, but you're going to do this.”
She cries, then, because she can feel his panic and also because she's never made a decision for them before - it's his mind, his body, his soul and his life and she's nothing but an echo, a decoration on his psyche, a little heart-pin on his sleeve no one can see but them. He holds her and he doesn't understand and she won't explain, just cries into his chest and says, “I love you
( ... )
ecurb & annataz | because if you didn't like meobscuronoctisMarch 15 2010, 09:31:06 UTC
A long time ago, in one dimension or another - we don't talk about galaxies here, because every dimension's got the same one, it's just who's on what edge of the 'bumfuck nowhere' parallel line equation - there was a young man who was the same man but very different, being someone rather far removed from the Epicenter of Everything.
“Have you ever considered,” interjected Bruce Wayne of a Certain Universe from the other side of the fourth wall, “That maybe my universe is the center, and it just gets more and more crazy and improbable as it goes outward? I don't see why I have to be a fringe world just because things actually make sense here.”
“That's a good point,” replied his typist, “But the fact of the matter is you're the baby, so suck it up.”
Whether or not he has anything else to say is never discovered, because he is silenced out of necessity; we've got a story to tell here, and complaints about the relevancy of universes are not pertinent. The point is that there was a time when Bruce Wayne was a boy and he spent most of
( ... )
ecurb & annataz | i would still like you you seeobscuronoctisMarch 15 2010, 09:32:06 UTC
“You know,” said the Nolanverse Zatanna that doesn't really exist, “You're spending an awful lot of time on some mostly superfluous junk here - not that I mind, but this is her drabble, not mine.”
“Yeah, well,” sighed the much put-upon typist in response, rubbing her temples from all these interruptions, “I have to explain context for his-and-your side here, since we've all already got hers-and-his.”
“You could move that along, though.”
“But-”
“Deeps it pu!”
And despite the fact that there's not magic in Nolanverse, this works. Bruce and Zatanna stayed friends, if on-and-off ones that often fell out of contact thanks to her father's schedule and his own tendency to not communicate unless hit in the head in person. She got her first extended engagement in Las Vegas at age twenty-one, and Bruce flew out to see her in the first week (she wouldn't let him show up on opening night, when all the kinks weren't worked out yet) and a picture of them holding hands and almost a little more in Parasol Up landed on page six. (Zee laughed,
( ... )
Comments 18
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It's not unusual for a teacher to discipline his student, particularly this teacher and this student; Bruce Wayne is brilliant and adept and a white-hot star burning at the very center of the goddamn universe, but he has something of an aggression problem and something of an ego, and occasionally he needs to be pinned to the floor by his throat until he fucking behaves. Oiled, ancient wood, even cared for as it is, splinters through wool into flesh and it's only when Bruce is on the brink of asphyxiation that Ducard lets up. There's something weighted about this moment, more desperate and more dangerous, and it's not just the fact that Bruce has managed to jam his right thumb through skin and muscle into his mentor's bicep in an attempt to break his hold. Blood seeps through his uniform and over his student's hand, and neither of them move ( ... )
Reply
It's not an unreasonable plan. Not a proposition, not an idea - a plan. Something that's going to happen because it's always been the reality of things because it's the right path. To map eternity you must understand the projection of your footsteps and the echoes you make; to bind that blood and fire, it must go on, and immortality is something carefully groomed and practiced. Talia is a warrior woven of iron meant to be tempered, strong enough not to be incinerated. Furthermore she is his daughter and will do what he damn well tells her to do.
It is not, in no particular order, 'fucked up', 'sick', 'a betrayal', 'really disturbingly reminiscent of Nazi experiments', 'and not even the man I want to marry anywayBruce holds him and it's not like a lover, not anymore, but like someone furious and on edge. Henri can see the wounded shade to his heartbeat and feel the way his hands dig into his arms, fingers pressing against that scar, and he knows they're on a precipice ( ... )
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I...kind of love this.
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Bruce/Cat because I can.
Bruce/Julian. Yeah.
Reply
That isn't to say they aren't worth having, or that they're fruitless, but that's the simple nature of them: they end. They are fleeting, mostly-forgotten, and difficult to understand. You wake up. You move on. The haunted feeling something poignant can birth within you is not a dream chasing you, but your own subconscious.
Dreams end.
When Bruce Wayne wakes up in his penthouse, stitched in more places he thought he had and reeling from all the painkillers Alfred could inject into him without causing heart failure, that's all the alien city is. A dream that's ended, and one whose details melt away into obscurity in his mind like ice under a tap. He doesn't forget, because he doesn't forget anything, but life-awake takes the forefront of his mind, as it always does, and dreams are just dreams, after all.
It takes him a while to make the connection - not because the world's greatest detective is slipping, but because dreams in which dark-haired pretty-eyed women watch him as he dies are not exactly inspired uniqueness ( ... )
Reply
“It's not a succubus,” he announces before he passes out, “She's a mermaid.”
Alfred keeps him in bed and on Valium for a week.
As it turns out, Catherine Ruhamah is neither a succubus nor a mermaid, but an oneironaut; specifically, an oneironaut who had been in her astral form when all the dreamers were woken up and cast from that alien city Bruce doesn't quite remember. Cat, however, remembers it quite well. So well in fact that instead of becoming unmade - a psychic death, mortal as anything else - her consciousness clung to that of another, one that she'd already been steeped in and ( ... )
Reply
“You're going to do this,” she informs him. “I won't threaten you because I don't have much to threaten with, but you're going to do this.”
She cries, then, because she can feel his panic and also because she's never made a decision for them before - it's his mind, his body, his soul and his life and she's nothing but an echo, a decoration on his psyche, a little heart-pin on his sleeve no one can see but them. He holds her and he doesn't understand and she won't explain, just cries into his chest and says, “I love you ( ... )
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“Have you ever considered,” interjected Bruce Wayne of a Certain Universe from the other side of the fourth wall, “That maybe my universe is the center, and it just gets more and more crazy and improbable as it goes outward? I don't see why I have to be a fringe world just because things actually make sense here.”
“That's a good point,” replied his typist, “But the fact of the matter is you're the baby, so suck it up.”
Whether or not he has anything else to say is never discovered, because he is silenced out of necessity; we've got a story to tell here, and complaints about the relevancy of universes are not pertinent. The point is that there was a time when Bruce Wayne was a boy and he spent most of ( ... )
Reply
“Yeah, well,” sighed the much put-upon typist in response, rubbing her temples from all these interruptions, “I have to explain context for his-and-your side here, since we've all already got hers-and-his.”
“You could move that along, though.”
“But-”
“Deeps it pu!”
And despite the fact that there's not magic in Nolanverse, this works. Bruce and Zatanna stayed friends, if on-and-off ones that often fell out of contact thanks to her father's schedule and his own tendency to not communicate unless hit in the head in person. She got her first extended engagement in Las Vegas at age twenty-one, and Bruce flew out to see her in the first week (she wouldn't let him show up on opening night, when all the kinks weren't worked out yet) and a picture of them holding hands and almost a little more in Parasol Up landed on page six. (Zee laughed, ( ... )
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That was very adorable, thank you. :)
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Otherwise I'm good, Batface doesn't need more slash.
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