Notefinal - Tumblr Blog
my queue is very nearly empty and i’d like to fill it again, so consider this a starter call. specify muse or else you don’t get anything.
my queue is very nearly empty and i’d like to fill it again, so consider this a starter call. specify muse or else you don’t get anything.
Alfred doesn’t pretend to know what goes on in Bruce’s head, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try. And if Bruce is spending more time with the Justice League than normal, there must be a reason for it. And if there’s a reason for it, Alfred will be informed. Hopefully. He knows all too well Bruce’s penchant for secrecy. “While I am sure Master Bruce has his reasons,” he starts, hands clasped behind his back as he looks over at her, “I am also sure that he will inform us of those reasons as soon as he can.” Alfred will be informed. He’s not so sure about her. But he doesn’t say that. There’s no use riling her up again.
@notefinal said: “ Come now, is that any way to talk to me? ” / alfred to gotham
For a moment, she looks legitimately chastened. Draws back, brows furrowing over too-familiar eyes. It's quickly chased away by amusement. Something closer to her normal self-possessed mien. Still, she inclines her head. Slight, but clear.
He may not be of Gotham, originally, but that's only more reason for him to have earned her respect.
"But you agree. It's untenable. It was one thing for him to join them for emergencies, but this?"
“Wait.” Art takes a step forward and sets a hand on Archie’s arm. “Don’t. I’ll walk you out.” They can go out the back entrance. They won’t be seen that way, and it’ll be a lot less of a hassle trying to navigate the dark corridors of the venue rather than trying to get through the crowds of people inside. He laughs softly. “I do.” Art hates these parties as much as Archie does. Or at least, as much as he assumes Archie does. “Come on.” He takes a step back from Archie and towards the door. “Let’s go, it’s not too far.”
ACTOR TAKES THE SHAPE OF YET another role. Wears the skin of another man as long as it helps him escape from the prying eyes of the people inside. The offered champagne is eagerly accepted ( a moment to simply hold it in his hand, he does not want to appear too eager to tip back the alcohol after all. ) Blue eyes glance once more to the world below. HE CONSIDERS IT FOR A MOMENT TOO LONG. To jump, to see if he is part cat and able to always land on his feet too.
❝ I'll go first if it will get me out of here. ❞ The itch of a panic attack is bubbling up inside his chest. The rhythmic pounding of his heart against his rib cage was a frantic reminder that he was meant to stay home under the safe covers of a heavy blanket. He should have listened to his therapist. ❝ No offence, of course. Lovely party, well organized. There are just too many people here. You know how it is. ❞
There’s nothing wrong with what Robin’s saying, but Loki bristles at her words anyway. “This isn’t a lot of work.” In the grand scheme of things, it’s barely any work at all. “You can believe whatever you like.” He folds his arms across his chest and stares out at the skyline, glaring daggers at the horizon. “I don’t care.” A lie, but he’s good at lying. He’s not the god of mischief for nothing, after all.
@notefinal said: “ No, I don’t care about anything at all. ” / loki to robin
"...I find that hard to believe."
No one has ever really accused Robin of being an optimist. But she has her moments. Looking over the skyline, she keeps her voice carefree. Playful. Last thing she wants is to come across as condescending.
"This is an awful lot of work for not caring about anything. That takes some kinda feeling."
Lock’s eyes narrow. “I own these woods.” He and Mother own these woods. “And I’m not a man. I’m a boy.” He doesn’t like the idea of being a man. His father is a man, and his father broke Mother’s heart. If that’s what men do, he doesn’t want to be a man. His eyes narrow even further as Honey continues to speak. They’re not making any sense. Lock doesn’t like it when things don’t make sense. Lock doesn’t like a lot of things, but he especially doesn’t like it when things don’t make sense.
“I don’t want to give you anything. I want you to leave.” He’ll kill them if he has to, but he’s feeling generous today. He’ll give them time to leave on their own before he kills them. He shouldn’t, but he will.
ONCE BROWN EYES ARE STAINED with yellow. The colour sprinkled through like stars. Soon, they would take another shape. Soon, they would no longer appear human to the eyes of the manboy before them. SOMETHING WITH A SNOUT, perhaps ? Something with teeth sharp enough to tear flesh, for certain. ❝ Man owns nothing. ❞ They snarl, certain of their words. ❝ Only that which they make, but even that is borrowed from the land. ❞
Who are they ? An excellent question. What do they want ? An even better one. Honey tilts their head, and squints their eyes. ❝ They call me Honey, or nothing at all. And what I want is unknown even to me, but I know it is not anything you can give. ❞
⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒ — send me 💬 or "unsent texts" i'll share three texts my muse typed but never sent yours.
fun (sad) fact about tashi in my challengers au
she knows what patrick is doing to art and she doesn’t care. in her mind, it’s art getting punished for cheating on her, even though he doesn’t want to be.
Good. He would’ve felt bad if he’d kept her waiting. He rubs her side gently, trying to calm her down as much as he’s trying to calm himself down. He doesn’t think Johanna suspects anything—he doesn’t think anyone suspects anything—but he’s always worried he’s going to do something and slip up. He doesn’t need her worrying about him. He doesn’t need anyone worrying about him. He’s fine. He just needs to find more money before his tuition runs out. But he will. He will. He’ll win something one of these days. He will. “I’m fine. I’ve just been—busy.” He feels stupid for not having an actual reason, but he can’t think of anything that won’t arouse suspicion. “I’ve missed you, too.” He sighs quietly. “We should do something. Go to the library or the beach or something.”
she waits for him to explain what "busy" was, but frowns when she doesn't get an answer. shouldn't they be telling each other everything? whenever something happens to her, waiting to tell arthur is unbearable. ❝ no. it wasn't bad at all. ❞ arms clasp behind her back as she leans into his embrace. it's difficult to act casual when her stomach is in a nauseating knot of concern and heartsickness. ❝ but i feel like i haven't seem you much at all recently. i miss you. ❞ she moves a hand to wrap around him. ❝ are you alright? ❞
He laughs. He can’t help it. “Yeah. Good thing.” They’re both liars. Every pirate in the world is a liar. It’s practically in the job description. He laughs again. “Endearing, huh? You sure you didn’t swallow a dictionary, sweetheart?” He goes easily into the kiss, smiling against her mouth and as they separate. “Careful. You keep doin’ that, I’m gonna assume you’re in love with me.” His grin widens. “Can’t have that, now can ya?” Riff doesn’t care if she’s in love with him or not. Actually, that’s not true, but he’s not quite ready to admit that yet.
He shifts his weight as if he’s going to get up, but he ultimately decides to stay put. It’s not every day he has the upper hand like this, so he’s going to take advantage of it while it lasts. “You got any good plans for today?” He rests his hands on her lower abdomen and drums his fingers against her ribs. “Hm?”
THE CLEARING OF HIS THROAT FEELS like a victory. Sweeter than the ringing of cannon fire through the still air of night. She has won the battle, not the war. They're both winded, taking a moment to gather themselves. HAD SHE BEEN A KINDER WOMAN, she might have considered it romantic. The tension of heaving lungs and the reminder of the ghost of his lips still haunting hers. She should shove her knee between his lungs. ❝ You say sure, like a liar. Good thing we are both dishonest, no ? ❞ Captain does not elaborate on which lies she tells ⎯⎯⎯ have him believe she would not slit his throat ( perhaps she wouldn't. Or perhaps she would. )
In the blink of a moment the world shift ; the way the air grows heavy and rich mere moments before a storm unleashes hell on earth. All it takes is a sharp inhale through gritted teeth before it is her back that's resting on the ground. THE NERVE OF THE FUCKING SHIT ! ❝ If you wouldn't want me to beat you up, you shouldn't look so endearing when I do. ❞ Her jaw is locked, voice rough with anger that has nowhere to go. Oh, damn it all to hell ! A hand sneaks up to the back of his neck and drags him down so she can steal another kiss from him.
it's always so fascinating and heartbreaking when a character in a story is simultaneously idolized and abused. a chosen prophet destined for martyrdom. a child prodigy forced to grow up too fast. a powerful warrior raised as nothing but a weapon. there's just something so uniquely messed up about singing someone's praises whilst destroying them.
Send my muse anons pretending to be someone they care about. The twist: make these anons as heartbreaking, disappointing, or anger-inducing as possible.
Pretend to give them bad news, pretend to break up with them, pretend to make an upsetting confession - as long as it hurts, it’s fair game.
Dally hasn’t been back to Tulsa in months. He’s tried not to think about it. He felt bad leaving the guys without a word, but he knew it would be better if he slipped away in the middle of the night. He’d stolen a car and driven until he’d run out of gas, and then he’d slept in the backseat until morning. He still doesn’t know the name of the town he stopped in, but he’s been here for months now. The garage he works at is fairly close to the local campus, which works out when he wants to bring a girl home. He brings a girl home practically every night.
Last night hadn’t been any different to most of his nights. The morning, however, is apparently going to be different. He’s not a morning person to begin with, and being woken up by the sound of shrieking is a surefire way to piss him off. “Can you shut up?” He sits up and fixes the girl with a glare. And then he blinks. Fuck. “Jesus—Cherry?” He hasn’t seen Cherry Valance in months. He hasn’t even thought about Cherry Valance in months. And yet, here she is. In his bed. He runs a hand down his face and stares at her. “Cherry. Cherry, stop screaming. It’s giving me a headache.” He needs coffee. He needs to find his pants first.
@notefinal
i hope i never see him again or i will. words spoken to a boy younger than her that she thought might understand her years ago. after bob, after that fight, after tulsa, she'd sworn off love. just for a little while, she told marcia when she offered to set her up with a cousin, until i get over... she didn't have to finish her sentence. cherry va.lance was through with primping herself before a date and boyfriends altogether... four years later, she still hasn't accepted an invitation to a dance.
college was a fresh start away from tulsa and seeing the greasers around school. away from dallas w.inston who she was ever-determined not to fall in love with.
dates, she'd sworn off of. parties, she hadn't.
maybe she should've.
the first think cherry notices as her eyelids flicker is a plethora of unfamiliar. dingy ceiling boding over her like some sort of omen, the smell of dust despite the physical absence of it and someone next to her. there's the faint memory of being sweet-talked by someone last night. cherry hadn't expected herself to go this far. ( the first guy she's ever slept with and she didn't learn his name. ) clutching sheets to her chest, she turns over.
i hope i never see him again.
d.allas w.inston.
she shrieks.
plotting call! please have an idea of what you want to plot when i approach you.
Cameron finds the box a lot sooner than Jerome was expecting. It puts a little wrinkle in his plan, but that’s fine. He can still carry it out. He glances at the box and then at Cameron, frowning. “No.” The only movies Jerome had access to at the circus were old ones, and Arkham doesn’t have much in the way of entertainment. “Come on. Grab it and let’s get out of here.” They don’t really need the box, it’s more about what’s in it, but Jerome will let Cameron think they need the box.
He pulls Crane’s fear toxin from his jacket and smashes the vials against the side of the window sill. Hopefully it’ll spread through the whole house. He hopes Jonathan wasn’t expecting a report. He’s already out the window by the time the toxin starts wafting towards the ceiling. “Gimme the box.”
"Box." He repeats, more for himself in confirmation than anything else. Cameron is good at this -- he WILL be, he HAS to be. Can't let the new 'friend' he met on a whim, down and out, can he? No. He has a name to make, a face to splay on America's Most Fucking Wanted maybe -- if that's even a thing anymore with how many Indian Hill monsters are running around.
The blond wets his lips with a quick slide of tongue as he slinks into the warehouse. It only takes about thirty seconds of searching, maybe a few off-- but Junior eventually manages to find an adequately sized box aforementioned by his partner in crime. "Ooh-- is this it?" He calls over, hunkered down in between some crates and tarp covered material. It was nestled in with some hemp-looking sacks and hidden under a batch of what looked like imported pickles. Is that even a THING?
"You ever see that movie Seven?" Cameron asks idly, chuckling soon after as he seems to quote said movie -- "Whaaaaat's in the boooox?" God, he hopes Jerome has at least seen or heard of the damn movie or he's going to feel super awkward.
someone confronting tashi or patrick about how they treated/are treating art. this can be during stanford (for patrick), during canon (for both of them), or after canon (also for both of them)
interview threads with art, noah, or ricky
current wishlist
anything with bucky during his time as the winter soldier or immediately following the end of captain america: the winter soldier
anything with riff in his hunger games verse
anything with any of my fandom verses
anything with noah
anything with riff immediately post canon, especially if your muse was the one to get him to a hospital because chances are he’s going to be incredibly angry with them
anything with either of the valeska twins
anything with my muses from the prestige
anything with art during his time at stanford or during his canon. i typically write him post canon, but i love getting to write him during canon as well
anything with tashi and patrick, either during or after their canon. please keep in mind that they are awful people who have absolutely no remorse for their actions
Where are we going then? The question makes Jerome’s unnaturally wide smile stretch even wider. “You’ll see.” He shifts the van into drive and pulls away from the manor. He’s practically vibrating with excitement. He’s very pleased with himself for managing to pull this off. After a few minutes of tense silence, Jerome sighs dramatically and flips the radio on. He hums along to the song spilling from the speakers, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in time to the beat. “Loosen up, Bruce. This is gonna be fun.” It’ll be fun for Jerome, at least. And that’s all that matters. He cackles as they continue on to their destination, his laughter mixing with the music to create an odd cacophony of noise.
When they arrive at the carnival, Jerome hops out and grabs a bag and a pair of handcuffs out of the back of the van. He shoves the bag over Bruce’s head and clamps the handcuffs around his wrists. “Come on, handsome.” He tugs Bruce from the van and shoves him in the direction of the carnival. “Don’t worry, you won’t be a baghead for long.” He laughs again, giggling as they get closer to the carnival.
When they reach the entrance, he whips the bag from Bruce’s head and tosses it over his shoulder with all the dramatic flair he can muster. “What d’ya think? Ya like it?” He drapes an arm around Bruce’s shoulder and shoves his face next to Bruce’s. “Hm? Come on, gimme something! I can’t work with silence, Bruce.” As he speaks, he leads Bruce deeper into the carnival, occasionally pausing to play one of the macabre games his followers had set up. He wins a stuffed octopus at one of them and proudly presents it to Bruce. “For you, darlin’.”
He fought the frown that threatened to form upon his facade — a mask of the young man he imagined his father would have wanted him to be: calm, collected and calculating. With a stifled exhale he regains his composure, returning his steady gaze towards his captor. If prodded about his passed parents upon their first meeting, perhaps the performer might have triggered a desired reaction. However, as the years without them neared the number with, Bruce forced himself to adapt to their absence. Not that he wasn't without his juvenile outbursts; when Alfred first forced socialization upon the grieving, self-isolating adolescent, he didn't make it a day before finding a fight with Tommy Elliott and his imbecilic entourage who found pleasure in rubbing salt in the young orphan's fresh wounds. He had learned two lessons that day: when to hold back and when to hit hard (and, that his father's watch was an excellent makeshift wrist wrap in a pinch).
His expression darkens at the mention of Alfred. Bruce's gaze flickers, falters, yet his lips stay sealed, sewn shut in stubborn defiance. Dark hues widen once more following the random intrusion of his personal life — or rather, the embarrassing lack thereof. Not that Jerome necessarily knew that. But before he could come up with anything cunning, Jerome had already thrown another punch. Pretty boy, Bruce loathes the deep scarlet that surfaces upon his cheeks. He scowls in response to Jerome's growing grin, jerking himself as far from the joker's touch as he can manage. This only tightens the gloved grip of the showman, however, and Bruce feels himself launched towards the night's cool call. His attention shifts and for a minute he leaves the moment, instead staring ahead at the shattered surface of the broken glass that webbed the destruction of Jerome's entrance. He found himself mesmerized by the shimmering shards of sharp glass that glistened against the backdrop of snow that began to gather. Bruce looked towards the dark sky above, charcoal clouds obscured the city in the distance molded into an enormous, ominous entity. For a few seconds, the sickle moon shone through the shadows, reminding Bruce of his mother's shy smile. Jerome could kill him here and now. And maybe Bruce should have egged him on. Maybe then he could return to his parents and be free of the showman's stunts. With closed eyes he could picture the ghosts of his parents with their arms open, ready to soothe him into the eternal silence. But it wasn't his time yet. No, not yet. Not here and not now. He staggered under Jerome's grip, his blush growing as he was easily overpowered and pulled every which way. He grimaces, giving the joker a rough shove but doing little to hinder the larger's hold. He hated this, how helpless he felt — it brought him back to that day, that allyway. A harsh voice in the back of his mind questioned the purpose of all his training if he could still be so easily subdued. You couldn't save them then and you wouldn't be able to now. Say goodbye, he shakes his head, messy raven locks obscured his expression. He's survived Jerome once and he'd do it again. He'd return home to Alfred, to his mission. But once again he fumbles, and his words bring forth a shudder. He can only imagine what the criminal considers to be fun. His mind immediately jumps to what weird things Jerome could possibly want to do with him. Having already probed his love life in the little time they've been reunited, Bruce's anxieties metastasized and wandered. I'll make it good for you, Bruce squirms in the arms of his infatuator and childishly attempts to wipe the touch of Jerome's lips from his temple. A warmth gathers and grows in his stomach — ravenous — spreading by the second. He tries to shake him away, alongside his growing need for affection and attention. For a moment, Bruce considers running. Whether back to the mansion or to the forrest that outlined his family's estate, he knows running from Jerome only meant he would take his aggressions out elsewhere, on the innocent. He holds Jerome's unwaivering, all-consuming gaze for a few moments before proceeding to the passenger's seat without much complaint (aside from his ever present scowl). "Where are we going then?" Bruce reluctantly relents.
@notefinal
@s-unfleur liked for a starter ( alfred & erik )
“Look,” Alfred starts, his hands clasped behind his back as he comes to a stop in front of Erik. “I won’t ask you again.” Alfred Pennyworth is not a stupid man. He knows appealing to a man like Erik is futile, and yet here he is, trying to appeal to Erik. He doesn’t think it’s going to end well. “Normally, I wouldn’t be here. I’m perfectly content to let you rot in jail, or wherever it is they’re gonna cart you off to. But I made a promise. So, Mr. Lehnsherr, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me why you killed those people. And if you don’t, I’m going to make your life very, very miserable.”
current wishlist
anything with bucky during his time as the winter soldier or immediately following the end of captain america: the winter soldier
anything with riff in his hunger games verse
anything with any of my fandom verses
anything with noah
anything with riff immediately post canon, especially if your muse was the one to get him to a hospital because chances are he’s going to be incredibly angry with them
anything with either of the valeska twins
anything with my muses from the prestige
anything with art during his time at stanford or during his canon. i typically write him post canon, but i love getting to write him during canon as well
anything with tashi and patrick, either during or after their canon. please keep in mind that they are awful people who have absolutely no remorse for their actions
Dodge blinks, a little caught off guard by the question. He hasn’t really eaten at the diner. He works there, but most of the time he brings a lunch from home, or he just doesn’t eat until he gets home. “I, uh. The cheeseburger’s pretty good. Or the onion rings.” He gives her a slight smile and goes back to wiping down the counter. He doesn’t know why she asked him that. Obviously it’s because he works here and knows what’s good and what’s not, but Dodge has never been good at not being suspicious. He’s trying to work on that, though.
› GENERAL STARTER CALL , accepting , @notefinal .
" do you have a favorite? " ... and it's asked so casually , if dodge and kristen aren't nearly strangers [ he said his name a few minutes ago. SHE NEVER SAID HER NAME ] . she's just looking over the menu , aviators still on her face. a question asked like he's a friend and she doesn't know how to make up her mind at the moment.
He laughs softly at Ennis’ words. “That so?” He can’t quite fathom being the death of anybody, let alone Ennis Del Mar. It’s not something he’s ever considered, and it’s not something he wants to start considering. Especially not now. Thinking about Ennis dying, even if they’re joking, sends a chill through him. Jack may not know much, but he knows he doesn’t want Ennis to die. He also knows that’s probably a big thing to know at this point in their—whatever this is, but he knows it. Thankfully, he’s saved from that line of thought by Ennis moving closer. Jack blinks, his gaze dropping to Ennis’ mouth for a second before he looks up again. “Wouldn’t dream of it, cowboy.”
𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 , 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐃 to die by overconsumption. of jack , at least. he hears jacks' words despite being spoken under his breath. in so many frames of mind , he's sure they could be on the same page. should be. and probably are. ennis thinks on this for a moment. he always does — think before he speaks. too much for his own good. no word comes easily out of his own lips. ❝ you'll be th' death of me then. ❞ he owes him some shard of his own soul , he supposes. this place feels too much their own to admit anything less. he leans over to jack , whiskey in his veins and only half creating the heat he feels there. lips hover some centimeters away from his companions'. ❝ don't make me regret you. ❞
Steve laughs softly. Rogue is right. Steve’s always said that whatever mysterious they people conjure up for their sayings is bullshit, because the mysterious they probably didn’t say those things in the first place. He crosses his arms over his chest and nods. “I know.” And he hates it, but there’s not much they can do about it except try to prevent it. Steve plans to try and prevent it, that’s for damn sure, but he isn’t quite sure how he’s going to go about it. Yet. “But we’ve got to do something. We can’t just sit here.” What that something is, he has no clue. But he can’t sit around and watch it happen.
@notefinal said: “ They say the devil that you know is better than the devil that you don’t. ”
"Y'know, someday I'd like to meet this they. Seems they've got everythin' all nice and figured out. Everyone's always quotin' them when they want ya t'shut up an' go along."
Rogue's got her hands on her hips, ready for a longer argument. Not braced for a fight. Because this won't become one. She's holding fast to that.
"This ain't right, Steve. You know that well as I do."