Corbeau's wife💜

Good day/noon/night - She/her - 18 - Mexican - games fan - i like to make Ocs and read fanfcis of media i like^^

[coulro-callipygous]

Hold the Sugar - Chapter 1

Pairing: Corbeau x GN!Reader

WC: 6171

Summary: Ah, yes. The renowned soft morning of the city before it truly became alive. Corbeau was not a morning person.  And his mornings were not soft. 

TW: Brief description of feeding Pokémon other Pokémon, treated as nature.

A/N: 'It'll just be a little drabble,' I said. 'It won't be that long, it won't have multiple parts,' I said. (Proceeds to write almost 2000 words about Corbeau's morning routine alone) ah.

So. Here we are now. With this evolving into a multi-fic chapter. Let's buckle up, team.

As always, reader is gender neutral with little physical description. Only confirmed Pokémon reader has (for now) is a Dachsbun.

Beta Read by @nestedfeathers

This work is solely mine-I do not consent to it being used in any AI works. I do not consent to it being intentionally copied in any manner.

Lumiose truly was a beautiful city. In the mornings, when the sun crested over the horizon and began its languid ascent, the city glowed a soft, warm rose - the sort of light that doesn’t startle one from sleep, but rather gently rouses with barely-there kisses and feather-light strokes of warmth against one’s skin. It filters in through windows and sheer curtains to join you in bed, an intangible form of temptation to stay in, sleep longer; don't leave its comfortable embrace. The break of dawn is filled with birdsong; Fletchlings gathering scraps for their nests; the coo of a Pidgeot as it shepherds its younger, less experienced kin back to the safety of its wings, its soft down a shield from the lingering chill of the night. 

Shortly after, the rest of the city begins to wake; the rustling of a bin of Trubbish as they organize their hunt for the day; the soft, insistent cries of the dowt of stray Espurr that have taken to begging at the door of the bakery across the street; the barks and chirrups of the local Patrat and Watchog from the rooftops that alert the entire block that it is, indeed, morning once again.

The renowned soft morning of the city before it truly became alive.

Corbeau was not a morning person. 

And his mornings were not soft. 

As the sunlight quietly greets the other inhabitants of Lumiose, it rudely and abruptly startles him from his deep sleep, as it always does. Its brightness meets his sleepy glare with its own, temporarily blinding his already blurred vision. With a groan, the feared leader of the Rust Syndicate flops back into his bed, burying his face in his pillow as he blindly feels around for his glasses on his nightstand. He snags them by the chain and drags them close, throwing them on as he pushes himself up to rest his weight on his forearms. 

He drags a hand through his hair, once more glaring out his window. 

Abhorrent sunrise. Finding its way into his room despite the mostly-drawn curtains.

He’s considered eclipse curtains, of course, but Roserade and Arbok rather enjoy sunbathing, and he wouldn’t deprive them of that. The sacrifices we make for our Pokémon...

A deep chitter rings out from his side, as it does every morning when Scolipede wakes. Contrary to his trainer’s dislike of mornings, Scolipede was an early bird…early bug? Regardless, Scolipede is already off the bed by the time Corbeau rolls over to sit up properly. He chirrups again, his half-lidded eyes bright and almost playful as he regards his drowsy trainer. The stingers at his end wag to and fro like a tail as his trainer regards him in return. The human tenses, already reaching for his duvet.

“Scolipede, don’t–!”

Too late. Apparently, he’s taking too long to get out of bed, as Scolipede takes the corner of his blanket in its mandibles and tugs hard, pulling it and its contents (read: his trainer) off the bed. Corbeau yelps as he’s quickly torn from his seat and practically flung through the air - he would’ve crashed against the far bedroom wall if Scolipede hadn’t caught him.

The giant bug trills happily, the claws near his mouth tapping against Corbeau, tickling his skin and combing through his hair. He’d be annoyed if it wasn’t so damn adorable. Upon seeing his trainer’s tired, exasperated smile, Scolipede chirps again and lets him go, content that his mission of getting his trainer out of bed was complete. He couldn’t just let his human sit around all day - there’s work to be done!

Like breakfast, for starters!

Scolipede scuttles out of the room, leaving Corbeau to wait for him in the kitchen. With a huff and a smile, Corbeau throws on his morning robe over his pajamas (plain boxer shorts), grabs his team’s Pokéballs, and pads out to join his companion. His ace is standing at the end of the island, like he always does, as Corbeau sets about preparing his team’s breakfast. 

He had it down to an art by now: fresh Veluza filets (caught and prepared in Paldea just yesterday) pulled straight from the mini freezer kept solely for Gyrados, set on a tray that’s practically a basin at the far end of the island. Following that was a plate with two honeycombs and a variety of fresh berries for Roserade, set by the large window in the living room. 

Scolipede and Arbok preferred to catch their own food, which he was more than fine with - he had a hard time serving up a small swarm of Kriketot and a whole frozen Raticate.

He may be a crime lord, but he’s not heartless. 

Scolipede and Arbok only ate big meals once a week. Not for any cruelty on Corbeau’s part, of course - he’d feed them his own limbs if the need arose - but solely due to their physiology. Larger Poison types digested their food slower, apparently. He’s never looked into it further than that, though. 

Scolipede’s toxic saliva bubbled from the corners of his mouth.

“Hold your Ponyta,” Corbeau lightly chastises for the umpteen-millionth time. That Bug could never sit still when it came to food - his trainer knows by now his scolding is in vain. “You have to wait for Arbok.”

Scolipede lets out a pathetic whine, a rather humorous noise for such a large and formidable creature. Corbeau huffs out another laugh and releases Gyrados and Roserade, who both greet him with cheerful chirps before attending to their waiting meals. After giving them both a routine morning pet, he walks to the back door, where Scolipede is already waiting. 

“Arceus. You act like I starve you.”

His only response is another petulant whine. With a soft laugh, Corbeau releases Arbok, who greets him with a tickle of her tongue.

“Yes, good morning, Arbok.” He coos as he scratches under her chin. She lets out a soft ‘Sssk-ssk-sssbok’ in return, ignoring the disgruntled trilling of her fellow Pokémon, who rocks back and forth impatiently. “I’m going, I’m going.”

He opens up the back door for the pair, revealing a rooftop garden secluded from the reaches of the city. From the humans, at least. Here, there lived several different species of Pokémon: a colony of Patrat and a warren of Bunnelby had made their homes in the soft dirt and the sturdy rocks of the secret garden; recently, a swarm of Weedle and Kakuna had taken refuge in the handful of trees towards the far end of the roof - the one that had the best view of the city at night, in his opinion. A few Budew and Bellsprout hobbled along, burying themselves in the soil (freshly tilled by the Bunnelby) among the plants that littered the open space. 

His own little paradise, made for those stray Pokémon that wandered the streets. A little slice of nature.

…unfortunately, even nature had to be spoiled every once in a while.

He leaves them to their hunt to return to the living room. He wouldn’t partake in the vicious cycle, if he didn’t need to. 

Instead, he went to tend to his own needs - his sluggish body moved a little faster at the prospect of caffeine. Even abysmal mornings like this one could be remedied with a fresh cup of coffee. 

He hears Philippe nagging him at the back of his head, as he does every morning, ‘You need something more in your stomach than coffee, boss. Breakfast’s th’most important meal of the day.’

Which is why the first thing in his stomach is pure black coffee. He’ll eat ‘actual’ food later. But right now his body needs energy so he can actually exist well enough to get food. He pulls down his favorite mug (favorite might be a strong word - it’s his most used one) and mindlessly goes about his personal routine of caffeinating–

…ah.

There’s no coffee in the cabinet. He groans, pushing his glasses up and pinching the bridge of his nose. He had meant to resupply yesterday, but then that brat showed up and beat him in their ranked match. He had spent the rest of the day running the match on repeat in his head, analyzing strategy and how they had worked the battlefield - his battlefield in his office - that he must have…forgotten about restocking. 

Damn that kid. His sentiments on the brat were mixed. Frustrated but impressed, respectable but irritating…

A little too much like him when he was their age.

He feels a sharp, subtle pang at the front of his brain. A downside to being addicted to caffeine: the abrupt withdrawal symptoms when one hasn’t had their ‘routine fix.’ He can already feel the headache starting to form. 

It seemed like today was going to be that kind of day.

With a sigh, he leaves his companions to finish their meals as he heads back to his bedroom, a little more force in his steps than there was previously. Luckily, his laundry was done yesterday, so his usual suit was fresh and ready to go - very much unlike him, who seems to trudge through his morning routine without his coffee. 

No, he wasn’t dramatic. Philippe would insist otherwise. 

Ah. Philippe. Yes. 

After tucking his dress shirt into his pants, Corbeau finds his Rotom Phone charging on his nightstand - one of the newer models of chargers that had just as much style as it did practicality. Only the best for his Pokémon - even those not on his battling team. The Rotom Phone wakes up with a ‘zzrrpt!’ and hovers in front of him, ready to fulfill whatever task Corbeau had for it. 

“Rotom,” he addresses the phone as he begins to knot his tie, “text Philippe, ‘Please come to work with my usual order.’” Rotom blips and trills in reply, doing exactly as asked. It continues to hover nearby as Corbeau pulls his duster from its hanger, knowing a response would come in soon–

PING! ‘Bzzzuurrt!’

“Yes, thank you, Rotom,” he fixes the collar of his jacket as he reads Philippe’s response…

‘Apologies, boss.’ Oh, great. ‘Having a rough morning.’ He and Corbeau both, it seems. ‘Will be late to work.’

Another groan leaves his lips as he drags a hand down his face. Looks like he’s getting coffee, himself. It’s not the end of the world - his early life had him enduring far worse scenarios. Still, it’s inconvenient, and regardless of his childhood, he’s allowed to be irritated and inconvenienced by it. 

No matter. There was no shortage of cafés in Lumiose. In fact, Nouveau Café was just a small detour on his usual route to the Syndicate office. That was perfect - their coffee was almost unnervingly strong, they were quick, and he hadn’t said hello to Grisham in a while. A nice little bonus in his dire situation.

He recalls Gyrados and Roserade just as Scolipede and Arbok wander back inside, bellies full and instincts sated. He closes the door and recalls Arbok - Scolipede preferred to stay out when possible. Plus, the giant Bug could help order and carry treats for the team at the café. 

A small smile tugs at his lips at the idea as he slips his shoes on at the door. Perhaps he spoils his Pokémon too much, but what the hell else was he supposed to do with the money leftover from his business and philanthropic deeds?

With a click of his tongue, Scolipede is by his side and the large Bug lumbers out of the high-end apartment before Corbeau. His trainer follows, locking the door behind him before leading his Pokémon down the stairs. 

Time to face the day.

__________________________________________________________

You fumble with the keys to the truck. Again. You’re still getting used to these early mornings…but! That’s what you get for accepting an apprenticeship at a café. You’re going to have to get used to it if you want to open up your own someday soon…

You’ve apprenticed under Grisham and Griselle for just over a week now, and you’ve learned so much! 

…of which many lessons consisted of how not to address your customers or sell your products. Thanks, Griselle.

But Grisham has been teaching you plenty, too! He’s been so generous in sharing his techniques and secrets despite knowing you were hoping to open your own café some day! From the perfect blend for iced drinks to using Pokémon moves to add a little kick, your résumé continues to grow more and more impressive. 

Dachsbun barks, a sound born from a playful and feigned annoyance. You breathe out a chuckle and give him a stern look in return.

“Barking’s not gonna make me fail any faster, bud.” He sticks his tongue out at you, which you return, before you’re finally able to open the door to the little coffee truck.

It’s a quaint little get up, and you’re personally a fan of the vibe. Sure, the kitchen is a little cramped, especially when Grisham is here to mentor you, but he’s made it work all these years, so you can, too!

Especially since today was your first shift alone.

It was a thrilling and terrifying prospect. You’re honored that Grisham has enough faith in you to run his café after just less than a month of knowing you (with only a week of it being under his tutelage) and the mere idea of failing him and his precious business makes your heart rate spike. The keys in your hand felt so heavy…

But you can do this! You know what you’re doing! Sure, your specialty was with baked goods rather than the actual coffee itself, but Griselle had assured you that your attempts at brewing were no worse than the Lechonk swill they served.

…you’re not sure you’ll ever understand how Grisham puts up with that sort of criticism. So harsh, even for someone who didn’t like coffee…

Dachsbun barks to get your attention again, and this time, you shoot him a grateful smile as he snaps you out of your thoughts. Right! Time to get to work! Those baked goods aren’t going to make themselves! You throw on your apron (another honor Grisham bestowed upon you, despite his insistence that ‘it was nothing, really’) and get started with prep.

The sun isn’t even fully over the horizon by the time you’re done with the first few batches of treats and the first pot of coffee. The noises of the early morning, such as the fierce battle cries of Pokémon and their trainers participating in the Royale, begin to die down, soon replaced with the birdsong of passing Fletchlings and the chittering of the Patrat from the roofs. You stretch, a content smile on your face as the soft glow of the morning sun gently caresses your race. 

Lumiose was truly a beautiful city. You only moved here just over a month ago, and hadn’t had much time to explore with settling in and hunting for a job before you got evicted from your apartment one month in…but from what little you had experienced it certainly lived up to its praise of being one of the most beautiful cities in the world!

And you couldn’t wait to explore more of it. It was nerve-wracking, sure, but…that’s supposed to be the great part of new adventures, right? Plus, you had Dachsbun with you, and you know that little fluffy Fairy wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

The sun caresses your face again, as though to silently reassure you that everything was going to be okay. The air, still chilly from the night before, fills your nose with the scent of your fresh baked pastries and a pleasant cool that settles comfortably in your chest. Your heart swells with hope, your lingering anxiety slipping away from you like the shadows of the night. Lights of apartments click on; another café worker waves and greets you from across the street as they pass, wishing you a good day, both of which you return with a smile that feels less and less forced by the minute.

Yeah. You could get used to this.

Looks like you were becoming a morning person.

__________________________________________________

He shows up ten minutes later.

“Grisham.”

You jolt with a yelp, hitting your head on the bottom of the counter from where you were retrieving some supplies. You hiss in pain as you emerge from beneath the counter, rubbing the spot where you bumped against the solid metal. You hadn’t even heard anyone approach! A glance at Dachsbun shows that he’s fast asleep on the floor, clearly neglecting his look-out duties in favor of getting some precious nap-time in. He was still adjusting to mornings, too, but how unfair!

You’re too caught up in your mental admonishment of your Fairy companion that you’ve completely forgotten about your customer.

“You’re not Grisham.” The voice says, very dry and matter-of-factly, and your gaze darts up from your Pokémon to the person on the other side of the counter. They look well put together - a crisp business shirt and iron pants that rest high on his hips and sharp business shoes. They seem to accessorize with Poison-type themed attire - a sharp white tie, glasses secured behind his neck with a chain with drooping tear-shaped beads that seemed to melt off of the metal, and an overcoat with similar tassels and lining. 

A Scolipede rocks left and right beside him, chittering at the smell of the freshly-baked pastries that sat on your counter, waiting for a loving home in someone’s belly. Hopefully his. He may have just had his weekly meal, but who could say no to extra treats???

Their tone is tired and somewhat exasperated, as though your failure to be Grisham was personally offensive and ruined his day. You make a face before you clear your throat and regain your composure. You pull on your best customer service smile. 

“No, I’m not, but–”

“Well, where is he?”

You huff softly, your customer service smile falling slightly.

“He’s off today.”

“He’s off?” Today just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? He can feel his headache thrumming and pulsing just under his temple. 

“...yes,” you confirm, eyebrows furrowing at your customer’s apparent attitude. “He’s off. I’m running his Nouveau Café truck today.” 

You see his lower eyelid visibly twitch. Yeesh. He seems to debate something, and when he comes to his conclusion, he combs a hand through his perfectly styled undercut with a heavy sigh. 

“Well, if Grisham trusts you with his pride and joy, then you must be competent enough,” Rude!...you think? You’re…not really sure how to take a back-handed complement like that. “I’m sure you can handle a simple strong, black coffee.”

You feel your eyebrow twitch again. The nerve of this guy. You can understand being a little cranky in the morning without a coffee, but there was no need to be a jerk about it. Manners still existed at six-thirty in the morning! 

“Yes, I can do that for you, sir,” you continue giving him your customer service smile, despite how his attitude has dampened your mood. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

“No,” he all but snaps, but he’s gently nudged by the giant Bug by his side. He shoots Scolipede A Look, but you can see his face soften as he regards his companion and sighs again. “Actually, yes. I’d like to order some treats for my Pokémon.”

He looks over the menu with a hum - there had been some additions since he last visited, it seems. Scolipede nudges his side again, half-lidded eyes big and wet like a Rockruff’s. If it had visible lips, you’re sure you would have seen it pouting. It was rather cute for a four-hundred-fifty pound bug, and you can’t help but chuckle at it. 

Your customer seemed unbothered by his begging Pokémon. You could only assume this was something the giant bug did regularly, and hopefully wasn’t subject to the will of a neglectful trainer…

“...ah—”

“A box of macarons.” He demands. “The large variety pack.”

“Ah, sir–”

“And do be quick about it, would you?”

“Sir–”

“Some of us have important jobs to be doing.” What the actual hell was this guy’s problem?! You fume at that, officially and completely yanked from your good mood. Before he can say anything else, you slam your percolator onto the counter.

“Hey, would you mind taking that stick outta your ass?” You snap, voice stern. His head snaps up, golden gaze meeting yours with poorly concealed irritation and surprise. Did you not realize who you were talking to? He opens his mouth to retort.

“Now, see here–”

“I get that it’s early and all, but that gives you no reason to act like a dick,” you continue, staring down at him, one hand on your hip while the other propped you up against the counter. Dachsbun stands on his hind legs to peek over the counter and reinforce your stern expression (even though he can barely see over the counter - it’s the thought that counts). “I’m tired, too, but you don’t see me snapping at people for absolutely nothing!”

Corbeau’s cheeks tinge pink - not from embarrassment or his lack of manners, but rather the quick bolt of anger that flashes through him. Granted, he wasn’t normally this short-tempered, but there was something about your tone and the audacity to talk back to him - him - was really making him heated, especially after his already less-than-ideal morning.

“Have you any clue–?!”

“I’m not sure if Grisham allows you to talk to him like this,” which was hard to imagine - even with his soft-spoken nature, Grisham could very much stand his ground. You’ve seen him verbally shake down men much more intimidating than this one, always ending the conversation with a stern tone that resonated finality. But the nerve of this guy… “but as we’ve established before, I’m not Grisham, and if you want a coffee from this establishment today, you will not talk to me like that.”

Dachsbun huffed in agreement, once more backing you up. 

Corbeau falters at that. Your expression was so firm, so no-nonsense in this moment - it was almost a total 180 from who had greeted him when he first walked up.

Even in his irritated state, he had to appreciate that sort of boldness, even if it was somewhat audacious for a barista to be chastising the leader of Lumiose’s own crime syndicate.

He stares at you for a few moments more, just to see if your bravado buckles under the weight of his glare…but no such luck. He exhales sharply through his nose as he straightens his tie. 

He had two options now: one, go about his day and suffer until Philippe arrived with his coffee (he had no patience to deal with another barista, especially now that Lumiose was truly waking up and other cafés would have other patrons further delaying his sweet, pitch-black caffeination) or two, suck up his pride and leave without any further debate.

His lips purse as he mentally weighs his two options. Is his pride worth more than a 5,000 Pokédollar coffee?

After what feels like an eternity of internal debate, he comes to the conclusion that, ultimately, no. It isn’t. Not in this moment, at least. This is a personal low, but it’s a personal low he’ll live through with a strong cup of coffee to drag him out of this sluggish state of existence. His pride has suffered worse blows, anyway.

Granted, those were when he wasn’t the feared and respected crime lord of the Rust Syndicate. It’s significantly less easy to take such blows when you have an image to maintain.

…but what message was he sending acting like this? That the leader of the Rust Syndicate is a spoiled brat? That’s infinitely worse than being put in place by someone who absolutely did not deserve to be the target of his agitation. 

With a sigh, he tilts his head to the side to pop the crick in his neck and rolls his shoulders back.

“...very well,” he responds, somewhat terse and strained. His hand curls into a fist and taps impatiently against his side, but he measures his tone as he continues, “I apologize for my earlier behavior. May I get one large black coffee and a box of macarons?”

You exhale sharply through your nose, crossing your arms as you weigh his apology…and finally relent, giving him a nod and a small but genuine smile, and even though you really want to, you won’t give him any more of a harder time. 

“Yes, I’ll get started on that for you, sir,” Scolipede, who had been silently watching the exchange, trills happily, rocking left and right once more, though this time out of joy rather than impatience. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your throat at his antics.

You see your customer’s expression soften further as he glances back at you. Not a lot of people found the antics of his giant companion cute - in fact, most people were afraid of Scolipede. Which was good, since his public image called for it. Still, nobody knew that behind that stoic, scary bodyguard was the heart of a grubby little Venipede who acted more like a Lillipup starved for affection than a fully grown venomous predator. Corbeau could appreciate someone who could appreciate his companion, even in a smaller capacity such as this.

“Here - hold on.” You pull out a tray of fresh samples (leftover ‘oopsie’ pastries from the first batches of the morning) and place them on the counter for Scolipede to see. The bug chirrups and eagerly leans forward to sniff at them. The corners of his mouth bubble with his venomous drool once more, and he consciously shuffles backwards to avoid ruining your offered treats. His rear horns are wagging once more and Corbeau swallows back a chuckle of his own.

“I got these fresh samples for this morning - a couple of each!” You beam at Scolipede as he steps forward again, making sure not to drool on anything. With a light laugh, you grab some tongs to pull one of each onto a plate of its own to hold out to Scolipede for him to taste test. You glance back at his trainer. “Hope this is okay? Just a little something to munch on while I get your order together.”

“That’s…fine.” At his word, Scolipede happily pulls a choux au craquelin into his claws, happily munching away at it. Based on his constant trilling, it must have met his standards. Not that Scolipede had as refined a palette as the rest of his team…

You nod and set about preparing his coffee - extra strong, just as he ordered (or at least sounded like he needed) with your own special touch to it. He watches as you masterfully move about the small space to prepare his order - his drink is perfectly hot and ready for him on the counter within a minute and a half. The carefully organized macaron box is next to it a minute after that. Speedy service, as requested. With a satisfied hum, he takes out his wallet and thumbs through the bills before setting a 15,000 Pokédollars on your counter. When you go to enter it into the till and get him his change, he just raises his free hand and shakes his head. 

“Keep the change,” he murmurs as he places the box of macarons on Scolipede’s head, who lets out a low chirp as he finishes the last of the sample he had nabbed earlier. Corbeau’s gaze meets yours again, appraising rather than depreciating. He had no intent on apologizing for his, frankly, embarrassing behavior - the sooner he can pretend it never happened, the sooner he could get on with his day. This will have to serve as his silent apology. 

“Ah…sure. Okay.” You retrieve the change from the till and drop it into the ‘tip’ jar on your counter - another idea you brought up to Grisham. Your reasoning was the tips could be used to pay for food and drinks for their patrons who are, as Grisham lightly puts it, ‘down on their luck.’ It’s got a little cutout of an Espurr peeking over the edge, and the writing in front of it reads, ‘Found our service Espurr-cially great? Leave a Meows-tip!’ 

It was corny, but it worked. 

“Well,” you smile to your customer with a nod, “hope the rest of your day goes better.”

“Likewise.” He nods and raises his to-go cup in cheers before returning to his route. Scolipede happily ambles alongside him, using the utmost care in transporting the large variety pack of precious treats. As much as he’d love to have them all to himself, his teammates deserved to have a taste of your wonderful baking. 

Once around the corner, Corbeau finally takes a sip of his drink, a content groan leaving him as the dark, addictive substance runs down his throat to warm and settle his empty stomach…and pauses. This is definitely not how Grisham made it…but he couldn’t place what was off about it. As much as his stubborn pride hated to admit it, it wasn’t half bad, actually. In fact he found himself liking it more than he liked Grisham’s.

…you were an odd one, that much was certain. He had never seen you around before - granted, he spent a lot of time holed away in his office, but he has enough eyes in the street to know who’s who, especially if that someone was working at a coffee truck he visited frequently enough. Perhaps it had been longer than he thought - if Grisham had trusted you to run it solely on your own, you must have been there for a while. Long enough to have garnered his and Griselle’s trust, at the very least. They were good people, but they were people who didn’t really let others in easily - a trait he shares and can appreciate. 

At any rate, his interaction with you is over. He’ll have Philippe pick up some more coffee for home so he wouldn’t have to go through that sort of experience again. He’ll message Grisham later - it really had been a while, and he’d like to say hello, but he’d rather not have to encounter you again, if he could avoid it. It wasn’t usual for Corbeau to feel shame of any kind, but you had certainly and thoroughly shamed and embarrassed him today, and he wasn’t particularly keen on reliving that memory again any time soon. 

…still, the coffee you made was better than the blend he normally had at home. Perhaps he’ll ask Grisham about the new recipe so he could upgrade his own stash. That would get two Pidgeys with one stone. 

Coffee in hand and a renewed sense of focus, Corbeau steps into the syndicate’s building. He nods to the secretary, as he does every morning, and heads into the elevator. The coffee sits at the far right corner of his desk when he sits, as it always does, and the scent wafts over as he takes a deep breath of relief. He combs a hand through his hair and opens his laptop, ready to forget about his morning. 

Finally. Routine achieved. 

______________________________________________________

Your smile falls as your customer walks around the corner and you all but deflate against the counter, legs buckling. Dachsbun whines and nudges your leg, and he receives a pet and an affirmation of “I’m okay, bud,” for his troubles. 

That was terrifying. You didn’t like that one bit. You’re not even sure where that energy came from! Your precious Pokémon could attest - you had trouble asking for extra ketchup when out at fast food restaurants, for Arceus' sake! Standing up for yourself like that to a customer on your first day working alone at a coffee stand that wasn’t even yours was something you’d never have pictured yourself doing in your wildest dreams.

With a weak exhale, you sink to your knees, your anxiety slamming into you like the truck you currently sat slumped in. You groan, rubbing at your face, and Dachsbun does his best to distract you before you have a full-blown anxiety attack. Your beloved partner was a service-mon, specifically trained for situations like this. He hasn’t needed to alert or use his skills since he was a Fidough, however - your job left you far too exhausted to even physically go through the motions of an anxiety attack. But then, you made the big-kid decision to move to Kalos and pursue your culinary dreams. 

You remember his worried little face when you were in line to board the plane, ticket clutched in sweaty, shaking palms, suddenly doubting your life choices, ready to ditch everything and run back to the comfort of your home at the drop of a dime. Hell, someone could breathe in your direction wrong and you might take off, forgetting all about your dreams and the life you always wanted to leave behind for a new beginning for the same, dull routine that may have been sucking the life out of you, but, hey, it was safe.

Dachsbun practically dragged you onto the plane himself and he refused to leave your lap until you landed in Kalos. Whenever you tried to move the little bugger before your flight’s taxi and take off to make one last desperate attempt to escape from this incredible new opportunity, he’d huff, roll over, and give you the biggest, saddest, wettest puppy eyes you had ever seen. You knew he was guilt tripping you into staying seated…and damn if it didn’t work.

Your presence here is proof enough that you really couldn’t argue with the little guy, and ultimately, you’re grateful he did what he did. If he hadn’t, there’s a high likelihood that you’d be back in your crappy apartment in your run-down corner of Castelia City working your shitty eight-to-five office job that physically, mentally, and emotionally drained the life out of you.

But in moments like these? In which you were damn near close to crying because someone snapped at you? That shitty cubicle sounded like a dream. Normally, you’d let whoever yelled at you do as they pleased, offering apologies and fixing things that, more often than not, weren’t even your responsibility to fix. Not with what you were getting paid, at least. 

Dachsbun licks the back of your hand, nudging it to make you look up at him. When you do, you see his tail wagging, and you could even swear there was a twinkle of pride in his eyes.

Normally, you’d be a doormat - one that apologized to the people walking all over you that they had dirt on their shoes.

…but today, something different happened. Again, you don’t know where that energy came from, but you stood up for yourself. Beyond that, you actually managed to put that guy in his place. Oh, there were so many moments where you felt like backing down, but something in you was steadfast and determined to stand against your timid nature.

This was your new life. One you worked so hard for. One you’ve dreamed about since…forever! You had the opportunity to reinvent yourself here. Here, in Lumiose, you didn’t have to be the shy, soft-spoken office worker who did whatever was asked of them. In fact, you’re never going to be that again! Not if you can help it!

Dachsbun barks at you, his little tail wagging faster as your anxiety ebbs, leaving your body in slow, measured exhales. Your grip on your wrists relaxes and your legs uncurl from where they’re pressed tight against you. Your companion props his front two paws against your arm and licks your face, encouraging. 

“...yeah. I guess I did just do that, huh?” He barks, and you chuckle. “And…the world didn’t blow up. I didn’t blow up…and we were still able to make a sale.”

Your Pokémon nods and drops to the floor again, nudging your side to get you standing. The day had only just begun, after all! Those customers (of which there are thankfully none at the current moment) weren’t going to serve themselves! 

With a nod and a newfound internal strength, you stand with the help of the counter (your legs were still just a liiiiiittle shaky, but it’s nothing that wouldn’t eventually go away on its own) and prepare yourself to face the day ahead of you. You smile, determined in making the rest of the day go better - nowhere to go but up!

Dachsbun hops up onto the counter, ready to perform his sworn duty of keeping a lookout for and attracting customers. He shares a spirited nod with you and barks out happily to a passing citizen, who stops in surprise and walks over to check out the coffee truck, greeting you with a warm smile.

Today was going to be a good day.

You were going to make sure of it.

[tramcamww]

Chibi works from last year =`w=)

[kurootedi]

I said I’d give a detailed account of what happened after my little break from social media. So, I’m doing fine now. I’ve pulled myself together, went out into nature, had a delicious meal, and took lots of beautiful photos of the outdoors. My loved ones supported me and helped me get out of that unpleasant state.

I’ll admit, those comments about pedophilia really… got to me. Why? Because I’m one of the most ardent haters of pedophiles. And when I was lumped in with those disgusting people just because of one harmless drawing of mine, it made me feel sick. I really tried to hold it together and ignore the haters. I handled it perfectly in the SasuHina fandom and ignored the haters... But recently this year, two people wrote something unpleasant and horrible to me (I don’t want to say it out loud). And then in the Avatar fandom, it became my last straw, and I... couldn’t hold back. I didn’t want to go online, and I didn’t want to give the haters the satisfaction of showing them that they really did make me cry 😅 But now I’m talking about it because I’m not ashamed to talk about how I feel. Because the only people who should feel ashamed are those crazy haters. Although most of these haters have no moral principles, and they don’t care who they hurt. They just need to selfishly vent all their negativity on others. And that’s why I don’t care how they feel either.

So, I’m feeling better now! And I’ve strengthened my resilience once again 💪✨

I don't care what anyone thinks—I love all my drawings! I posted Zutoph here on purpose, but I didn’t plan on it at first—this account was meant for my Naruto drawings. By the way, I won’t be back until mid-June. Thanks to everyone for your supportive comments; I wanted to reply to each of you individually at first, but I decided to make one post and thank you all here 🫶🌻

[phyllidaluna]

Bug Boys and their weird dogs

[muridae3]

Getaway | Corbeau x Reader

I've got so much Corbeau brainrot y'all it's not even funny

Beta read by the fantastic @godserene !

Corbeau wasn’t one to let his emotions show.

He had clawed his way from the depths by forgetting that part of himself. After all, his feelings had never brought him any good. 

That is, until you came around.

Team MZ’s secret weapon had left their imprint on the entirety of Lumiose. After all, they had saved the city from utter ruin, and they had brought about the Mega-Evolution of the city that Quasartico had failed to deliver.

They had made it look so simple.

They had become so powerful so quickly. They had quickly assembled their core team, propelling to the front of the ZA royale, seemingly without trying. It almost looked effortless for them.

Almost.

But, everyone had cracks in their foundation.

And yours were starting to show.

The Rust Syndicate’s office was the one place you could get away from the public eye: away from nosy reporters, adoring fans, and battle-hungry competitors.

At first, Corbeau had been apathetic to your presence. Most of the time, you sat in his office, scrolling on your phone.

It was nice to find some quiet, you had said. Not even Hotel Z was safe anymore. Your victory had been amazing for business.

Corbeau could certainly understand wanting to be free from the public eye.

Recently, your visits to his office had become more frequent.

Corbeau couldn’t tell if you actually enjoyed his company, or if you just wanted quiet.

One stormy afternoon, you trudged into Corbeau’s office, not even bothering to wipe the rain from your boots. Groaning, you flopped onto one of the couches. “Why did you let me become the hero of Lumiose?”

“Hello to you, too.” He said, chuckling. 

“I can’t go anywhere anymore without being swarmed. Even Canari said it was bad.”

“I could easily get you a security detail.” Corbeau straightened a stack of papers. “I have plenty of grunts that would keep the people away.”

“No,” You sighed. “I don’t want them to be scared of me.”

“Fear is a powerful tactic.” He said. 

“For you.” 

“For me.” He smirked. 

“I just wish…” You trailed off. 

Corbeau raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m still glad I did it. I always will be. But I wish people will understand that I’m just… I’m just a normal person, you know?” You sat up, looking at Corbeau. “How do you cope with the fact that you won’t ever be seen as just… a guy?”

“Because that’s not how I want to be seen.” He stood from his desk. “I worked for years to build my reputation. Normal is not a word that can describe people like us.” He sat down next to you. 

“I wish it was.” 

“Normal isn’t meant for who we are. We’re great.” He said. “And greatness can inspire love, or it can bring fear. Clearly, you and I are on different sides of the spectrum.”

“We don’t have to be.” You said. “You’re a good guy, Corbeau. Even if you insist you’re not.”

Corbeau chuckled. “You keep saying that.”

“Would a bad guy let me interrupt his work all the time to get away?”

“He would if he had ulterior motives.” Corbeau said. “Much can be gained from offering a reprieve.”

“Do you have ulterior motives with me?” You asked.

Corbeau smirked. “You tell me.”

You looked away from him, the blush growing on your cheeks. 

“I was serious about the security detail.” He said. “I’ll go with you myself, if I have to.”

“I told you, I don’t need that.” You sighed. “I just… need to convince them I’m a normal person.”

“You’re not a normal person. You’re—“

“If you call me the hero of Lumiose, I’m sending all my Pokemon out and telling them to hit you.”

“I was going to say that you’re incredible.” 

You fell silent.

“The way you fight, the way you move, the way you strategize… You’re remarkable. So, don’t go around saying you’re normal.” He smirked, his gaze lingering on you. Suddenly, he stood from the couch, walked over to his desk, and slammed his laptop shut. “Now. I’ve been meaning to go over to the Sushi High Roller to try out their seasonal menu… what do you say we blow this joint?”

“That depends… are you paying?” 

Corbeau chuckled. “But of course— anything for the hero of Lumiose.” He said, extending a hand.

You took it, standing. “Don’t call me that, and we have a deal.”

[tramcamww]

Old sketches of Gzm and the protagonist

[effwaiaye]

someone hold me back, i'm foaming at the mouth with how they draw guzma hGHDFdhjGSGGgj----

[sharktunarts]

this is a nothingburger post

i really love when corbeau talks like a salesman (??? im sure there's a better way to phrase it but this is all that pops in my head for now)

like i also love it when he talks like he's flirting but the salesman manner of speech just rlly gets me, like yeah we know he's good with business and making money but in the mainstory we only ever see intimidation tactics since the player was caught up in paying back that loan.

Idk... it just makes it a little more believable that he's a businessman at heart that's good at convincing people that they require his services, especially considering he's so god damn rich like he REALLY just knows how to talk

[corbeaus-beau]

You Leaving Kalos

For those who have your pc as someone not originally from Kalos - this if for yall

You woke up one day to a message on your rotor phone that your tourist visa is almost up. That you’re supposed to be out the region in a week. You didn’t realize it was so soon too. After everything with Mega Angie and the Rouge Mega Evolutions finally settling down, you didn’t remember you were only here for a few months.

You didn’t want to leave your friends that you’ve met and made connections to, but you had not choice. In one week you had to be out of Kalos. You had to make a decision. Do you tell everyone that you’ve befriended that you’re leaving? But you didn’t want your last week in Kalos to be brought down by everyone being sad. Especially not Corbeau.

During the last few months, your romance with Corbeau was a whirlwind and you couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him. Would he try and find a way to keep you in Kalos? Yes. Yes he would, but would it be entirely legal? Well, not particularly.

So you made up a decision. You weren’t going to tell anyone that you had to leave. You would act normal with them and write them all letters to be delivered once you were out of Kalos and back to (select whatever region you want).

Before anyone was up, you got paper and envelopes to start writing your letters. To Ivor. To Lida. To Canari. To Corbeau. To everyone.

Day One consists of finalizing the letters to everyone and hanging out with Team MZ. Battling them. Listening to their daily lives. Even dealing with Urbain’s/Taunie’s Crossant Curry for that night.

Day Two consists of you heading to the Fist of Justice Dojo to battle Ivor, Gwynn, and their students. Laughing at Ivor’s muscleheaded behavior and Gwynn’s fondness for her brother while also being annoyed with him.

Day Three was hanging out with Canari and Tarragon. Playing games with the streamer and running through the obstacle courses Terragon set up. Laughing and battling. The thought of you leaving this squeezing at your heart because they won’t realize that this would be the last day to be with them all.

Day Four is spent with Jacinthe and Lebanne. Drinking tea while Jacinthe tells you all of the gossip she’s heard throughout the city. Her eyes knowing and not revealing anything. Only when the day is over does the socialite give you a large hug as if she knows this is goodbye. Lebanne smiled and told you she would be honored to battle you again. Of course you mop the floor with her, but she seems content.

Day Five is with Emma and surprisingly Mabel. Emma telling you how she’s been ever so busy with cases because of all the good work you’ve done. How you’ve made her a household name and how she owes a lot to you. Unfortunately your day with her is cut short when she gets a lead on a case. So you head to the Pokemon research lab and talk with Mabel.

“So you’re leaving, huh?” Mabel asks sadly before sighing. “a shame. You were the best research assistant I had, but I expect you to come back some day.”

How she knew you were leaving you don’t know, but the pain in your throat as you held back tears caused you to nod and the former Team Flare member to hug you. Letting your silent tears stain her lab coat as she smiled softly.

“Be safe out there kid. You know you have a home here in Lumoise if need be.”

Day Six is with Grisham and Griselle. Talking about their new hopes for the future and how they plan to achieve it. How they are happy you gave them the chance to fulfill their dream without even beating you. You smile and wish them luck. That if they ever need you, then you’ll come.

The final day before your departure is spent with the Rust Syndicate. You make sweet treats for the grunts, who all flock to you. Eager to get a treat from the Boss’ significant other. Of course, Philippe comes down and saves you from the swarm. Laughing at your overwhelmed face.

“Should have warned you the grunts can be vicious when it comes to dessert. Come, let’s go and take you to the boss.”

You nod and thank the right hand man for saving you. You smile sadly at the thought of not seeing him again for a long while, but your sad smile turns bright upon seeing Corbeau. Corbeau, who also brightens up upon seeing you. Who immediately pulls you into his lap and buries his face into your shoulder. As if you’re his battery and he needs a recharge.

Scolipede and the rest of Corbeau’s team is out of their pokeballs. All eager to see you and try to ambush you like the grunts. Of course, a whistle from Corbeau gets them to calm down as you chuckle. Saying how his team are as attached to you as he is to you. He frowns (read as pout) at your observation but says nothing while Philippe tries to hold back his laughter. You sit in his lap as he does syndicate work. Letting him take you out for lunch and dinner. He begs you to spend the night, but you only smile and say you have responsibilities to handle and that he’ll have you all to himself when you can. That seems to hold him over and he allows you to leave. None the wiser you won’t be in his city tomorrow.

You set your alarm for way earlier than is normal. You spent all night packing and you’re exhausted. The battle zones are still up but you start your day anyway. You set the letters you wrote everyone on the rest you found the Lucario AZ gave you and rubbed the tears from your eyes. You grabbed the same bag that was stolen from you one Day One of your adventure in Kalos and headed down stairs. You hailed as taxi and told them to take you to the Gare de Lumiose as you bought the first ticket out of the city.

You stand on the platform with a heavy heart. Tears streaming down your eyes as your train stops in front of you. The doors opening and you taking a step on. Leaving Lumiose and your friends behind. Knowing that in a few hours, your rotom phone will be ringing non stop.

[enchantedbook]

"At the troll court" by Ink Yami

[thatonechocogirl]

to all my followers + everyone that is apart of the lgbtq+ community,

though i am not apart of the community myself, y'all got my support and love 🫶🏽

[blueaxolote]

Based on my old prompt

A neglected reader raised by the old ladies of Gotham.

.

.

.

The appearance of Bruce Wayne’s daughter was quite a scandal. She was born from a flimsy woman, an unknown who was quick to sign her parental rights away and get out of the picture with a big check.

His daughter made her debut and lost public interest in a month. Her name was not heard again until her twelfth birthday. She was not the youngest, just a middle and forgettable child, a touch too shy to ask for help when a vapid man pestered her while her siblings and father were busy making connections.

Mirna could still remember dear Martha comforting her after a hard beating, keeping quiet in her shame while using her nursing degree to patch Mirna up. Martha was famous for her tea dates, where women would come “pressured” by their husbands to make a good impression on the Waynes.

All a lie. Martha would spot a woman in trouble and send an invitation.

Times have changed; fewer women are ready to endure a bad egg. But when it was almost a miracle to have a decent husband—one who would only shame you with whores—it was sweet Martha who stood up to help in silence, even when most of them envied her.

Thomas was a jewel, too much in love with Martha to hurt her in any way. The perfect marriage, a dream that ended too soon in a dirty alley. They had endured their tears at the funeral, afraid to show their love for Martha, knowing that their husbands had only allowed their interaction with the understanding that it was more a chore than a joyous time.

Their grief was quiet, but the women that Martha had saved grew up to stand by themselves, to honor her friend in a tight group who would help other wives in need.

The bad eggs were fewer with each generation, but they still stayed vigilant behind snarky and bitter masks. If they could raise the ire of a man in less than five minutes, they would mark him on the blacklist. If he was single, he would find no wife in all of Gotham.

They were old, nosy, and worse... committed.

So, seeing Martha’s granddaughter by herself, and quite obviously forgotten by her father and siblings, made Mirna’s heart ache. Mirna, of course, disposed of the man as soon as she got near, but didn’t stay to chat with the young girl. Still, she told her niece to keep an eye on her. She wanted to believe that this was the mistake of just one night; dear Brucie was sometimes forgetful, but she had seen how much he loved his kids, defending them with fierceness.

More galas came, and each time they saw her alone. What made them move was her smile, that cursed smile full of brightness that concealed the weight of a broken family behind it.

They had worked so hard in honor of Martha, then seeing her granddaughter, who mirrored her in all her beauty, made them seethe in rage.

They may be trapped in their marriages, but Martha’s granddaughter will not be.

The first thing was showing her how to find the secluded room that guarded their little club at each gala. Gaining her trust was not easy work, but experience came to hand more times than not.

“I don’t need pity,” she would reply with anger.

“Don’t be silly, girl,” Olivia would snap. “Needing help doesn’t make you less.”

Olivia was a widow, a lucky widow whose spouse had left a big fortune and no hidden debts. She was the prime benefactor of the tea club, mocked for it. Those outside their circle would only consider it an expensive way to gossip, where old crones would throw venom at each other.

There was gossip and venom; they needed to have their own fun. But they were not heartless, bitter old bitches.

Nosy, maybe.

“I’m not my grandmother either.”

“Oh honey, we can see it,” Olivia laughed. “Dear Martha didn’t need anyone to defend her.”

“Olivia!” reprimanded Esther at her rude words.

“But she was a grown woman; you are just a girl,” continued Olivia. “So, if you are smart enough, you would see this as an opportunity.”

The anger stayed in her eyes, but curiosity was born.

“What for?”

“To seek a life of your choice, be free of your golden cage,” Mirna said. “Let us train you, so one day you become a shining star above everyone else.”

A single tear fell upon her cheek.

“They are never going to love me, are they?”

“I don’t have the answer, but don’t chase love, dear.” Mirna cleaned her face. “The only one who you must seek to love is yourself. Those that come after must give you affection freely, not with conditions.”

Things changed for the better. While Bruce and his children remained quite ignorant of her affairs, Alfred spotted the sudden bond between her and the old ladies of Gotham and chose to say nothing. He had seen her loneliness, so the change on her lips, where a sincere smile adorned, was a nice sight.

After school, she would go to Olivia’s mansion, take lessons, and hear old anecdotes. They would encourage her to take piano lessons, wear clothes even if she separated from her family’s usual trend, and not care about her calorie intake.

Even if not all the days were good, they stayed. Through her tears and laughs, a bond forged deep in their hearts: no longer only Martha’s granddaughter, but theirs. A precious girl who grew up to be a breathtaking lady, one who could command a room with kindness, but be just as stubborn as her grandmother when seeing someone in need of help.

Being a socialite was way different with social media, but their knowledge was put to good use. Their darling would show them her Instagram account; the millions on it made them proud as peacocks. The photos were carefully selected, but what melted them was the way she was proud to show her “Fierce grandmas,” as she titled the shot with all of them in the middle of a Sunday brunch.

The care they had given her: every day, she paid it forward.

So, while their dear girl didn’t need a man... they lived to see her fall in love.

A good man; they made sure of it.

So, with their go-ahead, Charles proposed. When the call came in the middle of the night, the congratulations came as quickly as tears appeared.

And how late Bruce saw his daughter. Too late to rectify his neglect, but in time to see her form her own family.

“Father,” she called, arriving in the morning. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast. I know you’ve got a busy schedule, but I think a year is enough notice.” She spoke kindly, but not affectionately. “My wedding is next spring; could you take three days to be in Monaco?”

The answer doesn’t come, so she continues to talk.

“Maybe two days? You can skip the rehearsal, but if you don’t come to the wedding, everyone is going to talk more about it than about my big day,” she explains.

Bruce exhales.

“W-wedding?” he asks. “With who?”

Shock is so overwhelming that his mind doesn’t register at first how his daughter negotiates the days just to make him come—the way she only wants him there to evade gossip, not from a need to have her father there.

“Charles. I presented you to him two years ago, at the charity gala for Women’s Empowerment.” She sends him a resigned look. “Last week, we took our engagement photos in the mansion. I left you a note in your office.”

He didn’t remember Charles or the note.

“Maybe he could come to dinner today?”

He needed to text the kids to know if they knew of this.

“Really?” She arches an eyebrow, annoyed. “I have invited you and the rest plenty of times to come to dinner with us; you always ghost us.” She tells him, “I thank you for the invitation, but we are taking a plane tonight, so we can’t come.”

She goes after that, without getting an apology or an explanation. Just leaving a white-and-golden invitation that smells faintly like cinnamon.

He finds the note she mentions. The thing is that the office is more a facade; he is more comfortable in the Batcave. His kids know to leave a note there if they require his attention... just not her.

His only child out of familiar vigilantism. And he finds that this runs deeper than a moment of forgetfulness; at best, he has been absent. Stacked in one of the desk drawers, he finds more notes.

There were plenty of them from her childhood; they became shorter, colder, and fewer after she turned thirteen. He read glimpses of her life that he ignored... neglected.

It was hard to find that he had not been her father at all.

Alfred finds him in the middle of his unveiling.

“I think I lost hope that one day you would read them when the young miss was ten.”

“You never mentioned the notes to me,” Bruce’s voice is barely a whisper.

“I did, at the beginning,” he says. “But Gotham was turbulent, and your focus—Master Wayne—kept slipping back to the city.”

“And I give her nothing from me.” Dread has made a home in his chest. “I think the birthdays that I attended were barely because I stepped in by mistake,” he confesses. “I handle the rest of the kids’ gifts, but I can’t remember picking hers.”

“Mrs. Wilson had done it every year, just like the Christmas gift,” Alfred told him. “You should give a bonus to your secretary; she has fine taste.”

A bitter laugh left his lips.

“Did she even know I’m Batman?” he asks.

“If she does, she has never mentioned it.”

Even if she knew, after all these years it was barely an excuse to have lost most of her life.

“She is going to marry some guy called Charles.”

“I know. She called when he proposed; she was delighted.” Alfred sighs. “Master Bruce, this is not fixable, but the least you can do is make her wedding the best day. Spare her the sorrow of the media pointing out your absences; they have done it before, and she has denied it with a smile, even if it was painful to lie.”

He nods.

Night comes, and before the kids leave, he asks his children if they know that their sister is getting married.

“Cassandra?” Dick asks, confused. “With who?”

“Can’t be married if we disappear the groom,” says Jason.

That their assumption goes straight to Cassandra just shows Bruce how she is barely part of their lives.

“No, idiots,” Tim calls out. “The princess is marrying; it’s all over her social media.”

“You knew?” Bruce questions, hopeful that one of his children had formed a bond with their sister.

“Hard to miss when it’s all over the news,” he says, still putting his weapon in place. “It’s good she’s leaving; she’s quite delicate for the city.”

“I don’t know how that weakling has kept herself alive all this time,” mentions Damian without cruelty, just stating a fact.

It hurts Bruce more than words can express, the way they dismiss her like gossip. But how can he demand their care when even he ignored her whole life?

He realized that she had lived her whole life being a stranger in her own home.

No father and no siblings... and now, upon her marriage, for the first time all his thoughts focus on her.

Too late to reach her, to show her he loves her, even when he has not cared for her. So, he does more than the least she expected from him.

When next spring comes, he takes the whole week to concentrate on the wedding. Seeing her surprise and relief is enough. He can’t condense years of apology into a single week, but he tries his best to make this week special.

He is there every morning during her bride meetings, even if he stands out like a sore thumb between her friends and the three older ladies who check every corner of the venue like it is a war field.

“Charles is taking his car to race; you can go if you want, Father.”

“I’m okay here, sweetheart.”

She smiles at him, even if not fully convinced.

He had investigated, but observing the life she had made by herself was quite different from seeing it from a screen.

She has inherited the title of “Princess of Gotham” that the media once threw at him, but while he wore it scandalously, she uses it with grace. Her life is gentle, but she has worked hard for it, with the help of the older ladies that he once marked as exhausting.

They are not the harpy he made up in his mind, not if they care so deeply for his daughter. Now he sees it was a facade, just like his Brucie persona.

Walking her to the altar is agonizing. But he supports it with a smile. She smiles shyly at her soon-to-be husband, and he looks at her, full of devotion... In a single second, he can almost see his parents in them.

The rare love he thought he would never see again. He finds himself crying in silence for the girl he failed, for the woman who has found happiness, and for the daughter he never saw.

Alfred silently extends a handkerchief.

He has no right to feel like he is losing her when he never took her hand. Apologies don’t come out of his mouth, but when the dance arrives, he embraces his daughter tenderly.

“I wish your happiness lasts all your life, my dear daughter.” His voice chokes a little with emotion.

There were not enough apologies to reverse what he had done. His daughter observed him for a long time in silence; tears glinted in her eyes, but some storm in her heart calmed at his words. She didn’t forgive him, but she laid her head on his chest.

For the first time, she stops being defensive in his presence. He treasures the moment and the photo.

Three years later, in winter, he travels for the birth of his first grandchild.

He shared happiness that he didn’t deserve, barely holding back a sob when his daughter presented his grandchild in a Batman blanket.

They share a knowing look while Charles coos at the newborn.

“You were not a father at all,” his daughter confesses years later, “but you are a wonderful grandpa.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Extra scene.

They were quite conscious that she would move with her husband to Monaco, and while keeping in touch was easy nowadays... they had always been nosy! So it must not have been a surprise when the three old goats decided to retire to Monaco too.

Someone had to keep the fort safe when Charles went to race for Ferrari in the season. And, of course, their darling traveled with him as much as she could, so they were always preparing her a suitcase with outfits for the next country.

So, it came as a shock when suddenly a book called “Gotham’s Tea Club” was published.

Martha’s altruism was well known, but the depth of it revealed a tale of how kindness could surpass death and travel through time. Decades after her death, her good heart had even touched her granddaughter.

A lot of women, even if some in anonymity, shared their testimony. Kindness had not stayed only with the wealthy; it had reached even the lowest neighborhoods of Gotham.

Esther reads with tears how her old housekeeper remembers her acting quite bratty about how she needed to stay in the mansion during Christmas, even if she “must” bring her children with her. That winter they were homeless after her husband died and left her with three little children; she described how her old boss acted cold-hearted but was all warm and fuzzy at her core. The kids and she stayed for a whole year, always under the excuse of how Esther could “endure” them just to keep the house working. They got a new place with cash her youngest child found inside her teddy bear.

No word was shared, and there was no surprise when Carmen told her boss she had found a place. She worked for Esther till the kids graduated college, never telling her how she had replicated the tea club in her own neighborhood.

Carmen was not the only maid who learned to run a tight group of women helping each other. The tea club kept strong for years to come, no longer a silent secret, but a movement.

[elirium]

2026 Tiny Robin Update

[wichuizz]

Ehhh reviví

[chacolacereal]

ok ok so the vest was cute! I had to draw it :0

I go back to work now u_u

[mirrorama]

let's call it a day

[boar-sjn]

these guys are two years old to me now.

[almond-coffee028]

first the apron nuke and now this... seems fangamer has been. investing. in tenna a lot huh