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autumnhobbit · 7 years

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Story Starters Meme

I got tagged by @tantalum-cobalt, so it’s time to dust off the lines you’ve already seen bc I haven’t written in forever.

Rules: List the first lines of your last 15 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

So here goes. And yes, these are the actual Google Docs names of my fic drafts.

de-ageing bc audrey gets what she wants fic:

“Alfred,” Bruce says, and Alfred can hear the odd sort of deadpan panic that only Master Bruce is capable of conveying. “Help.”

How exactly it came to pass that he said these words while standing in front of Alfred in the Cave, having just stepped out of the Batmobile veritably dripping in children---precisely six of them, as a matter of fact, with all of them going in various directions---was beyond Alfred’s mental capacity or willingness at this point.

So when Bruce opens his mouth and begins to say something---whether it be a scientific or practical explanation of how he came to be in this situation, Alfred simply raises a finger. “Don’t.” He says simply.

Bruce closes his mouth with a snap.

vaguely catholic jason death angst:

When he wakes up in his coffin, Jason isn't sure what to make of it.

Of course, at first there's very little thinking, and very much screaming and crying and clawing and thrashing and begging and pleading. He hasn't really prayed in years, drifted away from it when Bruce took him in and away from the cramped, trash-filled apartment he'd spent his childhood in. But that doesn't stop him from reciting every prayer he knows, slurring the words together in mindless terror as he digs.

looooong scarletdevil nonsense:

Saturday evenings were fast becoming Matt's favorite day of the week. Well, maybe not favorite--more like least miserable. The only day he avoided going out at night was Sunday, which, as Foggy had said during a particularly bad argument, was pretty dumb. "Sorry I beat up a bunch of criminals and/or cops today, Lord, but at least I'm breaking for the sabbath!"

another “jason meets damian” thing:

Damian ducks beneath a stroke his mother swings towards his neck, parries two more thrusts in rapid succession, and with a flick of his wrist sends her weapon skittering to the tile. The tip of his own blade rests at her throat.

Her grey eyes meet his, and he feels proud at the impression he can see dancing in her orbs. "I concede," Mother says, and he pulls the blade away from her, allowing it to tip towards the floor. His mother stands gracefully. "You are making good progress, Damian. I am very pleased with how well you've done with your new swordmaster."

"Tt. It is nothing, Mother," he says proudly. It seems like forever since she has personally sparred with him like this, and he revels in the opportunity to please her. "He says I am the best he's ever trained."

sucky draft of yj installment:

"Damian. Wake up."

Damian had learned very early in his life that if anything disturbed his slumber in the League of Assassins fortress, he should be ready to stab upwards without a moment's hesitation. But he recognizes his mother's voice, so he doesn't raise the wickedly sharp blade his fingers are curling around beneath his pillow.

jason outlaws feels + domestic unrest:

The Outlaws contact them at a quarter till midnight. Bruce takes the communication when it comes in at the Batcave--he's there to re-equip and head back out, and hears the alert from the locker room. "Batman, here. What's the situation?" He tries to squelch the instinctive fear that rears its ugly head--he doesn't know where Jason is, what he's doing, if he's safe, and the Outlaws would not contact him unless it were something important.

tbh i have no idea where i was going with this but gen timdami feels sooooo:

Tim was honestly just doing his best not to freak the hell out. It was hard--very hard. He and Damian had never gotten on like he'd hoped they would, back when he'd first found out that Bruce had a son. Time had made their hatred cool off a bit. They hadn't been brothers, or even friends. Tim had hated him, suspected the worst of him at all times, and he had no compulsions to deny that fact.

Until he'd been perfectly conscious less than fifty feet from Damian when the little brat's Mother had him skewered through the torso by his own clone. Less than fifty feet away and half-heartedly struggling while Damian choked on his own blood. Less than fifty feet away while he bled out all over the street in front of Wayne Enterprises. Less than fifty feet away when he stopped breathing and died, all alone. By the time he'd gotten free and rounded the obstacles between them, Damian was a tiny corpse in Bruce's arms, Dick was in shock.

And Tim? Well, as far as he was concerned, Tim was a monster.

very old cold fluff/angst/hurt/comfort thingy ft. the robins:

See, the thing is, the suits are pretty friggin badass. They're made to withstand heat, bullets, knives, fingernails, teeth, and basically whatever Gotham's underbelly has to throw at them. (They're even pretty spiffy, too.)

One thing they're not made to withstand, however, is cold. Which is fine, until Gotham hits a cold snap of 7 below zero. Which was also fine, to start out with, because even criminals usually had some semblance of a brain, and avoided going outside when the snot froze in your nose (ha, that rhymed), after two seconds. The downside was that Freeze seized the opportunity to break out of Arkham and roam the streets without his suit. And he'd apparently gotten a slew of henchmen, off of villain craigslist or whatever the hell the criminals in Gotham used to find help. Hence, Jason was wandering through the city at some ridiculous hour, shooting henchmen while everyone else huddled inside their nice, warm houses.

Well, almost everyone.

MORE attempt at plot/hurt!Jason and Bruce:

Bruce hit the water hard and plunged beneath the surface rapidly. He stifled a yelp of pain when he hit the bottom only milliseconds after submerging, his legs folding up to take the impact and something in his hip pinching suddenly and sharply. He forced himself to maneuver his feet beneath him and push against the bottom towards the surface. He broke the water with a gasp, shaking his head vigorously to try and dislodge some of the water filling the cowl. His hip was throbbing and he was panting, but he whipped his head from side to side, anyway, searching the tank frantically. All he could see was lapping green through his night-vision lenses. "Hood," he gasped out, his voice clogged with water and fear.

No response. The water continued to ripple against the walls. Bruce kicked his legs, ignoring the screaming pain that radiated up his spine as he did so. "Hood?" He grunted again, his voice lowered to some extent for fear of being overheard by their captors. But panic was quickly overriding that concern. "Jay?!" He called again, raising his voice just a bit, becoming taut with frustration and fear. "Jason, if you can hear me, answer." Still nothing. Bruce gulped. "Jay, please."

Silence except for the lapping, dripping water. Bruce's heart was hammering against his ribs, and he was having a hard time catching his breath. He glanced around again.

attempt at plot + hurt!Jason and Bruce bc what else:

Jason woke to his head pounding and intense, burning pain in his abdomen. He felt hot and dizzy and sick. He couldn't stifle a groan as he shifted.

"Hood?" A familiar growl--close and tense but surprisingly gentle--said, and Jason tensed. He had no idea where he was, but that voice...he knew it far too well. He tried to open his eyes, and after a few moments he managed to blink them open to slits. Sure enough, he could dimly see Bruce looming over him, his jaw tense with worry beneath the cowl.

"What?" Jason croaked, starting at how hoarse he sounded, how hard it felt to draw breath.

"Lie still," Bruce ordered, and Jason froze. It still ticked him off when Bruce ordered him around as if he were still Robin, but the concealed fear in Bruce's voice combined with the pain--and having no memory of how he wound up here--made him listen. His gaze flitted from Bruce to the metal surrounding them, enclosing them from all sides. His pulse sped up without his consent.

Unnamed Jason&Bruce angst:

"You know," Jason croaks hoarsely, his throat tight with pain and his chest burning from the effort of speaking, "in our line of work, no one expects to live forever." He pauses to gulp for air that burns as it goes down, and he clenches his eyes shut at the pain the effort causes him--and at how his headache is being exacerbated by Bruce banging against the bars of the cage they're locked in, roaring threats at their captors. He doesn't seem to be hearing anything Jason's saying--he just keeps slamming his hands against the metal frame surrounding them. Jason's not even sure if he's speaking English. His posture is wound tight, and anyone even half-sane who saw him this way would turn and run the other direction as quickly as possible. Jason's never been sane, though.

“Untitled” sequel:

The rest of the League thought of him as some superhuman, repressed ball of efficiency and brutality. He never failed, never wavered, never doubted or deviated from his mission. Bruce knew that was what they saw. He'd gotten used to it.

But every once in a while, he remembered just how much of a lie that was.

the "Jay is protective of the other Robins even when he acts like he's not" fic:

Tim wasn't entirely sure what day it was, anymore. It seemed like it had been forever since he'd seen the sun--or anything, for that matter--but the brain had a funny way of dealing with stressful situations, one of them being the general weird-ness of the sensation of time passing. He offhandedly wondered if it was morning as he worked at the bonds around his wrists for the thousandth time. Still no give. At first, his wrists had stung awfully, and later they became unbearably itchy, no doubt from dried blood. Now, his wrists were numb and his hands felt large and awkward. He supposed that tended to happen when they'd been supporting all his weight for several hours at least.

the JayKara thing:

"Sooooo."

Tim was preoccupied with peering over the edge of the rooftop, using his binoculars to scan the deal going on below. He'd been working for weeks to trace the shipment of drugs to these two gangs, and find enough evidence to lock them up, but tonight his work was finally going to pay off. It didn't bother him too much that Jason was rambling behind him; he did that a lot, and Tim had gotten good at tuning most of it out. He adjusted his binoculars again and focused on one of the head mercs, who was deep in heated conversation with another head. Aaaaaany minute now...

"--you and Spoiler are...like....a thing. Occasionally. I guess."

Tim slowly turned his head. "Hmmm?" He said, a bit dumbly.

The "hurt!Jason vs. the GCPD which was supposed to be funny and sad but just wound up mostly sad" fic:

By the time Commissioner Gordon arrives on the scene, it's swarming with the fifth precinct, EMTs, news cameras, and onlookers who are barely held back by the thin, yellow crime scene tape. He hops out of the car, barely sparing the thought to lock it behind him and hope that whatever poor kid was driving has the keys. He immediately spots Bullock standing in a knot of people, only about twenty feet from the door, which is currently leaking smoke and flames and sparks out into the air with continuous gusts. There's some sort of commotion going on inside---he can faintly hear gunshots and shouts even from this distance. He draws his pistol from its holster, just in case, and jogs over to join them. There's a definite yell as he reaches them, and another gunshot. No one seems to be dodging or taking cover. He has no idea what the hell's going on.

As usual I tag anyone who feels like it or any authors who haven’t been tagged yet who’d like to share some of their first lines.

#tag games #my fic #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #damian wayne #batfam #batfamily #dc #writing

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