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flaminpumpkin · 3 years

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Small treasures

“Five more minutes,” Bruce grumbled as he distantly heard the door open through his sleepy haze.

There was some shuffling sound around the room and then it was flooded with bright morning light as Alfred mercilessly opened the heavy curtains, the rays of sunshine hitting the Bat right in the face, making him scramble for the covers to hide his sensitive eyes.

“Very well, Master Bruce. Breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”

He was so used to Alfred’s barely hidden exasperation after all these years that his words took longer than usual to register with Bruce. A frown appeared on his face as he finally realized what was wrong with the butler’s statement.

Alfred never served breakfast – or any meal for that matter – in the kitchen.

He would rather shoo everyone out with a spatula full off batter than let anyone eat where he cooked. Bruce couldn’t even count the number of times he had seen Dick or Tim appear in the dining room with a sheepish look, a thoroughly exasperated Alfred hot on their heels.

Pushing the sheets away just enough to uncover his head, Bruce peeked over his shoulder at the still open door, eyebrows knitting further in confusion.

“What?”

Something caught his eyes.

There was a piece of yellow paper on the nightstand. An origami bat, he realized after finally deciding to emerge from the sea of sheets and pillows he had buried himself in during his sleep. He reached for it and took the little paper animal gingerly between his fingers, eyes focusing enough to read “unfold me” written in elegant cursive right at its center.

Bruce did as he was told.

Dear Master Bruce,

My words most probably confused you as the kitchen is a place I do not tolerate for anyone to eat in. But, need I remind you, there always has been one peculiar occasion where I allowed you to do so.

Bruce stared at the note, confusion growing.

Oh.

His eyebrows raised a bit, pleasantly amused. There was indeed one occasion Alfred would let him eat in the kitchen while he worked. What did the kids put Alfred to this time?

Led by his curiosity, Bruce climbed off the bed, fully awake now as he put on a shirt, and padded out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen.

No one was there when he arrived, which wasn’t odd per say but he had learned to be cautious over years of attempted surprise parties. There was a plate though, on the little table, with French toasts that smelled like butter and cinnamon and a cup of coffee with probably enough sugar and cream that it didn’t even taste like coffee anymore.

It was a breakfast Alfred had always prepared for him on the morning of his birthday after his parents’ death. He would put the plate on this same table and work silently as Bruce happily ate, the two of them sharing the same space in the simplest way. It wasn’t a grand gesture but it had meant the world to him nonetheless.

Another little origami bat was waiting for him, propped against the cup. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Bruce put it aside before starting to eat, careful not to stain the paper with coffee or grease, only taking it again once he had cleared the table and washed his hands. He unfolded it with the same care as the first.

My happy place.

(Took a piece of bread. Alfred said yes. Thank you.)

Cass

The dance studio on the third floor.

A while back, Bruce had decided to redesign one of the biggest rooms on that floor in a place where Cass could dance that wasn’t the ball room. He had wanted for it to be a place only for her, where she could express herself and spend time however she pleased, without anyone bothering her. His greatest recompense had been the radiant smile on her face before she had locked himself in there and played music until late that night.

The next course of action wasn’t too hard to guess so Bruce quickly folded the paper back into its bat form, slid it in the pocket of his pajama pants, along the first one, and headed for the next place.

As expected, he found another bat in Cass’s dance studio, tucked into the folds of a bright orange knitted scarf. There was a running joke between his kids saying that it was because Bruce always forgot to take a scarf with him during winter that his Batman voice sounded so bad.

One thing was for sure, he would not forget this one.

Hey B, remember that time you told me you were proud of me and then proceeded to suffocate me with your muscles? Just kidding, you give great hugs. Like, super comfy, 10/10. But yeah, go there next.

Steph :p

He huffed at Stephanie’s words, eyes rolling with fondness. He remembered perfectly what she was referring to.

The young woman had been staying in the manor for a few days that time, Alfred being keen on keeping her under careful observation after she had been hit with a new type of fear gas while on patrol with Dick. She had continuously apologized to Bruce, blaming herself for Dick’s injuries.

Until the third day, where he had found her reading in the library, curled up in one of the love seats. Before she could utter a word, he had crouched down and grabbed her hands firmly.

“You do not need to apologize or blame yourself for anything, do you hear me? You managed to drag Dick and yourself out of this building while under the influence of fear gas when most would have stayed frozen in place. I’m sure he will agree that a few scratches and broken bones are far better than what would have awaited him if you hadn’t been there. I’m proud of you, Stephanie Brown. More than you’ll ever know.”

After that, she had thrown herself at him and Bruce had hugged her for the better part of an hour until Alfred had come to fetch her for some blood analysis.

This time, when he walked into the next place of this little treasure hunt, he found a laptop, sitting open on the table next to one of the windows. The windows of the library were wide and high and the spot where the next gift awaited was one of his favorites.

So he let himself sink in the armchairs cushions and started to play the video.

“You better not ruin this, Todd,” Damian was saying, standing next to the piano in the lounge of the west wing, violin already positioned on his shoulder.

Jason was scowling at the piano in front of him, focused.

“Just take the lead, brat. I’ll follow.”

“Could you two focus, please?” Tim said off camera.

The other two huffed with the same affronted look towards the camera.

Then the melody started and both of their faces softened. It was gentle, melancholic. Almost sad if you asked Bruce. But he listened with a smile on his face, bemused at the sight of his two quick tempered sons playing with a soft kind of intensity together, Jason following Damian’s lead flawlessly – probably the result of hours of practice. It was truly beautiful and he knew that the melody was one of Damian’s compositions.

But it was over too soon for Bruce’s taste so he played it a second time, closing his eyes. And then a third as he read the next message, only heading for the next place once it was over.

Blah blah blah, some cute shit about us bonding, blah blah blah. Just get your ass to the garage old man.

Ps: Remember your Aston Martin? I think I scratched it a bit but I’ll blame it on Timmy anyway.

Jay.

Bruce knew exactly which car Jason was talking about (and knew perfectly that he didn't scratch it). An Aston Martin DB5 he had inherited from his father. Nobody had driven it in ages when Jason had brought it up during dinner one evening, not long after he had taken him in.

“Isn’t that James Bond's car?”

“It is. But it’s been so long since the last time I used it, I’ll probably need to pop open the hood before anything else if I want to drive it again.”

“Can I help you fix it?”

Jason’s eyes had been so full of hope and excitement when he had asked Bruce. He had laughed before agreeing. The next day, Alfred had had to come and pry them away from the car for lunch because both of them had forgotten about eating in their eagerness.

He noticed a tape case on the board as he approached, in front of the wheel. Bruce opened the door and climbed in so he could reach for it easily. On the piece of paper tucked between the clear case and the tape, Bruce could see every song scribbled, one in each of his children’s handwriting. He recognized a song by The Clash in Tim’s handwriting – of course – and Midnight Sonata in Damian’s. The other titles and artists were mostly lost on him, except maybe for that Belgian one Cass listened to a lot.

I can’t count the number of times I fell asleep there while you worked and you had to carry me back to my room.

Dick

Bruce couldn’t recount either.

Although he remembered fondly the first time Dick had fallen asleep in his study, curled up in one of the seats across his desk while he worked on some urgent papers for WE. They both had been so young. Bruce being completely new to parenthood, he had seeked out Alfred who had only fixed him with a blank stare before sending him back.

“Don’t you dare wake up this child, Master Bruce.”

He had actually managed to pick up the gangly child without waking him up, even if rather awkwardly, and had carried him all the way to his bedroom uneventfully. Only to trip on one of Dick’s schoolbooks once there, nearly dropping him.

They had both elected not to mention it to Alfred and, to this day, it was still something only the two of them knew about.

When he arrived at his study, another message was waiting for him in the seat Dick used to sleep in, along with a gift card for that 24 hours coffee shop that had opened recently in downtown Gotham. Bruce let out a breathy laugh at that.

I know you always listen when I play, Father. Why do you think I leave my door open when I do?

D. Wayne

And here he thought he had been smooth. However, he should have expected that his son would pick up on his habit of passing by his room while he rehearsed with his violin.

But Bruce couldn’t resist the pull in his chest. Damian was a gifted player, just like Jason, able to translate raw emotions in barely a few notes. It always put his mind at ease, smoothed out his most troubled thoughts even for only a few moments. He had caught everyone at least once, standing outside of his youngest’s door, listening to soft melodies in a rare moment of peace.

It was silent moments shared with everyone, brought together by Damian's deft fingers. Something he had been doing knowingly and willingly apparently. It made it all the more special for Bruce.

There was no gift when he went searching for the next clue in Damian’s room. Or so he thought.

Sitting on his son’s music-stand along with yet another yellow origami bat, was an open partition. It was still in work, Bruce could tell. Notes were hastily written with a pencil, a few stains where some had been erased. Nothing out of the ordinary for Damian and his creative mind. Except for the title.

Ode to Family.

Thankfully, no one was around to witness the shuddering breath that escaped him as he read. He exited the room still unable to breathe normally, heart so full he almost felt like suffocating, and walked towards his next – and probably last – location.

You spent hours trying to teach me how to dance the waltz there after I told you I wanted to take Steph dancing for her birthday. I still don’t know how to dance but we had fun.

Tim

Indeed, Bruce still regularly caught Tim stepping on his partner’s toes during charity galas and other events. But he suspected the young man of going to great lengths to not learn how to dance correctly because it usually dissuaded most people from asking him to dance with them. And god knew how much his son disliked dancing.

That was why it had greatly surprised him when Tim had asked him for help.

“I wasn’t really the best boyfriend to her so I just… I thought I could at least be a good friend and take her dancing? She loves it when Cass takes her in the studio and they dance so I just thought… Yeah…”

Five hours later, Tim had made absolutely no progress. He had known the steps by heart at this point, had it memorized and yet, he couldn’t seem to stop stomping on Bruce’s toes. To both Dick’s and Alfred’s delight.

His eldest son probably still had videos of it, he thought as he entered the vast and empty ballroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary or out of place and Bruce almost expected for his family to sneak up on him and surprise him when he noticed one last, black origami bat on the wooden floor, right in the center of the room.

He crouched down and unfolded it slowly, warily even, some would say.

Terrace on the second floor. You know, the one where I inelegantly asked you to marry me and you just stared for a good five minutes before laughing. (And saying yes, of course.)

It wasn’t signed and even if the message wasn’t telling enough, he would recognize that hasty scribble everywhere.

Bruce took off, climbing stairs two by two and running down hallways. His heart was pounding in his chest.

He had been gone for six months. Six excruciatingly long months of absolutely no contact, of not having any means to make sure his husband-to-be – yes, that idiot had asked him to marry him just before leaving – was still alive and well. Six months of worrying, of his children asking nervously if he had any news of his whereabouts.

Bruce barged through the French doors leading to the wide terrace on the second floor of the manor and, surely enough, everyone was there. Absolutely everyone.

“Happy birthday, Spooky. Half a century, we gotta celebrate,” Hal drawled with an easy grin.

“Someone take the cake away from Hal. Right now, before they ruin it!” Bruce heard someone say distantly and, next thing he knew, he had taken the few steps still separating them and was kissing Hal, holding him close by the lapels on his jacket.

There were groans, cheers and something that sounded a lot like someone telling them to get a room. Hal laughed against his lips, pecked him one last time before pulling away, opening his arms widely with a grin. A clear invitation for everyone to pile up on them which everyone took with great enthusiasm, barreling into them and crushing Bruce and Hal under their combined weight.

#batfam #bruce and his kids #that's it #batlantern #at the end #as a treat #cuz I love these old men #bruce wayne #batman #happy birthday batsy #this was supposed to be a short drabble i don't know what happened #clemwrites

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flaminpumpkin · 3 years

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batlantern + 33 please? I love your writing :)

Thank you! T.T

I'm not completely happy with this one because I feel like I strayed from the prompt but I hope you'll like it!

Batlantern + The feel of fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade

Bruce was barely starting to wake up, still half buried under the several pillows he had hoarded during the night, when he felt something tickle his skin. He rolled his shoulder to get rid of the sensation and go back to sleep but something – someone, Hal – swatted him lightly.

“Tt, babe! Don’t move!” he whispered-yelled. “I’m practicing.”

His hazy mind unhelpfully supplied that his lover had been spending too much time with Damian if he was picking up on his son’s verbal mannerisms. Bruce pushed the thought down with a grunt – it was way too early for thinking – and tried once more to disappear within his mountain of pillows to finish his night.

Unfortunately for him, his mind couldn’t help but focus on the feeling of Hal’s fingers on the bare skin of his shoulder blade. On how, despite how feather light Hal’s touch was as he traced patterns, the pad of his fingers felt that much rougher on his naked skin. On how much cooler his fingertips were compared to the rest of his body.

“It’s been like that ever since I’ve had extended missions in space,” he had explained once. “Courtesy of the void, I guess.”

Bruce didn’t mind, though. It was the only type of coolness that didn’t bother him. Probably because it was Hal.

Hal, who clicked his tongue again in frustration, mumbling “no, that’s not right” under his breath as he drummed his fingers on Bruce’s shoulder blade, his blunt nails managing to graze the older man’s skin and sending shivers down his spine.

The Bat leaned back slightly, pushing his shoulder against Hal’s hand, hoping he would get what Bruce wanted him to do.

Which he did, he thought with a contented sigh as his lover ran a soothing thumb where his nails had lightly scratched him before resuming what he had been doing, this time abandoning whatever pattern he had been elaborating on Bruce’s skin and letting his fingertips wander aimlessly, gentle and slow.

Along the curve of the bone, following the dips and waves of muscles. Gingerly, as it encountered a decade old scar, tenderly tracing its rigged edges even if it clearly wasn’t painful anymore.

He kept his eyes closed the whole time, basking in the softness of Hal’s touch, reveling in it.

“What were you practicing?” he grumbled at some point, voice rough with sleep and disuse.

“Why, welcome back to the land of the living and good morning to you too, sweetheart.”

Hal’s voice was dripping with sarcasm but he didn’t stop his ministrations, not even faltering, to Bruce’s immense satisfaction.

“Good morning. What were you practicing?”

He knew the pilot rolled his eyes at that despite the fact that his own were still closed.

“The Vixian alphabet. I want to prove to Guy I can tell him to fuck off without the help of the ring.”

“Charming.”

“You love it.”

Yes. He did.

Here's the masterpost for any more request!

#batlantern #hal jordan #green lantern #bruce wayne #batman #bruhal #clemwrites #writing challenge

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flaminpumpkin · 3 years

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I'm going to try and write some short drabbles in the future based on some of these because I've hit some huge writer block and since I can't seem to shake it, I thought this would help

So if anyone wants to suggest a character or a ship (romantic or platonic or familial), just drop the name + a number in my ask box and I'll write something (^^)v

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flaminpumpkin · 3 years

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hi! i wanna suggest BatLantern with 11 or 22 for the prompt thingy, i hope you shake your writersblog, whatever youll end up writing :)

Thank you! ^^

Hope you'll like this one

Batlantern + Neon lights at 1:30 am

It was the middle of the night, probably around 1:30 am, when Hal landed on top the W of the giant Wayne Enterprise sign plastered on the façade of the building, the bright neon red light making him squint. He was exhausted, his eyes hypersensitive, which the aggressive light didn’t make any better. He needed a good night – and an entire day – of sleep, preferably in Bruce’s gigantic, marshmallow-soft bed.

But first, he wanted to see Bruce. It had been so long.

He knew for a fact that the Bat would be out patrolling given the fact that the pilot’s return wasn’t due for another two days. So he had scanned the city the moment he had been close enough to do so, the ring informing of his lover’s location in mere seconds.

With a smile, he crouched down and peered at the black form perched on the edge of the roof below him.

The Bat was eerily immobile, like a gargoyle, his black cape pooling around him. It almost seemed like it was absorbing any light touching it, not letting it bounce back or taint it with its saturated red hues. The light stopped right at the edge of it, as if scared, surrounding the man in a devilish halo.

A devilish light for a devilishly handsome man, he thought with a quiet snort, standing back up and floating down.

Bruce barely moved when Hal let himself plop down next to him on the edge of the roof, legs dangling uselessly in the empty air. His stance stayed the same, only his head had turned slightly, a small smirk stretching his lips; meaning he was looking at Hal behind the milky white lenses of his scowl, turned a shining crimson now.

“You’re back early,” Bruce finally said in a soft voice, so unlike what it usually was when he was wearing the cowl.

Hal hummed in response, letting his mask dissolve so he could better admire the other man. Enhanced vision wasn’t the best in every circumstances.

Especially not when the red backlight of the sign behind them really did Bruce the best favors, accentuating his features. Those high cheekbones, that chiseled jaw. Those thin lips with the faintest cupid bow Hal could never help but run a thumb over when he woke up before Bruce.

“Hal?”

The pilot blinked, eyes focusing again as he realized he hadn’t talked in probably too long.

“Yeah?”

“You’re swaying. You need rest.”

He hummed again, noncommittally, leaning against the hand on his shoulder.

“Go home, Hal. I’ll join you soon.”

The pilot nodded around a yawn, vaguely thinking that despite how tender the smile on Bruce’s face was, he looked rather demonic in this blinding red light, dressed from head to toe in black leather. Maybe he really did need sleep.

“Alright.”

There was no kiss as they parted – no matter how much Bruce had mellowed out, this still was a big no when he was on duty. Just a murmured promise of waking up together as Hal took off and flew towards the manor, leaving behind a menacing dot of darkness against a backdrop of neon red light.

Here's the masterpost for more requests ^^

#batlantern #hal jordan #green lantern #batman #bruce wayne #bruhal #clemwrites #writing challenge

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flaminpumpkin · 3 years

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White

Hal wasn’t fond of it.

He couldn’t avoid it. Had to look at it every goddamn morning in the mirror. And aside from the fact that it was a constant reminder of his time as the Spectre and a lot of actions he was far from being proud of, having this on top of his head was a daily struggle for him.

Read more on ao3

#batlantern #bruhal #hal jordan #bruce wayne #green lantern #batman #clemwrites

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flaminpumpkin · 3 years

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Green