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#i swear i thought alfred was messing around
hanihazeljade · 1 month
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Therapy
Tim has been seeing a therapist, and he decided to listen. Finally.
Disclaimer: I am not a psychiatrist and I just heard on Tiktok about the therapy part of this drabble. The tiktok account was from Dr. Julie.
(Warning: swear words)
Tim knows he is a messed up human being. Being a child crime fighter and then being an orphan is really cool, and depressing at the same time.
Tim has witnessed a lot of stuff that will put people in a lot of trauma. He just quirky like that. But one therapy session definitely change a lot of his thoughts.
It started as a casual therapy of Timothy expected and when she pull out two fish tanks and a toy fish, he was impressed.
"Timothy, pretend that this fish is you." his therapist said as she crank the toy and dropped it in the water tank. "Imagine that this fish tank is your life. When you were born, it's clear and not a single dirty thing in it, but once you grow up, problems starts to create and it can be toxic to you." she explained as she dripped a bottle of brown liquid to the tank. "If the fish is living in a toxic environment, the fish will eventually get sick." she said as she pulled the fish out of the water.
"You pull out the fish of that toxic environment and put in a new clean environment," she said as she dropped the fish to the clear water, "...and it helps. It gets better. But once you return the fish to the dirty tank, it doesn't matter how clean the water in the other tank, it will eventually wear down the fish."
Timothy can see where this is going.
"The fish is you. You were neglected in your younger years and then everything got taken away from you. With everything got stacked up in your life, it gotten more and more toxic, you need to change your environment, Timothy. Take a break for a week, be selfish for a moment and see if it can help you." she said and they end the therapy there.
Timothy should not even thinking about getting a vacation, crime doesn't stop just because you are depressed. But her words echoed through his mind, "Be selfish for a moment." and he filed for a leave of absence and he doesn't wait for it to be approved as he took a flight to Melbourne. He is insane for taking a flight at the other side of Gotham, but he felt it, the electrifying sensation that he once felt running around the Gotham taking pictures of Batman.
He felt thrill and adrenaline in his veins and he found himself smiling at this feeling.
+++++
Melbourne is amazing, except for spiders and the fucking city was almost called Batmania, fucking hell.
That week was spent on sleeping and just sight-seeing and honestly, he wanted to take a break from now.
But just like what his therapist said, no matter how clear the water during his break, now that he is in the toxic tank, he was already tired.
The glare that he got from Bruce and Dick is a little degrading and Alfred's disappointed face was the last string that snap that made him finally realise that he doesn't need them to be happy. He doesn't need a 'family' that the reason of him to go to the therapy.
This is the muddy water for him. Not just the Wayne Manor but the whole Gotham.
He was still in the middle of a lecture of Bruce's when he whipped a white envelope with his resignation letter on it. He is resigning to everything that has connection to Gotham or even the America itself. He just smiled at Bruce and left the cave to go to the garage of the Manor where his Jaguar is.
He sort of black out what happen because the next thing he knew was that he was in a plane to Taiwan. He has no idea but he have a suitcase and himself. He smiled at himself and he is letting the fate be his navigator in this chapter of his life.
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ynbabe · 11 months
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Batfam x male reader
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Jason: How did you know there would be an extra uniform in the bag?
Tim: Everyone knows flight attendants are required to carry extra uniforms, in case they get called to work unexpectedly.
Dick: Or if something happens to the one they're already wearing.
Tim: Everyone does not know that. How did you both know that?
Roy (yes he’s a bat now, no idgaf abt queen): Worked airport security.
Jason and Y/n: *Simultaneously* Slept with a flight attendant.
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Jason: *sighs* I have no friends...
Y/n:
Y/n: *coughs* Bitch, what am I? A roach?!
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Tim: I can’t go, Dick’s mad at me 
Y/n: Why?
Tim: Well there was too many people watching on the Netflix account so I texted him and told him to check the news ‘cause Batman was dead and when he saw I was lying he couldn’t get back onto the Netflix because I had taken his spot
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Jason: [on the phone] Hey do you remember when I said that me and Y/n were gonna have a calm night out?
Steph: Yes?
Jason: How much bail money do you have?
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Jason: [takes off his shirt and jumps into a fighting stance] Fight me you bitch
Y/n: [picks up Harley’s shirt and puts it on] What’s your next move?
Jason: Wait what-? Gimme my shirt back
Y/n: No you’ve made your decision 
Jason: L/n I’m cold
Y/n: Should’ve worn a shirt then
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Dick: Damian loves the outdoors
Dick: That time we went camping he was like Mowgli running around those woods
Dick: I swear Y/n, he was that happy that I honestly thought about just leaving him there
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Y/n: Are you all caught up on homework?
Tim: I have a project due on Tuesday and I’m not saying I haven’t started but if you ask to see what I’ve done so far there wouldn’t be anything 
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Y/n: Pete, why did you put syrup on the shopping list?
Steph: Cause I like syrup
Y/n: Yes but now it’s all sticky
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Y/n, serious: Don't go falling in love with me
Jason, also serious: Yeah, that's not a problem
*A few days later*
Jason: *yelling as he runs to Dick's room* DICK, I HAVE A PROBLEM
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Dick: Do NOT drink the night before the awards ceremony 
Jason: Yeah yeah, be on time, don’t mess things up
Dick: NO. Alfred’s booked a bagpipe choir. You do NOT want to be hungover for a bagpipe choir
Y/n: Oh fuck
Dick: We’ll go out AFTER the ceremony
Dick: When the bagpipe choir has left the premises 
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Y/n: Tim got so drunk last night he puked all over my living room
Tim: It was the laughing! You made me laugh and I threw up!
Jason: Yeah it wasn’t the nine vodka sodas, it was the laughing
Y/n: “Oh my god! I drank so much laughter before this!”
Tim: 
Jason: You owe us a new rug
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Y/n: [climbing down the side of the building]
Tim: Y/n!
Tim: Y/n come back! You’re gonna miss your cocoa!
Y/n: [in the distance] I know!
Tim: Well can I have it then?
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Jason, after getting Tim duty: Horror movies don’t scare Tim
Dick: But Chuckie is so creepy though
Tim, spending wayyy to much time on Y/n with this: If I had to fight Chuckie I’d stand in an open field and kick him like a soccer ball every time he came towards me
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Y/n: We need to find Dami, do you have a picture of him?
Tim: No but I can draw him from memory 
Tim: How tall is he? Like 2 feet?
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Y/n: Have fun at your party
Tim: Thanks
Y/n: You know what they say: “Liquor before beer, never fear. Don’t do heroin”
 Tim: It’s a parent-controlled sociale for rich kids in Gotham I’ll be back before 9
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Y/n: Fuck sake Bruce you said I had to babysit one kid
[Dick, Jason, Steph, Cass, Tim, Duke and Damian waving]
Bruce: They don’t exactly come separately... and you only need to look after Damian
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Y/n: [waking up from a near death injury] You were scared
Jason: Nah, I was waiting to inherit your millions
Y/n: Let me know where you find them, huh?
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Bruce: Can’t you leave Damian alone?
Tim: I got all the Justice league, young justice, teen titans, titans, everyone at WE and a bunch of interns to sign this notebook I had and then I wrote “Sign here if you think Damian is stupid” on the cover
Tim: He almost cried 
Tim: It was great
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Dick: Kid, could I have a moment in private with Y/n?
Tim: Sure, I’ll just plug my ears and sing an old sea shanty
Dick: Wait-
Tim: There once was a ship that went to sea-
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Tim, crushing on Y/n: Can I just say that I’d love to listen to you talk about Hell all afternoon Y/n
Jason, dating y/n and having met in hell: And can I just say that if I had my guns right now I’d shoot myself
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Y/n: Uhhh
Damian: *scoffs*
Y/n: You want a beer?
Dick: He's ten!
Y/n: I don't know, what am I supposed to do with him!?
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Damian: I wanna ride a horse
Y/n: Alright sweetie here’s the horse
Damian: That’s a horse? 
Damian: [picks up book] I thought this was a horse?
Y/n: Damian that’s a cow
Damian: I wanna ride that
Steph: Me moo
Y/n: You’re not helping 
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Tim, clearly drunk: I don’t even know how to drink! I’ve never had one! Like what do you even mix vodka with?
Y/n: A straw
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Y/n, at a PTM meeting: Wait- that guy is the bullying you?
Cass, under strict orders from Bruce not to fight: Hmm 
Y/n, knowing Bruce can’t say shit to him: [powering up] Not my first human, doubt it will be my last 
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worldheadcanons · 1 year
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☆ stalker au: them calling you!
starring. . . gender neutral reader and america, england, france, + canada. warning for stalking (in general), minor descriptions of manipulation, and mentions of nsfw in every part except (loser) england’s.
author notes; silly weird idea of mine. i sort of want to make this into a full fledged au and include other characters and maybe develop a plot but i’m not sure.. let me know what you think and any thoughts or ideas you have! matthew’s part is the freakiest because i think the quiet ones are the weirdest.
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alfred f. jones!
— he calls often because he just loves your voice. it’s alfred’s favorite thing to get off to after a long day. he likes the way he can, to an extent, hear you inhale and exhale on the other side of the phone. another thing jones enjoys about calling you is how easy it is. he could be calling from his own line at home or from a burner phone. he’s made sure that you won’t be able to tell the difference.
— alfred has a schedule. he’ll call you at least once a week and at most two or three times a week. occasionally you’ll ignore him which drives him to call you more. the phone will ring and ring and ring all day and night until you pick it up. he’s stubborn like that. you block one number, there’s at least seventy more calling you. in the end, you have no choice but to give in and pick up the phone.
— his calls are sly and almost flirtatious. they’re far too short though. jones loves the hint of curiosity in your voice the more he flatters you, cooing about you how special you are to him. then he says something creepy, something about how he wants to see you from a better angle than the one your window provides— suddenly you’re scared. you’re threatening to call the police. you ignore his next phone call and the one after that… eventually you come around though. you always come around. alfred likes that about you. 
— he enjoys calling you just to watch you talk on the phone with him. he’s on edge when it comes to taking in your every response, physical or verbal. your expressions are addicting, he swears. sometimes you’ll put the phone to your ear, talking into it as you do some sort of housework. laundry, perhaps. jones will keep conversation light during this time so that you don’t mess up your work. he’d hate to get in your way.
— he’s got a voice fit for radio. his voice is hot on the phone and he knows it. sometimes alfred feels like you’re more into these calls than he is.. unlikely. but not impossible. he likes to ask questions often about you, your family, and your hobbies. it doesn’t hurt to ask things, even if jones already knows the answers. it’s funny when you lie and he has the chance to correct you. he’s sure he knows you better than you know yourself.
— “you know i love you, right? the cops won’t stop me from loving you,” alfred pauses slightly from where he is in your backyard, smirking to himself in the dark, “you know that too, don’t you, y/n?”
arthur kirkland!
— his voice is pretty distinctive so he calls less often than others might. kirkland would honestly rather not deal with the consequences of what might happen if you recognize him. he works with you, after all. it would be all too easy for you to put the pieces together, given how smart you are. arthur loves your intelligence.. and hates it at the same time. 
— his schedule is sporadic and somewhat impulsive. most of the time he calls once every week although there are exceptions. when he’s feeling more desperate he’ll call once a day, recording it so he can listen to your voice over and over for comfort. when kirkland feels more paranoid he’ll drop all the way down to once a month. that was rare though.
— his calls are long by stalker standards. he doesn’t speak like a complete creep which keeps you on the line much longer. in fact, arthur presents himself as more of a secret admirer who’s too shy to face you. he loves the reassurance you give him, telling him that he seems like such a nice man and you’d love to give him a chance. you’re too sweet for your own good. he’ll slip every now and then, revealing personal details he knows about you but he’s quick enough to recover without you being too suspicious.
— kirkland doesn’t like to call and watch you, preferring to focus on one thing or the other. if he’s calling, he’s putting his full effort into the phone call. if he’s watching then he’s watching intently, taking note of your every move. alongside his call recordings, he has videos of you taken from outside your window or on a public bus ride. 
— he’ll often try to muddle his accent when he’s speaking to you. if you ever happen to notice his accent and compliment it though, arthur will quickly drop the act just to hear you giggle through the phone. his first question is always ‘how was your day’ as he wants to scope out the mood of the call. if you’re sad then he’s consoling, if you’re happy then kirkland is cheering you on, if you’re angry then maybe he’ll be angry too and agree with you. whatever makes you happiest. 
— “don’t let me keep you up, love. you’ve got a long day at the office tomorrow—“ arthur began, only to be interrupted by you asking how he knows you work in an office. “oh, you’ve mentioned your job many times before. you’re just too tired to think right now. rest well, sweetheart. goodnight.”
francis bonnefoy!
— calls a decent amount, enough for you to expect his calls but not enough for you to get bored. one thing francis will never let you get is bored. each call is slightly different from the last, making them special even if he’s openly flirting in all of them. he likes your voice a lot and doesn’t hesitate to coo into the phone about it.
— calls twice, maybe three times if you’re lucky, every week. bonnefoy just doesn’t want you to start thinking of his calls as harassment, even though they technically are. there’s no ignoring francis, as even though you’re sure you’ve heard him mention watching you go into work, you can’t seem to block him out for longer than a week. you hate the fact that you’ve grown accustomed to his voice and that you miss him even though you shouldn’t. 
— his calls are full of flirtation and it’s not at all one sided. sometimes you’ll pretend you’re not interested and then you’ll start jabbing at him, calling him a creep and worse names. it’s competitive almost, a battle of wits hidden under the guise of romance. he likes to let you think you’re winning. it’s cute. he can almost hear your smirk over the phone.
— he likes calling you from the comforts of his own home, twirling his phone cord around his finger as he trades flirts and insults alike with you. his insults are fine tuned and specific so they hurt a lot, but he’s quick to comfort you before you can realize anything. “oh, *mon coeur! why must we fight *mon amour?” he’ll complain into the phone, stretching out on his bed before continuing on, “you know it hurts me to hurt you.”
— his french accent is rich. it translates nicely enough over the phone, sending a tingle down your spine whenever he speaks in his mother tongue. he’ll talk to you about his love for the most part but he also asks about your current health and whether or not you’ve eaten. you’ve lied to him once or twice and each time ends the same— with a meal delivered to your front porch within minutes. 
— “you want to see me in handcuffs? you’re so cruel, y/n,” he puts on an upset tone of voice at first.. then he shifts to something more seductive. “you don’t need the police for that though.. just let me into your house, *mon ange.. and we can do whatever you like.”
matthew williams!
— matthew calls regularly, specifically in the early morning or in the evening when he knows you’re both free. he’s even worse than alfred when it comes to enjoying your voice in a sexual manner. you sound like an angel to him. he’s not above jerking himself off or humping a pillow while he’s on the phone with you. he can’t help himself. it’s unfortunate that you don’t know his name. he’d love to hear you say it, just once.
— he tries to contact you every other day but sometimes he skips because he finds himself busy with other things. he doesn’t get too upset at this. it’s not like calls are his only way of interacting with you. by the time he starts calling you like this, he’s already watched you sleep at least once or twice. not to mention the clothing he’s taken from you— don’t worry, new clothes will appear on the porch the next day. clothes that he hopes you’ll wear for him sometime soon..
— his calls are, at first, rather shy. he gets bolder as time goes on though, going as far as to mention the color of the delicates you’re wearing that day. he enjoys teasing you with the knowledge he has. he’ll sit there, watching from the bushes, and tell you openly how cute you look when you’re cooking or cleaning. whenever you threaten to call the police, he sighs into the phone. “you’re so mean to me, y/n, playing hard to get.” you hang up, he calls again and again and, well, you pick up. the cycle continues on.
— he doesn’t mind when you’re mean to him, calling him a creep or a freak. he’s into it, really. it won’t change anything for you to pick up on this and start praising him. he’s a simple man. your attention is what he craves. negative, positive, he honestly doesn’t care. it’s part of why he’s willing to admit every once in a while that he’s watched you sleep. things like that quickly grab your attention. he chuckles as he listens to you gasp and ask him to repeat himself. “what do you mean, you ‘saw me dream’ last night?”
— william’s voice is soft and gentle but husky still. it has a certain attractiveness to it, unfortunately. he enjoys having people deliver gifts to your porch and then asking you what you think of them. it’s so frequent, you can’t tell which packages are ones you’ve bought and which ones are ones he’s bought.
— he chuckles into the phone, “i take it you like the clothes i’ve bought you.” you ask him what he’s talking about. his response is simple. “i can see you wearing them right now.”
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☆ TRANSLATIONS.
— *”mon coeur” means “my heart” — *”mon amour” translates to “my love” — *”mon ange” means “my angel”
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bakugousaysdie · 2 years
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I need to see the first interactions with Jason and shy!fem!reader
two ghosts ~ j.t.
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pairing : jason todd x shy!hero!fem!reader — coming alive au
warnings : first time meeting, fluff, strangers to friends to eventual lovers, very short and not much detail but I love this idea
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The Red Hood was not to be messed with. That was really all the information Bruce had truly given you. As the newest vigilante inducted in Batman’s crusade, you were mostly pushed to the sidelines. You were a superhero in training, but damn, you were a natural. Except Bruce didn’t want to risk you in a feud that was between him and his former Robin.
Despite all his flaws, Bruce did seem to care about the people he put in his care. That included you now. So, you listened to him. You stayed away from the Red Hood business when it all came to light. But that was almost a year and half ago, surely the rules didn’t apply now?
What were you supposed to do when Jason Todd was lurking on the roof across from the Iceberg? You were supposed to be investigating the monthly meetings of the Gotham rogues which you had recently caught wind of.
You had snuck up on him, and now that you were thinking about it, he wasn’t really doing anything but you knew all the shit he had put Tim through. He had nearly killed him, so in your mind he was a threat.
You had knocked him on his ass, having the tactical advantage of stealth. However, you were both equally matched, using every trick you had until you both were panting heavily with your backs against the concrete roof. You had caught your breath beside him, tilting your head to look at the man in the mask. You had no idea how important he would truly be to you.
“Ghost of Gotham, huh?”Jason broke the silence, voice deep behind the mask.”Here I thought I was the only ghost.”
“You didn’t kill me,” You blurted out, brows furrowed with curiosity.”Thought you were an outlaw.”
“I only kill bad people,”Jason corrected, sighing out as he sat up.”I told Bats I’d stop.”
“He didn’t tell us.”
“Well, he’s not big on communication,”Red Hood replied,”Though, next time, I won’t hold back. We’re on the same side now, so I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”
It had been so brief, but you remembered vividly. You remember how you swept his feet out from under him, how you wrapped your legs around his shoulder and landed a series of blows before he threw you off. You had held your own against the fucking Red Hood, you practically high off the victory.
You didn’t even know how that fight was the beginning of everything for you.
You didn’t see Jason again for almost a month. Dick had told you he tended to disappear like that, going off with his little band of outlaws ever so often.
When you saw him again, he had come back to Gotham for good. It was his city too after all.
You hadn’t been expecting him at Wayne Manor, let alone in the kitchen at 1am stealing Bruce’s cookies that Alfred had purposely set aside for him. To be fair, they were Alfred’s cookies and it was the best damn cookie you’d ever eaten.
Jason stood with his back against the counter, leaning casually as if he owned the place. Despite all the years of hardship, he looked as if he belonged, because well, he did belong.
You swear every braincell in your head went haywire, gazing upon the sight of Jason Todd shirtless in the kitchen. Sweats hung low on his hips, his boxers just barely peaking out over his v-line. Each defined muscle was illuminated by the soft light of moon and the open refrigerator door.
Were you drooling? You felt like you were drooling.
“Nice jammies,”His voice broke through the darkness, his messy hair falling over his forehead.
You teetered at the threshold, feeling quite exposed under his casual gaze. The soft cotton shorts didn’t cover up much, nor did the tank top that was partially ridden up your stomach. You felt messy, having just dragged yourself out of your uniform after a long night.
“Uh…”You couldn’t seem to find your words, crossing your arms over your chest.”Thanks.”
“You always this quiet?” Jason inquired, smirking a little when he noticed your eyes darting over his figure.”Or is it just me?”
“I just…I wasn’t expecting…I didn’t realize anyone was here, I—um,I would have worn pants.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, I’ve seen Dick in shorter shorts than that,”He chuckled,”Though, they were green, not superman themed.”
“To be fair, Dick would wear superman shorts,” You replied, biting down on your bottom lip nervously.
“You’re Ghost, right? We fought last time.”
You nodded silently, tapping your fingers nervously against your elbow.”Yeah, sorry again.”
Jason chuckled, pushing off the counter to take a step forward.”You don’t have to apologize. I like when a girl can kick my ass.”
Your eyes widened in response, swallowing thickly as you gazed up at him. God, he was so tall and broad. You almost can’t believe you managed to take him down.”Oh.”
“Helps that you’re cute,”Jason continued, inching towards you as if he was testing your reaction. He can’t help it. You were alluring, gorgeous, and badass, but you were also so quiet. He wondered how a girl could be so many things.
You can feel the heat in your cheeks, a little smile spreading sheepishly under his deepening gaze. He can’t help the surge of pride that flushes through him when he realizes how much you liked that despite how you turned your face away from him to hide away. Shy girls…oh man, he didn’t realize how much of a weakness he had.
“Did you come in here for something?” asked Jason, tilting his head curiously while taking a bite of cookie.
You stood silent for a second, mind blanking for a brief moment under his intense gaze.”I—I’ve been out…patrol,”You sputtered out, looking down at your feet in embarrassment.”I haven’t eaten. I was..I’m gonna eat cereal.”
Jason nodded in understanding, finishing up his cookie.”You just got back from fighting god knows who and you’re gonna eat cereal?”
“Yeah…”
“I’ll cook you something better than that, hm?”
“Why?” You questioned abruptly, looking hesitantly at him as if he was planning something.
“Maybe I want the excuse to keep talking to you,” Jason suggested, smirking at how you tucked your hair back nervously.”Maybe you’ll stop being so nervous.”
You highly doubt that.
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olympeline · 1 month
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You know, I like the idea that one of the first real bonding moments Alasdair and Arthur ever had was in the wreckage of 1776. That widely held headcanon that Arthur hit the bottle reeeally hard and was a rum soaked mess for a good few years after Alfred left. And of course Alasdair would have been around to witness it since their joining in 1707
And it’s quite the uncomfortable surprise, too. Arthur was always such a ferocious little shit - such a thorn in Scottie’s side - that in the end he had to propose a union before they tore each other to bits and sunk Britain’s bright future with their endless wars. Much as he hated to admit it, Arthur was tough. Arthur was strong. But now Arthur’s first born son first colony has up and left, and Arthur isn’t the fire breathing vengeance machine Alasdair expected. Instead of coming up with plots to use their growing empire’s might to beat Alfred to a pulp and drag him back kicking and screaming, Arthur has spiralled into a depressive funk, is going through three bottles a day, and would have already killed himself with alcohol poisoning if he were human. Or maybe he did a few times and just regenerated, idk. Either way it seems Alasdair didn’t know Arthur half so well as he thought he did. He never predicted a reaction like this
Alasdair watches Arthur’s collapse with confusion, followed by disbelief, then open disgust. He tries to ignore it, not wanting to deal with his sibling’s antics. Even when the king and officials beg Alasdair to step in and do something, he brusquely brushes them off. He’s not Arthur’s fucking nursemaid for God’s sake! Until one day they’re due to sail together on the kingdom’s flagship and his little brother holds them up. Alasdair gets the message that the former terror of the waves is once again too shitfaced to stand up, let alone captain a ship. Now the important voyage will have to be delayed
And Scot has just hAD ENOUGH of Arthur embarrassing and inconveniencing them all like this. He swears his brother was less trouble as a mortal enemy! Alasdair storms into Arthur’s room to drag the addlepated sot out of bed and talk some sense into him. With his fists if necessary. Not that it comes to that with Arthur as drunk as he is. Alasdair has to drag him up then hold him up to yell at him. And when Arthur tries to punch him, he would have gone down like a sack of spuds without big bro’s bruising grip. It’s awkward for all involved when Arthur’s pathetic attempts at a scuffle and Alasdair shaking and yelling at him, end with Arthur suddenly crumbling and sobbing on his shoulder. Shocking Alasdair again. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just holds Arthur and haltingly rubs his back, muttering soothing nonsense. Most mortifying moment of Alasdair’s millenia+ life.
He doesn’t push Arthur away as he clings to him, though. As much as Arthur drives him insane like no one else, he’s still Scot’s little brother. So he let’s him cry and just keeps supporting him. Listening in silence as Arthur rants and sobs about Alfred: alternating between professing deepest loathing for the “traitor,” and weeping about how much he misses him and how there’s still time to fix everything and they have to try and get him back, etc. etc. It’s a fool’s hope, but Alasdair always knew Arthur was a fool
But what can he say? A smug, confrontational, fiery, normal Arthur makes Alasdair long for their old days of striking swords and border wars. A pathetic, drunk, weeping, vulnerable Arthur brings out Alasdair’s long dormant brotherly instinct. A feeling usually reserved for Wales and the Ireland twins. But, for the first time since he was a wee bairn, the instinct comes out for Arthur. It’s been so long since he saw him cry, he’d almost forgotten Arthur was capable of it
Alasdair lets Arthur cry himself to exhaustion, then helps him back into bed. Takes off Arthur’s coat, pulls off his boots, drags the blankets up over him. Arthur catches his arm, hands trembling, when Alasdair goes to straighten up and begs him not to leave him too. Alasdair rolls his eyes, cuffs Arthur - gently - and tells him to sleep it off. Then promises gruffly to be there when he wakes up, so stop being a drunk fool and go to sleep
Arthur obeys and Alasdair he keeps his word. Wales and Ireland fill in sailing duty and Alasdair stays with Arthur: king and parliament’s ranting be damned. Planning to help his little brother get himself back on track once he wakes up, starting with getting him off the booze. Or at least getting it back down to royal navy functional alcoholic levels. They can worry about everything else later
Thankfully for both their sanities, Arthur remembers very little of this when he wakes up lol. Alasdair makes sure to thank God extra hard that week at church for big mercies
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sardonic-sprite · 9 months
Text
Part 2 of Dad!Tim AU (so Q doesn't murder me in my sleep /aff) tw: referenced rape, referenced attempted/intended murder
(Part 1)
As we hit the ninth month, everyone is tense and on tenterhooks, but Tim is by far the worst. He can't sleep for more than an hour without jerking awake from a nightmare: the faceless child growing up, hands around a sword, smirking on Ra's's right hand, maybe coming to Gotham, but to hurt Tim's family, not join them... other times it's the child dying in infancy or even birth, and Tim doesn't know if that part is worse, the grief, or the next part, the fear, as Ra's's sister advances on him to try again
Nine months to the day since Paris and Tim is a wreck and the whole family is buzzing out of their skin, ready to ACT, but its not until 2 weeks later that they finally get Talia's call.
And in the background, there's a baby crying
Everyone is all wtf talia we said we were gonna WAIT and she grimly tells them there would be no waiting, she needs them to come pick up the baby now. Because the baby is a girl. Because Ra's will only accept a MALE heir, and he's not going to bother raising a child he has no use for. Because Ra's's sister is furious with the disgrace of bearing the wrong sort of baby and wants nothing to do with something that was supposed to be her greatest honor. Talia can only be gone so long before they will realize she has not in fact buried the infant in the snow, so they need to come NOW
Everyone bursts into frantic motion, freaking out, livid, terrified. Its all way too much, and Tim just sits and stares blankly, because he thought he'd have just a little more time. Dick sees this, and gently asks if Tim wants to stay back, and if he wants someone to stay with him. He does. So the others go, and Dick sits and holds Tim's hand as Tim tries to process. And he realizes that if not for Talia, all of his pain, all of his terror, all the violation would be for absolutely nothing.
And then he realizes that makes him MAD.
How dare they? He thinks. How DARE ra's and his sister throw the child away just because Tim gave her the "wrong" chromosome? HOW FUCKING DARE they treat a human child like a goddamn happy meal toy, like it -- she -- is disposable because she isn't what they wanted?
He gets up ("Tim?" Dick asks softly) and goes to find Alfred. The room right across from his, Alf, the one that has a view of the gardens, thats the nursery. Tim may still not be READY for this but he'll be damned if he can't do better than fucking RA'S.
So he and Dick and Alfred spend the tense, anxious hours moving and arranging baby stuff in the room, while Barbara folds all the onesies and diapers into the drawer and calls leslie about formula bc they don't know any nursing mothers
They get the call that the family arrived, they have the baby, they're on their way home, and Talia will keep up the pretense as long as she can so they can get back to Gotham. Baby's sleeping now, they say, and swear she looks just like Tim.
"You've got a regular little Snow White on your hands," Jason laughs, and no one on the plane is ever allowed to tell Tim how close Jason came to stealing his child (HER CHUBBY LITTLE CHEEKS STEPH JUST LOOK i see them jay.) "Black hair, pale skin (you're still paler), red lips, well, whole red face when she really wants to wail."
Tim doesn't know what to make of that yet, but at least maybe it seems like he'll be able to look at the child without constantly seeing her mother. (Not that she deserves that title).
They can't paint the nursery tonight and have it be dry, but they're going to paint it, Tim decides. Something colorful and happy, not like the soulless beige he grew up with. Nothing like his soulless childhood.
The family arrives. They arrive and Tim and Alfred and Barbara and Dick go down to meet them, Tim clutching Dicks hand. The door of the plane opens and they file out, and its Cass, a complicated mess of emotions on her face, who holds out the tiny, TINY little swaddle
Tim's hands are shaking as he reaches out, but no one says so. Dick just carefully supports Tim's arms to make sure he's steady
Jason was right, he thinks. She is a little Snow White. Her skin's a little darker than his, but still paler than he'd have thought. She's got black hair, but that was a guarantee. She's got a little red mouth that yawns into a perfect O and blinks open blue eyes, but he doesn't know if they'll stay that color.
Its hard to believe he's a FATHER. He has a DAUGHTER. He's still only 17.
That's when Baby begins to cry, and Tim panics, and the others have to calm him down and promise its not his fault, she's only hungry, and they go upstairs to get a bottle. Then they all troop to the nursery, where Alfred and Bruce have to help Tim settle in Martha's old rocking chair, and show him how to hold the Baby in one arm and the bottle in the other hand, and help her eat.
Slowly the others trickle away, to sleep, to give him privacy, because jts all so surreal, and there may or may not be tears on Tim's face. Finally its just Bruce and Alfred, and they help Tim put Baby in the cradle thats been in the Wayne family for nine generations. Then they go, and Tim's still sitting on the rocking chair, staring, like this fever dream is going to disappear, and there won't be baby or nursery or this awful terrifying weight in his chest, and he's not sure if he would really want that or not
He hears a soft sound by the door and springs up, grabbing for a weapon he doesn't have, but its only Damian, looking as lost and unsure as Tim.
"I thought you went to bed"
"I could not sleep."
Tim can't really argue with that
Damian edges closer, looking at Baby's face like he's searching for something there.
"Have you named her?"
"No," Tim scoffs, because he didn't fucking want her, he thought she'd come with a name, just barely laid eyes on her or held her. Then he feels shame because what kind of father doesn't want to name his own child? His voice softens as he explains, "i have no idea where to start"
"At the end then," Damian suggests, just as soft. "With Wayne." And it might just be the kindest thing the kid has ever said to Tim.
"Ok," he says. "And in the middle?" It feels like a cop-out, asking Damian of all people to name TIM's child. But Tim can't... there's no logical process to follow here, naming is an emotional experience, it forges a CONNECTION and Tim just... all that furious resolve is much harder to draw from when he's confronting the reality it entails
Damian purses his lips, hesitating. Finally, he says, "There's Bahar. It... it means 'brilliant.'"
And at first, Tim balks, because no, that's what RA'S wanted from the child, Tim's brilliance, and what the FUCK, Damian-- and then he realizes. That... this might be, no it probably is, Damian saying "fuck ra's. The baby girl will be brilliant, and you're brilliant too."
He finds himself smiling, just a little, and repeats, "Bahar. I... I like it."
Damian smiles just a faint bit too, then.
"What... what about the beginning?" Tim tries, but Damian shakes his head and tells him that's for Tim to decide. He turns to go. Then Tim calls him back.
Slowly, hesitantly, Tim asks, "What's the word for 'snow?'"
Perfect little snow white... bury the kid in the snow... fuck ra's...
"... 'eira.'"
Damian leaves, and Tim looks down at the tiny little baby.
"Eira," he tries. "Eira. Eira Bahar Wayne."
It almost looks like Eira smiles.
Part 3
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queen-of-hobgobblers · 10 months
Text
Random Cass Snippets
tw swearing, objectively toxic familial relationships, violence, mentions of violence, mention of explosives, mention of knives
“Hey, Cass, do you believe in ghosts?” Duke asks one day for no reason in particular.
Cass thought about this for a moment while lounging on the couch before going, “No.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t.”
“Okay, but can you give me a reason?”
“Haven’t seen one.”
That response caught Duke by surprise for some reason.
“If I found a way to show you a ghost,” he said finally, “would you believe in them then?”
Cass shrugged. “Sure. You won’t though.”
“Don’t bet on that just yet,” Duke grins, before running out of the room. “Hey, Tim! Jason! You guys free?!”
“He won’t.” Cass waited till he had left the room before getting off the couch and walking off.
No matter what Duke was planning, it couldn’t have been good if it involved those two. It was best she leave before Bruce and Alfred could find her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hey,” Tim said, still shuffling nervously. “I just… thank you.”
“For what?” Cass asks, walking beside him.
“For being so cool about me coming out,” he clarified. “Not that I expected you to be homophobic or anything, just. It was nice. To know I had someone on my side.”
“No problem,” Cass says. “Have to stick together.”
Tim snorts at that. “This family has never once stuck together in anything.”
“Was referring to... bi people.”
“Wait, wait, what?!” Tim stopped in his tracks.
Cass stopped too, turning and frowning at him. “What?”
“You’re bi?!”
“Yeah?” Cass said like this was common knowledge. “And Aro?”
“Since when?!”
She made a face. “Since birth.”
“No, no, sorry,” Tim took a second to compose himself. “Just… how come I didn’t know?”
Cass shrugged. “Don’t know. It’s common knowledge… I dated Steph. And Conner... And-”
“You dated Steph?!” Tim squealed, horrified at the thought of his sister and his ex being together.
“Yeah, so did you,” Cass said, continuing on her walk. “Didn’t work out though… Aro, remember?”
Tim followed after her. “You dated… wait, what does dating Conner have to do with you being bi?”
Cass blinked. “He’s nonbinary.”
“What?!”
She looked straight up offended at that. “You’re their best friend!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know-”
“You’ve known him for six years-”
“You know, maybe I really am just as dense as you guys say-”
“Timothy.”
She levelled him a disapproving glare and he put his hands up in defeat.
“Alright, alright, I’m dumb, okay?” He says, and she shakes her head before walking on.
“Not dumb, just imperceptive.”
“Okay, not wholly untrue.”
“Did you at least know… they were flirting with you?”
“What.” Tim breaks his stride yet again before mentally replaying his whole relationship with Conner Kent. “Oh my god.”
“Clueless.” Cass rolls her eyes and continues trudging on.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Batkids all huddled together in Cass’ room, circling around the remains of what was once her video game console.
“Who broke it?” She asked, levelling them all a scrutinizing glare with her hands on her hips. Her siblings all straightened up, fruitlessly trying to mask their body language from her gaze. “Not mad. Just wanna know.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence before Duke blurted out, “I broke it!”
“No, you didn’t,” Cass said, before swiveling her head. “Tim?”
He flinched. “Don’t look at me, look at Jason!”
“What?! I didn’t break it!”
“That’s weird, how’d you even know it was broken?”
“Uhh, because it’s sitting right there and it’s broken.” He gestured to the mess of wires that was once Cass’ console.
“Sounds exactly like what a guilty person would say,” Tim deadpanned, before turning to Cass. “We found our culprit.”
“How are you the world’s greatest detective?!”
“Listen, you can deny it all you want, dumbass, but-”
Damian coughed loudly to gain their attention. “Cain, ignoring Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum over there, I think you’d wish to know that I saw Brown enter your room earlier.” He pointed in the gasping blonde’s direction.
“I was just trying to get my hoodie back!” She screamed. “Cass steals my clothes more than Tim does!”
“A truly dreadful alibi,” Damian deadpanned before turning to Cass. “You’re welcome.”
“Okay, first of all, how did you even see me entering Cass’ room if yours is all the way down the hall, huh?!”
“If this is your attempt to incriminate me, I’ll remind you that I have no interest in video games in the first place!”
“Guys, guys, let’s all calm down,” Dick insisted, shushing his siblings. “We’re rich, remember? We can just buy you a new console and forget this whole thing ever happened.”
Cass narrowed her eyes at him. “This your way of… avoiding responsibility?”
“What? No. I just think we should stop blowing this out of proportion and just settle down.”
There was a silence of a total of five seconds before-
“That is exactly what a guilty person would say!”
“What?! No, I would never!”
“We know it! Cass knows it! Just admit defeat and make this all a lot easier on yourself!”
“Yeah just fess up, Dickface, the sooner I get out of here, the better.”
“For the love of- what exactly is your alibi anyway, Jason? Just wondering.”
“That I fucking hate her guts, why would I be in her room?”
“I dunno, maybe to break her console as revenge for all those numerous times she beat you up? Just a thought.”
“Oh, you- at least I didn’t trip and stab my foot on a Bataraang! Bitch!”
“Okay, listen here, you-”
“I got the whole thing on camera too, so-”
“Why are we still arguing?! Brown’s guilty, just beat her up and call it a day, Cain!”
“What were you doing near her room?!”
“I ventured out to get a snack, her room is right next to the staircase!”
“A likely story!”
“Stephanie-”
“I broke it, just let me pay for it!”
“This is why none of your girlfriends ever stick around for long!”
“Look who’s talking! Don’t make me send you to the grave a second time!”
“Okay, you know what-”
A thrown knife. A smashed window. Even more screaming.
“I broke it,” Cass said to Bruce and Alfred when they asked what the fuss was about. “It rigged the game… so I punched it.”
“Your siblings are all suiting up and breaking out the emergency explosives,” Bruce told her, annoyance clear in his tone.
Cass smiled. “Good. Was getting too chummy.”
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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years
Note
Now I am curious about the girls day with batmom, can we have it pls?
Bruce looked around the table at lunch and frowned, "Alfred where-"
"Miss Y/N took the other ladies in the house for a girl's day. Miss Cassandra and Miss Stephanie needed school clothes and Miss Barbara offered her assistance," Alfred said simply.
Bruce's frown faded slightly and he grunted, "Did they take-"
"They took the Jeep, I believe."
_________
You look at the flamboyant bald man currently trying to persuade Barbara into much longer nails and raise your eyebrow over the rim of your mimosa glass, "Roland, the girl said no," you tut. "They all do too much work with their hands to have the Dragon Talons you like designing."
Roland sniffed, "It's a pity any of you work with your hands- these callouses are a crime. What are you doing anyway-"
"Whatever they like. Don't you worry your pretty little head. Just do what they ask."
"I don't know why I bother with you," he scolded without any real heat. He bothered because you tipped well and told the best dirty jokes... but. He was still irritated that you hadn't let him bedazzle your fingertips.
"I thought it was because you like having something to complain about," you tease. Next to you, Cass smiles a little where she's watching with interest as someone applied lime green sparkly polish to her toes.
"I just can't believe Bruce agreed to pay for all this stuff," Steph snorted.
"Oh no sweetie," you laugh, "I just don't give him a chance to say no.."
'She really doesn't," Barbara said grinning when Steph's eyes went wide as she deliberated over purple polish colors. "She just declares she's doing something and if he doesn't like it, he can sulk about it."
"Charmed life," Cass said, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Roland made a soft envious sound, "Does he have a brother?"
__________
Steph eyed clothing racks and frowned, making a soft discontented sound. It was nice, being out with the girls. But it didn't magically make her mom less shit. Or the ongoing mess of her love life any less draining.
"Y/N?"
"Hmm?" you answer, holding out a shirt for her to inspect- 70's inspired. Purple. And would look nice with a pair of the flared jeans she'd already bought.
She took it, feeling the fabric and crinkled her nose at the price tag, "How did you do it?" she asked quietly
"What specifically-"
"I mean, after everything. Like- with-" she broke off the word 'cult'. Not sure if she was actually allowed to ask about that. Or about the time you left. Things that weren't really secrets but just not things you LIKED to talk about; not as anything more than a passing comment.
But when you pat her arm and add the shirt to what was laying on her arm, she gets a sense that you know.
"It took time," you answer after a moment. "But I had to make the choices that were best for me- even if they didn't make sense to anyone else. And more than that, I had to learn that it was okay to do that. That I didn't have to let my past determine my future. Any more than I ever had to be that... powerless ever again."
Stephanie bit her lip and you smile a little. "When my sister was killed," you pause and tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear, "I couldn't stop them. And I carried that guilt with me for a long time. Still do. But. I know that I can stop other girls from meeting the same fate. So- I focus on that. Because I can't control the past; or other people. All I have is right now. That's all anyone really has."
"That's- kinda depressing."
"It can be," you hum, "At least until you get used to it. There's something liberating about just saying 'fuck it' and learning to live for yourself."
Stephanie smiled. It was less rare to hear you use swear words but it still sounded funny, given that your usual curses were "Hell's Teeth" or "Son of a biscuit" around the house where the kids could hear you.
"When did you hit 'fuck it'?"
"About the time Dick and Tim gave me my new 'pet name'," you muse. "I think that's when I really figured out I didn't have to let ANYONE tell me what to do anymore."
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anoncat6 · 10 months
Text
PETRICHOR | sihtric x oc | part thirteen
part one
13. ambush in the forest
They had waited by the house all night, watching the fire burn itself out with defeated looks on their faces.
Beocca was broken; he had not eaten, drank, or said a word in hours. Hild had tried to comfort him when dawn broke, whilst Finan had encouraged him to drink something.
“This fire did not just happen. It did not.” Beocca had a wild look in his eyes.
Shaking out from under Sihtric’s cloak, Ghylena took a shaky breath, her lungs still feeling the strain of last night’s smoke. 
“Tidman,” She croaked, “It was Tidman.”
Lena began coughing, and Sihtric fluttered around her in worry, stroking her back as he gave her some more water.
Finan looked on in a mess of confusion and concern, “‘Tidman’? What happened?”
“He was harassing her again, wasn’t her?” Beocca looked self-destructive.
“He upset her in the palace, so I offered to walk her home. I thought we’d be safe,” Ghylena faltered in her guilt, “He followed us. Threw food and stones. I- I tried to stop him, closed the door after her, but he cornered me.”
Ghylena looked to Sihtric for strength, finding only an ocean of chaos in his eyes.
“He had a knife, and I’d left my weapons at the palace. I should have brought them with me, but I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t think we’d need them. I was stupid. I remember him pinning me down, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight him off—“
Sihtric went stiff, “He didn’t—“
“No, no!” Her eyes widened as she realised what it sounded like, recognising Finan’s worried look as his jaw tensed, “No, he didn’t… I swear. He knocked me out, and then I woke up and the house was already… I’m sorry, Father, I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry.”
<>
Uhtred had been imprisoned during the funeral, his pardon from Alfred revoked by Aelswith’s order. Only when stood in the courtyard, about to be exiled from Wessex once more, did Uhtred make his speech in plain view of the rich and poor of Winchester. The entire city.
His speech worked, his pardon reimposed by Edward Rex, and then they were travelling yet again, journeying for Bedanford to face the armies of Cnut, Haesten and Brida.
They had made camp that night in Wicumb, taking note of Aethelwold’s absence.
Edward, Uhtred and his inner circle, (including his 2 favourite priests), were gathered around their fire, eating a stew Osferth had made.
“This is good food, Osferth,” Ghylena had praised him with a smile, “You make a better cook than me.”
Sihtric snorted, “That is not an impressive feat.”
“Seeing as I hunt the food, husband, I think it only fair that someone else prepares it.” Ghylena nudged her knee with his.
“Sihtric is not much better at that than you, Lena,” Finan chipped in.
“Perhaps we should get some help then…” Ghylena pondered.
“Perhaps we should just hire Finan as our maid.” Sihtric joked.
“I’d rather suck my own toes after this battle than live with the two of you. I’d never get any sleep.”
Uhtred laughed, Osferth went red, and Pyrlig chided Finan as Ghylena choked on her stew.
<>
The morning before battle, Uhtred had taken Edward to scout the forest— their chosen field of battle— whilst Lena’s boys were sent to kill any potential spies on the roads.
Ghylena had taken her opportunity of peace and gone to the waterside, just beyond eyesight of the men of camp but within shouting distance, just in case.
She was stood knee-deep in the lapping water, her clothes damp and floating at her feet. She held her hands in front of her, palms down to the water, eyes closed.
Opening her other senses to the world around her, Lena cleared her mind. This was her fleeting chance to be Lady Ghylena, the wife and sister, the woman who grieves and mourns, and she had little time left before she would have to be Lena the Warrior once again. Taking out her knife, Ghylena pricked the tip of her finger, just enough to draw slow, thick blood.
The shining crimson dripped down into the river.
One drop. 
“Gisela,” she breathed, “My beautiful, powerful sister. Valhalla is not worthy of you.”
Another drop.
“My baby— my perfect, undying son.”
A final drop.
“Thyra, my friend, may you find peace. I’m sorry I could not save you,” Lena sniffed, her voice thick, “Forgive me.”
Opening her eyes slowly, Ghylena admired the beauty of her surroundings, finding comfort in the soulful song of birds. River mist clung to the water, the opposite banks flanked with verdant woodland that stuck straight into the rich blue sky. Raising the knife still clutched in her hand, she struck a small braid of hair from its end, clasping it in hand before throwing it into the water.
“Protect me, and let me protect those that I love.”
<>
The battle came quickly.
Ghlyena was crouched beside her boys— Sihtric, Finan, Uhtred and Osferth. In the hours before, she had re-braided her hair tightly, applying war paint across her eyes and sharpened her weapons which hung from her torso.
They went through their usual rituals; Finan and Sihtric clashing weapons, Osferth praying, Uhtred staring so hard he might shit himself, and Sihtric pressing his lips to Lena’s forehead. 
Ghylena moved to the archers, joining the bowmen as they prepared to initiate the attack. Haesten and Cnut’s men soon came riding through the woods, horses clattering on the old road, Ghylena sending word down her line— it was time.
Knocking her first arrow, Lena made sure to see that the others had followed suit before letting her death fly. Her curse flew true, finding its mark and killing the unremarkable Dane instantly. Chaos and panic erupted as their prey realised they had been ambushed. Roars and yells of scared men poured from over the ditch as Ghylena called for a second volley of arrows. 
Then Uhtred’s men charged, and soon soldiers collided like waves against a cliffside.
The line of Danes were being shredded by arrows, with some of them lifting their shields to protect themselves. Ghylena sent arrow after arrow into the pile of flesh and fur, each landing fatal blows.
When her quiver eventually ran empty, as was unavoidable, Ghylena strung her bow over her torso, unsheathing her sword in a fluid motion as she stood.
With a clamorous outcry, Ghylena led the second charge of men into the fray. 
Running full speed into the fighting, Lena didn’t have time to focus on anything but killing her enemies and staying alive. Unlike most of the men around her, Ghylena didn’t have a shield, instead swinging with her axe and sword— her now-typical fighting style thanks to Sihtric’s teachings.
Dodging away from a blood-soaked axe that was swung at her neck, Ghylena turned to face her newest opponent. He was huge, as big as her friend Clapa had been, with arms like an oak tree and a deadly double-edged axe in his hands.
Seeing her size him up, he steadied his footing and lunged for her again, forcing her further backwards with each arching swipe of his axe. This leering dance continued for 5 or so paces, with Ghylena nearly stumbling over a root before she saw it. Her chance.
Lena stepped to the side, clashing her axe into his with a yell and twisting it from his grip before bringing her sword up to his thigh and cleaving his leg down to the bone. He fell to his knees, letting out a resounding scream before she sunk her sword into his shoulder, digging down into his heart. 
Panting with exertion, Lena tightened her grip before withdrawing her weapons, her eyes reassessing the battlefield like a hawk. Her gaze was mad, the black dust framing her wild eyes with fury.
“Where are the Mercians?!” Sihtric’s voice rang out, and Ghylena’s neck twisted in its direction.
She saw him them, fighting furiously and as gracefully as ever. Finan was close by.
“Sihtric!” She called out to him, but he didn’t hear. Her throat was sore, the crisp air burning with every forceful inhale, “Sihtric!”
Carving a path to him wasn’t easy, but Ghylena wasn’t to be stopped. Moving through the bloodied mass of brawling like a leaf flowing down a river, Ghylena dodged and parried, periodically diving away from the swing of an axe or the swipe of a sword.
Eventually, a little worse for her, she caught his attention.
“Lena!” His eyes lit up, clearly happy to see her.
Seeing the Dane behind her husband, Lena’s face grew fierce as she yelled for him to duck, hurling her axe over his back with one arm, and straight into the skull of his attacker.
Now with just her sword, Ghylena drew close to Sihtric and drew her dagger, pressing her side into his taller frame.
“Gods, I love you.” He said, a manic grin on his face.
Huffing a laugh as she parried a blow, Ghylena threw him a hectic grin as she swore, “Not now, my love! Men to kill, battles to win—“
“Husbands to kiss?” Sihtric pushed his luck, slitting someone’s throat with the tip of his axe as he gazed at his wife from the corner of his eye.
Lena shoved into him laughing, “Not now, Sihtric!”
“Uhtred! The line is breaking!” Finan was fighting fiercely, but they were all about to be overwhelmed if they didn’t do something.
“Push back!” Came the reply, “Where is Sigebriht?” 
Now stood with her boys, once again fighting against the odds and being painted with blood and gore, Lena heard horns of the approaching cavalry. 
“Lord! Horses!” Sihtric called, “Horses!”
Uhtred rejoiced, “It is Aethelflaed! It is Mercia!”
The arrival of Mercia turned the tides drastically in their favour, the whip-fast horses ploughing through the men and the riders using deadly force with their weapons. Aethelflaed was leading the charge, and Ghylena momentarily looked in awe at the inspiring woman. She was power unto herself, and clearly good with a sword, a woman worthy of being a Queen.
The subsequent arrival of Lord Sigebriht and his men solidified the result of the battle, ensuring victory for Uhtred and his men. 
Many died that day, though none who Ghylena loved and none who she need mourn for.
The following week was spent healing minor wounds and resting tired bones. Osferth cooked more stew for them, and Finan cracked his usual jokes, telling stories of battles past and battles that never happened. Sihtric finally got his hard fought kiss, and more.
Ghylena wore Gisela’s earrings with pride, scrubbed her body of blood and allowed her tattoos pride of place on her neck, framing the braid Sihtric had knotted in her newly cleaned hair. 
She had lost much, and gained much. But she was still here, and she still had family.
Uhtred, the brother given to her by Gisela…
Finan, the Irishman who could always make her laugh…
The baby monk, Osferth, a new and welcome addition to their group…
Sihtric. The man she loved, the man who loved her. Her husband. Her heart.
-> END OF SEASON 3
Tags: @travelingmypassion
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stevesbbg · 2 years
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a new chapter - battison!bruce wayne x reader
a/n: i wrote this at 2am trying to get my brain working again - this hasn't been re-read or anything so if there's any improper grammar plz let me know *sob* i really don't like the way this turned out but i'm publishing it anyway :D
tw: language, fake dating to lovers, mentions of death, fighting, angst, fluff, a bad attempt at breaking up, i wrote this at 2 am without re-reading it so it probably won't make much sense - go writing block ;-;
"So that's it," She froze, "I'm just some stupid girl who means nothing to you?"
His grey eyes snapped to hers, "Yes, you mean nothing to me. You never have and you never will." He swallowed thickly, as if he regretted what he was saying.
She knew he was lying, but it still hurt. He was her best friend for fucks sake. Even if she tried with her whole heart, she knew deep down she could never actually hate him.
"And cut. That was perfect guys, I'll be sure to leak it to everyone."
Bruce and Y/N had been putting on a show for the media for quite a few weeks now. The fake dating was his parents grand idea. Before they had passed away, they had set up the two childhood friends in hope that they could maintain the family fortune. Bruce thought the whole affair was disgusting, but now he could finally be free from whatever the hell this was.
Y/N on the other-hand, never gave it much thought. She grew up without parents of her own, so she had been determined to keep Mr. and Mrs. Wayne happy.
"Are you alright?" Bruce sat back down in his chair. He pulled open a drawer to get the sunglasses he had set aside for the video.
Y/N stood there, "Is any of this right? I feel like we shouldn't do this." She walked over to a mirror and fixed the hair that had fallen from its previous position. They were both a mess, internally and externally.
"Nothing about my family is right. The way they died, the way they forced us into this." He said in a tone dripping with venom.
"I don't really think it's that bad," Y/N began, but stopped before Bruce got even more upset, "But if you need me, I'll be in my room." She left with a small smile and a few tears in her eyes.
She had always cared about Bruce. She hated the way he carried the weight of his parents on his back, constantly blaming everything on himself. She wanted him to have a better life, but he was just too stubborn.
That was another thing she loved about him.
When she reached her room, Alfred had already made some tea and set it by her bed. Being a Wayne was extremely tiring but even more so when it's all fake. None of this was real, and that made everything harder.
Y/N fell asleep reading a book she wanted Bruce to read, finally resting after the draining day they had both experienced.
After a few hours, Bruce had walked in. Seeing the blankets had fallen off, he picked them back up and gently covered the girl back up. He stood there watching her calm face and rising and falling chest. He would never admit to it, but sometimes he could swear Y/N did something to him. Like the world was less cruel when she was around him. That was impossible though, of course.
The next morning, every news outlet in Gotham and the surrounding cities were on fire with the 'leaked' video of the famous Wayne couple splitting.
Y/N, walking downstairs, could already feel the tension. Bruce stood by the television with a sturdy scowl.
"Hell of a way to wake up, huh?" She tried to break the ice. She sat down on the sofa and shook her head, "You're a pretty good actor."
"Part of that was true, you know." Bruce faced her, "I don't want to be with you."
Y/N's heart sank a bit. She figured he would push her away after this, but God knows she wasn't ready for it.
"Shit," He mumbled to himself, "I don't mean it like that. I just don't want to be forced, you know? I feel like we would've ended up together anyway regardless of my family."
Oh.
"I've always had feelings for you. Its been like that ever since we met, and I've always been sure I wanted to be with you forever."
"Well it's kind of fucked up now, isn't it?" She looked him in the eyes with a hint of sadness.
He looked down at his slippers. She had bought him those for his birthday.
They sat there for what felt like an eternity. The only sounds were the hustle and bustle of early morning traffic and heavy hearts. Neither one could speak, because what was there to be said? The only way they could be together now was too be together in secret, in the dark. It was ironic in a way.
"Good morning, Master Wayne. You have a call from someone." Alfred came in to break the silence.
Bruce got up and walked out, shuffling to his office. Usually he wouldn't answer, but God knew he wanted to get out of the awkward quietness.
"Are you alright, Ma'am?" Alfred fixed the pillows where Bruce had been sitting, "I'm sure a cup of tea would help. Peppermint or Green?"
"Peppermint's fine." Y/N sighed, "Alfred, is this ever going to get better? I feel like this is all my fault."
"Time heals all wounds, Mrs. Wayne." He smiled and went to the kitchen. Did he not remember she and Bruce had split? They were no longer associated like that.
The staged video popped back up onto the screen of the TV. The familiar yelling and crying coming back to her. It all looked pretty believable.
"You've been lying this whole time about your love for me?" The camera zoomed in on Y/N's face, catching the almost real heartbreak on her face.
The camera switched over to Bruce, who was straight-faced, "I've never loved you."
Y/N shut the TV off, not wanting to relive it again. She got up, went into the kitchen to grab the tea Alfred had made, and went up to her room. She plopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling.
The door creaked open and the tall, brooding man walked through and sat by her.
"I'm sorry."
She looked at him. His hair falling in his face, his eyes practically dyed black from the paint he used to help conceal his identity. To most it would likely scare them away, but to Y/N, it was familiar.
"I am too, bats." She sat up and rested her head on his shoulder, "I am too."
"Do you think we would've had a chance if they didn't set us up?" He questioned softly.
Y/N chuckled quietly. The odds had been stacked against the two since day one. She thought about it for a moment, then answered.
"I think we would've tried."
"So why don't we," He looked down at the girl resting on him, "We can always say we're trying to patch things up if the press asks. We could just start a new book and fill it with better things."
Y/N didn't know how to word it, "What went wrong in the first place?"
Bruce bit his lip, "I think we were just given a bad script, a bad plot. We did the best we could with it though."
"Apparently we have good character development," Y/N smiled, "So maybe this isn't the end of the story necessarily, just a new chapter."
He kissed the top of her head, "You know, even though we were just putting on a show for everyone, I legitimately loved you. I feel like a bitch for trying to distance you from me." He paused, "I just wasn't sure you were happy where you were."
"As long as I'm with you, I'll be happy. No matter what happens," She wrapped her arm around him and hugged his side, "Here's to a new chapter, right?"
"Yeah," He nodded, "A new chapter."
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catholicslags-blog · 1 year
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What We Once Were
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Summary: How could you possibly be strangers to each other in a shared home? 
A/N: So this is actually my first (published) written work in over 3ish years? I’m so nervous
Warnings: Slight angst, swearing, a bit of a makeout session but nothing too serious. 
Word count: 2187
Nights like these didn’t come around often. 
Between Bruce’s dedication to keeping crime down in Gotham and your much needed assistance at the orphanage, the only time you two really had together was spent parading around galas neither of you wanted to attend (but attend you did when it came to appeasing Alfred).
It was just past one in the morning when you finally entered Wayne Manor. From the entryway you could see a flicker of light which either meant that Alfred was still up waiting for you or you were about to witness Bruce take off into the night yet again without so much as a kiss goodbye. You heaved a sigh at the thought, heart sinking and shoulders slumping at the fact that it was probably the latter of the two options. 
You didn’t bother making your way to the light source. You knew full well the most you’d get out of Bruce while he was wearing the batsuit was a fleeting hug and if you were lucky, a kiss on the cheek. 
You slipped off your coat and shoes at the door before going any further, knowing that Alfred would scold you if a speck of mud was found anywhere but the mat stationed at the door. You could hear heavy footsteps from the kitchen as you got closer, brows scrunching as you checked the time on your watch. Alfred doesn't make that much noise at this hour (or at any hour, really) which could only mean one thing.
Bruce.
Honestly, you considered sneaking to the bedroom. The very thought of dealing with Bruce's absence tonight has your head reeling, you don't think you can handle seeing him off.
You turn on your heel quickly, a silent thanks to the quiet padding your socks provided falling from your lips as you half shuffled, half ran to the hall that would lead to your shared room. You were just about to slowly push the door open when you heard Bruce's voice call out to you.
"Fuck."
He said your name again. Once, twice. You heaved a sigh and started the trek back to the kitchen.
"I'm in here!" Bruce shouted, poking his head out.
But before you could say "I know" he disappeared back into the kitchen, sounds of water running and dishes clanging drowning out any hope that he'd hear you from back here. "I'm coming, I'm coming," you grumbled. "Isn't it nearly time for you to go? I'll take care of the dishes in the morning or something just—"
You stopped dead in your tracks.
There was Bruce hunched over the sink, his arms almost elbow deep in a pan of soapy water. The suds were everywhere; in his hair, the floor, on the cabinet, and somehow on the ceiling. You suppressed a giggle at the sight before you in hopes of making tonight so much easier on yourself, that way you wouldn't dwell on the moments when it was just you alone in your shared bed. "What are you doing?"
"Dishes," he stated.
You deadpanned. "Bruce."
"Yes?" He questioned, finally turning around to look at you. The action only caused more suds to land on the floor as he spun and he winced at the wet plop it made. "Sorry."
"Did you call me in here because you need help?"
“What?” He looked almost offended that you even suggested that. “No. No, you make me sound awful.”
You gave a sheepish “sorry” and stepped closer, allowing your eyes to roam over the mess again. You didn’t know what to say and by the looks of it Bruce wasn’t too keen on speaking up either. He almost looked boyish standing there with his eyes cast down, no doubt trying to figure out a way to explain himself. Luckily you didn’t have to wait for long. He opened his mouth and closed it quickly afterwards, a faint blush spreading over his cheeks as he used the damp dish rag to wipe off his hands that were steadily dripping water onto the floor. 
“I uh—” he started, gesturing to the sink with the hand that wasn’t holding the rag. “I’m not going out tonight. I don’t think they need me.” 
You nodded wordlessly, wondering why he decided to spend his one night at home doing the dishes.  
“But you,” he continued, meeting your eyes for what felt like the first time tonight. “I think you need me. I think we need each other, you know? I mean apart from the galas we don’t get to see each other as much. Not like we used to. I just,” he began to trail off, his blushing cheeks growing darker. “I miss you, y/n.”
You nearly rolled your eyes. He missed you? He fucking missed you? You’re met with half-hearted hugs and broken sentences when you come home from work most nights but he missed you? You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you would regret in a few hours. “I’m sure you did Bruce.”
You were sure the look you threw at him was the reason he didn’t press further. Instead he opted for tossing the rag back into the dish water, the sloshing sound of the water being disturbed was the only thing that could be heard within the kitchen. You wanted to give in, wanted to tell him how much you missed him too but you knew that tomorrow you’d fall back into the old routine of mumbling your goodbyes on deaf ears as he fled into the night to protect Gotham. The thought made your stomach churn, your shoulders slumping impossibly further as you thought about the past few months. 
“I made dinner,” he mumbled, his hands falling limp at his sides. “I tried to, at least.”
You raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the open oven. “Where is it?”
Somehow his cheeks flushed scarlet. “I burned it. All of it. I’m surprised the bottom didn’t fall out of the pan. I’ve been scrubbing for the past hour and it’s still caked on.”
You couldn’t help it, you had to laugh. Before tonight and the occasional piece of overdone toast you don’t think Bruce has ever even attempted to busy himself in the kitchen, less known cook an entire meal. “And where was Alfred in all of this?” you questioned, still giggling. “Surely he had a thing or two to say about all of the smoke.”
“He did, yeah,” Bruce commented, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he regarded you. “I almost got chased out of the kitchen until I told him what it was for.”
“What’s it for Bruce?” The question was followed by a slight tilt of your head, your eyes searching his face for something that’d at least give you a clue to where this conversation was going. Sure, you looked composed enough on the outside but your mind was reeling with possibilities. 
He took a step forward and you found yourself fighting every instinct that told you to close the distance between the two of you. You could tell that Bruce was holding himself back, too. His hands fidgeted at his sides, no doubt wanting to reach out and hold at least some part of you. Your face was only mere inches away from his. You could smell the lingering hint of his favorite gum as he exhaled, the air from his lips ghosting over your cheek. “I wanted to apologize, wanted to make it meaningful this time. You deserve more than the usual ‘I’m sorry’ shit,” he confessed, gingerly taking one of your hands in his own. “Even though I am sorry.”
“Bruce—“
“No, no, I know. We’ve been through this a million times. You’ve heard it all before, I know. I’m an ass for taking this long to realize just how badly I messed up. I owe you more than I’ve given you in the past few months, you deserve more. I’ll never be able to make up the months lost but I’d like to make sure we don’t lose any more going forward.” Bruce was cradling your cheek with his free hand, his eyes glossing over with the beginnings of tears. 
You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you savored the feeling of his skin against yours for the first time in what felt like forever. One of your hands came to wrap around his wrist, making sure to keep your touch as gentle as his. “It won’t happen overnight, Bruce. It never does.”
“I’m not expecting it to.” He pauses and you take the time to give him a small hum of acknowledgment, your head turning just enough to allow you to press a kiss to the inside of Bruce’s wrist. “You need me more than this city and up until now I’ve failed to consider that. Gotham can hold its own for now, I’d just like to hold you.”
You opened your eyes just in time to see a tear roll down his cheek, the initial shock stopping you from brushing the tear away with your thumb. You couldn’t remember the last time Bruce cried in front of you. You pulled him into a hug without another word, your own sobs mixing in with his quiet sniffles as he tugged you closer. 
You don’t know how long you stayed like that, wrapped in his embrace, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back while you both swayed. By the time you pulled away your tears were drying on the collar of his shirt and his hair was a mess from where you’d been running your fingers through. “I’d like to hold you too,” you grinned, no doubt blinking up at him through lashes webbed with tears. “I missed this. Missed you.” 
“I’m gonna do everything that I can to get back to where we used to be.” He said it like a promise and the kiss pressed to the back of your hand only confirmed your thoughts. Bruce leaned his forehead against yours, his piercing eyes disappearing behind their lids. “I became a stranger to you in our own home.”  
You hummed again, slowly becoming all too aware of how close you stood. Bruce’s hands felt warm on your hips even through the fabric of your pants and you twirled a strand of his hair around your finger in thought. “Kiss me.”
You spoke quietly but you knew that he’d heard you. His hands twitched against your skin as soon as the word ‘kiss’ left your mouth. 
And yet, he found himself questioning what you said. “What?” he asked, pulling his forehead away from yours to look into your eyes. 
However, you didn’t falter. “Kiss me,” you repeated, your hand sliding from his hair. Your fingers trailed along the backside of his neck as you waited in anticipation. “Please.”
This was enough for Bruce to lift one hand and place it under your chin in order to tilt your face up to meet his lips. You melted into him all too easily, your mouth slotting against his like the final piece of a puzzle as you both allowed your bodies to move in harmony. He gripped you like his life depended on it, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your waist while you gasped into his mouth. You were almost certain that there’d be bruises staining your skin tomorrow but you didn’t care. 
You found yourself wishing you didn’t need air to survive once he pulled away, his chest heaving as he smiled down at you. Bruce’s cheeks were once again tinted a soft pink and it looked as if his lips were beginning to swell from how intense the kiss was. You allowed him a few moments to steady his breathing before pulling him in again, your lips seeking out his in a much gentler kiss. Instead of a pool of heat in your stomach and labored breaths this one left you with butterflies and a chest bubbling with soft laughter once you pulled away, a blush undoubtedly staining your cheeks. 
“I love you,” you whispered, almost afraid of losing this moment.
“And I love you,” said Bruce. “So much.” 
He gave your hand a squeeze and pulled you in for another hug before kissing the top of your head. “ It’s late. Why don’t you go run a bath and we’ll talk cuddle afterwards? I’ll take care of all this.”
You let another giggle escape once you regarded all of the water and suds, your hand squeezing Bruce’s in return. “Just hurry, okay? I miss you already.”
He nodded and spun you around but not before kissing your cheek, the smile from earlier growing wider as he playfully shooed you away. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” Bruce watched you make your way to your room with the softest expression he’s ever made, his feet carrying him back over to the sink with a small, content sigh, and as he glanced down at the mess he made he could only find himself thinking of how elated you made him feel. 
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thegoliathbeetle · 1 year
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ooohhhhhh na bros road trip
Matthew's a little shit, hehehehe... This is kind of set in my Mosaics verse (like the pairings are the same and the backstories would be the same, but it doesn't really matter because the drabble could stand on its own, obviously).
Road Trip Words: 647
“I knew I was going to die on this trip.” Matthew crossed his arms, leaning against Alfred’s dusty blue lemon of a car. He caught a whiff of pine and smoke with every inhale. The narrow road was flanked on both sides by dense forests, and above them were all the stars in the galaxy. It would have been really peaceful were it not for Alfred cussing at the engine, and the general Body Dumping Ground aesthetic of their surroundings. 
“Will you shut up?”
“No. I told you we should have taken my car.” Matthew pulled out his phone, but of course, he had no network and his battery was at ten percent. Alfred grabbed a spanner from the toolkit he had the sense to carry with him, and the next second, Matthew heard some hissing and clanging. Before they left they’d each asked their partners if they wanted to come on a ‘Nice Cross-Country Summer Vacation’, and both Kiku and Katya had the good sense to decline. Kiku said he had work, and Katya said she hated road trips. She’d also told Matthew it would be a nice chance to bond with his brother after a couple of years living in different cities. Maybe she’d known something he didn’t. “I wonder what Katya’s doing right now…” he sighed. 
“She’s probably lying in bed wishing her boyfriend would help his brother out in a jam instead of standing there giving useless commentary.” 
“Nah, that doesn’t sound like something she’d care about.”
Alfred raised his head. “Okay, I think this should work now. Can you check?”
Matthew got into the driver’s seat and turned the keys. The car shuddered and groaned, the headlights flickering. It let out a dull, sickly cough, and sputtered a column of smoke before falling silent again. 
“Oh come on!” he heard Alfred snap, kicking the bumper. “Work, you stupid piece of shit!” 
Matthew clambered out of the car and went to stand beside Alfred. His hands were greasy and there was sweat on his brow. Matthew patted his shoulder. “I just hope the stories aren’t true,” he sighed, glancing around the trees dubiously. 
“What? What stories?”
“Oh…nothing, it’s stupid.” Matthew slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I was talking to the cashier at the gas station we stopped at last. He was spouting some crazy shit…I thought he was high, honestly.” At Alfred’s wide, intrigued eyes, Matthew sighed again, and elaborated, “He said there’s been sightings of some creepy lady in a white dress. She’s got blood all over her body, and she stops drivers in the middle of the night and kills them.”
In car headlights, Alfred blanched. “Dude…stop teasing me. That’s so mean.” He threw glances over his shoulder. “I know you’re trying to get under my skin.” 
“I’m honestly not.” An owl hooted, and Matthew shrank closer to Alfred’s side, saying, “Did you hear that?”
“Just an owl…Just an owl, Matt.”
“No, I swear I heard something crunch in the woods. Like footsteps.”
“Fucking—Mattie, stop it!” Alfred shoved him. His voice was higher than usual, and his hands were already cold. “Stop trying to freak me out! I didn’t hear anything!” 
“I’m not joking. I—there, there,” Matthew cried, dropping his voice to a desperate whisper. He drew closer to his brother. “Can you hear it now? It’s like this…crrrk…crrrk…like branches snapping…”
“I don’t hear anything…” Alfred’s voice wavered. He grabbed Matthew’s wrist, eyes darting wildly around the thick, dark trees. “I swear if you’re messing with me—”
Matthew raised a hand behind Alfred’s back. “The cashier was telling me she has these long, bloody nails, and she rips the flesh out of her victims…” and he ran his fingers down Alfred’s back. 
Alfred shrieked, and recoiled, and very nearly punched Matthew in the face. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” he bellowed as Matthew burst out laughing.
Send me NA Bros Prompts!
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that-milo-kid · 2 years
Text
Day 12: Abduction
Warnings: Slight swearing, mentions of torture
Fandom: DCU (Batfam and YJ)
Word Count: 1140
Characters: Dick Grayson and Wally West
Notes: this is a sequel to my day 10 submission! shout out to the absolute love of my life @azzeryyjazzery (who i am going on a date with tomorrow :0 )
The fan on his ceiling was spinning at an almost dizzying speed. He watched it turn – going around and around and around, never stopping, not until it’s turned off by someone else.
With nothing interesting happening in his line of sight, Dick listened to his neighbours. Sure, it was a bit nosey, but they were being almost unbearably loud, and he had been trained as a detective from age nine. He could hear the couple a few doors down fighting, some screaming match about nothing in particular. The kid who moved in across from him a few weeks ago was blasting music. It was a song Dick actually recognised for once (Eleanor Rigby by The Beatles had been Tim’s favourite song for a while), and he let himself sit and enjoy the music for a few seconds.
Other assorted sounds were coming from the rooms. Lots of yelling, a few different sources of music, and a vacuum cleaner on the floor above him. Dick wanted to move, to get up and do something to take his mind off the ever-growing mess of sound around him. A sharp pain like wildfire tore its way through his neck and chest as he tried to lift his head, acting as a reminder to why he was lying down in the first place.
Ah, that’s right, he thought absently to himself. Torture wounds. Whoops.
So, he was back to square one. Lying on his bed, the terrible wall of noise suffocating him as he watched the fan and tried to focus on anything other than what happened. He hated the sound of people yelling, specifically – they were able to talk, to communicate and connect with other people in such an intimate way. And they used the gift of speech to express hate and violence.
It had been two weeks since Dick had lost his voice. The physical wounds were healing slowly, but surely. Leslie cleared him three days ago, and he was back to living in his shitty apartment with his shitty neighbours and his shitty job. Not that he had actually gone back to work yet. Tim called up for him as the only Wayne willing to talk to any member of the BPD… well the only Wayne who wouldn’t a) lose their shit or b) start crying if they spoke about what happened to Dick.
Dick didn’t think he’d ever seen Bruce as emotional as when he broke the news to Clark.
Either way, he was currently at no human interaction. No one from his job, none of the heroes he associated with, not even any of his brothers or sisters had stopped by. Steph had popped in the day before, just to say hi, but the interaction lasted less than two minutes. Dick didn’t think it really counted.
He wasn’t sure where he stood with human interaction at the moment anyway. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t effectively communicate what he wanted to say, anyway. Not to mention all the weird flinching and seizing up when people touched him in certain places. His neck was much less sensitive than it had been, but having your throat slashed open by a madman doesn’t exactly have a speedy recovery time. he had also been more sensitive than usual around his ribs. Two or three of them were likely bruised.
He wondered if he’d ever be the same after what happened. I’ll certainly be less eager to talk to criminals, he thought with a small chuckle, before he remembered exactly how he felt as he bled out on the floor of that cell and decided that maybe he would hold off on the jokes for a little bit.
He was shaken out of his usual self-pitying spiral by a knock at the door. Weird. Alfred said he’d be by on Wednesday, and it wasn’t like him to appear anything but on time. Shrugging it off (maybe he just wanted to see Dick?), he went to roll out of bed. The movement jostled his neck again, and this time the rush of pain was so violent and sudden that he had to stand still and hold onto a nearby dresser for a moment to steady himself.
He shuffled over to the door, hoping that moving around might help the dizziness fade a bit. It doesn’t, obviously, and the little voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Leslie yelled at him to sit back down and ignore the door. Richard John Grayson is nothing if not polite, however, so he gathered himself and opened the door with as much grace as he could muster.
The shock of bright red hair that sprinted through the door was not at all what he was expecting, and he almost fell over again in his shock. Wally stood in his living room, beaming at him, holding copious amounts of snacks and chip packets.
“Come on man, I haven’t seen you in forever and we still haven’t watched that new Spiderman movie!” Dick held one finger up in the universal sign for one minute and walked into his room as quickly as he could manage. He dug around in the piles of clothes and books scattered across his room – he really should clean it – before finding the thing he was looking for.
When he walked back out to Wally holding his whiteboard and marker, the speedster had made himself comfortable on Dick’s couch. He turned to look at his friend as he re-entered the room and patted the spot beside him on the couch.
“Get your fine ass over here, Robin! I even got salt and vinegar chips for you, even though they are disgusting, and you are a heathen.”
Dick’s grin made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He quickly scrawled on the whiteboard, ‘I haven’t been Robin in years, and everyone knows salt and vinegar is the superior flavour.’ Wally scoffed jokingly, pulling Dick down beside him onto the couch. His hands were careful around Dick’s ribs and went nowhere near his friends face. Dick was more grateful than Wally could ever imagine.
Curled up on the couch with his best friend, Dick realised the one thing he’d been missing more than his voice. Normality. Something that no one could give him while they walked on eggshells around him, careful and cautious as if he would shatter into a million pieces.
Turning further into Wally’s warm side, Dick managed to whisper out two quiet words.
“Thank you.”
Wally didn’t even look over from the screen showing the opening scene of Spiderman as he responded.
“Of course, dude – what are friends for if not cheering up their bros after getting abducted?”
Another small chuckle, and Dick is out like a light. He slept better than he had in two weeks, tucked into his best friend’s side.
Maybe everything would be fine.
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I Finally watched the batman… my thoughts
1. Battinson blocking with the face 70% of the time bcs he’s still new at the gig was perf
2. Selina is a VERY IMPORTANT character to batman, i felt just as awkward as battinson looked whenever they kissed. Maybe is just my ace-ness
3. IF THEY FUCKING BRING THE JOKER TO THE SECOND MOVIE I FUCKING SWEAR TO GODS 😠
4. The riddler living in-front of the penguin 100% tracks and i think they should get to work together in the next movie.
5. The riddler DEFINITELY wrote Reader X batman 😂 and was probably good6. Tbh i LOVE i am too dumb to be true/how much does a banana cost, playboy Bruce, but him still on his MCR phase is infinitely better.
7. This means he has at least 5 yrs to get his act together tho bcs otherwise Damian will not be a thing. Thalia would never
8. Did he inject himself Lazarus juice and that’s why this idiot went on a frenzy and did not die of high voltage? Also he could’ve just cut the line under his hand, but he had to b a drama queen 😒
9. If it was Idk how Thalia saw this mess of a perpetually wet emo man and said😍
11. Him saying “ur not my dad” to Alfred SPECIALLY considering the comics rn broke me beyond repair and it was barely half an hour in 🥺
12. THE MOTHERFUCKING FLOORBOARDS? alfred was literally 99% of his impulse control
13. I like that they mention that Martha Wayne wasn’t 100% alright cause that definitely makes it such a more compelling cover storyline and helps to explain how flashpoint paradox Martha just lost her mind
14. He tampered and practically contaminated SO SO MUCH evidence
15. He def needs a 10 yr old following him around with the only power of being too annoying to the mob grunts.
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koolkat9 · 2 years
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NedCan Week 2022- Day 6
@nedcanweek
Prompt: Parents/Family
Pairings: NedCan, Fruk, some very minor, implied NedEng
Word Count: 700
The Woes of a Young Nation
“Don’t be nervous,” Matthew whispered. He and Jan were currently standing in front of Arthur’s house. Though they had agreed they didn’t want to announce their relationship to the whole world, the two had agreed that their families should at least be in the loop. The first stop was Matthew’s parents and brother (though Alfred already knew about them). 
“It’ll be okay,” Matthew assured him, squeezing Jan’s hand.
“I’m fine.”
Matthew rolled his eyes fondly. “Whatever you say…”
Alfred was the one to open the door. “Hey dudes!” he greeted, “Francis and Arthur are in the living room, and dinner is in progress. Don’t worry, Francis took care of it, so it'll be edible.”
As Alfred rambled on, Matthew led Jan into the living room. There they found Francis and Arthur whispering amongst themselves, only to freeze when they saw their son and his boyfriend enter the room, hand-in-hand. Arthur visibly tensed while Francis put on a warm, welcoming smile. “Oh, Mathieu!” He exclaimed, “It’s wonderful to see you.” The Frenchman rose from his seat on the couch and made his way over to Matthew, arms open for a hug. 
“Bonjour Papa,” Matthew replied, accepting the hug.
Francis ruffled Matthew’s hair before turning towards Jan. He extended his hand, shaking the other man's. “And it’s nice to see you as well. You two finally got together huh?”
Jan’s cheeks flushed a light pink. “Uh…Y-Yes…I suppose–”
“Papa…” Matthew interjects.
“Desole. I’m just happy to see things worked out.” Francis turned back to his husband, who remained frozen on the couch, eyes wide and shoulders stiff. Francis rolled his eyes. “Really Angleterre? Stop gawking like a fish and come greet your son and Jan.”
“B-But…” Arthur stuttered out.
“But nothing. Don’t look so surprised. Did you really not expect this?”
“Yes…No…I mean…I had some suspicion…”
“See. Now come over. You’re making them nervous.”
Jan was nervous. Matthew could tell by the way he took his hand again and held on tight. Matthew squeezed back. “It’s okay Papa,” Matthew assured them. 
Arthur rose from the couch, grumbling all the way. “Hello,” he said gruffly before retreating to the kitchen. 
Francis shook his head. “Don’t mind him,” he sighed wearily, “He just never thought Matthew would start dating, let alone start dating someone he flirted with on occasion back in the day. 
“What?” Matthew’s brows furrowed as he turned towards Jan, hoping to find an answer. But all he found was an averted gaze and pink cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Matthew hissed. 
“It’s kind of weird isn't it?” Jan said.
“A little, but I’m pretty young, and you’ve been around a lot longer, so I’m not completely shocked.”
“For what it’s worth, I never thought of him in…that way. I just liked to mess around with him a bit.”
“Mess around?” both Matthew and Francis shrieked. 
“N-Not like that,” Jan quickly explained, “I meant I flirted back just to mess with him.”
Matthew and Francis both let out a sigh of relief. “Well,” Francis said with a clap, “This was…an enlightening conversation, but I better go help Arthur in the kitchen before he burns the house down.”
With Francis gone and Alfred having snuck off when Francis brought up Jan and Arthur’s past, Jan and Matthew were left alone. “I swear I never slept with him,” Jan assured Matthew, “I never felt anything for him. B-But it’s weird regardless, so I get–” 
Matthew cut him off with a kiss. It was slow, gentle, and full of love as his thumb rubbed against Jan’s cheek. Jan tensed at first, surprised by the sudden affection, but as he got used to it, he relaxed, arms coming to wrap around Matthew’s waist. 
“Don’t worry,” Matthew murmured when he pulled away, “These things are bound to happen when you’re young like me, and your father liked to try his shot with anyone because he was high on power.” Jan’s cheeks flushed once more. Matthew giggled and placed a light peck on his lover’s nose. “Let’s go out to the garden while we wait. Arthur grows the best roses!”
Jan nodded. Matthew took Jan’s hand again and began leading him out the door for some much-needed peacetime.
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pandorica0011 · 1 year
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Keep Your Friends Close..
Word Count: 589
Warnings: Implied character death, Trespassing ig?, blood, strong language
"Trust me Alfred. It'll be fine. We're just exploring. If we run into any night workers, we'll simply leave." 
"I dunno man. I don't trust it. Even if there are other people where. It's a mostly unused hospital. I don't fuck with it." 
Arthur found a piece of rebar and slammed it against a decaying corner of the hallway. It echoed through the empty space for a good few seconds. "Damn, I thought it would be quieter here." 
"Wait, w-what do you mean you thought it'd be quieter? Dude, don't do that." Alfred stuttered, staggering back a few steps. He already didn't like the sound of any of this. 
"Arthur we should go-" 
Arthur matched his steps and caught back up with him until they were only about a foot apart. His head was slightly downturned, but he watched Alfred through the mess of hair covering his face, his eyes- mostly shrouded in darkness under the flickering light- seemed to glow an uncanny yellow like a cat's eyes, locked on its prey. "No. I think we should stay." 
Alfred had to fight the irresistible urge to turn around and run. Somehow, he knew that if he did, there would be no saving himself. Arthur knew where he lived, knew his friends. There was nowhere to run, no place to hide. 
He was thoroughly fucked. 
Arthur sucked in a breath and Alfred could swear he heard a click of teeth and a low growl. 
"Hey man, I thought we were cool. You don't have to do this..I won't tell anyone, I swear!" Alfred had seen all the horror movies. There was no way he could talk himself out of this. But he had to try something, as stupid as it may be. 
Arthur laughed, a sick, maniacal laugh that would have been funny to Alfred if he wasn't on the verge of certain death. 
"Oh Alfred. You were always so naïve. We could put that on your tombstone,” He quipped,  “'Here lies Alfred F. Jones. A boy too naïve for his own good.'" 
The words sent a wave of nausea through Alfred. Oh God. He really was going to die. 
"What the fuck, man?! Why are you doing this?!" 
Arthur straightened up, his cat-like eyes piercing through Alfred's very soul. "We all go a little mad sometimes, Alfie. It's nothing personal." 
The nickname sent a knife through Alfred's chest. Arthur was gone. Or maybe this was who he was the whole time. Alfred didn't know. All he knew was that he needed to get the fuck away from him. 
Without a second thought, he turned and ran for the nearest door, hoping to God someone would be behind one of them. He got maybe a few feet out before a sharp pain in his shoulder knocked him to the floor. 
"Now Alfred, don't be so stupid. There's no way out of this." Arthur leaned over his shoulder.  He felt pressure and more searing pain as Arthur pulled the jagged end of the rebar he had stabbed him with, out and through his shoulder.
Blood pooled out of his shoulder and down to the linoleum, soaking his chest and spreading out in front of him. Vomit bubbled up in the back of his throat at the sight. 
Arthur grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto his back. He looked down at him, those sickly green eyes, wide and haunting. He cracks a wide, toothy smile. 
He straddled Alfred and held the rebar high above his head, bringing it down with a grunt. 
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