"You're a kid whos mom was obsessed with a cult, and when you were just 12, she sacrificed you. You end in hell and expected to be tortured for eternity, but turns out the demon wanted a child of his own"
by WRITING PROMPTs
Maybe Bruce?
Aweee now, just imagine!
These cultists? Totally an accident that they for the ritual right. Jason doesn’t die so much as he just seem to kind of vanish into smoke and—
wtf.
Ok.
There’s- there’s a whole child.
Right at Bruce feet. All of a sudden.
A human child.
In hell.
And look, they couldn’t have chosen a worse demon to send a sacrifice to because Bruce? He’s a protector of children.
Because there’s something that so many story and demonology books get wrong.
Hell is for the bad people to be punished for all eternity.
And Bruce? And all the other demons populating hell? Well, they exist solely for one reason:
To punish sinners for the crimes they committed in life.
It’s a jail. Bruce and his fellow demons are the jailers. They don’t guard the doors of hell because they don’t want anybody to get in, they’re guarding them so nobody gets out.
But children, children have no business being in this place of torture and agony. Not ever. There’s a whole ass system in place to keep the good souls from accidentally wandering where they shouldn’t be.
So Bruce sees this tiny, starved child crying and screaming and— fuck. This is a Dick situation, isn’t it? He needs to go to earth. Again. And drag some people down to damnation all early and piss off death again. But you know what? Tough shit. They want a demon? They’re gonna get one.
(Jason is soon introduced to another strange human after he mysteriously pops back up on earth. His name is Richard “Dick” Grayson, and his teeth are too sharp and his pupils look almost reptilian in the right light, but he takes Jason to a big ass house with a real strange butler and lots of food.
Jason thinks he’s seen the weird Brucie guy who introduces himself as Dick’s dad somewhere before… but Jason is cool with not looking a gift horse in the mouth. After all, what are the chances he’ll fall into another cult’s hands so soon after the last?)
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"You have such great people skill! I am too abrasive, I'm not good at that."
Mate it doesn't exactly come naturally ok. My agoraphobic ass is, by default, spectacularly off-putting, a terrible conversationalist and account of hating having to make conversations, and really abrasive because "why are you still talking" and "so can I stop the conversation like, now?" is always on the tip of my tongue and will jump out of my mouth if I don't clamp down on it.
I think some people naturally have people skills ? But also many just LEARN them, the way you learn any skill. And you can have good people skills without enjoying interacting with people. You can have decent people skills even when conversation and people still does not make sense. You can absolutely bullshit your way into people skills because a lot of it is surface-level interactions that are virtually always the same. Lots of books, workbooks and manuals today will breakdown how to hold a conversation in various environments - and learning how to do it, even if I don't enjoy it and it still makes very little sense to me why we do things that way and it is still stressful and I would much rather NOT do any of it is a LIFESAVER.
What I am saying is, treat "people skills" like "basic cooking skills" or "cleaning skills". It doesn't matter if you don't enjoy it, if you are not interested in digging deeper, if it doesn't come off naturally, if the result is not outstanding, whatever. You just need these basics to get by in life, and it will make your life so much more easier. Getting started in the hardest part, it's intimidating, and you are super aware that you do NOT have the skills that every seems to have. Cooking skills approach: start small, start somewhere, read about it, and go from there.
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Eithne/Arthur - “ why are you looking at me like that? ”
flashback
Arthur looked quickly away at the sound of her words. He rubbed the back of his neck. Bit out a self-conscious laugh.
The day was gorgeous, the sun streaming beyond a canopy of gently waving trees. All around them, the field was bursting with wild grasses and flowers that seemed to dot the landscape with bursts of vibrant color: her greens mingling with his reds and blues, till the whole world seemed decked out for only them. And amongst all this, ensconced on rugs and pillows stretched out against the roots the sheltering oaks, motes of light filtered between the boughs, bathing Eithne in golden light as she spoke of her beloved Malconaire, her whole face beaming like the sun.
She was transcendant -- at once more a creature of this earth than he could ever be, and yet so untouchably ethereal he held his breath, almost afraid she might melt away at the slightest of breezes. A chorus of birds sang all around her as if they sang with delight just to be near her, and the dappled light wound round her like will-o-the-whisp attendants sighing upon their liege lady. The radiance of the sun was her nimbus, not glowing upon her but, rather, shining because of her and, despite himself, Arthur smiled again, this time a meditative look taking hold of his features as he stole a glance once more at her.
He'd seen her at balls and at tourneys, but as stunning as she was all made up in Roisin's finest glamors, they could not match her natural beauty here in this wild place, so much a part of her that it seemed to breathe as she did, the very wind stirring with her words. Her tresses were all the finer simply framing her face than caught up in a golden net, and Arthur thought that perhaps all that finery appeared garish against the smooth porcelain of her skin, beaming as it did here in serene sunshine. Her eyes blazed an azure so fine he was sure the sky blushed to be compared to a tint so luminous, and her smile, so rosy, seemed to capture the full lustre of the floral hedges that danced in the attendant zephyrs all around them.
Arthur smiled then, arching a soft brow as he looked at her. His voice, when he spoke, was very soft. "I should have thought that obvious."
For a moment, Eithne looked at him and then, suddenly seeming to catch his meaning, or perhaps -- he hoped -- thinking something similar herself, she colored slightly and looked away. "You mustn't say such foolish things, Arthur. Anyone might think you meant them."
"It would showcase their wisdom."
Laughing, Eithne made herself busy, then, leaning forward to draw a repast from the wicker basket at her knee. Her gown was a simple roughspun, but somehow, out here amongst the gently tilting trees, he did not think anything could have appeared more becoming and, sighing, he gazed heavenward.
"Tell me -- before...before my father," began Arthur, gesturing vaguely, as if to indicate a time before the conquest. "How did you spend days like these?"
Eithne paused in her ministrations, and Arthur was conscious, then, of the weight of her gaze upon him. He smiled, slightly, still looking skyward. "Well...when we could, much like this."
"Oh?"
"But, most often, taking baskets to the village, of course."
Arthur frowned, turning to look at her, then. "Are...are they fond of...wicker?"
She laughed. His confusion did not dissipate. It was Eithne's turn to look quizzical. "Do...I don't suppose you take baskets to people? Or...or perhaps your sisters? Your mother and stepmother?"
Arthur shrugged. "I don't know that most people in the Empire have much...inclination towards--" he shrugged, gaze sliding to the basket at her knee. "Baskets. They're useful, certainly, but--"
"No, it's not--we don't take empty baskets."
Arthur shook his head, shrugging.
"They're filled with goods. Gifts. Bread and cheese and lettuce and jams and...anything that might help those...less well off."
"So...its some form of...charity?"
"Yes! Precisely."
Arthur frowned at the basket before them, doubt churning inside him. Then, a moment, and he pointed. "And? Is...this...charity?"
"What?"
"I just--It's a basket."
Laughing suddenly, Eithne set a plate with cheese and cold chicken before him. "In this case, it's hospitality. I daresay, you're better off than I am, or don't they feed imperial princes?" she teased, grinning.
Laughing, Arthur watched her laughter, her whole face seeming to somehow brighten even further as her limpid eyes danced. Somewhere deep in his belly, Arthur felt warmth suffuse him, something bright and briliant blooming in his chest as he joined her in laughter. "Why do you think we all come here so very often?"
"I did not imagine you came as beggars."
Arthur paused, watched the merriness in her face. It seemed to him the birds were singing more quietly now, as if they were alone in all the world, with no other earlthy creature to witness. This moment was theirs. "Any man, even a prince, is a beggar before someone like you." I didn't think someone like you could exist... he thought.
She frowned. "You make me sound a tyrant."
He shook his head, sat up a little straighter. "No, I..." he shrugged, sighing. "Eithne, what I mean is...There's no one else in the world like you. No one. Anywhere, and..." he shrugged, laughed. "I would know. I've been most places in the world, after all, and...You've no equal, Eithne. No rival. To know you is to wish to know you better. To be with you is to wish never to be parted." Arthur sighed, then, self-conscious, shrugged. "I'm not much with words, Eithne...I just mean there is no one like you. You're the sort of woman a man would beg, borrow, or steal just to please but, despite it all, I know that...My father may own half the world, but that won't make you mine. I could shower you with gems and you'd frown just," he laughed. "Just as you do now at the idea. Riches aren't what matter to you so...we're all beggars. You see? I've got nothing you want. And that's...that's something I've never encountered before."
"You're wrong!" blurted Eithne.
Arthur frowned. "I--"
"You do have something I want."
"What is it? It's yours, I--"
"Oh, hush," whispered Eithne and, leaning close, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "There," she said, smiling, a blush blooming upon her cheeks as she leaned back again.
"Oh no you don't," chuckled Arthur, one hand slipping into the veil of her hair to cradle her neck as he leaned close. Her lips were soft as roses petals. Her breath was a warm zephyr. And her eyes, when he opened his own to see them, were brighter than the whole sky.
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