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#the prompts are great!!
poirott · 4 months
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David Suchet watching Poirot clips on Instagram
- Poirot and More clip, December 8 2023 (also on David's Twitter)
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puppetmaster13u · 16 days
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Prompt 271
“Grandmother is visiting,” Damian suddenly said with no warning and with his usual not-quite demanding tone. 
“Who?” Tim wasn’t the only one to startle, seeing as Bruce had practically froze, a downturn to his lips in a silent show of confusion. 
Damian scowled. “Are you deaf Drake? Grandmother is coming to Gotham to, quote, make sure I am being properly cared for.” None of them had known that Ras was with anyone actually. At least Tim was pretty sure that would have been in the files. 
“Oh?” Dick didn’t quite crouch to Damian’s height but it was a near thing. “She-” “He,” Damian corrected, interrupting him. They all exchanged a glance before Dick continued. 
“Is he coming to the Manor or…” 
Damian scoffed again, a tiny bit of a flush against his face. “No, Grandmother will most likely be staying with Akhi-”
Now wait one moment-
“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?!” 
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nerdpoe · 4 months
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The Justice League has been working to dismantle the GIW for awhile, and finally found enough evidence to get them shut down.
Superman is picked to be involved with the dismantling of the base, and equipped with some sort of strange watch bought from a family-run ghost hunting business in Illinois. Apparently, the thing prevents him from being possessed.
He has, of course, ordered fifteen of the things.
Being possessed and used to hurt his friends and family has and always will be one of his worst fears.
As they circle the base, hidden and in groups, waiting for Cyborg to bypass security-Cyborg pauses.
They have someone.
A small-town hero, Phantom. They have him strapped to an operating table, and they're literally about to start carving into him.
Superman sees red.
Inside the base, Danny's waiting for the GIW thugs to start cutting into his duplicate so he can record it and get evidence to the Justice League, so that they know these guys are really fucked up.
He isn't expecting the ceiling to suddenly go missing.
He really isn't expecting to see a spectacularly pissed off Superman start towards the GIW agents while Martian Manhunter (calm down fenton don't be a nerd don't geek out omgomgomgomggggg) himself frees the duplicate.
Then Martian Manhunter pauses.
Looks at Danny.
Danny wills himself onto the visible spectrum and allows the duplicate to dissipate.
Unfortunately, in his effort to not sound starstruck, he just sounds pissed.
"Oh, so now you show up? In the middle of my sting operation?"
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ghostbsuter · 7 months
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There was a teen in the cave.
A teen no one knows and looks like he could be a wayne, stands in the cave.
"Actually, I'm a wayne." He says with a shrug.
Bruce, Batman, carefully thinks of the implication.
"Not yet," The teen, Danny, doesn't say anything. Simple smiles. "You're not a wayne, yet. You will be. But not yet."
Then Bruce sighs, dropping the batman mask in order to take in the teen.
"Does future me know of the time travel?"
Dannys smile grows into a grin, deciding to take pity on the man. "You, grandbat, have..." He makes a vague gesture. "Theories, which none of your children ever confirmed."
The bat's mind short-circuits at the choice of words
Dick is sputtering incomprehensibly, there are Baffled expression all around.
Because.
Because that child isn't Bruce's, but one of theirs.
"Who is it?" Jason demands, hand clenching his gun uselessly.
Danny continues to smile, a hint of mischief now peeking out.
The cave is filled with theories, some yell, some sob, yet all eyes leave danny.
All but one pair.
She had known the moment his body language switched just enough for her to read.
She had known the moment he disappeared before the clan.
Had known when his hand found hers, shoulders bumping.
Her heart clenches, throat dry and memories of her childhood flooding to mind.
So she asks, voice soft and hesitant.
"Am I a good mother?"
And danny looks up at cass, adoration and pride laid out plain for her to see and accept.
"You're the best."
And so they both watch the clan together, silent and comfortable.
(Cass doesn't question when she finds him, how and why. All she knows is that she's more attentive when out on patrol, looking and waiting.)
(This is how Cassandra Cain-Wayne returns one night from patrol, a child, barely out of toddler stage and clinging to her form.)
(This is how the Batclan officially meets one Daniel James Cain-Wayne, freshly washed and clothed, a cookie in hand and hiding shyly behind Cass.)
(When they meet, all they say is "Welcome home, danny," and "Good to see you again.", Danny doesn't necessarily get it, but that's okay. Maybe his new mom will explain it one day when he's bigger.)
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hypewinter · 9 months
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In the middle of a Justice League meeting, Batman feels a tug on his cape. He looks down to see a little boy who could easily pass as one of his.
"Erm," the boy starts. "I frew up."
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evilminji · 2 months
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You know all those Cults in Gotham?
Bet at least ONE of them could spring for both a Legit Magic User and a Cloning pod.
Because The Wayne's? Hearts of Gold. Long standing pains in the asses. Probably the only thing standing between this gods forsaken wasteland of a city and Their Dark Lord. For GENERATIONS no less!
It's sooooo obnoxious!
So they want to Curse Um dead. Just a good ol fashioned bloodline curse. Destroy um from within, etc. BUT! To do THAT? You kinda need a blood relative to sacrifice!
And Bruce is... well... rather infamously An Orphan With No Biological Kids (at that point).
So? What do you do? Make one, obviously. You send in some of your own on a Holy Mission. Honeypot that playboy! Get us a kid to sacrifice! Our God will reward you etc! But... FFS! What? Are brunettes not your TYPE or something?! Pretty lady! Throwing herself at you!!
TAKE THE BAIT!
But he DOESN'T. Because he's both really used to that behavior, as The Wayne Heir and a False Playboy, AND because? He's fuckin Batman. He can see through your schemes.
Okay.
Okay!
Plan B!
Get us some DNA. We'll CLONE the sucker. That should be doable, right?
........OH COME ON! How?!
Batman: [REDACTED] / Cultists: 0
Fuck it! This is impossible! How are we supposed too... *eyes drift over to the Wayne Family Private Graveyard* .......Idea? Ideeeeaaaa~! Someone get us a shovel!
So they, cultist bastards that they are? Fuckin rob a grave for some DNA.
OBVIOUSLY though, it can't be one of the more RECENT graves! He probably VISITS those! Watches them! No we gotta be SNEAKY! Get one a bit further back! Mwahahahaha! We're so brilliant! Our God is gonna give us SUCH a Good Grade in follower!
A thing that is both REAL and possible to achieve!
So, while a Weirdly FURIOUS Batman? Is just... VIOLENTLY breaking ALL of their bones? Cultist 17 is furiously digging like his life depends on it. Either somebody snitched or Batman was hunting them down! Either way?
Gotta! Get! That! DNA!!! *digs faster*
Ah HA! Got it!
Fucking SCATTER! Run you fools, RUN!!! *everyone bolts*
And AT LAST! They have it! Wayne DNA! Now? Pop that sucker into the machine and make us a baby! Too sacrifice! *relieved noises* Man, that was hard work you guys. But we DID it!
Except??
Theoretical Babies? And "Real, slowly forming in front of me and becoming a human child" type babies? VERY DIFFERENT psychologically. It's ONE thing to sacrifice a HYPOTHETICAL baby... but when you're the guy running and monitoring the Cloning machine? Watching it slowly form and come together into... into a CHILD?
You start asking questions of yourself. Of God.
Of what, EXACTLY, you are willing to do.
What lines you find yourself unwilling to cross.
And yeah, your life was SHIT before the cult. Yeah, you were alone. Adrift. Without purpose. Angry at the world for all of its ugliness and failings. But... sitting, alone, in a dark room? Nothing but the steady hum of machines and the cool light of that pod? You are left with nothing but time... and your thoughts.
And the baby.
The one... the one YOU made.
Almost... he's almost like a son, in a way. Your son. Floating there, innocent and unknowing. Destined to be born, only to die painfully, for a cause he could not even begin to understand. Because he's too young. Too small. Just... just a baby.
The baby YOU made.
Doubt seeps in like mist. Creeping into the cracks forming in your faith. Surely there's another way, right? Why not save up for a better magician? Or... or hire a hitman? Why involve a child? Surely... surely your God would not WANT this, right? Or if He did! Surely, he would want the boy to be able to CHOOSE, right? A noble sacrifice, for the cause?
The pressure builds. Batman is tearing the city APART looking for your fellow Believers. Leadership is pressuring you to get "It" ready all ready.
He's not an "it".
They are dismissing your questions. Threatening and posturing, as you grapple with your faith. Where? Where is the COMMUNITY that you joined? The camaraderie? Every day, Believers are being torn down. The faith has lost so many!
How can this be WORTH it?
Your faith is slowly, cruelly, strangled in your chest. A death, by ten thousand silences, and ten thousand more cruelties.
Your son is ready.
You do not tell them.
The Clone of Bruce Wayne's great-grandfather is small, but healthy, in your arms. A tiny warm body, with a strong beating little heart. You call the police. Leave your phone, call running, on the desk. No one thinks to stop you, as you calmly walk out the back door.
Why would they doubt?
You are Faithful.
You drive. Pray to a God you have lost faith in, beg forgiveness for what you do now. Your beat up old junker of a car makes decent time, as you leave Gotham. Your son, asleep in a carefully made nest of blankets, on the seat next to you. You drive. You keep driving.
Past towns.
Past cities.
Out of the state.
Stopping only to feed your son and fuel your car. You... you can not bring yourself to care about what will happen to you now. You know they will find you. Know this is the end. But something ancient burns in your chest. A caring you never thought was REAL.
You are afraid.
But you will not let them harm your son.
Finally, a town. Far from Gotham. Quite and cheerful. It calls to you.
Here. It... it has to be here.
You find the hospital. Tears choking you. There is a place to drop of children. You've seen them before. How strange, that now you stand before it and HURT. Your arms not listening to your command. You... you have to do this. You HAVE too.
He is just a baby.
He is your son.
You have to keep him safe. And... and that can not be with you.
You gently put your baby boy into the drop off. Press the buzzer. And then? You make yourself walk away.
Get back in your car, and drive. The gun in your glove box will insure they can never pry from you, what you have done. Where he is. He is safe now. He has to be. You... you did your job. As his father. You made sure he was safe.
You can barely see the road, through your tears.
You take your secrets to the grave.
And Danny? He grows up. Is adopted young and never knows different. Both a Fenton and a Wayne. Knowing only one of these, to be his. But... that Wayne? Was a damn fine man. A pillar of his community and a champion of the people.
Got tossed more then a few blessings, in his life.
They weren't the STRONGEST. But they added up. And more importantly? Were hardly the refined magics of the more powerful. They were cast onto "Him". By blood and bone, more often then not. Which was all well and good!
When there was only ONE of "Him".
Cloning technology did not exsist. So why would you word carefully against it? Danny becomes a VERY lucky boy. Survives many things he should not. In fact, the kindness and hard work of his original? Gifted back in magically powered well wishes? By this, he survives something NO ONE could possibly expect him too.
It saves his life.
His template would be quite pleased, knowing that. That his life of good deeds, saved the life of the child he never got a chance to meet. That it protected his children, from even beyond death.
And in Gotham? At long, long last. The program Bruce made in his helplessness and despair, to search EVERY child until the child made of his bloodline was found? Spits out a match.
A Watchtower engineer.
Daniel J. Fenton.
@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation
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the-witchhunter · 10 months
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DP x DC: Two Dads are better than none
This is probably because I have the Bruharvy brainrot rn and Two Face is one of my favorite characters
Danny’s parents wanted a second child, but years of exposure to ectoplasm left them sterile. It turns out that there are some side effects to living with radioactive materials from another plane of existence. 
Their Solution? Cloning
The issue? The sample they got while in Gotham wasn’t exactly “pure.” After getting a blood sample from a fight between Batman and Two Face, things got little cross contaminated. Now what does this mean?
Danny is the biological child of BOTH Bruce and Harvey
Years pass, Danny grows up, Danny half dies, and life goes on.
Until Danny has to flee Amity. Maybe it’s the GIW, maybe it's and identity reveal gone wrong, maybe the Nasty Burger explosion happened and Danny fled to avoid being taken in by Vlad. 
Danny runs. He also discovered who his biological parents were: Bruce Wayne, and Harvey Dent. Between the Billionaire and the criminal, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the choices, but he still had to choose
So he flipped a coin
Harvey: So you’re biologically me and Bruce’s kid after your parents used our DNA to make a clone
Danny: Yep
Harvey: And between a billionaire and someone considered criminally insane, you chose me? Why?
Danny: ... I flipped a coin.
Harvey: You really are my kid.
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purple-goo-writes · 1 year
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I don't know why I thought this but-
Danny getting yeeted into DC and some how some way lands a gig as a Lounge Singer for Iceberg Lounge.
Could be reg adult danny, androgynous danny or fem danny. Idk. But some how Danny ends up known as the Siren of Iceberg Lounge. And Penguin isn't letting Bats scare his Best Act away! And he isn't letting those younger ones sniff around his little song bird either! There will be no BatCat reenactment here!
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metalotaku-da · 5 months
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Dick and wally were sitting at the wayne family dinner table with their joint families announcing their engagement. Just before desert their was a knock on the front door. Alfred went to tend to it. Nobody thought anything of it till Alfred came back to dinning room with a large meta with him and two scruffed young kids hanging from his hands.
"I believe you have a guest master dick, master wally." Alfred said looking at the red head with a bit of judgment.
"You." The large meta with a goatee and flaming seemingly flaming hair. Motioned to wally with one of the kids who protested. "Well shit you are all here." He looked around the table. "Good I only need to do this once then hopefully. Quit fucking with the time stream." He ignored the throat clearing of the butler and the half raised from the seat posture of most of the dinners guests. "I'm tired of cleaning up all these timeline collapses you speedsters cause. So here is the deal." He sat the protesting kids down in to wally's lap. By phasing through the table. "I'm going to pull all your kids who would cease to exist from the now failed timelines and drop them all in your laps. And I don't care how many it ends up being. You want to cause me problems. You're getting all of yours 10 fold." As he backed out of the table. He pointed an accusing finger at the speedsters. "Do not try me! Oh and By the way. Congratulations on your engagement." He gave a rough pat to alfreds back. "Thanks old man." And then he vanished from sight.
The bats stared at the speedsters. "Care to explain that?"
"Who was that guy?"
"OH my god I'm a dad!" Wally said in shock looking down at his two kids. Ignoring Barry arguing with half the bat clan.
"What are your names?" Dick said all smiles at the two little kids sitting in wallys lap.
"Jai"
"Iris"
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paperultra · 7 months
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aries and the turtle.
Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,169 words Warnings: None
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asterism (noun): a group of stars; a constellation; a cluster of stars
The first thought that comes to Sanji’s mind when he sees you curled up on the kitchen floor, rummaging through the box of herbs and spices, is that you’re the single most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on.
“Darling,” he says softly, leaning against the doorframe and smiling a bit when you startle, “you could’ve woken me up if you wanted a midnight snack.”
“O-Oh! Um.” Your voice colors the gentle calm of night into something warmer – and like always, he’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame, walking over and squatting down next to you as you scramble to put back a jar of paprika. “I’m sorry, Sanji, I – er, well, um …”
“What are you looking for? I’ll help you.”
Under the yellow glow of the lantern, you seem to shrink. You duck your head and mumble into the collar of your pretty nightshirt. “That chamomile and lavender tea you made a couple nights ago …” you begin hesitantly. “I wanted to make some.” Your voice quiets further. “I can’t sleep.”
Sanji frowns, angling his head to catch a glimpse of your face. You do look a little more haggard than normal, your eyelids heavy, your shoulders burdened. His heart aches. How long had you laid in your hammock, tossing and turning, until you couldn’t stand it anymore?
“I see,” he murmurs. “Let’s make that tea right away, then, shall we?”
Sanji quickly finds the flowers and some lemon rinds he had sun-dried last week. You insist on helping at least a little bit despite his protests for you to just relax, fetching two teacups and setting some water on the stove to boil as he measures the right amount of each ingredient to put into the infuser.
Once the water is ready, steam billowing up past your heads and to the ceiling, he pours it into the teapot and covers it to steep.
(You don’t say anything while the two of you wait, and although Sanji yearns to coax a smile and a sweet conversation from you, he contents himself with the silence as well, which is just as sweet. You sneak glances at him every once in a while, though. He knows because he does the same, and the attention sends a thrill through his chest.)
Time passes. He pours the tea – first for you, then for him.
“Tell me when.” The silence breaks once more as Sanji spoons some honey into your cup.
“That’s good.”
He stirs the tea up, hands it to you. You blow across the top of it and then take a sip as he watches attentively.
“How does the madam like it?” he asks.
You exhale and meet his eyes for a split second before quickly looking away. A small smile touches your lips. “It’s perfect,” you reply from behind the cup. “Thank you, Sanji.”
Warmth stains his cheeks a gentle pink.
“The sky is clear tonight,” he ventures hopefully as he adds two teaspoons of honey for himself. He picks up his cup and gestures at the open door. “Stars and tea pair well together, if you have an appetite for it.”
You bite your bottom lip. His gaze immediately darts down to it, and he swallows, throat suddenly dry.
“Sure,” you whisper.
And so Sanji gains another precious sliver of time with you. Elbows resting on the railing, hot tea and your presence protecting him from the cold, he stands out on the deck of the Going Merry and tilts his head back to look up at the sky.
He knows how much you love the stars. They are one of the few topics you can talk about without your usual shyness, and he thinks of you every time he sees them, pinpricks of pure light shining through the darkness, guiding weary sailors home. Sometimes he thinks you must have been one yourself, carried down from the heavens. Ethereal. Out of reach.
“This time of year,” you say, and Sanji turns his attention over to the stars reflected in your eyes, “you can see my constellation.”
“Yours?” he questions.
“Yes. Those three stars over there.” Your arm stretches out to point at something on the left, your finger tracing an arc in the sky. “In my home village, parents dedicate their newborns to a constellation three days after birth. Mine dedicated me to the turtle.”
A turtle. That fits you incredibly well, he thinks to himself fondly, considering your quiet tenacity. “How come?”
“Turtles represent good luck and a long life.”
“I see. Well, do you think you’ve had good luck so far in life?”
You hum thoughtfully, looking down into your tea.
“I think so,” you say after some time, hushed. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
A chuckle escapes him. “I would argue that you’re the one who’s brought good luck to us, sweetheart.”
You bite back a smile and whisper a small ‘oh’ as he gently bumps your shoulder with his own. Even now, you’re unused to compliments, but no matter; he’ll praise you at every turn until you finally realize you deserve every word of it.
There’s a brief period of silence before he asks, “What do you think my constellation would be?”
“Your constellation?” It doesn’t take long at all before you reply, pointing upward into a spread of stars that he could never even begin to puzzle out, “The ram. Some call it Aries.”
“What does it mean?”
This question seems to fluster you. You cough and stammer for a few seconds. He sips his tea, the beverage sweet and floral on his tongue as he waits.
“Rams … are artists at heart,” you finally say, glancing over at him. Your eyes, normally wary and somber, glitter. “They’re strong and passionate, but also gentle and kind.”
Oh.
Sanji can feel a blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. God. Surely, you’ll be the death of him, saying something like that so honestly and with eyes that look like that. He’d move heaven and earth for you if you asked.
“I’ll dedicate my life to living up to those qualities,” he breathes once he can speak again. “Just as much as you’ll live up to yours.”
You take a sharp breath.
“You already do,” he hears you whisper.
And Sanji truly, truly cannot resist anymore.
Your name leaves his lips. He reaches out, hand departing from the dying heat of the teacup and seeking out yours.
You do not pull away when his fingertips brush your cool skin over the railing; instead, you let him turn your hand over until palm touches palm, until the spaces between his fingers are filled with your own and his heart beats to the rhythm of yours.
Sanji squeezes your hand, and every cell in his body begs to falter and fall at your feet.
You rest your head on his shoulder.
The tea cools. But the stars remain as brilliant as ever, and your hand stays warm in his, and everything – everything is beautiful.
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Nightwing giggled at the post he found. He wasn't sure if it was real, but seeing as they live in a world of metas, gods and aliens surely anything was possible, right?
Still, a post on Chirper stating:
"Superpower mishap. My consciousness is stuck in cyberspace, please send help"
was kinda hilarious, even before he edited it to add:
"Not Batman. Do not send Batman."
And of course everyone on the internet is a troll which is why not only was Batman @'d a few million times but other members of the batfam were as well.
Baby bird was still trying to figure out how someone could get thier consciousness of all things stuck in cyberspace while Oracle was doing the digital equivalent of poking the poor data guy with a stick. Interesting times indeed.
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stevesbipanic · 2 months
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@steddielovemonth Day 24: Love is the only thing we can take with us. 
@thefreakandthehair
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Steve looked around his room, it would be the last time he did. He could hear his parents still arguing downstairs. He knew he didn't have a lot of time, soon he'd hear his father's footsteps coming up the stairs.
"You're no son of mine!"
Steve hadn't felt like his son in a long time anyway. When he thought of dads he thought of Hopper at his graduation or Wayne watching the game with him. He'd called Hopper, Dad, when he woke up in the hospital and saw the previously dead police chief at his bedside. No, Steve Harrington hadn't been Richard Harrington's son in a long time.
He knew he didn't have much time, but he'd been planning for this moment, the day they would find out. It was inevitable, small town, nosy neighbours. Steve kept his room impersonal for a reason, it wouldn't last forever. Kneeling quickly he grabbed his box, it was all he would need.
The clothes he actually liked wearing weren't in this closet anymore, the beemer had always been in his name. Nothing else in the house mattered but this box. The last piece of Steve in these four walls.
"Steven?"
He'd asked her to call him Steve all his life, she didn't.
"Can't you see what you're doing to your mother?"
Maria Harrington hadn't been Steve's mother in a long time. Mothers were there for their kids when they woke up from nightmares. Claudia never judged when he woke up screaming on the couch. A true mother looked after their son when he was sick in bed, soup and comfort and love. Joyce brought him soup last winter, when the flu had him stuck in bed, he didn't even call, she just knew.
"I know, I'm leaving now."
"Please, Steven, there are places we can go to fix you," she cried. Mothers don't think their kid's heart needs fixing.
"You were supposed to be a real man!" Richard yelled as he passed him down the stairs. Fathers are proud of their sons growing into protectors and carers.
"This will never be your home again!" Was the last thing Steve heard as he closed his car door and placed the small box on the passenger seat. Parents always have a home waiting for you, even when they think you're wrong.
"Steve?"
Wayne is the first one to spot him as he arrives at the trailer. It's sunday, family dinner at the rotating family table. Tonight was meant to be at the Munsons.
"Steve, honey? You ok?" Joyce is the first one to touch him, worry in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, son." Hopper is the first one to read his teary eyes like a book. They all knew where he'd been.
Claudia gingerly took the box from him, "I'll put this in your room, sweetheart, let Eddie know you're back home."
Steve could hear the kids yelling around the picnic table outside; could smell dinner cooking. Robins laughter piercing though the air and Eddie's boombox playing loudly.
"Baby?"
There he was.
"Hey, Eds, think we'll have to move up that moving date, if it's ok?"
Eddie's features softened from worry to sympathy, "Course, sunshine, although I'm still surprised Joyce and Hop didn't kidnap you months ago.
Later, when he'd given everyone hugs goodbye, some were a bit tighter than others, he sat on the bed with his box.
"You wanna unpack that alone, or want help?"
"You can look, it's not a secret, just special," Steve replied, patting the space next to him. Eddie plopped himself down beside his boyfriend, lifting the lid.
Inside was a mess of bits and pieces. Eddie reached in and took out a stack of photos. Steve at his graduation, a big smile with Hopper's arm around his shoulders, Dustin beaming beside him. Robin putting Steve in a headlock at the quarry last summer, he refuses to say he let her win. Eddie at his first show back, scars on full display. And countless other memories.
There were also little toys from the arcade and pebbles and ticket stubs and letters and a full life story of one Steve Harrington told through the love of his family.
"This was all I went back to get, all I needed. Wasn't expecting them to know about you already, but I knew they'd find out one day. Couldn't let them have this, not after they spent so long trying to take my heart from me."
"I think it's high time we clear some space around here for all this, Stevie, time to let your love be out on full display."
When Steve fell asleep that night, wrapped in the arms of a boy who went to hell from him and staring at the new photos on the wall, he truly felt home.
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puppetmaster13u · 3 months
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Prompt 179
“Pa, there’s a weird lookin’ cat outside!” 
 -Said by a sleep deprived Danny Phantom while in Clockwork’s Lair, about a hero displaced in time. Clockwork is in fact amused. Batman is simply confused about the entire situation.  
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nerdpoe · 3 days
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Danny is about to be kidnapped in Gotham This is not a good time.
He's studying for the SAT, he's already been kidnapped by Vlad like, four times that week and it was a fucking Tuesday, he forgot his wallet at his new apartment, locked himself out of said new apartment (he could phase through the door but that wasn't the point), he's just been informed that the grant he applied for was denied so he needs to ask his mom and dad for college funds when he'd already told them he had it covered, and just...it was shit.
It had been shit. The entire week had been awful and annoying and he was ready to either murder everyone on the planet or go find a corner to cry in for the next three days.
So when the band of wild goons working for whatever villain of the week pulled up and tried to kidnap him, he snapped.
He used them to vent.
Shouted about how terrible his day had been, how terrible his week had been, how he'd already been kidnapped by his creepy godfather who was way too into him, how college funding was shit and the grant system was rigged, and how he'd have to call a locksmith or break down the door to his own apartment if he wanted to go to bed-all of it. He unloaded all of his frustration.
The goons actually backed off.
One of them gave him an awkward side hug and told him it'd get better.
Danny wasn't paying attention to his surrounding. He doesn't realize that the whole thing was livestreamed.
So when he gets home to his apartment later that day, his door is opened for him by the vigilante Spoiler before he can even turn intangible.
She brought over BatBurger and kidnapped Bruce Wayne, Gotham's bumbling Prince, to talk about college grants.
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saradika · 2 months
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— beneath the mask
din djarin x f!reader
rated t - 1.3k
tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father
prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖
when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions
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With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.
A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.
You're still a lady.
And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.
But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.
You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.
Your soulmate.
Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you’ve looked at, throughout your years.
And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.
Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.
If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.
And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.
Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.
The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.
Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.
All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.
Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.
A Mandalorian, it was rumored.
Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.
He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.
But that didn't mean he did not wound.
That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.
Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.
Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.
You were given as the prize, in the end.
Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.
And this is what also slows your feet.
Wondering why such a man would come for you.
At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.
Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.
Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?
Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?
Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?
You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.
It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.
Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.
The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.
Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.
Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.
The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.
Gentle, after everything.
Not him.
But perhaps, not a monster.
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The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.
A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.
Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?
Or will it be more like the battlefield?
These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.
And then, you're alone.
Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.
Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.
Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.
A different man than before, you think.
There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.
His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.
"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.
Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.
"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."
"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.
He goes still, at your retreat.
"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"
The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.
He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.
His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.
And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.
You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.
For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.
"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.
He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.
Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.
Only now, do you see all of him.
And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.
You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.
Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.
I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.
There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.
"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.
And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."
"Yes," He smiles.
"Yours."
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i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!
ner kar’ta - my heart
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eloquent-edits · 2 months
Text
🗡️ It takes more than three words…
to say I love you in the ways you deserve 🗡️ words of affirmation prompts
“I can see that you care for them, even if you don’t say it directly. It’s in everything you do.”
“You deserve to relax.”
“That top complements your eyes really well!”
“Hey, you tried your best on that project. It may have fallen apart in the end—but you tried. That’s what matters.”
“I really admire how you stood up for them. That takes a lot of courage.”
“You make people feel safe. Like they can be themselves without judgment… at least that’s how I feel around you.”
“You’re looking less like you got dragged out of hell every day!” (“Thanks?” “Going to hell and back doesn’t mean you got any less attractive.”)
“I don’t think you were in the wrong. Now I’m not saying you were right, but you made a good point and I think they should consider that.”
“It’s okay to be just okay. I’m here for you no matter what.”
“We adore you! We want you around! You’re our friend, why wouldn’t we want to hang out with you?”
“You are worthy of love and friends and respect.”
“Keep going, you’re doing great!”
“Woah, that was sick. Can you teach me how to do that?”
“You look healthier, you really do.”
“I would be nervous too in your shoes. But you’d be telling me that I got this, so I’m telling you: You got this.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“I really care about you and want you to become the best version of yourself, whoever that may be.”
“Regardless of your gender, you’ll still be allowed in the treehouse.” (this came from a really funny and reassuring conversation with a friend LOL)
“I trust that you won’t hurt me.”
“You’re a really wonderful person. The world would be a better place with more people like you.”
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