#//And then if you put into mind Kit's babs I have...

[fantasy2739]

Prompt idea: Jamie and a woman he has a one night stand with have a pregnancy scare. He's really worried about being a bad father (the sad part), so he insists on taking care of one of those RealCare baby dolls that cry and hijinks ensue (the funny part).

Okay so I had to google what a RealCare baby is because we don’t really use them where I am (or we do and I’ve just never seen one). So the accuracy is definitely a no.

Jamie stares at Amy like she’s grown a second head.

“You’re what?” He croaks. She purses her lips.

“I said, I might be pregnant.” She repeats. They’re sat in Jamie’s house, which he is eternally grateful for because he’s pretty sure he almost spat juice everywhere. “My periods late and my stomach has been feeling shitty.” Jamie cringes a little at that because what the fuck is he supposed to say.

“But we used a condom.” He says, it’s almost a whine. Amy sighs.

“They’re only so effective.” She says.

“And you’re not like, on the pill?” He asks, wary that he might be crossing some line. Amy shakes her head and Jamie nods, because fair enough. “What do we do then?” Amy considers it for a moment.

“I’m gonna get one of those fancy tests that tells you early and then we’ll go from there.” She says. The look she gives him is almost pitying. “I just wanted to let you know, cause there isn’t really anyone else I can tell.” Jamie nods and insists that he pay for the test. Amy smiles at him and tells him she’ll text him. Jamie sees her out and goes to curl up on the sofa. He’s mulling over what happens if Amy is actually pregnant. Do they keep the baby? Do they not? He can’t force Amy to do either. He wraps his arm around a cushion and stares at the wall.

He’d be a shit dad.

Well no, maybe not. He doesn’t actually know. But then he doesn’t have the best idea of being a dad. His dad is a piece of shit. What if they keep the baby and he’s shit with them? What if they don’t like him?

What if he hurts them?

Jamie grips the cushion tighter. He’s terrified. He’s breathing faster and he’s scared of this child that may not even be a thing. How the fuck is he supposed to be a parent if he’s freaking out over the idea of one? He spends the next couples of days pacing back and forth, mulling it all over in his mind.

He’d hurt his kid.

He doesn’t want to be like his father.

He hopes he’s like his mum.

He doesn’t know if he can break the cycle.

Amy’s text is a blessing.

‘Hi Jamie, I took two tests to be sure, both negative! Thanks Amy X.’

Jamie feels so relieved he nearly cries. He’s been teetering on the edge of uncertainty for too long. He shakes it off, sends Amy a quick thanks, and tries to forget.

Except he can’t.

Now that he’s thought he could be having a kid he’s almost desperate to prove he wouldn’t be shit. Or at least he’d like to know. So after an hour of googling he ends up order a fucking RealCare baby. He’s never regretted a purchase so quickly. But it’s too late now. He needs to know.

Okay so maybe he shouldn’t have turned up to Richmond with the fucking baby but he’s supposed to treat it like an actual baby.

“Why the fuck do you have a fake baby?” Roy asks like Jamie has just personally caused every problem Roy has ever had. Jamie doesn’t know what to say, so he shrugs and puts the baby, who he’s named Babs, on the bench. “Jamie, seriously what the fuck?”

“It is cute.” Sam says. “But also very creepy.” Isaac is moving from side to side.

“It’s eyes are like following me.” He says. Ted comes out to see what the commotion is about and he sees Babs.

“Well who’s this little cutie?” He asks. Jamie smirks.

“Babs.” He says. “It’s one of them RealCare baby things.” Ted is all smiles.

“Reminds me of high school, take a bag of flour home, treat it like a baby.” He says. He pauses and looks at Jamie with wide eyes. “You’re having a baby?” Jamie shakes his head.

“Had a… scare.” He admits. “Wanted to try it out.” There’s silence and then.

“So have you brought lots of clothes?”

“Let me hold the baby.”

“Does it cry all the time?”

“Do you have to feed it and shit?”

“Can I be the fun uncle?” Jamie blinks a few times and smirks.

“I want Babs to have good role models. So none of you fucks.” He says. “Except maybe Ted and maybe Sam.” Sam grins. “Roy you can be Babs’ great grandad since you’re fucking old enough.” Roy growls but there’s a softness in his eyes. Jamie picks Babs up and cradles her gently. He steps towards Ted, who has his arms ready in a second.

“Cute as a button.” Ted says as he holds her.

“Takes after her mum then.” Bumbercatch jokes. Jamie sticks his tongue out at him.

“Oh hush now.” Ted says. “I think it’s real great you’re doing this Jamie.” Jamie shrugs and takes Babs back. He crooks his arms around her and cradles her. He makes a cooing face. There’s a flash and someone has definitely snapped a picture. Jamie flips them off and goes back to his baby. Some of the team are leaning off his shoulder.

“Oi, we still have training to do.” Roy reminds them.

“We can’t leave her in the locker room.” Colin says. “She’ll get hurt.” There’s murmurs of agreement.

“Fucking fine, I’ll hold her while you all practice.” Roy caves. Jamie smirks.

“Here Babs, say hello to your great grandad.” He says, carefully handing her over. Roy takes her and it must be a trick of the light because he almost looks sweet. “Be good yeah, he’s too old to do things quickly.” Roy glares but cuddles Babs close. They go out and practice. When Dani scored he runs over to Babs and holds her up.

“That one of for you chiquita mia.” He says. Roy’s rolling his eyes but Jamie thinks it’s great. Babs has a special place in all their hearts

The next day he turns up sleep deprived but oddly pleased. Babs had cried all night. Jamie had tried everything he could think of; changing, feeding, holding. He had been annoyed but he’d also been scared. He was so worried about what might be wrong with Babs and he just wanted to make it better. Sitting up on his bedroom floor, cradling Babs gently to his chest he realised he hadn’t once thought about yelling at her or hitting her. So he was smiling as he strolled in. He was met by an avalanche of people.

“Look, we got Babs her own little kit!” Issac said, thrusting a bag at Jamie.

“I made her something.” Bumbercatch says, holding out a beautiful red and blue scarf. Jamie smiles widely, it’s all very sweet. Sam comes forward with a little blanket that he wraps around Babs. There’s a little noise of contentment and the room aw’s

“I just want to check, we do know that it’s a fake baby?” Nate asks, almost timidly. They all look at him. “Right, okay, yep, Babs is adorable Jamie.” Jamie rocks her slightly and they’re rewarded with more cute noises.

“You look tired.” Jan says, blunt as ever.

“Fatherhood, keeps you on your toes.” Jamie says with a shrug. The day dissolves into different teammates stealing Babs to play. Jamie catches Colin and Issac gently cooing over her in the boot room. Bumbercatch wraps her in her scarf and takes a million photos. Zoreaux and Dani run around with her, showing her Richmond like it’s a fucking museum. Even Jan caves and hugs her close for twenty minutes, telling everyone it’s comforting.

Babs stays with Jamie for another week. Despite how tired he is at the end of it he knows he’ll do anything for his kid. He’s not ready to be a dad yet, way too busy. But it’s reassuring to know he won’t be completely shit.

And he knows the team will be there, every step of the way.

#fanfiction #ted lasso tv #ted lasso #jamie tartt #realcare baby #pregnancy #pregnancy scare #sam obisanya #Colin Hughes #isaac mcadoo #jan maas #thierry zoreaux #Roy Kent #this is a team of himbos #it takes a village #fear of being a parent

[imherongraystairstrash]

Find The Way Home (Part 2)

(Part 1)

~Later that night~

Thomas trudged into his house, letting the door click softly and locking it before hanging his boleadoras on the hook by the door—something he’d gotten so used to doing out of habit, it was practically a reflex—so that his parents knew whether he was home or not. He could feel his drowsiness deep in throat, threatening to become a yawn.

He hadn’t realized how tired he was, how little he’d slept these past weeks, until the adrenaline rush from the battle had suddenly come crashing down. Thomas walked past the drawing room and found his parents, laughing over something.

Both had taken off their gear and changed into something more comfortable. Sophie’s knees were bent over Gideon’s legs, their heads bent towards each other’s. Gideon seemed to have a photo album on his lap.

Shadowhunters didn’t take many pictures, because it wasn’t customary, so the book was rather small. Nevertheless, Thomas’ parents were flipping through slowly, stopping at every picture to point out the events of that year.

It would have seemed like an intimate moment, if Thomas didn’t know any better. His parents, no matter what, always wanted to spend time with their children. He knew his parents loved him and his sister so much that they would do anything to keep them safe. They always reminded him that they loved him, no matter what. He knew he could tell them he loved men, and that his parents would embrace that part of him, and tell him they loved him, but Thomas still had difficulties in telling them. There had been so many times that he had opened his mouth with full intentions of telling them, and then closing it again. His mouth couldn’t form the words, he couldn’t speak; it was as though his throat had become honey, and the words he wanted to say got stuck in it.

But now, he was too exhausted to even think about telling them anything. He was too exhausted to think. He leaned against the doorway and must have made a loud noise, because both Sophie and Gideon looked up.

Sophie smiled at him. “Your sister said she was off to bed, though I suspect she’s gone off to read or knit. I’m afraid she finds our company dull.”

“You’re not dull.” Thomas said, his words slurring together, unintentionally.

Sophie shook her head, shifting so that her feet rested on the floor. “You’re too kind. But, Thomas, darling, you look exhausted; you’re swaying on your feet. Come here before you fall.”

Normally, Thomas would have argued that he was fine, but tonight he was far too tired to do anything but trudge over to his parents and fall back onto the couch beside Sophie.

He rested his head on her shoulder. Sophie put an arm around him and kissed his head.

“He hasn’t slept well in a while, has he?” Gideon said.

“I’m afraid not.” Sophie said. “He might have to be carried off to bed.”

“I’m still awake, you know.” Thomas mumbled.

“Perhaps not for long,” Gideon said.

Thomas could feel Sophie snicker quietly. “We were just looking at the pictures we have of you and your sisters.”

“I remember that one.” Thomas said, pointing to one at the upper left hand corner. It was the three of them with their Lightwood cousins, Anna and Christopher. Barbara and Eugenia had twin toothy grins while Anna’s looked mischievous. Thomas and Kit were sitting on the ground in front of them, playing with the grass. Christopher had been moving, so he was a blur in the photograph. “Kit fell into the pond that day.”

Gideon burst out laughing. “How could I have forgotten about that?”

“And then Gabriel had to jump in after him because, naturally, Christopher couldn’t swim. And when he came back, dripping wet, Aunt took one look at him and said ‘it’s a bit late in summer to be going for a swim, is it not?’”

Sophie wiped her eyes from laughing too hard.

“Never a dull moment with your cousins.” Gideon said.

Thomas smiled and looked down at the photo album again.

“The day before this one, Eugenia was so angry that she threw Bab’s doll out the window and she cried for days.” Thomas felt his throat close a little bit at that one. The memory of his sister still made his throat close up.

“Those crazy girls.” Sophie said, rubbing circles into Thomas’ back. “Their shenanigans made me loose years of my life I will never get back.”

Suddenly, the telephone rang, which would have startled Thomas awake had he not been too tired for his body to react. Gideon got up. “I’ll get that.”

Thomas barely registered what Gideon said, now leaning heavily on Sophie’s shoulder. She slowly guided him to lay his head on her lap as she stroked his hair back.

“Was the mattress in The Sanctuary too small?” Sophie asked.

“It was fine.” Thomas said.

Sophie laughed. “You can tell me the truth. I won’t tell anybody.”

Thomas sighed and smiled sleepily. “It was a little bit too small.”

“A little bit too small by normal human standards or Tom standards?” Sophie said. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear the smile in her voice.

“My calves may have been on the floor.”

Sophie chuckled. “You’re too tall, darling.”

“I know.”

She bent down and kissed his cheek. Thomas liked his mother’s kisses. Her scar went from the tip of her mouth and stretched across her face. When she kept it at a neutral, her mouth was able to fully close, but when she pressed her lips forward to give a kiss, the corner pulled back slightly, which meant that Thomas could only really feel one side of her mouth. It was silly to describe, but it was distinct in a way that he could only associate it with his mother.

When he was younger, the boy his age would ask him what it was like to have a mother with such a hideous scar on her face. They always wanted to know if it ever scared him, which used to confuse Thomas. The scar was a part of his mother’s face; he never really thought much of it because it has always been there. He didn’t think it was hideous because he loved his mama and she won’t be his mother without her scar.

“Did you hit your head?” Sophie asked, feeling the small bump on his head, which was a little bit tender to the touch.

Thomas fought the urge to laugh. He had hit his head, but he didn’t want to tell his mother how. Even if she knew about Thomas and Alastair, he wouldn’t have wanted to tell her about about that, tell about. Things. Head. Alastair…

Thomas’ thoughts were turning into soup. He couldn’t concentrate on anything.

“Tom?”

“Hm,” he said softly.

He found it hard to remember where he was or what he had been doing as his eyes shut closed again, against his will.

“Sleep Thomas, darling.” Sophie said lightly. “I’ll make sure everything is alright.”

It’s like his body was waiting for permission to sleep because immediately after she said that, Thomas fell into a state of deep sleep.

He dreamt of nothing. Even his mind was too tired to conjure up a single thought. He just slept until he woke up again to hear his parent’s voices. His throat felt like honey, and he felt the urge to stretch his limbs, but he resisted it.

“Remind me again how we’ll kill the inquisitor?” Gideon was saying

“Slowly.” Sophie said calmly. Her calloused hands were still stroking Thomas’ hair and occasionally brushed his cheeks. They were so gentle he found it hard to believe that they were the same hands that fought off dozens of automatons at once. “And I’m sure we can get the rest of the family to join in as well.”

“There’s no doubt about that.” Gideon mumbled. “We can even get Henry to use his staff.”

“It’s been such a long time since I’d seen him fight. It brought me back to when I was younger. He and Charlotte would always patrol together.” Sophie said, sighing.

Thomas didn’t need to open his eyes to know she was resting her head on Gideon’s shoulder.

“Yes, I remember. Though I can’t say I heeded them much attention; I only remember scowling at my father. It’s strange how time goes by.”

Thomas never heard much about his Grandfather Benedict. Gideon didn’t like talking about his father, nor did Gabriel. Thomas was very familiar with the story of how they defeated him when he was a worm, but he knew little to nothing about Benedict when he was still human.

“Now that James is married, we have an extra family member.” Sophie said.

“We should get Alastair too, he fought well today. Like a part of the family.”

Thomas’ eyes flew open, which startled Sophie, causing her to jump in her seat.

“Goodness, Thomas. Did you have a nightmare?”

“No! I was just eager to wake up.”

Gideon and Sophie looked down at him with twin expressions of confusion and skepticism.

Thankfully, he was saved by the opening of the parlor. However, that relief was then masked with confusion when he was who came in.

“Aunt Cecily?” Thomas said, sitting up.

Gideon sat up, rigidly. “Is something wrong with Gabriel?”

“Oh, no. Heavens no.” Cecily said quickly.

Thomas swore he saw his father sigh in relief.

“I came here for something else.” Cecily looked a little bit breathless. “Lucie hasn’t stopped by here, by any chance, has she?”

“No,” Gideon said, standing up. “Why? What’s the matter, Cecy?”

“She’s gone.” Cecily said, pale.

Tagging (Sorry for the spam guys!): @tsccreatorsnet  @atla-lok143  @rinadragomir  @youngreckless  @autumnangel20  @julemmaes  @cupcakesandkittens  @no-scones-allowed  @fictionally-fantastic  @stxr-thxif  @writeforjordelia  @itsdaughterofthemoon  @jordeliasupremacy  @cordelia-cardale  @will-effing-herondale  @axoloteca  @heronstairs2014  @ilovemanicures @ti-bae-rius

If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Also, if you want to be removed, send me a dm! I won’t be offended in the slightest :) Oh, and if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded lol).

#Thomas lightwood #sophie lightwood #gideon lightwood #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #the last hours #tlh fanfic #tsc fanfiction #tsc fanfic #thomas lightwood fanfic

[rverfades]

the alley cat and the beetle

a brief history: marinette

marinette is taken from the park after a fight with chloe when they were five

i know they met when they were like seven, but it’s my au and i can do what i want so ha

she’s taken as part of an international human trafficking ring

she was taken because of her ‘exotic looks’ (aka they were racist fucks who took her because she’s half-asian) and interesting hair and eye colors

she ends up in gotham with a bunch of other kids from other countries

the ring ends up being busted by batman like, two years after she was kidnapped, but she runs off before he or the police can corale her with the other children

because batman is big and scary and speaking a language she doesn’t really know, that only her captors ever spoke and she is very smol and very Frightened

she is found by selina, who takes her in (somewhat—she still basically grows up on the streets, she just is visited by, and visits, selina when she needs help or shelter or whatever)

she’s like,,, nine?? or something when she steals a pretty looking ring from an old man in a (horrific) hawaiian shirt

she plans on pawning it off or something, to get money for food

instead, she feels weirdly connected to the ring

and though she doesn’t put it on like, immediately, she doesn’t want to part from it—like something is calling for her to keep it

eventually, she puts it on, and plagg comes out

she almost punches him

because “WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT ARE YOU, ARE YOU A DEMON? HOLY SHIT!!”

“no, i’m not a demon, but man you’re chaotic enough without me. i like you.”

“...thank you?”

when she transforms for the first time, she immediately knows she has to go to selina

(she almost starts crying because heR KIT IS FOLLOWING IN HER FOOTSTEPS AND ITS SO CUTE OH MY GOD)

she calls herself alley cat and basically becomes cat woman’s robin

batman is Not Amused but can’t do anything—though he really Does Not Like the fact that magic is involved. at least she’s not a meta.

she doesn’t actually start going out until she’s like thirteen

which is still young but she’s gotten more and more chaotic and impatient so selina is like

“she’ll either come with me or you and actually learn how to do shit right, or do it on her own, which one do you want?”

and b is just,,, exhausted but resigned because he’s met the girl and knows selina is 100% right

and thus alley cat starts appearing

her image is more of an anti hero—

she’ll steal shit (like,, low level shit, not bank money or diamonds or anything like that)

but at the same time absolutely wrECK VILLAINS WITH BAT AND THE ROBINS

and people are kinda confused,,,

but at the same time, cat woman is more or less the same so,,,

mari and dick have the most brother-sister relationship of all the boys

mari and jason get along like a forest fire

mari and tim are just kinda,,, “how much sleep you get last night?” “bold of you to assume i slept at all” “oof same”

and the pRANKS YES

mari and damien are at each other’s throats like,, constantly,, because damien Does Not Appreciate her chaos and mari thinks he’s too uptight (but knows his past so she understands)

but they still have each other’s backs at the end of the day because they (begrudgingly) have each other’s respect

mari enjoys fucking with bruce, and loves telling him to just get it on with selina because it’s annoying watching them just,,, dance around the fact that they’re fucking made for each other damnit!!

mari and cass are pretty close, and can basically read each other’s minds, that’s how in sync they are

mari and steph get along but don’t really interact

mostly because i don’t fucking know her character lmao

mari and babs are more or less of the same as mari and steph, but mari enjoys teasing her playfully

basically, mari exudes Big Dick Energy and she’s one Chaotic Motherfucker

bonus:

she doesn’t really remember much from her life before being kidnapped—she doesn’t even really remember her last name.

she knows her parents did something with food, and she had two friends she’d known basically since before she was born, but she doesn’t really remember their names or what they look like.

she knows she was from somewhere in france, but not where exactly. all the details of her life are kind of,, scrubbed away, and that just makes her sad so she doesn’t think about it.

next: adrien (coming soon!)

#miraculous ladybug #ml x dc #ml marinette #marinette dupen chang #the alley cat and the beetle au #a brief history: marinette #basically just the outline of marinette’s life #i’ve seen things like this on other people’s aus and thought it would be cool #i actually really enjoyed making this lmao #adrien’s is coming next! it will be more ml canon compliant #but also. not #heh #black cat!marinette #dick grayson #selina kyle #selina is marinette’s mom and nothing will change that #chaotic marinette #marinette and plagg #they are the chaotic duo of gotham lmao #marinette gives no fucks in all honestly

[willowcreekrun]

kit/santi + waiting all day to tell them any kind of good news that you got because you're most excited for their reaction and encouragement than anyone else's, no matter how hard it is keeping it from others throughout the whole day 💐💐💐

When the point standings update for the A-rated jumper finals, Kit snoozes the notification on her phone and goes to work.

It’s only when the horses are turned out and the stalls mucked that she pauses to eat a quick morning snack and see what margin she missed by this year; She and Babs always do well in the circuit, but never well enough to beat out the kids whose parents can afford to import warmbloods and put them in full board and training at places like Mannor Hall.

With all this in mind, it’s no wonder she chokes on her granola bar when she reads the word ‘QUALIFIED’ in big, beautiful, impossible-to-miss lettering. Qualified!

Now she doesn’t know what to do with herself - she’s been fidgeting all day.

“What’s gotten into you?” Victoria snaps when Kit misses the buckle on Knight’s throat latch for the third time in a row. “At this rate I’ll be late for my lesson!”

“Sorry,” Kit mumbles. Her hands are still twitchy, but the buckle finally latches - not too loose and not too tight.

Victoria huffs imperiously before snatching the reins from her and stomping off to the arena for her jump lesson. The big liver chestnut lumbers after her, and Kit watches them go bouncing on the balls of her feet. It takes a moment to come back to herself and move on to the next horse that needs to be tacked, the next bridle that needs to be cleaned, the next stall that needs to be swept in.

She just can’t stop thinking about it. She’s qualified.

There’s still plenty to sort out, like whether she can afford the entry fees, and how much it will cost to trailer out to the venue, and a million other obstacles like that, but for now she’s just excited. Everything in her wants to shout the news from the rooftops!

But - but - she wants to tell Santiago first.

She can’t even really say why, just that it feels important. Feels right.

…It’s a long day of waiting for a girl who hates secrets.

She almost mentions it to her brothers when they call in the middle of the afternoon asking for her Netflix password (they’ve been kicked off the Kelley parents’ account for breaking yet another vase while roughhousing). The words start to form in her mouth before she snatches them back, stuttering and then silencing herself.

“What’s that about?” Nick teases.

“I’ll tell you later.”

She says it too fast and can feel their sneaky glances through the phone, but manages to hang up without giving anything more away.

Then, after work, she starts to tell the cashier ringing up her groceries - ten cans of ravioli that were on sale and a tub of strawberry ice cream.

“Sorry,” she apologizes when she cuts off halfway through a sentence.

They flash her a puzzled smile but don’t press the issue. Just a, “Have a nice night now, Sugar,” before sending her on her way.

When she finally makes it to Santiago’s place she’s buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves. Is it weird of her to have waited to tell him first? Will he be as happy as she is? What if she’s being too much? Should she have called ahead? She’s definitely being too—

“Hey, Kit,” Santiago says with a puzzled smile as he opens the door.

“I brought dinner,” she says, lifting the double-bagged cans of ravioli like they explain her sudden presence at his doorstep.

In true Santiago fashion, he waits patiently through the warming of the ravioli and the setting of the table and the ramblings about Kit’s day until they’re finally sat opposite one another at his modest kitchen table.

“Sooo, I didn’t come here just to feed you shitty ravioli from a can,” Kit admits, fidgeting with her spoon.

“Really?” The fake surprise in Santiago’s voice is entirely kind, but she still scrunches her nose at him.

“Asshole. I’ve been waiting to tell you all day!”

“Waiting to tell me…?”

“Babs and I qualified! We finally qualified for jumper finals!”

The smile that lights up her face while she shares the news is nothing compared to the one he gives her while hearing it.

“Congratulations, Kit! How do you feel?”

“Like a million bucks! That’s why dinner’s on me.”

His smile softens to a look of fond exasperation. “If I knew we were celebrating I would’ve made you something a little nicer than Chef Boyardee.”

“You’re such a snob,” she says. “This shit was on sale - be grateful!”

“Thank you for dinner,” he says to appease her. The look in his eyes is terribly fond and makes her wiggle in her seat, unable to sit still and trying hard not to meet his gaze. “And thank you for telling me. You should be so proud of yourself and all the hard work you’ve put into competing this season.”

Kit stutters out something close to a “thank you” and pointedly ignores the pleased flush spreading across her face at his words.

It’s… nice.

She thinks telling him first was the right decision. When he reaches across the table to place an encouraging hand on hers, she knows it.

#asks #kit x santi #kit kelley #santiago vargas #THEM 💘💘💘💘💘💘

[peakyxtommy]

“Why did you choose me?”

Characters: Tommy, Arthur, Michael

Summary: ​“Why did you choose me?”

Warning: Sad/Hurt/Comfort 

A/N: I love writing this prompt so much. Enjoy! 

Prompt List: @otp-promptly​

All Credit To Gif Owners!

Tommy: “Why did you choose me? (You to him) 

Sometimes your mind ran wild with negative thoughts. Thoughts that were lies, that made you feel weaker and smaller than what you truly were. Thoughts that made your stomach in knots and drove you mad. Sometimes you could stop the thoughts before they festered like a wound oozing puss but times like now, it feels like a knife twisting inside of you. A never ending dull pain, that you wanted to be rid of but couldn’t be. 

On a day like today where everything seemed to boil down to performance and appearance and long conversations with people you were likely never to see again, you couldn’t help but speak the words aloud to him after a long evening of wining and dining. An evening where it felt like everyone else was so much better than you, where women looked better than you felt you ever could. People were eyeing up your husband lustfully or with intentions to do business. You never left those dinners feeling satisfied but felt empty after wanting nothing more than to hide away for the next few days. 

Here you were in your bedroom settling in for the night next to your husband when the dam breaks and you feel those wounds open yet again. Wounds you thought were healed but still needed healing. 

“Why did you choose me?” When the words leave your mouth, you sound so small, so childlike. Your voice was wet already feeling the tears starting to break through. You wish you could just put it in a small box in the back of your mind to deal with another time, but it was an impulsive intrusion of your brain. You needed to hear the answer, to hear whatever words left his mouth, for you mind to be put back at ease. For this small twisting ache to go away even if it was just for the night. 

When the words leave your mouth he almost misses what you said, but the way your voice sounded so sad catches his attention and he feels his heart break a little. He loved you more than anything in the world. You were the light to his darkness. The one thing that helped him stay calm and would release his stress after long times in the office. You made him better in many ways. He was more alert because of you and even had better ideas for the business, because you would always know how to help at a roadblock. You made him a better man. 

So when the words leave your mouth he couldn’t help but ponder over the course of the week or even the evening to wonder what made you say those words to him. He knew he didn’t have all the answers, would ever be able to make you feel whole about yourself, but he had the words to soothe your mind, to make you see the truth instead of the lies. 

He would hold you close to his chest as he let the tears stain his shirt wet. All the while, rubbing soothing circles on your back, while shushing you as you tried to apologize. When you were calm, he would dry your tears, as you sat in his lap facing him. He would make sure your eyes were facing his as he spoke, 

“Why is my pretty wife crying, hm?” His warm breath hits your face, hand holding the back of your head.

“I chose you (y/n), because you make me a better man. You make breathing a little easier and I always look forward to seeing you first thing when I awake and when I go to bed. Your smile brightens up the whole room. You are smart, beautiful, funny, and so many more things. I chose you because I love you more than your pretty head will ever know. You are my world and bring a fullness I never knew was possible. If I have to remind you every single day, I will. You can always tell me what’s on your mind, I'll always listen to you. You’re stuck with me.” He speaks soft and affectionate, loving blue eyes gazing into yours. 

“Thank you, Tom.” Is all you say in a small whisper as your head rests in the curve of his neck and he hugs you. 

“I love you only, always and forever. Never forget that.” 

Arthur: “Why did you choose me? (him to you) 

It was a little past midnight when you heard hard knocks and shouts coming from your front door. You had no idea who was banging at your door but as soon as you opened the door to your boyfriend of a year, you knew it was serious when you saw his blood shot eyes and bloody knuckles. You also knew you had to get him inside because he was screaming out your name as if you weren’t standing right in front of him. You knew you would hear it in the morning from Mrs. Bradley yet again about the Birmingham gangster waking up the neighborhood with drunken shouts and loud knocks. 

“Arthur, you gotta stop yelling. I’m right here. Come in let’s get you cleaned up yeah.” You usher him inside shutting the door behind him. You lead him to the couch where he takes a half sitting/slumped position. You wanted to be mad at him because this was the third time he’s shown up to your house in a similar occurrence, but your worries overridden the fact. You go get a glass of water and your medical kit, to help sober him a little and clean up his hands as he sits now quiet on the couch.

“You need to drink this. Give me your hand so I can clean you up, yeah.” He nods at your words letting you work in an eerie silence. He’d usually have so much to say due to the adrenaline but tonight he was stone cold quiet caught up in his own thoughts. As you bandage his hands with the last wrap, he speaks the words that make your heart still and break a little. 

“Why’d you choose me? Out of all the men in Birmingham you chose a gangster at that, a criminal.” He says it in a small but frustrated tone. He was frustrated with himself, with his life, and that here you were again cleaning up his mess. He felt like a mess and didn't understand why you continued to open up your home and heart to him. You were a good woman. He loved you deeply and couldn’t imagine life without you, but he still had doubts that plagued the back of his mind just as close to the edge of death he lived. 

“Arthur look at me.” You bring your warm hand to his face, holding the side of his face, thumb brushing over his cheek. 

“I chose you because you were yourself from day one and always have been. You are an open book and wear your heart on yourself. You care for those you love and will do anything to protect them. On our first date you made me laugh and smile so hard, I hadn’t felt happy like that in the longest time until you showed up in my life. 

We’ve had our ups and downs but that only makes my love for you grow stronger. You’re all I think about from the moment I wake up and until I go to bed. I look forward to your surprise visits, at normal hours preferably, and phone calls to check in on me. I still love you after midnight when you’re drunk and hurt on my couch. I love you Arthur and I see the goodness in you even if you don’t. I’ll always be here to remind you of that, for as long as you let me.” 

You say giving him a small kiss to the lips. He goes to wipe his own tears, satisfied with your answer. 

“Let’s get to bed love.” He speaks, as you both get up from your positions. Once changed he joins you in your bed. He lays himself on your chest listening to your heartbeat as you hold him tight to you.

Michael: “Why did you choose me? (you to him) 

Your blood was boiling. You couldn’t understand why you would always let her get you to this point. The point of where all logic and reason seemed to leave your mind to be replaced with doubts and insecurity. It was the same argument over and over again. You don’t know why you keep going in circles but it was like that one truth wouldn’t sink into your mind. The doubt of him leaving her for you even if you really were his. 

You were out at a business dinner Tommy was hosting at his house. Of course she was there. You saw her a mile away and she didn’t wait to make her presence known. She greeted you both, shaking your hand in faux politeness, before going back to her table. You knew then that you would be in for a long evening. You knew the look on Michael’s face meant that he wasn’t in the mood for an argument about his ex so you let it go for now. 

You tried to enjoy the dinner and time as much as possible. You left to go to the bathroom and when you returned Gina was sitting in your seat. Legs crossed, fingers brushing over Michael’s shoulder, and laughter from the two of them. All you saw was red but decide to go to the bar to get a drink to calm your nerves. 

When you go back she’s gone like she was never there to begin with. You sit in your chair like she wasn’t there. You ignore Michael for the rest of the evening and his makings of conversation. You were too agitated to even talk to him with an ounce of kindness. When it’s time to leave the ride home is just as silent, with tension hanging heavy between you both. 

It’s not until you reach the walls of your shared apartment that the words leave your mouth. Wanting to know and hear the truth from him, even though you knew you were overreacting but you couldn’t help it. 

“Why did you choose me?”

When the words leave your mouth he was exhausted. It was a long night and it didn’t help with the tension caused by Gina. He didn’t love her or want to be with her anymore. They broke up for a reason and he couldn’t understand why you couldn’t understand or see through his words. Always fighting him on it no matter what left his lips. He was as exhausted as you in going in circles or repeating himself. He would put up with it because you’re worth it to him. That he was in love with you but had yet to say it. 

“I chose you because I’m in love with you. Only you, you’re all I want and think about all day. Your happiness means the world to me. Gina is in the past and I need you to trust me when I say it. I don’t want her or think about her. We broke up for a reason and I’m with you now. Whatever I have to do to prove it to you, I will because your worth it baby.” He speaks tracing a warm finger down your face, his face and tone serious. 

“Say it again.” You whisper taking his hand in yours.

“I love you and you only.” He goes to press his lips against your as your fingers grip his hair soaking him in. 

“Then show me. I love you too.” You speak as he leads you up the stairs to your shared bedroom to show you how much he loved you and only you.

#peaky blinders #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #michael gray x reader #michael gray #arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders preferences #mags’s otptober

[jackie5656]

Feelings On Safety With;Diego Hargreeves

If it weren’t for the pouring rain outside her apartment, perhaps y/n could fall asleep. But even if the storm had subsided, she doubts her current anxiety could let her succumb to slumber. Usually she’d be able to sleep when Diego is out patrolling, knowing he’d notify her if anything had ever gone south during one of is patrols. Tonight is different though, earlier in the day the two had a terrible fight about said patrols. A group of men had robbed a grocery store just a few days before, having killed three civilians in the process. Diego, having had wormed himself in on yet another police investigation, had discovered the group was suspected to be hitting another business sometime in the next week. 

This wasn’t just any other two-man home invasion on her boyfriend’s usual radar. These men were strategic criminals, prepared to kill if they had to. Needless to say it was a heated argument, one in which y/n had become  overwhelmingly upset. Overcome with the thought of Diego getting too in over his head and not making it home this time, she went off on him. 

“Maybe if you still weren’t so caught up on your fragile ass ego you’d know when to leave this shit to the cops!”

She shuddered at the memory, willing it away with a quick shake of her head. It was a low blow, she knew it as soon as the words came out of her mouth. Considering his past with the police academy and Patch. At birth he was number two, constantly reminded he wasn’t good enough. Y/n was well aware of the fact that she was one of the only people that knew so much of her boyfriends messy past. Her heart wrenching at the thought of the pained look in his eyes as he snatched his harness and stormed out of their shared apartment without another word. 

The kitchen clock read 2 am, taunting her pacing figure with each malicious tick. Diego’s patrols always had her nervous, but the thought of her last words to him being so cruel were eating her up inside. Knawing on her fingernails, she willed back tears in order to keep calm. He’s gonna come home...He has to.

The living room tv took her attention away from the clock, a “Breaking News” across the screen catching her eye as she practically dove towards it. Frantically turning up the volume, she watched as the anchor spoke about the recent robbing of local businesses. The six men had been caught and taken into police custody an hour ago, further details of the arrest would be released once the police gave the public an official statement. He did it.

As if on cue, the sound of keys jiggling outside had made her jump. Her eager pace allowing her to reach the front door as it opened and Diego stumbled inside. Effectively falling into his girlfriends arms as he groaned.

“Jesus Diego what the hell happened?” 

“It’s nothing, just-mmph  scrawny bastards had to tag team me.” He straightened up and limped towards the kitchen sink as he spoke, leaning against it with another groan as y/n hurriedly retrieved a first aid kit from the coat closet. No words were exchanged as he watched her place the kit on the counter and look to where his hands were holding his side. Smaller hands gently lifting the soaked fabric of his shirt, letting out a small gasp at the nasty gash on his side.

“B-bullet grazed me.” He explained through gritted teeth, her shorter figure slightly jumping as she held gauze to the wound to stop the bleeding.

“I’ll have to put some alcohol on it.” Her voice was soft as she spoke, avoiding his eyes as he nodded. Little words were exchanged as she worked, only small grunts or hisses of pain from Diego and mutters of apology from her. 

He was still mad, understandably so. Y/n could tell by his stiff stance as she tended to his other wounds, his furrowed eyebrows as she dabbed the cuts on his face. The whole time avoiding her worried eyes. Y/n was well aware Diego was too stubborn to bring up, or perhaps too hurt to. Her heart wrenched at the thought, willing back tears as she worked.

Diego looked down to the girl below him, quietly huffing as the sleeves to her-his sweater repeatedly slid down her arms as she moved them, the fabric effectively swamping her hands before she rolled them up once more. He shuddered as her fingers brushed against his skin, silently willing his heart to slow at their proximity. Even after two years, he found himself affected by her presence. Sometimes, he wondered if she had powers of her own...Her damn eyes, he swore they were magic by the way they could read him. But they were distant now, much more focused on his wounds and her feet than him. Which reminded Diego why his hands were clutching the cold marble countertops instead of her.

He remembered her words, the way they slipped past her lips with such ferocity and emotion. Her features immediately filling with regret. Her mouth falling open, he assumed to apologize but he was out the door before she could even blink.

In truth, Diego hated nothing more than weakness. But anger didn’t exactly coincide with weakness, anger was easy. Anger is simple...You get pissed off, you punch something and move on. For as long as Diego could remeber he was mad. Whether it was his bastard of a father, his siblings, or his infuriating stutter. His entire life he was angry, until he met y/n.

The way she cared about him, the only person who ever truly had without having been programmed to. It was completely overwhelming, all of it. Her eyes, her smile, her laugh, her everything. She helped him tear down walls he hadn’t even known he’d built around himself. So what was he to do when the one person he went to with his feelings was the one that hurt them?

His internal dialogue was interrupted by a small sniffle, attention snapping to his girlfriend. Now hurriedly picking up miscellaneous band aid and gauze wrappers in her hands. (Actually, Diego Hargreeves hated nothing more than seeing y/n cry)

“H-hey, hey. D-don’t cr-cry.” His words were mumbled at first, before he cleared his throat and mentally pictured each letter to form the words he so desperately wanted to come out.

Y/n quickly wiped her sleeve across her face, brows furrowing in frustration at her tears.

“I-I’m so sorry.”

“It really, it really doesn’t hurt that bad bab-”

“No Diego. No, I mean I’m sorry about what I said to you. It-It was so, so terrible and I really didn’t mean any of it. It’s just, you’re so quick to go and save people and sometimes I think you forget what could happen to you. Y-you forget that I’m at home waiting for you. And I know, I know when we got together you warned me about what you do and I get it. You save people, I know that. But I’m always wondering if you’re okay and it’s s-so scary sometimes baby. And if something had happened to you tonight...After what I said I-I couldn’t live with myself Diego I-”

“Woah, woah. Hey, I’m n-not g-g-going anywher o-okay?” Diego interuppted he rambling with his own stuttered words. Trying desperately to calm her sobs whilst willing each syllable to come together. He was holding her in his lap now, somehow having shuffled the both of them to their befroom between her hiccuped cries.

“No, no Di you don-you don’t get it. I can’t lose you okay? Sometimes you’re too brave for you’re own good and it’s fucking terrifying. It doesn’t make what I said right, but I just don’t want to lose you.” Her arms around him tightened as she took a shaky breath from in between his neck and shoulder.

“I kn-know.”

“I’m so sorry Diego.”

“I know, it’s o-okay. I promise I’m n-not g-g-going to l-le-lea-” He grunted in frustration as the words escaped his mind, his mind moving too fast for his damn tongue to process.

Y/n lifted her head from his shoulder, gently grabbing his face so he could look at her. Her thumb softly wiping away the warm tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Calm down Di, let the words come to you. I hear you bab-” she was cut off by his lips against hers. Large hands coming up to cup her face in an effort to express what he was trying to say in a different way. She reciprocated just as passionately, hands holding each other as close as possible as if to seal the unspoken words in a communication only they would know.

Eventually, Diego reluctantly pulled away from her. Foreheads pressing together as he let out a soft chuckle.

“What?”

“I g-guess you were kinda right too. About the whole ��fragile ass ego’ thing. Considering I almost bled out on the way here. But you should really see the other guys.”

“Jesus Christ, Diego.”

#the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves imagines #diego hargreeves one shot #imagines #fanfic #diego hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves #netflix #The Umbrella Acacdemy #ben hargreeves #number five #number two #tua vanya #tua fanfic #tua netflix #tua number five #tua number two

[timeforelfnonsense]

The Bargain

Astarion x Dafni

Rating: M 

Ao3 || Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series  

I want to add a TW up here: The first half of this fic depicts Astarion having a panic attack/being in fight or flight. The portrayal was informed by my own struggles with BPD and panic attacks. I think it's important to remember our responses to trauma are often flawed and imperfect. It was very cathartic for me to write tbh. I'm very proud of this one and I think a lot of Dafni's character really shines through! This one has a good bit of canon d&d lore mixed with some homebrew/folklore about the fey (WotC pls feed me more feywilds canon I am DESPERATE for it!). Elvish Translations (via candle keep): arael’sha: Heart-friend (used in contexts like beloved or my heart) The stars shining right through your eyes: A common elvish idiom referring to one's youth or naiveté.

A gust of wind blew through the putrid bog carrying the damp, acrid smell of rotten vegetation and sulfuric swamp water. The gray, splintered walls of the tea house groaned, the top half of the gnarled structure swaying. It was shocking the poor construction of the ramshackle hovel hadn’t killed the hag for them. Astarion had made his way to the small alcove hung above the crumbling foyer hoping to find his paramour. He felt his heart sink when he was met with nothing but the witch's clutter. Astarion rocked on his heels. There was something deeply wrong with this place, even with Ethel dead. Oppressive energy hung on the stale air. Filling the whole space with an undoubted misery that left him feeling raw and exposed.

Deep down you like being leashed, don't ya?

Gale and Wyll had begun to make themselves at home below him. He observed them as they languidly poked about, looking for anything of the hag’s that would be of use. Wyll had already summoned a raven to send back to camp, a note attached to its foot informing the others that they wouldn’t make it back for the evening. The old bat had not given up without a fight and they’d been left battered and exhausted. Astarion winced, his arm brushing against the wall.

He was bleeding. Fantastic.

He had been too preoccupied with the feelings this place drew out of him to notice the long gash running down the top of his forearm. Ethel had tried to drag him to the gaping chasm at the center of her abode when the fight was no longer in her favor. He had struggled and thrashed against her but she only dug her twisted claws in deeper. She’d nearly succeeded in pitching him over when a fatal arrow from Dafni’s longbow sunk into her eye with a wet squelch, exiting the back of her skull.

He already felt like shit from being tossed about by a hag and that discomfort was only compounded by the growing need for a drink. The scorch of thirst started to lick at the back of his throat. He must have been bleeding into his sleeve for some time. His body was eager to replace what was lost.

Is there still rat stuck in your teeth? Slave!

Perhaps Dafni would allow him a little nibble. Just the thought of the sweet strawberry wine in her veins eased some of the discomforts. Astarion pressed his back against a hideous wardrobe, sliding down until his backside hit the ground. He had made a point of exercising restraint when it came to drinking from her. He never wanted her to be under the impression she was only a meal to him. But he was famished and she was his favorite treat.

You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone!

Or maybe not...

There had to be something else edible nearby. He took in a deep breath only to be met with the nauseating scent of an overripe corpse. He coughed and sputtered, forcing the repugnant smell from his lungs. Any thirst he might have had was chased off by the gut-twisting aroma. It seemed he wouldn’t be taking a breath for the rest of the night. While his undead nature freed him from the necessity of breathing he’d always been partial to it. The feeling of his chest moving up and down had served as a steadfast reminder he wasn’t  truly  dead despite all he had endured at Cazador’s hand.

Vampire? Ha! You’re nothing but a ravenous cadaver, spawn!

“You bastard! You ruined it- You ruined everything!” Mayrina squawked.

“Are you daft! I helped you!” Dafni spat back.

Well, he found her.

It would seem Dafni’s damsel in distress was none too pleased with her would-be hero. Astarion groaned, bringing his head to his knees. He was agitated as it was and the squabble happening outside was only making the tightness in his chest worse. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to tune them out. Astarion grit his teeth, the pain in his arm was growing more acute by the minute and the strange magic of this shithole had his nerves ragged. His body jolted at the crack of a hand against flesh ringing out across the yard outside followed by a string of elven cursing. A torrent harrowing memories shot through his brain as the appalling noise hit his ear. The simmering dread morphing into fury. A low growl fell from his snarling lips as he tore down the stairs towards the yard.

“The hag promised she’d bring my husband back from the grave if I gave her my baby! I just needed to wait a little longer but you had to stick your nose where it didn’t belong!”

“You promised your child to a hag? You do know hags devour babies, yes? They swallow them whole and within a week the child is reborn a hag daughter.” Dafni’s yelped as Mayrina‘s palm came down across her cheek. She brought a hand to the stinging flesh in disbelief. Foxglove bells dripped from her battle messed hair, hot summer rage threatening to boil over. She took a deep breath in attempting to soothe her nerves but her soundings did little to help. The magic that covered this swamp, was arcane and wild- Much the same as dark and forbidden places in her home plane. Hags often built their homes in places where the barrier between the material and faerie was thin enough for fools from both planes to seek them out. It was unsurprising the shadowy influence of the hag had mingled with the magic of a crossing to create a bubble of negativity. It was likely provoking more extreme reactions from the already distressed woman. “I understand you are upset, but my patience is growing thin. I am only trying to help you. I’m no stranger to hags. They are creatures of my homeland and I can assure you there is always a greater price. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Don’t you judge me! You can’t possibly understand-” Mayrina sobbed raising her open palm for another strike only to her wrist caught in the iron grasp of Astarion’s alabaster hand.

Oh no.

“You foul little wrench!” Astarion’s voice was acid, his teeth bared, “She saved your miserable life and you dare raise your filthy hand to her? I have half a mind to tear your throat out but that seems kinder than you deserve.”

Dafni’s heart was pumping a mile a minute. She’d seen Astarion cross but this was completely different. Astarion’s body was completely rigged. His shoulders forward, back straight. His red eyes glowed with ferocity as his grip on Mayrina tightened. Normally when he was upset he’d get stroppy or belligerent. He’d needle the target of his disapproval with snide remarks until they were as frustrated as he was. He could be rather rude and bab tounged when he felt like it but it was always a cool, controlled vexation. This was unfettered wrath far stronger than Mayrina’s actions had earned.

“I-I’m sorry!” Mayrina uttered with a shaking breath, “Please, let me go!”

“Why?” He snarled, cocking his head to the side, “So you can attempt to strike my beloved a third time?”

“Please, arael’sha, let her go…” Dafni wrapped her hand around his shoulder, her eyes soft and concerned, “I’m fine. She shouldn’t have hit me but I’m in no danger from her and you know that.”

“Fine.” He shot her a loathsome look but yielded to her request, tossing Mayrina’s hand with disgust, “You and your gods damned bleeding-heart. Let the shrew disrespect you if you’d like. I don’t care.” Astarion turned on his heels staking back into the tea house his fists balled tight at his side.

Dafni nibbled her lower lip, her fingers worrying the hem of her sleeves. Astarion had made himself scarce after the incident with Mayrina. It upset her to see him so distressed. Her instinct had been to tear after him when he stormed off. But, she knew him well enough to understand he would need space and time to calm down before they discussed it. Any attempt to talk to him before that would only serve to upset him even more. She made herself busy tending to her friends in the meantime. They had a few injuries but nothing she couldn’t patch up. She might have been too worn out for magic but Ethel had kept a decent supply of herbs and tonics for her less exotic ‘lotions and potions’ that would do nicely. She even found a few things worth snagging for her own medical kit back at camp. If they had to be stranded for the night, at least it was somewhere well stocked.

Gale had a burn on his arm she’d treated with a salve of aloe and quince. Wyll a nasty knock to the head, that while painful, by the Protector’s grace, didn’t appear to be a concussion. She’d put on a kettle of willow bark tea and instructed him to drink at least two cups of the stuff as soon as it was ready. She had done all she could for now. More than anything they both seemed fatigued. With a little rest, they’d be on the mend.

The worn staircase creaked under her weight as she made her way to the second level of the house. Astarion sat on the splintering floor, his back propped up against a cluttered cupboard. His scarlet eyes glassy and fixed on a far off point. He was clutching the top of his right forearm. Between his fingers, Dafni could make out a tell-tale dark stain of red on his sleeve.

“You are hurt!” She gasped racing to his side, “Why didn’t you fetch me! Let me clean and bandage that for you.”

“Don’t touch me.” His voice came out in a low growl as he twisted away from her.

Dafni took a step away, her hands held up. “I won’t touch you without your consent but I need to tend to your arm soon. I’m worried about you.”

“Why should I want your help?” He glared at her arm still held tight against his chest. “You certainly don’t want mine.”

Dafni let out an exacerbated exhale, “Is this about what happened earlier?”

“No, it’s about you and your compulsive need to martyr yourself at every chance! It is foolhardy, reckless, and incredibly selfish! You can be so juvenile- The stars shining right through your eyes! And I can’t always be there to mind you, Dafni! Today it was just a slap but one day you are going to try and save the wrong person and I’m going to find you bled out in an outer city gutter or worse!” He was scolding her in earnest now. His bottled-up feelings coming out in a torrid of icy words. “Is rushing into other people’s disasters to prove to mommy and the gods you are a big girl really worth it? ”

“I do tend to put the needs of others before my own” She admitted, “Oftentimes to my own detriment but, please, don't talk to me as if I am a misbehaving child.” Dafni kept her tone calm and even as she continued, “I care for you and I can tell you are feeling overwhelmed. I want to support you but I can’t do that unless you help me understand what’s going on?”

They sat in silence for a while. His lean frame was closed off and wound tight. As if he was prepared to bolt at the slightest disruption of his already fragile state. An anxious tremble coursing through him every few moments. He refused to face her but Dafni could have sworn she saw the wet shimmer of tears forming in his eyes.

“My patience was already rather thin and then I heard that insolent twit strike you…” He spoke at last, finally met her gaze with an absolutely despondent expression. “And something just snapped in me.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that shouting. I’m sure listening to her smack the daylights out of me wasn’t pleasant for you. Especially when you were already feeling uneasy.” Dafni said as she slowly brought her head to rest on his shaking shoulder. Astarion dropped a smidge of tension from his body as he buried his face in her roseate, satin-soft curls. His breathing grew more steady by the second. She could sense the storm of his disquiet coming to an end. “I want you to know I appreciate you standing up for me. I might not have agreed with the method but I know your heart was in the right place.” She hesitated, “Can I ask you a question?”

He gave her an uncertain look but nodded, “If you’d like to.”

“Do you feel like it’s your job to protect me?”

He shifted a bit his eyes darting away as his good arm rubbed the nape of this neck. His body language all but screamed the answer but he was clearly still trying to craft a response. “Sometimes. Is that a satisfactory response?”

“Hmm?” Dafni mused, “If you elaborate, yes.”

“Why?” The word came at a long, petulant whine. His brows were knit tight, “I answered the question, did I not?”

Dafni brushed a delicate finger along the straight line of his ear. She smiled as a shiver of delight ran throughout him. A faint flush made its way across the bridge of his nose and to his cheeks. So light you’d miss it if you didn’t know what to look for. “Humor me?”

“I don’t like seeing people hurt you.” He said toying with a stray tendril of her hair, “You always see the best in everyone and everything. The world is full of malefactors who would be more than happy to take advantage of that and for some reason, beyond my control, I’ve decided keeping you happy and whole is just as important to my survival as my own well being.” He groaned pinching the space between his brows with the hand of his unmarred arm, “So you see my motivations are far from selfless. Happy?”

Dafni tried to will the bright grin that threatened to take shape across her lips away. Worried she might frighten him off with her enthusiasm. “Your elaboration was sufficient.” She tittered, no longer suppressing her smile. Her eyes shimmering with mirth as she spoke, “I have an idea! How about we strike a bargain?”

Astarion’s mouth quirked with a warm smile of his own, “Wasn’t it the dangers of fey bargains that caused this mess in the first place?”

“Yes, but I am no hag and I’ll give my word to say only what I mean. No tricks. Creatures of Faerie are bound by our word, we never go back on a promise once given.” She explained, “Now, I respect you far too much to lie and say I’ll stop helping people when I think they need it but, I, Dafni Ríwen of Gwynneth, Daughter of Thesmia Ríwen, cleric of blessed Corellon Larethina give you, Astarion of Baldur's Gate my word that I will try to pick my battles rather than jumping in headfirst at every opportunity. In exchange, I ask that you treat me as your equal from now. I watch your back and you watch mine. We protect each other. Always. Do we have a deal?”

“I can agree to that.”

With a bargain struck between them she leaned in close brushing her lips against his cheek, a gentle tingle of magic, sweet as spring spreading through them both. “Now, I insist you give me that arm. You might like the smell of blood but to me, it reeks of iron.” With a half-hearted laugh, he relinquished the injured arm to her at last. Drat. Was nothing simple? The gash was much deeper than she’d thought it to be. “ Hmmm, this will need stitches, unfortunately. At least until I can rest and heal you with magic. I’ll need to boil some more cloth for bandages and find a needle in this mess.” Dafni procured a small flask of pale yellow liquid from her pack, a bit strong for such a simple procedure but with his, she didn’t want to retrigger his fight or flight by stabbing him with whatever dull needle she could scrounge up. “In the meantime take a  very  small nip of this. It’s a bit of poppy syrup diluted with dandelion wine for the pain and nerves. Drink up. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Dafni made her way back downstairs creating a list of supplies in her mind: She’d need to boil some cloth in witch hazel for dressing, a steel needle, and thread, alcohol to clean the wound, something to keep everything clean and safe while she worked in the filthy alcove...

When Dafni returned she found Astarion lounging rather contently with a lazy grin on his beautiful face. She had told him to take only a small nip! Oh well, at least he’d sit still for her. She sat back down, carefully placing the silver tray of makeshift medical supplies beside her.

“This stuff is great, Daffodil!” He chuckled, swirling the remainder of her laudanum around the flask.

“A nip, Astarion. A nip! Now give me that.” She scolded, snatching the glass bottle from his loose grip. He only laughed, completely bemused by her annoyance. “Alright, I’m going to clean out the cut with some alcohol. It might sting a bit.” Dafni explained, rolling her eyes, “Though I hardly think you’ll notice in this state.”

He winced a bit as the alcohol came in contact with his flesh, his nose scrunching up in displeasure but he sat otherwise stone still. Methodically, she began the work of suturing his arm. He was very lucky she’d been able to bum a needle and thread off Gale otherwise she would have been forced to get creative.

“You are a cleric. Doesn't daddy Corellon grant you all kinds of healing power? Why did you bother to learn how to mend people without magic?”

“Ok, first off  please  do not refer to the divine being that created our people as ‘daddy’ ever again.” She shook her head with a giggle all the while continuing her task, “Secondly, I learned because of situations just like this one. Magic takes a lot of energy. I can’t just cast unlimited healing spells and the wilds can be dangerous. I never wanted to find myself in a situation when I was unable to care for myself or my sisters. Besides, I needed something to study while they and my mother worked on their wizardry.”

“I want to know something else. Why did you let that fool girl get away with slapping you?”

Dafni mulled the thought over for a bit as she finished the final stitch, snipping the thread with a pair of sewing shears she fully intended to steal. “Because I felt sorry for her. She had clearly already suffered enough without my vengeance. Humans live such fleeting lives, Astarion. They are over before our people even reach adulthood. They experience so much loss and decay in such little time. I think it can make them blind to the long term implications of their choices.”

“I still think you should have let me kill her for disrespecting you.” He shrugged, “But I suppose I can understand your thinking.”

“As I said, she’s suffered more than her fair share. But I appreciate the sentiment.” She gathered a length of linen, winding it snugly over his arm. “All done! You were a model patient!” She teased before adding with sincerity, “I hope that wasn’t too bad.”

“It wasn’t bad at all. Thank you. For everything.” He paused for a beat, his eyes falling to the well-worn floorboards, “You are the first person to treat me like a man in a very long time. You make it easy to forget I’m an undead horror. I’m eternally grateful for you even if I’m not the best at expressing that.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that Astarion.” She scowled, “It hurts my heart when you say things like that about yourself. We might not always see eye to eye and I won’t lie, you can be an absolute pain in my backside. But you will always be a person to me. Never a monster.”

“Always so sweet.” He sighed, slumping against her shoulder, nuzzling his favorite spot in the hollow of her neck. “I wish I understood you. All that time and I don’t think I’ve ever really understood you- how you can be so... good. Yet, frustratingly you’ve always seemed to understand me better than I understand myself.”

He spoke with an unmistakable familiarity, far beyond that which they’d formed over the past few days. Their people lived many lives. Longing to return to Corellon’s side in Arvandor but unable to as punishment for confining themselves to a single shape. Two elves could find each other in more than one lifetime. It was far from unheard of.

The Feywilds did funny things to a person's memory if they weren’t used to its magic. Even affecting the reverie of those from other lands who spent time among their eladrin cousins. The crossing or the magic of her bargain could possibly have provoked things long forgotten.

Or he was simply three sheets to the wind.

Regardless it was refreshing to have such a candid conversation with him. Free of affectation or pretense. Even if he was almost certainly going to forget all of it and be right back to his cocksure self by morning.

“I disagree.” She stated, “I think you understand me better than you think. You’re just a little out of practice when it comes to letting people close to you. You didn’t ask but, as I’m positive you’ll forget this little talk by tomorrow, I also want to add that I think you are secretly very sensitive. I’ve also seen the puppy eyes you give me when you think I’m not looking. Totally adorable! You are just afraid to let people see that side of you.”

“Puppy eyes?” He chuckled nipping softly at her throat, “I think I preferred thinking you were scared of me.”

“Sorry to disappoint, sweetness.” She tuted placing a light peck on his forehead, “You need to rest. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Oh, my darling, Despoena.” He muttered exhausted against her shoulder. “It was so lonely here without you. I’m glad you found me at last.”  

Dafni’s heart stopped dead in its tracks.

How?

He named her.

The memories of one’s primal life were lost after their first century. Leaving only glimmers and fragments behind. For the fey eladrin, true names- The names they had carried when they sprung from the blood of the Creator, were the most sacred and personal of those precious among them. Names held power in the land of Faerie but none so much as a soul’s true name. They were not to be shared with even the closest of loved ones, and yet in his haze, Astarion somehow knew?

“Astarion… I’ve never told anyone my true name. Not even my mother knows it. How did you know it? And what do you mean by ‘I’m glad you found me’? Are you having some kind of waking reverie or are you just high out of your mind? I’m a little taken back- And you are snoring. Great. You blurt out my only true secret and then it's off to Sehanine Moonbow with you.”

As desperately as she wanted to puzzle out the evening's events she was tired in mind and body. The others had already settled in for the night and she’d be wise to do the same. She settled herself in for trance, Astarion’s head on her shoulder, his hand intertwined with hers. Praying her reverie might provide some answers.  

#astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 early access #dafni of gwynneth #feywilds #d&d #that sweet lore #tw panic attack #tw past abuse #elf writes #sunshine & starlight

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt70

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3   Beginning   Previous   Next

Marinette woke slowly, smiling at the steady heartbeat under her ear. She couldn’t explain the feeling, but waking up warm and safe with her girlfriend just made it seem like everything was right in the world. That feeling only lasted until she tried to stretch and couldn’t.

Her memory of the days events came back in a rush and she felt tears at the back of her eyes. She pushed them down, refusing to feel sorry for herself. Today was a good day. All of Paris was likely celebrating and she should be as well. Turning over was a bit of a challenge since she had to reach down and untangle her legs from Chloe’s. Even sitting up was different. You don’t think about how different muscles work to complete an action but as she struggled up to lean against the headboard she couldn’t help but wonder exactly how much she’d have to get used to.

It wasn’t like she’d never be able to walk again though. When she was Ladybug it would be like this never happened. Granted she wasn’t certain if that was good or bad. It would help to keep her legs from atrophying but she had to wonder if it would just make it harder to adjust overall.

Chloe began to get restless in her sleep, probably a nightmare, so Marinette began combing her fingers through the other girls hair to help them both calm down. There were so many things that would change. Everything in her civilian life was going to turn upside down and she knew that she couldn’t even guess half of the things that would change.

Her home was now completely inaccessible to her as Marinette. Even if her parents had the money to renovate, and they didn’t, there was no room. Chloe, she was sure, would insist she stay at the hotel until things were sorted out. But at the same time the only real solution would be to rent or buy somewhere else for her to live. She had enough money from her business to manage that at least, but she wasn’t sure how her parents would react to her having to use it. She was already forming arguments in her head for when they suggested they sell the bakery to cover her expenses. She was pulled out of her head by a light knock on the door. Definitely not Damian at least.

“Come in.” Tim poked his head in and she saw concern on his face but not the pity she’d expected which was a nice surprise.

“How are you feeling?” She frowned at the question, knowing she was going to get sick of hearing it quickly, but also because she wasn’t sure how to answer. She didn’t really feel any different yet.

“Fine, how’s the city handling the news?” Tim blinked at her, obviously surprised at the subject change but he shrugged.

“It seems to be a city wide holiday. Businesses and schools shut down so people could celebrate, or something. A lot of people seem to be using the time to grieve loved ones that happened to die while Hawkmoth was active since they couldn’t before, or just having nervous breakdowns. They’ve set up quiet spaces and tents where people can go talk to counselors and such for free. I realize now that I really didn’t understand the type of terror Hawkmoth was really imposing on this city.” Marinette could only hum in agreement. It was going to be a long adjustment period as people slowly let themselves feel properly again. She hoped people would continue to take other people's feelings into consideration before they acted though. It was one of the few good things that had come from this situation.

“It still doesn’t feel real. I don’t think I’ll stop waiting for the next Akuma attack for quite awhile. After being under constant threat for so long it’ll take my brain a while to really grasp the new reality.” The way Tim was looking at her she thought he knew she meant more than just the reality of Gabriel being imprisoned.

“I don’t know how much detail Damian’s gone into about our team but Oracle was paralyzed after an incident with the joker so if you need someone to talk to or ask questions we’ve got you covered. Honestly I think it would do her some good to have someone to talk to that understands as well.” Marinette smiled sadly, and a little guiltily at him.

“This must bring up some painful memories for you then, I’m sorry you had to be here for this.” Tim was looking at her like she was insane but she couldn’t figure out why. That concern was replaced by a more pressing one. “I hate to ask but I really don’t want to wake Chloe before she’s ready and Tikki still hasn’t eaten either…” She felt her face heat up and couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Do you need me to get something for you?” She had to take a few deep breaths and still could only make her voice barely audible.

“I need to go to the bathroom. Would you mind carrying me over there?” She hated the thought of being dependant on people for something so personal, not to mention something she’d been doing since she was two. She’d have to start a list of basic things she needed to find new ways to handle to avoid situations like this. Tim however just took it in stride.

“Of course. Here, put your arm around my neck.”

------------------------------------------------

As Chloe woke she could feel Plagg and Tikki still sleeping on her chest. Poor Tikki had been so distraught about what happened she hadn’t been able to eat to recharge. Mari had tried so hard to cheer the little god up but then Master Fu said there was nothing to be done and the Kwami broke down completely. She blindly reached over to where Marinette should be and hit nothing but air and mattress.

She shot up, earning an annoyed hiss from Plagg while Tikki blinked at her in confusion. Marinette was gone. How could she be gone? Even know that Hawkmoth wasn’t a threat Chloe’s mind jumped to the worst possible conclusions.

“Calm down kit, breathe and listen.” Plagg was suddenly hovering in front of her face and she tried to do what he said. At first she could only hear her own heartbeat but soon that gave way to the sound of voices in the living room, specifically Mari’s distinctive giggle. It took her another few minutes to completely even out her breathing but at least she knew everything was alright. Well as alright as it could be. Once she was certain she wouldn’t worry Marinette with a panic attack she crossed to the door to see her and Tim sitting on the couch with his computer.

“See? They make wheelchairs so you can basically be standing if you need to Might even give you a few extra inches or more in height since you’re so small. That way you can reach cupboards and medicine cabinets and such. I’m sure we can make any necessary changes to whatever you order to make it as useful for you as possible. Hell we added a mini missile launcher to Babs’ once before she made us take it off.” Chloe was tempted to run over and hug Tim for the consideration he was showing. He acted like all this was perfectly normal, and in a way she supposed it was. At least it was Marinette’s new normal. It worried her that Mari hadn’t really reacted to the change yet though. Eventually there would be a breakdown of some sort and Chloe silently promised them both that she’d be there for it.

AO3   Beginning   Previous    Next

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#maribat #marinette dupen chang #Damian Wayne #bffmaridami

[fly-pow-bye]

What’s Airing On Cartoon Network? (July 2021)

While we’re in a rather empty spot for the network, Cartoon Network decided to add another show that was made for HBO Max to its television lineup: Looney Tunes Cartoons! Also, The Fungies continue their airing on television, and there’s new episodes of Total Dramarama and DC Super Hero Girls. More after the break.

Craig of the Creek

For completion’s sake, I’ll list the Craig of the Creek episodes here too.

June 28th:

Capture the Flag Part 1: The Candy - When mysterious circumstances cause issues at the Trading Tree, Craig tries to save the day! (10:00 AM)

June 29th:

Capture the Flag Part 2: The King - The Creek gets help from an unlikely friend. (10:00 AM)

June 30th:

Capture the Flag Part 3: The Legend - Craig goes in search of answers, and finds a legend. (10:00 AM)

July 1st:

Capture the Flag Part 4: The Plan - Craig puts a plan into motion to save the Creek. (10:00 AM)

July 2nd:

Capture the Flag Part 5: The Game - It all comes down to this, the fate of the Creek is at stake! (10:00 AM)

DC Super Hero Girls

July 4th:

#AngerManagement - When Jess coerces Kara into addressing her anger management issues, Supergirl's superhero abilities become seriously compromised! (8:00 AM)

#HappyBirthdayZee - Zatanna makes a birthday wish that forces her to confront the dark side of her magic. (8:15 AM)

July 11th:

#TheGreenRoom - When Jessica is faced with a Green Lantern Corps disciplinary hearing, Hal appoints himself to be her Peer Advocate. (8:00 AM)

#EnterNightSting - Karen is given a mission to prevent the apocalypse by DeathSting, a super-cool future version of herself. (8:15 AM)

July 18th:

#WorldsFinest - When PR whiz Max Lord tells Batgirl and Supergirl he can improve their image by doing publicity stunts, the two friends forget what being a hero is really about. (8:00 AM)

#WorkingStiff - After Babs hooks Karen up with a job at the Burrito Bucket, the two heroes encounter a new villain, the scourge of the fast-food underworld, the Condiment King! (8:15 AM)

July 25th:

#MultipliciZee - Zee magically duplicates herself so she can shirk work and watch TV. Things get out of hand when her copies start to make copies of themselves! (8:00 AM)

#TheMinus - Diana receives her first ever A-minus and becomes convinced that she needs to work harder, however, in order to do so, she resorts to rather drastic measures. (8:15 AM)

The Fungies

July 9th:

Sir Tree's Boy - Seth agrees to take care of Sir Tree's wooden boy, Boy Joy, but quickly pawns him off on Mertha. When Seth discovers that Sir Tree needs his boy back in order to survive, he must stage a heist to steal Boy Joy back before it's too late! (8:00 AM)

Commander Beefy - Seth, eager to explore the stars and find a fellow explorer, sends a signal to space. But the explorer who receives the message, Commander Beefy, has his own shady plans for Earth... (8:15 AM)

July 16th:

The Fanciest Fungie - Seth, frustrated that the Fancies are too caught up in the Fanciest Fancy pageant to listen to his warning about a fungus-eating bacteria, enters the pageant to get his message out. But when he gets sucked into the pageant, he'll have to face the consequences of getting distracted. (8:00 AM)

Snake It to the Limit - When Seth agrees to let an athletic snake replace his arm so he can finally be good at volleyball, he learns he doesn't need a fancy snake arm to make his teammates happy; he just needs to try. (8:15 AM)

July 23th:

Nevin's Cocoon - After a beautiful statue makes Nevin self-conscious about his own looks, Seth helps seal Nevin in a cocoon so that he may turn into a beautiful butterfly. (8:00 AM)

Cool Kids - When Pascal becomes obsessed with a group of cool kids, Seth promises to use his science skills to help Pascal become cool. But is coolness as cool as it seems? (8:15 AM)

July 30th:

Mermove Out - Seth is having a hard time sharing a room with messy Pascal and needs a change. But instead of being honest about the situation, Seth makes Pascal a mermaid tail so that his brother can finally move out-into the ocean! (8:00 AM)

Happy Birthday Nancy - Seth wants his mom to have the best birthday ever, so he creates his own currency in order to buy her an expensive gift. But he learns a little too late that counterfeiting is a crime, putting Nancy's birthday at risk of being ruined. (8:15 AM)

Looney Tunes Cartoons

July 5th:

Curse of the Monkeybird/Marvin Flag Gag: Deflating Planet/Harm Wrestling - Daffy Duck and Porky Pig search for hidden treasure. No one messes with arm-wrestling champ Yosemite Sam - until Bugs Bunny comes along. (9:00 AM)

Big League Beast/Hole Gag: Mini Elmer/Firehouse Frenzy -When Bugs overstays his welcome, an evil scientist unleashes Gossamer to get rid of him. Daffy Duck and Porky Pig make lousy firefighters. (9:15 AM)

July 6th:

Boo! Appetweet/Hole Gag: Plunger/Bubble Dum - Sweet victory turns into a nightmare when Sylvester fears he's haunted by Tweety's ghost. Daffy Duck faces off with a pesky piece of gum. (9:00 AM)

Pain in the Ice/Tunnel Vision/Pool Bunny - A hungry Sylvester sets his sights on Tweety, the ice skater. On a scorching hot day, Bugs Bunny makes himself at home in Elmer Fudd's pool. (9:15 AM)

July 7th:

Pest Coaster/Rhino Ya Don't - Bugs tries to ride a roller coaster, but Yosemite Sam is determined to stop him. At the zoo, Sylvester's lunch plans are foiled by a rhino. (9:00 AM)

Buzzard School/Marvin Flag Gag: Giant Alien Mouth/Wet Cement - Bugs Bunny enrolls Beaky Buzzard in Rabbit Hunting 101. Daffy wreaks havoc on Porky's wet cement. (9:15 AM)

July 8th:

Siberian Sam/Hole Gag: Fishing Pole/Fleece and Desist/Marvin Flag Gag: Mirror/Split Screen Marvin - In need of a new hat, Siberian Sam feasts his eyes on Bugs Bunny. Sam Sheepdog protects his herd from a hungry Ralph Wolf. (9:00 AM)

Grilled Rabbit/Cactus if You Can/Shower Shuffle - Elmer Fudd interrogates Bugs about a theft. Wile E. Coyote's plan to catch the Road Runner gets prickly. Daffy and Porky have shower troubles. (9:15 AM)

July 9th:

Overdue Duck/Hole Gag: Bees/Vincent Van Fudd - At the library, Porky Pig tries to silence a troublemaking Daffy Duck. Bugs Bunny interrupts Elmer Fudd's attempt to be a great artist. (9:00 AM)

Hare Restoration/TNT Trouble/Plumbers Quack - A self-interested Bugs gives Elmer Fudd dating advice. Wile E. Coyote runs into some dynamite problems. Elmer's leaky sink is no match for Daffy. (9:15 AM)

July 12th:

Daffuccino/Hole Gag: Moving Hole/Kitty Livin - Before his new coffee shop goes from grand opening to grand closing, Porky must impress an influential customer. Sylvester may have swallowed more than he can chew when he manages to trap Tweety... inside his stomach! (9:00 AM)

Chain Gangster/Telephone Pole Gag: Sylvester Car Jack Lift/Falling for It - Two bank robbers need Bugs' help to break out of jail. Daffy convinces Porky to go skydiving but forgets one important little thing... (9:15 AM)

July 13th:

Taziator/Marvin Flag Gag: Little Martian/Climate Control - Bugs faces off against Taz in a Roman coliseum. Wile E. Coyote orders a weather control kit, but his chances of catching the Road Runner remain cloudy. (9:00 AM)

Lepre-conned/Flag Won't Stay Straight/Brave New Home - Bugs is looking for Hawaii but finds Ireland and an angry leprechaun instead. Porky's new home has all the modern amenities anyone could hope for, including a computerized assistant - but the voice recognition software could use an update. (9:15 AM)

July 14th:

The Case of Porky's Pants/Fully Vetted - Detective Daffy takes on the case of Porky's missing pants. Tweety's trip to the veterinarian's office gives Sylvester the perfect opportunity for a lunchtime treat. (9:00 AM)

E-Rabbitcator/ Planet Split in 2/The Sales Duck - Bugs must outsmart a new technological foe. Elmer is ready for bed, but persistent salesman Daffy stands in the way of a good night's rest. (9:15 AM)

July 15th:

Pitcher Porky/Cherry Picker/Duck Duck Boom - Benchwarmer Porky finally gets his chance to shine on the pitching mound. With the game on the line, he needs all the help he can get - even if it's from Daffy. Elmer sets his sights on Daffy, but who's hunting whom? (9:00 AM)

Postal Geist/Anvil/Fudds Bunny - Porky and Daffy deliver packages to a haunted manor. Elmer's plan to disguise himself as a bunny to lure Bugs out of his hole doesn't quite go as planned. (9:15 AM)

July 16th:

Shoe Shine-nanigans/Multiply and Conquer/Parky Pig - Elmer visits Daffy for a quick shoeshine. Porky is running late for movie night but finding a parking spot is easier said than done. (9:00 AM)

Shell Shocked/Daffy Dentist - Bugs races against Cecil Turtle for the "fastest thing in New York City" title. The only thing more painful than Porky's sore tooth is a visit to dentist Daffy. (9:15 AM)

Total Dramarama

July 5th:

Breaking Bite - Beth becomes the big dog on campus after she bites Duncan, but being the big dog is a dangerous thing, especially when you didn't actually bite anybody! (5:00 PM)

July 6th:

I Dream of Meanie - When Cody keeps screaming in his sleep Gwen and Duncan take a trip into Cody's dreams to see what is scaring him. (5:00 PM)

July 7th:

Squirrels Squirrels Squirrels - Courtney's attempt to make Chef a better teacher fails when a squirrel gets his hands on her mind-control device. (5:00 PM)

July 8th:

Say Hello to my Little Friends - After telling the kids he will not miss them over the long weekend Chef locks himself into the school and finds out he was very, very wrong. (5:00 PM)

July 12th:

WaterHose-Five - The hottest day of the year and a broke air conditioner leads to a water battle of epic proportions to determine who controls the garden hose. (5:00 PM)

July 13th:

Cody the Barbarian - Cody is set to inherit a video game empire from his long-lost uncle, but only if he and his friends have what it takes to conquer a fantastical live-action video game. (5:00 PM)

July 14th:

TP2: Judgement Bidet - When the city experiences a toilet paper shortage Beth and Harold investigate and discover it's their old rival Sewer Mike who is the mastermind behind it all. (5:00 PM)

July 15th:

Dial B for Birder - Harold uncovers a secret plot that Chef's new parrot is hatching and tries to save his teacher only to discover that Sugar figured it out before him. Or did she? (5:00 PM)

July 19th:

A Hole Lot of Trouble - When rain derails an outside game of catch someone suggests they play it inside. This prompts Izzy to lead the group through her wildly imaginative worst-case scenario. It's an adventure so scary that the kids many never play again. (5:00 PM)

July 20th:

A Tell Tale - After Owen's BBF, Noah, goes through a growth spurt, Owen fears losing his friend and takes drastic action. (5:00 PM)

July 21st:

Chews Wisely - When the floor ends up covered in gum on the day of a big bubble blowing contest, Sugar decides she might help herself win by helping her friends get stuck to the floor. (5:00 PM)

July 22nd:

A Dingo Ate My Duncan - When all their classmates are replaced with well-behaved Australian doppelgangers in a school exchange program, Lightning and Cody start getting suspicious. (5:00 PM)

#fpb news #dc super hero girls #the fungies #looney tunes #looney tunes cartoons #cartoon network #total dramarama

[amazingflyingdick]

right here.

WHO: Dick Grayson @amazingflyingdick, Jason Todd @thatsjasonfkntodd, and mentions of Barbara Gordon @the-orxcle. WHERE: A random alleyway. WHEN: June 30th, 2020. WHAT: After receiving a text from Babs, Jason goes to check on Dick and comes across a disturbing scene.

Jason: The last thing he wanted to do was leave Roy alone, and he’d had a mind to keep arguing with Babs until she’d told him the name given. Dick’s sudden silence over the comms immediately took on a more sinister feeling. Roy would just have to be alright for a little while. Jason told him he was going out, that it shouldn’t be long, but didn’t give details beyond that. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening and it wasn’t the time to lay out a bunch of speculation.

He didn’t take his mask or any of the armor, but he grabbed his twin pistols and the Kris dagger and stored all three in his jacket. Hopefully he wouldn’t need them. Hopefully he’d be rolling up on Dick putting a band aid on some kid’s knee, get a lecture for being in public and armed, and be able to go back to Roy’s apartment. Hopefully, hopefully.

It was only a couple of blocks, Babs had given him the location, and it didn’t take him long to skip roofs until he got over there. He didn’t see anything at first. There was no NOVA patrol, no agents. Hell, there weren’t even civilians. When he abandoned height advantage to get his feet on the ground, he ended up seeing the blood before he saw his brother. The dark red seeping into concrete sidewalk was a too-familiar sight in his life. With a whispered Fuck, he followed the line of it until he saw Dick leaned against the side of a dumpster.

The fabric of his jeans scrubbed against the concrete as he got down beside him. “Dick...hey, hey man, I need you to answer me.” He swallowed the bile in his throat and ignored the rising panic. Shallow wounds bled a lot, more than they should. Might just be that. Dick: The scraping sound Jason's jeans made on the ground made Dick react. He wasn't sure what happened, not really, but the ringing in his head was loud and persistent and he was tired. It wouldn't be the first time he'd worked past his scheduled shift, but there was no reason he should still be here. The bar was dark and he couldn't hear anyone, couldn't see anyone except...

"Jay?" His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. He felt something warm and wet on his cheek and he reached up to follow the trail back up to the side of his left eye. Even with gloves on, he felt the hole. The bullet went straight through and out the back of his head, the projectile embedded in the brick just a few inches above his head. He'd been kneeling when he was shot. "I think I cut myself. What time is it? Does Bruce know you're in Bludhaven?" The matter-of-fact, concerned tone was so utterly normal and completely displaced in a dark, blood-soaked alley.

The buzzing in his ears was getting louder. Dick winced and pushed to his feet, barely leaning against the wall before pressing his hand against his head. Blood had already soaked the back of his hair and uniform. He had the vague understanding that something was wrong but he didn't know what it was, but his mind jumped between what he was seeing and strange, disconnected memories that were part hallucination. "Think you can go get me the first aid kit, Little Wing? It's in the back, under the sink. I'm okay, I just have to patch myself up." Jason: Jason felt his throat go tight as he saw just where the blood was coming from. It was too dark where they were for him to see the wound itself, but it was clear that the source of all the bleeding was the back of his head. That coupled with the delirium, or maybe he was full on hallucinating, had Jason reaching out for him as soon as Dick stood up.

“I think it’s a little bigger than a cut, dude. Why don’t you...why don’t we sit back down for a minute...” They all knew field medicine, basic first aid, things that would keep them alive until they got actual medical care at the Batcave or the hospital or somewhere. Jason had a first aid kit on him, but it was small, the most basic of basics. There was gauze, though, and he had to do something to stop the bleeding. “Let me check you out. You can’t reach it yourself.”

Once he had the space to do it, Jason shifted until he was at Dick’s side instead of in front of him. He reached up with one hand, ready to feel for a cut. What he got instead was unmistakably a gunshot wound. As soon as he touched it, he jerked his hand away like he’d been burned and felt a trickle of cold go all the way through him. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

He yanked the whole roll of gauze out and the tape with it. Before he even got started, he sent Babs a single line of text.

Send medical.

Dick: Dick did stop when Jason reached out, confused, but when he brought his hand away from his head he could see it was wet. It looked black in the dim lighting of the alley. He looked down at the blood on the pavement, already congealing, and thought there was no way he could even have that much blood in his body. It couldn't all be his.

"What happened? Was there a fight?" Something happened, something bad. That was something even he could reason out, despite being more and more distracted by the ringing in his head. It was giving him a headache. "Just a head wound. They bleed a lot, remember? Pretty sure I still have that scab from the train." That had been more than ten years ago. Dick's mind was jumping back and forth. One minute he knew he was in an alley in Star City, but the next he was just as convinced that this was Bludhaven. Jason was fourteen. Bruce was going to be mad at him for letting him in the bar at all, even if it were closed.

Jason's hasty movements made him reach over and calmly pick up the tape. He was already tearing off a piece for him by the time Jason finished with the text. When he set the roll down and saw that just his hand left it soaked in blood, he had a sinking feeling in his chest. "Jason." His sudden change in tone, urgent, with an edge of fear, made it obvious that he was back in Star City. Suddenly he was talking fast, eager to get the information out before there wasn't time. He could barely focus. "The kid I found, he said his name was Gary Kemp. The NOVA agent. I don't know who shot me, but..." He paused, blinking, and reached up to touch the wound even if it meant getting in the way of any first aid Jason was rendering. "Oh no." He was shot in the head? Dick laughed softly. "Now I have to come up with something better to say just in case my last words end up being about NOVA." Jason: As soon as he pressed gauze to the wound, it was soaked through with blood. He packed more onto it for both sides, and taped it down even though it meant pressing it to Dick’s hair. It wasn’t going to help for long. Jason’s hand was shaking a little as he held the second piece of it in place even after the tape. He only let it go when Dick suddenly snapped back into reality and the franticness of that did nothing to quell the dread pooling in his stomach.

“Fuck off with that,” he said immediately, not for a second letting that thought linger. “Babs has got help on the way. Me and Steph aren’t accepting new members of the club right now, so you’re going to have to live. Admissions are closed.” Jason moved to get Dick leaning back against the front of the dumpster, even though that was a horrible place to be. He didn’t want to move him to find anywhere better. Dick: Even through the haze of the strange pinging in his head and the slow creep of pain, Dick noticed Jason's hand shaking. He did shift back to lean against the dumpster, but reached up to put his hand on Jason's arm before he could move back. Normally he would have said nothing, he would have let Jason have that peace of mind, but there was so much blood. It was getting harder to breathe and he felt as if his head were burning from the inside. The pain made him want to move, but he settled for twisting his fingers in Jason's jacket. "Don't do that."

He didn't want to die in front of Jason. The thought made him feel cold. But even his unwavering optimism couldn't deny the reality of what he was facing. This wasn't something he was guaranteed to survive, let alone walk away from unscathed. There were so many things he could say and even wanted to say, but he didn't want to wrap his head around it. He thought about his family and how their last memories of him were that disastrous dinner, he'd never have the chance to make it up to them. He thought about Slade and hated that he would prove his cynicism correct by dying here, like this, even though it was because of his own actions.

Jason was here, he claimed not to care about the past, but suddenly Dick had to make sure. He had to talk. "I wanted more time. With you. To be your brother." It was a strange way to word how he felt, but it was difficult to explain it properly. "Also, please don't let anyone put me in the Lazarus Pit." Jason: It was funny, in a way that wasn’t actually funny at all, that he’d seen so much death in his life but so little of it had been accompanied by the burden of actually saying goodbye to anyone. His father had died across the city. His mother had been gone by the time he was on the bathroom floor. It didn’t make them any less dead or make it less real, but he’d dealt mostly with the aftermath and not the process. There had been close calls and very near misses with other people, but none so close as a bullet to the head and blood in an alley.

Jason closed his eyes. He had to. He could feel the irritating burn of tears and he needed it to go the fuck away. “Come on, Dickie. You’re not leaving me here to deal with everyone’s dumb bullshit without you. I didn’t sign up for that. That’s your job.”

Life had never been fair. He’d learned that by the time he could walk and talk. Life was a bitch that you had to figure out how to survive and twist into something you could stand. He hadn’t always managed to do that, and he still wasn’t great at it, but it had felt like a few things were getting better, like he’d been able to right some of the wrongs that he’d held onto for so long. Unfair didn’t begin to cover it if it was just going to be over that fast. “I need you here,” he said without realizing it until the words were out, even though they’d  barely been a whisper. They all did, but they weren’t all sitting there in a pool of Dick’s blood to say it. Just him. Dick: "You're better at it than you think." It didn't matter how many times he blinked. Jason was still blurry. Eventually Dick gave up trying to bring him into focus and kept his eyes closed. It made his head feel better and he could focus on staying conscious until the ambulance got there. It made him feel as if that gave him some control over the outcome of this, or at least gave him a better chance, because this wasn't how he wanted things to end. Not when he'd finally turned so many things around for the better. And not before he had time to repair the relationships he'd strained. Jason being left to handle Tim and Damian didn't alarm him, not really, because he knew that beyond Jason's hostility he still had the desire to connect with them. "They look up to you."

He heard the words beyond the roaring in his ears. Dick hadn't settled comfortably into the thought of death, but he'd recognized the very real possibility of it, but then... maybe he just wouldn't let it be an option. This was one more bullet he'd take and come back from. It might not bode well that it was a bullet to the head, but he could still feel all of his fingers and toes. He still knew his own name. He could still see, even if his vision was messed up. Jason should have found him already dead, but he didn't. If he were lucky enough to survive the initial shot, then he wasn't going to let himself die in an alleyway just because he got too complacent. "I'm here. I'm not giving up that easily." Dick wanted to smile, but he knew his mouth was full of blood and he could feel it moving down his throat. It wouldn't have the reassuring effect he wanted. "Just keep talking. About anything. Tell me something about you I don't already know." It was something he normally would have done, but he was finding it more difficult to keep his voice even. His body felt cold and even his voice shook from it. Every few seconds he thought he heard the ambulance in the distance, but it was that persistent ringing nose he couldn't get out of his head.

Jason: “Yeah well, they shouldn’t.” He didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t the moment for that. There had been times when he was willing to step in for the family, when he’d helped because they’d asked or needed it, but he was still struggling with the idea of being a more permanent part of it even if that had been kind of happening on its own. He didn’t want to really consider the idea of someone, least of all him trying to fill even half the role that Dick did. He’d spent so much of his life being resentful of it and it just wasn’t his to take. It wasn’t anyone’s.

The risk of Dick nodding off if they just sat there seemed too great, even as Jason struggled to think of one single thing to tell him. Something popped into his head in a few moments and he told the story before he had a chance to talk himself out of it. He’d thought about it a couple of other times, but there had never been a reason to bring it up.

“I saw you perform in the circus once. My dad lifted some tickets off a guy in the parking lot and got us in.” It was one of the few ‘normal’ memories that he had of Willis. What passed for normal, anyway. “I was probably six. I thought the animals would be the best part, but then you guys showed up. The Flying Graysons.” Jason swallowed and leaned back against the trashcan, listening for an ambulance he didn’t hear yet. “It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I thought you...” he let out a short sigh, embarrassed to actually be admitting it after so long, “I wanted to be you so badly that night. I’d never been as happy as you looked.” Dick: Dick shook his head. "Doesn't matter." They would regardless. He wanted to tell Jason that it meant something that they looked up to him for who he was, rather than an image that didn't exist, a standard that was more competition than admiration, but he had a feeling it wouldn't make much of a difference. It was a burden that he understood. It had been on his shoulders because he knew, after what happened to Jason, that they would need someone who wasn't Bruce. Dick never set out to project some golden standard and he would have denied it, if confronted, because he placed value on authenticity. It didn't occur to him that not doing things or holding back parts of himself was creating a false image of perfection. He'd been so wrapped up in what he needed to do or give that it was automatic to breeze over everything with ease or nonchalance.

It took years and a chain of events for everything to break down. For him to get here. Now he was finally getting some sort of footing, even if it were shaky. Even though he heard Jason, it took longer than usual for him to understand what it was he was saying. When it started to sink in he quickly opened his eyes so he could try to look at him. He was still blurry, but it hadn't gotten worse. "You were at... Haly's?" It took a beat longer than it should for the word to come to him. He didn't like that, but he tried not to linger on it. If Jason were six, it meant he'd been eight. It couldn't have been long before the murders. Jason wanting to be him just because he'd been happy was devastating. "I was," he finally whispered. His lips felt wet and he reached up, confused to find a strange mixture of blood and tears. "I wish I could be him." Dick's voice was getting more slurred, but he still seemed determined to speak, to keep talking, "Now? You've been that happy. Haven't you?" Jason: Jason could tell that Dick was struggling to talk, even though he was still doing it, and he was genuinely afraid to look at him. He already knew what he was going to see. Sure enough, when he made himself turn his head, he saw the dark shadow of blood between his lips and the unnatural paleness of his face. The gauze he’d put against the bullet wound was so dark with blood that it looked almost the same shade as his hair. Jason curled his hand into a fist at his side, scraping his knuckles against the rough cement, and made himself keep talking.

“Yeah. Haly’s. The old man thought he did me a big favor with that one.” And he had, in his own fucked up way. The only reason Willis had to steal circus tickets, of all things, was to take Jason. He’d still been a drunk asshole, but not every minute of every day. “I...don’t know,” he admitted, a little surprised by his own answer. “Maybe.” He should probably know if the answer was yes, though, right? He should know if he’d been that happy. Every good thing in his life always seemed to be weighed down by something else, though, and it had always been that way. “You looked free,” he added. “I guess we both want to be him now. Don’t think I’d look good in the leotard though.” He didn’t laugh even as he made the joke. Dick: Free. It was an interesting word to use. If Dick were fully capable of analyzing it he would have, but it somehow meant something in a way he didn't have to fully understand. Not right now, at least. It mattered more than Jason was telling him this now when he hadn't ever said a word about it before. Dick had no idea that Jason saw him at the circus. None at all. It was almost a relief knowing that he'd seen him before the worst day of his life.

Even though he'd been happy since, there was no denying that he'd never been as happy as he was that day in the circus. That was a different world. And even though Jason's answer made him sad, he wasn't willing to believe that he couldn't be that happy one day. "When this is over, we should go." Haly's Circus was still around, but it was back east somewhere. Dick didn't keep up with them. It was easier to keep his distance. "Don't think we can be him," he said quietly. The ringing in his head was a low buzz, but the world was getting dimmer and he closed his eyes again. He didn't want to lose consciousness now. It felt too soon, like he wasn't done saying what he needed to say, but he was struggling to articulate it. "That's what I want. For you, I mean. To be happy. Free. Do whatever you need to do to get it." Jason: When this is over. Jason clung to that a little too hard. “Yeah...yeah, sure, we’ll go. Road trip.” He would have never agreed to it under any other circumstance, and if Dick remembered it when he recovered he was going to vehemently deny that it had ever been said. But for those first few months at Wayne Manor, he’d wanted a brother like that. A family like that. He’d never got it, none of them did. They got something else entirely, and a road trip meant fighting crime across borders.

He sat up straighter as he heard what he was positive was finally an ambulance. It was still a few blocks away, maybe it wasn’t even coming to them, but he was sure he heard it. “That’s a tall order, Grayson. Nobody’s free.” Least of all him. “I’ll work on the other one.” He was trying. He’d been trying for years to get to something besides just bitterness and anger. It wasn’t always successful, and usually when it was he found some way to sabotage it.

He could hear Dick’s words sort of slurring together. With his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, Jason reached out and put a hand on Dick’s shoulder to keep him sitting up. “Just a couple more minutes. Hang on.” Please. Dick: The agreement brought him an absurd amount of relief. Dick nodded, his grip on Jason's arm loosening even though he didn't release him completely. That tight grip was keeping him present and he needed it. He needed to stay present and not let himself get confused about where and when they were. Not again.

"Maybe not," he agreed, the heaviness in his tone more honest than it'd ever been. "But we can get close." He doubted he would ever be completely free. Part of him would always feel indebted to Bruce and the rest of his family, at least in some small ways, and that was a connection he wouldn't willingly sever even for his own sake. That Jason was willing to try and be happy was what he needed to hear and he nodded, slumping against the dumpster and finally letting himself relax. In the distance he thought he heard an ambulance, but he wasn't sure.

Jason's hand on his shoulder kept him upright. Dick took a shallow breath and heard it rattle in his throat. "Please don't go." It was a struggle to get the words out and he knew they were selfish, but  he couldn't help the request and it came from somewhere deep, unconscious, and his fingers twisted in Jason's sleeve as if he needed reminding that he was still there. Jason: He’d had to stamp down the urge to try again and stop the bleeding himself. There was nothing he could do, physically, and even though he knew that it was hard not to sit there and think that Dick was dying right next to him and he wasn’t trying to do more, find some way to make it better even if that was impossible. It seemed like keeping him awake was more important.

“Maybe we can.” He didn’t believe it. The second they’d put on the Robin suit, the very instant they’d let themselves become part of Bruce’s life and Batman’s ‘legacy,’ they’d thrown out freedom. It was the price paid. Freedom came with not knowing how ugly all the ugly parts of the world really were. Jason had never had that and Dick had lost it. There wasn’t any going back.

He fought not to close his eyes again. The idea of opening them to see Dick having faded away was too much. “Still right here,” he muttered. He moved his other hand on top of Dick’s, trying to ignore the fact that both of them had blood on them. It was impossible not to.

The ambulance sirens were closer. Jason heard them one street over, but couldn’t see the lights yet. He was going to have to get up so they could find them and know where to go, but he’d wait those last few moments. Dick: Even though part of him knew Jason was right, knew everything changed for them the day they donned the mantle of Robin, Dick still wanted to believe that their future was more malleable. He didn't want to be held down by the past. It was one thing that might make him different than the others: his unwavering belief that things could be better, even when they were at their most dire.

Like right now. Part of him knew that he was hovering at a dangerous level, right on the edge of something - and he didn't know what that something was, but he was trying to resist the pull to give into it. It would be easier to let himself fade into unconsciousness. There was almost a comfort in not feeling any more pain.

He thought he heard the ambulance, but he wasn't sure and it wasn't worth ruining the moment to ask. His grip on Jason's hand tightened, almost desperately, and he was barely aware of the other intruding voices once the EMS crew arrived and took over. He didn't want to lose the grip he had on Jason's hand, or arm, or whatever he could touch that was concrete and kept him in the present. The second he was pulled away and the contact was lost, he gave into the cool, comforting blackness, even though he didn't see it as giving it. It was simply the respite he needed before he returned full force to fight.

#c: discord #dick grayson #jason todd #injury tw #blood tw #death mention tw

[violet-witch-6]

Extra scene for “The Third Robin” that got cut for redundancy and pacing, can be read standalone

When one spends an extended amount of time with Batman, one learns to be comfortable with long silences.

Tim knows through second hand anecdotes and one very memorable security tape that Babs sent him in his ‘welcome to the Batfamily’ gift-basket (read: survival kit) that Dick filled the silences with a non-stop stream of chatter, sometimes holding entire conversations without B ever saying a word.

Jason preferred to fill the silences with music. Loud rock n’ roll beats usually, but every once in a while he’d throw in something unexpected. British punk, Taylor Swift, Musicals… Jason was nothing if not spontaneous.

Tim doesn’t use either of these tactics. Frankly, he prefers the silence. It helps him think just as much as it helps Bruce. And anyway, words are extraneous. Who needs small talk when their time would be better utilized thinking over the case separately so that their thought process’ can remain uncontaminated until they pool ideas later in the cave?

Besides, Tim has found that it breeds a specific kind of closeness to just be able to sit in silence with someone without it being awkward. An understanding and vulnerability that comes from immersing yourself in your thoughts in the presence of another person.

And anyway, words have always been Tim’s weapons. He shouldn’t need those with someone he’s close to. Or, that’s the idea anyway.

Tonight is different. Tonight they are not silent because of their mutual understanding and respect for one another’s thoughts, but because Tim is busy willing the Batmobile to drive faster so he can get away from Bruce and into someplace more private.

Once he gets there, he’s not sure what he’ll do. Shut down probably. It’s how he usually handles his emotions.

They pull into the cave and Tim all but jumps from the car, making quick strides to get to his station at the computer so he can type up his report before Bruce gets any stupid ideas like talking about it. Not that Tim expects the old man to ever acknowledge what happened.

He’s not even sure what Bruce would say about it that wouldn’t sound hollow and cheap.

So he speeds through his report in record time and nearly falls on his face because he’s moving too fast in the shower. When he’s finally in civies again and ready to go, he pauses behind the computer chair where Bruce is still hunched over his own report, moving almost comically slowly in contrast to Tim’s breakneck speed.

Tim clears his throat. “I’m going to head out. I’ll see you tomorrow night Bruce.”

He turns on his heel to leave, but at the last second Bruce’s voice stops him. “Wait.”

He considers leaving anyway, but he’s not quite willing to disobey Bruce over something so simple. He doesn’t like doing things in half measures, and his teenage rebellion, if and when it comes, will be no exception. “Yes?”

Bruce hesitates, possibly considering retreat, but in the end, he barrels forward with all his usual social ineptitude. “About what happened—”

“Slip of the tongue.” Tim cuts him off smoothly, stopping what would have been an awkward and emotionally stunted moment.

What he wants to do is scream because Bruce called him Jason. What he wants to do is ask if he’s still not good enough even after he’s proven himself time and again through his detective work. What he wants to do is rage at Bruce for saying out loud what Tim already knew was true.

He’s a placeholder. A prescription balm that Bruce is using to soothe the pain of losing Jason. He’s not Robin. Not in the ways that count, because he’s not Bruce’s son. His parents are still alive and well, wherever the hell they are.

But he can’t yell or get angry because this is what he signed up for. He went in knowing he’d be the third in a line of many, little more than an inconsequential blip in the history of Gotham’s vigilantes, but he’d screwed up and gotten himself attached. Between the success he’s had as a detective and Bruce’s slowly but steadily warming nature, Tim had just started to believe maybe they were more than partners forced on each other.

You’d think he’d be used to disappointments by now, but they never seem to stop hurting.

Bruce twists around in his chair to finally look at Tim, his brows drawn together in a tight frown. “Tim—“

“It’s not your fault.” Tim smiles at him to show he means it, but it doesn’t come out right. He’s gotten so used to his smiles being at least an approximation of real that the perfect display of teeth Janet drilled into his head feels disjointed and wrong. “We’re both tired. It’s probably best if I just go home to get some rest and we forget about the whole thing. Goodnight, Bruce.”

He’s gone before Bruce can reply.

Alfred, however, has faster reflexes. “Before you go Master Timothy, I made a lovely rhubarb pie. I insist you take some home with you.” Tim hesitates. He made it out of the cave and still wants to complete his desperate flee from the manor, but Alfred hasn’t done anything wrong, and Tim just doesn’t have it in him to refuse the old butler.

He’ll make it quick. “Okay, sure.” He allows Alfred to silently lead him to the kitchen, trying not to look like the skittish puppy he is.

Alfred pulls out an already packaged pie for Tim to take, but when Tim grabs it, he doesn’t let go. “There is something I wished to discuss with you.”

He should have known it was a trap. A sweet, delicious trap. “Yes Alfred?” Tim asks tiredly, suddenly missing his bed very dearly.

“I fear Master Bruce has behaved rather thoughtlessly this evening and I want to ensure you are alright.”

It takes a moment for the words to register. Alfred is… checking on him. Strange. Tim swallows past the marble in his throat to reply, “I really am fine. I know he doesn’t… he’s in pain. I can take it.” This time his smile is a little more convincing, if a little wetter.

Alfred looks at him sadly. “If you can take it is not the issue. The issue is that you should not have to.”

It shouldn’t be a miraculous statement, and there is no reason Alfred’s sympathetic words should rock Tim’s whole world view, but of all the things that have happened in Tim’s life, the good and the bad, whether or not he deserves them has never even crossed his mind.

He’s never viewed himself as a victim, or even a child. His suffering just hasn’t been as important as everyone else’s. He’s never thought that was a strange viewpoint until this moment.

For once, Tim’s expression gives away everything that’s happening in his head, and Alfred reads it like a book. “You don’t deserve to live in his shadow. You deserve to be seen as your own person.”

“Am I my own person?” he blurts, like a toddler grasping for any reassurance no matter how baseless. He hates sounding like that, but the dam has been broken and Tim couldn’t stop now if he tried. “I don’t feel like I am. I feel like a jigsaw puzzle held together by sheer force of will and luck that’s going to run out someday. My pieces aren’t mine. I’m not me. I’m… I’m a byproduct of all their sins. Mother’s, father’s, Bruce’s, even Dick and Jason’s. Alfred, I can’t tell what’s me and what’s a reflection. I’m—” He can’t breathe. His lungs ache like he hasn’t had air in several minutes. The panic in his voice has been building and now it’s breaking over him like a tidal wave that’s threatening to wash him away.

Alfred’s eyes are watery with sympathetic pain and the pie lays forgotten on the counter. He reaches out like he might touch Tim or hug him, but Tim flinches violently away.

“I’m s-sorry.” He stutters, eyes wide and horrified at his own involuntary response.

Alfred just shakes his head. “It is I who must apologize. I am sorry for this pain.”

Despite the shakiness he feels in his very core, Tim snorts. “It’s not your fault.”

“Perhaps not, but someone must apologize for what has been done to you.”

Tim freezes. The watery edge of his panic is turning sharp and dangerous. “No, it’s my fault. I’m the one who did this.”

For a moment, Alfred just looks at him. He doesn’t rush to tell Tim he’s wrong—even if his expression makes his feelings clear enough—he just looks at him. “You are stronger than anyone gives you credit for, Master Timothy, but strength has limits. I beg of you not to test them.”

Tim can only nod, glassy eyes reflecting the warm kitchen lights. He desperately needs out and away from this conversation, but at the same time he wants nothing more than to stay, and let the rest of what he’s been feeling break free. He can’t do that though because he’s scared if he does, he’ll never be able to put it all away again.

At length, he croaks, “Thank you,” as sincerely as he can with a voice that sounds weaker and rougher than he’s comfortable with. The words can’t possibly express his gratitude for Alfred in this moment, but he doesn’t know how else to show it.

To Tim’s eternal relief, Alfred doesn’t comment. He only hands Tim the pie, and lets him go.

#cutting this scene physically hurt me #but it had to be done #angst #ficlet #tim drake #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfam feels #hurt with a little comfort #as a treat #broken bird’s club #the third robin

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

A @batfam-christmas-stocking fic written for @renecdote!! happy holidays <3

----

Alternate universes suck so much. Tim has always known that, but he’s never really grasped it, not until he and Dick were forcibly thrown into one a week ago.

Gotham feels different, even though it doesn’t appear that way on the surface. The violence is more personal, less showy, and as far as they’ve seen, there are almost no super villains. Somehow, though, there’s more crime on the whole, every corner of every street host to pimps and drug dealers and traffickers.

Tim tries to fight it, tries to intervene, but Dick pulls him back. “We can’t risk it, you know that.”

He does. But that doesn’t make it easier. “They need our help,” Tim fires back, everything he’s ever been taught about bettering the world, the pressure of saving people, battering around in his mind.

“It’s not our world or our place,” Dick explains, and for all that he sounds apologetic, his eyes don’t stray away from the shadowy parts of the street where they can hear people being hurt.

Dick is a good actor, but Tim can read him like a book. He’s following the protocols put in place for dimensional travel, playing the I’m The Big Brother And I’m In Charge card, but he doesn’t like it anymore than Tim does.

The rules are what they are for a reason, and Tim knows that. Grudgingly, he lets Dick pull him away, go back to their own little shadowy corners. They sleep on cardboard they find in dumpsters, huddling up for warmth. In the mornings, they go to the local library, hoping to fill out some of their knowledge on this world, since no rescue or way out otherwise is forthcoming.

There, sitting at the outdated computers, they find out that Martha and Thomas Wayne are still dead. Bruce wasn’t 8 when it happened, though—he was 16. He got shot too, making it painful and difficult to walk or move in general. According to one interview from a few years before, he’s kept on bedrest a lot, and has been in and out of physical therapy ever since it happened, now fifteen years prior. When he’s not doing that, he’s campaigning for control of Wayne Enterprises and tweeting about coffee.

There’s no Batman. Not like how they know him, at least.

One day, Dick flirts with a cop and Tim pickpockets the man’s scanner, and they learn that whole case files, suspects and evidence all neatly put together, have been sent to the GCPD over the past six years. They never see anyone fly overhead, though. At first, they think it might be Babs, but when they try to look her up, Tim finds that she’s been locked up in Arkham for at least the last four years.

Neither one of them want to know why, so they just don’t look into it any further. “This isn’t our Babs,” Dick reminds himself, and Tim, too. But mostly himself. “She’s not .”

They share a look, and don’t have to say anything to know it’s time to compartmentalize. This Babs isn’t their Babs. This Bruce isn’t their Bruce. This world doesn’t have the Joker or Poison Ivy or any of them except Two Face and the Penguin. This isn’t their world .

“Come on,” Dick murmurs, sticking close to his side as they leave the library. As they head to their latest alley, they pass all kinds of drug deals and gang members beating the shit out of people. By the time they actually get to where they’ve been staying, they’re both so tense, one smartass comment from Tim is all it takes to snap them into an argument.

”I’m sorry,” Tim says after they’ve gone back and forth a few times, sounding hostile even to himself. “I’m so sorry I can’t see things the same way you do. I’m sorry I’m not perfect Dick Grayson , who always knows what to do without even having to think about it, who always does the right thing, who is totally fine letting all these people suffer, because it’s in the protocol!”

He doesn’t even believe his own words. Tim’s just upset, unable to handle living on the streets for a week in a universe where everything is unfamiliar and grim, lashing out against one of the only things he can control. Dick is all he has here—and spending that much time with someone, let alone one of his brothers, would be hard even in the best of circumstances.

Dick flinches, and Tim only has a second to feel bad before the flash of a reflection from a gun in the window above them catches his attention. He moves on instinct, stepping forward and trying to pull Dick down even as Dick tries to move towards the mouth of the alley, protective to a fault. The bullet hits Dick’s left shoulder with a sickening and familiar crack-thwack .

For a moment, everything is silent, slow motion. Dick sucks in a pained breath, stumbling back a few steps, and Tim hopes and prays the bullet hasn’t hit an artery.

And then Tim twists to face the mouth of the alley and books it towards him, jumping on the bastard and bringing him to the ground. He rips the gun away and lets all of his pent-up anger and stress out, punching and punching. It’s only Dick, gritting his teeth and clutching his shoulder, calling out his name that saves the guy’s teeth from actually being knocked out.

Panting and shaking with fury and adrenaline, Tim stands. “Are you okay?” He demands.

“Fine,” Dick replies. “We—we should go.”

“Yeah, okay.” But he bends down instead, patting the guy’s pockets until he finds what he’s looking for: a wallet. As he rifles through, searching for a driver’s license or state ID, he explains. “We need to know who he is. If he’s working for Harvey….”

They both shudder at the thought, but the truth is worse. The name is Italian, familiar to Tim from a bust a few years before. He’s one of Maroni’s men.

Another thing they learned during their hours of research at the library: seven years ago, Haly’s Circus came through town. Bruce Wayne didn’t attend, or more likely, couldn’t. Mary and John Grayson fell to their deaths, and once it became clear that little Dick Grayson, only eight years old, knew something about the murderers, he ran. He’s been missing ever since, and if he’s still alive, then the Maronis are probably still on the lookout for him. Tony Zucco, apparently, is still alive. Still working Gotham’s underbelly, terrorizing and murdering. The Dick Grayson native to this universe is a threat to them.

They probably heard me say Dick’s name , Tim realizes, tucking the wallet away in the man’s pockets. Which means he was shot because of me. Fuck.

----

Big brothers, Tim finds, are fucking heavy. Especially when they’ve been shot and are steadily losing blood. When they’re dead weight, fading in and out of consciousness. When they’re relying totally on Tim to drag the both of them to uncertain refuge in an unfamiliar city.

And Tim…he wants to be someone Dick can rely on. (Obviously, he already is, but his anxiety says maybe this is just who Dick is. Tim could be anyone and the situation would be the same. Still, it would be better for Dick if Tim was Damian, instead. Or Bruce. Or Donna. Or anyone but himself, really.) But more than anything, he wants someone who can help Dick, who can keep him alive. Living on the streets the way they are just doesn’t lend much in the way of medical supplies.

Tim drags Dick all the way to the clinic, based on a vague awareness that it exists here, too. When they get there, though, the building is obviously abandoned, Leslie nowhere to be found. Wherever she is, he doesn’t know, but he hopes she’s okay. He can’t think of a situation that would keep her from helping the people of Gotham. Still, he sets Dick up against the wall and breaks in, hoping for something useful, and finding nothing inside but rubble and evidence of homeless people using the space for shelter.

He goes back to Dick, feeling like the world is ending. They don’t have any first aid supplies, and even if they did, even if a first aid kit fell out of the sky right now and Tim could patch Dick up, it wouldn’t mean anything. This only happened because Tim wasn’t paying attention, wasn’t thinking to be careful. It could happen again. What does he do then?

What would Bruce do? Roy? Wally? Diana or Clark? Hell, Kon ? Any of them could help Dick so much more right now. More than Tim can or will ever be able to. And really, what good is Tim if he can’t even keep his brother alive?

Aware the thoughts aren’t helpful right now, he shelves them for later and looks back at Dick, cataloguing everything he sees like Bruce taught them to do. Dick’s still steadily bleeding out, and though that’s most concerning of all, Tim finds the only thing he can think about is how they don’t have clean clothes so Dick can walk around in something not soaked in blood.

With a strangled shout, Tim kicks the wall. It doesn’t affect him, much—thank god he’d been wearing steel-toed shoes when they were transported here—but the brief release feels good. Sort of. It’d be a lot better if he were still laying into the Maroni guy, if he’s honest.

“Tim,” Dick says, both reproachful and concerned.

“Shut up,” Tim replies, dragging his fingers through his hair. His mind is racing. He wants to go home so badly his chest aches with it.

Dick knows him well enough that he can sense what Tim is thinking. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, Tim. No . We can’t.”

“Where else are we supposed to go?” Tim cries out. It’s a stupid idea, it’s against the protocol, and they’ve already talked about it anyway. They’d agreed it’s stupid and they can’t do it and moved on. But he can’t help feeling the impulse, especially now.

“Stephanie’s,” Dick shoots back immediately. But they both know it’s not possible—here, Steph is another face on the dozens of missing persons posters that litter the city. He realizes it a second too late, and stumbles over his next words. “Just, anywhere but there.”

Jason is dead, has been for years now. Damian doesn’t exist. Cass is in Star City with Dinah Lance. Luke and the other members of the Fox family have never lived in this Gotham. Duke’s parents are still alive—they recently moved to Blüdhaven, and took their young son with them. Harper and Cullen are nowhere to be found, but Tim tells himself that’s a good thing—it means they aren’t in the obituaries. Kate is overseas on a honeymoon with her wife. Half of the Titans and Justice League don’t seem to exist, and the ones that do wouldn’t step foot in this cesspit of crime and drugs.

‘Anywhere but there’ means nothing. Nowhere. There’s no place for them to go, no one who can or even would help.

The words, or maybe the thoughts that come with them, wear Dick out. He starts to fade again, eyes slipping closed, and that means Tim’s in charge.

And Tim? Tim wants to go home .

He grabs Dick, keeping him from sliding down the wall, throws his brother’s arm over his shoulder, and starts off towards the Manor with every ounce of determination he can muster.

----

Several hours later, when it’s dark and Dick is pale and mostly silent, barely keeping up, they make it home. Everything feels different: the security that allows them to get all the way up the drive (after only a little effort on Tim’s part), the trees oddly placed and the doors and shutters all painted a light blue instead of the rusty red he’s used to. It’s disorienting and upsetting. Home is supposed to be familiar and it’s not and he hates it.

Tim knocks on a side door that only family knows about, hoping against hope it won’t be Bruce that answers. He doubts it, but he’s positive he won’t be able to keep his composure in front of his dad. It’ll be a little easier with Alfred. Probably. In any case, Alfred is the better option of the two.

While they wait, Dick mumbles, “This is stupid.”

Tim presses his hand against the wound, trying not to be impatient. Trying not to feel sick with nerves. He doesn’t reply, knowing Dick isn’t really paying attention right now.

When the door finally opens, Tim could collapse with relief. Alfred stands there, one hand hiding his rifle out of their sight in an all-too-familiar pose, while the other holds onto the doorjamb. His hair is darker than Tim is used to, his face less wrinkled. He’s staring at them like they’re weird, strange boys, standing at what’s supposed to be a virtually unknown entrance to a private, secure home in the late hours of the night.

Blood covers Dick’s upper body and Tim’s hands, and they both look and smell rough. They don’t make a pretty picture, and Tim knows that, but there’s nothing he can do except get Alfred to let them in somehow. He’s been thinking about what he wants to say, what’ll appeal to Alfred’s compassion or curiosity or both. Please, help my brother before he loses too much blood. Please, don’t tell Bruce about this. Please, I’m so exhausted and I need a cup of your chamomile and a cookie and also maybe a hug or I’m going to explode.

What he says instead is, “ Alfred .” It’s a relieved sob, leaving him without permission, and Alfred’s shocked and confused reaction is much more noticeable than it should be. “I—we didn’t know where else to go. He’s hurt.”

There are more words on his tongue, an avalanche of them wanting to come out, but Alfred stops him there with a raised hand. He doesn’t put the rifle down, but he says, “Come in, then,” and opens the door wide enough for them.

Dick groans when Tim drags him up the steps. Blinking sluggishly at Alfred, he says, “Alf…?”

“Yeah, it’s Alfred. Come on, help out here a little bit. We’re just gonna sit down and hopefully get you patched up, alright, Dickie?”

“Hrn.”

Tim bites his lip at the Bruce noise, stupid tears stinging in his eyes.

He’s home. It’s unfamiliar. Dick is hurt. He’s in charge.

Now is so not the time to cry.

Alfred leads them to a nearby couch in a sitting room they’ve never used in all the years Tim’s known Bruce. Rifle still in hand, he seems much more unsure than their Alfred, who would’ve already had the situation on lock by now.

“We need a first aid kit, please,” Tim says. He glances at the weapon, and adds, “We won’t cause any trouble, I promise. I—I know this is probably super weird, but….”

But what? Tim can’t think of a way to end the sentence so he just doesn’t. Instead, he turns to Dick and starts pulling his brother’s shirt off, something they really should’ve done hours ago. While he uses the fabric to put pressure on the wound again, he hears Alfred moving around behind him.

If this Bruce is anything like theirs, a first aid kit shouldn’t be too far away. There’s one in every bathroom back home.

It’s not long before Alfred is back, shooing Tim away and setting a large first aid kit on the couch. His rifle is gone, but Tim knows it can’t be far. There’s no way this Alfred trusts them enough to not have it close at hand. “Do I dare ask what happened?”

God, it’s good to hear his voice. “My brother got shot,” Tim says, reverting to his natural instinct to reveal as little as possible. Normally Alfred is someone he can give a full mission report to, but Tim is just Tim right now, not Red Robin, and this is not his Alfred, so he’s going to keep his mouth shut up tight.

“Well, my word. You wouldn’t know it from looking at him.” And there’s that Alfred sass. It doesn’t make him laugh like it usually does—no, it just reminds him again that he isn’t actually home. “Care to explain more? Should I be concerned you were followed?”

Tim thinks on it for a minute, but really, there’s no way Maroni’s guy got up in time to tail them. The rest of the mob family have probably heard about them by now, but Tim isn’t too worried about it. He can’t find it within himself to be. All he can really think about is Dick, Alfred, Bruce. If coming here was a mistake after all. If they’ll ever make it home to see their Bruce and Alfred. Eventually, he says, “No. We weren’t followed.”

Dick groans as Alfred starts to prep the gunshot wound to get the bullet out. He sways a little, dizzy, and mumbles an apology when Alfred has to readjust him.

Alfred says, “Just hold as still as you can, and you’ll be alright.”

Hearing the tenderness in Alfred’s voice does something to Tim. This is Alfred , he thinks. He can help us with more than just this.  

He blurts out, “It was one of Maroni’s men.”

“Sal Maroni?” Alfred sounds suspiciously uninterested, not even bothering to look away from his work. “The mob boss?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. Alright, young man, I’m going to get this bullet out now.”

“Tim,” Dick grits out, reaching out his hand. Tim takes it, sitting down on the other side of his brother. He forces himself to watch as Alfred goes through the familiar motions. Dick doesn’t actually squeeze his hand that much, too used to this kind of pain, but Tim thinks maybe they both feel better having the lifeline.

He stays there until Dick is stitched up and accepts a dose of Tylenol—no matter how much Alfred gives them concerned looks and insists on something stronger, a Bat doesn’t take hard drugs.

Not quite huffing in exasperation, Alfred acquiesces and leaves Dick alone, sitting back against the cushions. Then he turns to Tim. With his hands on his hips and his sleeves rolled up, he’s honestly kind of intimidating. “Now you, young man,” he says.

“Um. What? I’m fine. I didn’t get shot, I don’t need anything.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. Tim can out-stubborn almost anybody, even his other family members, but Alfred Pennyworth is not one of them. Everyone bows down to him.

Tim sighs and scoots a few inches away from Dick, and when Alfred shoos him all the way into the other corner, he goes. Surprisingly, the older man sits next to Tim, between him and Dick, and instead of reaching for the kit, he just. Puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Which Tim finds extremely weird, considering how British and physically distant Alfred is. Oh sure, he hugs them all. He catches them when they fall, he reassures them with arm pats and shoulder squeezes. But it’s unlike him to just... sit here and rest his hand on Tim’s shoulder, looking him in the face with an expression Tim finds he can’t read.

Not being able to read people, especially someone he knows so well, freaks him out.

Tense, Tim says, “What?”

Alfred is quiet for a moment, then asks, “Where have you boys been staying?”

Oh. Yeah, okay. He’s suspicious of them. Tim can understand why. “We have a place.” It’s a disgusting alley behind a pizzeria they can’t afford to eat at, scraping by with the last of the money they had on them when they were sent here, but it’s not a lie.

Alfred backs off, picking his battles and probably recognizing this one for what it is: unwinnable. He’s more than perceptive enough to read between the lines anyway, add up all the clues—their clothes are dirty, their hair greasy, and Tim knows he’s looking pretty gaunt. And considering how jumpy Tim is acting, it’s likely Alfred thinks they’re homeless. Which they are.

“Are you injured anywhere?”

Tim holds out his hand, his knuckles split and raw from earlier, and ignores how badly he’s shaking. Alfred takes his hand, and grabs alcohol wipes from the kit. He dabs at the wounds, glancing at Tim’s face like he’s expecting a reaction. And yeah, it stings a little, but he’s had much worse. This is nothing.

“Hmm.” Alfred moves Tim’s hand around, looking for other wounds, finding a few little cuts. “So your brother’s name is Dickie?”

“Dick,” Tim corrects. Bruce and Jason are the only ones who call Dick that usually, and Jason almost always does it because it’s his ‘little brother duty’ or something. The only reason he said it earlier is because he hoped it would be comforting. “Short for—”

“Richard, I assume.”

“Yeah.” Tim falls silent, trying to keep his hand still. When a few moments of silence go by, he looks up at Alfred, finding him making an expectant face. “Oh! Yeah, sorry. I’m Tim.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tim. You seem to already know my name.”

Yeah. Shit. Unable to think of a lie beyond ‘you look like my grandpa’, Tim laughs nervously. “Lucky guess?”

Dick snorts. “You jus’ look like our gran’pa, that’s all. His name’s Alfred. Yours too, huh?”

Alfred doesn’t look convinced, but he goes along with it anyway. “Yes, mine too.” What an odd coincidence , he doesn’t say, but Tim hears it anyway.

It doesn’t take long after that for Alfred to finish up Tim’s knuckles. He offers to put some band-aids on, but Tim shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Dick gives him a look, and despite the fact that he’s still acting loopy, there’s a strength to it. Tim can tell what he’s thinking—that if the cuts weren’t on the knuckles, a very awkward place to put bandages, Dick would be insisting on it. Well, whatever , he thinks, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue. You’re not in charge right now anyway.

Alfred stands and looks them over for a brief moment, hesitation obvious in the way he pauses, inhaling deeply. Then, with determination, he says, “I will prepare you something to eat. Do either of you have any allergies I should be aware of?”

“Sulfites,” Tim says at the same time Dick says, “Shellfish. And pet dander.”

“Dick, man, I’m pretty sure they don’t have pets. And even if they did, pets aren’t allowed in the kitchen under any circumstances.”

“Oh yeah,” Dick says with a faint chuckle. “Forgot.”

“Mister Tim,” Alfred cuts in before Tim can reply. It’s unspeakably weird to be called Mister Tim instead of Master Tim, even though Alfred called him that for years. “Will sandwiches suffice?”

The thought of eating Alfred’s food—and even more than that, something they haven’t fished out of a dumpster—is drool-worthy. Quickly, he agrees, “Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

Alfred nods and leaves, probably thankful to get the heck away from them for a few minutes. Once he’s gone, the brothers fall quiet, both a blessing and a curse. Not having Alfred asking questions that Tim has to evade is great, but it does give him the opportunity to keep freaking out.

What do they do next? Alfred might not let them leave while Dick is healing, and that means the chances of running into Bruce raise astronomically. Tim knows that he won’t be able to handle that. Not at all.

“Stop it,” Dick whispers, loud in the overwhelming quiet. “I can see your forehead vein from here.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to think.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Tim sighs, letting the banter drop for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry you got shot. I know it’s not my fault,” he says, speaking over Dick’s immediate protest. “I know that. But I’m still sorry.”

“…Thanks. I’m accepting your apology but not your responsibility.”

“Duh.” Tim fiddles with his hands, satisfied but also knowing, in his heart of hearts, that it is in fact his fault and Dick is totally wrong. “I’m not sorry I brought us here, though.”

“Duh,” Dick repeats, sounding more than a little peeved. Not that Tim can blame him, really. If Tim and Damian had agreed to something, and then Damian went back on it… that’d be really annoying.

Still, that little brother duty Jason talks about means he has to defend himself. “Dick, we were gonna end up coming here anyway, don’t you see that?” He shoots to his feet and drags his hands through his hair, pacing in front of the couch. Despite his earlier flip-flopping, he’s sure now. This was the right decision even if it does suck a lot. “Where else could we possibly go? We don’t belong here. The only way we can get home is by ask—”

Tim cuts off immediately when footsteps echo down the hall. They sound different from Alfred’s, a third tap that sounds a lot like a cane.

This Alfred doesn’t use a cane. The only person who could is—

Both Dick and Tim tense as the doorway is filled up by Bruce freaking Wayne.

“Um,” Tim says.

Bruce looks different. Not just in the sense that he is, in fact, using a cane, but just. Everything. He looks younger, a neat beard covering much of his face. There’s barely any salt in it at all. The scars that litter the skin of his face and arms, mostly bare considering he’s wearing only a t-shirt and pajama pants, aren’t there. Worst of all, there’s no recognition in his eyes.

His sons have become strangers. But no, this man is not their father. Tim has to shout it at himself. He’s not! Bruce Wayne would never look at them like this. Especially not Dick.

Dick makes a noise, a small and sad little whimper, and Tim thinks, shit. Shit shit shit. Unable to do anything to help, Tim shuffles closer to him, hoping it’s enough to comfort.

“Who are you?” Bruce asks, moving further into the room. He says it casually, like this is a totally normal situation, but there’s steel there, too. Of course there is. This is Bruce Wayne. He doesn’t mess around, especially when it comes to strangers invading his home. And as much as that feels like a knife to the chest, that’s what they are. Strangers . The word lingers in his mind, leaving a bad aftertaste.

Tim gets the distinct feeling that the cane, for all that it serves to help Bruce walk, is a weapon. One this Bruce will have no issue using against them. “Um. We—we’re homeless,” he blurts out, trying to push the thought away. “And my brother got shot, so we came here looking for help. We’ll be gone soon, I promise. Don’t worry about us, this is just a one time thing, and we won’t tell anyone else. I know this is a house and not a triage center.”

Bruce is already looking at him like he’s an intruder, but at that, the man’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. Oh, right. That’s something the other—the right —Bruce would say. Has said many times. Because it’s something their Alfred has always said, and apparently this Alfred too.

Scrambling, Tim keeps going, pasting a fake smile on his face. “Alfred knows we’re here. He’ll be right back. It’s okay, we’ll just wait right here and not steal anything, so you can go back to bed. Goodnight.”

“Tim,” Dick bites out, obviously trying to communicate that he thinks Tim is being a weirdo, and that he’s doing nothing but tipping Bruce off to the fact that something is wrong.

“I’m freaking out, okay?” Tim exclaims back, curling and relaxing his fingers in an effort to control himself. It’s impossible, though—this is their dad , for crying out loud. Their dad, who they haven’t seen in a long time, not since before they were attacked as civilians and flung through the wormhole that deposited them here. Their dad, who Tim really, seriously needs a hug from right now.

Bruce comes closer, leaning against one of the two unused chairs. Where Tim tenses further, unsure of what he’s about to do or say, Dick relaxes. He’s really out of it now, the blood loss and medicine finally catching up with him.  He’s blinking heavily and listing to the side. “Hand me that, will you?” He asks Bruce, gesturing to a throw blanket resting on the top of the chair.

Suddenly feeling very protective of Dick, Tim says, “I can—”

“No,” Bruce interrupts, the corner of his mouth curling up like he thinks this is funny. “I’ve got it.”

He grabs the blanket and walks over to the couch. Tim stumbles back a few steps to give him room. For a second, it seems like none of them breathe—but then Bruce leans on his cane like a crutch, bends down, and lays the blanket over Dick.

Tim has seen Bruce tuck people in before, usually Damian. All those times, he either didn’t care much, or a swirl of jealousy had tightened in his stomach. He can remember wondering why Bruce didn’t tuck him in. Why his parents never did it, why Mrs. Mac and all the nannies hadn’t either.

This time, his eyes sting with tears.  He forces them back, biting the inside of his cheek.

Dick snuggles into the cushions behind his back, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Thanks, dad,” he mumbles, slipping off into a nap.

Bruce and Tim both freeze.

“Um,” Tim says, because something has to be said, this needs to be nipped in the bud and stopped right now before Bruce can ask anything. But really, the chances of Bruce Wayne not asking questions? Less than zero. And Tim’s brain is screaming, because what the hell could he possibly say to explain that ?

Alfred enters the room again before anything can happen, carrying a tray holding a few sandwiches. He sets it down on a side table before looking up.

“Oh,” he stops short when he sees Bruce, hands hovering above the food. “Master Bruce, I thought you were downstairs.”

“I was just doing some reading,” he waves off, but he can’t quite manage to sound casual. “Now… did he just call me dad ?”

Oh fuck , Tim thinks. Awkwardly, he laughs, “No! What? No, that’s ridiculous.” Seeing that this tactic isn’t working—Bruce and Alfred both have legendary ‘bitch please’ looks that go beyond the confines of time and space, apparently—he shifts gears. “I mean, okay, yes he did. But—but it’s just because you look like our dad! A lot like him, actually. Haha.”

Bruce and Alfred stare at him, concern building as he keeps laughing, spurred on by a week of non-stop stress and the pressure of being in charge— maybe , he thinks, this was a bad idea all along and we shouldn’t have come here and Dick was totally right. It’s only when his laughter turns to hiccuping sobs that either of them move, Bruce managing to grab his bicep in time before Tim can sink to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Alfred hurries to his other side, fretting, “Come on, young sir, just sit down now.”

They lead him to one of the chairs, where he collapses, his head in his hands. Dick is better at this—at leading, at interacting, at not breaking apart. It should all be the opposite: Tim sleeping off a GSW while Dick lies through his teeth as he explains what’s going on. Not that Dick would’ve gotten them into this situation, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, refusing to look up. They’re both staring at him again, clearly unsure what to do with a strange, crying teenager.

After a moment, Alfred says, “You boys say I look like your grandfather, and now Master Bruce looks like your father. By chance, what is his name?”

“Bruce Wayne,” Tim replies to the floor. “But… not him. A different one.”

“A different Bruce Wayne?” The confusion and curiosity is clear as day in Bruce’s voice, and Tim can’t help but snort a little.

“Yeah. Um, this is going to sound really crazy, but my brother and I are from a different universe.” He peeks at their faces, not surprised at all by the blatant disbelief he sees. “I can prove it.”

Alfred and Bruce share a wide-eyed look.“How?”

“I know you’re the one who’s been sending the GCPD all those case files. And before you say you’re not, you just said you were doing some reading. Downstairs. In the cave below this property, right? Back home, it’s called the Batcave and you’re Batman.”

“Go on, Mister Tim,” Alfred says after a moment. “We believe you.”

Relief crashes down on him and more tears slip out against his will. “I need your help. We need your help. We’ve been here for a week, and—and—and we have no idea how to get home. None. There’s no one else we can turn to, ‘cause the people who would usually help us either can’t or wouldn’t, since they don’t know us here. And god, this world is nothing at all like ours…. I just want to go home. I don’t know what to do. Please,” he begs, desperate. “I need advice.”

Bruce hesitantly sets a hand on Tim’s back, rubbing up and down in a motion that is, wow, extremely soothing. “We’ll figure this out, Tim. I promise you, Alfred and I will help you boys any way we can.”

Before Tim can ask if it’s just because they’re his sons in some other universe, Alfred clears his throat. “It may take some time, mind you. But you and your brother will need to stay here anyway, seeing as that wound needs time to heal. I can’t, in good conscience, let that happen out on the streets.”

Tim wants to refuse. Wants to say thanks but no thanks, you can put us up in a motel or something until everything is worked out. Wants to cry and cry and wake up from this nightmare. Instead, mentally and physically exhausted, he just says, “Okay.”

Both men are concerned by the response, he can tell. Though he isn’t looking, he can practically hear the silent conversation they’re having over his head. Then Alfred stands. “I will make up two of the guest rooms, then, sirs. Mister Tim, could you help bring Mister Dick upstairs?”

“Just set up one, we can share,” Tim replies. It’s late and he doesn’t want Alfred to have to do anything more than he’s already done. Than he’s already doing.

“If you’re certain….”

“I am. Thank you.”

He’s not gone for long, and thank god, because Tim can hardly stand to be alone with Bruce without spilling even more. He’s already said so much tonight, he feels empty and hollowed out, kind of like a balloon that’s been blown up only for all the air to wheeze out of it, leaving it sad and stretched. Holy shit, that metaphor. He needs to go to bed, and he needs a mattress instead of another cardboard box laid over hard cobblestone and concrete.

Shaking his head to stop his thoughts, he moves over to Dick and wakes him, a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Dick, wake up,” he says a few times until his brother is blinking heavily at him.

“Wha’?”

“We’re gonna go upstairs and sleep. Come on, I’ll help you.”

“Hrn,” he says again, and this time, Bruce hears it. Tim glances at him, almost surprised to see the emotions on Bruce’s face. Apparently that’s a Bruce noise in this universe too, and it only helps to cement Tim’s story.

Tim helps Dick stand up, swinging Dick’s good arm over his shoulders. Together, they slowly ascend the stairs, something Tim is more than familiar with considering how many times something like this has happened at home. At the top, they meet up with Alfred, who takes them to a guest room that is thankfully unused in their version of the Manor.

Alfred helps Dick get settled into the mattress, his shoes and belt shed. “I could get you both some pajamas,” Alfred says when he sees the way Tim flops down, both of them still in battered, dirty, expensive chinos.

“We’re okay,” Tim says, aware that the only pajamas in the house must belong to Bruce and Alfred, and that neither size would fit them. He’s not sure he could handle it right now even if they did. “Thank you though. For…for all of this. It means a lot.”

Alfred graces him with a gentle smile. “Of course, young sir. I would like to think that your Bruce will appreciate this.”

He leaves, and then it’s just Tim and Dick. They’ve shared a bed plenty of times before, on nights when there was no one else around and they didn’t want to be alone. Dick was the one who taught Tim one of the best parts about having siblings: cuddles. Dick is a cuddle monster, but maybe tonight Tim won’t wake up being held protectively to his brother’s chest.

Under the covers, Tim stares at the ceiling. His mind refuses to shut off even though they’re finally somewhere safe. Somewhere he can sleep and not worry about what might happen when he’s not paying attention.

He feels a little better, now that there are actual adults in charge, who are going to help. Who can keep Dick from getting hurt again, especially from Tim’s carelessness. But it makes him miss home, just reminds him how far away he and Dick are from their real family. He’s curious, on some level, about this Bruce Wayne. He trusts him to take care of them long enough for them to return home. How long that’s going to take is a question, though, one that he thinks can probably be answered by: a long time.

It’ll be good for Dick, at least. Give him time to heal.

God, Dick shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. But of course he did, and of course it was because of some dumb argument, because of Tim—

“’M not perfect,” Dick whispers, making Tim, who was certain he was asleep, jump. When he turns to look, he finds Dick’s eyes are closed. Squeezed shut. “’M not . I don’t know what I’m doing, Tim. I didn’t wanna come here ‘cause of the rules, and ‘cause it’s hard… hard to see them. ‘M lucky I getta sleep through it, I guess.”

“Dick—”

“I woulda done the same thing, okay?” And now he opens his eyes, meeting Tim’s head on. “This was the right choice. Coming here. Alfred gives the best advice.”

“Yeah.” Tim’s throat feels thick, the word hard to get out.

Dick reaches out his good hand and rests it on Tim’s cheek. “Thank you for bringing me here. You saved me. Now go to sleep,” he says, and then teasingly smacks him. “I can hear you thinking all the way from here.”

“You’re like two feet away,” Tim points out, but he tries to listen anyway. He closes his eyes, thinking maybe he will be able to rest. Dick is the best at comforting people.

“Shhhh,” Dick says, grinning. “Doesn’t matter. Sleep.”

“Yes, mom.”

“ Shhh !”

Tim laughs, and for the first time in a while, it’s real. He feels safe and warm and not alone, and while he can’t exactly say he’s happy right now, he’s a lot closer than he was just a few hours before.

Tomorrow , he decides, settling down, I’m going to take a shower and eat a real meal. And then, then I can finally start figuring out how to get us home.

#bcs19 #tim drake #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #batfam #batfamily #batfam fic #fanfic #my writing #renecdote

[puckinghell]

Fallen | Carter Hart

Summary: While Carter Hart tries to teach your 2nd grade class how to skate, you try not to fall… flat on your face, or, for him. Words: 2315 of 7433 Note: The request was for 1 imagine but I accidentally came up with a 3 part series… This is part 3. Read part 1 here, or part 2 here. 

You take a deep breath and briefly close your eyes, giving yourself a moment of composure before walking into what is surely going to be the most awkward hour of your life.

You guess you’re lucky PE class is only an hour.

“I’m so excited,” Babs says, clasping her hands together. “I’m so glad they’re here, aren’t you? I was so bummed when I couldn’t go with the kids to the practice!”

She’s been better for a few days now which means she’s here to take her kids into the Flyers PE class, but because her class is still your class, too, you have to attend as well. Besides, you can’t really explain to them that the reason you can’t do your job is because you’re falling for the Flyers goalie, so you sucked it up this morning and came to work.

Maybe putting on a little more make up than is strictly necessary for a day spent with 2nd graders. It’s fine.

“Yeah, so excited,” you mumble, although you sound as excited as someone would be right before they walk into surgery to get their appendix removed. You feel something tug your sleeve and look down to see Yasmin.

“Is mister Carter gonna be there, Y/N?” she asks, and a sigh escapes your lips.

“He sure is, Yasmin!” She looks happy with that answer but you know your reaction didn’t go unnoticed by Babs, who raises an eyebrow at you.

“You okay there?” she asks, and you give her your best fake smile.

“Absolutely! Let’s do this!”

You make sure you’re the last one to enter to gym, and as you were expecting, the kids have already crowded Carter by the time you walk in, so there’s no awkward greeting. You allow yourself to sneak a glance at him; he’s carrying Rachel, who’s trying to steal his baseball cap, while Simon is tugging on his hoodie and Thomas is jumping up and down in front of him, yelling about his new hockey stick.

Today it’s not just Carter; Travis and Nolan are there too, and although Nolan seems to be busy trying to convince Emily to let go off his leg, Travis spots you and saunters over.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, and the thought flashes through your mind that you’ve never actually met him before and has Carter told him your name or is it in a professional manner, that he’s approaching you?

“Oh, uhm, hi,” you stammer, and luckily for you, Babs comes over and starts talking to him about the lesson they’ve got planned before he can say anything to you.

“You’re going to lead the lesson, but me and Y/N will be here in case any of the kids get a little too rowdy,” Babs tells Travis, and he nods diligently.

“We’re gonna have Hartsy lead them through some stretches, Patty is gonna do a game of keep away and I’m gonna make them do some drills with a stick and ball, and we’ll end with a little tournament.” He grins. “You’re gonna get them back tired today.”

“That’s how we like them,” says Babs. “We’re so glad to have you here. Ready to start?”

Travis nods, but before he turns away to take his place, his eyes catch yours once more. “We’re all very glad to be here, Y/N.”

You can’t help but stare after him when he walks away.

In a way, it’s hilarious, to watch the kids do all these exercises clearly meant for professional hockey players, and not for 7 year olds. During stretches, you have to stop two of the boys from hitting each other, and you can feel Carter’s eyes burning in the back of your head as you wave your way through the small bodies to get to the culprits and tell them off. They try to murder each other once more, this time with sticks, during Travis’ drills, but that time Babs tells them off and they actually listen.

Demons.

The game is the most fun to watch. They’ve got the kids in groups of 4, and two teams will get to play at a time, both with their own Flyers forward, to try and get some shots off Carter. Travis and Nolan will try to keep the score pretty even, and any time either team gets too far behind, they’ll snipe one to even it out. They’re actually trying to be bad, to give the kids a fair chance, but every now and then one of them will accidentally make a great move and completely take one of the kids out. You guess it’s just one of those hockey instincts they don’t get to turn off.

You try not to watch Carter, because if he notices, that’s just gonna be even more awkward. But you can’t stop yourself, and every now and then you have to tear your gaze away from him.

He’s great with the kids; makes ridiculously overdramatic dives and misses the ball anyway, just to give the kids the feeling they actually beat him, and every now and then he stops one but shoves the rebound straight to some other kid’s stick, always a kid that hasn’t scored before. The kids are squealing and laughing and screaming and you’ve never seen them have this much fun, despite the fact that your arts and crafts afternoon was a big hit too.

Carter looks stupidly cute, with just a glove and blocker, no other equipment, a baseball cap covering his hair. You worry about him getting hit in the face with a ball, but you quickly notice the kids don’t have enough power to actually make the ball sting, and you calm down.

Not that you’ve got the right to be worried about his wellbeing, but, well, you can’t just not worry.

It turns out you had a pretty good reason to worry after all.

The kids might not be able to put any power on it, but Nolan sure can, and when his team is down by 3, he loads up and tries to snipe one on Carter. Normally, it would’ve been fine, and you assume they talked about, you know, not injuring each other, but while Carter lazily grabs in the air – clearly trying to miss – Yasmin moves back, straight into his path.

It’s like all the air leaves your lungs as you watch Carter trip and stumble back, towards Nolan’s shot instead of away from it, and the ball hits him straight in the nose.

“Oh fuck!” Travis barks, and you’re gonna have to find a way to explain that to the kids later, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. You’re running towards Carter before consciously making the decision to, and when you notice the blood dripping from his nose, you feel nauseous.

“Oh my God,” you breathe out, leaning down. Carter is already sitting up again, clutching his nose in his hand and a glassy look in his eyes.

“Well,” he says slowly, “I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that one.” Then, he grins at you, and the knot of panic in your stomach seems to dissolve; he’s fine, he’s alive, he might be bleeding, but he’s still smiling, so he can’t be too hurt.

“You fucking idiot,” Travis growls towards his best friend in the background, and you wish he’d remember there’s about 25 seven year olds listening to his language right now.

“I told him to get out of the way!” Nolan sputters, crossing his arms. “It’s not my fault that he tripped!”

That’s when you remember; Yasmin. You turn and find her sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Yas, honey, are you hurt?” you ask, while Babs rushes to get the first aid kit.

“It’s my fault that he tripped,” she cries, and Nolan shoots you a sheepish look.

“I didn’t mean that,” he mumbles, and Travis rolls his eyes.

“Good job, Patty.”

You want to soothe Yasmin, but you’re not quite sure what to say, so you just pull her into your arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you didn’t mean it,” you hush, and then Carter crouches down in front of you both. He’s still holding his nose, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that there’s blood trickling in between his fingers.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” he says softly, using his other hand to wipe a tear from Yasmin’s face. “We were both in each other’s way. That happens sometimes, during hockey. I get run over all the time. The guys don’t mean it, they’re just trying to defend the goal. You were trying to defend the goal too, right?”

You’re pretty sure Yasmin was on Nolan’s team, but Yasmin nods, and his words seem to calm her down.

“So you were just being a good teammate, and I need some more of those.” He shoots Nolan a smirk, who just rolls his eyes. “So thank you,” he finishes, giving Yasmin a quick pat on the head, and to your surprise, she starts smiling.

“I can help you on the team,” she says, and Carter laughs.

“That sounds like a plan. But right now, I’m gonna have to clean up a bit, okay?” He stands up and sends you a sheepish smile. “Bathroom?”

The whole situation has made you forget for a second that you were going to stay away from Carter, and you take his hand in yours to pull him towards the bathroom. On the way, you take the first aid kit from Babs’ hands, and she shoots you a knowing look before going to steady down the class.

The bathroom is empty and quiet, in comparison to the gym, and Carter leans over the sink to let the blood out while you start rummaging through the first aid kit.

“You know what to do with a bloody nose?” Carter asks, and you smile.

“Believe it or not, I’ve had a lot of those.”

It’s quiet after that, and some of the awkwardness returns, as you find a piece of cloth and grab his cheeks to turn his face towards yours and start wiping at the blood. He’s not saying anything, just stares at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his, and it takes all you have to ignore the way your skin burns under his gaze.

Suddenly, it all feels like too much, and all you want is sink through the floor and crawl into bed, so you can cry in private. Instead, you break the silence.

“Am sorry about your nose.”

He laughs, then, slowly pushing your hand away from his face. His nose isn’t bleeding anymore and it doesn’t look as bad as you thought it was. “It’s fine, Y/N,” he says, with a smile. “I promise you it’s not the first, or the last time I take a puck to the face.”

“It was a ball,” you can’t help but interject, and he laughs again, louder this time; his shoulders are shaking and before you can argue that your comment wasn’t that funny, he speaks.

“This is a bit different than the situation we were in last night, huh?”

And despite everything, you laugh with him. “You could say that.”

The laughter dies down and his face returns to the serious expression he was wearing before. “I’m sorry for last night. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just completely misread the situation. It won’t happen again. I hope there’s no hard feelings?”

And you almost laugh because the only thing that he misread, is him misreading anything, and you can’t let him think he messed up, not when he’s been nothing but nice to you and to the kids and to everyone, not when he’s maybe the most amazing guy you’ve ever met.

Even if it terrifies you.

“You didn’t misread it,” you tell him softly. “I wanted it, too. Want it, still.”

Confusion clouds his features. “Huh?”

“I just got… freaked out, I guess.” You feel your cheeks burning and your heart beat in your throat, but you force yourself to continue. “Cause you’re so… I’m just not…” A huff of frustration leaves your lips and Carter reaches out, lacing his fingers through yours.

“You’re just not what, Y/N?”

“I’m just not the kinda girl that ends up with the guy,” you mumble. “And you’re the guy.”

Your explanation doesn’t help his confused look; if anything, he looks even more baffled.

“What does that even mean?” he questions, but before you can answer, he’s reached forward and cupped your cheek with his hand, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m the guy who really, really likes you, and I’m just trying to understand if you like me too.”

It’s ridiculous, that he even thinks there’s a chance you don’t.

“Obviously,” you snort. “Look at yourself. That’s exactly it, though. Just, look at you, and then look at me. How would that ever even work?”

“Stop that,” he snaps, his other hand moving to your hip and pulling you closer to him. “You’re beautiful, and kind, and funny, and great, and I’d be lucky to kiss you again.”

It’s then that all your walls seems to crumble around you, and you smile up at him. “Lucky you, I guess,” you say, and then you crash your lips against his.

His lips are soft against yours and his fingers tighten around your hip, and he just deepens the kiss when the door creaks and you two jump apart.

Rachel is standing in the door, looking at you both with big eyes. You cough a few times, try to hide your disheveled state, but you can tell from Carter’s grin you’re not succeeding.

Rachel points at a bloody knee, sniffs: “Miss Y/N, I’ve fallen.”

You open your arms and she runs into them, hugging your legs, and you turn to look at Carter with a smile.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Me too.”

#carter hart #carter hart imagine #carter hart one shot #philadephia flyers imagine #philadephia flyers one shot #carter hart fic #nhl fic #nhl one shot #nhl imagines #nhl writing #hockey one shot #hockey imagine

[dreamyjoons]

Angst #8 with yoongi pls💓

Thank you for this prompt! I don’t know if I made it angsty enough, so I’m sorry if not 🙃 but I hope you enjoy!! 💓

TW// a wound and slight violence mention, a swear word or two.

“Is that blood?”

“… No?”

You move closer to your ex-boyfriend where he lays out over the tiny black sofa. His black hoodie sticks to him awkwardly in one spot, and his face looked blotchy. His dark hair is glued to his forehead in strands - perspiration from all the running you’d been forced to do.

The dingy apartment was easy to break into - the door was left wide open. After a quick sweep of the house to check that it was empty, you latched the door and pushed the dresser in the hallway against it. You couldn’t take any chances - not any more.

“Min Yoongi, I swear now isn’t the time to be playing coy. Is it your blood?”

“Maybe.” He smiles weakly, and you spin away from him, frustrated.

“You know what, I'm leavi-”

“Yes, Y/N. It’s my blood.” You turn back to him and fall in front of him, settling between his knees.

You touch the damp that was pooling on his hoodie, and you pushed it back to bare his stomach to you. He hissed as the fibres scratch across his wound.

“Yoongi… how?” You ask, eyes rapidly scanning the injury.

It was a gash a few inches wide, reaching from his naval down to his hip. It didn’t look dangerously deep, but it was enough to hinder his every move. That was the last thing you needed.

“You know that guy that tried to hold us up with the knife? When he got distracted by that car and we ran for it, he managed to slash me.” He groans out, wincing at the memory.

You’re about to speak when a large crash cuts you off from outside the building. You cautiously get to your feet and creep to the window to crack one of the blinds, careful to not make too much disturbance.

The city was in chaos. The tranquil sky was broken up by streams of smoke and fire. Buildings burn, shops and apartment blocks were being smashed up and looted, and terror was running riot on the streets.

The crash you heard came from down below - a car full of young men had plowed through the storefront opposite the apartment building you were hiding in. You watch in horror as they climb out of the wrecked car and immediately begin looting the store. You step back from the window, heaving a deep sigh.

“What are we gonna do, Yoongi?” You whisper, tearing yourself away from the window and sitting in front of him again.

“Mm.” He shrugs, but winces as he moves.

“No no no, don’t close up on me now. We need to talk this through.” You snap, meeting his eyes.

“I’m not closing up on you. I don’t even know why you’re with me.” He mumbles, and you shake your head.

“Me neither. It’s some funny twist of fate that as the country collapses, I get stuck with my ex.” You smile bitterly, and he breathes out a harsh laugh.

“Hey, it could be worse.” He smirks, and you shake your head.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, we gotta clean you up.”

You search through the cupboards of the house, finally finding some paper towels, some sticky tape and a quarter of a bottle of vodka. You settle back in front of Yoongi and push his shirt back, and slip the waistband of his jeans down just a little to give you enough work space.

“It’s been a while since you’ve tried to get my clothes off.” He chuckles quietly, and you groan.

“Yoongi, shut up. I will leave you here.”

You pour a little vodka over the wound to clean it, before dabbing it away with the paper towels. Yoongi groans at the sting and bites his lip as he watches you work, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Maybe you should leave me.”

“What?” You gasp, eyes snapping up to him.

“Baby girl…” he sighs. His old nickname for you sends an ache through your chest, but you consciously ignore it. You can’t unpack that yet.

He puts a pale hand on top of yours, a concerned frown on his face.

“I’m going to slow you down with this. I don’t know how much help I can be out there, but if you’re on your own, you might have a chance.” He says slowly, carefully, like he’d been planning what to say.

“No, Yoongs, I’m not gonna-”

“You haven’t called me ‘Yoongs’ in a long time.” He smiles sadly, but you shake your head.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Please, bab-”

“Nope. I’m not listening any more, you stubborn ass. As much as it pains me, I’m not going through whatever this is without you. So stop.”

He doesn’t say anything else, he just watches you. You move his hand off yours, pour a little more vodka onto his wound and he hisses in surprise. You simply ignore him, your mind racing.

“I didn’t want to split, you know.” He mutters and your movements still.

“I know.” You say cautiously, continuing to clean him up. “You’re probably gonna need a few stitches. We’ll have to find some medical kits somewhere.” You muse, but Yoongi barely pays attention.

“I know I drove us apart, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to drag you down.” He sighs, his eyes fixing on your hands.

“It wasn’t just your choice though. Hold this.” You say, pressing a clean paper towel over the cleaned-out cut. He places his fingers over yours, and your slip from under him to grab the tape.

“I spent all that time working on my music and shutting everything out, and for what? This?” He gestures vaguely with his free hand to the rundown apartment and the burning slash on his stomach.

“Look,” you sigh, resting your hands on his knees. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re here now. You weren’t to know everything would fall apart like this.”

“I was still an asshole.” He sighs, letting his free hand rest on yours.

“Yeah, you were.”

You both sit for a moment before he breathes out a laugh. You smile at him, taking just one fragile second to admire his gummy smile before you take your hand from his.

Ripping off a few pieces of tape, you stick them along the edges of the paper towel and on his skin, creating a makeshift bandage.

“That’ll have to do. It should hold until we get out of the city. Hopefully we can find some supplies along the way.” You sigh, sagging.

You let your head fall against his knee as you sigh in frustration. You’d been so focused on not getting you or Yoongi killed that you haven’t had a single moment to process what’s happening.

He moves a hand to sink into your hair, and the tenderness of his touch brings tears to your eyes. You sit back up, his hand still resting in your hair as you look at him, a soft smile on his face.

“Okay, we stay together.” He affirms, and you nod, furiously wiping the tears from your face.

“Good. But if you start getting all stubborn on me I’m gonna leave your ass.” You smile, wiping the rest of the wetness away from your face.

“I’m okay with that.” He smiles.

You nod again, concern coursing through your body. But you had hopes at survival, as long and Yoongi was by your side.

#bts x reader #bts x you #bts drabble #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi drabble #my writing

[thegirl20]

"And if we die today?" - Vanity Thanks 😊

Set today (i.e. the Saturday following Moses’ birthday.)

It’s far too early to be up and about on a Saturday morning, never mind dressed, out the door and driving along some near deserted road with Vanessa leading Moses and Johnny in a rowdy rendition of The Wheels on the Bus. But, somehow, they’ve managed it.

Moses had spent his birthday with Ross since they’d had him for Christmas, so his birthday treat had been delayed to the weekend. Vanessa had asked if maybe he’d like a party with all the kids from nursery, but Charity couldn’t imagine anything worse. Two of them are hard enough to keep track of enough to make sure they’re not eating liquitabs or jumping off heights. Twenty of the little buggers would be an absolute nightmare. She hadn’t said that in so many words. She’d suggested they do something as a family instead. And, of course, that made Vanessa’s eyes light up and she was off googling ‘family days out in Yorkshire’ before Charity’d been able to finish her sentence.

Noah had declined the invitation to join them. Politely, which is a step up from a few months back, so it’s just the four of them. They’re meeting the rest of them for dinner in the pub later.

They finally work through all the verses of that flamin’ song, but just when Charity thinks she might get two minutes’ peace, Moses pipes up from the back. “Are we there yet?”

Charity turns to look at him in the backseat and lifts her eyebrows. “What do you think, bab? Do you think we’re there yet?” He looks out of the window and then back at her, shaking his head. She copies him. “No. ‘Cause we’re still driving, aren’t we? Ness is taking us to the back of beyond. Or worse.” She widens her eyes. “Morecambe.”

Laughing, Vanessa slaps her knee. “We’re nearly there, love. Not too long now, I promise.”

“Five minutes?” Moses asks, hopefully.

“About that, yeah.” Vanessa looks in the mirror and smiles at him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” Charity mumbles, settling down in her seat, resting her head against the window. “Wake me when we get there.”

—

To Vanessa’s credit, it’s less than ten minutes before she’s turning up a single track road, and into a makeshift car park. The boys are babbling ten to the dozen as they get them out of their car seats and Vanessa applies sun tan lotion to their faces and arms ‘just in case’. Charity regards the sky doubtfully. It’s dry and fairly warm now, but there are some threatening clouds in the distance. No doubt it’ll be tipping it down before long.

One look at Moses’ grinning face, sun cream caught in the tips of his hair, and she puts all thoughts of rain to the side. Today’s about him getting to run around daft and have fun. It’s times like these where she’ll be accosted by flashes of what her life could have been if she’d made certain choices. Not so long ago, she was willing to leave her kids behind and jaunt off to France with Cain, if he’d let her. Only last year, the bottom of a vodka bottle was more appealling than spending time with her kids when they clearly needed her.

But things are better now. She’s got her head on straight. Her eyes drift to Vanessa’s backside; she’s bent over, trying to rub lotion onto Johnny’s ears. Okay, maybe not straight. But she’s got her priorities in order. She’s hit rock bottom so many times she should’ve really bought a timeshare there. But she knows she doesn’t want to go back there now. She’s found a place in the world where she’s safe and loved and wanted. And that’s so much better than the money and other material things she used to think she needed to make her happy. Who knew chucking a picnic and a couple of kids into a Beetle could actually be enjoyable?

“Right, I think that’s just about us, yeah?” Vanessa announces, slinging the backpack containing the picnic onto her shoulders and adjusting the straps. There’ll also be baby-wipes, a change of clothes for the boys and a full first aid kit in there, if she knows Vanessa at all.

And she does. She knows her completely.

At the beginning of their relationship, Charity had been desperate to keep Vanessa at arm’s length. In her experience, getting to know someone ultimately led to disappointment. People are rarely who they let you think they are. There’s always a front, and sometimes what’s behind it is boring. Or frightening. Or both. And Charity didn’t want to go through that again.

With Vanessa, though, it came so easily and so naturally that the intimacy was there before she could block it. She might have been worried about becoming one of those couples who leaves the bathroom door open, but it happened without her noticing. And seeing Vanessa on the loo did nothing to alter her feelings about her. It didn’t peel back a layer that Charity didn’t want to see beneath, because all of Vanessa had always been on offer. Open and ready and willing to be loved.

She smiles and nods, holding both hands out. “Okay boys, you need to take my hands since Bear Grylls there is carrying everything but the kitchen sink on her back.” They quickly do as they’re told, each grabbing one of her hands, all the while talking away about how they like Bear’s big beard. Charity rolls her eyes. For a bald bloke he certainly manages to leave a good amount of hair in the bath whenever he’s in there.

They head across the nearly empty car-park and when they reach the fenced in area by the entrance, Charity lets go of the boys and they run ahead. She takes Vanessa’s hand instead, loosely threading their fingers together.

“Listen, Ness, I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, yeah?” Vanessa bumps their hips together. “What about.”

“Just, about…you know. Stuff.” She takes a deep breath, making sure not to break her serious demeanour. She stops walking, waiting for Vanessa to do the same. “As I said, I’ve been thinking. And…and if we die today-”

“Charity,” Vanessa’s using that stern voice of hers, but there’s amusement underneath it.

“No, listen,” Charity urges. “If we get eaten or…I dunno, stampeded or-”

Vanessa throws her free hand out towards the sign, covered with pictures of sheep and hens and rabbits. “It’s a petting zoo, Charity. Not a Kenyan safari.”

“Well, anyway.” She turns to face Vanessa, taking hold of both of her hands and looking into her eyes as soulfully as she can. “If we die, I just…I want you to know that you are the love of my life.”

Immediately, she feels the change in Vanessa’s body as she melts towards her. Her smile becomes wobbly and her eyes grow to Disney Princess proportions.

“Oh, Charity.” Vanessa squeezes her hands, blinking up at her. “You’re the-”

“And I also want you to know that it would be your fault we were killed, because I said we should take them to the soft play.” It takes a second, but Vanessa’s radiant smile collapses into a frown and she huffs, trying to tug her hands free, but Charity doesn’t let her, pulling her closer instead and whispering against her ear. “Hey. Doesn’t mean the first bit wasn’t true, babe.”

“Hmmph,” Vanessa pulls back to look at her, clearly trying to remain grumpy and failing miserably. “Well. Same goes for me, I suppose.”

“Oh, you suppose, do you?” Charity smiles and kisses her quickly. “Come on, before these two try and tunnel in under the fence.”

They pay what is truly an extortionate sum of money for an experience they could get by visiting Moira, and then head through into the park itself. There’s a big open area and several smaller penned off bits, presumably housing animals that would eat the other ones. Johnny is immediately enchanted by the chickens pecking at some seeds near the gate, while Moses yells something about lambs and grabs Vanessa, pulling her off in another direction.

Johnny looks up at her, pointing at the hens. “Can I touch them?”

She tries her hardest to keep her nose from wrinkling at the thought, glancing around and seeing several other children touching the animals. One very determined looking little girl, who can’t be any older than Johnny, has a chicken tucked under one of her arms and is running away from what looks to be her very flustered father.

“Uh, yeah, course, if you want to, babes.” Charity smiles and crouches down beside him. “Do you like chickens?”

He nods. “They’re like Chickaletta.”

Of course. That daft programme. She nods and smiles. “Well, go on then. Give her a pat.”

Reaching out, while still trying to stay as far away from the thing as he can, he barely brushes the tip of his index finger over a single feather before springing away, clasping his hand to his chest and pressing against Charity’s side. She wraps an arm around his waist and hides her smile in his shoulder. Definitely not a vet in waiting, this one.

“What does she feel like?” she asks.

“Soft,” he says, eyeing the chicken like it might suddenly transform into a pterodactyl. “Funny. Like a pillow.”

“Right.” She’s not a big fan of birds, really. “Will we go and look at some of the other things? Animals? Other animals?” He nods, lifting his hand, which she manages to intercept just before he puts his fingers in his mouth as is his habit when he’s uneasy. “No, babes, you can’t touch the animals and then touch your face, okay? They’ve got too many germs.” She stands, keeping his hand firmly in hers. “Let’s go find mummy and get some hand sanitiser, yeah?”

“The one that smells like strawberries?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah, probably.” She has no idea which hand sanitiser Vanessa brought. Probably a selection. She rolls her eyes. When did she become the type of mum who insists on hand sanitiser?

—

She’s sitting on one of the benches, her face turned up to the sun - See? Told you they’d need sun cream! - when she hears a shriek and opens her eyes to find Johnny barrelling towards her. She scoops him up onto her lap, wrapping her arms around him as he cowers into her.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Something bumps against her shin and she looks down to see a little goat nibbling at the hem of her jeans.

“That goat is chasin’ me!” he whispers.

She looks down again. The thing is tiny. She smiles and cuddles him tighter. “Maybe he just wanted to play with you?”

“He’s just looking for something to eat, darling,” Vanessa says, heading over to them with Moses in tow. He’s carrying a bottle of milk. The goat must smell it, and trots over to them. Vanessa crouches down and helps Moses arrange the bottle so that the goat can get milk out of it. Johnny watches them, slowly sliding off of Charity’s lap and moving over to stand beside them, just behind Vanessa’s shoulder.

Once the goat’s had its fill, it bleats one and then skips off. Moses goes after him and, with a few reassuring words from Vanessa, Johnny follows. Vanessa stands and watches them for a moment before coming over to Charity, sitting the bottle down on the bench and shrugging the backpack off, sighing and rolling her shoulders as she drops it to the ground at Charity’s feet.

“Having a good time?” Vanessa asks, stretching her arms over her head, revealing a sliver of skin at the top of her jeans and sending a spike of arousal through Charity. That still catches her off guard, sometimes; how attracted she is to Vanessa.

Reaching out and grabbing Vanessa’s hips, she drags her closer, to stand between her legs. “I am.”

“Better than the soft play, yeah?” Vanessa says, tousling Charity’s hair with both of her hands. Charity tries not to think about where they’ve been in the last hour.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Something stands on her toe and she looks down to see the same little goat back, its head butting rhythmically against Vanessa’s leg. She glances up and lifts an eyebrow. “Looks like you’ve got a mate there.”

“Awww, hiya again,” Vanessa bends to scratch the little thing’s head and it proceeds to butt its non-existent horns against her hand. She laughs in delight and holds it up flat for him to get a better target.

“What is it with you and goats, anyway?” Charity says. “This isn’t some kind of fetish, is it?”

Vanessa looks up at her and smiles. “What? Me liking stubborn things that don’t like being told what to do, eat whatever’s lying around and run headfirst into everything?” She stands up and tilts her head, bending at the waist so that their faces are close together. “What’s your star-sign again?” She pecks Charity’s cheek and then she’s off jogging over to look at whatever Moses and Johnny want to show her.

Charity watches them, their heads bent together in deep conversation. Vanessa looks up and smiles, beckoning her over to join them.

As she gets up and grabs the rucksack, she decides that being the kind of person who gets up and ready and heads out to a petting zoo before nine on a Saturday maybe isn’t the worst thing in the world, really.

#charity x vanessa #vanity #emmerdale #moses dingle #fic by me #writing #justusandlove #vanity fic

[thebatmandiaries]

1 7 and 44

Thanks! :)

#1 & #44: “What’s the best place to hid a magic book?” “Uh...a library?” & “This joke goes beyond practical and far into sadistic terroritory.”

Roy was having a good day. A quiet day, in fact. The world wasn’t ending, there was no big super villain trying to take over down town, and he was free to relax.

He decided today would be a good day to practice his bow skills, and possibly make up new arrows. It was a lazy and he didn’t have any specific plans. Until Jason walked in, holding a book.

While that was far from an uncommon occurrence, today it seemed a bit odd. He was visibly striggling and looked to be slightly sweating. Roy raised an eyebrow and pointed to the book, which was a old style book, with a leather bound cover and musty old pages. “New reading material?”

“What’s the best place to hid a magic book?” Was not the question Roy expected Jason to ask.

Dumbfounded he replied, “Uh... a library?”

Jason quickly walked away, and Roy decided to follow. After all, he had nothing better to do.

He walked into Jason putting the book on the shelf, with it starting glow and pulsing slightly. Roy did not want that book anywhere near this place, much less close to his bedroom.

“The joke goes far beyond practical,” this had to be a joke, what other explanation does he have for this? “and far into sadistic terroritory.”

It was cruel and usual punishment for m to have to sleep near this thing. If he could even fall asleep that is. I need my beauty sleep and that book is going to mess it up. No way I fall asleep near that thing. No way.

“I got this as a gift, I can’t just throw it away anywhere.” Jason mutters looking at the book again, which had changed to mild pulsing, louder than before.

“From who?”

“Talia.”

Roy rubbed his hand down his face in exasperation. “Fine, you can keep it here, but make sure you get it to be an actual book first, I won’t be able to sleep near it otherwise.”

He walked out of the “library” and back to his workshop.

It was a lazy day and was going to relax, even if it killed him.

#7: “What is this? Have I joined a cult again?”

Cassie frowned at the leaflet the lady gave her. ItWorks! It boasted many health benefits such as loosing weight, and “clearing out toxins” and a whole bunch of other stuff. She took a look at the lady who was still going on about how these products were amazing and completely changed her life! And now I own my own business and set my own hours, while making tons of cash!

What is this, she thinks, have I joined a cult again?

She watches as this lady, who had cornered her with a “Hey hun!” go on and on, almost religiously about how good these products were. Cassie felt her eye twitch as she had been fed enough information about these stupid products.

“So what do you say sweetie? Are you ready to empower yourself, become your own boss, and make thousands in just a few months?” The lady smiled maniacally. “It only costs $59 to but the starter kit, but think of it as ‘investing in your future.’ Once you are earning hundreds and thousands per month, you won’t even be thinking about this silly little price point, because you’ll have made it back ten fold!”

“Sorry, but I have no money. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” Not that I want to in the first place, she supplies in her own mind, careful not to say that to the lady.

“Oh I’m sure you have money right? Mom gave you her credit card for shopping?”

Cassie frowned at that. “I don’t have a mom, and if even I did, I doubt she’d let me go to the mall with her credit card.”

For the first time, she could see the lady realized she had misstepped. “Oh I’m Teri lot sorry-”

She saw Conner and Tim, and headed their way. “Sorry, Miss have to run, good luck on your business.”

She left the lady alone standing there and walked to where her friends were standing. “Thank god you guys are here, that lady would not leave me alone.”

“What did she want?” Conner frowned.

Cassie smirked. “To invest in my future, apparently. And only at the low cost of $59.”

#17: “Your advice was to land on my head? You want me to die!” (Wrote this before I realized it said 1, 7, Not 17, so you get extra content due to me apparently not being able to read numbers lol.)

Dick looked at Jasonin shock. “That’s the advice your choosing to give me?” He shook his head.

Jason rolled his eyes. “It’s good advice.”

“Your advice was to land on my head.” Dick threw his hands up in frustration. “You want me to die!”

He could see Jason roll his eyes again. “Fine, then next time don’t ask me for advice.”

Now he was the one who wanted to roll his eyes. Why did you collect more kids Bruce, wasn’t one enough?

He sighed and continued looking at the arms dealer setting up his meet. “I won’t.”

He could feel Jason posting. It shouldn’t ha e been cute on a kid in a Robin costume-literally about to fight crime-but it was.

Babs called it his mother hen instinct, but he called it his big brother mode, while it was rare Jason was anything but an annoyance, sometime he was cute and it made Dick forget he momentarily hated Bruce for replacing him and never saying a thing.

“You done day dreaming or are we going to bust up the meet?” He felt a hand wave in front of his face. He could feel himself going back to scowling. The magic of being near Jason.

He saw another group of men pull up in the truck, and smiled. Showtime.

Before they were about to strike, Jason held his arm in front of him. “I don’t actually want you to die, that would make Bruce sad. So try not to follow my advice, eh?”

Dick stopped for a second and looked at Jason, before he shrugged and got in position. “Works for me.”

#enjoy the extra because i cant read sometimes i guess #dick grayson #jason todd #roy harper #cassie sandsmark #tim drake #conner kent #also featuring itworks aka the mlm aka a pyramid scheme #dc #my ficlet(s)