#Post: Behind The Cowl.

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk!Danny AU- Part 3

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.4]

“Have you considered anger management classes?”

The Batman turned sharply, cape flaring out as he raised his weary fists in preparation for another fight. Only to pause, as he caught sight of a bedraggled man leaning against the pockmarked, water worn, Gotham variety stone of the abandoned post office. Non-hostile. Scent of booze, not strong enough to be fresh, but prominent enough for him to clock the stranger as a habitual drinker. Young. Sympathy softened Batman’s stance. Still, Batman kept his guard up. Good thing Robin was benched, he was off his game today if he hadn’t noticed the young man.

“Nevermind. You run around as a bat. Clearly anger management classes aren’t on your to do list.”

“What do you want.”

He’s young. Not as young as Robin, but… enough that it made Batman gentle his approach. The young man pushed away from his spot, fearlessly slouching towards him. Casual. Unafraid. How curious. Even Gothamites were wary around him, correctly assuming and witnessing his takedowns of Gotham’s Underbelly.

“You do this a lot, don’t you?” The bedraggled young man asked, head tilted neutrally at the bodies strewn around the Batman.

“Hm.”

“Why do you never swing by Crime Alley?”

Batman’s guard faltered at the blunt question, but he regained it quickly.

“I do.”

“You don’t.” The man disagreed amiably. He reached down towards the victims but Batman grabbed his arm in an iron hold before he could rifle through their belongings. The young man laughed and pulled back agreeably. “Is it classism, why you avoid us? The poor isn’t good enough to deserve protection from Gotham’s knight?”

“No. I do this for Gotham. All of Gotham.”

“…Well, there’s always room for improvement, I guess?”

The stranger pulled back and broke Batman’s hold, which had the vigilante sharply focusing onto the man. The stranger was strong, despite how skinny and starved he looked. Few people could casually break his hold and tonight, he added one more to the tally.

“You should tell your sponsor to look into creating job opportunities in Crime Alley. The problem isn’t actually the crooks,” the man told the vigilante, gesturing around them. “That’s just the symptoms. The actual problem is the poverty.”

“I know.”

“And yet, you still avoid Crime Alley.”

“Who are you.”

The man began walking away, throwing a dry “The Crime Alley Drunk, apparently,” behind his shoulder. When Batman took to the roofs to track him, the man had thoroughly slipped away.

“Agent A, did you catch that?”

“Yes, Batman. It appears you’ve gotten the wool pulled over your cowl by a rather mysterious youngster.”

Batman heard a younger snort of laughter. Robin. Who was supposed to be doing homework.

“Please stop making fun of me.” Batman sighed half heartedly.

“Not on your life, B.” Robin chirped.

——

“Ya talked ta Batman?!” Jason crowed at him, excited. Danny had done as promised and met him at the chili dog stand at the correct time, which increased his credibility in Jason’s eyes.

“Sure did. He knocked out like, five guys by himself. It was pretty cool.”

“Fuckin’ woah.”

“Right?” Danny smiled tiredly at the kid. He stayed up all night to pull his shit together, and outright bought an apartment for them to stay in. That safe had a lot of cash, after all. “Come on, kid. We’re heading back to base but before that, we gotta pick up a few things.”

“Like what?” Jason asked suspiciously.

“Like curtains in the color you like, groceries, and blankets and bedding, and general cleaning stuff.” Danny ticked off a finger per item.

“We killin’ someone?”

“What? No!”

“Ya said general cleaning stuff!” Jason defended himself. The raggedy kid peered at Danny cautiously, and brightened when Danny only snorted in amusement.

“Oh my ancients, you Gothamites. No, those are for like, actual cleaning. You know, for the apartment I just got you.”

Danny missed the burn of booze, but when Jason looked at him like the child he’s supposed to be had Gotham’s streets never laid its claim on him, Danny didn’t want to fail the kid.

Even if the kid thought he was buying chemicals to clean up a body. He’s the son of two mad scientists, he knows how to get rid of a body, obviously. As if he’d need chemicals to begin with, honestly. His ghost powers are quite versatile.

“An apartment?”

“Yep. It’s shitty, but it’s got all the utilities and I kind of miss having warm water to shower with.”

Jason straightened and trotted alongside the Alley Drunk with a little more purpose. People avoided them. Danny lead the kid to the apartment, handing him a key and letting him explore the sparsely decorated place.

“So, first thing’s first. You go shower. Then, we’ll go shopping for clothes, register you for school, get your school supplies, and grab some lunch. Not necessarily in that order, but ya know. And cleaning supplies.” Danny grinned.

Jason whipped his head around from where he was closely inspecting the windows for insulation- like Danny would let the actual kid live somewhere with drafty windows- and spluttered. Hope, fear, uncertainty battled across Jason’s face as he tried to say something. Danny watched Jason open and close his mouth several times before he finally managed to whisper something.

“I- I c’n go to school?”

“Yes. You are, in fact, legally required to do so, Jason.”

A pause as the kid grapples with the idea, of something he didn’t think he’d ever get to do. A grin bloomed over his face as he realized Danny’s sincerity.

“Then what are we waitin’ for?!”

“For you to shower. C’mon grubby, the shower’s that way. Towels are in the cabinet, and there’s some extra clothes in here,” Danny tossed Jason the plastic bag of clean kid’s clothes he bought from Gotham’s version of Walmart, a store that somehow had the energy of a Tesco and a Denny’s parking lot.

“Fuc- I mean- yeah! On it!”

——

Clearing out the drafts- feel free to continue ^^

#me the entire time writing this: Justice! for Gotham! Batman needs to go back to the batcave! #alley drunk Danny #danny phantom #batman #bruce wayne #dc x dp #dcxdp #jason todd #bamf danny phantom #Danny: Batman u got issues #alfred Pennyworth #alley drunk! Danny AU

[alizalayne]

Whats the ventilation and heat like in the suit head? I can't tell if it would be warmer or more cool to wear in compaison to a faux fur fursuit head. The only thing I worry abt is how durable needlefelting is and if it can be cleaned like a traditional fursuit head. That being said I really hope you continue making these, they're cool as hell 👍🔥👍

Okay first of all I'm super jazzed to be able to talk about this with people, and I kind of went overboard answering this, but thanks for asking! Putting this up in case anyone else is curious.

The main answers to your questions are 1: wool is cooler than acrylic fur and less stinky

2: A fursuit head is a swamp and i am snorkling in it.

I mentioned this in my behind the scenes post and there are pictures there but I literally just made a snorkel out of a snorkel mouthpiece and two collapsible automotive funnels, the kind that you can bend into a shape so that you can get goo into a weird part of your car.

that snorkel piece goes straight out of a vent hole in the inside of the ear and I felted a pink skin flap in front of it and then felted white fiber into that so it just looked like a tuft. it worked perfectly, it's just that I couldn't talk in it that well. But I'm definitely going to keep using it if I can't think of a better mouthpiece for it because as SOON as I breathed inside the head instead of through the snorkel I was like oh my god everyone is living in hell.

You can see it in this picture a little bit. nobody noticed it at all!

My friend had made a much more traditional head with a bigass electric fan in it and he was having more heat issues than I was, because I cannot stress enough that acrylic fur is like, one of the most horrifically hot fabrics you can wear. I don't know how everybody is even alive!! and there's a layer of ACRYLIC BACKING on it! Also check out how "short-pile" my fur is, most of the head is only an inch thick, it's a half-inch bucket head made out of foam covered in maybe 1/3 of an inch of wool? the less space you have between the fibers the less heat gets trapped. I was shocked by how comfortable I was, and I was having migraine symptoms that day and was extra sensitive to heat. The con where we were had the air turned down and it was chilly outside, but I was shocked when I took the head off and shook my hair out and I wasn't even sweating. I had long hair in a wig cap under that thing and I wasn't sweating. It was crazy.

As for cleaning the wool, I cannot find anyone else who has done this who has cleaning tips for me, but the foam is what I'm worried about. After a few hours of wear there's nothing wrong with the wool at all, but i can TELL the foam is ever so slightly nasty, because the foam is polyurethane and wool is what you make hiking socks out of. I have some wool cleaner coming in the mail that's made for delicate needlefelted items like scarves and deposits lanolin, which is what keeps wool "alive" kind of like how you have to care for leather. It's definitely an experiment! Nothing ventured nothing gained!

I don't have an idea in mind for a second head right now and the next thing I want to make is a cowl so I can wear lower-cut tops with this head, but I might try something else if I think of an idea! I'm probably never gonna sell these because I'm weird about selling sculptures for whatever reason. They're like my living beasts.

But I definitely hope this encourages other people who might be interested in bringing needlefelt or other fiber art sensibilities to this space, that would be a massive complement and a high honor to give people a new way to enjoy a hobby that I know means a ton to a lot of people.

#fursuit

[honeyed-hedonist]

Pairings: Aged Up!Damian Wayne x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Summary: You're always just a phone call away for Damian, so he calls when he needs you. And tonight? He really fucking needs you. Warnings: SMUT--MINORS DNI. unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, size kink if you squint, face slapping (once), oral (male & female receiving), orgasm control (kind of???), basically just 3k words of Dami tearing you apart in the best way. A/N: Hello again! Posting another old fic on mine. I still blame @heli0s-writes for sending me on a Damian Wayne spiral. I will never recover from this and it's all her fault. Enjoy :3

IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY, PLEASE REBLOG IT.

It’s late. It’s always late when he calls you—3am and you’re answering the phone, the pitch of his voice deepened and gruff with need. A need that only you can satiate. “Come over, darling.” You’re out the door before you end the call, hailing a cab to the manor, pulse racing because you know what’s coming.

The path you walk when you reach the gate is so familiar, you could do it with your eyes closed, feet carrying you to the front door. There’s no need to knock or ring the bell, the second your shoes hit the porch Damian swings it wide open, the cowl stripped off, blackened liner still smeared around those beautiful green eyes. He’s looking at you like he wants to tear you apart, but you’ve always had an affinity for pretty, dangerous things. 

A step closer and you catch the way the warm light of the entryway bounces off of the thin gold chain hanging around his neck. It sparkles, and your mind conjures up the image of it swinging above your face when you’re folded in half on his bed. It makes you clench, taking another step while your eyes make the slow trek downward, his bare chest and rippling stomach that cuts to narrow, defined hips has your mouth watering. You know what they feel like against your tongue, beneath your fingers.

There’s no need for words, his calloused hand closing around your wrist to tug you inside, the heavy door shutting with a definitive click that reverberates off the walls and arched ceilings of Wayne Manor. He’s already hard, you can feel it when his arm snakes its way around your waist to pull you even closer. And then he’s crouching down, sweeping his other hand behind your knees to lift you into his arms.

You’re trapped in the heat of his gaze, the salty, earthy smell of his skin--still damp with sweat from his night spent in triple-weave kevlar. Fingers dance up the back of his neck, tangling into that silky, black hair, and his chest vibrates with something akin to a growl. It sends your pulse rushing between your legs, desire warm and heavy in your belly as he walks you up the stairs towards the master suite. 

The second you’re past the threshold, you reach for his face, wanting to feel his hot mouth on yours, but he doesn’t budge, the corner of his lips quirking in an amused smile at the whine that comes tumbling out of your throat when you try, and fail, to kiss him. “Patience, beloved.” Damian is gentle when he sets you down on the lush, thickly weaved rug that spreads out from beneath his bed, forefinger and thumb coming up to pinch your chin. His nose brushes yours when he speaks again, breath hot and sweet as it fans out across your face. “Be good.”

You watch with baited breath as he settles himself on the edge of the mattress, thighs spread open, palms flat against his knees, his posture perfectly straight. He looks like a king on his throne, and you’re prepared to bow at his feet. “You’re very overdressed, don’t you agree? Perhaps you should remedy that.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, your hands falling to the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging it hastily over your head. Your shorts are your next target, swiftly yanking them down your legs. Shoes, socks, and bra all join the pile of your discarded clothes after that, and Damian hums his approval. “Much better.” 

Lifting one of his hands, he points to the space between his feet. “Come.” There’s no hesitation from you, moving immediately with a step forward, but then he scoffs, eyebrows drawn down in admonishment. “Really, pet? Is that how you’re meant to approach me? As my equal?” His words make you short circuit, brain muddled with the fog of submission, because you will always submit to him--it’s not even a question at this point. He’s in charge, he owns you, and he knows it.

Dropping to your hands and knees, you crawl towards him slowly, eyes trained on his face, trying to read him--but Damian has mastered the art of impassiveness. His calves brush against your shoulders as you wedge yourself between his legs, the only sign of his pleasure is the tent in the front of his joggers and the rumbling in his chest. It’s enough--has you salivating from your place on the floor, eagerly awaiting instruction.

He leans forward, strong hand circling your throat, fingers tightening until he can feel the ripple of your swallow. “Have you missed me?” He asks, but you know better than to open your mouth, choosing instead to nod your head. Damian hums thoughtfully, free hand stroking at his slightly stubbled chin. “Hmm, I’m not sure I’m convinced. Why don’t you show me?”

“Yes, sir.” You answer, and he relents, releasing your throat to lean back on the bed, propped up with his arms extended so he can watch you--he’s always watching you--calculating, observing, learning. Damian Wayne knows all of the ways to take you apart, and all of the ways to put you back together again, but now he’s testing you, wants to see just how much you’ve learned since you began spending nights in his bed.

Shaking fingers dip beneath the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down his thighs until the heavy weight of his cock springs free, slapping against the hard plane of his stomach with a dense thud. You moan, how can you not? He’s impressively large, perfectly curved towards his bellybutton, nestled in coarse, dark hair, thick and throbbing just for you. His head is shining with pre, glistening in the orange glow from the roaring fire in the hearth nearby. Your eyes meet, faux innocence batting up at him from beneath your lashes. But Damian knows better, knows how filthy you are, and he’s losing his patience.

You let your hand circle the base, tongue dragging a hot, wet line beneath his length until your lips close around the tip, precum tangy against your tastebuds. You moan again, eyes rolling back. The musk of his night perusing the city is still fresh on his skin, and he always tastes so god damn good like this. Dirty. Natural. It spurs you onward, his tip popping into the back of your throat as you take him all the way down. He reaches out after that, fingers gentle against the skin of your neck, his cock seated so fully inside the wet heat of your mouth that he can feel himself beneath your esophagus when you swallow. It makes him grunt, satisfied with your efforts.

It’s all the encouragement you need to move again, cheeks hollowed as you suck him off. The only sounds in the room are your labored breaths and the nasty, wet squelch of your mouth on his cock. Damian’s eyes are blown black, watching you like a predator tracking its prey, hand shooting out to curl into the hair at the crown of your head and shove you down until your nose is pressing against his taut abdomen. He holds you there, testing your limits, keeping you still, voice strained with his pleasure when he speaks. “Swallow.” He commands, and you oblige, whimpering while your thighs shift in an attempt to alleviate the ache in your cunt. 

“What’s wrong, pet? Do you want to cum?” Damian smirks at the desperate look in your eyes before he answers his own question. “Too bad.” He mocks your arousal, knowing all you really want right now is for him to fuck a hole right through you, but he needed to feel your warm, wet mouth first.  And Damian will never apologize for having his needs met, because he always reciprocates in kind. Especially with you.

He volleys with you back and forth, letting you have control before ultimately usurping you to fuck your face. When he’s satisfied, your cheeks are hot, the remnants of the mascara that you carelessly forgot to wash off is smeared down your face, and your chin is covered in your own spit as he yanks you free from his cock by your hair. “Tch--look at you, such a mess.” Damian’s free hand breaks the string of spittle connecting your mouth to the tip of his dick and smears it across your face. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be, moaning open-mouthed when his palm cracks across your cheek. “Get up.”

Your actions are instantaneous, done without pause or thought, rising to your feet with his hand still fisted in your hair. He stands, too, spinning you both around until your calves hit the mattress and he shoves you backwards. You fall gracelessly onto his comforter, and he gives you no reprieve, no chance to catch your breath before he’s peeling your thighs apart to inspect your slit. Your panties are an encumbrance, one that has him growling as his long, dextrous fingers tear the fabric clean off, ripping them away to toss on the floor. 

He wastes no time, hands framing your pussy to peel your lips apart, leaning forward, he takes a deep inhale, the tip of his nose bumping against your throbbing clit. It makes you jolt, body bowing off of the bed, but his eyes cut to yours and you still immediately, knowing that he’ll stop if you don’t behave. “You have the most beautiful cunt, and she’s all mine.” Damian hums, mostly to himself, pink tongue slipping out of his mouth to circle your clit slowly. Your hands fist his expensive bedding, knuckles bone-white as he begins to work you over with his mouth.

He’s an expert at many things--knows over a hundred ways to kill a man with his bare hands--and can get you to gush against his mouth in a matter of minutes. Damian plays your body like a fine-tuned instrument, hits all the right notes to make you see stars. He curls those long, rough fingers of his against the velvet walls of your pussy, free hand applying pressure at your belly, while his plump lips suction against your pulsing clit. Barely two minutes in and you’re already hurtling towards bliss, whining and whimpering and writhing--all for him. 

“Dami, please!” You want your release. Want to cum all over his handsome face. He can feel it in the way your cunt grips his fingers, fluttering in time with the expert swipes of his tongue. He knows it’s only a few more licks until you’re careening into your orgasm. His eyes meet yours between the valley of your breasts, glittering with mirth as you cry out, begging shamelessly for him to let you cum. And then, like the menace he is, Damian releases your clit with a wet pop, effectively slamming you into a brick wall, your orgasm slipping right through your fingers with a pained cry.

Tears of desperation brim in your eyes and he tuts, rising to his feet, forearm wiping your glistening arousal from his lips and chin. “Do you have no shame? Begging like a common whore.” He’s on you in a flash, joggers discarded, fully naked as his hand once again finds your throat and he snarls above you. “Your orgasms belong to me, beloved. I decide when you deserve to cum, and tonight, you’ll be coming all over my cock. Do I make myself clear?” 

He expects an answer, but you’re transfixed, completely mystified by his overpowering, eclipsing presence above you. Damian makes you feel small. It fogs your brain, makes it hard to do anything other than mewl, thighs parting to accommodate his hips as he settles above you.  “Tch--useless little thing. All you’re good for is being my tight hole to fuck, isn’t that right, pet?” You nod, helpless and desperate beneath him, every nerve ending in your body thrumming like live wires. It’s a fact that he captializes on, slapping the mushroomed tip of his dick against your drenched slit, the wet sound that reaches his ears making him moan.

There isn’t a sound on Earth prettier than hearing Damian Wayne moan for you, your mouth falling open as you gaze up at him in awe. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to sluice the middle fingers of his left hand over your tongue. Ever the obedient pet, your lips close automatically, suckling as those same fingers push so far back they make you choke. Through your bleary eyes, you can see the sadistic smile that graces Damian’s face. It’s dangerous, and it sends a fresh rush of arousal leaking from your cunt. 

It’s almost like he can smell it, and he probably can, his irises disappearing until all that’s left are the whites of his eyes as he inhales deeply. There’s no warning, no preparation, just his gaze rolling back to meet yours when he snaps his hips forward with perfect aim, his cock stretching you open and filling you in a way only he can. It makes you scream, your back beginning to arch, but Damian is right there, pulling his fingers from your mouth to grip your throat and pin you back down against the mattress.

His pace is unforgiving. It’s brutal and deep, carving his way into your body with harsh thrusts that have the headboard knocking flecks of plaster off the walls until they cascade down like rain onto the comforter. “You. Belong. To me.” He spits it through gritted teeth, and it’s not something you’ll ever deny. Your relationship may be unconventional, but you wouldn’t trade it. Any time spent with Dami, to you, is a gift, especially if it means he’ll fuck you absolutely boneless in order to reassert his control on those nights when he feels like the world around him is spiraling. 

You take it all--every thrust, the gnashing of his teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, the suffocating grip around your throat, the drizzle of spit that falls onto your waiting tongue when he pries your jaw open. Anything Damian dishes out, you take without complaint, because while he craves control, you crave subjugation--the metaphorical yin to his yang.

Your voice is hoarse when you try to speak, breath stuttering with every powerful roll of Damian’s hips, barely heard over the lewd sounds of being fucked open. Each strike of his cock inside of you hits that spongy mound of tissue, dragging his silky, hot length against it with each withdrawal. It has you climbing right back towards your inevitable peek, the only question is-- will he let you finish this time?

“Dami--m’gonna--please, m’so close, baby.” You wheeze, and he smiles, teeth blindingly white even though the haze of your oxygen deprivation. You find some reprieve from the deliciously pleasurable pain when he finally peels his fingers back from your throat, hands sliding to your shins to fold them up and into your chest. His pace never lessens, he never slips out, following the bending of your body, the new angle allowing an even deeper stroke inside your gummy walls. It has you keening, hands clawing at his chest, his gold chain bouncing against the backs of your palms.

“Very well, I think you’ve earned it.” Reaching between your bent legs, Damian’s thumb slices through the lips of your cunt that are spread wide around his cock to seek out your clit. He’s precise, circling the aching bud in a way that makes you choke, throat vibrating with a squeal. You’re close again, rapidly approaching your release, so fast you can barely keep up, the pressure in your belly building to an unbearable tightness. This time, when you meet his eyes, the malice is gone, replaced with what you can only describe as devotion. “Go on, make a mess on my cock, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes, his permission coupled with the expert swirl of his thumb and the perfect drag of his cock have you seeing stars, bursting with a cry of his name. You scream, back arching up, chest to chest with him as he cradles you close. “I know, beloved, I know. Let it all out.” He coos, still thrusting wildly through the resistance as your pussy tries to shove him out with each fluttering pulse. Damian can feel your cum weeping out around him, it wets his thighs, dribbles down the seam of his sack, drips down onto the mattress. It makes him groan, balls tightening as he reaches the point where he can no longer stave off his own release. 

With a low moan of your name he pumps into you once, twice--the third sending the first spray of his cum deep in your womb. You can feel the pulse of his length as he bottoms out with a grunt, forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your mouth. Jet after jet of semen coats your insides, filling you up so full it almost hurts. You whimper out, and Damian shushes you, cupping your face to plant a soft kiss against your lips. “Shh,” he murmurs. “You did so well for me, my darling. Such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

All you can manage is a hum, Damian’s fingers carding through your sweat-slicked hair as he peppers soft kisses over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your forehead. This has got to be your favorite part, because while he knows how to completely wreck you, he’s also right there to pick up the pieces and stitch you right back together again. 

He carries you into the bathroom, runs a bath for the both of you, coddles and keeps you close until the pair of you are falling into his freshly stripped bed beneath the sheets. His arm is slung snugly around your waist, his lips on the back of your neck as you settle in preparation of sleep. “I’d like you to move your things into the manor.” His voice is soft, there’s a hesitation there that is so uncharacteristic it nearly shocks you back from exhaustion. But again, all you’re able to offer him is a hum of acknowledgement, wiggling further into the warmth of his body, heavy eyelids closing as your consciousness wanes and you drift. 

You’ll tackle this moving in business when you’ve got a clear head and a full belly, but the prospect of taking the next step in your relationship with Damian brings you the most pleasant, peaceful sleep you’ve had in years.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #robin x reader #robin x you #batfam #batfamily #damian wayne smut #robin smut #smut writing

[venerablemonk27]

I logged my 200th bird species for Wisconsin! I got a great tip from a close friend, who knows about these things, that a Hooded Warbler had appeared in a park near my house.

[ID: A male Hooded Warbler perches on a mossy branch in the forest. His body is just a couple inches long, with green feathers on back, wings, and tail, and dull yellow for the underparts. His "hood" is a black cowl that covers almost his entire head save for a bright yellow mask that extends in an oval from the middle of his face to surround the eye and ear on each side. He has a pointy dark gray bill shaped for picking insects off of trees, and his eye is a reflective jet black that stands out against the yellow mask. End ID]

The next morning, I packed up my camera along with my work bag and took a break from my commute to check out the park. I arrived to find several people wandering the trails, here to do the exact same thing as me. None of them had seen the Hoodie yet, but they had a wealth of information from other birders on the movements and general behavior of the bird from the past couple days. I spent at least 45 minutes wandering the trails, squishing through the damp and the mud in my work slacks and sneakers. I logged five firsts for 2024, but no sign of the elusive Hooded Warbler.

[ID: The Hooded Warbler perches on the same mossy branch, this time facing away from the camera and looking up into the treetops. His wings are neatly folded behind his back, making a pleasing pattern with the tips of the primary flight feathers. End ID]

So I left the park for work, but decided I should come back in the evening. I knew from the sighting reports in eBird that this guy is active all day. When I got back to the park, it was cloudy and drizzling. I met a pair of nice young women with binoculars and a camera lens as long as mine. I asked, "Are you here looking for the Hooded Warbler too?"

One of them said very casually, "Oh yeah, it's right over there across the creek. Just flittering around." So of course I had to get eyes on him and try to get a photo. It was only a couple minutes before he came out again and started working the far bank of the creek.

[ID: The same Hooded Warbler, this time perched deeper in the brush and looking toward the camera. This angle provides a better view of the black hood and bright yellow mask, looking delicately fringed around the edges. End ID]

I probably followed the Hoodie down the creek for like 10 minutes before he decided to cross over to our side to do some more foraging. I froze. He was almost completely hidden in the brush, but I could see bits of movement and kept him in the frame the whole time. I knew I couldn't make any sudden moves without scaring him away. For a brief moment, he came out to take a closer look at me, which is where all the photos in this post came from. I only managed to shoot three bursts while he was completely out in the open before he took off for the far side of the creek again.

[ID: The Hooded Warbler looks directly at the camera, only partially obscured by a twig. His posture suggests being ready to leap forward and continue the hunt for insects. End ID]

I was left feeling incredibly amped. The other photographer and I had to share back-of-the-camera shots and gush over how cute he was and how close he came to us. It seems it's always a special event when a rare or unusual species shows up in town. I love these brief moments of connection with birds and the people that care about them.

#bird photography #birding #photography #birds #bird #birdblr #birdlife #birdwatching #original photography #original photography on tumblr #warbler #hooded warbler #close encounter #migration #spring

[bongo-clash]

Even when you don't know what it is your job knows what it is

DP/DC week prompt: There was something off about them

'Danny Phantom, alleged several-thousand year old ghostly entity, has a feeling something’s not quite right with Captain Marvel, alleged several-thousand year old champion of magic. He reckons there's no time like the present to confront his hunch.'

-

Look, Danny’s been working with the Justice League for a while now, and he likes to think he knows them all pretty well. Some of them are more open about their civilian identities than others, but even if he doesn’t know who everyone is behind the cowls, he’s got their personalities down pat at least.

Everyone except, perhaps, Captain Marvel. 

Maybe that’s not fair to say. Captain’s a friendly enough guy- nobody’s ever had a bad conversation with him that Danny knows of- but he’s weirdly flaky. The longest he’s stuck around post-mission is probably about five minutes tops, and no one actually knows anything about the man; the League have a habit of hanging around after missions for drinks and talk, and the Captain’s been offered a place with them several times and not taken it once. In all fairness, neither has Danny, but he has an excuse. They think he’s about several thousand years older than he actually is and also a full ghost, so they’d probably expect him to drink and he doesn’t want to have to go through the awkward process of refusing and nor does he want Jazz to go ape on him for giving into peer pressure. 

…That’s another thing; Captain Marvel is allegedly several-thousand years old, but when Danny looks at him there’s a strange sense of camaraderie that makes him think maybe they’re both liars. 

The longer he’s spent thinking about it, the more sense it makes. Their behaviours probably have a lot in common from an outside perspective: coming across awkward around the other members of the team, passing on every event outside of work, sharing very little about their personal lives least of all a civilian identity- which neither of them are even suspected to have. After all, Phantom’s a ghost, and Captain Marvel’s the champion of magic, it seems reasonable to assume their have some other plane of existence they return to when they’re not in the Watchtower. But Danny just goes back home to Illinois and tells his parents he was at Tucker’s again, and he really doesn’t believe that the Captain just sets up shop by the ‘Rock of Eternity’ or whatever he’d mentioned it was called. 

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, though, because what if he’s wrong? There’s a non-zero chance that he’s just projecting his own issues on the man (and that sounds so much like something Jazz would say that it physically hurts), and if Danny tries to confront the man about a lie that isn’t there, then the Captain will know he’s lying, and he’ll totally get booted off the team or placed with Young Justice. There’s nothing wrong with YJ, but it’d just hurt to have worked side-by-side with them proving his reliability for so long only to get pushed away because of his age. 

So he doesn’t say anything, figuring there’s not much choice other than to wait for some kind of confirmation. Until, of course, the opportunity for confrontation arrives in the aftermath of one mandatory League check-point meeting. 

-

Check-point meeting with the Justice League are really just contractually obligated gossip sessions regarding their recent heroic endeavours that quickly descends into normal conversations. Contrary to the usual progression of these meetings, however, Green Lantern is prodding at Captain Marvel to tell him about what it was like visiting ancient civilisations before they fell. 

It’s one of those weeks where the other members are being a bit more insistent on finding out more about the Captain. They’ve made their peace with the fact that they’re not going to get much in terms of a civilian life out of him, but every single member of the League (with the exception of maybe Martian Manhunter) is invariably nosy, which obviously leads to their more mysterious members coming under scrutiny every now and again. This also includes Danny on occasion, but Phantom has a brilliant out for interrogations in the form of making people uncomfortable about the fact that, even if he’s an ancient entity, he clearly died young. All he has to do is pull out some wistful bullshit about wishing he’d lived long enough to experience mortal romance or something equally upsetting and he’s home-safe. 

The man across from him, however, taking the form of a very much full-grown adult, has no such excuse. 

“Come on, Captain, surely you can tell us something! I thought you were around for ancient Egypt?” Hal exclaims, leaning just slightly over the meeting table to scrutinise his colleague. The Captain is looking increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Of course I was!” Marvel agrees quickly, accompanied by a nod of the head that could almost be described as frantic. “Ancient Egypt was around for ages, probably couldn’t’ve missed all that if I tried! I wasn’t around for all that much of it though, I- uh, I caught the tail end of it- when Cleopatra was pharaoh, if I remember right- but I was… I was a little busy somewhere else during that, uh, era.”

Green Lantern raises an eyebrow behind the green domino mask. “Busy? Busy doing what?”

“Well-“

The Captain is making a very particular face, the kind that Danny imagines he himself makes when he’s scrambling for any reasonable excuse to get out of the hole he’s dug himself into by lying. And Danny looks at him from across the table, the man catching his eyes with a look he can only describe as odd and desperate, and he makes a decision. 

“That was around the time all those conferences were being held to sort out the mess between the newly-formed undead societies and the natural ghosts, right? There was some involvement with living mages, if I recall correctly; I’m sure I saw you at one of those.”

In terms of lies he could’ve told, he figures this one is pretty low-risk. There were a lot of diplomatic meetings held between natural ghosts and the ones existing post-mortem when proper civilisations first came about and people from them started dying, after all (though he knows for fact the living weren’t involved in any way), so it’s not like he’s pulling it out of his ass. If he’s wrong about the Captain and the man admits he doesn’t have a clue what Danny’s talking about, then he can just say it must have been a realms-exclusive thing- hard to remember the finer details when it was all so long ago- and they’ll be none the wiser. 

But if he’s right, and he’s really beginning to think he is, then-

Sure enough, the man across from him nods vigorously, clicking his fingers together as if his memory’s just been jogged. “Right!” He chirps, sending Danny a brazen smile. “I don’t know how I forgot about those! Man, those conferences dragged on, didn’t they?”

Bingo. 

“Don’t even worry about it- I honestly would’ve thought the first ones were around the revolution at the end of the Qin dynasty in China if you hadn’t reminded me- my memory was way off. Speaking of that though, have you spoken to Pandora since? I figured you two would get along pretty well, but I know there wasn’t much time for small talk and dimension hopping wasn’t half as easy as it is now.”

Captain Marvel shakes his head with pursed lips. “Can’t say I have; not a lot of free time between everything, like you said. Would love to be introduced properly though!”

“Well, I did say I would- couple thousand years later than I thought it’d be, but better late than never.”

The tension easing from Marvel’s shoulders is probably obvious to everyone in the room. Superman looks to the both of them curiously. “You never mentioned knowing each other?” The Kryptonian questions. Phantom laughs the way he sees his mom do during those weird adult get-togethers. 

“Oh, we’ve crossed paths a lot,” He declares with a wave of his hand, brushing the notion to the side, catching the gaze of the Captain in his peripheral even as he keeps his eyes on the other superhero. “Can’t say we had the opportunity to get to know each other properly between it all, though. Relations between the magic living and the restless dead have always been a little… fraught. I was just planning to keep things professional on my end unless the Captain wanted to seek a friendship outside of work since I wasn’t sure how appreciated it would be, especially given how much fuss ghosts have been giving the mortal plane recently.”

Marvel’s laugh mimics his own. “That’s what I was thinking! I guess no amount of time can time will change how weird it can be trying to made work friends.”

-

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly), Captain Marvel is waiting outside the hall for him when the meeting is adjourned and each member of the League goes their separate ways. Wordlessly, Danny follows him deeper into the Watchtower, floating behind before phasing them both into one of the locked rooms everyone knows there’s no cameras in, for the sake of being allowed confidential discussions in at least one area of the place- when approved, of course, but these walls don’t hold Phantom just yet, given that the ghost-proofing paint doesn’t quite stick over the lead-lining. 

“So.” Danny starts, when they’re both inside the office and the silence begins to creep thick into the air. 

Captain Marvel looks nervous. “So.”

“You weren’t at those conferences.”

“No, I wasn’t.” It seems almost painful for him to admit, hands flicking slightly like he wants to fidget with them but doesn’t want to be caught doing it. “I’m grateful you, uh, that you said I was there- thank you, Phantom- but why’d you cover for me?”

For the first time today, and maybe even the first time in the Watchtower, Danny levers himself down from the air, putting both feet on the ground. He hopes beyond hoping his face comes across sincere. “Because I wasn’t there either.” He admits gently, watching for a response. 

“I- what?” The man doesn’t appear to know what he’s meant to say. Well, time to rip the bandaid off. 

“Captain, you’ve not been around for six thousand, have you? I’m willing to bet you haven’t even been around for 18.” The reaction is immediate. Marvel’s eyes widen, pupils shrinking with alarm, arms coming up as if in defence as he splutters some kind of excuse, and Danny interrupts before he can spiral too hard. “Dude, don’t worry. I seriously won’t tell anyone if you are- I’m not a snitch.”

The Captain’s expression looks utterly lost. “Why?”

Danny thinks it’s probably best to just bite the bullet here. He stands still as the transformation washes over him, bright silver-blue rings parsing over his form, exchanging gravity-defying white hair for scraggly black, hazmat for jeans and a sweater, and Lazarus-green eyes for a gentler blue. When the light finally dissipates, he gives the Captain a second just to process, before sending him a wry grin.

“Hi, Captain Marvel, I’m Phantom- otherwise known as Danny Fenton- Ambassador for the Infinite Realms and sixteen year-old half-human-half-ghost boy.”

The other hero stands still for a long, long moment, mute with shock, before muttering a quiet ‘Shazam’ and allowing the room to fill with the sudden crackle of a lightning bolt. Where the hulking form of Captain Marvel once stood, a boy is left in his place- eyes and hair the same, if a little less put together- but only just coming up to Danny’s shoulder, wearing clothes that have clearly seen a few years go by. If Danny had to guess, he looks about eleven or twelve

“Hi, Phantom,” He says, a little quieter but with more confidence than he’d had before, staring him resolutely in the eyes. “I’m Captain Marvel- also Billy Batson- champion of magic and twelve year-old and world’s mightiest mortal.”

Danny cannot resist reaching over to ruffle the kid’s hair. “Amazing to meet you,” He beams. “And if anyone asks, we’ve known each other since the Early Dynastic period of Egypt and are in no way human or related to any living humans. You good with that?”

Billy looks up at him with a gap in his teeth and mischief in his eyes. 

“Phantom, I am more than okay with that.”

#dp/dc week 2022 #Billy asks afterwards what all the historical evidence of Danny is about and Danny explains his time travel shenanigans #And invites Captain Marvel to join in on a few too just to really buff up their alibi #Billy discovers the joy of vandalism in Ancient Rome #Fun fact: I have no idea what happens in this fic because I finished it 1 minute ago and I'm too tired to read it over #If there's any mistakes we can all just ignore them and that's cool and fine!! #Title is from Let's Get This over With by They Might Be Giants because I was struggling for a name and it's just what I had on #dpxdc #dp au #danny phantom au #Bongo's Writing!!!

[babybluebex]

𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your secret relationship with a winterfell guard is threatened when your father promises you to another man, and you spend one last night with your lover. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: koner (game of thrones) x fem!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (MINORS DNI, unprotected sex, p in v sex, pet names, slight breeding kink if you squint) lots of crying, adopted!stark reader, mentions of arranged marriage, possessiveness, protective koner my beloved 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: listen i just need a sweet lovesick koner is my life so i wrote it and made it happen hehe enjoy! || follow @cremebruhleewrites to be notified whenever i post a new story!

There was no telling when your tryst with the guard really started. Was it when he bowed to you as you entered the grounds of Winterfell, keeping his moonish dark eyes trained on your face and mumbling “My lady”, and you smiled back at him? You weren’t a Stark by blood, only by name— Eddard had found you in the rubble of a fallen kingdom and brought you back to Winterfell to live as a princess— and most times, it was obvious that Sansa and Arya weren’t your real sisters. They were kind for the most part, but they didn’t smile at guards, and neither did you. But something about him had made you say, “You. Your name?” “K-Koner, my lady,” he had replied, and your smile grew. 

Or was it the first real conversation you shared, sneaking around the kitchen at night and getting caught by him, only to share a sweet tart and whisper about everything and nothing? You had sat on the floor, your nightgown pooling around you as he removed his cowl from his head and stifled laughter as you dribbled the sweet juice in your lap. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t…” you had started, and Koner had tilted his head, expecting more. “You know. A princess. A lady. I wish I was just a girl.” And he had replied, “I’ll never call you any of that ever again.” And he hadn’t. From that moment on, when you were alone, you were simply “Girl”. 

Maybe the start was your first kiss. There had been a large dinner, some sort of celebration, and Koner had complimented your dress, only for you to compliment his polished armor and the sword hanging at his side. He had looked around at the bustling dinner and his hand had delicately slipped into yours, and he tugged you out of the dining hall and into the darkened corridor. He pushed you into a corner and nestled his lips against yours and, even though you had never kissed anyone before that, your body reacted, and you threw your arms around his neck and tugged him down to kiss you even deeper. 

Whatever the first moment was, it all culminated in one cold night in the winter. Your fire was low as you tried to sleep, but a raging snowstorm battled against your window and kept you awake. If you weren’t awake, you might have not heard the creak of your chamber door. “Who’s there?” you called, sitting up and tugging the linens and silks up to hide your body. “Hello?” 

“It’s only me, girl,” Koner’s voice came to you, and your heart fluttered. “May I enter?” 

“Yes,” you told him, and he had stepped into your chambers, being quick to shut the door behind himself. Something about seeing your Koner in the low light of the dying fire was invigorating, and you sat onto your knees, beckoning him closer. He removed his gloves and tucked them into a pocket of his cloak, and you shivered when his warm hands touched your cheek. You both knew what he was there for, his intentions not easily hidden, and you had breathed a sigh before whispering, “Kiss me.” 

He fell into your bed with ease, as if he was made to live there. That first night, you had clutched the back of his neck and his shoulders as he fucked you, his mouth exploring everywhere he could reach. Koner wasn’t the least bit respectful with the way he fucked you, spitting on your cunt and sliding into you, but he promised you on each huffed breath that, next time, he would be better. “But for now,” he said, and he bit at your neck. “I just need to feel you.” 

From then on, meeting was a nightly affair. During the day, you would see your lover around the grounds of the castle, and he would wink one of those beautiful dark eyes at you if he caught you staring for too long. It always filled your chest with warmth to imagine the things he was thinking about you, and he always delivered answers to your curiosity at night. His thoughts, according to him, were never innocent, always about how best to fuck you, and you couldn’t help your gleeful laughter whenever Koner proudly told you “I thought of this all day”. 

After he would fuck you, you had a routine of laying together in your bed, his big, warm arms holding you tightly as he kissed your head and whispered to you about how his day was going. You would tell him all about your day as well, and the conversation always turned to how much you missed each other. He would kiss you and promise you that, one day, you would be allowed to see him. “Maybe I’d be allowed to court you,” he said, his fingers lightly tracing your bare skin. “I know that’s not true, but—“

“Maybe someday,” you interjected. “Maybe someday, my family will let you court me. Or we could just run away together to a new kingdom.” Koner smiled with you, and he kissed your hair. 

The nights always ended as the faintest hint of sunlight peeked at your window, and Koner had to go about getting dressed once more. You always tried to postpone his leaving, grabbing his wrist or kissing him or any litany of other distractions, but Koner always had to break your heart and leave. “If I’m caught in your chambers, your father would kill me,” he told you one night, his hands grabbing at your face. “And he really would do it.” 

You had no doubts about that, but it still made your heart shatter with every reminder. Koner was a guard, you were a princess; it was doomed from the very moment he laid his dark eyes on you. “I love you,” you would tell him, and he would kiss you hard, trying to imbue every inch of his love into your body. 

“I love you too.” 

You heard the solid thud of your door as it began to open, and your heart beat quickly inside your chest. You weren’t in bed, as was usual; instead, you were sitting on the finely woven rug in front of your fire, watching the flames lick at the stone wall of the fireplace. It was the most you could do to keep from crying all night, waiting on Koner and watching the fire. 

“It’s only me, girl,” Koner’s voice came to you in a whisper, and you sniffled, not even turning to him. “My girl?” 

“Here,” you said softly, and you heard the door close again behind you. His leather armor squeaked as he settled it on the floor next to your bed, and, before you were quite ready for him, his scent surrounded you. He smelled like the outdoors, pine and soil and smoke and the musk of his own skin, and his arms were strong as he held you. 

“Is something the matter?” Koner whispered, his voice hardly beating the crackling of the fire. “You look sad.” 

You turned to face him at his place behind you, and you chewed your lip as you looked at him, in his thin undershirt and trousers, his hair matted and tousled from his cowl. The sight of your man, strong but thin, lovely but dirty, made your tears return, and you turned and threw yourself onto him. “Oh, Koner!” you sobbed into his chest, and he held you tight, despite not knowing the reason for your tears. 

“What’s wrong?” Koner asked. “Have you been hurt?” 

“No,” you whimpered. Then, a moment passed where you thought about it, really thought about it, and you sobbed, “Yes!” 

“Where?” Koner asked instantly, his trained duties returning to him. His hands began to search your body, looking for any injury, and he added, “Who did it?” 

“No, my love,” you sniffled. “I-I mean… My father, he-he told me today… I was married. The deal went through this morning, and I-I leave tomorrow for the new kingdom to meet my husband.”

“Who is it?” Koner asked, his chest heaving as he breathed. “What’s his name?” 

“Does it matter?” you asked, your voice watery as you held back sobs, and Koner clenched his teeth and grabbed your arms tightly. 

“Yes!” He said. “Of course it matters! It matters to me! The bastard taking you away from me, I deserve to know his name.” 

“I don’t even know it,” you told him. “I-It’s a political marriage, Koner, you have to know that it means nothing to me.” 

“That’s not the point!” Koner cried, exasperated. “The point is that you’re going to marry this dog, and I can’t follow you to your new home. I belong to the land, not to you. I’m not one of your maids, I won’t be coming with you. He’s taking you away from me, and I…” He stopped, his eyes darting everywhere in your room but you, and you put your hands on his cheeks, pulling him in close. 

“Nobody could ever make me feel the way you do,” you told him in a hushed tone. “I love you.” 

Koner nodded in agreement, and he pressed his hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I love you too,” he told you, his voice soft over the crackling of the fire. “We’ll find a way. I swear it.” 

He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, and you grabbed at him quickly to tug him closer. His hand on your face was commanding, drawing you closer and closer into him, and he whispered a hushed “Fuck” against your lips. 

Without a word, his hands fell to your hips, and he pulled you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist as the kiss deepened. Koner held you reverently, his grip gentle but heavy, as his mouth moved against yours, licking up into you and tasting you, and you rolled your hips down onto his. You could feel his erection through his thin trousers already, and you couldn’t help but smile at it. 

“Excited to see me?” you whispered, and Koner chased you back into the messy kiss, his fingers digging hard into your thighs. 

“Of course,” Koner told you. “Always.”

You clutched at his shoulders as his tongue claimed your mouth again, and you moaned softly. There was no sensation quite like kissing your lover, but an ache persisted in your chest. You didn’t want to think that it would be the last time, but you worried incessantly that it might be. The consideration that this night might be your last was enough to make you feel sick, and you felt a tear slip from your eye as you kissed him. 

You hid your tears well enough, Koner’s eyes closed as he kissed you, and he took your bottom lip between his teeth and gently sucked for a moment before releasing you. His eyes fluttered open, already drunk on your kisses, and he silently wiped your tears away with his fingers. “I’ll find a way,” he told you. His hands busied themselves with your nightgown, and he bunched the fabric up at your waist so that his fingers could touch your quivering cunt. “Even if it kills me, I’ll find a way to be with you.” 

One arm around his shoulders, the other touching his chest, you pressed your forehead against his and kissed his lips once more. His fingers deftly stroked your soaked skin, and he opened his mouth against yours in a quiet laugh as he plunged his first finger inside you. “Oh, my girl,” he whispered. “Already sopping wet; I ought to take pity on you and take you here on this rug.” 

“Please,” you whispered shakily. “I need you, I can’t wait any longer.” 

“Yes, you can,” Koner chuckled. “You’ll wait all night if I tell you to.” 

“Are you commanding me?” you giggled. “Who are you to give me orders?” 

Another finger quickly joined his first, and he crooked them up inside you to bury into that spot that made you whimper. Your head fell back at the pleasure that rocked your core, and Koner smiled, pleased with himself for resolving you down to nothing using only his fingers. 

“I’m your man,” Koner told you. “I’m the one who fucks you until you have nothing to say, until you have nothing in your brain. I think I’m more than qualified to give you orders.” 

“Fuck me,” you gasped. “Koner, my love, please fuck me.” 

“Aw,” Koner pouted playfully. “You said please. You sound like a desperate whore.” 

“Maybe I am,” you replied. “Only you know for sure.” 

Koner huffed a laugh out of his nose, and he conceded. “Yes, my love, you’re one desperate whore,” he told you, and he stole a kiss before pulling his fingers from you and  redirecting his attention to his trousers, undoing the lacing at the top that kept his cock confined. “But you’re mine.”

“All yours,” you breathed, and you watched as Koner tugged out his cock. Thick and long, flushed red; the delicious sight made your heart slam against your ribcage. You greedily watched as he stroked himself for a few beats, hissing a bit through his teeth as his thumb swiped the leaking head of his cock, and he finally looked at you with those round eyes. 

You didn’t need to speak as you settled yourself on top of him, and you took his cock in your hand. Silently, you positioned him at your wet entrance, a small bundle of anxiousness and excitement nestled in your lower belly, and you slowly sank yourself onto his cock. You moaned softly as he stretched and filled you, the familiar sting of it more than beautiful, and Koner’s cheeks grew rosy as he felt your walls pulse around him. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “My girl, yes… Just like that.”

“Koner,” you whined softly, and his mouth captured yours in a kiss again. His hand rested on the back of your head as he kissed you, and you gasped into his mouth as you felt him settle fully inside you, his cock nestled deep. “My love…”

Koner shushed you gently, his hand stroking and smoothing down your hair, and he stole a kiss as he slowly rolled his hips up into you. You both were quick to find a rhythm, your bodies moving together and feeling together, and you couldn’t help your moans as he fucked you. You buried your face in his strong neck to try to dampen your moans, and he held you close to him, kissing the side of your face. “My sweetheart,” he whispered. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“You feel better,” you whispered, and Koner was quick to hook an arm under your leg, and he manhandled you to the floor, your back rubbing against the woven rug. His hand didn’t abandon your leg once he was settled over you; instead, he tugged your leg higher to rest against his shoulder, and he kissed at your bare thigh. 

“You hug my cock so well,” Koner told you, and he began to properly fuck you, a blush rising from his chest onto his neck. Your hands grappled with his shirt, tugging the fabric up and over his head, and you smoothed your hands down his firm and built body. You often forgot that your Koner was a trained guard, skilled in combat and deadly with a sword, and seeing his muscles always reminded you of what a handsome man you had. 

You watched a drip of sweat fall from his curls, and you breathed heavily as you found purchase in his hair. He panted as he fucked you, swiping down to steal kisses as his cock speared in and out of you, and you sobbed at each deep thrust that threatened to split you in two. He was rougher tonight than ever before, holding your leg up to fuck you deep, his balls hitting your ass with every thrust. It was loud and sloppy, not the beautiful thing you were used to, and you gasped, “Koner, my love, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“You’re just—” you started, and the smooth skin of his hip rubbed right against your clit, the patch of hair at the top of his cock aiding in the stimulation. You cried out at the feeling, your walls squeezing his cock tight, and your words came out in a stutter when you spoke. “F-Fucking me so hard. Wh-What’s wrong?” 

“I need you to feel me,” Koner said. “I need you to ache with the memory of me, I need you to be filled with my seed when your new husband tries to claim you. I need you to feel me and only me; not him, never him. Only me. And the best way for you to never forget how I feel is if I fuck you into next week.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his last statement, but you pressed your forehead against his and kissed him long and hard, his plush lips pressed sweetly against yours. “I love you,” you whispered. “I love only you.” 

“Only me,” Koner whispered. “Gods, my love, I’m close.” 

“Already?” you giggled lightly, and Koner rolled his eyes. 

“It never takes long with you,” he said, and his hand abandoned your leg to grab at your nightgown, still bunched up around your hips. Koner worked quickly to tug it over your head, freeing your entire body to him, and his mouth attached to your soft chest. He sucked a mark just over your collarbone, branding you as his, and you hissed when his teeth added with his lips. 

“Now he’ll know,” Koner said. “Now he’ll see you belong to somebody else.” 

“My love,” you whimpered out. His body was still pleasuring yours, his hips rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves with every mean thrust in, and you said, “I’m close too.” 

“I’m finishing inside you,” Koner told you. “Need to claim you one last time.” 

“Please,” you breathed. “Do it, I’m yours.” 

“Mine,” Koner hissed, grabbing your hips and shoving himself far inside you, burying himself up to the hilt. His balls nestled against your ass, and you felt him twitch inside you before the red flush pinched at his cheeks and ears. His face relaxed, his eyes closing and his mouth falling open, and he moaned deep inside his chest as he filled you. 

The warmth of his release inside you made you squeal as it drew you to your end as well, and your cunt hugged him tight, milking him for every last drop. Koner’s head dropped into your neck as he panted and tried to regain some semblance of control, but his  hips stuttered and his cock flexed against your sticky walls. 

You breathed together, your heartbeats matching each other as you laid naked and prone on the rug, the fire still crackling beside you. Delicately, you pushed one of his errant curls back, and you molded your hand to the back of his head as you pulled him down into a kiss. It was slow, languid, beautiful, and, when Koner pulled away, you opened your eyes to see his own eyes wide and blown-out. You couldn’t help but smile at the look of it, and Koner chuckled lightly. 

“My girl,” he whispered. “I’ll never forget your smile.” 

“Maybe I’ll come back to Winterfell one day,” you told him. “Maybe I’ll visit and we can be together, if only for a night.” 

“One night is all I’ll need,” Koner said. “I adore you, my girl. I’ll never find another like you.” 

“Oh, Koner,” you cooed softly, a frown overtaking your face. “But you must! Don’t close your heart off for me!”

“My heart has been closed for others the very first day you looked at me,” Koner said. “Your first day in Winterfell, you were so gorgeous. We were young then, only children, but I knew that there was no other woman for me.” 

“Children?” you echoed, and Koner nodded. 

“Young little creatures,” Koner chuckled. “And now look at us.”

You sniffled back your tears, and you pressed your hand to his cheek, feeling the rough beginnings of facial hair on his skin. “I love you,” you said. “I love only you.” 

“Only you,” Koner nodded, and he stole one last kiss to your mouth. “It’s only ever been you, my girl.” 

#koner #koner x reader #koner smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #my writing

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖘𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖙 | koner x dark!wildling!reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | a journey to the outskirts of winterfell in search of valuables to plunder led you to take something from a lone guard in the forest— something you can't sell or trade.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | over 4k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | smut (NONCON/DUBCON, reader forces koner not the other way around!), knife kink, multiple orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, dom!reader and sub(ish)!koner, koner getting nonconned but also being kinda into it (actually, very into it), sort of implied inexperienced koner

a/n - you do not need to have seen game of thrones to read this, I wrote it without seeing it! the only context you'll need is that wildlings are nomadic people who live north of 'the wall' (big ass block of ice) without being ruled by any kingdoms

You stalked closer and closer to your prey, carefully laying each step on the forest floor so as not to be heard.  It took a great deal of stealthiness to walk softly on crunchy wet snow like this, but that posed little trouble for you: you had to hunt like this every day, to eat.

But today, you weren’t hunting for a meal— not even for furs.  You had your sights on a guard of Winterfell.

It was his own fault for straying so far from his post; sure, you were far from where you were meant to be as well, but the life of a wildling sometimes required raiding down South so you could gather resources not available in your usual turf.  You hadn’t expected to encounter anyone this far from your destination, but you heard him a few metres back— he was talking to himself, the dolt.  Humming occasionally as well, then complaining that he couldn’t get the blasted song out of his head.

For a minute, you watched him, wondering if he’d ever turn so you could see his face— his whole head was covered with a black cowl, so you couldn’t see any of him.  Which was better, obviously, because it meant he wouldn’t see you, either; but then again, he seemed to be off in his own world anyways, and you were much better camouflaged than him in that black leather.  After a while, he began to kick rocks around to entertain himself, once squatting to scoop up some snow and pat it into a ball in his gloved hands; which at once he tossed and watched explode against a tree with a snort of delight.  You scoffed to yourself— these guards were more and more daft each time you came here. 

Your eyes glanced at the ground around you, behind this tree you’d ducked beside once you heard the guard nearby.  There was a decently-sized rock, you could probably club him over the head with it and be done, but that sounded a little too easy for your tastes.  Plus, you had this fabulous dagger you’d stolen last time you ventured this far South… maybe you could use it to cut his armour off of him to take for yourself.  

You only had to wait a second longer for the right moment: you stood up and dashed forward.  He didn't hear you coming until it was far too late— he hadn't even turned around enough to see you before you were on him.

He yelped pathetically— more like a screech, really— as you tackled him; his cowl came off in the struggle, revealing dirty-blonde curls cropped short against his head.  He put up a bit of a fight, and though he was strong enough his balance was poor; he toppled over as you found a tight grip on his wrists so he couldn’t swing his fists at you anymore.

As soon as you had the guard pinned to the ground under you, your dagger was against his throat.  One swipe and his blood would pour from his neck and soak into the earth.

But it was his neck that made you hesitate: you looked at his face, something you usually disliked to do until after they were dead.  His pale, soft skin made you realise how young he must be; his face gave away even more.

The poor thing was terrified, understandably.  There was no defiance or disgust on his face, only terror as he shut his eyes tight and swallowed nervously under the pressure of your blade.  He couldn't have been older than twenty-five, probably even younger, and he looked the opposite of battle-hardened as he laid here beneath you, bracing for death.

Eventually noticing your hesitation, he carefully opened one of his eyes and looked up at you with it.  Then they both opened wide, as if reacting to something— and you didn't know what, until his head turned slightly and his eyes drifted to your hair.  "You're—" he realised, but you bared your teeth and pressed your blade harder against his neck to shut him up.

Of course a Winterfell guard would be so perplexed to be overpowered by a woman.  Their tiny little brains couldn't comprehend such a thing, and their tiny little dicks—

You knitted your eyebrows together, feeling something under your rear as you sat on him; when you shifted slightly, he whimpered, his mouth falling open for a moment.  You ever-so-slightly relaxed your dagger-wielding hand, though the other that gripped his wrist above his head held on tighter.  A shudder jumped up your back when you were forced to realise what you were feeling as you straddled his lap.

Well, it wasn't tiny…

His expression softened, and you didn't like how comfortable he was getting; snarling, you pushed the steel blade harder against his throat again, making him gasp and tilt his head back.  "I can't imagine how you can be aroused in a time like this," you scolded him.  

"S-sorry…" he whispered, his voice weak and shaky.

"About to die and all you can manage to do is let your cock swell against my arse?" you hissed.

"It's not on purpose," he defended, "but you— you're on top of me and y-you're… I'm only a man."

"A man?  Your face is soft and smooth, like a little boy," you noticed as you lightly dragged your dagger across his jaw, "and you scream like a little girl.  Is that what passes for a man on this side of the wall?"

Your insults didn't seem to deter the erection under you, actually you swore you could almost feel it throb.  "Is this what women are like on your side of the wall?" the guard asked quietly.  "Ruthless killers?"

You smiled proudly, though he probably saw the sharp grin of a predator.  "Something like that," you agreed, "though none as fearsome as me.  Haven't you heard the stories of wildling women?"

He swallowed again, throat bobbing.  "O-one or two…"

You were pleased because you could tell exactly what kind of stories he'd heard.  His mummy probably told him when he was a boy that if he was bad, the evil scary wildlings would snatch him up.  "We're not soft and weak like your women here," you informed him.

"I can tell…" he mumbled.

You smirked proudly.  "But I guess that doesn't bother you much, does it?  You seem to like it, in fact."

He didn't answer, or nod, but you could tell by the way his massive brown eyes stared up at you that you were right.  Well, that and the massive boner under your bum.

You carefully pulled at the string that kept his cape tied at his clavicle; you unbuckled the leather straps that held on his chestplate.  “I’ll be taking this, if you don’t mind,” you decided with a proud smirk.

“Not sure it’ll fit you,” he warned, and you frowned.

“To sell, idiot.”

You tossed the armour aside, leaving him in only the thin wool shirt underneath— not much to protect from the chilly air, but then again, to you this weather was temperate.

Dragging your knife slowly down, you watched it slice through his tunic like butter.  His breathing picked up, but he dared not let his chest or stomach move as he breathed; you saw him shaking a bit as you got a peek at his skin.

When the garment was split from the top to the bottom, you grabbed it and pushed it open at either side— and you laughed with a snort at the back of your throat when you gazed upon his exposed chest: all but completely hairless.  "Pathetic," you spat, and he made a little face: kind of sad, kind of something else.  "Men are men where I'm from."

"Women are ladies where I'm from," he talked back, and you stopped holding him down with one hand so you could slap him quickly across the face.

"Women are useless where you're from," you corrected, "and apparently, so are the men.  If you could even be considered one."

As his cheek reddened from the slap, his cock jumped; you snickered proudly, moving your hips just barely so you could watch him choke on his whine.

It felt pleasantly thick, from what you could tell, and you liked the way he looked up at you when you moved.  You probably wouldn't have thought twice about killing a young, pretty boy like this if it hadn't been so long since you felt any kind of touch… but for a while now, you'd had a natural instinct— a craving, even— for the sort of pleasure your own fingers just couldn't bring.

That was what inspired you to lift your hips and start to tug your thick wool trousers down your thighs.

"Oh, fuck," he mumbled, "are you— oh, is this really—?"

"Quiet," you ordered as you cut his trousers open, making him whimper for a second out of fear that your dagger would slip and he'd lose some important anatomy.

Once all the requisite garments were out of the way, you quickly spat onto the ends of your fingers, wiping it over yourself to make this just a bit easier.  He sighed shakily when he saw you do it; even more when you gripped his shaft, guiding the thick head of him to your cunt.

You shut your eyes as you sank down slowly onto it, but you still heard him gasp and groan as your body took his in.  

"O-oh!" he choked, and you felt a hand suddenly land on your thigh.  Sneering, you grabbed it and held it down against the ground— still only halfway down the length of his cock.  "You're so warm— you feel so—"

"Shut up," you hissed as you sat down in his lap, trying not to react to how deep he was inside you.  It nearly made your stomach ache, the way his cock filled you up to the brim and curved right as it reached the end of you.  It had been years since you felt a man in this way, and though you hated to admit it, none had ever felt quite like this.

"Fuck, fuck," he chanted, writhing under you.  "Gods, aren't you gonna move?"

"Shut up," you demanded again, eyes shut and head tilting back, as you started to grind your hips.

"Oh gods," he moaned, hands balled up into fists just past where you held his wrists down.  "You feel— fuck."

Every rock of your hips gave a nice rub to your clit, not to mention stirring the thick member inside you.  The stretch of it was still a little sharp, but it got more comfortable over time.

"So fucking tight," the man under you hissed.  "You're tighter than the women here, too."

"How would you fucking know?" you snapped, moving a little faster on top of him, and he groaned.

You found a pattern that you liked quickly, and soon the only sounds in the forest were your panting breaths, his pathetic moans, and the rustle of leaves under your knees as you moved.  

He didn't offer much protest at first, but he started to struggle after a few minutes— uselessly, of course.  You weren't sure why until he suddenly made his demand.

"Lay back," he suggested.

"No."

"I can pleasure you."

You only scoffed as your answer.  It was much easier to take your own pleasure, and you'd never be fucked by someone like him, anyways.  As if you would just lay in the dirt and spread your legs for a guard, so he could have his way and probably spill his load in seconds— only to leave you unsatisfied, of course.

"Please," he added eventually, and you grunted as you moved faster— trying to get this over with, so you wouldn't have to hear his whining anymore.

Ignoring him, you sighed as a pleasant feeling began to grow inside you: pleasant, but needy, spurring you to grind down on him harder and faster.  The fat head of his cock brushed up against something deep in you and you gasped loudly.

"Y'like it, huh?" he taunted— you didn't even open your eyes to hit him across the face again, and he groaned.

You kept riding with heavy breaths, biting down on your lip as a moan threatened to come out; the snow under your knees had started to melt, soaking through the fur pants and wetting your skin, but you didn’t notice much or care.  You’d found just the right angle to force his cock to rub that place that made your legs shake— so much that it was almost difficult to keep lifting yourself above him, and yet as the pleasure grew you were helpless to stop.  You didn’t think you could stop now even if someone came upon you; guards rarely moved alone, he probably had a partner somewhere in the woods, and what would he think of finding his companion on the ground with a knife to his neck and a wildling woman riding his cock with reckless abandon?

You smirked to yourself; maybe he’d just appreciate the show, you decided.  And then I could kill them both.

The heat built as you moved, gathering inside your furs and making them stick to your skin. The unpleasant clamminess made you groan as you reached up to undress yourself— just enough to get some breeze on your upper body.  

As you untied the cords and let your chest become exposed to the evening air, you heard him groan happily.  "Oh, fuck," he swore, hands struggling a bit more against your grip.  You leaned forward to give your movements better leverage, but the unintended consequence was pushing your breasts right into his face.  

You felt his mouth on you a second later, muffled moans around your stiffening nipples as he latched onto them.  You scoffed but made no move to stop him.  "You cry like a babe, you babble like a babe— now you suckle like one, too.  Southern men are so strange."

"M'not Southern," he broke away from you as he moved from one nipple to the other, mumbling against your skin.

"South of the wall, you're a Southerner to me," you grinned, though your smile fell when his tongue flicked at the bud on your breast, a sharp jolt of pleasure running through you at the feeling.  "Oh…"

You felt him smile around your skin and you sneered.  You hadn't expected to give away that anything he did might bring you pleasure— you didn't want to give him any sort of power over you.  But it did feel good to be touched this way, to feel his mouth somewhere you'd never had a mouth before… you'd never been this naked with a man before, the weather where you're from simply didn't permit it.

You switched from rocking your hips back and forth to bouncing them up and down, and he moaned loudly— he even started to try to move his own hips to meet yours, thrusting up into your warmth.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he repeated over and over.  "So good— you feel so good… you're so beautiful…"

You hated the way his words made your inner walls tighten up, but nobody had ever called you that before.  And it was the last thing expected him to say— you figured he thought you were a brute, a wild beast of a woman, and maybe he did… but apparently, that was sort of his thing.  You scoffed to yourself to imagine this was his fantasy: a feral woman overpowers him in the night, takes what she wants, and disappears never to be seen again.  Lucky for him, he'd accidentally fit right into one of your fantasies, though you'd never admit that you had any: defeating a man in combat and in doing so cause him to develop affections for you.  The fact that he had a kind face and a big cock was just an added bonus.

“I— oh, I’ll— get off,” he instructed suddenly.

“I told you— fuck— to be quiet,” you groaned, moving faster as you chased that tight feeling building in your gut.

“Get off,” he warned again, “I’m going to— gods, I’m—!”

He never got a chance to say it, but it was obvious that he was coming inside you— you could feel his cock flexing inside you, and you chuckled as you realised how quickly he’d reached his ecstasy.

You were going to take a bit longer, of course, not as easily to please as a young guard who may as well have been a virgin; and since your pleasure was all you were here for, you didn't see any reason to stop— not even his protests.  "Fuck, FUCK!" he yelped.  "O-oh, oh gods, you're not— you— fuck!"

You barely paid any attention to it, nor to the way he shook under you as you kept riding him after he'd come already.  As your walls dragged on every side of his sensitive and pulsing cock, he writhed weakly against your tight grasp on his wrists.

"Fuckfuckfuck— please, please, slow down," he sobbed.

"I'll slow down when I'm done," you offered, and he choked on a cry.

"Hurts, fuck, it hurts," he whimpered.  "Ah fuck, fuck!"

"If it hurts so badly," you panted, "why are you still hard?"

He grunted through his teeth.  "I don't know, I don't—" 

Another slap shut him up quickly.  It was supposed to be a rhetorical question.

You kept riding as he sobbed and whined, though you had to laugh to yourself when it only took a few more minutes for him to start trying to thrust up into you again.

"I— oh gods, I'll— I'm going to—" he tried to warn you, but it happened suddenly: his cock pulsed inside you and another few pumps of come, weaker than the last, dribbled inside you.  His eyes rolled back in his head and he fought to lift himself but you kept him pinned there, watching the way he looked wrecked by a second orgasm without stopping since the first.  

He cried weakly, and the overflowing come inside you made every movement sticky and squelching; it was disgusting, but for better or for worse, it turned you on.  Feeling his cock flex right against your spot made your head fall back, and your own body started to shake and shiver.  "Fuck," you hissed under your breath, your cunt gripping him tight in rhythmic pulses as your orgasm began.

He gurgled helplessly as your walls milked his cock of those last few drops of come, until finally the waves subsided and everything stilled.

For a minute, you were just panting— so was he— and letting the numb feeling pass you by.

When you were satisfied, finally, you lifted your hips and let his softening cock slip out, which made him sob pathetically.  He hissed when he was finally free, and you stood up over him as you quickly pulled your trousers back up.

You stepped over him, turning away to adjust the furs over your shoulders, expecting to walk away any moment and never see him again.  He, apparently, had different expectations.

"D-do you have to leave so quickly?" he wondered.  "I thought we could talk."

You didn't answer, focused on covering your body again.  He waited for a moment, apparently still hoping for a reply, before he got up and brushed the snow off himself.

"Can I at least know your name?"

"I must go,” you shook your head.

"You could take me with you!" he suggested eagerly.

You gave him an unimpressed glance.  "You'd freeze in a minute past the wall, hairless and skinny as you are."

"Then stay here," he pleaded.  "You'd make a pretty wife."

That made you stop what you were doing, and laugh.  "Gods!  Wife?!  Are you mad?" you asked as you stared at him in bewilderment.

"A bit," he agreed with a smile.  "I just never— I'd imagined—"

He stopped talking over himself and sighed, starting over again. 

"Maybe a night, then," he suggested.  "Just stay with me one night.  The other guards won't find you if you're with me a-and if you'd like, we could fuck again."

You snorted.  "Can you get it up again tonight?"

He hesitated.  "I can at least try— I'm sure if you show me more of you I won't be able to help it.  I-I barely even got to see you before…”

You watched his face as he looked down, brown eyes following his gloved hand as it traced down your chest over the thick furs that covered you.

"No, wait," he mumbled, “it couldn't just be one night— you can't go because what if… what if you're…"

His hand drifted to brush over your stomach.  "Pregnant?" you realised what he meant.  "I'm not too worried about that, virile men have beards."

"I have one," he frowned defensively, "I just shave it!"

You rolled your eyes.  "It's better this way, regardless.  I disappear and we forget this night.  I have to return to my people and hope they won't find out somehow that I sullied myself with a Winterfell guard."

"They'll find out if you're pregnant."

"I'll tell them it was another traveller."

He seemed heartbroken enough to imagine you taking his hypothetical child without him, let alone that you would lie and forget the real father.  Sighing, he pulled you closer by your hips and rested his forehead on yours.  "Tell them the truth," he pleaded.  "Tell them about the beautiful night we had in Winterfell—"

"Fucking on the ground, like animals— sobbing with a knife to your neck because I've gone past your limits— that's beautiful to you?"

"Yes," he whispered, "you're beautiful to me."

You smirked.  “You know, I’m almost impressed.  Not many men would consider me marriage material.”

“Most men are fools,” he shrugged.

“And you are the most foolish man I ever encountered,” you announced— but only when you said it aloud did you realise the opportunity you had before you.  You looked up at him, and just that made his expression flood with hope.  “You’d like me to stay, yes?”

He beamed widely; “Will you?”

You could already imagine it: all that armour, all those weapons and treasure, inside the walls of Winterfell.  He was going to lead you right to it, for free— you could skip the sneaking and the hiding and just walk in the front gates, join him in his quarters, wait for him to fall asleep and take as much as you could carry.  It was too easy.  All you had to do was outrun the night watch, or kill them… neither would pose much trouble.

He was still talking, you realised suddenly; rambling about where he slept and how he’d make room for you there, that he could keep you company when he wasn’t on duty.  “I think you’ll like it, not as cold here as you’re used to,” he continued, “a-and I know you said I’m mad, but… but maybe you would like to be my wife, someday.  If I show you what it would be like, and I could—”

“Take me there,” you interrupted, and he looked down at your face with a sparkle in his eyes.  “If you put back on your chestplate, you should be able to bring me as your prisoner— tell the other guards that you’re taking me to your quarters to, er, have your way with me.”

He blushed a little, probably wondering just as you were if they could possibly imagine that you had already had your way with him.

“And I’ll stay with you,” you offered, reaching up to touch his chest gingerly, “for a while.”

He looked at you like he was trying to suppress his excitement so he could seem more tough, but it wasn’t really working.  “All right,” he agreed, and you started to walk away so you could both go— but he grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him.  “Wait… kiss me first.”

“What for?”

His smile was gentle, if a little mischievous, as he stepped closer to you.  “Because I’d like it,” he answered softly, reaching up to toy with a lock of your hair briefly.  “Do your people even kiss?”

You’d be happy to kiss him if it made him stop asking stupid questions like that; so you did, putting your hand on his shoulder and leaning it, pressing your mouth to his.  His lips were full and soft, and he sighed as he kissed you back— much more gentle and sweet than you expected him to kiss you, after all this.

You shouldn't have let it go on for so long, that was your fault, but it was actually quite nice; you weren't sure you'd ever been kissed quite like this. He was the one that broke away first, leaving you fighting the urge to chase his lips for more. He smiled at you gently, a glimmer in his eyes, as his thumb and finger held your chin. "Seems you'll make for a very willing prisoner, my wildling," he cooed.

#koner x reader #koner smut #dark!reader x koner #koner dark fic

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter two: it’s getting late | read chapter one

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: would be lying if i said this was for tim's birthday tmrw. it was rlly just because the reception to chapter 1 was so lovely and i also did this with my other tim fic—posting chapter 2 early, i mean. but we'll just have to work with this. happy early birthday tim you are annoying and i want to study you under a microscope <3

You expect Red Robin’s appearance to be a one-off thing. 

It is not. 

Instead, the next day, you get Black Bat. 

It jolts you from the phone call you’re having.

“—understand the temptation to tell them to screw off but I really don’t want to get… shot…”

You trail off, watching, wide-eyed as your newest vigilante customer steps into Circle K. 

Black Bat cuts an imposing figure, her suit made up mostly of inky black material, with a few accents of gold, the Bat symbol on her chest standing out the most. Her black cape flutters behind her, moving like a shadow. She looks the most like Batman, you think, with the cowl and the pointed ears. Except the eyes of the mask are black and the bottom of her face is completely covered—stitched closed. Considerably more creepy, you think, goosebumps breaking out over your skin. Though that could be the fan you have on, fluttering your hair as it makes a slow rotation.

“Hey, did you die or something?”

“No,” you mutter, watching, your heart starting to pick up as Black Bat comes up to the counter.

You aren’t sure what you expect, but it’s not—

“Do you have Red Bull?” Her voice is low and melodic. Not befitting of her… general aura.

Wordlessly, you point to the refrigerators at the back.

“Thanks,” she says, then she turns and walks away. You can only see the top of her head and the pointed ears of her cowl. A second later, you hear the suction-y sound of the refrigerator door being opened. 

A voice calls your name from the other end of the line. 

Your best friend, Stephanie Brown, who gave you a call to see how your summer break has been treating you. 

“Sorry,” you say, clearing your throat. “Just got distracted by something outside.”

“Something outside? That’s not reassuring. At all.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Like I was saying, I’m not gonna tell them that. It’s tempting but like I said, I don’t want to get arrested or some shit.”

“The charges wouldn’t even hold. It’s a free country. I can tell a cop to fuck off if I want to. That’s my god-given right.” 

“I appreciate the spirit, but I don’t think the GCPD would agree with you.”

“Well, the GCPD can kiss my ass.”

“You and me both, Stephie. You and me both. So, how’s, uh, Metropolis?”

“Metropolis is Metropolis. Brainiac nearly took control of the city yesterday but what’s new? Mom’s having a good time, though. Even if things are way overpriced over here. I mean, seriously. Eight bucks for a cup of coffee at this place we went to today. They’re crazy.”

Steph babbles in your ear for a few more minutes. Long enough for Black Bat to reemerge from the aisle, two cans of Red Bull and a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms in hand. You wonder who the second person is. Red Robin, maybe? 

He’d been odd about the hot chocolates. Odd in general. But that’s what you get with these vigilante types. 

No matter. You quickly focus on your current situation, giving Black Bat a small, embarrassed smile and pointing at the phone crammed between your shoulder and ear, mouthing Sorry. 

You shouldn’t be doing this on the job and you should’ve told Steph you had to go but quite frankly, you need the assurance of another person with you. Even if said person can’t do anything and is across the harbor in Metropolis on a mini-vacation with her mom. 

 Black Bat shouldn’t give you trouble about it. You hope. She just scares you a little more than Red Robin. Which is silly because he’s a guy and probably more potentially dangerous but. You know. Her suit is just… too similar to Batman’s, and he’s the one who scares you the most.   

Still, Black Bat just shrugs and waves a hand. “It’s fine.”

You nod your thanks, then scan everything and bag it. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill from her utility belt and you give her the change, which she promptly puts in the tip jar. A kind gesture, really, considering the twenty is a bit of an overshoot for her total, leaving you with a nice tip. 

You guess that if anything else, at least it’s nice that these vigilantes tip. 

After dropping the receipt into the bag, she takes it and waves at you. 

Mystified, you wave back. 

Then she steps out, cape fluttering behind her.

“Anyway,” Steph says on the other end as you focus on her voice again. “It’s pretty fun but I miss home. Can’t wait to be back in the city. We’re hanging out as soon as I do, by the way. How are things with you?”

Oh, you can’t keep it in. You have to tell her. 

“I saw the Flash two days ago.”

But she misunderstands.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I saw that in the news. ‘Cause of Trickster, right? Bet Batman wasn’t happy about that.”

“No,” you say. “I’m saying I saw him. Here. At Circle K. He dropped in to grab a bite to eat. I know you and Tim absolutely refuse to believe me when I say he visited me and that we’re friends—which, by the way, he totally reaffirmed when I saw him—but he was here.”

“We’re jealous, that’s all,” she says. “Just don’t want you running off with the Flash thinking he’s cooler than we are. Which, to be clear, he isn’t. Not me, anyway. Tim is up for debate.”

“Well, you’re about to be a little more jealous.”

“And why is that?”

“Because since he visited, weird shit has started happening.”

“Weird shit is always happening in Gotham. What is so special about this weird shit in particular?”

“Oh, he said something stupid to Red Robin—Red Robin came in a little while after he did, I guess they were working together to track down Trickster—anyway, he was talking about how I’m… scared of the Bats—”

“Are you scared of the Bats?”

You throw up a hand, though she can’t see it. “I have a healthy amount of fear and respect for them—and on that note, please don’t tell anyone else I’m telling you this.”

“Of course.”

“Right, well, Flash was just ragging him, you know? About how he has a better relationship with me, someone who doesn’t even live in Keystone or Central, than the Bats do.”

“So?”

“So,” you blow out a big breath, “Red Robin showed up yesterday to get some hot chocolate—”

“Hot chocolate?” Steph asks, disbelieving. 

“Yeah. He said it was a better alternative to coffee. Guess he’s not into energy drinks. Weirdo. The whole thing about it—weird. Like… I don’t know. He was just acting weird when he was asking if we had any.”

“… That is weird,” she says, an odd note to her voice. She clears her throat. “And then?”

“I knew why he was doing it so I told him he didn’t have to come around ‘cause he and the others obviously need to uphold a specific perception, right? Then he was all, Well, what does a civilian like you know about it? Can you believe they unironically call us that?”

Steph laughs. She laughs hard.

You wait it out, not entirely sure what or why she is laughing so hard but it’s not the first time she’s ever done that, so you can just let it go. 

“Okay,” she giggles. “Sorry. Keep going. What else happened?”

“He left. But then, y’wanna guess who just showed up right now?”

“Who? Batman?”

“God, no. It was Black Bat. She was nice enough. Gave me a big tip. Creepy suit, though.”

“What’d she’d get?”

“Two Red Bulls, a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms. Wonder who that second Red Bull is for. And the snacks. Red Robin realizing hot chocolate in June is weird? Hard to imagine him eating Takis, though. He’s probably like Tim, saying they’re ‘too hot’.”

Steph laughs again for a while.

“Oh, god, you’re killing me,” she gasps out when she calms.

You shake your head, rubbing your finger over a scratch mark in the counter. “I don’t know what is so funny but sure.”

“So, then, what? You think you’re just gonna some more vigilantes? ‘Cause it’s only been two so far.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you grumble. “But it’s two. When previously, this has never happened.” 

“True! Well… any preferences? For who comes next?”

“Anyone but Batman, thanks.”

Your next visitor is not Batman.

It is, in a turn of events that makes a little more sense, the Signal.

A few days after your call with Steph, things are fine, until your manager posts to the team group chat about wanting someone for an afternoon shift, saying someone quit unexpectedly. Not one to say no to some extra cash, you latch onto the opportunity—even if it’s an admittedly questionable idea. You try not to work weekends to let yourself recuperate from sustaining your not-so-great sleep schedule. 

Anyway, you feel and look like a zombie, but you get your work done. 

“I can help the next person in line,” you call. 

A tall, broad-shouldered stocky older man with long blonde hair and blue eyes behind coke-bottle glasses steps up, armed with two large cups of coffee. The scrubs he wears clues you into some kind of healthcare position. 

“Hi, did you find everything—”

The door opens, your eyes automatically flickering to the movement, and your voice cuts out sharply as you realize who it is.

The Signal stands there a bit awkwardly for a moment as all of you look—the blonde man at the counter and the other man waiting in line.

“Hey, you!”

You flinch, tensing, already fearing a confrontation as the other man steps forward, pointing at the Signal. The one in question tenses, shoulders rising, like he’s preparing to fight. You hope not. That would be a lot of paperwork for you. It’s the manager’s, technically, to report any damage done by vigilantes, but they always give it to you or the other employees on the floor.

But it is not as you feared. Instead of picking a fight, the man… thanks him?

“You’re the Signal, right? Right? You saved my son a few months ago from some muggers following him home from school. Thank you, man. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. He wouldn’t be here with me if it weren’t for you,” the man says, holding out a hand.

“Hey, man,” Signal says, reaching out to shake his hand. “It was nothing. I’m glad I was there to help.”

“Are you here to buy something? Let me cover you. Please. It’s the least I can do—”

“Oh, you really don’t need to—”

“That went better than expected.”

The soft-spoken voice brings you out of your thoughts and you belatedly realize you still have a customer to take care of. But when you look at him, he is watching the Signal try to tell the other man that he doesn’t have to pay for him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” you say. “Good thing. Signal’s a good guy.���

He turns back to you as you scan the cups of coffee, pulling out a wallet.

“He is,” he agrees easily—meaning his words, too, a genuine conviction you don’t hear often associated with the vigilantes of the city. 

Signal manages to hold firm on not needing the man to pay, repeating that he was just doing his job, and thankfully, the man accepts it with good graces. 

You quickly get your current customer wrapped up while the Signal steps into the chip aisle. 

You pass him the receipt. “Thank you, have a good day.”

He sends you a small, handsome smile, picking up the cups of coffee. “Thank you, you, too.”

The one after him steps up to pay, talking jovially with you, spirits still apparently lifted at seeing Signal and being able to thank him. It’s a nice moment, you think, and you make sure to respond in kind. 

The door swings shut behind him just as Signal re-emerges from the chip aisle, holding a can of Monster Energy and a bag of chile picante Cornnuts. The combination is… surely something. You let yourself slip with it, too, because you’ve personally heard a lot of good things about him. The fact that he works during the day helps his case, too. 

“I need the energy,” Signal says, seeing that thought in your face; he doesn’t sound mad, though, just vaguely amused. His suit is filled with more yellow tones, still intimidating but not as much in the daylight, a helmet of sorts leaving only his mouth exposed. 

“It’ll definitely give you… something,” you say, chuckling as you scan both.

He pats his stomach. “I have guts of steel. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not a problem as long as I never have to hear ‘guts of steel’ ever again. Jesus. Is that just a natural thing of your biology or is it evolutionary-based?”

“This life isn’t for the faint of heart or stomach,” he agrees, passing you a five dollar bill. “Adaptation is key.”

“I bet.”

Signal laughs, taking his change and dropping it into the tip jar. You smile, too, shaking your head slightly. 

“Have a good day.”

He tips his Red Bull at you. “You, too.”

Guts of steel. You nearly can’t believe it.

You pick up your phone, finding your conversation with Tim. You and Steph are hanging out tomorrow, so you’ll tell her about it, then. She asked him, though, and he said he was busy. Too bad. But that doesn’t mean he gets out of being subjected to those words, either.

no joke signal came in to buy a monster energy and cornnuts (a questionable combo) and when he saw me judging he said he has guts of steel

meta related do you think???

makes sense to me. you have a gene inside you that gives you literal powers i think they shouldn’t be having digestive issues/ibs like us common folk do

Your three texts, sent in quick succession, deliver. You bite the inside of your cheek as you see your previous ones still unanswered. It’s been like that for the past few weeks. Not him ignoring you but a bit of a dry spell going on in your messages that was only broken when you told Steph what happened and decided you had to tell him, too.

It’s not his fault. The dry spell from before or the lack of responses going on now. 

You started the first thing. So, it’s more your fault than anything for all of that. Steph’s talked to him, though, and she’s never let up on anything amiss…

You groan quietly, dropping your phone on the counter and burying your face in your hands.

Too complicated. Too much. 

It never used to be like that but… things changed recently. 

You, mostly. 

You met Stephanie Brown your second semester at Gotham University. 

Taking your required elective, you chose Intro to Psych. She was doing the same. Though, being a social work major, psychology was practically a cousin to it. 

The professor for the class turned out to be a total dud. Rambled during lecture, refused to give out study guides, and while he would give out hints as to what material might show up on exams, his questions were trick ones. When people complained, he said some crap about being in a higher ed setting and needing to do better because of it. Like his class was some 300 or 400 level course and not a literal intro course to a large and burgeoning field of study. 

But classes are expensive, so, you couldn’t drop it. Refused to, really, knowing you would face much more difficult classes later on, ones you knew you might need to drop and try again. So, you weren’t going to waste the money on this type of class.

Steph was of the same thought.

She sat next to you in the lecture hall. You two didn’t talk until after the first exam and everyone was upset about their grades, the exams having been handed back at the end of class. Your shared frustration brought you together, mostly as you two were ranting about it, you packed up and wound up leaving class together, the both of you just too caught up in your anger to realize you both needed to go in opposite directions for your next class. 

You initially agreed to be study partners, to cover more ground that way. But Steph managed to worm her way to your heart by the end of that semester. 

Your astounding lack of friends helped, too. Even if things had been that way since your junior year of high school, even if you wanted things to remain that way to protect what little remained of your heart, the loneliness hit you harder than you thought it would when you started college. 

And Steph was nice and funny and listened to you and paid attention to you and you… were so very deprived of those things, so it was nice in the beginning, but then you realized, to your own horror, that you actually wanted her to stick her around, that just as she knew nearly everything about you by the end of the semester, you knew nearly everything about her, too, and you wanted to know more, wanted to be there for her like she always was for you. 

You have that and more now and you are so very lucky because of it.

Tim, though?

Tim was something else.

Steph told you she had a friend visiting.

Just that—that she had a friend visiting campus and she ‘hoped he could find his way to the computer workstation on the fourth floor because as soon as I sit down, I’m not leaving for anything other than to use the bathroom or some kind of world-ending event.’ 

It was a particularly grueling paper she had to churn out—twenty pages, heavily research-based with the kind of statistics that made your head spin.

Working at the front desk of the Martha Kane Library at the time, you humored her. Told her good luck and that you’d keep an eye out. The second part was a joke, of course, because she never said who was visiting her and how could you know if she never said anything?

You and Tim Drake wound up finding each other, anyway. 

Well, more like he found you. 

It sounds sort of romantic, right?

It’s… well, it’s certainly something.

“I’m just saying,” you’re telling him, totally neglecting your homework and the other duties you have at the front desk (you know this last part is especially true by the way your coworker, also at the front desk, is side-eyeing you but come on, there’s no one in line, so it’s fine!). “It’s a solid movie.”

Tim Drake gives you a comically disbelieving look. “A solid movie? It’s—it’s gaseous.”

“Did… you just make a physics joke? About the three states of matter?”

Tim turns an attractive shade of pink. “It’s four, actually, and, uh… yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Steph is right. You really are a geek. Anyway. Cloverfield still sucks.” 

“Your opinion is automatically negated by the fact that you think the Final Destination movies have any kind of substance to them.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I just think they’re good ‘cause of Mary Elizabeth Winstead. You probably think the Transformers movies are actually good, don’t you?”

He looks offended. “Don’t insult me. We hate Michael Bay in this house.”

“Sure.”

“But I do think Bumblebee—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Bumblebee is good for a change, we all know it. You’re probably one of those Nolan stans, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think any of what you just said are real words.”

“Oh, they’re real alright. Nolan stans are constantly on his dick, they’re all like, ‘Nolan is so deep and thoughtful and there is no one else like him.’ Wrong. I could find ten of him in the movie industry.” 

Tim narrows his eyes accusingly at you. “Steph said Interstellar is your favorite movie.”

“It’s his only good movie.”

“Don’t count out Inception like that.”

“Never seen it.”

“Wow.”

“You know what you sounded like just now? A Nolan stan.”

Tim actually grins at you and your stomach flutters at the sight of it. It’s that that had drawn your eyes to him. The cute but confused looking guy loitering around nearby, systematically checking his phone and glancing around—presumably for a map of the confusing and ancient library. With dark hair, pale skin, and pretty blue eyes that make you feel unbearably seen, Tim Drake is a sight for sore eyes. Your eyes, to be certain. 

Of course, you also know he’s here for Steph. That he is the friend she spoke of. And also the ex-boyfriend. That reminder sobers you considerably. 

Kind of funny, really. 

Much can be said about Tim Drake. 

The adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. The kid who snuck into No Man’s Land on a dare and had to be extracted by the US military after his father made a fuss about it. Then later, became controlling shareholder at Wayne Enterprises for whatever reason, boosting him into a very powerful position. Then he got engaged. Then he was shot—he was meant to be killed but obviously, it hadn’t gone that way. All this at seventeen. 

But eventually it petered out. He stepped down. Engagement broke off. He recovered. Now? He does some work for WE. That’s all that’s known to the press, anyway. 

It’s like you said. Much can be said about Tim Drake. 

But most of your impression is from Steph. He plays Warlocks and Warriors sometimes. Is a bit of a computer geek and has built his own PC for gaming. Hits the skatepark every now and then. Likes to spend time tinkering on his car.  And… has strong opinions on movies. 

Above it all?

He is her ex. A good friend now! But still. That fact remains. 

“Anyway,” you say, adjusting your notebook, textbook, and bag of pens just to do something. “You’re here for Steph, right?”

“She told you?”

“Well, she’s obviously told you stuff about me.”

“Steph won’t shut up about you,” he says, seeming more amused than annoyed by that fact. “I can’t imagine it’s the same with me.”

“I know enough.” Like the fact that he is her literal ex-boyfriend. Even if Steph says their relationship wasn’t the greatest, had some very questionable decisions on both their parts, and ended a bit dramatically… he’s still the first person she ever fell in love with. She told you that much. “She’s upstairs on the fourth floor. Hit the elevators over there, then when you get to the fourth floor, turn left, then another left, and the computer workstations are on your right. Can’t miss them.”

“You should watch Inception,” he says, instead of acknowledging literally anything you just said.

You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “You should watch Interstellar.”

He taps a finger on the counter. “We should do both. You, me, and Steph one of these days.”

“I hate to say it, but that sounds like a good idea.”

Steph’s voice scares the shit out of you. You bang your knee on the desk, cursing.

Tim looks unruffled as she comes from the side—the direction of the elevators, joining him at the counter and nudging his shoulder as she goes. He nudges back. They keep the contact.

“Sorry, Stephie,” you say. “We got preoccupied.”

“Arguing,” she corrects, but she doesn’t look upset about it. Instead, her cobalt blue eyes twinkle with something you can’t quite identify as she drops her chin into her palm.

“We weren’t arguing,” Tim says next. “We were lightly debating.”

“Of course. My cute little movie geeks. I think Duckboy’s right, though—” Tim groans slightly and mutters her name in annoyance; she ignores it “—we should get together and see them.”

You scratch your cheek. “I don’t know. Finals—”

“—are not for another month. I say let’s do it.” She looks at Tim and jabs a thumb at you. “She needs more friends.”

“Stephanie, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Timothy needs more friends, too. Friends from, say, the other half.” She smiles mischievously, a joke known only by the two of them. 

Tim, for his part, rolls his eyes but says nothing in protest. 

You don’t need more friends. More friends is actually a very bad idea. Letting one person get close was bad enough. Another person? Hell, no…

But the look on Steph’s face tells you that you, quite frankly, have no say in the matter. And the way you and Tim ‘lightly debated’ movies for a solid half hour tells you, too, that it’ll be too easy for you and he to become friends. 

You decide to shelve the issue for now as Steph tugs him away, promising you that she’ll arrange for things.

Maybe it won’t pan out. Maybe he’s actually horribly arrogant and conceited. (Though, if he’s friends with Steph, the likelihood of that is admittedly low.) 

You don’t know. All you know is it’s dangerous to let yourself get close to someone else.

But that’s all rather dramatic, isn’t it?

And it didn’t turn out how you wanted—you met Tim in the first semester of your sophomore year; your junior year just ended this May. You’ve been friends with him for a year and half. Steph for two. No end appears to be in sight. But you’ve compartmentalized. It’s just two people. That’s fine.

It’s totally fine. 

Even if it’s two people to match the two others you lost when you were fifteen. Like a repayment for the pain.

(Or a way to double it.)

But you lost your parents in the earthquake. 

Scientists called that a once-in-a-lifetime event.

There are plenty of things going on in this city that could cost your friends their lives but… it’ll never be as devastating as the earthquake. 

The earthquake where you nearly died after a piece of metal pierced your thigh, barely missing your femoral artery, and you spent the entire time from after the earthquake, when they dug your body out of the rubble, and to when they decided to exile the city, in a coma from the infection. 

By the time you stabilized, you were on a helicopter to Blüdhaven, the rest of the city in a panic to leave, and your parents were officially gone by that point. 

They couldn’t even find their bodies in time.

It took almost three years before they did. The year in which the government turned a blind eye to the city and cast it away, then another two years to rebuild, to sift through the ruin and destruction, to find the bones of the ones left behind since they were decomposed by then, and identifying them was an even more arduous task.  

You only managed to receive the catharsis of burying them when you turned eighteen. 

You might tempt fate by saying this but even if you lost either of them, the fallout would never beat that. A blessing, in that way. 

But even you hate to consider the possibilities of them leaving you. For anything.

They won’t. 

Everything will be fine. 

It has to be. 

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers

[if you'd like to be added to the taglist (or removed), let me know here or in my inbox! ^_^]

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x y/n #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n

[kryptonian-bat-thing]

The Calm After The Storm

(a short fic heavily inspired by frownyalfred's post)

Clark rushed out of work as soon as he could. There was a single message on his phone from an unregistered number, but he already knew it probably came from one of his secretive friends in the next city over.

"Mister Kent,

It is with a sense of urgency I invite you to pay a visit to Gotham. The details will be discussed in person, but as you may guess, this does concern our friend in common.

- My sincere gratitude, A."

Alfred. Something had happened with Bruce, he knew. Flying through the clouds, he already had some idea of what the situation was: Jason Todd. The boy was declared deceased not more than a week or two prior, and both Bruce Wayne and Batman seemed... off.

The socialite wouldn't appear as much on events and interviews, and when he did, he acted like everything was fine, but never stayed long enough to prove. Batman wasn't showing up to some of the Justice League meetings, leaving most of the leadership to Wonder Woman and Superman. They didn't even hesitate to allow him some time away from his duties. The criminals of Gotham began getting more bruised when caught, more scarred than usual.

Clark's only regret is that he didn't get to it sooner.

Arriving at the Manor's grounds, he paced to the door, glad that the nightfall hid his figure from any prying eyes. Alfred was already at the door.

"He's underground." The old man cut the chase, a thank you rushed his lips. A single drop of concern showed in between his wrinkles. Clark put a hand to his shoulder and shot him with what he hoped looked like a comforting smile.

Heading inside, behind the grandfather clock, down the spiral staircase, into the dark cave. He'd been there before, but not unaccompanied. It feels more eerie than ever.

The man in black was turned away from him, facing many screens at once. Every time they'd start a conversation, Bruce would acknowledge his friend first, even when he tried to sneak up on him. However, Clark beat him to it.

"Bruce," the man of steel kept his voice soft and reassuring. "I heard about what happened. Listen, B... If you need anything, you know the League and I are here for you."

No response. Bruce's heart had the same rhythm as always, steady and calm, like the ever lasting beat of a sad song. The dim light kept the kevlar cape and the removed cowl glistening, creating such an abnormal ambient. Clark sighed before continuing the speech he heartily organized on the way.

"I understand that you may be sad right now, but... no matter what, I--" Clark's thoughts and voice were cut off by a dry laugh that came out like thunder. It sounded almost masochist, a single "hah!" from the deep pit of Bruce's lungs.

"Sad? I'm not sad..." the suffering chuckle gave away to a Batman low and static voice, turning into a growl as he grit out of his teeth:

"I'm furious."

The response left Clark with furrowed brows and wide eyes. He almost took a step back, before hovering around to the side to better see his friend. Bruce's eyes were puffy and red, as wide as his own, furrowed brows in concentration and a deep scowl. His hair was stranded and oily like he forgot to wash it and he could use some shaving too. Wasn't looking much like a celebrity right now, his friend thought with ache.

Following his eyes, he saw what was on the screen: Joker sightings, evidence saved from a blown up ware house, what was once a crowbar but now is burnt and bent like a pretzel. Pieces of the Robin's suit with DNA scans all over, as well as... blood.

Bruce's hands weren't typing anymore, they were turned into fists. A huff or two came out of his lips, soft enough that only enhanced hearing like Clark's could have picked up on.

His heart rate hadn't changed at all. It didn't speed up as the scowl burned with anger and pain, those baby blue eyes filled with vengeance to the point of burning.

"He won't do anything like that again," Batman almost whispered. "he won't get the chance to." And rushed a turn around to his Batmobile. Before he could reach for his cowl, though, a soft and warm hand caught up his wrist.

"You don't want to do this, Clark." a threatening growl. "You know it must be done."

"I know you, B, and this isn't it." his frown was still present as he didn't let go when Bruce struggled to pull his hand out. Even as Bruce took his hand to his belt, he didn't budge. They stayed like this until the older man gave into the touch.

"Fine. Fight me, then. I'll still try, I'll try until you have to kill me. And you will," he spat words unlike his alter ego would do, pushing his voice louder and louder. "You might get it to happen, but I will not let this man go! So end it, Kal, end it here and now! Do it!"

Bruce's face was close to his own now as he yelled. If he was wearing his glasses, this would be much more uncomfortable than it already was. Bruce stared into the sapphire eyes that shone willingly upon him until he exhaled the rage out of his body.

"Please..." his voice almost cracked as it came out of his breathless self. He couldn't hold back the tears anymore, and he hated it. Bruce hated everything about crying, from the running nose to the vulnerability it puts him in. He looked down so that his best friend wouldn't see what a mess he was.

"Bruce, listen to me..." Clark finally let go of his wrist and lifted the older man's chin towards his own so he could look him in the eye. "We can't let our lowest moments define us. You were the one to teach me that, remember?"

Avoidant of his glance, the dark knight furrowed in response. The broad man grasped his shoulders and pursed his lips before speaking again.

"How many times haven't I lashed out and wanted to fix things my way, and you convinced me to use my brains for once?" a shine crossed Bruce's eyes in a second as he reminisced such moments. Kal could be such a hot headed person in battle he would often launch himself into trouble without planning. And he'd get hurt, because he was fighting for the wrong reasons. Many anger issues born from his habit of never leaving matters unresolved could sometimes take the best out of him, but luckily Batman and Wonder Woman would always be there to rescue him.

"This... this is different, Clark." he shook his head twice and took a step back, turning around from a pitiful glance.

"It might be, but still." taking a step forward, he embraced Bruce's shoulders from behind. They didn't display so much affection in front of others, but Clark knew he'd accept it. "Don't shut me off, please. I don't want you to lose yourself to that thing, B."

That thing. That mound of darkness that lured in every corner, the thing that kept him awake after completing every single one of his duties, what made him fight until he could no longer stand and would still come back crawling if needed. It wasn't driven by any heroism or narcissist policy, but born from rage, grown in vengeance and flourished in madness. He sighed and leaned into Clark's touch, allowing a single sob to come out.

"It was my fault, Clark... I wasn't there when he needed me and now..." another sob. He pulled himself inwards to hide from Kal but the man only snuggled him closer.

"You did all you could, B. I'm sure Jason wouldn't want to see you like this."

Turning around in a swift move, Bruce returned the hug, half of a sobbing noise escaping his throat. His legs trembled as Clark reached under the cape to rub his back in comforting motions.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, his knees giving in. Kal held him with no problem, lowering them to the floor so he wouldn't be hanging. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Words turn into sobs, that slowly turn into exhales. Fingers buried in both capes as this embrace holds something sweeter than honey and stronger than steel, a bond so deep they drown in each other's touch.

Bruce feels the weight in his shoulders lift off as he drifts to a light sleep in the current position, holding onto the red cape as hunky forearms lifted him and he rested against biceps covered in blue. He hadn't slept in days, just like Clark had thought.

On and off consciousness, Bruce didn't fight being carried into his bedroom. His friend didn't use his superspeed, only carried him carefully and used his cape to cover his eyes from the brighter lights. Laying him against the bed, he removed the cape and armor from the bat suit and left them hanging on a chair, leaving Bruce in his under armor, which wasn't much comfortable, but at least he could sleep in it.

"I'll go now... Call if you need anything, okay?" Clark whispered, not to disturb the almost asleep man. As he pulled away, a hand grasped his cape with laziness.

"Don't," Bruce's voice still strained out of his throat. "I can't sleep. I keep dreaming of him and I feel so..."

He didn't finish the phrase. He didn't have to. Clark took off his own cape and sat down beside his buddy, looking at him in the heavy lidded pearl eyes that blinked slowly, a silent thanking as the rest he craved approached him.

"Don't worry, B." he smiles, letting a hand slide through the one's hair, who sighs and snuggles into the feathered pillow. Clark pulls the sheets over Bruce as he feels the man starting to snore.

"I'll make sure you're okay."

#no beta we die like jason todd #sorry i just had to #dc #superbat #dc comics #superman #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne #bruce x clark #clark x bruce #mini fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #short fic #ficlet #superbat fanfiction #fluff #hurt/comfort

[countthelions]

Blocked and seamed, this beautiful pattern is done!

Pattern: Dedale by Audrey Borrego

Yarns: Knitpicks Hawthorne in Eliot (green) & Dyehouse Yarns by Serial Knitters in Em&Em (speckled white)

Details and close-ups beneath the cut

This mystery knit was an absolute blast! We were given two charts each week (60ish rows total) starting Sept 1st for six weeks. I fell behind due to some trips but I had Decked Out 2 vids to watch while knitting so it never felt like a slog. The wrinkledness of my floats blocked out beautifully and it is SO SOFT!!

The maze does actually continue all the way through!!

Small pinglist for those who had extra thoughts on the WIP I posted <3 @joyousmistake @plantpretender (dear friend ilu and your excitement!!) @orangespicecake (I wish you luck friend!!! You deserve a cool maze cowl in your life!!) @littleyarngoblin

#knitting #knitblr #lionknits

[froizetta]

WIP Wednesday: more superbatlantern because why not

I went slightly insane and wrote over 15k for this, so here's another excerpt lol. This one's more or less the direct continuation of this scene I already posted, so this'll probably make more sense if you read that first. But it's pretty much just Hal spying on superbat while using the ring to turn himself invisible in the hopes of catching them making out, which is a totally fine and normal thing to do to your colleagues. Nice one, Hal!

He drifted cautiously closer. The light from the sun glinted off the windows harshly at this angle, turning them opaque, but just a little further and…

There, that was it. Fuck yeah, the blinds weren’t even drawn so he had a clear view: that was definitely them alright, alone in the room, sitting really fucking close for two “platonic” best friends. Supes didn't seem to have noticed him yet, so clearly Hal had been right about him being too distracted to listen out for eavesdroppers. He was really on a roll today, huh? Ha, Hal was totally winning this bet—

Oh.

Oh, shit. That was…that was not what he’d expected to see.

Hal had definitely been right this whole time: they were fucking on the reg. But there was nothing sexual about what they were doing now. They’d pulled a couple of the meeting room chairs together. Bats was sitting on the right, more relaxed than Hal had ever seen him, cowl off, in a comfortable slouch rather than his usual ramrod-straight posture, eyes flickering lazily over a datapad. Supes was on his left, curled around him as best he could with two armrests in the way, an arm flung around Bats’ waist and his head pressed to his chest, eyes closed. Listening to his heartbeat it looked like, even though he could probably hear that shit from across a city.

It couldn’t have been all that comfortable, sitting like that, but on them it looked…easy. Familiar. Domestic. Like they’d done this, or something like it, a thousand times. Hal watched Supes’ lips move, murmuring something too quiet for Hal to hear. Whatever it was, it was apparently the joke of the century, because Bats let out an honest to god chuckle then moved his free hand up to Superman’s hair to rub gentle circles into his scalp. Big Blue practically melted against him, more overgrown puppy than godlike superpowered alien, and Bats finally looked up from his screen, and—man, even though Hal was hardly an expert on the series of mildly constipated expressions Bats normally used to emote, even he could tell that look on his face was—

Hal’s heart sank. Crap. They weren’t just fucking. They were in love.

Hovering outside the window watching a clearly happy couple act romantic with each other, Hal suddenly felt like absolute shit. It almost felt unfair, even. Batman was a crazy asshole, sure, but he was also crazy rich, crazy smart, crazy gorgeous, and mostly had his shit together. Meanwhile Superman was…well, pretty much perfect in every way, honestly. A real stand-up guy, on top of being the kind of walking wet dream you could actually take home to your parents. And on top of all that they already had going for them on their own, they also had each other?

When was the last time someone had looked at Hal like that? It was probably Carol, wasn’t it, before the last time they’d broken up. That was— Shit, that was years ago now.

This was no fucking fun at all.

With a sudden, all-encompassing intensity, Hal really, really didn’t want to be seeing this anymore. They hadn’t noticed him yet. Maybe he could just…drift away, get blackout drunk and pretend he never saw that? Yeah. Yeah, that sounded like a great plan.

Unfortunately for him, whatever that feeling was apparently audible to Kryptonians. Because just then, Superman’s head snapped up. And then he was staring right at Hal.

Shit.

“Hey, so. My bad, big guy,” Hal whispered. “Uh. Fuck. I’ll just—”

“Hal.”

“Jesus fuck!”

The voice came from directly behind him. When he whirled around, heart slamming into his ribcage—yup, that was Supes alright. Arms folded forbiddingly across his broad chest, looking stern and disappointed and faintly furious.

Hal dropped the invisibility; there didn’t seem much point to it now. “Man, did you have to sneak up on me like that? You nearly gave me a damn heart attack.”

Superman looked unmoved. “Bruce and I would like a word with you inside. Now.”

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Let’s go.” There went his plans of quietly moving on with his life. But hey, he could admit he’d sort of made his bed in this case. He could man up and lie in it.

And besides, depending on how this went down, he could probably still do the whole drink-to-forget thing later.

#my fic #superbatlantern #to anyone expecting pure fun crack from this WIP: sorry! I accidently made it yearning #not that hal realises it yet #he'll get there eventually though #and then the rest of this fic is mostly just at hal's expense #sorry buddy! (I'm not really sorry)

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

"Can you please just go?" Batman x Petite F! Reader

Summary: Gordon needs help, the Bat got blown up and now a bunch of GCPD officers are threatening to remove the mask. He needs a doctor, but I guess a coroner will do.

Pairing: Batman (Battison) x Petite F! Reader with glasses (could be fake, readers, or prescription we don't judge)

Warnings: Drabble, Robert Pattison is attractive as Batman (that's the warning)

Cross Posted on AO3

“I need your help,” Gordon shouts, pushing his way through the morgue. “The Bat’s here, they want to pull off his mask, I need time to get him out of here.” 

“What do you need me to do?” 

“Play Doctor. He got blown up at the church, he’s been unconscious for about two hours. I’ve held them at bay but it’s not going to last, hell I might be too late by coming down here.” 

“I am a Doctor,” you remind him, snapping off your gloves, “but lead the way.” 

The crowd in the small kitchenette was growing, Gordon pushing through ahead of you glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure you didn’t get swallowed up by the crowd, you were the shortest person in the room by far. 

“Out of the way,” Gordon shoves, others mumbling curses at his back as you push your glasses higher up your nose. 

Your breath catches in your throat when you see him, covered head to toe in a black combat suit. He’s out cold and the men around him sneer down at him like he’s filth under their boots. 

“I say we take off the mask, find out who he really is,” you hear Officer Smith, his hand reaching towards the cowl. 

Suddenly the bat springs from the table, punching his way through several officers, the police commissioner shouting in his face. “I got you on assaulting two officers pal!” 

“You got me assaulting three,” he snaps back, Gordon pressing a hand firmly into his chest trying to diffuse the situation. 

“Everybody OUT!”  you shout, watching as every eye in the room turns to you. The commissioner nearly turns purple with how pissed he is, he goes to open his mouth when you raise a hand silencing him. “I understand sir, you want him behind bars but the man,” you glance at him, “erhm bat was just blown up. He has the right to medical attention.” 

Officer Martinez raises a brow, “You’re a coroner.” 

“Eh tomato, tomatoe, doesn’t matter whether he’s dead or alive, just need to let me have a look at him.” You fold your arms over your chest so no one can notice how badly you’re shaking. 

“Five minutes,” the Commissioner raises his hand, “and Gordon stays.” 

“Understood, sir,” you toss in another one for respect, “now can you please just go?” 

The room is slow to clear and they don’t stray far, keeping close to the glass. “It’s like a fucking zoo,” you mumble under your breath turning towards your patient. His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile and you smirk, “Can you take a seat for me?” The Bat takes a seat on the table, and you open your bag pretending to look for something, whispering under your breath, “anytime now, Gordon.” 

Gordon stands beside you, keeping his back to the glass, and doing his best not to move his lips too much. “We gotta get you out of here man.” 

“There’s a door behind you,” you put the stethoscope to his chest, “deep breath in.” He follows your directions, his eyes fixed on you, “you’ll need to take out Gordon and me and make a break for the stairwell. That’s your best shot out of here.” 

He nods slowly doing his best to look dejected before his lips turn up again as you pretend to use the medical equipment on him. “That goes in my ear,” his voice hints at amusement as you use the instrument on his knee. 

“Gordon needed a reason to get you alone,” you put the last of the instruments away, “I’m a coroner, none of my patients ever complain about where I put it.” 

“How are we gonna do this?” Gordon acts like he’s nodding along to your diagnosis. 

“I got a plan,” Batman replies, glancing between the two of you before his eyes settle on you. “Trust me,” he stands, towering over you, he’s almost two heads taller than you, and your neck cranes to look up at him. “I don’t want to hurt you, so just pretend to pass out.” 

“How will I know when to-” he cuts you off when his lips press to yours, his tongue gliding against yours as you gasp. 

The outrage from the other side of the glass is deafening and he pulls back to whisper in your ear, “Now.” Your eyes roll back and you fall to the ground, Gordon groaning as he falls down beside you. The officers rush over themselves to get to the Bat as he rushes through the door and up the staircase. 

Gordon stands, coming over and leaning down over you, a stupid grin on your face. “You okay, kid?” 

“I’m fantastic,” you smile, putting your hands behind your head. “I’m probably getting fired but I got to kiss the Batman.” 

He laughs, “Way to look at the bright side.” 

#Batman x Reader #Petite Female Reader #Drabble #The Batman #Battison #Autumn Writes #God I hate how batman makes me like Robert Pattison #You gotta understand I don't like him #But Batman does something to me

[goddess-of-graphite]

Building off of the cryptid!Batfamily universe… I propose: the Wayne family, acting freely unhinged in public because they are a rich family full of lunatics and let’s be real, this is Gotham: if even their celebrities aren’t weird as fuck can it even be called Gotham?

further, I suggest all their antics should be posted online (carefully curated, even if it doesn’t seem like it to the public). Just the batboys being ridiculous as civilians because the batfamily isn’t even perceived as human so, like, might as well? Hiding in plain sight, because surely a family so open about their lives couldn’t possibly be vigilantes.

SO! I give you: the Wayne Family, Online

The Bat Clan were professional cryptids. They were serious about their duty and intent on performing it as efficiently as possible - no wasted effort, no fighting between them, no reckless charging in alone…

So, as far as vigilantes go, they were somewhere between myth and public servants. Each trained to put aside personal grievances in the face of a greater purpose, mistakes and blunders were rare.

But, see, behind the masks and under the cowls, they were still people - each unique with their own issues, their own disagreements. And with their careful separation of their personal lives from their vigilante work, all that complicated emotional stuff had to be expressed in their civilian lives.

So the Bat’s Clan were shadowy legends spoken of in fear by criminals hiding in dark alleys.

The Wayne Family, on the other hand, were…

Well, Not That.

Twitter user RedRobin(disambiguation) posted at 5:03:

Lmao this is why social services keep getting called

[video is taken from the foot of a grand staircase. at the top, with his foot on a man-sized roll of bubble wrap, is a boy with a strip of hair dyed pastel pink in the front. a voice, originating from behind the camera, yells up, “Ready!” another voice, muffled significantly, shouts the same, and the bubble wrap roll wiggles a little. with a wicked grin and a solid kick, the boy sends the roll flying down the stairs. the muffled voice is screaming delightedly, broken by every step the roll hits on the way down. the camera backs up as the roll reaches the bottom and keeps going, the video going blurry as it turns to follow the roll. the roll hits a wall, hard, with a loud thump, and the muffled screaming cuts off with a groan. the camera shakes as whoever is filming runs over to reveal that, within the bubble wrap, is a human. he is trapped, squirming, his feet just peeking out of one end, and the camera comes around to the other end to show a young man’s face, well and truly snug in his bubbly prison. he is giggling, echoing the laughter of at least two other people, and the sound of feet running up as the boy from the top of the stairs appears and rolls the human sushi over to begin picking at the tape keeping the wrap firmly bound.

“I’m gonna have so many bruises” the bound man wheezes, and the boy trying to free him has to take a break he is laughing so hard. the camera turns rapidly one last time to show another boy’s face, teary-eyes from laughing, and it is clear that he is the one filming. “this is what happens when we’re getting along” he says and the video ends]

RedRidin’intheHood commented:

I got to kick Dick off a staircase without getting yelled at lol today was a good day

DoNotSearch”PurpleWaffles” commented:

I mean what else do you use that much bubble wrap for

TiredHimboDad commented:

You are all menaces.

PappapBabbab commented:

dis u? 

[a shitty edit of three people in a “getting along” shirt. the background is a building on fire and exploding. cinnamon toast crunch rains down around them, several pieces trailing flame. there is a trail of glitter behind them, and one of them holds a can that is erupting with colourful, clearly fake, snakes. each of the people have a different and equally ugly pair of sunglasses pasted onto them. one small snake is wielding a knife and wearing a top hat]

#Batman #cryptid batman #cryptid batfamily #Chaotic Wayne family #social media au #sort of #hope this inspires somebody because this has been in my notes for ages #I like the thought that the bats all have actual vigilante names but no one knows them #so they just use those as usernames sometimes #or reference them in stupid ways #social media au brainrot #Wayne family online #graphite writes

[bi-bats]

I just posted the first chapter of the fic that this snippet is from! here's the beginning:

-

Three Days Ago

“What is he doing here?” Nightwing scowls, stalking over to the figure leaning against the console next to Batman, glaring daggers at him from behind his mask. 

“He has clearance,” Batman grunts, not tearing his eyes away from the computer. 

“Since when,” Nightwing hisses, taking the last few steps to slot himself between the two. 

The only thing that stops him is the gauntleted hand that rises between them, pressing down in the center of Damian’s chest, directly over the stripe of blue in the middle. 

“Since I granted it to him,” Jason says, the gauntlet encasing his fingers still pressing into Damian’s suit. 

Their eyes meet through their masks— not Jason’s mask anymore, the lenses of the cowl that Damian really never should have let him put on in the first place, and Damian sees how determined his little brother is, knows in an instant that he thinks there is a good reason for this. 

What reason could possibly be good enough to allow the Red Hood into the batcave, Damian wonders. 

He doesn’t have to wonder for long. 

Red Hood’s helmet is turning to him, and it settles in his direction, and every nerve in Damian’s body is thrumming with adrenaline, the need to get him away from here, away from Jason—

“You’re growing your hair out,” Red Hood says. There’s no way to read his tone through the modulation of his helmet, but Damian feels like a cat with its hackles rising. 

“Feeling nostalgic?” he asks, and Damian’s mind presents him with the image of a young robin’s grin as his boot lands on a goon’s face, an image that doesn’t line up with the body of the man in front of him at all. 

“Why are you here?” Nightwing demands, though it earns him a sharp look from Jason and a terse laugh from Hood. 

“Polite as you ever were, Damian. Your dad’s alive,” he throws in, like an afterthought. 

The ground feels like it’s tilting under him. 

The information isn’t actually news to Damian. Neither is the news that Hood knows who Damian is, because Damian knows who Hood is too. 

It’s the way he says ‘your dad’, with what sounds like a sneer on his lips, that makes Damian want to grab him by the lapels of that stupid leather jacket and shake him, drag him over to his memorial case and throw him through the front panel. Pick each shard of glass from his skin, patch him up like he used to, and hold him close to his chest, refuse to release him.

He doesn’t respond, because the only thing he wants to say to Tim is, Our dad. He’s our dad.

keep reading

#timdami #damitim #batwrites

[jadedwolf18-blog]

Mini Phantom Invasion

Hi! So here’s a little fluff and angst. I hand the next chapter almost ready to go, should be up tomorrow and the chapter after that has been outlined. They will be a little angsty and word heavy as they will give some context and world building but I hope you enjoy them too!

So with that I have a question. Should I continue reblogging as I have or start a new post for the next chapters? I kind of like having them all on one stream of blogs but it’s getting a bit long to scroll through.

Or I can try to navigate ao3 or ff.net but I have no idea how posting on either platform works as I’ve only ever read. So what do think?

🤍🖤💚💙💚🖤🤍

Chapter 7

Danny hummed as they walked through the forest, hips swaying to an unheard beet as he made his way to the assassins camp. They wanted to make sure the were gone. The had gone back to the Zone to try and convince the old Stopwatch to pick another time line with a good ending. There had to be one. ‘The damn Ancient probably only picked this one because they found it amusing.’ Huffing to themself, they entered the clearing near the river and paused, they quickly ducked behind a tree and turned invisible. Phasing through the tree he flew closer to the unaware vigilante. He was picking through the wreckage they’d left behind, probably looking for anything on the ‘Pits.’ They couldn’t help but stare. 

Before they could stop themself, they found themselves hovering over the vigilante as he circled around the camp. They took the chance to take in the features they could see, he wasn’t waring the hideous cowl like some versions of wore. His eyes were hidden by the ever present dominos mask but they new that there were steel blue eyes hidden behind those glaring white screens. His skin was pale, paler than their own which surprised them, considering they were as pale as death in their human form. 

Danny hovered so they were face to face with the other man. He had fine aristocratic features that were surprising for a vigilante but knew they fit him well in his civilian life. His top lip was not to thin and curved with a slight cupids bow and his bottom lip was plump. Danny bit his own lip and shook their head before back peddling as Red Robin almost walked through them.

Seeing that the assassins had, clearly, left they took off and headed for they cave.

*****

Danny sat on the opposite side of the cave as he stared at their current problem. The grinning face of what had once been their greatest enemy stared back at them from the dented metal of the thermos. A million thoughts raced through their head. Did he know he was adopted? That the their mother was an inter-dimensional being? Did he know what the Drs Fentons would have done to him if they ever found out they were half ghost? What they did to their mother? Was his sexual orientation even the same? They were the same person, weren’t they? Danny sighed. “Did you Know?”

There was silence and for a moment the thought he wouldn’t answer. “Know what?”

The response was surprisingly lacking of the mocking drawl he had grown used to hearing from the other. “That we were adopted?”

Once again, silence followed the question. “No.”

“So they never told you, in your time line, either.” Danny muttered as drew their legs up and rested their chin on their knees. Tapping one of the earrings in thought, they asked, “Did Maddie ever where a set of red pearl jewellery?”

“Yes.”

“Ever felt drawn to them?” They were slight unnerved by the one word answers. “Did the draw get stronger after…?”

“Yes.” Silence. “Is their a point to all of these questions?”

“Yes.” Ok, so maybe they was feeling a little frustrated with the somewhat one-sided conversation. There was a, rather loud and dramatic, sigh. They smirked before continuing. “They belonged to our birth mother… or rather… made from our birth mother’s blood.”

They lapsed into another long silence and Danny stood up and padded over to the thermos. Stared at it for a moment before gently picking it up and walking out the cave. The hot spring had, unintentionally, become their emotional support spring.

🤍🖤💚💙💚🖤🤍

@akikoyuii

@emeraudesfateandfandoms

@cryinginthevoid

@gay-and-random-shit-i-can-find

@alinmenttreasure

@blackroserelina

@blacksea21090

@seraphinedemort

@jeminiikrystal

@mnemovoid

@sussura

#dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp au #brain dead #tim drake #red robin #danny phantom #let danny say fuck #Siren!Danny #mer!danny #mermaid!danny #merman!danny #tim x danny #red robin x phantom #Phantom x Red Robin #Danny x Tim #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny fenton #Nightwing #dick grayson #duck candle #duck candles dressed as vigilantes #and heros #this song is so dramatic #Mini Dannyo Invasion #dpxdc

[catmonk]

Bruised Waynes

Part One Part Two

Inspired by this post from @sepia-stained-sunset

Pairing- (GEN) Bruce Wayne and His Kids

The one where his kids drive him insane.

The streets were lively today but it was Gotham, no calm nights existed. The rumble of an engine filled the cave as the Batmobile slid into its place. The driver’s side opened and two figures tumbled out.

“Father, that fiend deserved death at my blade.”

“Robin. The criminals deserve a second chance, your personal opinions should not dictate who lives and dies.”

“Tsk.” Damian stormed off, likely to complain to Alfred.

Bruce slid the cowl off his face and rubbed his eyes fiercely. He sat down in front of the Batcomputer, chair creaking under his weight. The nights seemed to get longer the older he got. If only raising children was as easy as defeating the latest villain. His thoughts were interrupted by a light ping. 

Update to the Medical File- 

Nightwing: two weeks 😅

Bruce’s heart clenched. What injury would take Dick that long to heal? He flicked through the tabs, opening the comm line to his son. He had to stay calm.

Click.

“Champ, report.”

“Ghauuh, I tore my hamstring doing squats.”

He signed. “Put some ice on it, and come to the manor for a checkup from Agent A.” Bruce leaned back in his chair, “And use the medical file correctly.”

“What, you said in more detail so I added an emoji.”

“That's- ok fine, I’m proud of you son.”

Click.

-

Batman was the night. He was terror. The dark knight of Gotham. Currently, the said dark knight is attempting to stop the Condiment King. 

"The big bad Bat-guy. I knew you'd ketchup to me sooner or later. How I relished this meeting. Come, Batman. Let's see if you can cut the mustard." 

Ping! Bruce would recognize the sound anywhere. Instantly, he flipped behind Condiment King- god that’s a horrible name-, picking him up by the scruff of his neck. 

“You’ve done enough damage, Standler.” He growled. Grabbing one of the man’s wrist, he handcuffed it to the kiosk of the terrorized restaurant. 

A man crouched behind the counter rose up. “Thank you Batman, you saved my restaurant.” 

Batman was nowhere to be found. 

Well, no one would find him on the rooftop.

Update to the Medical File- 

Red Hood: stabbed. 

“Oracle, alert the GCPD that Condiment King was apprehended. Connect me to Red Hood.” Batman spoke into the empty air. He heard his comm crackle only a few seconds later.

Click.

“Talk to be Jaylad, where did you get stabbed.”

“Kinda busy here, B. Kori just started another bar fight.”

“Jason, I need to know how injured you are.”

“We’re winning, if you care. Toodle-o, Pops” 

Click.

Bruce stared down at the city in frustration. Why were his children like this? He sighed and radioed in for Alfred to prepare his aspirin. Not that any medicine would help, his tolerance had long required enough tranquilizer for a rhino. 

-

Update to the Medical File- 

Red Robin: hand =͟͟͞͞( •̀д•́)))

Bruce rubbed his eyebrows, looking down at the notification. He was sure that Tim was in the manor. In fact, as he opened his window he could hear two voices yelling in the yard below.

“Your cow BIT ME.”

“Tch, it was your fault, Drake. She was only protecting her master.”

“Protecting you?” Tim scoffed, “You're the menace here, no one else in this city wears platform crocs.”

Bruce peered below to confirm that yes, Damian was indeed taller than usual. 

“I’ll have you know that these are designer!” Damian pulled a knife out of his pants, only to get toppled over with a push. 

Bruce slowly closed the window. What he didn’t see wasn't his problem. 

Ping!

Update to the Medical File- 

Robin: avenged.

-

The halls of the Justice League overlooked the vastness of Earth. Batman glowered out the window while Signal looked around in awe. These meetings could be a business email, but Alfred had wanted him to ‘socialize’. Behind him, Superman would fall for a prank from Hal Jordan again. 

“Psst, B, can you introduce me to Wonder Woman?”

“Hgnh.” Better Diana than Clark at least. Bruce motioned for Duke to follow, leading him to Green Arrow and Wonder Woman talking about their weekend. He nodded at them. “This is my new protege, The Signal.”

Green Arrow stroked his goatee, “Geez, where do you get these kids?”

“...aren't you Oliver Queen?” 

“TELL YOUR KIDS TO STOP EXPOSING ME!”

Ping!

Update to the Medical File- 

The Signal: mentally scarred

If anyone saw Batman’s lips quirk up, they certainly wouldn't say anything. 

-

Neither of them could be seen against the pitch black of Gotham’s skyline. Batman and Orphan stood silently, overlooking the city. Orphan tilted her head, nudging to the right. 

“What is it, Orphan.” Batman growled. 

She didn't respond, electing to jump down the side of the building. 

Batman followed, looking around he saw her with her hand down a street gutter. He pinched his nose bridge, Agent A would scold both of them later. As he got closer, he could hear a faint mewing from the street gutter, and he watched as Cassandra scooped a tiny black kitten. He kneeled down beside her carefully.

“This is the sign for cat.” Using both hands he pinched his index and thumb together by the side of each cheek.

Putting the kitten in her lap, she mimicked the sign.

“It looks like he needs a home. Catwoman will be glad to foster him.”

Cass shook her head. “Cat Alfred…needs Cat Bruce.”

“Eta back to the cave in seven minutes.” Bruce sighed. 

He could tell she was beaming behind the mask.

Ping! 

Update to the Medical File- Orphan: image.png 🐈‍⬛

#catmonk works #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #duke thomas #cassandra cain #batfamily #batfam #fanfiction #fanfic #found family