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yourneighborhoodneighbor · 10 months

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super cool ghost ice mega slide

(masterpost to my fics while ao3 is down) AO3

fic under the cut

Having another superpowered person as part of Batclan was great, even if he wasn't technically a meta (I'm dead, Duke, that's more of a medical condition-). Having a portable snow maker year round was even better.

Duke had taken to Danny pretty quickly after the younger teen had been picked up off the street, hurt and borderline delirious, surprisingly not by Bruce, but by Jason. Once he had been cognizant enough to realize in which city he was, and in whose cave, he had had a pretty major freak out, believing himself in danger through a mix of the idea that Batman hated metas and whatever had hurt him so badly in the first place.

After Duke had managed to get out of his stupor at seeing whatever it was the kid had become (and seriously, he had seen some pretty unusual things because of his meta abilities, but a 4k HD 1080p 4D experience of a real life eldritch being was not one of them) he had promptly kicked everyone out of the room in the med area (except for Alfred, whom he very politely asked vacate the room) to try and calm the kid down.

After revealing his own meta status, assuring the glowing kid that Batman didn't actually hate metas, he just wanted to protect his city from mind-controlled superpowered people, and that he was safe from whoever had hurt him, the kid had finally calmed down enough to return to a more human-like appearance.

From then it was really no surprise to anyone that the new kid (who could transform into an actual human, and really? Black hair and blue eyes again?) got promptly adopted and revealed information that got an entire branch of the government taken down by the blazing wings of fury of the entire Batclan (even Damian had quickly become attached to the newest kid once his katana was gushed about with the accuracy and fervor of someone who knows how to wield the weapon).

What had been unexpected was the kid having a connection to the Lazarus Pits (which were apparently something called ectoplasm) and being able to help Jason get rid of what turned out to be a huge amount of toxic gunk from himself, leaving him with only the good gunk (Duke tried not to think too much about it), which made the too dead-but-not-really boys bond quickly.

On top of all that the kid was also an engineering and astronomy nerd (as well as had a knack for math and physics), which appealed him to Tim greatly, and he made puns like would die (again) if he didn't, which appealed him to Dick, and, he preferred communicating with means other than spoken words (usually inhuman sounds and growls), which he bonded over with Cass, and he was actually good a baking, which appealed him to Alfred, and he was also already a vigilante, which appealed him to everyone else-

The point being, everyone loved Danny, including Duke himself, so it was a bit hard to get some to spend with him by himself, which was why Duke was going to make the most of this day.

He wasn't actually alone with the young half-ghost, Cass was also left at home while all the others went about some business or another out of the manor, but Duke knew hanging out with both Danny and Cass was often double the fun since underneath the chill facades both of them were actually feral little shits, so that wasn't an issue.

That brought him back to his first point: having a brother who could make no-melt snow on command was the best!

So now here they were, the three of them standing side by side on top of the tallest point of the manor, facing a slope so steep it was almost 90º degrees at first and then bent and curved all over the yard in ways Duke just knew wouldn't pass a safety inspection, those tiny cheap plastic sleds in hand (“for the full experience,” Danny said, even though they certainly had the money to buy other sleds). Duke was regretting some of his choices, looking down, but now he was committed, no way was he quitting, Danny and Cass would tag team on teasing him for the rest of time.

“Ready?” Danny asked, a too wide smile on his face and eyes open with the kind of crazed excitement only someone who was already dead could have.

Cass answered by putting her sled on the ground and sitting on it, position ready and her face mirroring Danny's.

Duke stood corrected, only people who were already dead, and Cass.

He really was going to regret this, wasn't he. Well, too late to back out now. This is what he got for hanging out with the two most unhinged people in the family, he supposed (and that was saying something, considering the kind of family Duke had).

“Sure, yeah, what's a little sled race down a death slope of doom?” the meta answered with more confidence than he felt. He was the Signal! He could do this! Besides, Cass and Danny wouldn't actually let him break his neck and die, right? Right.

Cass patted his shoulder sympathetically (as if-) as he sat down. Here went nothing.

“Remember, whoever makes it down in the least amount of time wins an ice cream! And no powers! You're up first, Duke!” Danny exclaimed as he pushed Duke forward.

Duke had barely any time to process the fact that he was already in a semi-free fall before he was already approaching the tunnels that made up the bottom half of the “super cool ghost ice mega slide” (patent pending). He remembered he did, in fact, need to breath, filling his lungs to the top and letting the air out in a scream.

The meta boy could do nothing but keep screaming as he reached speeds he was pretty sure went against the laws of physics, making loop-de-loops and turns so steep he thought he was going to slam against the side instead of turning a few times.

After what felt like an eternity but also too little time to have actually completed the Slide of Doom (more accurate name, in Dukes opinion), he finally made it to the end, promptly getting bowled over by a gleeful Cass and cackling Danny, who he hadn't even noticed were right behind him.

“Mmfffhblggggheroff-” Duke grunted, turning over and subsequently throwing off the other two into the surrounding snow. Danny accepted his fate, while Cass sat up and grinned at him.

“And?! Wasn't that fun?!” Cass signed excitedly. Duke was about to say it was terrifying, but cut himself short when he noticed he was smiling.

Huh. That actually had been fun. It had been really, really fun.

“We should do that again,” he breathed out. “We should do that again, but all together! More weight means more speed! We can see how far off the finish we end up!”

He was excited now, he was PUMPED! He grabbed Danny around the waist, carrying him like a sack of potatoes and and running up the ice steps (sibling with ice powers for the win-) back to the roof, Cass behind him with the sleds.

He ignored the ghost boy's protests about being able to walk (“and fly!”), eager to enact his new plan.

Once up there, he dumped his brother and accepted a sled from his sister, sitting down on it.

“Cass, sit on my lap! Danny goes on top because he's a lightweight!” he told the others, receiving a token protest from Danny, who got further teased about his half weight by Cass.

Once they were all settled, Duke got really to start them off by pushing with his legs when Danny yelled out.

“Wait!”

Cass and Duke looked up at him with questioning glances. In response, the boy got up, touched the slide and… Oh-hoho, this was gonna be good.

“There, it's extra smooth and slippery now. We're in for some Cool Running!” Danny said, settling back on top of the pile, grin matching his two siblings'.

“Alright, let's break some legs” Duke muttered, pushing forward with his feet.

And damn-

If Duke thought he was going fast before, they were racing the Flashes now!

All three siblings let out manic laughter, whopping and screaming as they held on to each other for dear life, the forces of the turns threatening to pull them apart.

As they neared the finish, Duke saw a shadow, barely having time to process before he was blinded by the flash of a camera.

They kept going a bit after the finish, the speed they came with not letting them stop, eventually colliding with a pile of snow and finally flying in different directions.

Duke couldn't stop laughing where he had landed, full of adrenaline and absolute mirth. A little ways away, he could hear both his siblings in the same predicament.

After a managing to get himself under control and trying to get his breathing back to normal, he sat up, freezing when he saw the amused audience they suddenly had.

“Umm, guys?” he called out to the other two.

“What?” Danny asked, sitting up as well and freezing as he saw what Duke had seen.

Cass was the last to rise, looking at their audience with as innocent a face as she could manage while clearly a culprit to their exploits.

Bruce simply raised an amused eyebrow, Alfred at his side looking perfectly regal while innocently holding a camera in his hands.

“I see you were having fun on your day off,” he stated, lips threatening to curl into a grin.

The three sibling looked at each other, before Cass reached over and simply offered one of the tiny plastic sleds to the man.

All of them were locked in a staring contest for the next few seconds, before Bruce's face finally broke into a grin and he grabbed the sled.

“Thought you wouldn't ask!” he said, turning and running up the steps, yelling back at them for being slow pokes.

The siblings all grinned at each other before running after the man.

Yeah, having access to unlimited snow was great, but getting to spend time with his family in it? Even better. bonus unrelated snow LBM drawing

#dpxdc #batpham #fanfiction #my fics #yourneighborhoodneighbor

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acemapleeh · 2 years

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World Stage

Summary:

Sibling arguments come from the most personal of places. Post-world war 1 tension boils over regarding where Alfred and Matthew see where they stand in this new world that’s come from the rubbles of war.

Word Count: 3010

Read on Ao3

“What the fuck was that?”

Alfred looked towards his offending brother, lighter burning in one hand and a fresh cigarette between his lips. Christ he couldn’t even start a smoke without Matt starting a fight with him. This was exactly the reason he was dreading the steamship journey home. Everyone was in a foul mood after the peace conference; Alfred had thought it went as good as it could have gone given the convoluted relationships Europe had. Really, it was best that an outsider to all that, like himself, got the final word in how things would settle out. Not part of Europe, not part of Arthur’s stupid empire- Alfred was the perfect neutral party to lay out the negotiations. Apparently, everyone had a problem with it including his own goddamn brother.

He finished lighting the cigarette and stuffed his lighter in his interior coat pocket before answering. “Look Matt, I don’t see what the fuck the problem is.”

Matthew held an icy glare and Alfred was painfully reminded of the fact the two were going to be sharing a cabin for the next two weeks. At least the journey would go by quickly if his brother ended up murdering him in his sleep. “You don’t see the problem, Al? Do you want me to compile a list and staple it to your forehead where your massive ego is stored? There’s got to be enough room there if that’s the case.”

There was a long drag of silence as smoke dissipated into the fog.

“No, really, tell me how you thought saying, ‘well jeez, now that we all got that out of our systems, let me fix everything for you guys and won’t fuck any of you over.’”

“I don’t see why the idea of an institute of collective security was so outlandish. If Francis and Arthur would have just listened to me instead of having just their own interests in mind, my plan could have gone into full effect. And I don't know how Vargas had the idea he could speak up as much as he did. Fucker changed sides and I'm supposed to let him get what he wants? Also, how the hell was I supposed to know that everyone was making territorial negotiations in secret?” Alfred let out a long sigh, feeling a headache forming behind his temples. The echoing sigh of leaders long ago reminded him not to entangle himself with European alliances. His government was starting to really care about their image in how they appeared to the rest of the world. He knew now that all this was over, he was going to be back in his country’s definition of isolation. “Francis was being completely unreasonable- hell, everyone was. I felt like I was the only voice of reason.”

“Papa had every right to be furious- it’s the second time in fifty years Ludwig had invaded his country. Alfred, you know how deep history goes in Europe. You can’t just tell them that from now they’ll be negotiating and never go to war again. Why the hell did you think you needed to take charge of this conference?”

Alfred turned his back to the coastlines of France, the summer fog having swallowed it by this point.

“Matt, I’m finally getting the respect that I’ve been trying to accomplish since I became my own nation. I worked my ass off the last half of the 19th century building my economy up. Everyone thought I was a joke when I was at war with myself. I finally have everything that those old bastards kept looking down on me about. You're in the same situation. This war finally let you prove to them your tactics and military are just as good, if not better than theirs. I don’t understand why you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“You only needed a year and a half of fighting to prove yourself; I needed all five to show them and even then, it barely got me a seat on the League.” Even from a sidelong glance, Alfred could see the purple shadows under his brother’s eyes and the redness fogging his normally clear eyes. His voice was thin like he was trying desperately to balance on a taut fishing line. “I don’t want to have to go through this again Alfred. That’s why I’m so mad these negotiations went like crap even after half a year of trying to get them right. I don’t want to find myself cowering in a trench ten or twenty years from now because these idealistic ideas of yours all meant nothing. Fuck Alfred, your own government won’t even let you on the League that you fucking made.”

“You know how you can avoid doing this shit all over again Matt? By leaving Dad once and for all. He’s the only reason you had to be involved with all this shit from day one.”

“Well, I’m so fucking sorry that some of us know what a sense of loyalty and duty still are. Sorry I didn’t have the luxury of showing up four years late after selling my goods to both sides of the war. I’m so sorry that you think you’re better than me because you can go around shouting-”

“I’m sorry- a sense of loyalty? Cut that crap, Matthew. I know you hate getting stuffed up in London when you’d rather freeze your balls off in the Yukon. You are more than fucking capable to be on your own.” Alfred huffed, head lolling back to look at the grey sky above. “I’m not better than you because I made my voice heard over a century ago and do things the way I think is best. I’m better because I don’t have to listen to Arthur and have pretend sovereignty.”

"I earned my spot at signing that treaty as well as a seat at your League of Nations without having done what you did. I’m respected as I am." There was a slight waver in his voice that the American was quick to note. “I understand Dad being against it but you too?”

"I thought Arthur was going to use you as well as the others to just have more counts under his name." Alfred sighed, not entirely sure where to direct his anger. He knew Matt was frustrated but still sat content in his seat alongside Britain, smiling politely and never voicing what had been aching in his chest for years. It would be too inconvenient for others if Matthew Williams spoke his mind.

But back there in that meeting hall, he had done just that. Alfred watched as his brother stood at his full height in front of the room, the delegates arguing around him and not seeming to have noticed. Even Arthur was too caught up in a heated discussion with Francis to notice his son was no longer seated diligently at his side. Matthew’s mouth had moved, voice lost in the chaos. He had tried, again and again, trying to summon the voice that had carried him through the war.

It was Jack’s shout that silenced the room and a knowing look was exchanged between the sons of Kirkland. The two stood together now and Matthew’s voice carried throughout the hall. He spoke of his men who had died, of the sacrifices made on behalf of the British Commonwealth but the blood that soaked the soil was Canadian. His equality was earned on the frontlines of France and a seat in Paris was all he asked for. This quickly lead way to Jack, Charlie, Rajesh, and Marick speaking their own demands of representation separate from Britain. Those weren’t just Englishmen who died and like hell was it going to be remembered that way.

Alfred’s eyes had met Matthew’s when silence fell about the room. It was a silent plea for his brother to support him, that if the United States spoke up in reinforcement… Arthur’s voice was the first to break the silence. His tone was harsh but his words weren’t berating. Alfred knew the various tones his father used, this was his most professional, the fakest. This was his performance in front of the crowd of angry nations. The Brit showed no weakness on the forefront.

Matthew’s hands that had been held tightly in front of him the entire time he had been speaking were losing their grip. The short nail of his thumb scratched at the opposite knuckle over a scar that he had made with this habit.

Alfred had agreed with Arthur’s words back in January. Canada’s independent policies stopped at international affairs, Arthur could sweep in and change their constitution and Matt couldn’t protest, there was no way in hell you could trust collective security to someone at the end of Britain’s puppet strings. Alfred watched his brother’s fidgeting hands freeze as he spoke against him. The room was back in chaos, words drowning Matthew outside and in. Before things got too far, however, the Canadian’s voice rang out. He pleaded again, his back straight and voice unwavering as he demanded proper recognition- the choir of the Commonwealth at his side. Once more the room was quiet and it would be up to Arthur to be the first to speak. It had felt like ages as Alfred glanced at his father, who was seated just at his right, with curiosity. Green eyes narrow, hands a frigid steeple at his chin, and lips a tight line…

‘I’ll allow it.’

It took nearly another hour for Alfred to believe it and be convinced.

"Just claim independence already. You just spent the last five years proving you can more than handle yourself." The reflective glint in mirrored glasses was still taking time to get used to. "Hell Matthew, what haven't you given up for the sake of proving yourself to Arthur fucking Kirkland. You know all he gave a shit about at that conference was keeping his empire together and taking whatever he could from Ludwig for himself. Did you see what just asking for independence did? Jack shit. You barely have any real international power. Maybe if you actually fought for it you would be standing here on your own free will. You think you can just ask politely again?"

Alfred could feel the tremor of the railing through his spine.

“I’m not an idiot.” Matthew hissed. He sighed, hands letting go before being stuffed in his pockets. “Besides, this war took everything out of me, out of all of us. I can’t believe Morgan is fighting Dad now of all times. I mean- aren’t they just as exhausted as the rest of us? Declaring independence in the middle of us trying to make peace?”

“Honestly- you should be doing the same. It would have been the perfect time to-”

“Are you out of your mind Alfred Fucking Jones?” Matt spun to face his brother, looking ready to toss him overboard and leave him to the depths of the Atlantic. “Start another war? With what men? With what resources? With what willpower and energy?”

“You think Dad’s in any better shape than you are? Matt just take advantage of him! He does crap like that in his sleep!”

“I’ve been a dominion for fifty years and have been perfectly fine! I don’t want anything else right now!”

“Of course you are! You would be happy still being a colony if it meant making someone else happy!” Alfred’s cheeks felt hot and he quickly snuffed out his finished smoke to toss it into the vastness of the sea. “You take a deep breath of that frigid, sea salt air, and then you can tell me that being the British Dominion of Canada sits perfectly well with you. Go ahead, Matt. You royally fucked yourself over just so you can pretend to be Dad’s little golden child. You ran yourself ragged for five years and got yourself killed I don’t even know how many times just to get a pat on the back. How fucking low is your self-esteem?”

The fist that collided with his jaw was almost satisfying but he could tell that Matthew was still holding back for the sake of appearances. His face was still intact and his body was in the confines of the ship. The bruise that was already forming was going to sting for the rest of the way home.

Matthew’s eyes were like icicles in late winter, lethal if caught by the still pointed blades but dripping cold drops as the warm, morning sun caught them in its light.

“I cannot even begin to describe how fucking tired I am. I just want to go home, Alfred. All I want is to go home and stare at my mountains again. I want to feel my snow under my boots, I want to drink good coffee with syrup from my trees, and listen to the French my people speak.” He took a deep breath, hands clutched to fists at his side. “I haven’t been home for almost six years and have been fighting in this goddamn war the entire time. I want to go home and be with my people again.” A trembling hand ran through overgrown blonde curls. “Fuck, I don’t know if it’s just that I’m withdrawn from all the cocaine and morphine they had us on or if I’m just fucking sick of everything.”

Alfred rubbed at his jaw a moment longer, regaining his stance with the aid of the railing. Nervous laughter bubbled up from his chest. He knew the feeling. It was the same all nations felt; that deep connection to the Earth that was every part of them as they were a part of it. From where they were born and where they would return when they would die. The small vial of his own soil felt heavy in his breast pocket. “Canada... what’s holding you back then huh? You’re my brother whether you like it or not. I know you asked for your own seat on the League just out of pride and not because you actually believed in what I was doing. Fuck, you actually spat in Dad’s face in ‘37. I know you got something in you.”

There was a peal of small laughter from chapped lips. “Yeah, no thanks to you or Papa. A small rebellion out of my system for the rest of the century I suppose.” He had reached into his breast pocket for a plain handkerchief, glasses pushed to his forehead as he wiped his eyes. “Fuck Alfred, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I haven’t been sleeping well even though we’ve been in a hotel for six months with real beds and food and I just- I feel like a piece of shit for being able to enjoy that.”

It was the same problem Alfred knew ate at his brother time and time again. Guilt. It never mattered what the situation was. Even when Matthew was asking for basic needs as a child, his brow would be furrowed and he tried to get his words out. That was something that hadn’t changed between them as the centuries went by. For Matthew, everything needed mental preparation whereas Alfred simply spoke his mind. Different times favored different approaches. If Matt could panic over deciding what type of jam to put on Arthur’s toast, Alfred could only imagine the strain he had gone through with making life or death calls. He didn’t know everything he had gone through, just whatever he had felt like sharing which only seemed to happen when his belly was full of rum or wine on sleepless nights.

“We’re going home. That’s all that matters. Why don’t we just forget about all this crap for the next two weeks yeah? This will be the only peace of mind we’ll get for a while. You know… I look forward to a good cup of coffee in my own kitchen too. You think I can get away with disappearing into the Appalachians?”

“Only if you think I can hide out in the Arctic for five years.”

“Matt, you can stand at the mouth of the Niagara Falls stark naked and no one will notice you for at least ten weeks.”

Matt’s obnoxious French laughter was the best thing Alfred’s heard in weeks. It went on for five minutes and only ended when Matthew put himself in a coughing fit.

“Easy there- jeez, I know I’m funny but not that funny.”

“N-no, fuck- I just remembered something.” Matt wiped away new tears and put an arm across Alfred’s broad shoulders. “Do you remember what today is? The date?”

Alfred thought for a moment. His sense of time got jumbled whenever he traveled and the last six months had definitely been a blur. He quickly glanced at his watch and broke out in a grin. “We’re fucking idiots, aren’t we? July 5th.”

“Missed both of our birthdays by a hair.”

“So what do you suggest Mister Dominion of Canada?”

“How much of your medical kit is left? I want to see if I can forget this war even happened. I have Scotch and rationed rum in the room that I was planning on finishing before I made it home anyway.”

“I have plenty of everything, but sadly, no Parisian prostitutes to ease you to blissful sleep.” Alfred pulled out two cigarettes with a shit-eating grin. “How many times did you catch syphilis again? I know enough for Arthur to be really fucking proud of you.”

Matt snatched a smoke and lit it eagerly. “You should try it sometime, but if jacking off to old photographs is all you want, I won’t stop you.”

“Fuck off. I can’t believe how much you take after Francis.”

“And you’re more of a prude than Dad pretends to be.”

They were quiet for some time, smoking and watching the waves of the Atlantic as the horrors of Europe became further and further away.

#hws america #hws canada #my writing #historical hetalia #hetalia #post ww1 #sibling arguments #lots of swearing #ace writes

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anjuschiffer · 4 years

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Amira Wayne - Chapter 5

I’ve officially ran out of prewritten chapters QuQ

Day 5 of @biodad-bruce-month event

Chapter 5: Overprotection

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

“I’m sending you to Paris.” Amira heard her father say out of the blue.

“Wha-what?” Amira sputtered out, rising from her seat, cushions tumbled to the floor.

“I’ll have all the necessary arrangements done by the end of this month, no, week.” Bruce said, searching his desk for some papers.

“Dad, what are-”

“You’ll be living with Tom and his wife-”

“What do you-”

“I’ll also have to do the necessary paperwork for you to attend a school in Paris-”

“But I don't need to move to be safe. I’m perfectly-” Amira argued, standing in front of his desk, the Batman plushie in her hand.

“If I thought you were safe here, I wouldn’t have you-”

“I don’t want to-” Amira cut off again, trying to get her feelings across to her father.

“You’re going to go to Paris where it’s safe. Where no villain nor enemy will find you.” Bruce stated, almost glaring at Amira.

“I. Don’t. Want. To.” Amira gritted, feeling her hand tightly squeeze the plushie in her hand. She just started to do well again. She finally had someone to talk to at school, even if Babs was years older than her.

“This isn’t up for discussion Amira.” Bruce glared, his eyes narrowed. “You’re going to Paris where it’s safe, whether you like it or not. Am I clear?”

Amira felt herself shake, hating that she held no power to go against her own father. Amira looked at the Batman in her hand, scowling as she looked at it. Without a second thought, Amira ripped it in half and threw it to the floor. “Why the hell did I ever idolize you?” Amira growled, marching out of the study, ignoring her father’s yells for her to come back.

She almost slammed the doors into Dick’s face, but even when he asked her what happened, she simply glared at him with unshed tears before picking up her pace.

She shut her room door closed as she walked to her bed, or at least attempted to. Just two steps away from it, she collapsed to the floor, grasping the rug underneath her as she let her tears escape.

She let herself scream into the void that was her room.

Amira looked at the boxes surrounding her and then at the empty room before her, feeling her panic rising as she started at the brightly lit attic.

She couldn’t say goodbye to Dick...nor Wally...or Barbara.

Even as she kept locked within her room that week, her mode of communicating with Dick was also cut off.

She was made to leave the manor without a word that Friday morning, to board the jet without a word and be sent off without anything more than a hug from Alfred.

Her father had told her that she would keep doing her class work remotely, seeing as it was the last semester of the school year and there was no point in making her completely withdraw.

But come the next school year, she would be a student at College Francoise Dupont, the school across the street from where she and the Dupain-Chengs would reside.

She knew her father was hurting, but this? This was too much.

She headed up the skylight, thinking fresh air would help to calm her down, but was proved wrong when she saw the blue sky.

How the hell was this supposed to feel like home when it felt nothing like Gotham?

Where were the gray skies? The arcs and cobblestone that hid malicious secrets? Where were the gargoyles that followed her every move? Her home?

Amira went back down, looking at the place she had to call her room. The tall ceiling loomed over her, as if laughing at her.

“How are you doing, Amira?” Tom asked her in French, Amira turning ever so slightly to look at the baker. Right, how did she forget? This was Tom’s hometown. Of course he would feel at home here in Paris while she didn’t.

“Doing alright?” Sabine asked, holding their daughter in her arms. She really forgot about her too, didn’t she?

Amira looked at the couple, letting a smile form on her lips.

“I’m doing alright, Papa, Maman. If anything, just taking in the view.” Amira lied through her teeth.

That’s right. She couldn’t make any trouble for her host parents. While she knew Tom since she was a toddler, she was still figuring out Sabine.

Tom met the woman years ago and married her just two years ago. A year into their marriage, they had Bridgette. Of course, the Dupain-Chengs knew that Amira would once again use their surname while in Paris. It will be a bit confusing, but they knew it would be fine as long as the name was used for school purposes only.

Documents for school were easier to forge than for those for the government, or so Bruce once told them.

“Well, if you need anything,” Tom started.

“We will be right downstairs.” Sabine finished.

With that, the two went down the stairs, leaving Amira to unpack her things.

So this was her new life.

As she unpacked her things, she found Jason’s old journal with a worn out bookmark in her hands. She watched as her tears hit the surface of the journal.

“Jason...just what am I supposed to do?”

Dick couldn’t take it anymore, hell, he wanted to do this when he first heard about Amira leaving the country against her will. Of course, he couldn’t do anything when Alfred practically threatened him if Dick ever did what he was currently doing.

Barging into Bruce’s study, Dick didn’t care if Bruce was in the middle of a phone call. Ending the call, Dick made Bruce look at him.

“What the hell made you think sending Amira by herself to Paris was a good idea?” Dick growled, hating that Bruce remained indifferent.

With a sigh, Bruce set down the phone.

“She’s not alone. She’s with Tom and his wife. They’ll take good care of her.”

“That isn’t the point here Bruce! You’ve literally sent Amira across the Atlantic, away from all the people she knew as family, just because it would give you a peace of mind?”

“It was necessary.”

“It was extreme, even for you!” Dick gritted. “Amira needs us to be by her side, not across an ocean, all by herself!”

“If that's what you came here to talk about, I suggest you leave. I have an important call to-”

“Fine! Be that way! Dick yelled, slamming the door behind as he left the study.

He couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t.

Sending Amira to a place she didn’t know, a place where she would have trouble with adjusting to all on her own?

How could Bruce do this to her?

Once in his room, Dick huffed, pacing around his room in attempts to calm himself down. As he kept pacing around, he noticed his suitcase peering from under his bed.

That’s right. He was 17, almost 18 in a few months.

Who needed Bruce anyways?

Amira needed a break from unpacking, so taking her keys and her phone (that she managed to buy without her father knowing), Amira went off to explore. Of course, she told her ’parents’ before going off, thanking that they at least understood her, unlike her own father.

Amira sighed as she looked out towards the Seine, wondering why many tourists believed that this river lived up to its fame, the river making her remember one of her father’s stories about her mother.

Her mother and father had come here before, a year before she was born. Talia. That was her mother’s name. While Amira hated the fact that she learned her mother’s name 12 years too late, she was glad to finally have the name of the woman who brought her into this world.

Even if the world was against her.

The two were just two love birds, even if they only knew each other for a year. In that year, they came to the Seine together and placed a lock on that very bridge, thinking they too would end up together. Seems like the universe had other plans for the two.

Amira kept walking around town, getting a feel for it, remembering landmarks in case she ever got lost and didn’t have her phone.

As she passed by a park, she couldn’t help but notice the mob of girls looking at something...or rather, someone.

As she approached the mob, she finally saw what they were all desperately trying to get to see.

“Adrien!” A girl shouted, said boy turning to greet them, causing the girls to let out a deathly squeal, causing Amira to cover her ears.

Damn fangirls and their screams. Just when she thought she got used to them, she was always proven wrong. Then again, Dick’s fanclub wasn’t as rowdy as these girls. They at least respected Dick and his wishes of them not causing trouble for him.

Amira left the mob, wondering why the boy looked so familiar only to look up and see why. His damned face was all over the place.

A model...he was a model...

A decent looking model to be quite honest. But despite being a model, he had nothing compared to-

Amira caught herself mid sentence, wondering why she thought that...

Did she really miss him that much?

Not thinking much of it, she kept walking.

“What do you mean he isn’t home?” Bruce asked, looking up from his documents. He watched as Alfred remained unfazed by Bruce’s raise in tone.

“Master Dick told me to give you this if you should ever ask about his whereabouts.” Alfred handed over an envelope to Bruce. But Bruce simply let it hang, getting up to search for his missing son. “Master Bruce, I suggest you don’t-”

“We have patrol tonight and he should have been here by now, prepping for it. He should be-”

“-in Bludhaven by now.” Alfred completes, making Bruce stop.

“What?”

“Master Dick wanted to tell you that he was heading to Bludhaven.” Alfred said, laying down the envelope Dick had wanted to give to Bruce. “‘Crime never rests’ he said before leaving with nothing but a small suitcase. Although if you ask me, it seems like he’s taken the next step in his life. But what about you, Master Bruce?

Are you ready to take the next step?”

Bruce’s mouth formed a thin line, eyeing the envelope on the desk.

“I guess I better get used to doing patrols by myself then.”

Amira couldn’t believe her eyes. Who the hell would just push an elderly old man as they’re crossing the street? Not even Gothamites did that (unless there was some type of crime going around).

“Are you alright sir?” She asked the elderly man, helping him up and handing him his cane.

Yes, she was the daughter of a billionaire, but that didn’t stop Grandpere Alfred from making sure she was shaped into a decent human being.

“Thank you, young lady.” The elderly man replied, shakily getting up. “I’m terribly sorry for making you-“

“No problem at all sir.” Amira told him with a small smile. “If anything, it gave me a slight feel of home.” Amira bid the old man goodbye, not realizing the perplexed look on his face.

Bruce let out a long sigh as he rubbed his temples, trying to figure out why the universe was against him so much lately.

First, Dick leaves for Bludhaven without a single word. Then he wouldn’t pick up his phone whenever Bruce called, although he did at least read the messages Bruce would leave him.

Second, Amira also stopped picking up the phone as well. Whenever Bruce would call the bakery, Amira would pick up before hanging up promptly. Unlike Dick, Amira didn’t have a phone, so he couldn’t just leave her a message directly for her. He would have to relay it, something he didn’t want to do.

And when he thought his week couldn’t get any worse, it did.

He was at another charity event, when Killer Croc decided to attack. Stuck between a stone and a wall, Bruce was about to resort to possibly exposing himself when a girl crashed in, wearing a bat logo across her chest.

While she was knocked out the minute she came to the scene, it gave Bruce a decent window to change into Batman.

And here he was, standing in an alley with a girl who’s red hair made him think he knew her behind the yellow mask and black cowl.

“What were you thinking?” Batman hissed, looking at the girl in front of him. “What made you think that wearing that outfit would-”

“This was the only way to get your attention.” The girl spoke, unfazed by his furrowed brows. “You need a partner and don’t say you don’t, because your recent fights tend to prove otherwise. The girl cut to the chase, placing her hand on top of her yellow utility belt. “Your attacks are sloppy and you’re biting off more than you can chew to make up for Nightwing’s sudden change of patrol.”

Batman frowned, wondering how much this girl knew about him and his activities.

“It wasn’t sudden. He was going to-”

“Because that clearly explains why Nightwing is only seen patrolling Bludhaven as of five days ago.” The girl says, waiting for Batman’s next excuse. When there was none, the girl continued. “I know why he moved. I know why you’re lagging behind. It’s what happened to Robin...isn’t it?”

The girl knew that it was a touchy subject, she knew and yet she still needed to voice it. She needed Batman to come back to his senses. Gotham needed him to come back.

“Robin-”

“Robin died in your last mission involving Joker. It didn’t take long to connect the dots when all of the evidence was there. No Robin sighting in the past month, no Nightwing seen with you for the past two weeks and Nightwing suddenly appearing in Bludhaven this week? Not exactly being the most discreet here, B.”

“Listen here-” Batman started, only then realizing who this young woman was. How did he not notice her before? After all, she used to follow her father like a chick would follow its mother. “Barbara.” He didn’t miss the way she flinched, her eyes growing wide. “Vigilantism isn't a game.”

“How-”

“If your father found out-”

“He won’t.” Barbara declared. “He may be a detective, but he is my father. It shouldn’t be too hard to make him-”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, although I’m sure he would quickly find out about you doing this.” Batman said, starting the Batmobile. “I’m worried about how it will affect your relationship with your father. What would he say when you finally decide to tell him your…” Batman realising he never heard her alias.

“Batgirl.” Barbara provided.

“What will he say when you finally tell him your Batgirl? That you’re working with Batman, a man he despises?”

“He doesn’t really despise you.” Barbara said, looking down at her feet. “If anything, he’s grateful that you're doing what you’re doing: keeping Gotham safe.” Batman looked at Barbara with calculating eyes before he stepped into the Batmobile.

“Get in. I’m taking you home.”

After dropping Barbara home, Bruce wasn’t expecting to find yet another unwanted visitor in the Cave.

“Hey, um..hi.” The boy said, Batman wondering why the Drakes’ kid was doing in his Cave.

Sure, the two families have never talked to each other, but Bruce made it his business to investigate them thoroughly. “My name’s Tim. Tim Drake. I...I know you’re Bruce Wayne and I knew who Robin was too, but that’s not why I’m here!” Tim quickly added when he noticed Batman approach him with narrowed eyes. “I..I wanted to ask you something else.”

“Then speak.” Bruce growled, towering over the boy, but Tim didn’t back down from his glare.

“Where’s Amira, your daughter?”

Amira looked at the picture on her phone, not realizing how much she was squeezing it until her hand started to ache. Scowling, Amira threw her phone against her wall, yelling as she began to thrash her room. Thankfully, half of her things were still in boxes and the Dupain-Chengs were out for the day.

It hasn’t even been two months since Amira arrived in Paris, not even one year since Jason’s death and yet...and yet! He dared to replace him!

Amira recalled the headline on the Gotham Gazette’s latest issue.

FINALLY BACK! : ROBIN’S FIRST APPEARANCE AFTER TWO MONTHS OF SILENCE

As if that wasn’t enough, when she scrolled further down the article, she was met with another revelation. Batgirl.

She remembered the years of pleading with her father to let her join him, to let her help keep Gotham safe and each time she asked, her father dismissed her out of hand.

She knew how to operate the Batcomputer, she knew she could have worked perfectly with Jason, she knew how he operated, she knew she was ready...but he always shut her down.

And yet when this girl comes around, he quickly accepts her? Just like that?

This girl who came out of nowhere... This girl who probably knows next to nothing on how he operates? On what it meant to wear the infamous bat emblem on her person?

He lets her join him?

Amira stopped throwing her things, quickly going to pick them up and putting them back into place.

Maybe this is why her father sent her to Paris, using his ‘concern for her safety’ as an excuse to kick her out of Gotham. To make her leave so he can replace her with someone else. If that was the case...then fine…

Let him keep replacing them.

Let him do what he wants, because guess what?

She too is going to do what she wants, whether he likes it or not.

Months passed by, it finally being September, Amira finally having adapted to her new home. But just as she started to adapt to her new life, another thing was hurdled her way.

College Françoise Dupont.

Her father insisted she attend this school, one of the few reminders that he had control over every aspect of her life.

Sighing, Amira made her way to school. She stared at the stairs that lead to the school, scoffing at the size of it.

To be honest it looked like the size of her old school’s library. That or perhaps Amira just forgot how Gotham Academy’s library truly was in size.

Knowing that she had no other choice, Amira walked into the school and hunted for her class, looking at her timetable and at the numbers of the doors within the school.

Something she quickly realized was that she was right. This school was small. Too small for her liking.

She managed to find her class, located on the second floor of the building, a bit too close to the stairs if you asked her.

Stepping into her classroom, she was met with several pairs of eyes. Ignoring them, Amira headed to the teacher, remembering everything she had researched before transferring to this school.

Caline Bustier - her main teacher and her teacher for French, literature, and poetry.

From what Amira could remember, Bustier is a supposed passionate teacher, eager to protect and nurture her students, hence why she has had the same class for the past several years. Apparently she begged the principal to let her keep teaching the same class year after year.

While yes, it did show her love for her students, Amira took it as a sign of fear. Fear of not being able to teach another group of students that weren’t the ones she had already taught before. Students that she knew how to control, not having to start from scratch to learn about their weaknesses and strengths. She feared failure, perhaps change.

“Hello, Miss Bustier. My name is Marinette-”

“So you’re Marinette!” Miss Bustier interrupted, causing Marinette to narrow her eyes and scrunch her nose in annoyance. “I’m so glad to have you in our class! Please take a seat!”

Marinette simply stood there, looking at her class and then at Miss Bustier. “I can sit anywhere?”

“Pardon?” Miss Bustier asked, tilting her head a bit. That’s when it hit her. “Oh! That’s right! You’ve recently transferred from-”

“Can I or can I not?” Marinette asked impatiently.

“Y-Yes. You can sit anywhere you want.” Miss Bustier stammered, watching Marinette choose the seat in the front towards her left.

Marinette proceeded to take out her notebook and go over her classes, taking mental notes on what supplies to buy and which she didn’t.

Everything was going swell, the class slowly filling in until a certain brat entered the class.

“Move aside! Your Queen is coming through.” Chloé announces as Sabrina made sure that her path was clear.

Chloé Bourgeois, the daughter of Paris’ mayor. Nothing but a spoiled brat from Marinette’s research. As long as she steered away from Chloe, she was fine.

With Chloé being the last person to enter, Miss Bustier started the class.

Hell. It was utter hell.

Marinette held the urge to drag her hands down her face at how boring French was.

Despite already being 13 year olds, they were going over material that Marinette knew they covered during Ecole Primaire. Why was Miss Bustier still teaching this material?

With the sound of the bell, her class started to move around when Miss Bustier called out Ivan.

Turning around, Marinette watched as Ivan was about to punch Kim. Within seconds, Marinette put herself between Ivan and Kim, staring at Ivan.

“What is going on?” Marinette asked, hating herself that she still managed to get into anti-bullying mode thanks to being in the role for five straight years.

“It's Kim.” Ivan growled, Marinette noticing Kim shift in his place. “I’m going to-“

“Punching him won’t do anything.” Marinette cut off, noticing that Miss Bustier still hadn’t bothered to come up to the two boys to see what was wrong. “If anything, it might prove you guilty rather than innocent.”

Marinette watched as Ivan lowered his arm, only then Marinette noticing the paper in his hand. “Kim. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Kim cried out. “Ivan just suddenly wanted to hit me!“

Marinette glared at him as she took the info, gesturing Ivan to hand over the paper in his hand. Hesitantly, he did.

Reading the paper, Marinette knew who started it. Turning to her teacher, she frowned. “Miss Bustier, I’m pretty sure you’re familiar with my old school, correct?”

“Yes.” Miss Bustier replied. “Gotham Academy, if I remember correctly.” Marinette ignored the waves of gasps that rippled through the class.

Was her school that known? Or simply because Gotham was in the name?

“As you know, Gotham Academy is well known for its anti-bullying program, for I was the head student of that program for 5 years straight. So my question is, what haven’t you moved?”

“Pardon?”

“I said: why haven’t you moved? Instead of rushing here to see what actually happened here or to even dismantle the fight, you decided to just stand there and watch. You called out Kim. While I understand that you were worried about Kim, what about Ivan?”

“Ivan?” Miss Bustier repeated, wondering where exactly Marinette was going with this. “Ivan was going to hit Kim, so of course I was going to worry about Kim! As a teacher-“

“But what about Ivan?” Marinette asked again. How she hated when people didn’t answer her questions properly. “What were you planning to tell him? Or rather, what were you thinking when you saw Ivan raise his hand against Kim?”

“I...I was going to send him to the prin-“

“Then you failed him as a teacher.” Marinette cut off, walking up to Miss Bustier. “As a teacher, you’re supposed to be there for the students, meaning remaining neutral during arguments. As a neutral party, you have to look at both sides of the story.” Marinette slammed the crumbled piece of paper against her desk. “You were just about to make the situation worse by sending the victim to the principal rather than the person who started the problem.”

Marinette went to grab her bag and stared at Miss Bustier. “If you were a teacher at my old school and someone reported this incident the way it almost happened, you would’ve had your teaching license suspended and sent to several anti bullying workshops. You would then be re-evaluated to see if you can teach again. If not, you would be fired then and there. So word of advice Miss Bustier, don’t let the spark turn into a flame when you have the chance to snuff it out.”

Marinette left the classroom, heading to her next class. Hopefully she would be able to convince her gym teacher to get her into the fencing club. She needed to blow off some steam.

There went her chance at asking the teacher to join the fencing team.

As soon as Marinette got to persuade the coach to teach her how to fence, a villain appeared, wrecking havoc with her...whatever it was she was using.

Thanks to the attack, the students were sent home early, Marinette now in her room. She frowned as she paced around in her room, hating her situation.

There was a villain. In Paris. Where her father couldn’t reach her. The irony.

Marinette let out a dry chuckle, not believing this all.

“Father is across the ocean, there’s a villain running loose in the streets and here I am! Missing the opportunity of a lifetime!”

She would have proven herself to her father. That she was up for crime fighting.

But the universe just had to be against her...or so she thought.

As she slumped into her computer chair, she noticed the black box with an ever so familiar red emblem on the top of the hexagon shaped lid.

Something screamed at her to leave it alone while a piece of her whispered to open it.

Prying the box open, Marinette watched as a red orb manifested in front of her, her eyes following it as it morphed into an odd creature. Making sure the creature was what emerged from the box, Marinette looked back down to the box, noticing a pair of earrings.

Ladybug themed earrings...o...okay…

“Hello!” The being spoke, Marinette quickly snapping from her trance. “I know this is all weird to you, but I can explain. My name is Tikki and I am a Kwami. To be more precise, the Kwami of creation.”

Kwami of creation...that implies that there are others like this creature out there.

“Tikki...although I want to say that it’s a pleasure to meet you, I know there’s a reason behind you gracing me with your presence.” Tikki nodded, handing Marinette over the earrings.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I need you to take down Remediator.”

After Tikki laid down the groundwork on how her miraculous worked, Marinette got to work.

She managed to track down Remediator, surveying her action before deciding on a plan to take down the...akuma?

No, that was the name of the thing that possessed her teacher. Villain would be the better term.

As she watched Remediator ‘fix’ people’s problems, Marinette couldn’t help but notice the heart located on Remediator’s chest fill up, almost as if it fed off - no.

It did feed off of the problems Remediator supposedly fixed. Now, how exactly was she-

“Get away from them!” someone shouted, Marinette looking to the direction of which the voice came from that was about to attack Remediator.

A blond boy cladded in black -black leather to be more precise- extended his bo staff to try and fling the ‘villain’ away from her new set of prey.

Sighing, Marinette sprung from her hiding spot and prevented the boy from hitting the ‘villain,’ earning a glare and a ‘hey’ from the boy.

“What were you thinking?” Marinette growled, crossing her arms.

“Well hello to you too.” The boy said, eyeing Marinette’s odd choice of wearing a black slit miniskirt and short black cape over her red skin tight bodysuit. “To think such a bossy-” the boy promptly shut up when Marinette glared at him.

“I’m going to forget what you just said if you answer my previous question. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of defeating the villain. Isn’t that our job?” The boy asked in response.

“Yes, it’s our job to-”

“Then let’s go! The people-”

“The people are alright.” Marinette spoke, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If anything, the akumatized person isn’t really doing much.” Marinette filled in, watching the boy tilt his head. How did he not notice the victim actually helping solve people’s problem despite being dubbed a villain? “Are you being serious right now?” Marinette dragged her hands over her face. “Are you telling me you haven’t been trying to investigate the victim to see if they’re truly hurting anyone?”

When she saw the boy slowly shake his head, Marinette let out a heavy sigh.

“What? I see a villain, I quickly head over and fight them off. It’s our job after all.”

“Our job is to protect the people, but that doesn’t mean we have to ruthlessly attack the victim or villain. Since we don’t know the full capacity of their powers, we have to proceed cautiously. We also have to make sure they destroy as little property as possible.” Marinette warned, the boy arching a brow. Just how much did he not realize? “We don’t know if the damage they cause is permanent or not...we don’t want innocent people to die, or do we?”

She watched as the boy’s eyes widened, only then his role finally sinking in. Marinette watched as the boy looked down at his hands, trembling more as he kept staring at them.

“So what are we supposed to do?” The boy asked Marinette, looking at her with fear in his eyes.

“De-escalate the situation.” Marinette said, only then realizing something. “What’s your name?”

“Adri-”

“Not your actual name you idiot. We mustn’t know each other's identities under any circumstance!” Marinette warned. “So, what’s your alias?” The boy hummed before he smiled.

“Chat. Chat Noir. What about you?”

“Ladybird.” Ladybird provided quickly, raising a brow when Chat Noir looked at her in...admiration? “What?”

“Not only did you already have your outfit down, but also your name. Have you been Ladybird for a while?”

“Nope. Been Ladybird for a few hours.” The two were snapped from their conversation when they heard a scream nearby. “Come on Chat, we have a victim to help.”

After an hour of trying to calm the victim down, but coming to no avail (since Ladybird couldn’t exactly bring her Marinette to her), the duo resorted to fighting the victim, finding her akuma to be trapped in a piece of paper tucked in her skirt pocket.

Ordering Chat to take Miss Bustier back to the school, Ladybird stood below the Eiffel Tower.

“De-evilize.” Ladybird said as she captured the akuma, purifying it with her yo-yo and then releasing it. “Miraculous Ladybug!” Ladybird shouted as she then threw her yo-yo in the air as Tikki had told her, watching as millions of ladybugs erupted from her tiny yo-yo and spread throughout Paris, fixing any damage and reversing the victim’s effects on any person inflicted by the victim’s power.

“That was amazing!” A girl shouted from across the police tape, Ladybird turning to see her classmate...or rather her seat ‘buddy’. Alya is her name...if Marinette remembered correctly. “Say, can we know the name of the hero who just finished saving Paris?” Alya asked, smiling as she watched Ladybird approach her.

“The name’s Ladybird, but I am no hero. I’m just doing what I must to keep Paris safe.” With those words, Ladybird ran off, using her yo-yo to lift herself onto a building and disappear into the distance.

Stepping into her room, Amira finally let herself relax.

“Tikki, spots off.” Amira recited, watching her transformation wear off. Just as she was about to ask Tikki for her end of the deal, a voice spoke up.

“What is the meaning of this?” Amira whipped her head around, her eyes wide before narrowing upon seeing her father.

“What are you doing here?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find a way to keep knowing of your activities outside of Gotham?” Bruce asked, looking at her monitors at her desk. It was only then that Amira understood what he meant by that.

“You hacked into my devices from across the ocean?” Amira gritted. “Was isolating me not enough for you, so you had to resort towards invading my privacy too?” She didn’t get a response.

“When I heard that there was a villain in Paris-” Bruce continued, walking to her small window that was across from where he stood.

“Don’t-” a whine. “She wasn’t a villain! The true mastermind manipulated her emotions and took advantage of it to turn her-”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bruce stated. “She was still putting you in danger, whether directly or indirectly. But judging from your entrance and outfit, I’m going to guess that it was directly.”

“I was able to defend myself. I was able to defeat her.” Amira pointed out, not bringing up that thanks to her suit being magical, all of her injuries were healed once dropping her transformation. She didn’t want to give him any more flaws to tear apart. “Some random stranger had more confidence in me being able to take down a villain than you ever-”

“They were lucky that you knew what you were doing. That you had experience in martial arts and weaponry. Or did you forget who trained you?” Bruce reminded, making Amira shrink into herself, because...he had a point.

“But-”

“Not to mention how much of a deadweight your partner was.”

“He-”

“He relied on you to keep catching him, to keep directing him. All he did was follow your orders, never once thinking for himself or trying to guess your next step. What good is a partner if all they do is create more work for you?” Bruce asked, watching Amira shut up. “Did you really think this situation-”

“Yes.” Amira answered. “And I wasn’t wrong. I-”

Amira was cut off by a video appearing on her main monitor’s screen. A video addressed to her...or rather Ladybird.

He introduced himself as Hawkmoth, declaring himself as Ladybird’s and Chat Noir’s enemy. Declaring that he was after their miraculous and wouldn’t stop until he had them. Once the video ended, Amira felt her father’s shadow loom over her.

“Hand them over.”

“What?” Amira squeaked out, making sure to keep looking at her father. She couldn’t afford to hand them over. So to prevent that, she had to avoid looking at the box at her desk and try to not shield the earrings she was wearing. “No! I’m not going to hand them over just because you said so!”

“Amira, hand them over. If that man is after these miraculouses, then I need you to hand them over. I won’t allow him-”

“I vowed to protect them! To keep them away from the enemy that is Hawkmoth and he will not get his hands on them! Nor will I allow you to have them either.” Amira promised, taking a stance. “If you want them from me, you’ll have to-“ Amira called back her transformation, watching her father stare at her with wide eyes. “You will have to take them from my cold dead body! After all, you don’t need me, just like you didn’t need Jason! We are so easily replaceable after all.”

“Amira, what are you-”

At that moment, her ceiling began to rumble, causing the two of them to go on alert. Soon, someone crashed through her small skylight, cement falling into her room while dust filled in the remaining space.

With the dust making her lose sight of her father, Amira kept her guard up when she quickly turned around to avoid being hit from behind.

“Amira! Where are you?” She heard her father ask, but she didn’t respond. Who knew if this was part of his plan. Who knew if this was his way of telling her he would get his way no matter what.

Amira dodged another attack to her side, Amira crouching to avoid it while also sweeping her leg under her opponent, only to find out he was able to fly. Looking up to the person before her, she froze.

He was glowing green, also wearing a domino mask across his face.

“Sorry kid. But we were left with no choice but to take you by force.”

“Wha-” Amira’s words were cut short when she felt someone else behind her.

The last thing Amira remembered was a beautiful woman giving her an apologetic look as Amira fell to the ground. Had she remained conscious for a while longer, she would’ve heard her father crying out her name, agony coating his voice.

#maribat #b!dbwm2020 #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio!dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #amira wayne

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rebelsandtherest · 3 years

Text

Final Frontier

My Day 6 submission for @historical-hetalia-week!

Title: Final Frontier

Summary: He didn't know it, but Alfred F. Jones was about to make what he would later describe as the best mistake of his entire life. A simple mistake of engineering leads to a grand adventure that leads Alfred closer the things he loves most, and the places he can never truly leave behind. Written for Historical Hetalia Week 2021.

Content Warnings: Language

Word Count: 3,406

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Huntsville, Alabama, USA 1996

He didn't know it, but Alfred F. Jones was about to make what he would later describe as the best mistake of his entire life. Considering that he'd celebrated his 388th birthday shortly before making the mistake, this was no small accomplishment. Small or not, however, it passed by in an instant.

"Hey Jones," Harvey knocked lightly on the open door frame even as he leaned in, broad striped tie swinging to the side. "The writers sent me, you got their specs ready yet?" Alfred looked up at Harvey through his double-bridged glasses, and then back around at his desk, which was covered in papers.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I've got it here." He elbowed a stack of computer code out of the way and rifled through a pile of floppy disks before uncovering a thick, bound report. He yanked it out from underneath a book. "Here ya go."

Harvey took the report.

"Thanks, man."

"Sure." Alfred turned back to his work.

Mistakes, it must be said, can go undetected for quite some time.

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

Cheyenne Mountain, El Paso County, Colorado, USA 2008

Alfred's phone began ringing while he was carrying a heavy box to his car.

"Shit," he breathed, and glanced around to make sure no one was looking before balancing the box in one hand, never once breaking his stride. He fished the phone out of his pocket and flicked it open without checking the number. "Hello?"

"Mr. Jones," said the caller. It was a man, and he sounded bureaucratically annoyed in the way that only government officials can. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Uh, sure," Alfred frowned, pressing the phone to his shoulder and balancing the box on a hip to unlock his trunk. He set the box inside and picked up the phone again, "who is this?" The man gave his name, which Alfred didn't recognize. He didn't know how to admit this, so he stayed silent. The caller sighed.

"The Administrator of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, Mr. Jones." Alfred's eyes went wide.

"Oh shit—I mean, I'm so sorry sir, I, uh, it's, uh, hello," He put his free hand to his face, wincing. "What can I do for you, sir?" The man on the other end of the line chuckled.

"Well, Mr. Jones, I'll cut to the chase. I'm calling about a machine you helped build for us back in the mid 90s. Part of the Unity module, you remember that project?"

"Yeah, of course," Alfred could see more Air Force personnel coming out to the parking lot with their own boxes, so he ducked into his car and shut the door for some privacy. "What about it?"

"I'm afraid it's broken." Alfred's heart leaped into his throat.

"Unity is broken?!"

"No, but the machine you built is."

"Oh, thank God," Alfred breathed a little easier. The Administrator did not seem so relieved.

"It started malfunctioning earlier this year, and it's getting worse. We don't know why."

"Oh, gosh," Alfred rubbed his forehead. "That ain't good. Have the troubleshooters been able to isolate the problem?"

"That's just it, Mr. Jones. The manuals we have on the system schematics do not seem to be wholly accurate." In the silence and privacy of his own car, Alfred took a moment to look horrified as he realized what this man was saying. The Administrator continued, "A couple of million dollars worth of R&D and many more millions of taxpayer dollars to send the thing into space, and the manual we have isn't accurate. I've already spoken to the writers who edited the manual, Mr. Jones. One of them still had the report you gave her to work from. Her manual was written accurately to your report."

So it's your fault, you see, he did not have to say.

"Oh, Jesus," Alfred said, putting his head into a hand.

"So I was hoping you might have a good memory. Are you in D.C. by any chance?"

"No, sir, I'm out in the rockies, they're moving NORAD out of Cheyenne, and I had to get my old shi-uh, stuff, and…" he realized the administrator would not care. "...when do you need me there, sir?"

"There's two very expensive research projects on hold while this machine is offline. The sooner the better. I will advise you, I've already spoken to the president about this."

Oh, well, shit.

"Yes sir. I'll leave as soon as I can, sir."

It was a good thing he was right next to an airfield.

Alfred travelled to D.C. and met with the administrator, conference called the engineers, even spoke with the ISS expedition crew as they described to him the errors they'd encountered, but for the life of him, Alfred could not identify any flaws in what he was hearing. He poured over his old notes and the finalized manual, he looked at old images of the machine and new ones sent down by the crew.

He could not make heads or tails of it. Neither could anyone else.

A month and a half later, he returned to Colorado in a flight of shame, and winced whenever he heard his cell phone ring. Over the next year, he flew to Texas, to Florida, to Georgia, back to D.C. He'd even flown to Ohio to speak with the technical writer who'd written the manual, to try to suss out the details of what he could have possibly gotten wrong, but she remembered even less than he did.

He was the only living on Earth being who had a comprehensive understanding of this machine and how it'd been built, and unless he could remember what he'd written down—or not written down—back in the 90s, that damn thing was going to be orbiting the earth as a multi-million dollar piece of space junk for the foreseeable future.

"God," he groaned to himself one night, cracking open a beer and half-listening to the American Idol theme wafting over from the television, "Just my fucking luck."

Solutions, like mistakes, can take some time to uncover.

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

Peterson AFB, Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA 2009

It was 6 A.M. and somehow Alfred Jones was vertical and conscious, already at his desk and scrolling through his email while he waited for the breakroom black coffee to finish waking him up when his cell phone began to ring. He let it ring a few times and took a long sip of his coffee before he picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Alfred Jones?"

"Yes, who's this, please?"

"Yes, of course, I'm the new Administrator at NASA," the voice chirped merrily at him, "and I've inherited a bear of a problem that I hear you've been the main point of contact for."

Alfred wanted to cry into his coffee.

"It's… very nice to meet you sir, and yes, I'm… I'm afraid so."

"Well I'm hoping you might be willing to humor us one more time, Mr. Jones. If you were able to get your hands on that machine again, do you think you'd be able to fix it?"

Alfred considered it. He'd built the thing, written all the software. The manual and the schematics he'd written were apparently off, but if he could actually break the thing open and see for himself, he was fairly confident he'd be able to crack it.

"I think so, sir, but I was told no one had a copy of that machine, only prototypes and models. The only realone is in Unity."

"Hmm, yes, I'd been told that too," the Administrator said, almost absently. "Mr. Jones, the President tells me that you are a very accomplished pilot, is that true?" Alfred glanced around his office in the NORAD HQ, decorated with old USAF memorabilia, honors, and photographs.

"Yes sir, you could say that," he sipped at his coffee.

"Are you qualified for special missions assignments?"

"I have been in the past." Another sip.

"You ever been to space, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred nearly choked on his coffee. He recovered.

"No sir," he said, suddenly awake. "Why?"

"Would you like to?"

"I'm sorry?" Alfred squeaked. The Administrator seemed to find this funny.

"Old problems sometimes require simple solutions. As you said, the only real machine is two hundred and fifty-four miles above our heads. If your track record is anything to go by, I don't think you'll need much training. The President and the Secretary of Defence have already authorized it, I'm only asking if you'd be comfortable participating in expedition 20. And if you don't mind my saying so, Alfred: you break it, you ought to fix it."

Comfortable participating? Going to space?

"Of course," Alfred said, feeling as though he were floating.

"Good. I'll forward the memo to NORAD shortly. The simulation folks will be expecting you in Houston in three days, it'll be a fast turnaround from there until Launch Day."

"Right," Alfred managed, physically shaking with excitement. "Yes, sir, of course. Um, thank you sir, for the opportunity, I am really so flattered, I can't wait to-"

"Good," said the man happily. "Have a nice day, Mr. Jones, and we'll speak again soon." The line went dead, and Alfred sat there in silence, staring at the screensaver of his computer, which he'd allowed to grow idle. In the black space of the screen, he could see his own dim reflection, the faint outlines of his shoulders and face, the face of… an astronaut?

He fist-pumped the air so hard he nearly knocked over his coffee.

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

London, England, United Kingdom 2009

Arthur had gotten a cryptic text at 1:03 that morning and hadn't stopped thinking about it since.

Alfred Jones: r u free to skype later today

You: Today as in Tuesday or today as in Wednesday? It's barely past midnight.

Alfred Jones: u still up tho lol. wednesday

You: Wednesday is the Commonwealth meeting, I have very little flexibility. I should be free from 1300–1400 GMT, however. What on earth do you want to Skype for?

Alfred Jones: omg commonwealth! r mattie n jack gonna be ther

You: Matthew and Jack are both here in London, yes.

Alfred Jones: omg say hi to them for me - tell aussie he owes me a coke

You: What?

You: Whatever, it doesn't matter. Why do you want to Skype? I'm very busy.

Alfred Jones: issa surprise, innit?

Arthur had rolled his eyes.

You: I'm too busy for surprises, Jones.

He'd had no response after that, and despite checking his phone every hour on the hour, Alfred remained irritatingly silent. After a solid slate of meetings, the clock was coming up to 1300, and with considerable grumbling, Arthur found himself lugging his computer bag into an empty room in the conference center, even linking his clunky old laptop to an ethernet cable to ensure a reliable connection before opening Skype. He let the screen sit blank while he waited, glaring at Alfred's icon all the while.

At 1309, a call came through, and he jumped at the sound. Quickly adjusting his webcam, he opened the call. Immediately, a slightly grainy but instantly recognizable shot of Alfred Jones came through.

"What the hell happened to your hair?" Arthur found himself asking before Alfred had the chance to say hello.

"What? My hair?" Alfred moved closer to the camera, which seemed to wobble.

"God, it's huge. What did you do? Don't tell me this is some return to the Ferrah Fawcet days, I don't think the ozone layer can handle that." Alfred laughed at this, a big hearty guffaw, and it struck Arthur as odd how his hair clung to its shape amid the movement, not as though suspended in aquanet, but as though Alfred himself were upside down.

Something collided with Alfred's cheek, and he batted it away. It took Arthur a moment to realize what it was.

"Are those your… why are you dogtags…"

"Hmm?"

"Your dogtags are… hovering," At this, Alfred beamed.

"Guess where I am!" His smile was as wide as the sun. Arthur stared at him, looked around him, but there was little to go off of.

"I… have no idea." Now that he was looking, the background around Alfred did seem rather bizarre. Arthur couldn't have said exactly why it was bizarre, only that it was very white, and metallic, and oddly crowded.

"Ta-da!" Alfred exclaimed, extending his arms. Arthur stared.

"Ta-da what?" He asked. Alfred looked above himself, and then at the screen.

"Oh, shit, I guess you can't see. Hold on." He reached out and moved the computer, adjusting the webcam to tilt up. He double-checked the screen. "Okay, there we go. Ta-da!" He said again, spreading his arms once more. Between the "V" of his arms, there was a line of miniature versions of various national flags. The United Kingdom was represented there, as were a good dozen or more others: France, Japan, Belgium, Switzerland, Sweden… and in the center, the United States and Russia.

"Guess where I am!" Alfred said again, grinning so wide he was liable to injure himself.

Arthur frowned at the flags, which did not seem to lay as flags ought to, and at Alfred, who was moving microscopically, almost as if he were floating. His dogtags traveled upwards once more, threatening to bat him in the cheek again.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Arthur heard himself say. "You're not—you're not on the… you can't be on the fucking space station." Alfred looked like he might actually burst. In a higher-pitched squeak than Arthur had heard in eons, Alfred said, still smiling like a lunatic:

"I'm on the International Space Station!"

Arthur stared.

And stared.

Arthur realized his jaw was hanging open, and Alfred was still smiling. He put a hand over his mouth and continued staring.

"Does… does the president know?"

Alfred laughed at that. "Sure he does! He was the one who authorized it. C'mon! I wanna show you around."

And that was how Arthur Kirkland got a personalized tour of the International Space Station. He demanded an explanation, which Alfred gave him in fits and starts as he navigated the narrow, tubular hallways of the complex. That Alfred had helped build and program equipment for some of the original ISS modules came as no particular surprise, and that he had made some mistake back in 1995 that led him to being on the Space Station today was somehow less of a surprise.

"Only you would have incompetence rewarded with something like… like this," he said.

"Hey now! Be nice!"

Arthur was introduced to the crew, Alfred switching between English and Russian without batting an eye as he floated through the various modules, apologizing to other astronauts as he carted his laptop through tight spaces. His crewmates were Russian, American, Canadian, German, and Japanese, and all of them greeted Alfred with smiles when he addressed them in their native tongues.

"Careful, don't tell Mattie about this guy," Alfred said of his Canadian colleague in a loud aside, "He's rooting for the wrong hockey team."

"Hey!"

"Matthew loves all his hockey teams," Arthur retorted loudly enough for the Canadian astronaut to hear. "Don't let this American lunatic tell you differently."

"Aw c'mon, Artie! I gotta have something to argue about up here." Both Arthur and the Canadian laughed.

The tour continued with Alfred's constant commentary, offering overly-complicated and enthusiastic explanations regarding the functions of every computer, doorway, and strip of velcro. Alfred even gave Arthur a demonstration of how he and the rest of the crew slept in space, strapped into their place by a giant vest-like sleeping bag.

"Alright, I've saved the best for last," the space-farer announced.

"Alfred, it's very nearly 1400, I need to be heading back–"

"Yeah, yeah, I know! I know, I really do, just… let me show you this, alright? It'll be worth it, I promise. We're coming up on Europe right about now. It's a clear day over London today, right?"

"Yes," Arthur confirmed, leaning forward in involuntary intrigue. Alfred floated downwards, the webcamera temporarily obscured by his chest. Then, the image erupted into an over-exposed view of the Earth's great curve, the sun's brightness throwing the camera into a tizzy as it focused.

"Here we go," Alfred's smile was evident in his voice. "This is the cupola," he said, as the camera focused on its subject. "Honestly? It's the best module in the whole station."

Sunlight was the first thing Arthur noticed. He was looking at Europe from above, sunlit and sparkling. Iberia and northern Scandinavia were covered in clouds, but the continent from France to Turkey was clear as crystal. Britain shone in the prime yellow of an afternoon sun, and the many lakes and rivers of Finland sparkled like molten gold in a way that no map for ten thousand years had ever been able to capture. Arthur watched, transfixed, as the light of the sun caught the twists and and oxbows of the Volga, and felt his chest swell with emotion.

"Can you see it?" asked Alfred, behind the camera.

"Yes," Arthur told him, quickly wiping away tears so that Alfred wouldn't see if he peeked at the screen. "Yes, I see it all quite well. God, but it's something, isn't it?"

"It's better at night," Alfred told him, voice going soft in its disembodied place. "You can see all the cities, the roads, the connections between places. It's like starlight, but we made it. It's like... even when the sun is gone, we instinctively want to sit among the stars. It's funny, you know," Alfred chuckled, and his voice was unlike anything Arthur had ever heard from him, full of peace and wonder both. "We spend so much time looking up at the stars, I never thought I'd live to see constellations on Earth itself. But they're just as beautiful, you know, as the ones we see at night."

Arthur didn't know what to say, so he covered his mouth quietly and kept staring at the video being funneled into his computer from hundreds of miles above.

"Anyway," Alfred flipped the webcamera around at last, "I wanted to be able to show you," He grinned, lopsided and bright. "I have a lot of work to do up here, but… I thought you should see that. I know space freaks you out, but… it really is quite beautiful." Arthur smiled.

"I know," he said. "Thank you for sharing."

"Arthur?" called a voice outside the empty conference room, accompanied by a loud knock. "We're just about ready to start again, you alright?"

"Yes, Matthew, I'll be right there," Arthur called to him, and turned back to Alfred. "I ought to go," he said.

"Yeah, I know, I'm running out of time on here anyway. Say hi to everyone for me."

"Do any of them know where you are?" Arthur asked, unable to keep his grin at bay. Alfred shrugged.

"It's all been such a whirlwind. I only got tapped a few months ago. No, none of 'em know."

"Shall I tell them?"

"Hmm," Alfred seemed to think about it. "If you do, tell 'em I said that their places all look incredible from up this high. We share a pretty cool planet, ya know."

"That we do," Arthur smiled, appreciating Alfred in such a philosophical mood. "Take some photos for me, will you, love?"

"Already on it," Alfred said. "Not every day a chance like this comes along, you know?"

"I can't believe you're actually there," Arthur chuckled. "Only you would get a ticket to space by doing a poor engineering job."

"Hey!" Alfred defended, "no one had ever built one of those before!"

"My point stands, Alfred Jones," Arthur retorted. "Have a safe trip back. Enjoy your time among the stars." Alfred was all grin.

"You got it," he saluted casually. "See you plant-side, Artie."

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

That Christmas, most all of Alfred's friends received beautifully framed prints of their homelands, captured in the sparkling lights of the solar system that no cartographer had ever thought to account for: rivers and lakes sparkling, clouded shadows and cresting coastal waves, northern lights twinkling over borders in a way that blurred the lines of politics and human arbitration.

Aim for the moon and you'll land among the stars, the notes all read, but when you reach the stars, you will realize that you've been there all along. There is truly no place like home.

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

Historical Notes:

1. The ISS was launched in 1998. The first portion of the station, Zarya, was built in Moscow. The first U.S. built module, Unity, was launched and attached to Zarya shortly thereafter. As is indicated, Unity was constructed in Huntsville, Alabama.

2. NORAD, or the North American Aerospace Defense Command, long operated out of the formidable Cheyenne Mountain complex in Colorado. In 2008, its headquarters was relocated to the nearby Peterson Airbase with the mountain fortress thereafter serving as an auxiliary site. It remains so to this day.

3. The Cupola, probably one of the most recognizable places on the entire ISS, is the multi-window observation deck of the station. Though this story takes place in 2009, the Cupola was not actually docked to the ISS until 2010, but I've taken liberties with the timeline for dramatic effect.

#hetalia #historical hetalia #historicalhetaliaweek2021 #hws america #hws england #space #international space station #alfred jones #alfred f jones #arthur kirkland #arthur #alfred #1945-Present

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ellana-ravenwood · 4 years

Text

An AU in which Bruce Wayne raises Damian since birth - Ficlets

I wrote a small post about this not long ago (click here to take a look at it), and it made me wanna write more about this alternate universe...So here we are. It’s not a very original AU, but eh, there’s a reason people wanna write about it because damn <3. This is more like, a collection of little scenes and moments than a real story, but ya know. I just wanted to expand. I hope you will like it :

PART 2

My master list : @ella-ravenwood-archives

_________________________________________________

******

The Beginning.

Bruce was most certainly not ready to have a child.

He wasn’t even sure he ever wanted one, given the path he decided to follow.

But the decision was taken out of his hand the day Talia decided to do what she did.

Bruce was most certainly not ready to have a child.

But he would never leave a kid in the hands of the Al’Ghuls. The gods only knew what they would do to him. What they could turn him into !

What if the kid grew up, and came to Gotham to defy his father ? Would Bruce be ready to fight his own child ?

If he had to, he told himself.

And maybe that’s what would’ve happened if he never heard of it. If he never knew...

But he knew. He knew that what Talia mentioned to him once, she actually did.

And there was no way he would ever let that boy be raised by the Al’Ghuls, now that he knew he existed. Wether he was ready to have a child or not.

Never, never, armed with the knowledge she did go ahead and made that baby, would he not do anything. It wasn’t like him, to leave untied knots. Or to leave someone he knew was in need...

There was no way that boy would have a good childhood, with the Al Ghuls. Particularly with Ras’ around. Not that Bruce was sure the child could have a good life with him...But between the pest and cholera ?

It if was only Talia. If it was just her love. If she hadn’t told him why she wanted a child with him...Maybe he would’ve left the boy behind.

But his informant was adamant. The talks going on amongst the League were all the same.

Ras Al’Ghul’s heir was brought to this world only for one purpose.

And maybe what Talia felt for Bruce was genuine love. Maybe what he felt for her at the time was too. But she told him the real reason why she chose him, and why she wanted his child.

“He’ll be a new Alexander.”

She said...And although Bruce was most definitely not ready to have a kid, he would never let that happen. He would never let his own child grow up in such an environment.

Maybe if he never knew...Maybe if he never knew things would’ve been completely different. Maybe it’d avoid him a lot of trouble, too.

But he knew. And he wasn’t about to let that kid...His kid, suffer a childhood he knew was not going to be happy. After all, Talia told him what Ras used to force her to do when she was younger...

************

Sneaking into the Shadow League’s headquarter was ridiculously easy. Which made him suspicious. Maybe they were expecting him ?

Oh but they couldn’t...They couldn’t know he knew. They couldn’t know he left behind a friend, the only one he made in the league of assassin. A fellow apprentice. A friend who spied on the Al Ghuls unbeknownst to them (or he would be dead since a long time).

Bruce silently entered what he knew to be the baby’s room, and looked around. He was right, his informant was right. The crib was in the middle of the richly decorated room. Bruce, with light steps, walked towards it.

And...

It was like being faced with a portrait of himself at that age. Except the boy’s skin was darker, his eyes shaped more like almonds, and Bruce could guess that if he just opened said eyes...they would be olive green like his mother’s.

And he was right.

The soft rustling sound Bruce made as he bended over the crib to pick the little one up woke him. And he opened his eyes wide immediately.

He did not cry, instead, he looked up at this stranger that was picking him up with curiosity, and Bruce felt his heart...Do something.

He couldn’t quite describe it, the feeling. His heart skipped multiple beats, while going faster at the same time. And he wanted to smile.

It was an urge too hard to resist, something he couldn’t control while he learned to control his own emotions, and he smiled at the little one in his arms, taking a gloved fingers to his cheek to caress it lightly, as if it was natural.

The baby...he...he...

He smiled in return. A cute, unsure and untrained smile, as if it was his-

“That is his first smile.”

Talia. She was there, at the entrance of the room, casually walking in in as if nothing was happening.

“Hello, detective.”

She took Bruce by surprise, and he turned around quickly, taking a fighting stance while holding his son against his chest protectively. His hands naturally held him, one supporting his back, the other his head, even as his legs spread apart, ready to fight.

Bruce had fought only with lower body before. He trained to be able to do so. He knew he could have a chance against Talia. That he had no chance of taking her down, but could at least escape her. Fight if need be. But he’d rather avoid it...Not in front of their child.

Wasn’t Bruce here to take the boy away from violence and pain ? He couldn’t fight his own mother in front of him, even if of course, the baby would most likely not remember.

Maybe he was an unwanted child on Bruce’s end, and one Talia created only for a specific purpose...but he was still a child.

His child.

“I will not let you raise him, Talia. And if you want to stop me I will have to-”

“I don’t.”

There was something odd, in Talia’s eyes, that Bruce had a hard time to discern in the dark room, only lit by the moon.

Was it...Sadness ? Regrets, perhaps ?

“His name is Damian. From the Greek word Damianos, which means “to tame.” He is upposed to be the tamer of the World. At least, that’s what my father wants.”

“I won’t let you-”

“Redundant, detective. Even more so since I told you I will not stop you. I think the fact I let your little friend, the one who told you about Damian’s existence, live, should be proof enough. I let him go, if you’re wondering where he is. I told him to disappear, and if he’s smart enough, he will. I knew since the beginning, he was your friend. Even as he acted like he tried to kill you during your escape. I knew because I know you. I watched you close enough...”

There was a small silence, during which neither of them moved. Damian, still in his father’s arms, cooed happily as he was trying to grab at the Batman’s armor.

Finally, Bruce spoke :

“...Why ?”

Another silence. Talia did not look at Bruce, but at the tiny being slowly moving in his arms. After what seemed an eternity, punctuated by Damian’s little happy and unaware sounds, she said :

“Because I do not wish for him to become me. Or my father.”

“But, that is why you created him ?”

“That is why I-...When it happened, I imagined you would be around, detective.”

“You couldn’t seriously think I would stay after knowing what you and your father were up to ? You know me better than that, no ?”

“I do. I guess it was all wishful thinking.”

Another silence. Heavy.

“When you left I was angry. And lonely. So...I made him. Our plan was to raise him to become even better than us, and then send him to you. Because if he destroyed you, then he could destroy everything - bitter laugh - I say “our”, but I truly mean my father’s plan. Twisted and nonsensical, I see it now.”

Bruce felt uneasy, and nostalgic. The boy was getting used to being held by this odd man, and now was sucking at his foot thoughtfully (as thoughtfully as a 3 months old baby can).

“I did love you, Detective. And I would’ve gladly govern the world with you, and our son. But you leaving, you telling me all those things...It made me realize. I have never truly been loved before. This is why I was so angry when you left. No one, no one loved me before you. My father...I serve a purpose to him. When I was with you, I felt love, and loved. But before...Before I was just another instrument in my father’s grand schemes of things. Has he ever loved my mother ? He said he did. Maybe he did. But he did not keep her with him. And I became what I am today. Now, I am no fool, detective. I unfortunately know I cannot change. But Damian...Damian has a chance, with you.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say. His heart and throat felt tight, and his hold on the boy became stronger and surer.

“Please, let me say goodbye ?”

Of course, Bruce agreed.

He watched Talia slowly walking to him, and looking at the boy.

Her boy.

The boy she knew she had to let go, because she loved him enough to want him to not become her. Or his grandfather.

Talia never loved anyone before. Except for her “detective”, and for her son...

“One day, my heart. One day, I hope we can meet again. Goodbye, Damian.”

She told the little one, and the baby looked at her, smiling widely as he recognized the voice of his mother. She laid a kiss on his forehead, took a last glance at him, and left the room without turning back.

Bruce left the headquarter with his crying son in his arm, sure now, that if it had been that easy to get into it...it was because Talia herself, lowered the security.

************

Damian Wayne, son of Batman. Occupation : Baby.

Bruce was right. He was NOT ready to be a father. He never even held a baby, in his short twenty three years of life ! Why would he anyway ?!

Thanks god for a certain man called Alfred Pennyworth.

The butler, whom Bruce considered a second father know, slowly showed him the ropes and tricks to take care of a baby, trying to involve his young master in everything as much as he could because...What was the point in saving that little boy from a world of pain and violence, if it was to not take care of him ?

And so there were times Alfred told him to take care of things on his own. Which Bruce wasn’t sure he liked, so far...

But he was trying. He was really trying.

The arrival of Damian in his life put so many plans he had in shamble, but Bruce learned how to adapt fast.

Of course, the news of Bruce Wayne having a “secret son” spread like a wild fire all across Gotham. And he knew there was no hiding such a thing. What was the point of hiding the boy anyway, he couldn’t raise him and keep him shut in the Manor all his life !!

The public was quick to believe the story he told. Of course, no one had trouble to picture playboy Bruce Wayne who was known to sleep around, having a “secret” son. In fact, many talked about bets going all around the city as to when a scandal of the sort would happen.

Bruce had been back home for about a year, and in that short year, he made sure to assure his “Brucie Wayne” persona, that he knew would help him keep Batman a secret.

He most definitely did not expect Damian, but was quick to find a plan. His explanation about him satisfied everyone. A story about how Damian’s mother could not take care of him, and he wanted to take his responsibilities...

Which technically wasn’t a lie.

The story stayed at the front of every newspapers for a long time, and Bruce decided to play on it and, although he felt a little ashamed, use his son for a publicity stunt, and therefor have even more cover for his Batman activity.

He was often shown in public, with a baby carrier, or exiting an important meeting early to go see his boy. Which he did. And he couldn’t help but have a feeling that this little boy, his little boy...sort of saved him.

Bruce felt that without Damian, he would’ve jump heart and soul into this Batman thing. And he did, he promised his parents he would...So of course, he did. But there was always this little piece of reality holding him back.

His little boy cooing at him, and smiling at him, and laughing and having this second chance at life. Which gave him, too, a second chance at life.

Of course, Bruce could not forget the years of pain he dragged behind, the trauma of losing his parents. But he felt that Damian, and his presence so early on in his life ? Most definitely changed him.

For the better.

************

The first dirty diaper.

“Alfred ? ALFRED ? Alllllfreeeeeeeeeed ?!”

Bruce screamed, while running around the manor, panicked, holding baby Damian against him. The boy was giggling happily, liking how his father’s running steps made him rock as he held him against his chest, a terrible smell following them around…

Bruce took a break from work today, giving his favorite excuse : “He had to take care of his son.”, but of course, babies being babies...Bruce really thought his boy was focusing on the pictures he was showing him, certain his son was a genius, up until the odor coming from the kid’s diaper informed him that no; Damian was not focusing on the pictures his father was showing him.

When Bruce entered the kitchen, in which Alfred was preparing dinner, the foul smell told the butler instantly what the problem was. Turning around to face Bruce, he says, with his infamous English phlegm :

“I think it’s time for you to learn how to change a diaper, Master Bruce. I have done it for the first few weeks, because you had very few sleep, but you cannot escape this anymore. Come on, master Bruce, I will show you.”

Bruce’s face fell, and Alfred gave him a rather sneaky smile. Well. It really was time his master learned how to change a diaper. After all, Bruce did say he would take care of this child so he could have a good life...

************

The hair incident.

The first time Bruce tried to put clothes on his son all alone, without the help of Alfred, it ended in a disaster.

The fearless Batman was most definitely not prepared for how squirmy babies really are. He had been fighting for a good ten minutes with his son’s legs before he started to mutter :

“I’d rather be fighting every single goons in Gotham right now, ah Damian please just -Damian kicked one of his leg up while the other one went down- no wait -The boy did the same thing, but changing leg this time- just stay still a second -this time, he put both his legs up, trying to grab one of his foot to put it in his mouth - oh my god..”

As soon as he was able to slide one of the baby’s leg into his pants, and trying to put the other on...Damian would squirm his little legs around and undo everything. Cooing at his father continuously, as if talking to him. Taunting him that he was doing it wrong !

He decided to try another approach, and moved on the side of the kid, holding his legs down and bending above him to try to block the boy’s legs long enough, without hurting him, to...Oh, but he bended forward a little too much and...The kid got a hand on his hair.

Unhappy of the sudden restraint, Damian let a loud “HA !” out, but before starting to cry got distracted by his father’s head being close and...Right there, in reach. What were those funny wiggly thing on his head ?

“ALFREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The butler rushed in, afraid something bad happened to the baby...Only to find his young master Bruce, his body bend in an awkward position as he tried as gently as possible to untie his son’s hands from his hair...not succeeding very much.

After this, Bruce started to wear his hair shorter, and neatly brushed back, and left behind any stylish haircut he thought would be good for his public persona.

************

Damian Wayne, Son of Batman AND little brother to Robin. Occupation : Baby AND little brother.

Damian was home with Alfred, when Bruce first met Dick. (IMPORTANT AUTHOR’S NOTE : I took an age “canon” diverging from my personal preference so it would fit the story. I usually like the pre-crisis version the best, where Dick is 8 years old when Bruce takes him as his ward, because it calls back to Bruce’s own age when he lost his parents...But for the sake of this story, and to fit closer the “actual” ages of the boys even if it won’t be perfect (then again AU), I’ll go with post-crisis “official” age which is around 12 years old. Not 15 though, like in the New 52, that’s too old...anyway it seems like Rebirth went back to around 9/10 when Bruce takes him in but yeah, ya know...12, so it fits better. But my personal preference is little baby 8 years old Dick coming in. Haha thought it was worthy of mentioning, and also anticipating any age question :), more explanation about ages in my AN at the end of this fic).

It was about three months in since Bruce brought Damian back with him, it seemed like...A good idea ? To adopt a twelve years old child who just went through the same trauma he did, while being a 23 years old still struggling to know how to be a father.

But a twelve years old would be easier to handle than a baby, right ?

Wrong.

Dick had some hard days, at the beginning, in Wayne Manor. The media had put in his head that he was a publicity stunt, that Bruce didn’t really care, and he would suddenly lash out at times, the pain too grand.

Bruce understood more than anyone else.

He too, lashed out at Alfred a lot when he was younger. It is normal, when you’re so young and already felt so much pain...

Oddly enough, it’s Damian, that ended up calming Dick.

The baby, now about six months old, was starting to crawl all around, and took a grand interest in that newcomer.

Dick would try to isolate himself somewhere at times, playing his game boy in a corner of the main living room...Only for a little six months old to laboriously crawl to him and try to climb on him.

Thanks to Damian’s presence, Dick opened up surprisingly fast. Bruce suspected the boy’s personality was already quite cheery, but he also clearly had a little dark side to him...However, only because the media were spreading lies about Bruce. And his reasons to take the boy in.

As Dick saw how Bruce took care of his baby son, he slowly opened up and trusted that the man truly wanted to give him a home.

Of course, Bruce would never replace his parents...But he still could be his new dad. The two weren’t inclusive. Dick would never forget his beloved parents, but was lucky to still have people who loved him around.

And that baby ? He was clearly very much set on bonding with him anyway. Wherever Dick seemed to go, the little cooing noises Damian did and the sound of him crawling on the floor would follow.

And it warmed Dick’s heart. He’d let the baby fall asleep in his arms, or come and sit next to him, watching what he was doing with great curiosity.

Damian even took the bad habit of crying, just so that Dick would come and take care of him (he also did that to his father and Alfred, to be fair). And it worked every time. As soon as Damian would make a sound, Dick would be here.

The rare times Bruce scolded Dick for something bad he did, Damian would become mad and scream at his father. In fact, his very first words, right after his first birthday, was “no dada”, as he scolded his father for telling Dick he needed to focus more in school.

The little twelve months old would hug his older brother tight against his heart, and tell his father off.

“No dada no !”

Sometimes, it would make Bruce laugh. Sometimes, it would infuriate him...How dare, his authority, undermined by a one year old ! Then again, he never really minded. All he ever wanted, was for his sons to be happy.

And to be fair, ever since Dick truly decided to settle for this new life, he rarely made mistakes worthy of scolding. Dick was a really sweet boy. And Bruce didn’t believe in being angry at his children anyway, he understood very fast that this was doing the opposite of what he wished it’d do.

It didn’t take long enough to Bruce to realize that giving love to his children meant receiving it back. Being angry with them without explaining anything meant frustration on all side. So of course, he wouldn’t let them do bad things. But Bruce found that they’d actually rarely act out, when he was trying to be understanding and make them see what they did wrong...

Bonding with Damian, and becoming real brothers. Becoming very close, is what gave Dick a new hope. Of course, Bruce’s unconditional love and care did too, but the first thing that made him open up, the first thing that made him want to have a new family...It was this little baby, who decided himself that he was his big brother now.

************

The Solid Food incident.

Damian was starting to eat solid food.

Well. Solid food. More like mushed food, but still a step forward from the formula milk and baby bottle.

But right now, Damian was having a fit.

He absolutely refused to eat his mushed pees and chicken that Alfred made in the “baby cook”. And it was getting late. Bruce was about to leave for the Batcave, and it was getting close to Damian’s bed time.

But the boy wasn’t having it. Any of the techniques Bruce used failed, including the infamous “the airplane is coming”.

“I don’t think he likes it, B.”

Dick said, smiling a little too widely as he looked at Bruce struggling with his boy. Which gave a sudden idea to the man. His last idea, really.

What monkey sees, monkey does, right ?

“Look Damian, look here. Daddy loooooves the food, see.”

And he gulped down the spoon of mushed food. And oh god, it was probably the most disgusting thing Bruce ever ate in his life. What was this ? Why would anyone expect someone to eat this monstrosity ?! Was this really baby food ?

The face Bruce made didn’t fool Dick, nor did it Damian. The little toddler gave a look to his father that clearly meant, “see ?!”, and Dick bursted out laughing and almost choked on his own dinner.

That night, Bruce relented and just gave Damian his favorite food : apple sauce. As much as he wanted. Telling both his boys to “not tell Alfred about this”.

************

The day Superman changed his opinion on Batman... But he didn’t know it was Batman.

At the time, Clark still had a rather poor opinion of Bruce Wayne, whom he didn’t know yet was Batman.

And it was totally not because he shortly dated Lois Lane ! Nope, not at all ! He just couldn’t stand Bruce’s guts and smug face.

But he had to admit his actions were praiseworthy. In fact, today, he came from Metropolis to this godforsaken city that Gotham was, for an interview about a recent charity Bruce started. A charity that did some good all across the USA, and was worthy of reporting in the Daily Planet.

The journalist was ready to act fake and smile a lot, while really wanting to punch the billionaire in the face. He really didn't like how this Bruce Wayne acted always so sure of himself and...grr...If only he knew he was Superman ! He wouldn’t act the same, for sure.

So it’s with a huge surprise, that he came into the man’s office, and surprised him as he was playing with his young son.

Right there, on the floor, he saw THE Bruce Wayne, a grown ass man, acting absolutely silly to make his baby laugh.

The little boy was giggling loudly as his father was making funny faces at him, and Bruce wasn’t noticing the newcomers at all, as he kept going, too enthralled in the moment, too focused on playing with his boy. After all, he had a rather busy week and barely any time to spend quality time with his children, lately, so this was the perfect occasion for him...

If only he didn’t forget about Clark Kent’s interview.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Wayne, I thought you weren’t busy !”

Bruce jumps a little, out of surprise, and turns around, his face livid as he realizes what just happened. He stands up straight quickly, and turns toward Clark and his secretary.

But the little boy on the floor whines a little and make grabby hands at him, giving him the most adorable puppy eyes Clark ever saw. The man relent, and picks his son up, turning to Clark and the secretary again.

She is visibly very embarrassed, but “Mr. Wayne” just smiles charmingly at her (why was this guy so cool ?!) and says :

“No worries Charlotte. Mistakes happen. You can go back to your office. And apologies, Mr. Kent, I did not know you were already here. Clearly.”

In a few seconds, Bruce had turned around an embarrassing situation for him and was acting all smug and arrogant again. But this time, Clark felt that there were much more to Bruce Wayne that the public image he was showing.

Flashforward to a few years later, Clark finally discovers Batman is Bruce Wayne, and he is utterly SHOOK.

************

The Family Portrait debacle.

One day, about a year after bringing Damian back, Bruce decided to have a family portrait made. Of both his sons.

He bought very fancy and cute clothes for his boys, and tried as best as he could to make Dick and Damian presentable.

Dick’s hair were unruly and there was always a little cow lick that refused to go in rank with the other hair, but it was still fine.

Damian was really unhappy to have his first haircut ever, and it had been a nightmare to try and get him into his fancy clothes.

It wasn't helping, that Dick was clearly agreeing, and talking about how itchy the clothes were. But Bruce seemed excited about this, and so he did it.

But Damian ? Oh the little boy still didn’t understand this sort of things, and as everyone already could figure out, he seemed very independent and hated to do things he didn’t wanna do.

And so, even for the Batman himself, getting his one year old son to stay still for a family picture was no easy task. Dick almost dropped his little brother many times, and they decided to sit the boys on the floor instead of a high armchair like their original ideas.

Damian wouldn’t stop squirming, and the picture ended up being a rather hilarious image on which it was very obvious Dick was struggling to keep his brother in place, and Damian was half-crying half-mad.

Later in the day however, both in cute little pajamas, the two boys fell asleep together as Dick, as he took the habit of doing, read his little brother a bed time stories and fell asleep while doing so.

Those two pictures, the “ugly” yet very funny one, and the absolutely cutest one, have a prized place on the “Wayne family” picture wall.

************

The day Dick joined the Teen Titans.

Bruce encouraged him to do so, if he truly wanted to.

Dick was sixteen now, and Bruce could see he was looking for more meaning, for more than just being his shadow.

Bruce could see the boy he came to see as his own son, as much as he saw Damian as his, needed to find more sense to it all. Needed to help more than just Gotham and its people, at least for now.

Joining and creating his own team ? With friends that had similar backgrounds to him, that felt out of place too ? Figuring things out on his own for a while ? The Batman was convinced it could only do him good.

Now many would’ve called him a bad father for letting his 16 years old son go off on his own...But many did not understand what Dick went through. Bruce did. And it would be highly hypocritical to not let Dick go for a while, when Bruce himself left Gotham around the age of 17 to go travel the world ? To train, and find meaning in it all ?

Plus, who said he wouldn’t keep an eye on his boy ? As if he was gonna let his son completely on his own. Of course, Dick didn’t need to know Bruce was totally spying on him, but...Well, Bruce couldn’t completely let go.

So yes. Bruce was behind Dick as his teen of a son had a harsh decision to make. Because it wasn't just about finding himself...There was also Damian.

Could he leave his baby brother behind ? Would the little boy understand ?

Would Dick be strong enough to go away from his family, even if he knew he needed it and it wasn’t permanent ?

Bruce knew Dick needed to go. Needed time to find himself, understand who he truly was, and move on. But Bruce also knew that he was held back by the love he had for his brother, adopted father, and adopted grandfather...

He also knew that it became vital for his boy, as he saw him more and more get lost in thoughts. Just like it was vital for him, as a seventeen years old boy, to leave Gotham to train.

And so he sat with Dick, and talked about it, keeping Damian away for a little while so that cute little toddler wouldn’t change Dick’s decision.

They wrote a pros and cons list, and the pros outweighs the cons by a little. Bruce tells his son that he has to take care of himself first, especially in regards of his mental health...

It was just for a little while anyway, and he could come back if he felt too homesick, right ? The Wayne fortune came in handy, for that. There was also the possibility of video conferences.

And so Dick joined the Teen Titans, with a heavy heart, but knowing it was for the best at that time for him.

Damian seemed quite sad at first, since he was so used to have his brother around at all time ! But as every kid, he adapted rather fast and although he asked often about “Dick”, a video conference with him was enough, as the little boy knew his brother would never abandon him and surely come back.

(---> In many stories but not in all of them (canon man...What a mess), Dick and Bruce do not see eye to eye as to which methods they should use while out there in the street, Dick thinking Bruce is much too violent etc etc...It’s sort of unclear wether Dick left or Bruce “fired” him really, but they have a pretty bad fall out and Dick leaves, leaving a Bruce that finds himself in a very dark lonely place, up until Jason comes in his life...but in this version, raising a baby and finding the light earlier in his life, I think Bruce wouldn’t be as violent, and share Dick’s views as to how they should proceed as Batman and Robin. Of course, they still beat villains’ asses. That their schtick, HOWEVER, they don’t beat them near to death ? They incapacitate them in many ways. I think if Baby Damian had been in Bruce’s life since the beginning, his Batman would’ve been much different...I mean, it’s Dick’s departure that made him change his method slightly and be less violent ? That made him question himself and reconsider ? So if he already had a child in his life before that ? One that came from his union with a certain Talia Al’Ghul ? If the all point is to save him from violence and such ? Then I think Bruce’s Batman would be different...If any of this makes sense ? Just explaining this scene for those who know the comics and are like : “wtf Ella that’s not how it went ?!” haha, AU).

************

The boy who stole the Batmobile’s tyres.

Jason was barely even twelve, when Bruce brought him back with him to the bat cave. He was a frail and wary little boy, and Bruce could only imagine what he went through...

No one just dares to steal from the Batman’s himself without a reason. And in Jason’s case, that reason was clearly survival.

He had a few scratches on his face, and bruises on his arms. Bruce didn’t want to re-open whatever trauma he went through, or ask too many questions that would make the boy uncomfortable...So he simply offered help.

A warm meal, and a place to sleep for the night. Little did he know at the time, that the boy would stay much longer than the night...

And oddly enough, the boy instantly accepted. Because someone being nice to him while he caught him stealing from him must be nice right ? Also, he heard of the Batman. He knew the good he did.

And so it all started. A simple night and a warm meal turned into official adoption papers, and the rest is history...

************

The more the merrier.

Bruce wasn't sure how Damian would take the fact that Jason was staying for good. After all, he was so close from Dick...Was Jason going to be able to find his place in his new family ?

When Bruce introduced Jason officially to Damian, the boy didn’t really react, just thinking he wouldn’t say. They played together, but Bruce wasn’t sure it stuck in his little four years old that Jason was here to stay.

So he officially stated it. Jason was adopted now, for good and...his worst fear happened. Damian took a good look at Jay, up and down, then turned around and ran away.

The poor little boy (Jason) looked absolutely crushed. He really was excited to finally have a home, his time at the Manor was the best he ever had ! And he really liked little Damian, but if he didn’t like him in return and didn’t want him in the family ? It was painful.

But then a few minutes later Damian came back, holding his two favorite toys ever, and walked straight to Jason, in a determined way, gave him the toys and said :

“Fo’ you. Zayson.”

And Jason Todd, barely twelve years old, almost cried as this little boy who was facing him did that small act of kindness. Did something that no one ever really did for him before.

Jason Todd had a new bother. And so did Damian.

************

A new brother.

Damian and Jason bonded even further once the official adoption papers went through. This made Bruce realize how strong his little boy was because... Damian clearly missed having an older brother.

He wasn’t quite acting with Jason how he acted with Dick, however. With Dick, Damian would shadow him all around, and just sit in his lap, looking at what he did.

Sometimes Dick needed to be on his own, and Damian would just wait for him, not seeking him too much, understanding ? Dick and Damian had quite a lot of years of difference.

When Dick was 12, Damian was a baby.

Jason and Damian still had quite a bit of difference, but now, Damian was four. He could play, and talk, and invent new games.

That boy was very imaginative.

And Jason ? His dream had always been to have a little brother, so he played along with everything. Where Dick enjoyed being a mature older brother who would console Damian and be there when he needed...Jason was an active older brother, who loved to play and have fun.

His childhood was clearly stunted by drama that happened in his early life, and with Damian, it was like he could live some of the years he lost again.

Not that he was acting childish, oh no, on the contrary. But he would just play along, something that Dick rarely did. Dick had other game and interest, Jason was very happy to play pretend.

Dick was the comforting, reassuring older brother.

Jason was the fun one that you could always count on and that had the best game ideas.

Maybe the fact Jason and Damian were a little closer in age played for a lot ? Probably. Or maybe Jason, who always dreamt of a brother, would just do anything to be liked by Damian.

Not that he had to try hard. Damian adored both his older brothers equally. For different reasons. Yet the love was there all the same.

More often than not, Damian would escape his bed and room, to go sneak into Jason’s bed at night, and wait for his brother to come home from patrol.

Both Jason and Bruce let him, of course, it was very cute. And Jason felt oddly safe, there, with his little brother curled up beside him ?

It was like little Damian, his precious little brother, meant home.

Bruce did too, for sure. Jason never had a dad, and he was so happy to have one that was as cool as Bruce ! But his little brother represented something he never thought he could have.

In which world would Jason Todd, little orphan living in the streets, ever have such a great little brother ? Or a chance to have a family ?

************

The good years.

Dick would often come by, while still being with the Titans. It was his eighteen birthday soon, and he wanted to show everyone his new costume...After all, he couldn’t be Robin anymore !

Jason got along really well with his older brother, and found a place in this world he never thought he would.

Bruce...Well his children eased the pain in his heart. The pain his parents’ death left behind, and that he thought would never go away. Was it bad, that every year it hurt a little less ? But seeing his children grow...

Damian was almost six now, and growing into such an intelligent little boy. Bruce couldn’t even imagine, what he would’ve gone through, if he had stayed with the Al’Ghuls.

What kind of little six years old he would be, if it happened that way...

************

Where did Jason go ?

Yes. Jason and Damian were very close. Jason instantly discovered his big brother instincts, and Damian just liked being around him. Because Jay ? He was so funny ! And always willing to play with him !! Even if know he was a big person, fifteen years old, an old man !!

And so one morning, when Damian woke up and as usual, ran from his room to Jason’s to wake him up by jumping on him...The boy found an empty room, and a bed still made.

Did Jason not come home tonight ? Odd. The first thought that crossed Damian’s mind was to then go find his dad, who would surely know where Jason was !

“Daddy ! Daddy !!”

Bruce wasn’t in bed either, which was odd but also reassuring ? It meant they probably were both downstairs, having breakfast.

But when Damian went downstairs, going down the stairs as fast as his little legs could without falling, he only found Alfred, sitting behind the kitchen counter, holding his head in his hands.

“Fafred ?”

Damian asked. He never could quite pronounce “Alfred” properly, and everyone just went along with “Fafred”, and it stuck...It was cute.

The butler jumped up in surprise, and looked at the boy sadly. Why were his eyes wet ?

“You’re hurt Fafred ?”

Damian asked, clearly very concerned. Oh. Oh sweet little boy. Alfred wasn’t sure he could handle it. Not right now. He picked the little one up, and sat him in front of him, on the counter.

Five years old little Damian, almost six ! ; Put his palm on Alfred’s forehead, and said :

“You’re not hot Fafred, what is it ? Did you fall ? Where does it hurt ? Do you want a magic kiss ? Do you need the hospital ?”

It was adorable, how worried the little one was. It was also unbearable, in this instant. How was he supposed to...What was he supposed to...??

“No, Master Damian, I did not fell.”

“You okay ? What happened ?”

“Yes, I am okay.”

“You don’t look okay. What happened ?”

“Old people problems, you know.”

Alfred couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything.

Damian looked around, and realized the kitchen was empty. No cereal bowls out, nothing. Which was odd. If Bruce and Jason weren’t in their bed, then they should be down here having breakfast ! That’s how it always was !

“Fafred, where is daddy ?”

Please Master Damian, please do not ask him this question, do not...

“Where is Zayson ?”

************

WHERE DID JASON GO ??????

Damian didn’t understand where his big brother Jason went, and why his daddy was so sad all the time now. Of course, he was happy his big brother Dick came back and seem to want to stay for good, but him too, seemed sad whenever he looked at him.

Why ? Why was Dick always on the verge of crying when his eyes fell on his little brother ? Was it...because he reminded him of Jason’s absence ?

Damian didn’t understand why everyone was sad, but it was starting to make him very sad too. His little five years old self didn’t understand why was this happening ?

He wanted Jason.

Jason always knew for sure how to make him laugh.

But nobody would tell him where Jason went, and Damian had no idea where to look first !! Maybe in the garden ? No, he went there already, and he didn’t find Jason in their tree house. Neither did he find him at their secret spot, or near the sandbox. Jason would never go near the pond, he knew it was dangerous because he always told Damian not to go.

Maybe he was in school ? Very busy so he didn’t came back yet ? Oh that was an idea ! Damian suddenly felt excited. Yes. That’s it. Jason must be still at school ! And if Damian went to wait for him at the bus stop, then he would surely appear, right ?!

Enthusiastically, Damian ran at the front door. Everyone around was too out of it to even notice what he was doing. The boy put his shoes on (on the right feet this time), and went to take the chair in the corner of the corridor, dragging it as best he could to the front door so he could hop on it and turn the knob.

He finally managed it, got down from the chair and opened the door to find...A boy about to ring the doorbell ?

“Hi there ! I’m Tim ! Is your daddy around ?”

To be continued... ---> Part 2 :) clickclickclick

__________________________________________________

Here we go. This is part 1/2, I hope you liked it and will want more...Next part will contain more about what changed in Bruce compared to the canon timeline(s) like in more details (sorry I’m writing this very tired and slightly drunk) and more baby Damian, and the arrival, of course, of Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke etc etc...Everyone who has not appeared yet, basically :). I really hope you liked this haha, I’m so nervous...I didn’t talk about the actual BATMAN things yet because this all comes from the view of a kid who is still just 5 so far so ya know :) As usual, feedbacks and reblogs are always much appreciated!

AGES IN THIS TIMELINE (in case you are wondering) : We all know that ages in comics are a mess, especially when it comes to the Batfam. Most canon aging actually make little sense when you try to make up an ACTUAL timeline. So I guess we all have our own preferences and headcanons, which is fine again, given the state of “canon” hints and downright claims (which often contradicts each others btw). I mentioned during the story that I used a post-crisis canon for Dick that puts him around the age of 12 when he’s taken in by Bruce (but again, personal preference = 8). Which means he’s about 12 years older than Damian. He leaves for the Titans age 15/16. So it would make the age difference between him and Jay about 4 years (which is almost canon by a year less), Jay and Damian would then be 8 years apart (same, pretty close but not quite, by two years really :/ then again it depends the canon), Jay and Tim about 3 years apart (pretty much canon), so Damian and Tim about 5 years (again a little less than canon...but then you see what I mean when I say it makes little sense at times ? Hehe). Cass and Damian would be 4 years apart, Duke and Damian 2 years apart (Duke = older), Steph and Damian about 4/3 years like between Tim and Cass I guess, and well Babs is supposedly a little older than Dick so let’s say 13/14 years. Here. Hope that cleared up their age in this ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. No need to tell me what the canon age are are, we actually aren’t really sure because it changes CONSTANTLY (Damian seems to be the only one that grow up haha and only so he could join the TEEN Titans...But then he’s somehow thrown back in his age so he becomes much younger than aged 17 years old Jon ?! Really, canon age makes no sense and in the end don’t really exist hahahahahahahaha), every head canon is open :). Especially in an AU.

Also : Let’s give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s ! Thanks to @arianatheangelworld, for the many baby!Damian “imagine” asks you send that fueled my inspiration ! ^^.

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jeromesxreader16 · 3 years

Text

Such a Joker (50)

Part 49 Here

~o0o~

Jim POV:

As I come out of my office I see a large number of cops watching Jeremiah sitting calming in the holding cell. "Don't you all have work you should be doing?" I yell towards them as they scatter.

"Pardon me, Jim."

I walk over to Jeremiah raising my brows. "What is it?" "I'd like to press charges against Bruce Wayne's butler. I mean, just look at my face. I can't have my wife seeing me like this."

I scoff smirking with pure anger, "I think you look great."

"And I'd like to speak to Bruce again. We couldn't really talk before what with his girlfriend bleeding out all over him."

"You tried to prove you're better than your brother. But I'm still here. I'm searching for (Y/n), and the city's still here. You're a failure, Jeremiah. Enjoy Arkham. Your brother did. I'll be the one to make sure (Y/n)'s visiting hours will be less than none."

"Bring me, Bruce Wayne... I'll let you speak with (y/n), and I'll tell you where the other bombs are." I walk closer engaging. "We have all your bombs."

Jeremiah nods with an underlying smirk, "The maze bombs, yes. I mean the other ones. Jim, as an engineer, you expect systems to fail. So, you build in redundancies. And I am a very good engineer."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" He smirks at me waiting for a reaction.

"You're right, you know. I did fail. I didn't yet understand the vision I was servicing, but, I do now. My eyes are open as will yours be. When you realize I'm not bluffing, bring me, Bruce Wayne. And I'd like a coffee. Black. Two sugars."

"How many bombs are there? Where are they?" I challenge him again. "I want to talk to Bruce Wayne."

"Tell me where they are, you son of a bitch. Who's helping you?"

"Bruce Wayne."

I grunt, shaking my head in frustration, "You are never gonna talk to Bruce Wayne. You hear me?"

Jeremiah shrugs smirking, "Then more people will die and you will never see (Y/n) or meet your grandchildren." I look up meeting his icy eyes with cold blood. "What? You're lying." Jeremiah sighs, "My wallet, right sleeve, forth slot, a sonogram photo of my two twins. I don't bluff, Jim. Why do you think I ask for your blessing? Wouldn't want your daughter unwed and knocked up, huh? But once again you resented her happiness, and she ran right into my arms. You never were good at holding on to what you care about, were you, James?"

Bruce finally walks in as I'm strapped to the dolly awaiting transportation to Arkham. "Hello, Bruce. It's great to see you."

"Where are the bombs, Jeremiah? Where is (Y/n) Gordon?"

"Closer, please."

As Bruce teds near I speak again. "Tell me. How is the young lady doing?" Of course no reaction. I smile switching subjects, "You know why we're destined to be best friends? Because we're very much alike. You are as I used to be. At war with your true nature. You must truly embrace it if you ever want to be free. I'm just trying to help you."

"Trying to help me? By torturing Alfred? Trying to destroy Gotham?

By shooting Selina? You think we're alike because there's a darkness inside both of us. But the difference is, I know how to control mine."

I scoff smirking, "I think you could be so strong. I see it. He sees it too." Bruce looks at me confused walking closer. "What do you mean, "he"?"

"Where are the other bombs?"

I roll my eyes looking up at the camera playing the game, "What bombs?" "Bombs you planted around the city. You blew up the Mayor."

"Ah, that bomb. Yes, that was the only one. But it did what it had to do. It got you here."

"You said, "he." Who do you mean?"

I smile gasping at Bruce. "The one who opened up my eyes. Who showed me that everything I was doing, was not to create a Gotham of my own for (y/n), and I, But yours, Bruce. The Gotham you need. Your dark island. And it will come to be, Bruce. Tonight."

"Tell me his name," Bruce demands empty-handed.

"What did the doctors say? Will the little bitch ever walk again? What vertebrae did I sever? I was hoping for the lumbar..." "TELL ME HIS NAME!" I laugh at his anger. "You already know his name. You're his heir."

Bruce gasps letting my suit wings go. "Ra's al Ghul... No, it can't..."

"Shh." The lights flicker as the room goes dark and I am freed from this hold.

Enter the building I see (Y/n) waiting with Ra's, overlooking the old city. "Jeremiah! Ra's was just telling me he could marry us!" I grin walking over as the men get Bruce ready for the arrival.

"Could you?" Ra's nods smirking, "Just say when my boy. I can-" "Now." I pull out two solid gold bands passing mine to (Y/n). "You're prepared." She giggles. "I've been waiting."

Ra's chuckles offering off a quick blessing to us as a couple. "Do you Jeremiah Valeska take (Y/n) Gordon as your lawfully wedded wife?" "I certainly do." I grin watching my love. "And do you, (Y/n)-" "Yes." Ra's gestures between us chuckling. "Wonderful, you may kiss your bride, Mr. Valeska."

I scoop her in my arms kissing her deeply. I pull away as the men waltz a masked Bruce into the room. "Ah, hate you missed the ceremony, friend." I walk over pulling the bag off of his head.

"How did you two..." "Find each other?" Ra's finishes, "I'd like to think it was you, Bruce. You brought us together."

Ra's turns to me and (Y/n) as we look at the city. "I trust things went smoothly?" "Like clockwork. Did your men retrieve my bombs?" "They are en route to their positions as we speak. From here, we can take in the full majesty of Gotham's destruction."

"You're both insane!"

Ra's shakes his head in disappointment, "I know it's difficult to fathom, Bruce. But Jeremiah and I are doing this for your benefit."

"How is destroying Gotham supposed to help me?"

"Because I had a vision. That out of this crucible of blood and fire will rise the Dark Knight that your city needs. That I need."

I scoff pulling away from (y/n) and joining Bruce and Ra's. "To be honest, Bruce. Prophecies, visions. Not really my cup of tea. But our friend revealed something to me. That my twin obsessions, rebuilding Gotham and rebuilding you, are one and the same. You're the brother I never had. The one Jerome never could be. We will create a legacy in this city. Gotham falls. We rise. Together."

Barbara walks in passing each of us towards Ra's. "Oh, hey, Bruce. Freak. (Y/n), looking beautiful!"

"Hello, Barbara. I'm really glad you came." She sighs shrugging. "Bad news, baby. I'm not leaving. Gotham's in my blood. And I don't think I can let you leave either. You see, you say you're leaving. But I've got a feeling you're gonna be back. And I don't like looking over my shoulder."

"Need I remind you, Barbara. You've already tried using that knife. And also, you're outnumbered."

She hums smiling "Hmm. That Demon's Head is really not working out for you, huh?" Suddenly Oswald yells striking us and the fight breaks out quickly.

Tabith tackles me to the ground as I search for (Y/n) in a blind panic. She holds her knife to my neck sneering, "So you know, this is for Selina." I flip her overtaking the blade from her and pressing it to her skin. "In that case, it must be very disappointing for you to be dying like this." She smirks and moves her arm. "I'm not talking about you." She pulls her trigger making me search where the bullet traveled.

The bombs go off destroying the city as my wife falls bleeding from the bullet that pierced her. "No!" I growl rushing over. She cries holding her chest. "Jer-" "No, no, don't speak. You're going to be fine." The city burns down as my love's life source lowers.

"You're going to be fine, love. We're all going to be safe. Tomorrow is a new day,"

Staying by her bedside the entire night as the doctors work to remove the bullet, and stabilize her and the babies. "She should wake soon, Sir. The children are healthy. She's lucky it wasn't any closer to her heart." I nod boring my eyes into her face.

"Thank you, Doctor."

(y/n) mumbles and opens her eyes slowly. I smile leaning over, "Rise and shine, beautiful." She looks up at me confused, then looks down at her chest gasping, "That bitch." she sneers growling and trying to sit up. "No, no, don't try that." She gasps, putting a hand on her belly. "Jer-" "They're alright, doll. You're very lucky. All four of us are."

She looks over to me putting a hand on my cheek. "What do we do now, Jeremiah?" I smile rubbing my hands on her stomach. "Now, my love, we enjoy our marriage, and wait for our children." Her cheeks glow as I speak of our children. "I love you, Jeremiah." "I love you too, Mrs. Valeska. Always."

~ Day 87~

I sit at the radio discussing yet another call on the state of Gotham to the officials over the bridge. "Your people have decided to ignore evacuation orders." "No, no, no, no. It is clear you don't understand." "What's to understand, Mr. Gordon? I'm afraid you're making your-" "For the last time... after the bridges blew and the government declared Gotham off-limits, the city was up for grabs. Given over to criminals and murderers. New territory is controlled by whoever has enough power to hold it. I mean, we have Penguins in City Hall, for God's sake. Barbara and the Sirens control an area around their club. It's the only place in Gotham not suffering for food or booze. Barabra trades mostly for information. It's women only, but men can buy windows of time. To the west Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow. Victor Freeze is further north warring with Firefly. And to date, there have been no confirmed sightings of Jeremiah Valeska, or my Daughter, (y/n). Then there is us. The GCPD controls a ten-block area around the precinct, where we feed and protect 150 civilians. That number could grow as who knows how many others are trapped around the city. These are innocent people who couldn't get out. The Government has a duty to protect them. You have a duty to help them." I finish waiting for the response.

"We've been over this time and time again. No one is allowed in or out of Gotham."

"People we are protecting are not criminals." "And anyone who stayed after the evacuation order is no longer the government's responsibility." "We're surrounded by hostile forces. We are running out of food, ammunition. There are children here. You need to evacuate them." "A committee is being formed regarding the situation in Gotham."

I huff shaking my head. "At least let us resupply ourselves."

"We understand the situation."

"You DON'T understand. If you did you would do something. Just say we're on our own." The radio waves stay silent as no response comes through. I nod gruffly and turn off the communication.

I look to the corner of the desk seeing a photo of (Y/n), along with the photo of the unborn twins. I sigh holding them to my heart. "Please be okay."

"I like Jeremy," Jeremiah says as we relax on the couch together. "And for a girl?" He hums thinking. "What if we stuck with the J name? I kinda like Juliet." Jeremiah looks at me smiling. "I think that's lovely."

I stroke my small belly with love. "I just want them here already." Jeremiah laughs kissing the top of my head. "They'll be perfect."

Months pass of us hiding, gaining followers, and then finally start to dig under the city for our escape. Fully 6 months pregnant and things are just seeming harder. "You're sad," Ecco says frowning. She scoots over massaging my shoulders. "Tell me what's wrong." I sigh stroking my stomach feeling a wash of sadness. "I miss my dad. I hate to say it, but I do. These kids won't have a Grandpa." Ecco nods sighing dramatically. "I am so sorry, (Y/n). I wish I could help." I smile leaning my head on her shoulder. "How's that bullet feeling in there?" I tease as she giggles. "It's still rolling around in here!" She shakes her head, knocking the loose pieces in her brain. "I still can't believe you did it." She shrugs giggling, "Anything to help you, (Y/n)."

"Come on, let's see how the boss is. It's been a while since I've seen the progress."

Ecco helps me down the steps into the area where they're digging the large tunnel. "Wow! Looks, good everyone!" I yell, making the workers greet me with forced smiles. "Darling." Jeremiah clams walking to me, placing hands over my stomach with a grin. "Ecco, you're not supposed to bring her down here. It's dangerous." He glares at her. "Jer, I wanted to, she was obeying me." He reluctantly nods waving her away.

I switch the radio station finding a slow song and smiling. "Dance we me, Jer." I grasp his hand swaying with him to the music. "We're close aren't we?" I nod laughing. "Just three more months, Jeremiah." He shutters with a smile. "I can't wait."

#jerome #jerome x reader #jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x reader #jerome valeska smut #Gotham #Gotham City #gotham cast

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redhoodssweetheart · 4 years

Text

Hello Damian

Genre: Angst with happy ending

Relationship: Older!Damian x Gender Neutral!Reader

Requested: A follow up to a request I had (REQUESTS ARE CLOSED)

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending

Description: It’s been seven months since your supposed death Damian’s mother is captured and he learns that you are still alive and living not far from Gotham.

A/N: Read the story that comes before this: Goodbye Damian

BEFORE

Damian sat in his room staring out the window as a robin flew by. He snorted at the irony and slowly turned his gaze away from the cloud covered sky. It seemed like more often than not his days without you seemed cloudy and deprived of sunshine. It had been seven months since they had buried you, seven months since he thought he saw you standing on the hill in the cemetery.

He had chased after you, hoping to see you again. Hoping and praying that it was you watching him from the trees. But when he reached the spot there was no sign of you. Only tracks where two people had been standing. He had frowned when he saw them, one set reminded him of his brother Jason’s favorite pair of combat boots while the others reminded Damian of shoes that you liked to wear.

He had gone back to the manor and back to Bruce saying that he thought it was you, that he was so sure it had been you watching him. Bruce had merely pulled Damian in for a hug, not sure what to say. He couldn’t tell Damian that it hadn’t been you because it very well could have been. Jason said he was going to take you to the cemetery so you could see Damian one more time before starting over a few towns away.

There was a knock on Damian’s door alerting him to another presence. Alfred poked his head in, “Master Damian, your father wishes to have a word with you.”

Damian nodded and rose to his feet and followed Alfred down the hall toward his father’s study. He passed Selina on the way and they nodded tersely at each other. Damian and Selina didn’t hate one another, but they weren’t exactly eager to be in the other’s presence. They respected each other and understood that both of them cared for Bruce and they weren’t going to debase themselves to petty arguments and the like for Bruce’s sake.

Alfred gently pushed the door open to Bruce’s study and allowed Damian to enter before closing the door behind him to give father and son some privacy. “Alfred said you wished to speak with me,” Damian said, his hands folded behind his back.

Bruce was eyeing his son from behind his desk wondering how best to break the news. “Your mother was captured by the Justice League earlier after trying to steal some information from a government office in Italy.”

Damian nodded his head, unsurprised to hear this, “I take it she’s currently in one of the League’s holding cells.”

“She is, but the Italian government is calling for us to release her into their custody so that they can deal with her accordingly.”

Damian scoffed, “An Italian prison won’t be able to hold my mother.” Not like one of the League cells could at least.

“The League is aware of this and are currently negotiating terms with the Italian authorities. I called you here to inform you of this and ask if you wanted to speak with her before anything has been decided any further?”

Damian considered his father’s offer, “I would. It’s been sometime since I spoke to her. I should probably see how she’s doing.”

“I’ll call Oliver and tell him, we can be on a plane there tonight if you wish.” Damian gave a stiff nod and headed back to his room to back a few things before their trip.

The katana went swinging over your head so fast you almost didn’t dodge it in time. You rolled to the side and quickly hopped back up and went after your assailant. Jason blocked your attack and grinned at you, “You’re getting better.”

You smirked and shoved him away quickly trying to kick his feet out from under him, but he merely jumped up to avoid the attack. “I think you’re just becoming too complacent,” you teased.

For the past seven months you had lived in a little cabin on the outskirts of some unknown town that Jason had found. It wasn’t too far from Gotham, but far enough that you wouldn’t be noticed by anyone. You worked in a little diner earning meager tips and getting hit on by some of the people there. Jason stayed with you most of the time, but he would spend the nights at Wayne Manor so he wouldn’t raise suspicions on where he was going all the time.

Most of the time he lied and said that he had a date with some girl just to avoid Damian’s probing. Jason always thought that Damian was too perceptive for his own good. When he was with you though his sole focus was on training you to make sure that you could defend yourself whenever he wasn’t around. The two of you had grown closer and were now more like siblings than the acquaintances that you had once been.

It was nice to have some attachment to your former life in Gotham around. Jason often brought you news of Damian, though it wasn’t always good. You knew he sugar coated most of it so you wouldn’t be tempted to go running back to Gotham. There wasn’t a chance of you doing that though. This was for your safety as well as Damian. You couldn’t have him hating his mother if she managed to kill you. They had a tentative relationship, but she was still his mother.

You managed to knock Jason’s katana away from him, a triumphant smile on your face and he chuckled. “Okay, enough for today I gotta get ready for work.”

Jason understood and watched you hurry off to get ready for the evening shift at the diner.

Damian stood before his mother's cell. She was alone on this block and sitting on the cot at the farthest wall staring at her son. It had been five minutes since his arrival and neither of them had spoken a word to the other. Finally Talia sighed, “Why so sad Damian? Afraid of what may happen to your dear mother?”

Damian kept his stoic look, “No, I’m sure whatever punishment they can come up with will be adequate enough.”

Talia cocked her head to the side and studied her son, “You seem different. Does this have to do with that person you were dating?”

Damian narrowed his eyes at his mother, the first time he had shown any emotion since arriving, “Do not speak their name.”

She grinned, “I had plans to kill them. They were such a distraction, but then they died and I guess I didn’t have to worry about them anymore.” Damian clenched his fists. “Although I did hear something interesting. A little birdie told me that they saw someone who looked suspiciously like Y/N and Jason in a little town not far from Gotham. I wonder what they could be doing there.”

Damian stepped closer to his mother’s cell, “Talk.”

AFTER

The bell on the door to the diner where you worked dinged and you called over your shoulder, “Take a seat wherever you’d like, I’ll be with you in a moment.” You hear retreating footsteps and continued working on the table that had been recently vacated. When you stood and turned you dropped the tray. Damian was sitting a few tables behind you just staring, his face unreadable.

One of your coworkers rushed over and started saying your name, but you were hearing her through a filter. It was almost like you had been submerged in water and everything was muffled. Damian was here. Damian was here and he was staring at you.

He knew you were alive.

You wanted to bolt for the door and try to escape, tell Jason to play it off as if Damian had been seeing things, but you knew that would never work. He was too smart to believe something as simple as that.

“Y/N,” your coworker shook you, her eyes going to the man at the table you were staring at. The two of you were looking at each other so intensely, but you were shaking. “Are you okay? Should I call someone?”

“No Celia,” you finally found your voice. “I need to clock out early. Can you cover the last part of my shift?”

“Yeah, yeah go ahead, it’s dead in here anyway,” you winced at her word choice and quickly ducked into the back.

Celia walked over to the man whose eyes had followed your every move. “Listen, I don’t know who you think you are,” her voice drew his attention away from the door that you disappeared through. “But you better not hurt Y/N.”

Damian merely smiled at the woman, “Y/N is an old friend, they didn’t know I was coming, I just shocked them is all.”

Celia eyed him skeptically, but nodded and headed to the opposite side of the diner to take care of some more customers that had come in. Meanwhile you were in the back on the phone with Jason.

“Damian’s here,” your voice shook and you glanced over your shoulder to make sure he hadn’t followed you here. “How is he here?”

Jason was cursing, “I was just about to call you. Bruce took him to see his mother, the League captured her and she’s in their custody for the moment. She told him that you were still alive, how she knew I have no clue. I was gonna move you, I’ve been getting our things together here, I thought we would have more time. Y/N, I’m sorry.”

You let out a breath and squared your shoulders, “Well if she’s in custody then there’s no reason for me to be in hiding anymore, and especially if she knew I wasn’t dead.”

“Right, but still this was a big surprise for you. Are you going to be okay?” His concern made you smile, he really was like an older brother to you.

“I’ll be fine, I owe him an explanation,” you said. “I just hope he isn’t too angry.”

“I’ll let you and Damian have some time alone so you can talk. Just let me know if you need anything and I’ll come running,” he offered.

The two of you said your goodbyes and hung up. You gathered your things from your locker in the back and waved goodbye to the cook and entered the main portion of the diner again. Damian was still at the table with a cup of coffee before him. He was watching the steam rising from the surface before lifting the cup to his lips and taking a drink.

You couldn’t quite believe that he was here and that he knew you were alive. Sighing, you walked back over to him, “Hello Damian.”

He looked up, his expression unreadable, “Y/N.”

You flinched at the flatness to his voice, “Let’s go somewhere more private. If we don’t our business will be all over town.” He stood and followed you out to your car, he watched as you fiddled with your keys wondering what was going through your mind at that moment.

The two of you slipped into your car and took off toward the place you called home. The first five minutes were quiet as the two of you just sat there not sure who should speak first. Finally you couldn’t take it anymore and asked, “Are you mad?”

It took him a moment to answer and that had your heart beating wildly in your chest, “At you? No. At the others? A little.”

“We didn’t want to have to do this, Damian,” you glanced at him, but in the darkness you couldn’t see his face well. “Your dad wanted to protect the both of us. He wanted to try and protect me and salvage what was left from your relationship with your mom.”

“He should have told me the truth,” Damian’s voice was low as he spoke as if he were trying to hold in his anger as best he could. “I could have protected you. You were my partner, and I should have known. Instead, all of you let me believe that you were dead for seven months.”

“Your mother had to believe I was actually dead,” you argued. “Would you have been able to do that?” He was silent. “Don’t just blame your dad, it was a joint decision, and not an easy one to make at that.”

You had pulled into your driveway now and the two of you just sat there in silence. Damian was thinking things over, thinking over what he wanted to say to you next. “Are you going to disappear again?”

“No, not again,” you told him. “With your mother in custody I think I’m okay for now.”

“Then come home with me,” he said, his gaze turning to you at last. He reached over and took your hand. “Be with me again.”

You looked down at your entwined hands and then glanced back up at him wondering if this was a good idea. “Damian--”

“Please,” his voice broke and he held onto you a little bit tighter. “I can’t lose you again, not now when I know you’re alive.”

You pulled Damian into your arms and held him tightly, he squeezed you back, both of you relieved to be in each other’s arms again. “Give me a few more months here. Let me finish doing things here, I’m training with Jason and I want to complete that and to be honest I’m not ready to dive back into Gotham life again.”

He pulled back and cupped your face in his hands, “I understand, and take all the time you need. But can I make a request?”

You tilted your head and said, “Depends on what the request is?”

He chuckled, “It’s nothing serious or bad. I was just going to ask if I can come visit you and maybe help you train?”

You smiled, your heart feeling full, “Yes! Did you really think I was going to turn you down?”

He shrugged, “I wasn’t sure if you would still want space to kinda come to terms with the fact that I know and that I want you to come back to Gotham with me.”

“I want to come back,” you assured him. “And I’d love to train with you. I’m kinda excited to show you my katana skills. Jason says I’m pretty good.”

He grinned at you, “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed and snuggled closer to him. “Stay tonight?” You asked, you weren’t ready to let him go just yet, not when you hadn’t held him for so long.

“Of course, don’t think for a second I’m going to leave you for the next couple of days. I want to hear everything,” he said. “I want to hear what the last seven months have been going.”

The two of you curled up in your bed together and you just talked. You told him about the friends you had made and what your job was like. You told him about your training with Jason and how frustrated you had been at first. Damian listened while tracing patterns on your back. And slowly you grew more tired and your words slurred, soon you were asleep and Damian smiled.

Kissing your forehead he whispered, “Goodnight, Y/N,” before closing his eyes and falling asleep himself.

#Damian Wayne x Reader #Damian Wayne x Reader angst #Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne fanfic #Damian Wayne fanfiction #Damian Wayne angst #DC Comics #DC Comics fanfic #DC Comics fanfiction #DC Comics angst #Requested

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fandom-writer642 · 4 years

Text

It’s Been a While (Batfam x Sister!Reader)

Summary: Years ago (Y/n) Al Ghul- Wayne had disappeared from the world without a trace. When she comes back her family has a lot of questions for her and her her two friends, Artemis Fowl II and Holly Short

Warnings: It’s long and I got carried away

Request: No

Pairing?: Family; Batfamily x Sister!Reader

———

Age Ten

(Y/n) scowled from the rooftop, making sure to be unseen by those below her as her brother chased the clawed man. Fighting him into the streets of Gotham wasn’t a smart idea, it was rash with little thought that would only cause trouble. She didn’t need to be part of that, no matter how angry she was she needed something to do instead of sit around the cave all day. Quickly she jumped off the roof and twisted herself and grabbing the streetlight so she didn’t hit the ground. Flipping herself to stand on the light before bounce off the tops of cars and trucks to make sure her brother wasn’t overly harmed. Landing on top of the fence she watched as metal clanged metal before jumping to sit on the streetlight above.

She would stop the fight when she thought necessary, after all, Damian wasn’t exactly a normal child, neither was she but that was different. While she was trained to be a killer she found the works of being a criminal mastermind much more enduring than the works of a mindless assassin. It was when he was bring his sword to lay the final blow did she get ready to leap into action. However, a man in black and blue beat her, kicking her twin through the fence before he could kill the injured man. (Y/n) recognized the vigilante from her grandfather’s and mother’s learnings, his name was Nightwing.

He caught the sword but (Y/n) took action flipping above him and grabbing the sword from his grasp. Sheathing it in her holder as she landed beside him.

“The psychos keep getting younger,” Nightwing muttered, keeping an eye on the girl next to him. She seemed harmless but she had also been watching the scene unfold and took the sword away from him. He knew if she had the intention of harming him she would have done it, he could tell she was a force to be reckoned with just by the glint in her eye that gleamed. It was as if she was sending the message of “I know something you don’t” with her eyes.

“Watch out,” she muttered toward the hero as her twin cane charging toward the pair, mainly the man that had knocked him away. Damian has no reason to go after his sister, she knew when to pick her fights but for once she wasn’t by his side on this one. She helped Nightwing fight him, even going to hand-to-hand combat with her brother who was typically superior in that field but she was much smarter than her brother.

It took some time but soon enough Damian was tied to the streetlight with a gag looking furious. (Y/n) chuckled at the sight before turning toward the scratched up hero with a frown. “Sorry about that. With the sword and all. It’s not easy fighting your own brother especially when their better than you.”

He gave a chuckle, “It’s fine, who are you kids?”

“I’m (Y/n) Al Ghul-Wayne. This is my twin brother Damian. We snuck out of the manor while dad was out on patrol, I just followed so no one would get killed.”

“Nearly failed,” Nightwing commented on.

“What ever you say Grayson. Believe me, my plans never fail.” Once again the glint was in her eye as she smirked, “Call dad, he won’t be happy but he may as well be called.”

The man nodded while the girl walked over to her hanging brother who was spitting curses into the gag while glaring at his sister. In less than twenty minutes all of them were back at the manor and being checked on by Alfred. Dick was getting stitches from Alfred due to Damian’s stricken with a sword while (Y/n) hacked into the government systems at the bat computer, looking bored.

“Maybe you should remember who the blood son is,” Damian hissed at the older man.

“Maybe you should remember who saved your ass back home before the attack,” (Y/n) snipped calmly, seemingly ineffected by her brother’s withering glare. “Now quit glaring at me, I have something to figure out.”

“Besides, it’s more like blood thirsty,” Dick supplied with an ease. Alerting both twins that this wasn’t the first time he had an arguement of insults with someone their age. Dick only seemed to react when Damian went looking through the costumes of the old Robins.

“You can never be too cautious,” Alfred told her as he appeared at her side, in front of the computer. “But never be paranoid, that will bring you a horrible life.”

She blinked at him before glancing up at the pair of males above.

“Thank you Mr. Pennyworth.”

She would keep that information handy for the rest of her life.

Age Eleven

Why Bruce sent her and Tim to Ireland was beyond her. There wasn’t a lot of major crime around that would cause them to go out of country. She didn’t mind time like Damian did, the pair actually got along very well but disagreed on many different topics. She didn’t train to go on the field like her brothers did but she was trained well enough to be able to keep up with what they did. She was smart and worked with technology everyday, so she wasn’t very happy about the mission. She traveled around the city of Dublin calmly, hoping to find something of use of the pointless mission.

They were here to find a supposed criminal mastermind that had gone missing, with no name and little leads, he just lived in Ireland and had quiet a bit of money. It was what brought Tim and (Y/n) to the view tower of The Guinness Factory, surrounded by important people from all over Ireland and some from different countries. She let Tim do the talking to all the others, she was very calm but she wasn’t fond of having a low intellect conversation with someone in the beer factory.

She walked around in her (Favorite color) dress as she rarely stopped to chat. As soon as she got to the bar she was surprised how empty it was for a party. “Not enjoying the party?”

She looked over to her right, only to see a boy that she could have easily mistaken for a young Wayne boy. He had raven black hair and deep blue eyes that took her by surprise, he was pale like a vampire and even wore a smile of one. He seemed to be her age and as deeply as bored as her.

“It’s not my kind of thing,” (Y/n) told the boy in the Armani suit. She had only seen on one man wearing a suit of the same designer, that man was Domovoi Butler who was a manservant and a bodyguard to the Fowl family. “I’m guessing it’s not yours either Artemis Fowl?”

“Why you picked up the clues rather quickly, didn’t you (Y/n) Wayne?”

She rolled her eyes, she had heard of the Fowl family and knew that the man they were looking for has been missing for a year. She could at least have a competent chat with someone her age about things that do not make sense. She had heard of his mother which barely anyone knew about and she had heard of him dropping from boarding school and she had no doubt on why.

“If you’re going to make alliances with those of this higher society to keep your plans under wraps then I would suggest you get talking to them.”

“Well, if your brother and you are looking for my father he was killed a year ago.”

“So it seems Mr. Fowl,” (Y/n) stared with a click of her tongue. “But things aren’t always what they seem. Your family was rich and now you a young eleven-year-old are trying to bring it back up. No one would suspect that you would be as smart as you are today but yet here you are in land of higher life that is much more dangerous.”

“Well Miss Wayne, perhaps we should chat about it somewhere else. After all if anyone heard it would be a shame if your own family secret got out to the press.”

“Black mail doesn’t work on me. I want to help you.”

“With?”

“Your father and mother. You can’t believe that something isn’t going on? The problem is, my family can’t know where I am.”

“Why should I let you help me?”

“How many people do either of us know that are as intelligent or competent as us? Besides, I know more about people, so if we need something socially I can talk.”

“You say you need to hide, who’s believe you are who you say?”

“Artemis, this is the underground network. Things can be well hidden, even my father hasn’t figured out all of the darkest secrets in Gotham. What makes you think he’ll figure this one out?”

“True but, how are you to die? Needs to be something believable.”

“Obviously,” she hissed with an eye roll. “Tim is coming, smile.”

He gave a vampire smile and she put up a false front as her older brother came over. “Hello,” he greeted them both. “You seemed to be missing out on the party sister.”

“I prefer talking to certain people more than others.” Tim frowned and took his leave after grabbing a drink. After at least thirty minutes of silence between the two pre-teens did something happen. Men walked in, guns in hand with a greedy look in their eyes. Butler grabbed Artemis and Artemis grabbed (Y/n), pulling her back with them, into the corner. Butler hide the pair behind him while the two kids shared a look. A gunshot rung out, followed by some more. Tim looked around wildly for his sister, only to see a few men walking over towards the group of three. Guns pointed pointed at them as one shot the window behind them.

“Oh, wonderful,” Tim muttered as he watched the boy and his sister share a look. The pair backed up toward the edge of the window, looking calm and content. Two rings went out and the pair fell from the height. (Y/n) had taken both shots, one right in her left shoulder and another in her right arm. Pain seared through her as the pair free fell. The boy pulled something and a parachute came out and he caught her.

“You’re just prepared for anything aren’t you?” She asked as she clung to him. So she didn’t fall to early.

“Butler always taught me to be prepared for anything.”

The pair ditched the chute in a dumpster and ran, she would guess to his car. It was on that day that (Y/n) Al Ghul-Wayne was said to be dead and the day Damian nearly killed Tim.

Age Twenty-One

(Y/n) had grown since the night of her death. Far more intelligent and far more prepared for the world. She gained friends and helped save the world without her family knowing she was alive. That is what made this so nerve wracking as she stood in front of her father’s home. She had been dead for a decade with not even a sliver of anyone thinking she was alive. Artemis had kept his agreement, he never told a soul about you being alive unless needed. It was her death day and she felt a twist of guilt run through her.

Tim had blamed himself for her death, he was there for it but he was too slow. He would believe anything if it meant she was possibly alive, he would do anything to get her back.

Damian, her twin brother, how she missed him. Was he still as cold and closed off as they were when they were kids? Had he changed?

Dick was the caring eldest brother that had lost yet another sibling. He’d blame himself because he had Bruce put her on that mission.

Jason would understand in a different way, he didn’t know (Y/n) but he had heard about her. The only person that could truly calm Damian with a look if she pleased.

Bruce would blame himself more than anything, he sent her on the mission so he thought it was his fault. She had become very close to everyone in the family which only made her death worse.

“Come on (Y/n),” Holly said. “You’ve saved the world how many times and know you’re afraid to knock on a simple door?”

“Holly, this is different! It’s not like Opal is in there and ready to take over the world again, this is my family who thinks I’ve been dead for the past decade!”

Artemis sighed and just knocked on the door, much to (Y/n)’s alarm. “I’m helping you, whether you like it or not.”

The door was opened by Alfred as always,who as soon as he saw the three dropped the tray in his hands. He knew those eyes anywhere, the glint of “I know something you don’t” was still there with a mix of pain from the past and nerves from the present. The residents of Wayne manor stood at the door, looking in shock as Alfred hugged the girl with (Eye color) eyes that had the same look as always. Some wanted this to be a nightmare but the short auburn haired female was smiling so wide as if she had never smiled before. The male was one Tim recognized from the party all those years ago, Artemis Fowl II.

Alfred held the girl at arms length, “Is it really you Mistress (Y/n)?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “It’s me. I’m alive Alfred. I’m here. Thank Artemis, he was the one who knocked.”

“Yeah, Mudgirl here chickened out,” Holly stated from her spot.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes wiping away the tears and smiled at her family.

“Hi guys, it’s been a while.”

———

Note: This was bad, very bad. But it was fun to write. I got very carried away with it and I didn’t write the characters well but I’m stil posting this because what the hell, why not?

#batfam x batsis #batsiblings #batsis imagine #damian wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #holly short #captain holly short #artemis fowl #artemis fowl x reader #friendship #fake your death #it’s been a while

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niqhtlord01 · 5 years

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Humans are weird: The concept of surrender

“Are you sure this translator is functioning?” Alfred asked as he turned to the technician beside him for the third time during the discussion. Before the technician could reply the alien delegates across the table replied. “We can understand you just fine human, do not insult our intelligence again!” To emphasize their point they brought their hand down against the table with a loud THUD. The surrounding aliens beside the agitated delegate all nodded and muttered their support. Alfred held up his hands. “Oh, no, no, no. I was not suggesting anything of the sort.” He waved his hands side to side as if to swipe the idea from the very air. “I was merely wishing to confirm that it was working because you seemed rather confused at the terms I offered you.” “We would never allow our people to become your slaves! We would rather die fighting your tyranny while standing on our own three feet!” The same agitator from before spoke again and was greeted with even more cheers. Alfred took the glasses from his brow and rubbed his eyes sighing loudly. “See, this is where I think the confusion is setting in.” He calmly placed them back and adjusted them for a clear view. “No were in the terms we offered you does it even mention slavery. I do not understand where you are getting this sentiment.” The other delegates grumbled and once again it was the agitator who spoke launching into another speech about loyalty to his peoples beliefs. Alfred wasn’t sure if they were the designated representative or if it was because the other delegates didn’t feel like speaking. In truth Alfred knew very little of the Loski people other than that they attempted to invade a human colony world one month earlier believing humanity to be a primitive people only to have the entire might of the Solar Fleet jump in over the colony the next day and begin the counter attack. Now humanity was at the Loski homeworld and the government back on Earth had no desire to launch a final invasion. The fact that this counter attack had come this far was merely a result of continued raids by the Loski nation against human colonies for the last year or so and humanity had had enough. After speaking with several commanders who had fought the Loski forces in space and planetside Alfred had come to the conclusion that they were about as dangerous as shell crab. So he had been tasked by the Earth’s government to negotiate with the Loski nation a surrender and bring the war to a peaceful conclusion. But after three days of talks a startling fact had begun forming in Alfred’s mind. He calmly motioned for a human soldier standing by the edges of the room to come over. “Would you be so kind to see if you could find a whiteboard or portable hologram screen? I feel like I’ll need to draw this out for them.” The soldier smirked and departed the room. “Am I dulling you human?” Alfred turned back around to see the Loski delegate, Hamon he thought they called themselves when they first were introduced. “In all honesty, yes.” Alfred remarked with a bit more snark than he had intended. This appeared to startle some of the Loski delegates at the directness of the response and anger some others, but at this point Alfred was reaching the end of his rope with the Earth government wanting results and the militarists wanting to launch a full invasion. He resolved himself to save these idiots by any means, and if it meant being harshly honest with them then the truth bombs would start raining down. “These last three days we’ve repeated the same dance over and over. I present the terms of your surrender, you take it as an insult and interpret it as meaning that you’ll be sold into slavery, you make a long winded speech that uses so many of the same words over and over my linguistics teacher would have strangled you by now, and then we call it a day and start all over again tomorrow.” Hamon began to bristle at the remark. “You dare insult the Loski people-”. It was Alfred’s turn to interrupt and held up a hand. “The fact you have not yet realized that the Loski people are a mere annoyance to humanity shows how detached you are from the current situation so I am going to have drawn a diagram for you to understand.” The door to the conference room opened and the soldier from before rolled in a large white board on wheels. Alfred stood up, took a marker, and began drawing several circles in clusters. “This,” Alfred began as he marked three circles, “is Loski territory; and this,” he marked several dozen circles, “is humanities territory.” “Ever since you attacked our colony, your territory has been reduced to this.” He drew and “X” through two of the Loski circles. “You now only have your homeworld left to you, while we still have dozens-” he made sure to wave his hands around the human circles to get the point across, “of planets to draw forces from.” Hamon scoffed. “You can not fool us human. Your territory is nothing so large.” The level of denial Alfred was up against was making him almost want to rip his ears off to save him from such stupidity. “Have you missed the massed armada the you flew past to board this ship? Or the legions of soldiers that stormed your two worlds?” “We will drive them back in good time.” Alfred calmly put down the marker and sat back down. “No, you will not.” “Is that a threat human?” “No, that is a promise.” He calmly looked every Loski delegate in the eye to show how serious he was. “If I walk out that door today and say that there is no peace deal then this is what’s going to happen.” He held up one finger. “First, you all will be taken into custody while the fleet begins orbital strikes on your planet.” He held up a second finger. “Second, a full ground invasion will be launched filled with soldiers that are tired of this farce of a war and want to go home.” Her held up a third and final finger. “After we have wiped out your government we will take whatever we want and then leave your war torn planet to its own devices which if I’m estimating correctly will not be enough to sustain your current population resulting in mass starvation and disease which may very well wipe you from the face of the galaxy.” The Loski delegates sat in silence. The smirks and grins they were sporting just a moment ago now gone from their faces as the depth of their current situation sunk in. Alfred could see that the majority of them now realized they couldn’t win, but Hamon was still undeterred. “All scary words human, but you’re people would never allow such barbarity to occur; no matter how primitive you are we know you have a conscious.” “One that could be easily overridden by a single video of a crying little girl holding a stuffed toy in the burnt out ruins of her home. A home that your people set ablaze.” Alfred retorted. “With a single video, my people could put their common sense aside.” The dead look of Alfred’s face must have finally broken through Hamon’s self disillusion. He sank back into his chair and looked at the other delegates, seeing that their minds were already made up. “We cannot.” Hamon began, the words stuck in his mouth like they were glue. “I care for my people, but I can not stop fighting if the alternative means servitude.” “Once again, that is not what surrender means.” Alfred felt like he had made a breakthrough so tried to contain his continued frustration at the misinterpretation. “What surrender means is that we stop fighting. You sign an agreement with us saying you will never attack human space again, that you will pay for damages dealt to human property, and that you will respect our borders. In exchange, we will begin withdrawing our forces not only from above your homeworld but also on the two worlds we captured from you and will return them to your governance. Additionally, any captured people be they prisoners of war or captives along with any taken property will be returned.” The Loski delegates mouths opened and closed several times. To Alfred they looked like catfish staring at a delicious worm before them. “Why would you be willing to give us back our worlds?” one of them asked him. “We have no interest in them other than to ensure that they are no longer hostile bases that are used to attack our people.” They spoke in hushed whispers among themselves for several minutes before Hamon finally spoke. “This is most unusual. Many species we have encountered either wipe out their enemies or are wiped out in turn. Never have we met a species that is willing to lay down arms and coexist.” It was Alfred’s turn to grin. “Guess we weren’t the primitive ones after all.” Hamon looked like he was about to say something before he bit it back. “Very well. We shall accept your terms and end this conflict.” Alfred smiled. “Wise choice.”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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oumaheroes · 3 years

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Earthbound 1/?

Summary:

Centuries after humanity fled a dying Earth and found sanctuary in the stars, the planet has healed enough to support mankind once more. For some, there is something more than curiosity; memories from another life whisper history in familiar voices, calling them home.

'He closes his eyes and thinks about blue flowers and large statues of stone, of ships and red coats flapping over a green meadow.'

Part 2 Part 3

……………………………………………………………………

Chapter 1: Scattered Amongst The Stars

Alfred is six. It was his birthday last Tuesday and he got to have a really big party and it was really really cool, but the coolest thing ever was that he got an e-tab from his Ma. Everyone at school already has an e-tab -as a July baby he's one of the youngest- so now he can finally join in with the special classes that they have and play all of those games at lunch time.

Alfred doesn't like feeling left out. It's not nice, Ma says, when you don't include people, so that means that the people who play games on their e-tabs when they know he doesn't have one are being mean on purpose and that really hurts. Except now, now he can join in and be their friend again and won't have to sit alone at his table when it's interactive e-tab time.

It's not real learning, Pa says. He didn't want Alfred to have one, says that it rots your brains and makes you lazy, and says that the e-tab time is just 'enrichment', it's not part of the curriculum because they're not learning anything, just downloading and watching stuff. Still, Ma must have talked him around because on Tuesday Alfred opened the box and there it was, all for him. There's some games on it, from Grandpa, and Ma had uploaded some of his favourite movies for him to watch as soon as he'd synced his mind up. Pa got there too, he must have done, because there's also some files on 'Earth History', 'The Fall', and one about extinct animals which Alfred really doesn't wanna read but Pa's been mentioning at least one of them every dinner since so he probably should.

He goes into school and begins to chatter happily to his friend Ben as soon as he sees him about 'Zip Blast', the current school-yard fad, and about how he can't wait to sync up and play because he'd been practising over the weekend and he thinks he's kinda good now.

Ben looks uncomfortable. 'Oh, I don't think we're playing that one any more.'

'Huh? But...' Alfred stops and looks at Ben in disbelief, 'but Friday you said it was the best ever!'

'Well it was,' Ben concedes, reluctantly, 'but now there's the new 'Rock-ite' out so we played that over the weekend.'

Alfred's heart sinks. 'We?'

His friend has the grace to look as apologetic as a six year old can look about these matters but nothing more than that and at recess Alfred is alone once more. He tells himself it's okay, he doesn't care anyway but it's a half-hearted lie at best and he doesn't try to kid himself for too long. Instead, he decides he may as well sync up one of those stuffy files Pa put on the e-tab to pass the time and nibbles a cookie to keep himself entertained.

His teacher finds him gormless, ten minutes later. His eyes are glazed as he stares unblinkingly at the wall and his cookie, one chunk missing, lies forlorn on the table next to his slack left hand but his brain is more full and awake than it's ever been. Information about a long dead planet far far away pound and crash in his head and as soon as the data file has been properly synced he reaches out for his tab and loads up another.

At eight, Alfred has become that kid. No matter what conversation he gets into or who he talks to, if there is an opening or an opportunity he will bring up Earth and once that's accomplished he can go on and on for hours. He's downloaded every possible data file he can find about the entire subject: life before the Fall, the Fall itself, and the human race's desperate escape across the stars and for him it's still never enough. There's always another e-file to sync: about ancient nations, about old sciences and religions, about old wars and songs and dances and food; every second he can spare he gives over to tales of the past woven from the binary of today.

They are a scattered people, he likes to tell his listeners, there are hundreds of us, strewn across galaxies and planets and ships and no one knows how many of us there are any more because the Fall ripped apart alliances and histories so we don't even know who else is out there to find. Everything was lost, everything; the history, the stories, the places, the-

At this point, someone usually either changes the topic of conversation or he realises that they've walked away and left him babbling to himself, his eyes shut as he imagines the flight to freedom that happened too long before he was born. Adults are usually nicer and listen for longer, but they don't mean it either and by pretending to be interested in what he has to say they only serve to hurt him more.

He just can't understand, why does no one else find this interesting? Why does no one else dream of where they as a species came from and long to see it for themselves? Alfred would do anything to feel the wind on his face, to have breeze in his hair and the sun touch his skin because although he could play in a holo-room or go on a special holo-holiday it's not real and Alfred longs to just feel it. The sun on his planet is strong but the dense material of the domes blocks it from actually reaching him; he can't feel the warmth. At school he's learnt that it's too hot out there anyway and he'd die, but according to his data files the sun should be warm and gentle and fill up summer days and spring afternoons, so he can't quite feel the danger as much as he probably should. There's no air outside the domes either and what's the point of feeling the sun without a breeze, so he's not as sad as he could have been. It wouldn't ever compare to mankind's old sun, the sun in the stories he's growing up on.

He sometimes spends his recess and lunch at school rushing about as fast as his legs can carry him. Trying to get his own wind in such space is hard, but not impossible and if he focuses hard enough on his self-made breeze he can imagine that he's running over rocks and cliffs and weaving in and out of long gone animals that only the sky can remember. If this doesn't work, he syncs with his e-files to learn about something else, he's started to get into the people recently and likes the stories about normal stuff the most. Food, clothes, toys. Relatable things that he can see in his own home and use to imagine that he's been transported back through time and space.

There are often pictures of houses and Alfred marvels as how big they are and how much stuff those people must have had, collected form all the many places they must have seen. You can't get wood any more, but maybe if he asks Pa nicely he can get him some of that building material they use for making the new domes and he can practise making his own, just to see if he can.

He spends his weekends tinkering in his room with old bits of plastic, metal and cables and every now and again he plugs in a new circuit board to the plug sockets in his room and sees if he can make the lights turn on or off from somewhere else. Last weekend he built a fan and managed to make it blow. He can sync up a sound file from Earth and imagine that he's in a town somewhere way back when and there's a breeze on his face and there's someone who wants to talk to him.

Alfred is fifteen and is the best engineer in his school. He specialised early -he'd always had a knack for building things and he's good with numbers- and now this is what he's known for. Alfred can look at a electrical hub or a circuit board and immediately he can see either what's wrong or how to improve it and this makes him valuable. He's been building and fiddling with this sort of stuff in his room for ages but now it's finally cool, people actually want him to do that now. He sees it as a lucky thing, that he was bullied so much for it previously, because now he can see how much bullshit people like to throw when they want you to do something, how much an opinion of someone can change depending on their age and talent. Too good too young: weird and a nerd, you're wasting your time. Then you hit the right age and suddenly you're very experimental, very mature, it's good to know what you want in life. But ah, still young enough not to know your worth, you'll fix this for me for free, yes? If he wasn't as good as he is, he thinks, how valuable would they think I am? The answer scares him because he knows what it is and knows how thin the line he treads is; there are others like him, don't forget.

What even is he, without the skills of his hands?

He is seventeen. Alfred hates it, but Ma could use the help and Pa's not getting any younger, so he accepted an offer not too long ago for a entry level job in the government engineering department. It is an amazing offer for someone so young and fresh out of school, he knows that, but as much as he enjoys what he does the days wear him out and he spends less time listening to his e-files and more time building the dreams of others far more affluent than he.

He thinks he's doing okay for a while. The days whittle by easily and he starts to build up a nice savings pile that he uses to help out his parents every now and again. But he's nothing special. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of kids just like him on this planet who have been fed on a diet of strict, specialised schooling meant to produce only the best and Alfred knows that the only thing which sets him apart from the many many many others is his ability to just keep going. There is no safety in what he does at his age, no net to catch him if he slips up, so he begins to take on private jobs at the weekend to build up his CV further and get his name out there, making the chance of falling just that bit smaller. Before he realises it it's been a month since he last had the time set aside to listen to an e-file and that hits him, hard. He'd never had to set aside time before. Hell, he can't remember when he'd last done anything other than go to work, come home to sleep, and repeat.

He's struck by the monotony of it all. He can't see a difference between his life and that of his dad's, or his dad's friends, or anyone he knows, for that matter. Is this all there is? Is this all anyone does? When is there ever a break? Then, he gets it. There won't be a break. As soon as you can't keep up in this crazy race he's in, you're worthless. He's kind of been kidding himself, almost, that there'd be an end to it all, like a video game where you complete the level and then suddenly it's free play. You work hard to get a reward of, of something, or at least you can stop worrying and panicking about being left behind. There is no free play, he realises, it just keeps on going until you can't play any more because life has ground out your energy and sucked the vitality from your bones.

He goes running; pounding his feet on the treadmill he sucks in the humid air around him and imagines than he's running through an old Earthen jungle, dodging trees and leaping over crags in the forest floor. But there's no wind, and Earth refuses to come alive.

Alfred is eighteen. A message came through from Earth, old true Earth, that a new colony there is doing well and he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since, thinking and dreaming about what he'd do if he ever went there, if he ever set up his life there instead of here. He could...no. There is no safety in history, he knows. There is no definite chance that anyone would want him to do that. Besides, there's no potential for definite growth, no stable career plan because you can't guarantee a career on digging up the scanty past of a long dead planet. But no matter how big of a safety net he could make for himself in engineering he feels no passion about any of it and the idea of spending his days encapsulated in this metal world of domes and tunnels makes him feel cold.

There's something that calls him in his dreams and whispers over the wind in his mind and this builds and builds in his feet until he can't keep them still any longer. One more look out of the window and up at the stars and he's gonna blow, he needs to get out and go go go because if he doesn't then he's gonna sink in this place.

Before he can stop himself he's bought a ticket and finds himself packing hurriedly late at night when his parents are asleep, stuffing clothes into the only bag he only which is far too small for this sort of thing but who the fuck travels anywhere these days? He hasn't got time to be better at this so he crouches under his bed and reaches in, all the way back until his hand scrapes the wall and he finds his old fan that he built when he was eight. He puts it on his bed, places his e-tab next to it with a message of what he's done and that's that.

He slips out without waking his parents, because saying goodbye would only be too hard and he knows that he'd end up changing his mind if they spoke even one word to him, so he says his farewells in silence and disappears.

................................................................................................................................

Peter is five and he sits upon his mother's knee, playing with the buttons on her shirt. She's with other adults and they're all talking about something that he doesn't really understand but they all sound sad and the air feels heavy so he keeps quiet like a good boy should and thinks about other things to keep himself busy. He thinks about the e-book his nanny got him last Christmas, the one with the pretty pictures, and thinks that it would be nice to live inside that book, with the greens of grass that he's never touched before. He wonders if grass is hard or soft and he spends so long thinking of this that that night, when he is sleeping, he dreams that he is running on grass and it is prickly, tickling his feet.

There is a voice in the dream, singing him the story but it is not Nanny's voice, nor Mummy's or Daddy's, but another man's and the lilt of his voice sings a language Peter doesn't know but it is a good voice for story telling and so the dream is vivid and touchable. He flies through the grass, feet pounding at earth instead of metal and the voice chuckles, deep and throaty. It makes him feel safe.

He wakes up because his Mummy is stroking his hair and forgets; school teaches him about how the air system in his dome works. Grass isn't as important as breathing.

He is eight and they are learning about the old Earthen languages. There used to be many, his teachers says, and each language held a culture, a history and a soul of a people and there used to be hundreds of them on Earth before it Fell. The teacher is old; his words are flat and there is no passion in his tone, but a thrill runs up Peter's arms as he imagines so much more. From the nothing he is given his brain decides to give those dead languages life and all of a sudden there are bursts of sound echoing inside his head. The teacher moves on, the class sits bored, but Peter can hear consonants clash against teeth and tongue and fricatives slip between breathy vowels. There are phonemes which glide between dipthongs and tripthongs to bound and fall out of the hundreds of mouths of hundreds of people; whispers of a past no one can hear tell stories long forgotten.

There is a clap very close to his head which scares all of the sounds away. His teacher looms over him, frowning in exasperation.

'Again, Peter?' he says, 'Stop daydreaming, boy. I asked you a question.'

'Er...' his classmates snicker and he feels his ears go red. 'I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't listening.'

'That much was obvious.'

Peter's cheeks burn hotter and he stares at his e-tab, focusing on the light of the screen to stop him from crying.

Before too long the lesson changes, then the day ends and he's allowed to go home. He walks alone through the corridors and exits the school dome, coming into the shuttle bus bay. He's a big boy now, he can take the shuttle bus all by himself and he has a special card to prove it. Weaving in and out of the other children, he hurries to where his bus is docked and scrambles inside to rush to his favourite seat, hopping up and placing his bag on the seat beside him. He likes to sit alone, because then he can stare out of the window and dream for as long as the journey will let him without worrying about talking to someone. Not that anyone wants to anyway, the other children say he's not got a brain because he would rather focus on the story in his head than on their silly games.

Nanny doesn't mind, she says it's good for people to dream and says that he goes off to somewhere called 'Neverland' whilst she pinches his cheeks and calls him her little Peter Pan. But when he gets home Nanny isn't there, Mummy and Daddy are and they're huddled in front of the large e-screen in the sitting room, faces pinched in worry.

He drops his bag by the kitchen table and goes to join them. There is a man on the screen speaking about their air ventilation system and a 'catastrophic degradation' and about some big numbers with a scientist nodding seriously to his left.

'What do we do now?' His mother's voice is hushed, fragile.

His father raises his eyes to her and shakes his head slowly. 'Debbie... you heard what he said. The planet's no longer viable.' His eyes flick towards Peter, suddenly aware that he's there too, and he smiles although it doesn't reach his eyes. 'Hey Pete. Do you mind doing your homework in your room today?'

Peter could ask why, but he sees that his Daddy doesn't want him to and Mummy looks like she's going to cry, so he glances once more at the screen and nods. He leaves them with the scary looking numbers and tips his books onto his bed. That night he dreams of waves crashing against his legs and he tastes the salt on his lip when he wakes.

At nine, there's some breaking news. Earth, of all things Earth, is habitable once more and it can't come at a better time. Peter sits on his favourite sofa at Nan's house, with his father having lunch, when the planet-wide intercom coughs its way to life and briefly deafens them all before the sound adjusts ever so slightly.

'ATTENTION ALL. PRIMARY SUPPORT SYSTEMS FOR THE SOUTH SIDE HAVE SUFFERED AN IRREPERABLE MALFUNCTION. BACKUP SYSTEMS WILL HOLD FOR APPROXIMATLY 3 HOURS AND 45 MINUTES. THIS IS NOT A DRILL; MAKE YOUR WAY TO YOUR EVACUATION POINTS.'

Then, it falls silent once more.

South side, that's them. Peter immediately feels as though he's going to be sick and by the look on his dad's face he's not alone. Once one half of the planet goes the other will surely follow. It's something they've all been expecting and planning for for years, but it's far, far too soon, they should have more time than this; they're not ready to go and the government's not even started the evacuation programme yet. His Nan shoots a look at his father from where she's sat in her armchair. It's a look Peter can't really read because there's something there that he subconsciously doesn't want to acknowledge.

'Earth?' Her voice is a thin whisper.

His father nods gravely. 'We got them Mum, the tickets came yesterday.' Peter's heart briefly lifts at the prospect, a longing that's deep and euphoric but then it crashes quickly. 'But...'

His Nan smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes. 'I know.'

Slowly, with growing horror, Peter understands. 'Wait,' he whips his head back and forth between the two of them, 'Nanny, where-'

'Don't worry, Peter,' she gets up and goes to kneel in front of where he's frozen in his chair, hands digging nails into the old material, 'I'll get on one of the other evacuation ships.'

'But you're not-,' his eyes burn and his voice is breaking but he doesn't look away, 'but you're not with us, why aren't you coming with us.'

'Oh Peter, my little Peter Pan,' she hugs him tight, pulling him in to her chest and he grips his hands in her shirt and tries to take in as much of her as he can.

'Mum we- we have to go.' Dad doesn't sound much better and before Peter can register much his Dad is hugging his Nan with a funny tight look on his face, then he's being pulled by the arm and out of the door, stumbling over his feet as he tries to keep up.

A terse shuttle bus later they get home to his mother already throwing their things into cases and boxes, haphazardly grabbing at e-frames and e-tabs to squash them and their memories safe under piles of their clothes. Peter could help, should help, but all he can do it sit numbly on the floor and cry whilst his life is collected and contained into a few measly bags. The rest will be left.

It doesn't take too long, thankfully, as Peter doesn't know what's worse, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible or wanting to stay and cling to the remnants of the only life he's ever known. As they make their way to the loading bays for the Earth-bound travellers he blearily finds himself thinking about what classes he'll miss in school tomorrow, but then he remembers Nanny and the ordeal starts anew as reality sets back in.

His parents are focused on more practical things.

They stand in line, their few pieces on luggage already being loaded on, and wait to board the ship they were assigned to only yesterday. His mother speaks under her breath, as if she is afraid to talk too loudly for fear of jinxing something. 'The Earth ships aren't even ready. They won't have enough food let alone rooms.'

His father shakes his head and slips his hand down to intertwine with hers. 'They must have known something like this could happen at any time, they've been predicting it for years. If anything, the rooms may not be ready but the agricultural sections will be.' He looks determinedly at the back of the head of the man in front of them and swallows. 'They only give out tickets if there's room. We'll be fine.'

Peter's mother glances his way meaningfully, and then back to his father.

'Jo, there're not enough ships; no one was ready in time. They can't have planned for everyone.' She bites the inside of her cheek, one hand on Peter's shoulder. Her fingers dig in, hard, but he doesn't try to shrug her off. He can barely feel it.

His father understands. 'She'll call us when she can.' Then, the line moves and they lurch forward together, huddled close.

Just before the door, where the tickets are being checked and where the din of the engines roaring into life starts to become uncomfortable, his father takes one last desperate look at out of the window at the distant domes of their colony, nestled in the dust. He taps an impatient rhythm against the tiled floor. 'She'll call.'

She never does.

................................................................................................................................

Francis is three and his daddy has just left Mummy.

'He went to fight,' she says as she strokes his hair. This confuses him because fighting is bad and you're only allowed to fight if someone tries to fight you first and no one has been nasty to Daddy that he's seen.

Mummy doesn't answer but continues to stroke his hair, humming softly a tune she sings to him every night before bed that sounds old and sad and sleepy, so he just nods and rests his head heavily against her chest.

He doesn't see his Daddy again.

He is ten when he realises that there never was any war. The notion strikes him dumb one day in the kitchen as he distantly listens to the news playing through the announcer when he helps wash up after dinner. The announcer is speaking about something banal, a fashion show maybe, but Francis is staring out of the window and up at the sky, up at the stars that push through the daytime's thin atmosphere. He doesn't know what caused him to start this train of thought, but once it's started his brain quickly pieces together the puzzle that it has ignored all of this time.

At school they were taught about wars, about age old battles with guns and swords and metal where blood was spilt over land and the wealth it contained. But, there hasn't been any fighting here. He scrubs a glass, sponge squeaking against the side. And even if there was fighting somewhere far away, his dad would surely still be able to write or visit, or come back after all this time. And more importantly, if there was a war going on now then surely he would have learnt about it at school, rather than learning about age old political struggles on the human-ruined home world.

His mother takes the glass from his slack grip. 'Daydreaming?'

He shakes himself to and looks at her. Turned away and out of the window her face is suddenly older and oddly clearer than he remembers it being, she looks like a person rather than just his mother and that's a scary thought. It's as though the wash of childhood has momentarily slipped away and he's now aware of both it and the harsh brushstrokes of reality. She's a person and feels things, just like he does. So it hurts, that she lied, and it will hurt him for a long time because he doesn't know why but cannot for the life of him bring himself to ask her. Francis is good at reading people and he knows that this isn't something he should ask about, so turns back to the dirty dishes and doesn't.

When Francis is fifteen there is a war, of sorts. The planet nearest to them, the one they rely on the most for trade, switches governmental policies and refuses to continue their current agreements. This results in a breakdown of communication and heightened tension between the two colonies, each bristling angrily at the offence yet unwilling to be the first to initiate anything rash. There is minor rationing imposed upon Francis' planet until trade is re-established as well as a draft of specialisation training implemented, just in case. He's unaffected by the rationing; the draft is a different story. Just in case this trade block becomes permanent, his planet needs to be prepared to become fully self sufficient in everything from science, to food, to art, to the army.

The block stays in place and tensions rise. Against his wishes, Francis is assigned a scientific draft. He is now seventeen and knows he needs to be given something but he'd prefer agriculture or education to research, if he could have the choice, or the arts if he's allowed to dream. He isn't. He brain is good, his grades are high and thus he is far more useful to the cause working on the advancement of his planet than working to help feed it.

A few days after his birthday and a month after his posting letter arrives, his mother rides with him on a shuttle to his boarding station. He will try out four different areas: mechanics, medicine, biology, and physics, then he will be assigned to what he works with best, where he can produce the best work possible. But Francis can't think of anything worse than being stuck in a lab all day, shutters drawn and devoid of all personality. Even worse, he's heard the rumours that have managed to float back from those who have graduated and knows that once he boards this ship there's no escaping the life he'll be moulded into. The programme is four years long and then he will be placed into a job where he will stay until he dies. At twenty one he will have no other skills for work other than what he will acquire at the science facility, there is no swapping careers afterwards. He wants to do so much, there is so much that he loves to do, and with each passing shuttle stop his heart grows more frantic, fighting his brain which has accepted the inevitable.

He gets physics. He calls his mother to howl down the phone once, just once, before he realises the futility of doing so; nothing can or will change. Accept it.

At twenty, a year before his training would end, there is finally a truce. Trade resumes and Francis finally tastes sugar after five years but now, after so long, the taste is too much. Not fully qualified yet too old to be automatically accepted into another programme, Francis is in limbo. There isn't much point in him continuing his training, there are more than enough specialists now and not enough jobs to give them, so there isn't anything for him to do. It's odd, now that there is nothing to work towards he feels empty but at the same time everything is just too much. He returns home and his mother fusses and tries to talk to him, tries to get him to come out of his room and sit with her and he did, at first, but the longer he's home the shorter his resistance is and the longer the 'breaks' are in his room.

Emotions seem to be harder to process without a goal, that or he never had many to begin with and without something to distract him from that notion he's finally noticing how few he has. Either way, other people are small insignificant creatures who worry about such useless, banal things. Who did what, with who and where. Did you know, her son the doctor? Well, he's a you know what now and- ugh. Francis can no longer take it.

He doesn't really see this as a problem. He feels as though he's risen above other people and finally understands that such things are not worth his time; why worry, after all, about what job to get. Why worry about whether or not someone likes you. Every day, regardless of what they do, the planet will spin and the domes will reflect the same bleak, churning sky and Francis realises that he's trapped here, by this life and that his life means nothing. None of their lives do, it's all the same; nowhere new to go, nothing new to do. Pick a job, do the job. Come home, go back. Retire. Die.

So he sits in his room, because if he talks to his mother or to anyone else he is reminded that somehow he's supposed to care about it, that life here is supposed to matter to him just as it matters to everyone else. His mother will mention this or that and he'll have to either fake the responses she wants, or not and upset her and neither option sounds pleasing to him.

After years of monotony and training suddenly he is permitted to express again and it's like he's forgotten how, the parts rusty after all the disuse. There are too many emotions and he finds himself forgetting to use them or using the wrong ones because he can't do them automatically any more, for some reason, and reactions that call for an understanding of nuance are just lost to him. Very quickly everything is too much. Food, heat, depth, people, concepts, everything.

He hides away but then they stop becoming too much and they shrink and shrivel up and become nothing at all he can feel how empty he is. Nothing can fill the void he's got because he doesn't even know why it's there and he can scarcely tell that there's a problem in the first place. He does knows he's got a problem though, really, knows how serious it is by the way his mother watches him with fearful eyes and baleful glances. She tiptoes tentatively around the house, carefully softening her words and her gentleness feels like a pressure cooker slowly but surely building something that's going to get bigger and hotter and harder to make go away. She avoids talking about it, about how Francis feels or doesn't, and by doing so the problem is allowed to grow, unchecked. Francis doesn't have to act any more, doesn't have to pretend, and so the feelings of apathy grow and grow until they swallow him whole and all he can bring himself to do is sit and stare and the sky, a dark choking yellow.

It feels heavy to look at, like a lid covering everything in his life, all potential, all future, all growth. It just festers and sinks lower and lower still and he sits and watches it for days before he's realised he's done so.

When Francis is twenty-two, his mother breaks. Not that she herself breaks, but her patience does.

'I can't do this any more.' she says. There are tears on her face and Francis watches one slide off and fall onto her collar. 'You need to go.'

Francis appraises her properly, meeting her eyes. She flinches at his gaze but remains resolute in her decision, though her bottom lip quivers. 'There's nothing for you here, we both know that. You don't want to be here, so you need to go.'

'I don't want to be anywhere.' he replies.

She gives him a watery smile. 'I know. That's why, you might as well see if you can want to be somewhere else.' She lifts up her arm and shows him her e-tab, the translucent screen showing a brightly coloured ticket. 'I've bought you a flight. It's Earth, it was declared habitable a few weeks ago.'

Francis knows he should feel something, this is one of those instances when he knows that he should be feeling something but he can't quite imagine what emotion he should give her.

She doesn't seem to expect one. 'It's one way. And this, this is all of my savings, Francis.' Her eyes are wide and her face is suddenly so very very old. 'If you don't want to be any more, at least make that decision once you've seen this. You can't go without seeing this, after all. See this, see it for me and then you can decide, okay?'

Suddenly she looks shocked and runs forward to embrace him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and knocking her e-tab into his face. The garish purple of the ticket burns his eyes. 'Oh Francis.' She sobs into his shoulder and clutches tightly into his shirt. 'Oh Francis it's okay, you can cry if you want to.'

Oh.

He's crying.

................................................................................................................................

Ludwig is six, and is sick again. The doctors don't know what's wrong with him; they know what's causing it at least but they have no idea why. He can't keep food down and every time he tries to stand the world pitches and swims and he can't keep his balance so he never manages to stay up for long before he bonelessly falls to the floor, where he feels no better.

It's the gravity, the doctors say, for some reason he's affected by the gravity. The artificial gravity that he's known all his life; it's as if he's just climbed aboard and his body suffers from relapses where it just can't acclimatise. Where it suddenly realises that something's not quite right and rebels against him for a week or so. This his family already knows, but his mother isn't satisfied with such a lacklustre answer so she takes him to a different doctor every time he suffers another attack just in case one of them is even marginally more competent than the last. These 'episodes', as his mother likes to call them, don't happen all that often, but he seems to have one every ten months or so and they are regular enough to annoy his mother to no end. Ludwig doesn't really know if she's annoyed that no one can fix him or with him himself, Gilbert won't say and normally his big brother talks to pretend that he knows something so his silence worries Ludwig the most.

Mother is a very important person with a very important job: she's a governor of the space station upon which they live and it is very important that Ludwig remembers this. So, when he's laying in bed clutching at his belly and desperately clenching his eyes shut to minimise the swaying, his friends at school think that he is away for a special training academy. Because can you just imagine, the governor of a space station's son being space sick?

His father doesn't like to call it that because he thinks it's degrading so his mother doesn't, when she thinks Ludwig can't hear, anyway, but Ludwig knows that's what the kids at school would say so he happily keeps mum because it's easier than lying. They don't talk to him much besides, they find him too cold and distant but that's because he's so scared of disgracing his mother further that he can't quite relax fully.

When Ludwig is thirteen his mother, after exhausting all doctors aboard their large floating colony, finally accepts that it's unlikely that this small problem of his is going to go away. Her way of dealing with it is to pretend that it just doesn't happen; during an attack Ludwig is sent to his room where he stays painfully alone with only his books for company whilst she busies herself with her new campaigns. She's running for director now, aiming as high as she can go and there's no room for weak, feeble Ludwig all the way up there.

His brother tries his best to keep him entertained and happy during these times, but Gilbert is healthy, strong, smart; he's everything that Ludwig should also be able to grow up to be and their parents have sent him off to expensive schools which means that he's more often away from home than not. Sometimes Ludwig wonders if they've sent him away because they want Gilbert to be the all around best he can be, or if it's to distance him as much as they can from Ludwig. It's almost as if they're worried that Ludwig will taint him, or that maybe Gilbert will grow too attached to him and distract himself from what's really important. That Ludwig will anchor him down.

At five years older it's highly unlikely that Ludwig will be the one doing the influencing, but his brother, despite hardly seeing each other and such a large age difference, does seem to genuinely care for him. During one particular attack, when Ludwig is eighteen, Gilbert is home from university; it is almost Christmas and his family are preparing to travel to where his grandparents live on the other side of the space station, where they'll spend the holiday. Of course, it is now that his body decides to betray him.

He, his parents, and his brother are gathered around the large dining room table finishing off dinner. It is tense. Mostly it is Gilbert who talks because despite their mother's cool demeanour and their father's lack of interest he seems to always have something to say to fill the silence and speaks easily. Even with the response he gets, or lack of it, he seems honestly unperturbed and remains cheerful, somehow managing to both eat and speak without seeming impolite. As much as he loves his brother, Ludwig is also supremely jealous.

He stares at his fork, contemplating which point in the evening would be best to ask if he could slip away, when his body decides for him. His stomach swoops, his ears pop and the table tilts alarmingly. He clenches the edge in panic to remain upright and the noise alerts his mother, who looks up from her dessert in irritation.

'Ludwig, we are going away tomorrow.'

'M- mother-'

His mother sighs and looks at his father, who sharply stares back. 'Dear?'

His father grunts and spears another forkful of fruit pie. 'They're expecting him to come.'

'But the photographers-'

'What do you want me to do, Hilda?'

Meanwhile, Ludwig has still not been dismissed and cannot now seem to find the words to ask for permission himself without spewing all over the fancy silverware. He doubts that that will make the situation better, somehow. Gilbert notices and stands, attracting his parents' attention.

'I'll take Luddy to his room.'

'Darling...' their mother tries to say something, but it's what she's trying not to say that comes across the loudest.

Gilbert ignores her and walks around the table, slowly helping Ludwig to his feet, then away from the table and swiftly towards a bathroom. They make it just in time. Gilbert pats him comfortingly on the back and rubs soothing circles into his shoulders until he's finished, then hands him a glass of water.

'So, they're still arseholes, huh?'

Ludwig snaps his head up in horror, but this is a bad idea because the image of Gilbert swims before him and he has to shut his eyes.

'Don't call them that.' He finally manages, weakly.

Gilbert tuts. 'What the fuck did they feed you with in order to churn your personality out.'

Ludwig lays his head on the cool tiles of the floor and groans inwardly at how nice the feeling is. 'They're not arseholes.'

'Yeah, and my name's Shirley.'

Ludwig cracks open an eye, but Gilbert's not joking. He is, for once, deadly serious. 'How'd you put up with them Lud?'

Ludwig shrugs and gives a small shake of his head. 'They're our parents, Gil. They still care for me. Besides, I'm not exactly making it easy for them.'

Gilbert looks disgusted. 'You're their fucking son, arsehole. They're supposed to take care of you. They ain't even doing that right are they?' Gilbert runs a hand through his shock of white hair and bits his bottom lip whilst he shakes his head. 'Look at how they treat you versus me.'

'Yes, but I'm not exactly-'

'But nothing!' Gilbert raises his voice slightly and swallows. When he speaks again, he's much quieter, back under control. 'Have they got you in a university programme yet?'

Ludwig's silence is answer enough and Gilbert sighs deeply before brushing back Ludwig's sweaty fringe. 'There's nothing wrong with you Lud.' His brother sounds so very sad. 'Fuck, there's nothing wrong with you at all. They know full well that if they put you on a planet rather than this floating heap of rust that you'll probably be alright. And have they? Have they fuck.'

Ludwig wants to argue against him, wants to say something to stand up for himself if not for their parents but his eyes are suddenly burning and his throat is choked up. He knew a long time ago that his parents had given up on him, but to hear it from someone else hurts more sharply than anything he tells himself.

There's an odd companionable silence for a while; Ludwig lays still with his face against the floor and his brother's hand carding through his hair so he almost misses what Gilbert says next.

'I was gonna wait till Boxing Day, but I've got us tickets for Earth.'

Ludwig tenses and holds his breath. Gilbert continues. 'I was gonna wake you up on the 26th and take you away with me, but I want to tell you now instead, cause you look like shit. We're gonna get out of here Luddy; I've always wanted to take you to a planet and what better one is there than the original, huh?'

'You, I- you can't- what about your studies? The internship you've got?' Ludwig manages to stammer out, opening his eyes.

Gilbert brushes his concerns aside. 'I never liked medicine, really. I've always wanted to go to a planet, so I'm mega up for it.'

Ludwig knows he should say no, knows that he shouldn't take up the offer. He'd be denying his brother so much, he'd be exactly what their parents worried he'd be because he'll only drag Gilbert down and down and down like a heavy lead weight and ruin all of his chances at a good life.

But Ludwig wants to be selfish. He reaches out and clasps onto Gilbert's hand, squeezing it tightly. 'Gil...'

Gilbert flashes him a grin and winks. 'I know, right? How awesome am I?'

#my writing #hetalia #aph #APH England #APH France #aph america #aph germany #aph prussia #aph sealand #aph canada #aph fruk #fruk #au #sci-fi #hws fruk #oh no what am i doing #something is cooking that's for sure

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incorrectbatfam · 4 years

Note

For the vampier au: how do they each get turned?

The year is 1000 BCE. Ra’s and Talia Al Ghul rule the Persian empires as two of the first vampires in existence, existing largely in secret. They make it their goal to turn as many people over to their side as possible, whether by battle or biting. Biologically, Damian was born a vampire and they utilize some arcane magic to make him appear as a child forever, because even back then people knew that children were far better at getting their way than adults. Honed as a weapon for literally millenia, Damian Al Ghul practically becomes a cryptid in his own right. Villagers shared stories of people who saw the child and never being the same—or worse, never returning. The Al Ghuls were responsible for the most well-known vampires in history, including the famous Count Dracula.

The year is 800 BCE. At 200 years old, Damian was still considered very young for a vampire. He is sent on a mission to turn to their side a young lady who was practically viewed as a goddess by other women, and who aspired to become one of the greatest poets of all time. Talia dropped Damian off on the island of Lesbos. Faster than lightning, the child warrior swooped down and bit the legendary Sappho. Now an immortal, Sappho dedicated her eternity of free time to her passion for writing, where she composed her famous Ode To Aphrodite. Eventually she got bored of Greece, so she changed her appearance and set off exploring the greater Asian continent.

The year is 1206. Genghis Khan had conquered much of the world. Under the Mongol empire, it was as common for women to serve in army as men. One of Khan’s most distinguished fighters came from the Manchuria region. She was a mercenary for the army, a lone wolf. And though she found thrill in battle, she was lonely. And, as fate may have it, so was Sappho. They met in a village where the army was stationed and forged a tight-knit partnership. They laughed together, they fought together. And the thought of being separated was unimaginable. So when Sappho revealed herself to be a vampire, the Mongol warrior jumped at the chance to become one too. And so she was transformed with consent, and together they roamed the world in search for adventure.

The year is 1775. The two girls had heard of this supposed New World and the colonies Britain established. They wanted to see it for themselves. Changing their names and appearances to something more Anglican, Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain boarded a ship set for what would become modern-day New Jersey. Immediately they found a stark lack of immortals there and they didn’t want to be the only ones, so they set off on a biting spree, turning men, women, children, and even a few farm animals (two dogs, a cat, a cow, and a turkey) without care. One of these victims was an elderly English nobleman named Alfred Pennyworth. Cassandra took the animals under her wing, while Stephanie felt bad for Alfred because he seemed to have nobody around. So the girls “adopted” Alfred as their grandfather so he wouldn’t be lonely either.

The year is 1871. Haly’s Circus was the most popular traveling show during Europe’s Industrial Age. Disguised as mother and child laborers working behind the scenes, Damian and Talia were on the lookout for new potential soldiers. And who would make a more perfect killer than the swift, agile Flying Graysons? Talia tried persuading John and Mary nicely, using Damian’s adorable boyish face, and they did give in. At least, at first. But within a few months of John, Mary, and Richard being turned, the parents changed their mind. They wanted nothing to do with Ra’s Al Ghul’s agenda and threatened to expose the vampires to the world. Talia had no choice but to get rid of them. She paid a lower-level mortal criminal to rig the ropes and douse the trapezes in holy water, which would lead to the downfall of John and Mary. The press reported it as a tragic accident. Alfred, who was at the circus during his holiday when it happened, couldn’t help but notice the burn marks on their hands. He chalked it up to coincidence or a prior unrelated injury in the end

The year is 1920. All that the grieving Richard Grayson wanted was to get away from the ghost of his past. He traveled to America, settling in the subpar city of Gotham, New Jersey. As much as he wanted to drink his troubles away, it was just his luck that he arrived at the beginning of Prohibition. His apartment was near a speakeasy, though, so he frequented that. The underground bar itself was owned by mob boss Jason Todd, who was notorious for brandishing guns and picking drunken fights—and winning all of them. But his streak would end when he had one too many glasses of moonshine and challenged an unwilling Richard Grayson to a fistfight. “What, you gonna back out, ya little dick?” Jason taunted. The former Flying Grayson himself wasn’t in the most sober state ever, so after some convincing and people placing betting money on the table, they took up the challenge. It was the roughest fight that bar had ever seen, and in a final act of self-defense, Richard bit Jason. (Granted, it wasn’t in the neck, but a bite was a bite). Jason becoming vampire wasn’t the worst consequence. No, it the older one being stuck with a terrible nickname: Dick.

The year was 1965. One of Ra’s fortune tellers predicted an influx of young soldiers arriving in Vietnam before war was even declared, and Ra’s sent his grandson to a rural village in the country undercover to find more recruits as the League of Assassins’ influence was diminishing. The environment of thick, bushy jungles worked in Damian’s favor as he was able to hide and strike on French and U.S. soldiers. He even managed to turn all but two members of a New Jersey infantry. Later on, the government reported one of the drafted soldiers, Duke Thomas, as missing, but in reality the young man went into hiding with two other vampire soldiers on his squad. And it was a reasonable move—mass media was on the rise and the last thing anyone needed was vampires being exposed as real to the public. Not only that, but Duke displayed abilities that the other two didn’t have, likely attributed to the combined effects of vampire magic and chemical agents like Napalm used at the time, and neither General Grayson nor Lieutenant Todd knew what to make of it.

The year was 1999. A teenage Tim Drake was out on a late-night grocery run to get more supplies, because 2000 was in just a few months and everyone was preparing for the supposed end of the world. He made the grave mistake of taking a shortcut through Crime Alley in an effort to get home on time, and was bitten in the leg by a “homeless” kid who seemed to appear out of nowhere before scurrying off. He didn’t experience anything strange for the next few years. He got plenty of sunburns, but he burned easily even before the incident. He kept his bedroom dark and stayed awake all night, but so did a lot of teenagers during that grunge/post-punk era. Silver felt weird, which he brushed off as an allergy. He avoided churches but that was because religion was never his thing. He craved red meat and avoided garlic, but hey, people had their likes and dislikes. It wasn’t until about five years later, when Tim realized he hadn’t aged a day, that he considered doing some research.

The year was 2019. Bruce Wayne was at one of his famous Wayne Enterprises gala on New Year’s when he met a stunningly beautiful woman named Talia. She slipped a little something into his drink when he wasn’t looking. Bruce couldn’t remember what happened after that, only waking up with a killer hangover and strange hickey on his neck. He had been Batman for a while now, and when he started experiencing unexplainable things he sought the help of the magician Zatanna, who found out that somebody turned him into a vampire. If he wasn’t brooding before, he definitely was now, and it didn’t help that the butler was a smartass. Alfred revealed to Bruce that he had been a vampire the whole time, looking over the Wayne family since Thomas’s father’s father, because the wealthy Waynes made easy targets for the supernatural. In an attempt to make Bruce feel less alone, Alfred invited Stephanie and Cassandra over for dinner (“Alfred, great to see you again! It’s been, like, a hundred years!”). It was over dinner that Bruce asked questions and the older vampires told their stories, and Alfred offhandedly mentioned something about Haly’s Circus that caught Bruce’s attention. Fresh burn marks from touching a trapeze? Something didn’t seem right. Though the case was over a century old, Bruce did some searching on the Batcomputer and found too many discrepancies in the Flying Grayson case for it to be just a regular accident. With Stephanie and Cassandra’s help, Bruce traced the parents’ deaths back to the League of Assassins. But one new questioned surfaced after all this: what happened to Richard? That question would be answered a few weeks later when Bruce dug up another cold case: a file about an MIA Vietnam War soldier from Gotham, Duke Thomas. He tracked down Duke’s whereabouts, and it turned out he was hiding from the League of Assassins with two other missing people from history: the circus performer Richard Grayson and mobster Jason Todd. Bruce offered him the best damn thing in their eyes: sanctuary. He took all three of them under his bat wing and they joined his immortal crusade against Gotham crime. Some time later, Talia introduced Damian to Bruce under the guise that Damian was Bruce’s son, citing the night she met Bruce at the party. Damian only agreed to Talia’s infiltration plan because he was sick of how Ra’s treated him, like an object rather than a being. So although the paternity test came out negative, Bruce still insisted that Damian was his son and kept him. As for Tim Drake? His story is pretty much the same: deducing Batman and Nightwing’s identities and demanding to join them—classic Timmers move

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

Text

All in Your Head (Part 3)

SSA Main ✧ Batman ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5

No one knows about your link with Bruce. Neither of you even knew you had it until a few months ago. The subconscious link is one of the, if not the most, private links there is. Only the two of you know you have it.

You reach out and hold Bruce’s face in your hands. He holds onto them and looks back at you. He looks so tired and you wish he didn’t have to go. “I’m not going anywhere so you go and save her.”

Just like you promised, you stayed asleep. He left you in that space of darkness and you stood in it for another minute before shifting the space into the Wayne Manor. You always walked in through the front door because the Manor always felt like such a sacred space for Bruce.

When you were with him, you would often see his family, the boys running around through the corridors and hallways, sometimes in their suits or in civilian clothing. Bruce would replay the moments he spent with them, watching TV, eating dinner, training, or even just sitting around and telling each other about their days.

Those were the best moments. They deserve more of those, not what Bruce mostly shows you, which are the fights, the yelling, the arguments, and the silent crying. He relives these moments with you instantly because he almost can’t do them by himself anymore.

“Sometimes when I’m standing in front of them and it gets too much, I forget myself and I just grab at your hand like you’re there beside me,” he said.

You stare at your hand and wish Bruce was there holding it tightly like he always does. On some occasions, Bruce thinks of someone he hasn’t seen for days and desperately misses. You’ve only seen him do it twice. Once with Jason and the other with Damian when they fought and he stayed with his mother for months.

You want to think about Bruce, standing here with you but you don’t. Neither of you does that because it feels like cheating. Your imagination could never live up to the real.

You walk along the hall and lean against the doorframe that leads into the study. There was one moment when Bruce missed his parents so badly that he relived the memory of when he annoyed his father until he would throw a ball with him in the garden. You watched, amused, as Bruce shifted himself into his younger self. A child with bright blue eyes and always smiling from ear to ear, so full of mirth.

But now the manor is completely empty.

You walk beside its walls like a ghost that can’t touch anything.

You walk up the stairs and down the long corridors until you reach Bruce’s room. You find it the same way the two of you left it from the other night, with pillows on the floor, sheets disheveled, and a broken lamp tucked away in the corner.

You smile as you walk forward and fall face down onto Bruce’s bed. The sheets don’t smell like anything and it’s exactly how Bruce smells. After honing his sense of smell beyond human ability, he’s become sensitive to everything. When he’s dreaming he shuts off all of his senses and relaxes.

You lie there for an hour, maybe less or more, you don’t know. Time is the most unstable factor in the dreamscape. You and Bruce have had to set up the most aggressive alarms just so the two of you won’t sleep away a whole day together. Again.

You bring your knees closer to your chest, emulating the sudden constricting hold wrapping around your torso. You grip the sheets in your hands until your knuckles are white and you let horrific sobs wrack through your body. You cry loudly inside the empty bedroom.

You cry until your subconscious couldn’t produce any more tears and it feels like your throat has closed up.

Finally, you get up and go down to the cave, walking in through the old grandfather in the study. You climb down the stairs as slow as you can and focus so that the dream won’t add more steps. You count the number Bruce has given you. When you reach the landing, you stare out at the illuminated cave and the parts that are still shrouded in darkness.

You walk past the glass displays that store their old costumes, Dick’s, Jason’s, Tim’s, Cass’, and Damian’s, until you reach the computer. You place yourself in front of the monitors, tucking your legs underneath you as you sit in a chair almost twice your size, and wrap yourself in a blanket you and Bruce shared on other nights when you would just sit and talk. You turn on the computer and let it boot up as if you’re actually there and not sleeping in your bedroom.

But you don’t touch the mouse or the keyboard. Instead, your mind forces the monitor to show you videos and clips of what Bruce could be doing right now. He might be infiltrating a prison cell hidden in the subbasement of a secret government building, a hidden island in the Pacific Ocean, or an illegal lab that experiments on soulmates and metas.

You watch one of the screens that’s showing Batman crawling inside a long air vent. He stops in front of a set of grills and looks in. You can see beds with two that are occupied, some desks and cabinets, a tall man in the middle of the room, and the biggest figure in the room stands between him and the door.

You lean in close to the monitor as you watch Bruce unscrew the grills. You watch as golden smoke rises up to the ceiling, making Bruce pause for a brief second. You still have the image of it in your head when suddenly the woman on one of the beds leaps at the tall figure.

Bruce is already through the vent and scaling along the walls when you realize that was Wonder Woman. She’s shaking, one hand clinging onto the table to stand upright. You gasp when the huge figure smashes her into the ground.

You watch the rest of the scene play out, inching closer and closer. You shout out Bruce’s name when you see Scarecrow come up behind him and injects him. You finally breathe better when nothing happens and you relax more as you watch them escape.

Suddenly, the monitors shut down and the lights around the outer walls of the cave turn off one by one, and then the whole cave is drowned in darkness. It takes a long second before the soft glow of the emergency lights light up the platform.

You definitely didn’t do that.

You hear groaning behind you and jump off the chair as you turn around. There on the medical table, Bruce is sitting up and looking around the cave frantically, as if he doesn’t recognize the place. He looks frightened and weak, standing up too quickly and staggering toward you. “Where’s Alfred?”

You quickly go to his aid. He wraps an arm around your shoulder as you help him stand. “He was just here,” he mumbles, turning his head to look around the platform. “He was just… testing me for poisons.”

“Poisons?” you gasp. Scarecrow’s mask immediately springs back into your mind. “I thought that was nothing. I thought you were fine. You were…” you suddenly realize that what you saw on the monitor wasn’t just your imagination. It was Bruce’s memories.

“Bruce, you’re asleep now.”

“I’m not,” he protests. “I’m in the Batcave. I was with Alfred but you were…”

“No, Bruce,” you whisper, almost pleading. “You’re asleep.” Something’s definitely wrong. Bruce has always had the better handle on your link, always better at controlling the dreamscape and filtering his subconscious. Lucid dreaming is still a skill you have a hard time nurturing but Bruce handles it with talent.

“B-Bruce…” you both turn at the sound of somebody else’s voice softly echoing in the cave. He sounds out of breath and gurgling. It’s Robin. Jason. He’s holding his side with both of his hands while blood is seeping between his fingers.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

His face is badly bruised. His mask is torn in half and his eye is swollen. He coughs out blood and you feel Bruce’s fingers digging into your shoulder. “H-help…”

As Jason falls, Bruce drags himself away from you and kneels right beside Jason. His hands are badly shaking over Jason’s still body, so afraid to touch him. “No. Not again. Late again,” you hear him say. His thoughts are starting to filter out of his own head and into both of yours.

You can hear the chaos as different voices fill the dream. Bruce is devastated by the death of Jason but Batman is telling him it’s not real. You can hear an eerie whispering sound coming from him as he rocks his body in shock over Jason’s body.

“It’s the toxin. It’s the toxin. It’s the toxin.”

You muster the courage to take the steps toward Bruce and Jason. You flinch at the pale boy’s face and then pry your eyes away. You kneel down beside Bruce and touch his shoulder. You wait until he turns to you, “Bruce, please.” You hold his face in your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “That’s not Jason.”

Bruce whimpers and closes his eyes. He holds your hands and presses them harder against his cheeks as the tears start to come. “Not real,” he whispers like a mantra.

Metal skidding on the platform breaks both of your concentration. Barbara is rushing onto the platform, frantically turning the wheels of her wheelchair until she skids to a stop in front of you.

“Bruce!” she yells out and then there’s the sound of a door slamming and Barbara turns around in fear.

You follow her gaze that’s directed somewhere off the platform. It’s all black. Then there’s a gunshot and Barbara goes limp in her wheelchair, her head hanging on one side with a bullet hole in her forehead.

You’re screaming. Barbara’s eyes are wide open. You know this scene. You’ve seen it. You know who’s in the darkness. “Bruce, you need to calm down,” you whimper desperately. “You’re going to--”

Maniacal laughter fills every crevice and every crack of the cave. You look around the ceiling, desperately clinging onto Bruce’s cape. A voice boom out from the darkness, “Ello Batsy!”

Your whole body goes rigid as he steps out from the shadows, one leg first like an entertainer coming through the curtain. His pale white face stands out against the darkness. He’s grinning wildly. “Been a while.”

You choke down a whimper and his face quickly turns to you. “Oooooh. What do we have here?” He steps closer to the two of you. “Looks like you got yourself a soulmate, Batsy. And here I was thinking I’m the one.” Joker leans close to your face and glares at you with his eyebrows touching.

You prepare yourself to start inching back but then he grabs you by the throat and lifts you off the floor. The force is so strong that Bruce falls on his back with his hands bracing him. Scarecrow’s fear toxin has been completely absorbed by his system and he’s run out of control in the dreamscape. For the first time that you’ve been with him, Bruce is completely incapacitated with fear.

You choke as the bony fingers of the madman dig into your skin. It hurts and you can’t breathe. Everything suddenly feels so real.

The Joker laughs as you choke.

“No…” Bruce whispers, finally finding some semblance of his own voice. But it’s so low and broken. He sounds like a boy. “No. Please.”

You want this dream to be over. You try to claw at the Joker’s hands. He laughs in your face and the next thing you hear is a bone crack.

The Joker lets you go and you lie there unable to move. This is wrong. You’re supposed to wake up. You’re supposed to leave.

You’re on the floor with your bent neck and your head lying on the side, facing Bruce. He’s staring at you with wide eyes and his mouth is open. He drags his knees close to you and you can see his whole body shaking as he leans down. “No… no…”

Gently he picks you up to hold you in his arms. He’s staring down at your face, watching the stillness and pale skin. His subconscious is too strong and you feel like you’re dead because he truly believes it.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

You can feel it too. You can actually feel the rigor mortis kicking in and it’s scaring you. Is this how it feels to die?

Bruce’s head hangs low and you see the tears fall before feeling their warmth on your skin.

“Not you too… Please, not you...”

You want to whimper. You want to cry. You just want this to be over. You have got to be stronger than Bruce. You have to block out his thoughts and overpower him.

You will yourself to concentrate until you can move a single finger. Then another. Until you can move one hand. That’s all you need. Slowly, you lift it to touch his face and his eyes widen. He grabs your hand and clasps it while he stares at you with furrowed brows.

“Y-you’re right, Bruce,” you struggle to say, slowly feeling his hold on the dreamscape crumble. “I’m not real. None of this is.” Bruce shakes his head. “Please… just wake up.”

You shut your eyes and force the dreamscape to completely obliterate.

Bruce is sweating and raking in large breaths at a time when he wakes up on the medical table. Only some time has passed. Alfred is there with a sad expression on his face as the monitor’s angry blue lights frame his silhouette.

Bruce focuses his eyes on the monitor and finds a graph with greatly varying spikes connected to different types of chemicals. “W-what just…” he breathes out.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says gently, “It appears to be an alteration of Scarecrow’s fear toxin.”

Bruce groans as he drops down from the table, “What kind of alteration?”

Alfred doesn’t answer him right away. Instead, he stares at Bruce and from the way he looks, he might already know, “It’s a lot milder. Mild enough to not affect your consciousness…” he let his words hang as he watches the slow recognition dawn on Bruce’s face. “And only affect you while you’re unconscious.”

Bruce clenches his fists and suddenly finds it hard to swallow.

“They know.”

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#ssa #superhero soulmate au #DC fanfiction #DC imagines #DC reader insert #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x reader #watchtower-feed #acropen #lexyartem

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introvertguide · 4 years

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North by Northwest (1959); AFI #55

The next film for review was the Hitchcock classic North by Northwest (1959). This movie has possibly the most well known surprise attack scene in American cinema involving a crop duster. I know, it sounds great. The film was moderately successful at the box office and marked the one and only time that Alfred Hitchcock worked with MGM. It was also only one of two VistaVision films made at the studio. Hitchcock was not a man to let studios mess with his work, so he famously refused to cut 15 minutes out of the movie for time and instead cut a total of 5 seconds worth of material. Before I go into any more detail, I feel like this is bordering quickly on spoilers so let me get the warning and the synopsis out of the way:

SPOILER ALERT!!!! THIS IS A GREAT MOVIE THAT I KNOW VERY WELL AND FEEL LIKE IT SHOULD BE SEEN BEFORE IT IS DISCUSSED!!! I AM GOING TO GO OVER THE FILM IN GREAT DETAIL SO CHECK IT OUT BEFORE READING ANY FURTHER!!!

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The whole story begins with a case of mistaken identity. Roger Thornhill (Cary Grant) is an advertising executive who is going to lunch to have a business meeting. He sits down and then remembers he needs to phone his mother so he summons the waiter to ask about a phone. Apparently the waiter had just received a call for a spy named George Kaplan and some thugs are waiting for a signal that will identify the man. Thornhill’s signal is mistaken for the spy’s and the thugs move in and take away the ad exec at gunpoint. They go to the home of U.N. Diplomat Lester Townsend and Thornhill is interrogated by a spy named Philip Vandamm (James Mason) and his right hand man Leonard (Martin Landau). Thornhill tries to say he is innocent, but Vandamm and the thugs do not believe him and stage his death by drunken car accident. Thornhill survives and escapes by car, but he is still drunk and is subsequently stopped and arrested by the Glen Cove police for drunk driving.

Thornhill sleeps off his intoxication at the station and calls his mother to get in contact with their lawyer. The next day, Thornhill tells the local court everything that he remembers happening, but nobody believes him. He even takes them back to the house and a woman claiming to be Townsend’s wife acts like Thornhill was there for a party and left drunk. Thornhill has to pay the fine (a whole $2), but he is still curious.

Thornhill and his mother go back to the restaurant where he was kidnapped and finagle their way up into the attached hotel to find the real spy, George Kaplan. It turns out that nobody has ever seen this man in person so everybody just assumes that Thornhill is Kaplan since he showed up at the room. The thugs have returned and try to recapture Thornhill still thinking he is Kaplan, but Thornhill is able to escape. He goes and visits the UN to talk to Townsend in an effort to shine a light on the situation, but Townsend is confused and says that his wife died many years ago. Suddenly, a knife is thrown into the back of Townsend and all the witnesses around think that Thornhill did it as there is nobody else to blame. Thornhill again escapes and is now running away and trying to find Kaplan in hopes of clearing his name.

I very quick scene of an American intelligence agency meeting reveals that Kaplan never existed and that this was a made up spy to keep Vandamm occupied while they figure out his plans. It is unfortunate for Thornhill, but all agree that he will have to become Kaplan and more than likely die by the hands of Vandamm and his men. Thornhill is unaware of this meeting and continues to run around looking for this non-existent spy.

Thornhill is able to sneak on a train to go to Chicago since he believes that Kaplan is at a hotel there. He runs into a lovely blonde named Eve Kendall (Eva Marie Saint) who seems aggressively interested in him and wants to help him hide out. She knows that he is the man who is being blamed for the murder of the UN diplomat and she seems to want to sleep with him (like a groupie)? She is very straight forward and it turns out that this is because she is working for Vandamm, who is also on the train.

In the morning, Eve helps Thornhill arrange a meeting with the non-existent Kaplan at an isolated rural bus stop outside of the Chicago. Thornhill gets there and finds...nothing? A guy shows up but he is just waiting for the next bus. The only thing around is a biplane crop duster that seems to be dusting empty fields. It dramatically turns and swoops down at Thornhill firing a backloaded machine gun. Thornhill is able to hide in the fields and then manages to get under a passing oil truck, which the biplane smashes into and eventually explodes.

Thornhill steals a truck and reaches Kaplan's hotel in Chicago to discover that Kaplan had already checked out and left before the time when Eve claimed she talked to him on the phone. Thornhill goes to her room and confronts her and she plays naïve. She tries to run away while he is changing clothes, but he quickly follows her down to an auction where he finds her with Vandamm. He insults her coldly and then makes his escape from Vandamm by turning himself in, but the police strangely won’t take him to the station and instead leave him in the care of a man simply called The Professor (Lee Carroll).

The professor finally reveals to Thornhill that Kaplan doesn’t exist and that Eve is actually a government agent working for the U.S. It is also explained that Vandamm has some sort of evidence/information that he is trying to take out of the country and will be leaving by plane from his South Dakota home that is in the woods right next to Mount Rushmore. The Professor leaves Thornhill to play the role of Kaplan and negotiates for Eve at the Mount Rushmore visitor center and she seemingly shoots him to look good in front of Vandamm. Luckily the gun is loaded with blanks (remember this gun, it will come back).

Afterwards, the Professor arranges for Thornhill and Eve to meet and Thornhill learns that she must depart with Vandamm and Leonard on a plane. When Thornhill tries to dissuade her from going, he is knocked unconscious by another one of The Professor’s men and locked in a hospital room. Thornhill is able to escape (he gets out of everything) custody and goes to Vandamm's house to rescue Eve from leaving.

At the house, Thornhill sneaks around and overhears that the sculpture that Vandamm bought at the auction holds some kind of microfilm. Leonard also reveals to Vandamm that the gun was a blank and it is decided that Eve will be killed on the plane. Thornhill must keep Eve from getting on the plane so he gives her a note revealing the plot. She is being lead out to the plane and she makes a break for it, meets Thornhill, and they climb out on to Mount Rushmore to escape. The Professor rushes in with his men and arrests Vandamm while also shooting Leonard.

Unfortunately, Eve has slipped climbing around on the president faces and Thornhill is attempting to pull her back to safety when...he is now suddenly pulling her onto a foldout train bed and he is calling her Mrs. Thornhill. The train enters a tunnel and the movie ends.

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This was the fourth and lowest rated Hitchcock film on the AFI top 100, but I opine that it is the most fun. The constant escapes and the almost relatable situation of a businessman getting wrapped up in something of which he wanted no part of makes this a very easy watch. There really are no slow points in this film and the action is punctuated by good comedy. Drunken Thornhill trying to explain what happened and then desperately bidding at an auction to bide time for an escape his hilarious. My favorite line in the film is when Thornhill and The Professor are waiting at the Mount Rushmore visitor center and Thornhill looks through a viewing scope and says “I don’t like the way that Teddy Roosevelt is looking at me.” That is awesome.

As much as Alfred Hitchcock was the Master of Suspense and the King of Dramatic Climax...his endings aren’t generally very good. He did a terrific job wrapping up Rear Window (1954), making sure all storylines were finished, but he really didn’t end North by Northwest (1959), Vertigo (1958), or The Birds (1963). The movie Psycho (1960) did have an ending, but it was an exposition dump that really was the low part of the film. I love all of these films and the suspenseful build-ups to the dramatic climaxes are extraordinary and put them in a class of their own, but I would not call Hitchcock one to demand a satisfying resolution.

I know that I have done it for every one of the Hitchcock movies on the AFI list, but I again want to give a shout to Saul Bass for the opening credits and Bernard Hermann for the score. The intro to a Hitchcock film puts you in the mood for a good story and the score keeps you interested all the way to the end.

There were some questions from my parents as well as from a couple of viewers about the biplane scene. How was it that the plane passed by and then machine gun fire followed? Well, the plane was a N3N Canary, also known as the “Yellow Peril,” and was a tandem seat training biplane that had an open cockpit. This means that there had to be a a guy in the back with a gun shooting backwards. These were generally converted for agricultural use at the end of WW2. The plane that blew up was a different plane (a Stearman Boeing Model 75 trainer) that was also used as an agricultural duster. Empire magazine rated this scene as the greatest movie moment of all time.

Now that the group has been watching so many movies from Old Hollywood, it became apparent to me how extraordinarily dirty the language was on the train between Roger and Eve. I remember reviewing this film in a college film course and the professor commenting over the scene. She mentioned that this was the only scene of the film that had any cuts and they were made by Hitchcock himself. I also remember Eva Marie Saint saying she was 26 and the professor said, “Ha! Plus 10!” This was a mid 20s female character (played by an actress in her 30s) trying to actively bed a character in his mid 40s (played by an actor in his 50s) who she has just met and spent a total of 5 minutes with. It was all sorts of awkward, and it was great.

So. Should this move be on the AFI top 100? Yes. Probably higher in rank. I was just thinking of another Cary Grant film that is higher on the list, The Philadelphia Story (1940), and how this film is so much more fun. I think that there are other Hitchcock films like Rebecca (1940) and The Birds (1963) that could be on this list, but I guess 4 films from a director that isn’t American is a good representation. North by Northwest is definitely a deserving example. Would I recommend it? Yes. Heck, you can borrow my copy as long as you bring it back. I have seen the film probably two dozen times in the last 20 years and I would be happy to see it again if it means somebody can experience it for the first time. I highly recommend checking it out for yourself.

#alfred hitchcock #cary grant #eva marie saint #james mason #north by northwest #afi top 100 movies #movie review #film critique #synopsys #best movie scenes #introvert #introverts #film stills #spoilers

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Title: Sea shells and all the things he left behind 2/2 Summary: Somehow explaining that you were raised by a siren is not an easy task. AN: I wrote a sequel. Wild, i know.

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Dick didn’t have a chance to explain anything to Wally or anyone else at the aquarium until after Bruce was settled. The siren wouldn’t sleep, Dick would be surprised if he did in unfamiliar terrain, but he had calmed again. The boy, Tim, or secret-who-paints if Dick had caught that correctly, was sitting at the edge of the pool, dressed in a new set of clothes. His legs were dangling in the water and every so often Bruce would pull at them, reassuring himself and the boy. Far more often than that though, his large tail fin dragged against Dick’s legs. His scales were sharp, could cut if grabbed incorrectly, but he had never hurt Dick and even now caressed him as softly as he used to. The entire day had been exhausting and nothing short of a train wreck.

Dick wanted to go home and sleep.

The fact that he couldn’t really recall whether home was the apartment he shared or the caves he had grown up in didn’t help his mind either.

His tiredness must show because Roy and Wally both were sitting next to him in the red zone – the five-meter room all handlers were supposed to stay out of unless they wanted a siren to drag them into the water. From experience Dick knew that that space wouldn’t be enough if Bruce wanted to get to them. He was massive, large even by siren standards and more stubborn than anyone else. If he wanted you dead, you’d be no matter how far away from him you truly stayed.

“Dick,” Wally finally spoke up. “What is going on?”

Dick had no idea how he was supposed to start. He hadn’t ever said a word to anyone, not a single living soul. He’d been angry at Bruce when he had left, but not so angry that he would give away all their secrets.

He turned to look at his father and the mer clicked at him. Yes.

“I was nine when that huge earthquake hit Gotham,” Dick heard himself say. He felt like he was miles, years away from this room and moment. “We were performing in Gotham. I think I told you that I used to be part of a circus?”

Wally and Roy both nodded. Dick was pretty sure that even if he hadn’t, they’d have known. Dick would always be flipping, spinning, jumping and flying. Being an acrobat was in his blood.

“When the earthquake hit, we were in one of the underground trains. Gotham was built pretty much artificially. The earthquake shook it up pretty good and the support just broke. There are large caves underground, huge water dwellings. You can cross the entire city underground without ever touching the surface. Paths towards it are far and few and difficult to access. Most of the people living down there are physically unable to reach them. They don’t particularly care about them.”

“People?” Roy inquired.

Dick smiled wearily. “Yes, people. Mers. There is pretty much a second city right below Gotham. The waters there are toxic, mutated after years of waste being stuffed into them so most of the mers never leave. They’re pretty much incapable of breathing actually clean seawater.”

Dick glanced at Bruce again, who held his head high above the water. He’d always been able to breathe air as well, so he wasn’t suffering too much, but it would aid his recovery if he’d be allowed to submerge completely. They should throw some chemicals in the water, up the chlorine levels. Maybe Bruce’s fins would shine as prettily as they usually did then as well.

“But yes, the earthquake hit and the train crashed into one of those caves. Most people died upon impact or were so severely injured that they died soon after. Others drowned in the water.”

Roy and Wally looked positively sick. Dick couldn’t even blame them. He’d gotten used to the sight of bloated corpses, death and bloodshed to a degree that was honestly concerning.

“But you didn’t,” Wally said and sounded like he was half reassuring himself that his best friend was still there.

“I didn’t,” Dick replied. “Bruce saved me.”

The siren in question frowned when Dick’s friends both set their sights on him, confusion coloring their expressions. It was a little funny, to be honest.

“His name is Bruce?”

Roy’s voice sounded almost a little hysterical. He was probably trying to save up his panic attack for when he could afford to lose his calm in the privacy of his own home.

“It’s actually dark-who-swims-with-the-sharks,” Dick pointed out.

Wally mouthed the clicks and thrills Dick had let out so very easily by comparison, but just shook his head and gave up. “Yeah, that totally sounds like Bruce.”

“I was nine, I couldn’t exactly pronounce it either,” Dick defended himself. Bruce had been very proud of him the first time he actually had gotten it right. His name was still too long to use it regularly so the nickname had stuck.

“So Bruce saved you and what? Helped you back to the surface?”

“After a couple years,” Dick answered.

He didn’t want to think too much about it. In the beginning Bruce had been more concerned that Dick would make it through the nights. He had been injured by the fall and Dick almost couldn’t recall how long it had been until he’d been able to move on his own. A month or two? Probably longer. His diet had suffered a lot and he’d lost a lot of weight until Bruce had figured out that he could not in fact live of fish, never mind raw fish, alone. But then Dick had needed to learn how to hold his breath for a longer duration, until he could swim from the cave that was their home to the next and so on. He was fairly sure that if he tested against the current world champion, he’d be able to hold his breath minutes longer than them without any preparation.

“It’s not like there was anybody else and Bruce was the only other person who could understand me besides Alfred.”

Alfred had rarely left Bruce’s side, they were family after all. Dick knew that it was a common misconception amongst humans that sirens were solitary creatures, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. They just usually didn’t go anywhere near humans with the rest of their family and were therefore only ever spotted and caught on their own.

“Who is Alfred?”

“Another siren. Bruce’s sort of parent but not. It’s complicated and doesn’t translate well into English. He raised Bruce after his… owners died. Point is that I spent six years down in there with him until I reached the surface again for the first time. I think I looked like death, there’s not exactly a lot of bioluminescent fauna down there. I left when I was seventeen because I wanted to be amongst humans again. Studied a lot, played catch up with long-forgotten human manners and here I am.”

“Here you are,” Wally echoed, then froze up, realization settling in. “Is that why you didn’t know any TV shows whatsoever?”

“What?”

That was absolutely not the question Dick had expected. In fact, he had thought that at least one of them would run out screaming by now, calling the nearest clinic because Dick Grayson has gone insane! Or if not that, maybe a government office to inform that that mers were in fact as sentient as humans, had a language and one of them even raised a child. Wonder if that would get Dick an entry on Wikipedia.

“And your obsession with spices,” Wally continued. “And fruits. How are you even healthy, your diet must have been the stuff of nightmares.”

“It was okay,” Dick said. “Just because it’s hard for me to get in and out of the caves, doesn’t mean it was for everyone else. Bruce and Alfred brought me stuff they found out in the sea or on the beaches. I had clothes and like bagged chips, dried fruits and instant noodles. Even a couple books once we figured out how to transport them safely and life got a lot better after I could make my own trips upstairs. And then I left.”

That felt like a simplification, but he didn’t want to share all the gruesome details of that period. Sure, he had gotten books and could actually get caught up on school and the like, but he’d almost drowned on the regular making those trips, which lead to fights with Bruce which lead to leaving which lead to this.

Dick turned to the kid who had listened attentively to the conversation, but hadn’t actually added anything to it. He was a quiet boy, silent in a way Dick had never been. He had always been babbling in any language he knew, from English, Chinese and Spanish to Bruce’s language and all the other dialects of it that his friends had taught him.

“Shit, dude,” Roy cursed and buried his head in his hands. “You got raised by a freaking mer. You got raised by a mer. How-?”

The rest of Roy’s question was lost to the overwhelming realization that Dick was not just one of them. He hadn’t ever felt like it, but he had been able to pretend and that had been good enough. There simply hadn’t been another option.

“So you haven’t actually spoken with… Bruce ever since?”

“No,” Dick answered. “No, I have not and now I’d like to know you found me.”

The kid, Tim, apparently didn’t catch onto the fact that Dick was talking to him now. His head was dropping and his eyes fluttering shut. He had had one hell of a day, just as exhausting as Dick if not worse because he was years younger than Dick

“Kid showed up here with a stolen boat and Bruce tucked into the cooler,” Wally said.

“Not stolen,” Tim muttered sleepily. “It’s mine. My parents were on it.”

When he said parents, his voice quivered so badly that Dick thought he was going to cry any second. Bruce picked up on that as well and moved away from Dick to pay full attention to Tim. He tugged on his legs again, trilling softly, and Tim pushed himself off the pool’s edge and jumped straight into the water, into Bruce’s arms. It was straight to see another child cling to Bruce when recalling how he used to hang onto Bruce. The fins on his arms were so long, Dick had been able to disappear completely in his embrace when he’s been younger. Only his black hair had been visible, like it was now with Tim. Wally and Roy stood up in alarm, but Dick gestured for them to sit down again. He supposed it looked frightening to them, the ocean’s most terrifying killers gently consoling a young child.

“What happened?” Dick asked Bruce.

Tim was in no shape of answering now and Dick wouldn’t force him too, no matter how much he wanted an explanation.

“I was caught,” Bruce replied. “I was looking for terror-who-laughs, but secret-who-paints’s parents found me and put me in a viewing glass. Showed me off to other humans, but secret-who-paints is smart, kind. He’s a good child.”

Bruce scowled and the displeasure was apparent. He hadn’t been in a pool since he was twelve and the Wayne’s had died. Being locked up like that again most have been horrible, especially since whoever Tim’s parents were, they definitely wouldn’t have been able to contain Bruce in a pool big enough for him.

“And then venom-in-his-blood came.”

Dick paled. He had hoped that he had misheard Tim before, that the child had made a mistake in his panic, but-

“Venom-in-his-blood? Are you sure?”

“He attacked their ship,” Bruce continued. “Pulled them off, I’ve been on the sea with secret-who-paints on my own since, we only barely managed to escape.”

“But why would venom-in-his-blood show up in the first place? You defeated him years ago.”

Dick remembered that battle vividly. He had been much younger than, small and helpless and had to watch from afar as Bruce and venom-in-his-blood tore into one another.

“He came back,” Bruce spat. “He came back and Gotham’s falling apart.”

“What are you two talking about?” Wally asked uneasily. “It sounds serious but we don’t speak… that.”

“There is a mer, another siren,” Dick began to explain. “His name is-“ Dick sighed in frustration. ”Just call him Bane. He’s dangerous, incredibly tall. Easily the biggest siren I’ve ever seen, bigger than the ones we have on record here. He attacks humans and mers alike.”

“What for?”

Dick turned to Bruce and Tim. Bruce was swimming slower now, just floating on the surface, really. The kid must have fallen asleep.

“Fun and hunger,” Dick finally replied after moments of silence. “He’s a cannibal and once he set his eyes on his prey, he doesn’t stop.”

Which meant that the moment Bruce swam back to Gotham, Bane would attack him.

#batfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne #tim drake #batman #wally west #roy harper #fanfic #mermay #bet you thought you'd seen the last of me

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astralastrid · 4 years

Text

USUK/UKUS survey by @americapersonified

Tagged by @hariible so here we go!

In what decade did they officially become involved?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

The fics have ruined me. So I'd probably say during or after WWII. Plus that's when the "Special Relationship" was coined.

Who tops? (USUK or UKUS?)

*Looks at the UKUS server I made* idk you tell me

Honestly though Arthur probably has more relationship experience, so he's more confident and willing to take the lead. Alfred is actually secretly shy and modest about this stuff! (I mean, I do think we Americans are more conservative and modest when it comes to romance?) Plus like, Alfred finally feels like he can trust someone and let them take care of him, that he's loved when the whole world mocks him... Whoops got a little angsty there

Was either of them a virgin before their first hookup?

It's time for me to unveil my demi!America headcanon that's just me projecting aw yeah

Alfred is. He actually thought he was ace before he met Arthur because he was never interested in that kind of stuff, preferring to cuddle instead. But once he met Arthur he trusted that he'd take care of him and stuff and wanted to try it.

If not, to whom did each lose his virginity?

Alfred to Arthur.

Arthur to? Idk Francis probably? I do see FrUk as like, a past thing. Along with SpUk and PortEng. So one of them probably.

(Read more bc LONG post)

Are they more patient with each other in private, or do they bicker/tease each other all the time?

Haha projection time 2.0

Bro, like, a good relationship should have teasing anyway (unless your partner isn't ok with it!) so definitely. But Alfred actually gets self-conscious about the things that Arthur teases him about so he has to stop and tell him how much he loves him and stuff. But in general they're more patient because they've come to understand each other and love the other's quirks.

Will they ever get married?

Yeah but after a while. Alfred wants to do it right away but Arthur rejects him, saying that the don't need rings to prove that they love each other. He promises he will eventually. I like to think after gay marriage legalized in the States they celebrated by getting married.

If so, where will the wedding be held? (Add other details if you wish.)

Hopeless romantic Ame time!

Can you have more than one ceremony? No? Oh well. Summer wedding in America, Fall Wedding in England. I don't know much about wedding planning but I read a headcanon that was like "their vows were so beautiful it made everyone cry" and I support that. Both of them cry during the other's too. Lots of tears shed on both sides during everything. Lots of white and silver and gold because yeah. None of this stupid "one of them wears a dress" business. Like, it's ok for a relationship to be masc/masc and fem/fem like don't heteronormalize it. So two tuxes. Probably no "walking down the aisle?" Maybe they both come in from the sides idk. A cheer when they kiss. "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Elvis is their first dance. Arthur probably sings "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" after their first dance. Wedding cupcakes is galaxy brain so wedding cupcakes. Multiple flavors.

At whose house do they most often stay together?

Alfred's. It's larger anyway.

Do they refer to each other by their nation names or human names?

Human names. Nation only for business.

What pet names do they have for each other?

Arthur: Love, (The most common one) Darling, Dearest, Dear, Poppet (2nd most common) Alfie (extremely rare, or when drunk. Alfred adores when he calls him this though.)

Alfred: Babe, Baby, Artie, Art, Honey, Sweetie, Sweetiepie, Sweetheart, Sweetcheeks.

Who drives?

Both, Alfred loves to drive! But Arthur gets nervous because Alfred can drive like a New Yorker, (that is, aggressively, quickly, a bit dangerously, lots of honking from him and others) especially when he's in a rush or late, and god help everyone when he has road rage.

So Arthur judges the mood and insits if he knows Alfred is probably gonna drive like that.

Is Alfred good at making Arthur’s tea?

Dude of course. It's never quite perfect of course, but you don't date someone for decades without learning how to make their lifeline. In this vein Arthur also knows how to make Alfred's coffee. (And since this isn't a question, Alfred likes it blacker than black in the mornings, and all sugared and creamered up after work and in the evenings.)

It’s universally accepted that Arthur sucks at cooking. Does Alfred enjoy cooking? Is he good at it? Or does he usually stick to McDonald’s and fast food?

Ok yeah but I headcanon Arthur can bake, like really well. Ok yeah I know about his scones but maybe he's just bad at making those specifically.

Alfred loves to cook. He loves to grill even more. But he likes to experiment and try new stuff and he's damn good at it (because cooking is just another science!) So his meals are like comfort food. Almost restaurant quality. Boy could be a chef. But he also loves his fast food and instants. (Kraft's Mac and Cheese is so good.) And yeah he loves Mickey D's but have y'all ever been to like, Noodles and Company or Sonic? Like, there are some GOOD fast food joints and I'm sure he loves them all. Arthur probably doesn't like burger joints but does like places like Panera.

Do they shower together? (Often; not specifically for sex.)

Sometimes? Idk man it's hard as shit to wash your back so yeah? Also the tenderness of giving your lover a bath? I'm🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Who smells better? (In your opinion.)

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

People just smell like, people, and to the other they each smell like home.

How vocal are they in bed?

Alfred’s so LOUD lmao. But Arthur loves it. If he was more of a memelord he'd record and make a remix of his sounds.

Who has the more active libido?

Definitely Arthur.

Is spending time together easy, or are they forced apart for long periods at a time?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I don't know how politics work? Do important government officials have to be there in person for meetings?

Let's have two senarios here:

Let's say they do, and they have to be apart for periods of time. Both the boys have separation anxiety and HATE being apart, so there's always the fear and the paronia and concern when they are apart, and they have almost daily video chats. It's really hard on both of them. They text and call often too. They miss the other dearly. When they reunite they kiss and cuddle like they need it to survive. They're much more affectionate with each other and spend every moment they can together to "recharge" before the "hyper-affectioness" goes down. Leaving is super difficult. Lots of tears and hugs, promises to be back asap, longful stares and apologies. Cursing their job and such. Desire to quit or face the consequences and just stay. (Which is completely blocked by the other.)

Let's say somehow they work something out and they can spend long amounts of time together with minimal travel. Sometimes they get into fights or just get on each other's nerves or just need some alone time. Alfred will go run or excercise while Arthur goes to a café until they're ready to make up/miss and want to see the other. Business trips help keep tensions low, but they're still painful.

Are they wealthy? Or do they live modestly?

I’d say like average people. Arthur probably likes it a bit more tasteful and stylish though, so little hints of wealth. Also, Arthur basically has a library for his book collection that acts as his study and Alfred has his own study and a gaming room. They have the prettiest garden you ever did see though. And a really nice patio. With a nice backyard and grill.

For Alfred specifically: Glasses on or glasses off?

On! Except in the bedroom.

How often do they break up?

Rarely if at all. They probably did once and missed the other so badly that they promised never to do it again, and always talk it out. Sure they get into fights and one of them will storm off, but they both understand that that usually means the other needs to cool down before they can talk.

Open relationship?

No.

Did Arthur actually care for Alfred before the American Revolution?

I really want to say yes, because of how it was portrayed, but honestly? I don't think the U.S. was any different from England's other colonies. He'd occasionally check up on all of them, but he was super surprised at how fast America grew.

Of course once the war happens he's riddled with regret. Maybe if he treated him better this wouldn't have happened. War with a colony for their independence is ugly anyway. Even after the war, I don't think England was as heartbroken as it was portrayed. I think he was depressed about it for a while, but eventually got over it. It still took him, like any colonizer, a while to see him as an equal though, which infuriated America. However they are both completely over it and don't talk much about it anymore. It's all in the past for them.

@milopottz (I know we don't interact but 👀)

Tag people if you want, so

Also @alifeasvivid and @anyone who wants to

#whew! long post over #long post #tagged #usuk #ukus #this was fun though

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