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theycallme-thejackal · 2 years

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One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day

10. Look What You Made Me Do

Warnings: Mentions of Drug Use

The old Mrs. Maisel is dead.

It took a series of harsh truths to get her to this point, and now it’s time to rise from the ashes. She’s done it before, and she can do it again. And just like before, she needs help.

The first stop is Susie Myerson and Associates.

It’s hard to eat crow, and Susie is obviously reluctant to keep dealing with Midge’s bullshit, but with a little charm and a lot of groveling, Midge gets her to agree to the new plan. No more planning.

Don’t plan. Work. Just work.

The second stop is a little harder, but not impossible. She knows he’s doing a welcome home show at the Apollo, so her second stop is Harlem. She slips through the stage door and finds her way to his dressing room, knocking softly.

“I owe you a couple of apologies,” she says when he opens the door. He looks fabulous as always if a little damp from his time on stage. “I’m sorry for the things I said on this stage. I betrayed your trust. I was so petrified of going out in front of that audience, and I unintentionally threw you under the bus to save my own ass.”

Shy’s expression remains carefully neutral but not harsh as she continues, “And I am sorry for rejecting your offer of friendship. I did it because I was so hurt, and you’re a much better person than I am. I’ve had a hard time trusting people in the last couple of years, and when you offered your friendship, I didn’t trust that I wouldn’t get burned again. Even though I’m the one who hurt you first. I know that now.

“I hope it’s not too late to take you up on that offer,” she finishes, holding out the Tupperware in her hands. “I know the food here is insanely amazing. I ate it on that stage. But...I made you a brisket. It’s a lot like pot roast but made with Jewish guilt.”

His lips quirk, and she’s forgiven with a wink and a smile.

The last stop is the hardest. Lenny Bruce is a difficult man to find if he doesn’t have a gig, and he hasn’t played anywhere since Carnegie Hall.

Fortunately Dinah can find anyone.

She stands at a door inside a run down building, a far cry from the Mayflower with its gilded lobby and blue-painted room. The door to his apartment is wooden, the paint chipped and the number four askew. She lifts her hand, twisting it until it’s straight before knocking.

The cigarette between his lips almost falls to the ground when he opens the door. “Midge.”

She takes a deep breath. “Hi, Lenny.”

They stand frozen for a moment, staring at each other before he opens the door wider, stepping aside and wordlessly inviting her inside. She steps through carefully. The inside of his apartment is simple, and she’s glad to see he keeps his apartment nearly as tidy as his hotel rooms.

“How did you find me?” He asks, the door clicking shut.

She turns to face him. “I have a list of names,” she says, skipping over the how and straight to the why.

“Nice or naughty?”

“We’re Jewish,” she reminds him.

“That explains the menorah in my closet,” he drawls, dragging from his cigarette. “So you have a list,” he prompts on the exhale.

“And you’re the last name,” she answers.

“You’ll make a guy feel special with talk like that,” he says, half joking.

“You’re last because this is the most difficult conversation I’m going to have, and it’s going to end one of two ways,” she explains, taking a shaky breath. “Option one: I leave here, go home, and cry myself to sleep.”

He nods slowly. “And what’s option two?”

Another deep breath. “I spend the next two days in bed with you.”

A slow smirk meets his lips. “An infinitely more appealing option,” he drawls as he lifts the cigarette to his lips again. “What is the determining factor?”

“There are a few,” she answers, folding her hands together in front of herself in an attempt not to fidget.

“Should we be sitting for this? Or does your corset require perching?” He teases.

“I can sit,” she answers. “But in all honesty, I may need a drink.”

“That I can do,” he replies, moving past her toward the living room. He stubs out his cigarette and pours them each a glass of whiskey, handing her one before heading for the couch. He’s wearing his suit minus the jacket and tie, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, making him look comfortable but still so sexy she has to stop herself from skipping past the conversation right to option two.

Instead, she sits in the armchair. Her corset is a little tight, so she sits toward the edge of the chair. She sees him bite back a smirk as he notices. She takes a long sip of her drink and says, “I’m sorry, Lenny.”

“You’re sorry,” he repeats.

“The biggest night of your career, and instead of celebrating, I put you in a position where you had to yell at me,” she explains, and he watches her, his expression painfully neutral. “You did something very nice for me, and I fucked it up. I’m so sorry.”

Lenny nods slowly. “I understand why you did it,” he replies. “It was a stupid thing for you to do, but I get why you did it.”

She tilts her head to the side, studying him for a moment. “How do you know me so well?” She breathes. “Everything you said to me on that stage was spot on.”

His smirk is soft when he murmurs, “I pay attention.”

A sad grin meets her lips at that. “I know you do...and I pay attention to you, too. Which is why I can’t not bring up the bag.”

Lenny sighs and takes a drink from his glass. “The bag,” he repeats.

“What did I see in there?”

“I think you know,” he answers. “My arrest record isn’t limited to obscenity charges.”

Midge nods. “Is all really well?”

A mirthless chuckle passes his lips. “I like to pretend it is. Stops me from thinking too hard about it.”

“I can’t...” She swallows thickly. “Lenny, I can’t do this if you’re on drugs,” she tells him. “This thing between us...I don’t want it to be casual, and I can’t have you around my family if you’re high all the time.”

“It’s not all the time,” he tells her. “Just...more often than I should be.”

She looks down at her glass. “How often?”

“Does it matter?” He asks.

Midge sighs. “I guess not,” she answers truthfully.

"I wasn’t high that night, Midge,” he says confidently. “I need you to know that. I would never have touched you if I was high.”

She looks up then, meeting his gaze, and the intensity of it...she knows he’s telling the truth. “Are you now?” She asks.

“No,” he answers immediately. “I haven’t touched the stuff since...” She waits on bated breath. “Since before that night.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“I wanted to have a clear head for Carnegie Hall,” Lenny explains. “And when you brought it up on stage...trust me, there was nothing I wanted more than oblivion when I got back to my room, but I knew you were right. After the worst of withdrawal subsided, I started feeling more like myself, and...there are no drugs in my apartment for the first time in...” He trails off before finishing, “A long time.”

Midge exhales in relief. “That’s good, Lenny. That’s really good.”

He nods, a soft smile on his lips. “It’s mostly selfish. I feel better. I feel sharper, but...I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t partly about you.”

Her lips part in surprise. “Me?” She breathes.

“I told you, I’ll never touch you if I’m high...and I really, really want to touch you again,” he admits, his eyes dark as he looks at her.

She bites her lip softly. “I really, really want you to touch me again, too,” she breathes, feeling a familiar ache between her thighs.

Lenny’s face breaks into a smile, and he chuckles softly. “Look what you made me do,” he says, downing the rest of his drink.

She laughs. “What did I make you do?”

He looks at her for a moment as though he’s trying to decide how to answer her question. He opts for honesty when he answers, “You made me fall in love with you.”

Her breath catches. “You...”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’m in love with you. You don’t kick dope for a girl you simply want to bed, Midge.”

She knocks back the rest of her whiskey before standing. In a role reversal, she takes his hand and pulls him to his feet. “This would be really awkward if I wasn’t in love with you, too,” she says, allowing herself to smile for real.

Relief passes over his features. “So option two, then?” He asks, twisting their fingers together.

“Thank god,” she replies as she pulls him down into a searing kiss.

#midgelenny #midge x lenny #midgexlenny #tmmm fanfic #marvelous mrs. maisel fanfic #otp: more important than god #jackal fics #mltswift

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unfortunately-obsessed · 1 year

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"You left without saying a word"

( Previous ) | Part 2 of We Can Make This Place Our Home

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Original Female Character

Word count: 5.9K | AO3 Link

A/n: I was so lazy to post it in here because of all the formating, but I needed to if I want to post the next part, so here it is.

Summary:

Living in Gotham is like waiting the train after midnight.

The pitch-black night creeping, shadows lurking.

Having a gun pointed to the head so many times, it turns into habit. It turns into another day.

The train never comes. The danger is getting closer.

Gotham kills and takes away.

That's a story about war, about scars and trenches, of those born there.

"Your Bristol accent was showing."

One of the greatest pleasures of life is seeing Bruce Wayne visibly scrunch his eyebrows. He learned how to tuck his emotions away very carefully, at a very young age, but sometimes it seemed like his eyebrows had a will on their own.

Helen sits on the balusters and his eyes shine. Bruce is ten minutes later than her, walking without vigor to fight the way she risks her life so carelessly. Or to say she also has a Bristol accent.

They hide where there's no audience to perform to, on one guest bedroom of dozens in the Blackwood Manor. Bruce looks to her like he didn't expect he to be there but knew she would, cold exhaustion in blue eyes, tossing his butterfly tie somewhere and leaning on the stone by Helen's side.

There's more tension on his eyes than should ever be allowed to be. He's handsome using that suit. Alfred could make anything fit anyone with enough prep time, indeed.

"You're smelling like cheap perfume," she says the moment some wind brings the scent to her nose.

Bruce groans and Helen can imagine perfectly the old ladies trying to get a chunk off of the Wayne heir. Her jaw tightens.

"I hate this," he says, putting the glass of champagne between him and Helen.

He's not old enough to have a driver's license but of course someone put alcohol on his hands. Bruce rolls with it, seething this is Gotham, enraged. He is its prince, after all.

"Your speech was good, pretty boy," Helen promised, maybe trying to comfort or distract, carefully adjusting herself on the edge. "Although I didn't think my father would call you to the floor."

Bruce sighs, not flinching if Helen is the one calling him that.

The situation had the underlying humour of Bruce Wayne, rebellious teenager that was in a fight every other week, talking in the podium about whatever her father rambled about his distorted concept of charity.

Two floors below, in marble floors and under candelabra crystals, her father is getting drunk on white wine and promising to change the city once again. The ballroom is packed with politicians and influential people, bubbly champagne flowing or otherwise her father wouldn't allow.

It's designed to demonstrate wealth and power. Even the celling is ornate in intricate golden paint, intended to ease those people's obsession with pointless rivalry and redirect their energy in compliments to her father.

The chilly air makes her shiver, briefly. Behind her lays the almost endless darkness of Bristol, where things don't happen and time is frozen in place, past the garden lights and tall trees, Drake Manor. Then, over it and their just as over-exaggerated luxury, stays Wayne Manor burned to ashes.

Bruce graze at it with a ten-yard stare, even if his eyes can't reach it. A rage flies over the first layer of numbness, burning as Gotham did.

Helen leans back, stretching her arms up. Bruce's eyes change focus then, trained on her like she might fall from the edge at any second.

The height makes her stomach flutter. "Wanna to go downtown, eat some fast-trash?"

The story goes like this: Helen steals her father's most forgettable car so she and Bruce spend time on a cheap diner where the streets still alive but no one pays attention to their faces.

One of those days, this story will have a bad ending.

They're royalty, smell and talk dirty rich. The story will repeat itself on spilled pearls.

But until Helen's is met with blood, she will be trying to make this all sound normal. Like ordinary teenagers planning a little adventure.

Bruce tilts his head, looking up to meet Helen's eyes. "We have a chemistry test tomorrow."

There's some fun on this, too. Bruce's getting a perfect score on every test after having a week-long suspension for cursing the principal straight in the face.

Helen huffs. "As if you ever cared about that." Bruce looks somewhere else, not daring to meet her gaze. "If you don't want, just say it."

Again, there's a comical timing on Bruce's eyebrows as he scrunched it so childishly, it throws Helen years back when he pouted on Martha's arms about how much he hated carrots.

Bruce's head falls between his hands. "Why your father..."

He doesn't even finish his complaint, voice dying halfway through.

Helen smacks her lips together, training her tongue on the inside of her mouth where a scar is placed.

"He's just like that." Making other people take on a speech without any warning, a teenager no less. "I don't know what do with him."

And people would agree with what the Prince of Gotham says even if he had a mouth full of hot potatoes and was babbling nonsense. Up in the tower that watches from above, lives the most fitting rich person to talk about sorrow.

Her father is a politician at heart. She jokes with it.

"You're so pitiful," Helen rubs salt on the wound, swinging her legs.

Bruce groans harder, in despair. Makes her get off the balusters and stand on her feet, balancing herself on designer heels.

"How about a..." Helen pauses in calculated suspense. "Blueberry chiffon cake?"

He runs a hand through his hair, white strips covering the knuckles. "Explain to me how you know to do that but don't know how to make tea."

Helen collects herself, proper and elegant like she should, inspecting her outfit with precise hands. Bruce stands little feet away, observing and only occupying space like he has no coherent thought on his mind.

Like she didn't pause to check herself, Helen elbows Bruce mean on the ribs. "Einstein didn't know basic math."

And like clockwork, Bruce scrunches his eyebrows everytime she says something unfathomably untrue. "This is a myth–"

"Yeah, right, pretty boy," she babbles, adjusting the heels on while using Bruce's shoulder to level herself. "I'll just leave you safe and sound at home then, stomach empty."

Which sounded like an awful excuse to go downtown and crash at his house, but sometimes he's as blind as a door.

Bruce's mouth sets in a hard line. "Alfred will come get me."

A boy with constant cherry-red lipstick marks on his lapels, walking over flashes of cameras and greedy hands that won't love him right, getting cuffed and uncuffed because of the trouble he causes, there's loss on his heart.

But now he looks like just it, a boy. 'Wayne Heir' that tabloids love to plaster on first pages be damned, Helen hates to share.

After the cleaning crew finished working and the golden lighting no longer had value, night on the Blackwood Manor would be considered hell by most people. The deafening silence only breaking by her father reaching for an unopened bottle of champagne, searching for her.

And Helen would prefer being where he can't find.

"Although, I think that..." Bruce starts, unsure and wishful, white strips on his knuckles, "Alfred promised cookies."

Helen's face spikes a bright smile. "Who are you to not to pay attention when says cookies?"

Bruce looks away. Like a telltale story, Helen can see a brash immature Bruce Wayne arguing all the way to her house, cursing her father to Alfred. Arguing is the only thing that would make him not pay attention to such important matter.

"Will you come?"

Not the after-party she's most used to, but the one she loves the most.

"As sure as the sun rises," she answers.

(-)

Golden lights under crystals.

"Well, prom is here," she says, spinning.

Bruce holds her waist a little tighter, leading the dance. And she leaves him to it, all the eyes on them like their lives depended on it.

Him, pretty much like her, has a dozen of invitations waiting an answer, made by people that will start to brag the second they hear a yes.

It is almost funny how Gotham Academy holds a prom for those filth rich brats, as if they aren't attending just as pretentions parties every month.

On marble floor, Helen spins with all eyes on her. Soft glistening golden light, the same color of her gown.

People expect it of them. Bruce grabs her hands and spin her around.

"I didn't even bought a dress yet," she whines, "I don't even know what color I would choose."

A week away from prom, but she hasn't showed much hurry for anything in those past years.

Her father looks from the crowd.

"Red," Bruce demands, as spoiled he always has been.

"Red?"

"Burgundy."

Helen doesn't tip her head back with laughter, but almost. "Oh, you know the name of the color." Bruce narrows his eyes on her. "What makes you think you can decide, though?"

Blue eyes burn into her.

Bruce Wayne looks at her with a question.

Helen has to admit, she's a little selfish at it.

"Rachel Dawes," Helen taste the name on her tongue. "Why don't you invite her?"

Bruce looks at her with several questions, now.

Rachel, Dorothy's granddaughter. Has a scholarship for Gotham's Academy, same year as Bruce but different classes. Pretty and clever, straight A student, lacking an etiquette class or two but charismatic and gentle, well-mannered and well-intentioned. Volunteer at fundraisers on weekends, winner of the debate team.

Most importantly, Helen knew pretty well how Bruce watched Rachel intently as the girl rushes through the halls.

He likes her. Helen is yet to understand the criteria but it's enough.

Bruce scrunches his eyebrows. "Why?"

She watches from the corner of her eyes, her father and his perfect friendly smile.

"Because I'm saying so," Helen answers without missing a beat.

All but Bruce is dull, twirling. And he looks at her with pain, having his heart at her hands while watching her handle it to someone else.

He likes Rachel.

Rachel Dawes doesn't have the supermodel type of beauty but she's adorable, and she'll be lovely by Bruce's side.

Rachel is a familiar face and gentle enough.

And Helen's own heart drops to the floor of the ballroom, crashing like gass.

When the dance comes to an end and Bruce stares at her with a myriad of questions, under soft golden lights.

He likes Rachel but she's not the one he wants.

Helen is a little dramatic at it. She sees blue eyes shimmering, hold his jaw, won't let him be hurt by no one, much less her father.

And she wouldn't hurt him if it killed her.

"Go chase her," she whispers.

Bruce can't do nothing but comply.

Helen Blackwood doesn't show up to prom.

(-)

Living in Gotham is like waiting the train after midnight.

On a railway station.

The pitch-black night creeping, shadows lurking.

Having a gun pointed to the head so many times, it turns into habit. It turns into another day.

Helen learns how not to fear. Not wincing once.

How to lick the love out of every bullet.

The train never comes. The danger is getting closer.

But Helen Blackwood wouldn't know.

She's part of royalty, has a lavish lifestyle, unreasonably wealthy. She never had to wait for the train.

Even with blood hiding under their cuffs. Guilty of all the crimes and all the sins, and innocent lives lay on their shoulders as their fault. Even them, she's still a Blackwood.

The train never comes. Now she has another gun touching her forehead.

She stands on the floor not like someone mourning could.

"As most of you know," she starts, people buzzing to their seats, "my father passed away yesterday, deep in his sleep."

Reporters, journalist, executives, shareholders, noisy rich people, crowding, hold their breaths up to their chest. The room falls silent, people have their faces covered in shock.

Helen Blackwood stands on the floor, has her eyebrows furrowed together. Pearls and a sharp black suit, a look on her eyes that could melt metal.

"I'm his eldest and only daughter, the one who he left as new CEO of the Blackwood Industries."

The flashes of cameras trying to catch the perfect angle don't distract nor blind her.

As if life is worth living but not fair.

She has blood under her nails, like her mother before her.

"It's a prestigious company, with a legacy and a name to uphold," Helen declared. "I plan to continue my father's work, serving this country like he did."

As if life is fair at all, this says something about her.

It could have been easier. If she was the daughter of a strong woman, of a honored man.

"I know there is those who criticize the industry."

As if she stripes naked every reporter, dare them, order them to make her words immortal, she reduces them to bones. Her voice is not imposing because of the microphone.

"They say we profit from war," she remarks, "say we profit from violence."

People will easily underestimate her. She smiles, easily now, not like someone mourning could. "I, however, am proud to play a role in protecting our country and its people."

She's doesn't like what this situation says about her.

Helen pauses. This is what everyone expect of her. Smile natural, pretty face.

Woman don't talk and don't see. They look beautiful and smile.

A memorized speech, charisma. Because she's a stunning face and just that. "That's why I'm honored to announce or new 3d printing technology."

And then everybody holds their breath. Air suddenly thick when the screen behind her changes to show the technology in action.

"This technology will allow us to create complex designs with greater precision, to produce at a much faster rate."

The pitch-black is scratched into the walls of her throat. Swallowing it whole is better than letting anything out.

The silence is palpable, so she explains matter-of-factly, "This new 3D printing technology utilizes cutting-edge additive manufacturing techniques, operating at the astonishing speed of 13.000 millimeters per second."

Her posture changes a little, to be more straight, as if she's proud of it.

She licks love out of this one more bullet. Tasting bitter, gunpowder explodes on her mouth.

"This means," she proceeds, like spelling to children, "that our troops will have access to the best possible weapons when they need them most."

Just like gunpowder, the crowd explodes. Question after question. She meets every one of them with an equally competent answer.

They doubt her and what she says.

So day after say she has to prove herself.

The situation says, she's a horrible person.

She would sit and watch the printers work for hours, way after everyone on the building left.

Helen could use them to make something useful. To make prothestics, or simple car pieces.

Instead, she creates a tool to shed blood. Because she's a Blackwood.

Because that's what about her.

There's blood on her hands, under the cuffs, under the nails, on her teeth. Not a flick of what run on her veins is honorable.

Everyone she goes, people know her as Death.

She makes space for herself. Gets comfortable up on the throne. Main defense contractor is not a badge of honor, not one she feels proud about. People pay attention to what she says.

And her hands are cruel. Either she destroys it or creates something to destroy it.

A bottle of champagne popping open puts her on the edge. She watches from her spot.

Helen see the years pass. Soft golden lights and false promises, the chandelier sparkly, starry nights where she lies like her father before her.

The quietness around when she speaks is deafening, people are listening.

(-)

"Helen Blackwood."

Helen realizes, fairly quickly, she doesn't like how her name sounds on his mouth. The voice is suave and calculated, and a snake recognizes another.

She smiles, tucking away any discontent carefully.

"Lex Luthor!" she exclaims, and they both shake hands cheerfully. "It's a shame that we're only meeting now."

He smiles back. "It really is."

Golden lights. A man that is two decades older and doesn't like to lose.

They shake hands firmly, looking each other in the eyes and reading purposefully for a weakness.

"Your speech was impressive," Lex compliments, so naturally it makes Helen's eyebrows genuinely shot up.

Quiet tall, bald, green eyes, suit expensive even by rich's people's standards. Polished, shook her hand firmly but taking care to not hurt.

On a charity event that doesn't do anything besides waste everyone's time. His eyes are not very kind but strangely passionate. They don't burn like Gotham but they're intense like Metropolis always has been.

Impressive, he says. You're a good liar, he doesn't.

Only fools would fall for them, anyway.

"Thank you, Mr. Luthor." Helen gives him a glass of champagne, like dancing.

Friendly, if not trying to sound magnanimous for giving her the honor, he says, "Lex is fine." He takes the glass. "You know, Miss Blackwood, we should partner on something."

Helen Blackwood has her veins flooding with adrenaline. She has to take careful note to not smile too wide.

"Oh, please, you should call me Helen." Her voice is silvery, dripping honey and genuine excitement. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lex. We should definitely partner on something."

Looking at Lex Luthor makes her shiver, agony creeping under the skin. He is, somehow, everything she heard about but not as terrifying as she imagined.

Not as terrifying but not harmless.

A snake recognizes an equal on the wild. Many species will hunt and eat each other opportunistially.

Bloodlust, she realizes, is a hell of a drug.

With masterfully-concealed curiosity, they talk the night away, voice singing:

(Dies iræ! Dies illa

Solvet sæclum in favilla

Mors stupebit et natura)

[-]

Because it has been the first time in years that she cried.

Her mind rushed with possibilities, every single way of dying because of the explosion. Choking, being burned alive, being crushed by a wooden column–

Bruce Wayne was dead, dead, dead.

He died and she couldn't do anything.

He died and she wasn't there.

He died and hadn't have been given the chance of a goodbye.

She hadn't cried when her dead died. On his sleep, peacefully. Helen felt a kind of creeping shiver under her skin hearing her father flatline. She wanted him to suffer, to die screaming.

Death is final.

Watching the Wayne Tower burning on live TV was nothing like actively seeing her father die.

He heart roared on her chest, suddenly hallow and echoing.

Helen couldn't even begin to wrap her head around that concept. Bruce Wayne dead.

She didn't allow the tears, either. She hadn't the chance to allow them. Only on the airplane, in the almost-private cabine of the first class, Helen bent over her knees and howled.

Bursting into a helpless cry. Didn't it sound melodramatic and theatrical? It was exploding on her mouth without regard of etiquette.

Bruce Wayne, dead. Her mind was hovering around this concept for the whole flight, holding her head between her hands like she was bleeding off. Maybe if she stays just quiet enough it'll be a lie.

It's all wrapped around her sternum and hands, closed together in a crying without words.

Didn't it meant something of her died too? The best part, that part that feels like summer and sunlight. The part that is like laughter and childhood.

She couldn't afford to have this part of her dead.

But there she was again, making everything about herself. And maybe having him dead, this best part of her dead, was a closure to the goodness lingering on her stomach. This was closure.

Bruce's laugh, small and almost unnoticeable, was the only thing that she could connect to being a good person.

And looking at him now was like seeing a dead man.

Because he was dead.

Until he wasn't.

Until he was there, standing there. Offering tea, talking, disapproving every singe decision she'd made without saying a word. Tender like sunlight, the only shining on Gotham.

"I was actually surprised when I saw the news," Helen sips. The tea is not so bad, a little watered and she would prefer cream with it.

Bruce looks over his shoulder, trying to find something to chew along the tea. As always, he looks like a caught-off-guard animal.

He stayed the same, after all those years. Helen finds it funny, if not a knot on their throat that doesn't let them talk about it.

You left without saying a word.

"Bruce Wayne gives half his fortune to reconstructing the city..." Helen recites the headline. "I don't think no city needs that much money."

Which says something about them two. Billionaires. Sitting on enough money to rebuild three Gothams and build two more.

Which says something about how much this world is unfair.

How much Helen is acid. But not really.

She just needs to know. It is ugly.

"Rebuilding the city and the orphanage..." Bruce starts, hoarsely so, and he's still looking pale. "It takes a lot of money."

Helen leans back on her chair, calculating a way to make the stubborn Bruce Wayne sit down and tell her why his teeth is fake.

He's breathless. Titanium implants, as far as she can see when he talks. Fake but crooked enough it doesn't look like it. So imperfect it is perfect.

"Doesn't matter," she says, a little cursed, "I saw the report of the last WE fiscal year. You're gonna make the same amount until the end of the year."

Bruce scrunch his eyebrows. Briefly. She almost couldn't caught it by how brief it was. Haunted.

Helen wonders if he finally noticed how selfish she is. Wanting to hold more and more power as long it means keeping herself safe, consequently reflecting this wish on him.

It locks her jaw and not a single word or tear is set free. She keeps the grief on her throat and it doesn't die. It doesn't disappear.

Helen thinks of Martha Wayne. Gentle and caring. A merciless death, bullet to the heart.

But what could have been done?

By the end of the day, she's a Blackwood.

Helen doesn't know what to do with this grief that haunts; what does she do with blood on her mouth or the words she swallowed?

What Helen must do with the blood on her hands, staining the glass of champagne? That's a hassle, really.

Now Gotham needed the business working, more money flowing than water.

And, even if Helen didn't like the bitter taste of gunpowder, weapons manufacturing was a hell of a lure to rich people. They threw money on anything she mentioned, anyway.

Helen watches as the rightful prince of Gotham ascends to the throne.

This is all she can do, watch.

[-]

"You broke his heart."

It's strange for Helen, returning to Gotham and having everyone know her name. Especially because her father's corpse returned to there before her, buried on the Blackwood Manor's yard like half her ancestors.

Harvey sounds neither happy or sad, nor angry at Helen. The commentary is made aiming something Helen can't see. Maybe testing the waters.

Helen doesn't have energy for it.

She leans back on the balcony, the cold of Gotham burning her, using only a red taffeta dress, unloved.

They've know each other for how long?

It doesn't matter. They've know each other as long Bruce knew Harvey and Helen knew Bruce.

But all of those statements return false now.

Helen is weapons dealer but legal, Harvey is an attorney that hunts bad people. Years passed under golden lighting and pouring rain.

The city is angry.

"I know."

But I didn't, before.

[-]

"He was like a father to me," Helen lies through teeth, easily as breathing.

Gotham is angry tonight. Not like the usual type of angry, its explosive and burning nature wasn't showing like most nights, but a cold drowning type of angry.

The funeral has been quiet. Only family attended.

Helen was almost family.

From one of the windows, the vineyard covers half the wealthy side of the outskirts of Gotham, Helen can only see the city's lights far away.

Carla sits where her brother used to sit. Content, if not dramatically happy, to wield more power. Chicago already between her fingers, but Gotham is where the treasure stays hidden, an ancient gold mine for criminals.

But Helen knows better. Gotham is yet to explode on their faces.

Both women use black dresses. The weeping veil hide Carla's intention, looking much less brash than she used to look in comparison to her, now dead, brother.

"I know that my father..." Helen says, clenching her fists in calculated hesitancy. "He knew Mister Falcone."

Her voice trembles. There's a little audience watching her perform, bodyguards and family. Not too bold, not too loud, Helen makes herself little.

Of course, Carla is a mother and Helen is just a scared little girl that lost another father. It's devastating, it must be.

Carla might still have a little of a mother instinct but she's watching like a hawk, scanning to see a lie. "Your father was more than just friends to my brother."

He was family.

Helen licks her lips. Head down, watching the wine that was poured to her, smiling simply as if comforted. Demure, like she should, submissive to the older and wiser woman. Studying land, the wine that came from the grapes that are still Falcone.

Gotham is yet to explode on Carla's face, a woman that thinks the war is over. Helen makes herself little and Carla sees an opportunity where there's none.

Carla is not really the type to bend, to be mistaken or wrong.

"This was a long time a go," Helen says, smelling the berries on the wine, voice tiny and sorrowful, nonthreatening. "I can only wish to have a friend now."

She wipes off a tear but she hasn't been crying. Is it too much? Helen is always too much or too little, but somehow Carla surpasses her on this aspect.

A hand comes to her shoulder, comforting. Carla's hand, naturally, but Helen never had a mother.

Rubbing circles on her back, Carla smiles to her and Helen graze back with glistening black eyes and sudden hope. Helen watches as the woman's face changes with dreadful desire.

The tears are silent, but she's not crying. Helen's face is all wet and her mascara is ruined, smudged over the cheeks, but she's not leaning to the older woman nor running away. She is simply there, pitiful.

Carla doesn't bend, she folds.

"We can be friends," she declares, as kindly as she could muster with all the emotion of power, of having the Blackwood's heir at her fingertips. Her heart, without a doubt, beats strong with only the possibility.

Blood runs on her veins, as sweet as cherry wine. Helen may taste it by the end of this.

For now, she melts at her with a promise of friendship that sounds almost childish, if not the implications. She makes herself little and harmless, helpless, a perfect prey. A coy without opinion but loss at heart.

Helen never had a mother, but she is Gotham's child.

Using a dramatic velvet dress, starry with a diamond necklace as the Falcone's chauffeur pulls around the grandiose main entrance, the first proof of friendship. She winked at Johnny Viti on the way out.

The ride home is quiet, passing through the endless silence of Mountain Drive where only the moon can light, Helen goes back to the Blackwood Manor.

She's been born with the weight of the world on her shoulders. No mother, no father. Child of a strange city.

Chicago, Gotham, and now Helen Blackwood? Carla is living the dream.

And Helen smiles.

Gotham is proud of her tonight.

The acoustics are excellent, holding one bottle of wine that has been gifted to her.

Tonight, her voice echoes through the halls. The ride home was silent. But now?

She sings.

(Lacrimosa dies illa,

Dona eis requiem,

Dona eis requiem)

[-]

The necklace breaking, a cacophony takes place. Pearls hitting the ground, a child crying out as the father is down on his knees. Thomas Wayne fought with all he had. Martha Wayne bite the man's fingers off.

Everyone knows this story, how Martha and Thomas didn't die until three hours later because they didn't want to leave young Bruce alone. Bruce didn't want to be left behind either. He crawls and beg into his parents bodies.

But before, he brings Helen forget-me-nots. They walk hand to hand on the endless garden of Wayne's Manor.

Their mothers' laughter echoing through green and blue. Happiness and sunlight, Gotham is happy.

Shy tiny Bruce Wayne offers her a flower. Helen takes it.

Martha peels an orange, separating the halves. The smells stains her hands, perfectly manicured nails being ruined with acid. She gives one to her son and one to Helen.

Then Wayne Manor burns.

Everything goes along the way for destruction; Martha's garden that was cared with love, the flowers and blueberries bushes.

Gotham floods, it rages. It kills.

A dream that melts between Helen's fingers. Gotham kills and takes away.

They're stained with blood, children of a city.

That's a story about war, about scars and trenches, of those born there. How brutally Gotham loves and yearns.

[-]

Living in Gotham is like waiting the train after midnight.

On a railway, waiting for something to happen. But nothing ever happens.

When there's blood must there be bloodshed? Will nothing ever change?

For Helen, then answer is an unwilling yes. It's true, nothing will ever change, she'll stay licking the love our of every bullet.

When something does happen, it strikes Helen on the face first. Filling her mouth with blood and breaking her nose, another gun pointed to her head.

Or, at least, having a gun pointed to her head would be easier to deal with it.

She'd been standing on her office. Gotham's office, one of the only sharp and modern buildings in Gotham. Organizing a lot of paperwork, ignoring how that was her father's office before her and that that information somehow inflicts damage on her brain.

Helen has the weight of leadership, of being listened, crushing her bones.

Helen learns how not to fear. Not wincing once.

How to lick the love out of every bullet.

She leans on the desk, gigantic mahogany dark wood, her shoulders and back burning. Her mind clouded with exhaustion somehow recognizes that she shouldn't feel Gotham's wind.

But she does.

And this alarms every braincell on her head.

Pointing a gun so many times, it turns into habit. It turns into another day.

The train doesn't arrive, it derails.

A figure standing on the edge of her office, lurking.

Helen's first reaction is to hold a gun, the one she keeps close for emergencies.

This is an emergency.

Aiming directly on what her subconscious identifies as head.

Blood drums mad on her ears, then. Until she realizes who is standing there, the finger was on the trigger ready to shoot.

"You scared me halfway to death," she mumbles, feeling the gun's edge.

One of the new models. Light, it feels clean and unused on her hands. She tested the model herself and closing her eyes she can recollect almost every detail; how fast the bullet travels, shooting sounds like a typewriter's click. Nobody would ever hear if she shot it.

"Helen Blackwood," a growly low voice calls.

The Dark Knight is standing on her office and this is every sign of how bad her life is turning to be.

She lowers the gun, then.

And she has no other option but to sit down, feeling her legs wobbly.

Tries, vehemently, to understand why Batman is on her office. No success at it, it's past midnight, she's tired, a lot has been happening and–

"Yes...?" she sighs, gripping hard on the gun. "I'm honored to have you here, Batman. I would offer you a glass but I don't think you would accept."

Helen points at her half-empty whiskey with the gun, but can't see his reaction. Batman is standing directly on the shadow, supposedly to sound more mysterious and threatening.

All she does see is a man wearing some plates of armor, probably kevlar, and believing hard he is going to survive the night.

It might not be what he is used to, too. Helen slips into familiarity as easily a snake shed skin. She knew one day the Batman himself would make her justify the space she's been occupying.

There's a panic button under the desk. Her father put it there.

Helen tilts her head, placing the gun down, eager to view something more from Batman.

"As far I can tell, you only go after criminals," she says, prompting. "What I do is more legal than vigilantism."

He is, somehow, everything she heard about while not as terrifying as she imagined. Maybe that's the thing about nightmares and dreams: it's always a little disappointing seeing it up close.

She wonders how much anger must be filling him. Enough anger to make him go out every night and seek revenge.

Anger, of course, is the only emotion that could possibly prompt any person to do this.

Batman narrows his eyes, stepping closer but keeping himself on shadows. "Your recent involvement with Carla Vidi–"

"Gosh, you're sounding like an amateur," Helen interrupts. "I attended a funeral, this is not a crime."

But something happened.

Gotham is a derailed ungovernable train. Things happen all at once.

And Helen realizes, when Batman stays quiet analyzing her face for hesitancy, that she might have proven innocence on accident.

It wouldn't be surprising if Carla was already dead, but disappointing. Helen was so sure the older and wiser woman would last at least a whole month.

But, alas–

There's a panic button under the desk. Her father put it there like almost everything on the office. Dark gigantic mahogany desk and oppressive walls, a mirror right behind her back and disturbing paintings of battles long forgotten.

Her shoulders crush with the power of being listened.

Helen stands, then, no intention of pressing that button. Feet hurting with the pumps but very proper and elegant like she must.

She'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity. A closure to the goodness lingering on her stomach.

"I actually do have something for you."

Batman's face spikes with curiosity, carefully hidden below a cowl and an oath.

She slides a pendrive on the desk, for him. Helen knew that one day Batman would want her to justify herself, and here she is, doing it.

It's another approach, Helen is offering something as if Batman's a wild animal and not someone that beats criminals to a pulp every other day.

And, for a blink of a second, Helen sees it.

Trust.

Filled with anger, burning. Batman has trust on his eyes, along hesitancy. An apprehensive animal.

An injuried dog, Helen realizes.

A hurt angry dog that is loyal to its owner. A dog that keeps going back to the hand that feeds but also hurts.

A dog that knows no better.

She doesn't understand why or how, what was the criteria she accidentally met to be trusted. She ain't complaining.

Returning home after getting the paperwork done, she won.

Helen is Gotham's child, doesn't matter what she does.

So her voice echoes.

(S'il lui convient de refuser

Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière

L'un parle bien, l'autre se tait

Et c'est l'autre que je préfère

Il n'a rien dit, mais il me plaît)

#bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne #batman #Batman dc #dc comics #dc fic #Batman fic #arwrites #me!batman #helen blackwood

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tinyyoungblood · 3 years

Note

how ab a headcanon where the avengers all take a trip either to disney world or on a disney cruise? i’m a whore for the idea of everyone, especially peter and y/n, just acting like kids again

pairing: peter parker x avenger!reader

a/n: i like this prompt so much!! i’ve never been to disneyland, but i hope this is accurate enough lol. i also turned this into a vlog bc someone had to record this mess and since it can’t be me, i’m giving filming privileges to bruce

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the avengers in disneyland

everyone is very very excited and the days before they leave pass in a flurry of excitement, but peter has never been to disneyland, so he’s THRILLED beyond means

peter’s jumping up and down while everyone’s loading the van and he keeps asking them if they’re ready for this “life-changing field trip?????”

sam is genuinely afraid that if peter jumps any higher he will bounce off earth, so he grabs peter by the middle and carries him horizontally into the car

steve gave a whole lecture on not getting lost the day before and since tony couldn’t resist it, he is dressed head to toe in neon yellow and grinning cockily

nat steps into the van, sees him, and turns around with her hand over her eyes like she’s been blinded

bruce brings his video camera with him and records everything. first thing they do is hit up a gift shop and it is better than any oscar nominated movie

everything they pick up is subjected to a thorough label reading and some kind of commentary

“steve, show them what you’re getting!!” “slippers” “what kind of slippers” “uh...soft”

thor on the other hand takes it very serious and his commentary ends up being very ~shakespearean~

peter and y/n get matching friendship bracelets for everyone

loki: “i’m not wearing that”

y/n: “that’s alright-“

loki: “no tie it on for me”

bucky wouldn’t have come along if it weren’t for steve and sam, but now he’s taking it upon himself to make sure that everyone stays in good condition so they don’t miss out on training

the whole team gets hourly text messages from him in the group chat

bucky: “There’s a water leak in Mickey’s Toontwon. If any of you slip and hurt yourselves I will kill you.”

y/n: “love you too buck”

(they know it’s his way to express his love for them so every message almost makes them tear up)

loki really wants to go on splash mountain but since he doesn’t want to get his clothes wet, he asks the guards how ~splashy~ splash mountain gets

they don’t take him seriously and it infuriates loki because it’s a perfectly reasonable question but it quickly turns into a passionate argument that holds up the entire line

“I DEMAND TO KNOW HOW HIGH THE RISK OF GETTING WET IS, YOU INCOMPETENT FOO—”

*cue y/n and nat dragging him away while bruce runs after them to zoom in on loki’s pouty glare*

they get him a green rain poncho with black polka dots from one of the gift shops, and he’s still glowering but he puts it on without protest before each ride that involves water

normally the avengers would easily get recognised but since everyone is walking around in costumes, people approach them for several other reasons

thor is just peacefully standing in life, staring at the incredicoaster like it’s the love of his life, when a little kid tugs at his cape

“excuse me sir, why are you so tall?” “good question, why are you so short?” “hmm” “hmm”

they find a micky mouse whac-a-mole and everyone is having Fun but something possesses tony and clint and they are really going for it

tony is a 5 foot tall ball of stress and competitiveness and he is yielding that plastic hammer like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do

clint on the other hand is starting to feel the numbness in his arms

y/n, with sarcasm: “you can do it, clint!”

clint, with spite: “i cannot do it, thanks”

*y/n stares into the camera*

they also make up a rule that if you are in a 5 meters radius of one of the theme park characters, you HAVE to snap a picture with them

steve, who gets constantly shoved nudged by bucky into some character’s path, ends up taking a picture with almost every single disneyland character

at some point, he’s just downright sick of it and there’s a 7 min video of steve zooming across the lot while goofy and woody run after him with wide open arms

bucky is doubled over with laughter in the background while sam is standing beside him and wiping away his own tears

the avengers also buy all the pictures that are taken of them on the rides and even stop at some photo booths so they can send them to wanda and vision who are both vacationing on hawai’i <3

thor, peter, and y/n run themselves ragged and their legs almost give out but they will not stop until they have been on every ride that disneyland has to offer

the others think it’s obnoxious but they follow and join them without hesitation

tony is secretly trembling with fear. doing loops in the air at the speed of light is fine and so is battling aliens, but getting on a rollercoaster ride is just heart-stopping horrifying

it’s not that he doesn’t like rollercoasters, (that man has no self-preservation skills, anything that resembles plummeting to death will be gazed at with big heart eyes) but he just doesn’t trust them

if he didn’t build it or prove it, he doesn’t trust it. period. but the avengers are just so excited and happy that he can’t find it in him to sit out

that quickly results in thor and tony re-enacting very impressive Shouting Contests on each ride without fail

tony is screaming and clinging onto whoever is sitting next to him for dear life because he’s Petrified™️

and thor is screaming, because he’s having The Time Of His Life

he’s feeling the wind in his hair, his heart in his throat, and if he’s not shredding his vocal chords and flinging his limbs around, what’s the point of it all

after 20 different rides, tony is sick of pretending and just trudges through disneyland, the happiest place of earth, like it’s the sole cause of all suffering in the world

nat rejoins the group after she mysteriously disappeared for a moment and her hair is tossed, there’s ash on her face, and half of her clothes are wet

bruce, startled: “where have you been??”

nat, beaming: “there was a ride that spat fire from all sides and people jumped out of nowhere to scare you while the whole place was filled with hot water!!!”

bruce, concerned, zooms in on nat’s excited face

“nat i think you went to hell”

sam is big on merry-go-rounds so he drags everyone with him and while some one them first don’t seem to enjoy it, they change their mind once they see bucky’s little smile

(they go on at least ten more rounds until it starts to get dizzy)

a little girl trips over her princess gown and falls close to where steve is waiting in line, and steve immediately abandons his spot to rush over

bruce zooms in on them bc steve has always been kinda awkward with kids, but here he is, crouching down and comforting that little girl, and it’s so unashamedly soft and sweet

they can’t hear what steve is saying but she’s BEAMING now and even giving him a wobbly courtesy while he claps proudly

bruce turns the camera around and both he and clint are lowkey in TEARS like “why are we crying?? we didn’t even fall down” “i KNOW!!”

nat gets a hold of the camera and she’s on a mission to get the most embarrassing greatest footage possible

“bucky, go stand next to moana” “why?” “it’s moana go stand over there” “but i don’t know-“ “bucky.” *cue bucky, awkwardly standing next to moana while nat grins broadly*

when he’s back with the team, sam just stares at him blank-faced, clearly waiting for bucky to ask why he’s looking at him

eventually bucky caves in with a long sigh

“what” “i can’t believe you don’t know who moana of montunui is. she restored BALANCE to the WORLD. put some RESPECT ON HER NAME”

no one knows why but there’s footage of y/n, thor, tony, and loki strutting up and down in the middle of the lane in minnie mouse plush shoes like it’s a catwalk

sam, bucky, and nat are holding up their fingers to score them while steve is staring at them like he’s analysing their fighting stances

bruce, clint, and peter are standing on the sidelines and cheering them on as they should be

they end their day by digging into an unholy amount of fries that even steve can’t resist because they’ve been walking the whole day

a questionable amount of cotton candy also end ups in their possession and the footage of that is just mostly everyone trying out each other’s cones while the camera is passed between them

soon after, the avengers are back in their van to drive home and bruce zooms in on the row of seats where y/n has her head on peter’s shoulder while the others are also half-lounging on each other, and everyone is asleep <3

* * *

guess what i’m about to say?

stay hydrated pals

hc masterlist

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blackbat05 · 2 years

Text

Happy New Year

Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: I think this can be a continuation from <pillar>? But it can also be read alone! Honestly, it kind of reflects my experiences and thoughts for this year so hope you can read this favorably!🙇🏽‍♀️

Genre: PG-13

Warnings/Notes: Bit of sadness and bittersweet-ness. Italics is flashbacks. S/N = Sister’s name.

***

‘I don’t know how you lived there for twenty over years babe,’ Jason plonks himself down on the sofa, rubbing his stomach. ‘I would have to roll to Bruce’s if I had to eat one more bowl of your mom’s curry.’

You chuckle, settling the luggage in your shared room before settling down with him. ‘You know my parents already love you right? You don’t have to try and please them.’

Jason raises his hands in surrender. ‘Babe, even Alfred has his own limits.’ He looks around wildly, as if the butler was spying on him in his own house. ‘Ok, don’t tell him I said that.’

You made a zipping motion to your lips. Moving to open the windows, you enjoyed the slight cold breeze that the rain was giving.

‘Hey, you alright?’ Jason is by your side, looking at you. You nod your head. How could you not be?

He had moved the earth for you when you wanted to visit your parents on the other side of the world, hoping to bring some smiles during the festive season.

You tried not to think about it, but the ugly dark monster tends to rear its head when you least expect it…

‘I know you told me that people change. And I’ve accepted that fact. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive my sister.’

Jason takes a quick breath in, waiting for you to tell him what was going on in your mind. And you do.

He knew relationships could be tough. He’s seen his brothers at their lowest. Feeling like there’s no end to their job? Hell, he’s seen Dick loosing his mind at the precinct. Jason sees Bruce almost at the edge when he’s finished meetings with potential investors. The mighty Batman who could take down the most dangerous criminals without batting an eyelid just wanting to burn his work down to ashes.

‘Sure, she said some pretty mean things about me. And I already told my parents - no hard feelings. I’m just mad that I have these… horrible thoughts against her.’

‘Look, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way. But my life wasn’t easy too. I hated life in middle school but I don’t think I ever blamed anyone. I worked through my weakness. I had good people helping me through those insecurities. Most importantly? I became stronger.’

Jason had just finished talking to your parents in the living room, about to retreat back to your childhood room when he came across the two of you sitting opposite each other. He was surprised that your conversation went unnoticed by your parents until now. So he takes a look at your sister’s impassive but tear stained face before standing behind the wall.

‘I’m sorry that you feel like while you’re slogging away at a job you don’t enjoy, your younger sister is relaxing at home, taking online classes. Unfortunately, I can’t control a pandemic or who was born first.’

Ouch, Jason thinks. You were really laying it all out.

‘What I can control is how I want to live my life. And if you’re so reluctant about trying something different because you already spent so much time on something that you didn’t like, then I have nothing to say.’ You stand up. Jason takes it as his cue to leave. But before he does, he hears one last advice from you.

‘I’m sorry he broke up with you. You picked yourself up well. So try to live a life that you’re happy with and not blame your problems onto others who are trying to help you.’

You shut the doors behind you, not wanting to hear your sister’s reaction. Was it fear? Or were you just being selfish? Opening the door to your room, you see Jason sitting at the edge of your bed. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, but you knew he had listened.

Walking towards him, you let him hug you, allowing your tears to fall freely.

This was going to be on you forever.

‘I feel like a monster for hating that she’s being a coward.’ You breathed, finally relieved to let it out. ‘At the same time, I talked to my mom and we didn’t rule out the fact that she could be going through mild depression. So I’m angry at myself that I couldn’t help her better.’

Jason brings you into his side, watching the droplets of water trickle down the windows. He couldn’t help but his heart had broke for you. You, who was always trying to be the light in everyone’s life. You, who never failed to get up when the waves hit you in succession. You, who always looked on the greener side in life.

‘You can’t be an adult and only embrace the rosy aspects of it.’ You look at him, wondering where did the aggressive vigilante went. ‘Who are you and what have you done with my Jaybird?’

‘Yeah yeah,’ he grumbles as if reading your mind. ‘Was watching one of the shows and it just came up in my mind.’ He ruffles his hair in embarrassment.

‘Life will be shitty and she’ll need time to learn that. Your sister will have to find a way to get out of that hole, something that works best for her. Until then, the best thing that you can do is to just be there. Take it from me and my dipshit brothers.’

You gave a watery chuckle. ‘You know I seriously think you should have been a counselor instead of me.’

‘Nah, I don’t have the “touch” like you do.’ He walks to the room, opening the suitcase. ‘Hey babe, do you think you can ask your mom to send more of these instant curry when we run out?’

‘Way to ruin the moment Jay!’ You teased as you took the box from him to prepare the last new of the year. ‘And I’m sure my mom would be more than happy to.’

As you wait for your instant curry and rice to cook, Jason switches on the television where Bruce was alongside many important figures at one of Gotham’s landmarks for the New Year Countdown.

‘For once I’m glad that I don’t have to be with B-man at the countdown.’ He accepts his bowl with thanks, digging in instantly while you blow on yours before taking a bite.

‘Hey Jay…’ you carefully started to lay out your newest proposition. ‘I was thinking if you’re alright with it, how about another visit again for Chinese New Year?’

The expression that he had was like a boy in a candy store. ‘For real? I mean is it ok?’

‘Sure,’ you shrugged. ‘My dad can’t wait to bring you to his soccer club while you’re at it and my mom will probably be looking to fatten you up when she can.’

‘And your sister?’ Jason knew that this was murky territory but he had to ask. For your sake. You need to know where you were at with her with the new year coming.

You knew where Jason was coming from. He barely managed to get a whiff of your sister apart from a ‘Good morning’ or ‘Hello’ while he was there.

‘Maybe she’ll join us. Like you said Jay, all we can do is to wait for her. Even if she doesn’t, at least we know we tried. The world’s moving crazy now so I want to focus on what I have and not ponder on what I could have had.’

The television switches the cameras to the bell tower where Bruce was, preparing to usher in the new year. Jason clumsily pours two cups of orange juice from the fridge.

‘Not the best but here’s to taking one step at a time?’

You were so grateful for Jason. The year had been a topsy turvy one. You had good moments, but you also had moments which were down right weird and frustrating.

Kudos to him, he was always there for you.

You lift your cup of orange juice, prepared to leave the year behind. No regrets.

‘To taking one step at a time.’

***

A/N: Well. It’s the new year where I am at! I just want to wish all my readers and followers a happy new year!🥰 Obviously the year was challenging in its own ways and this fic probably reflected one of the many. Nevertheless, I’ll press on one day at a time. It’s not going to be easy, but if I can do it, I’ll do it again!

#jason todd x reader #jason todd comfort fic #jason todd fic #jason todd

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yourmcu · 3 years

Text

Mesmerized (iii)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Request:

@lostaurorax said:

hii!! i love ur writing i was wondering if u could write a natasha x reader fic were reader is part of the guardians of the galaxy and they come to the compound and natasha is just starstruck but reader plays kinda hard to get and then just a bunch of fluff !

Word count: 2,138

A/n: notes at the end

Warnings: crash, mentions of explosion, swearing, space mission, soft!nat, quill’s a jerk

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Your departure from Earth made its one-year mark.

Natasha hasn’t felt like herself since you left. She’s known you for a few months but it felt like ages, it felt like she knew everything about you from the amount of time you spent together.

It’s not like you had a choice. The guardians needed you and of course you’re gonna be there for them too. They saved your ass countless of time and, well, they’re your family.

“Shit!”

Natasha frowns, leaning forward a bit from her sitting position. “What’s wrong?”

You fail to respond back. You curse once more in realization that you had no more ammo left in your guns, using your fire conjuring abilities is risky in this situation too, given on what type of creatures you're fighting.

Rocket is still determined to fight but you know he’s not gonna make it alive so you pick him up and sprint to your ship.

“I had it under control!” The raccoon yells.

“You’re kidding, right? The others already left!” You boom, fiddling with the buttons and levers of the ship to try and start it. The rattling of the monsters behind getting you frazzled. “Fucking-”

“Out of the way before you burn the controls, I got it.”

You go to the back part of the ship to reload all your weapons. You sigh in relief when Rocket managed to start the ship.

The mission went horribly wrong. People died and you were outnumbered. You almost set Groot on fire because of how overwhelmed you were, the fact that Quill was expressing how pissed he was at you didn’t help. Usually the team had every mission handled and sorted. You weren’t used to losing.

And you forgot Natasha is still connected to the call.

She just listens further. It's more silent than earlier so she figured you got away from whatever happened, but she's ready to try and help whatever it takes even though she's a thousand miles away.

“Quill’s not responding,” you frown, frantically searching the back of the ship for the backup weapons. “He must’ve turned his comms off. Can you contact the other ship there?”

“No, offline,” Rocket mumbles, more focused on getting the ship moving. “But geez, you and him have to sort things out.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Save it, we’re still being followed!” Rocket swerves in attempt to knock off the creatures - who're still actively chasing the spaceship. They could fly, and there are a lot. You couldn’t imagine anything like it.

You try your best to fight them off through the spacious hatch on top, but of course you have no match for all of them. You wish Thor was here. As far as you knew he's sorting Asgard things out with Valkyrie.

Every minute just gets worse. The flight gets unstable the more those creatures are catching up, you're surprised they're so determined to destroy both of you.

“Can you go any faster?!”

“I can’t, can I?!” Rocket's driving and pressing multiple buttons for the jump at the same time.

“Y/N,” Natasha calls out, hoping you could still hear her. “I can tell the team if you need any help-”

On your end, she just got more blasters and guns going off, orders flying between you and the raccoon.

“We need to shake them off, this ship’s not gonna handle them,” You say exasperated. “I’m gonna cause a distraction, got it? You need to get us out of here - anywhere - I don’t care how many jumps it takes!”

Rocket, as rare as it is, displays concern in his face, but he sighs and grips on the levers. “Ready when you are.”

You suck in a breath, letting out a huge burst of what seems like fire and just - heat, aiming at the creatures closest to the ship. It gets nearly all of them. The raccoon mutters a quick countdown, watching you fall unconscious from the hatch in the corner of his eye. He pushes the lever forward slowly, jumping to the one place he knows the both of you could get help.

Earth.

As soon as you let yourself go, Natasha loses the connection. The intensity of you using your powers like that might’ve affected it.

“God,” she mutters, pacing around her table, “Friday, you still have contact on that ship?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff,” the A.I responds, and for a moment, a huge explosion sounded somewhere in the forest near the compound. “...and they just landed. Would you like me to send you the exact coordinates?”

Of course Natasha doesn’t waste time to go out and find you. Thankfully Steve is around and was shaken by the sudden explosion too. It’s snowing, the forest covered with thick snow so it wouldn’t be hard to find wherever the ship crashed.

“She’ll be alright, Nat. We’ll find her.” Steve reassures.

Natasha’s breath hitches at the sight of the aircraft completely destroyed, pieces everywhere, she wasted no time to find you under all the rubble.

The unconscious raccoon isn’t hard to find, but you had it worse considering you were already out before the crash.

“Steve,” she states, walking over scraps and metal to get to you. You're sickly pale, giving Natasha the feeling that she's too late but she did feel a slight pulse. There’s blood on the side of your forehead but other than that,

“She’s freezing,” and it isn’t from the snow alone, she thought. You're colder than that. Natasha has an arm around your back and behind your knees, getting ready to carry you. “Steve, we-”

“I’ll call Bruce to get them sorted out. Try and find their stuff that’s not destroyed.” His tone is firm. He doesn’t wait for a response, gently grabbing you from her and strides back to the compound.

Natasha sighs. Almost everything she sees is unrecognizable except for a few complicated looking guns that definitely looks like Rocket’s and your bag you took on one of your dates. Biting the inside of her cheek, she opens it, sighing in relief when everything inside looked in order.

She finds a wallet-sized picture of both of you at a fair's photo booth. You always held onto it and kept it in your pocket most of the time that's why it looks worn out, probably from you holding it so much. This makes Natasha's heart ache, deciding to keep it for the meantime, carrying all your stuff that's left to the compound.

- You wake with a start. You're facing the clean white ceiling of the Avengers' med bay and you tilt your head to the side to see Natasha sleeping on a stool beside your bed with her head lulling forward and her arms are crossed. As much as you feel relieved to see her, you're confused on how you got here, how she found you. You lift your arm to gently pat the redhead awake. She sighs and goes to rub her neck. "You're cold." You smile softly, cringing at the rasp of your voice. "Didn't want you to be sore from the way you were sleeping." "I'm glad you're awake." "How long was I out?" Natasha gets up to get you a glass of water while you sit up the bed. "Twelve hours. You definitely needed the rest, everything sounded really crazy up there," she says. "Rocket's somewhere around, he left his bed the moment he got up." She hands you the glass and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. Feeling how cold you still are since they found you in the forest, she grabs a remote to crank the heater up a bit. You purse your lips and cross your legs, looking at her. "How'd you find us?" "Let's just say we heard the impact of the crash from here," Natasha eyes the bandages on the side of your head for a moment. "It was really lucky your ship crashed nearby, but you know I wouldn't hesitate to get on the jet just to find you. And when I did, I... I thought you were-"

Your hand immediately goes to cup her cheek, the contrast of warm and cold making Natasha relax in your touch. "I'm here now. You saved me." She returns your smile and holds onto your hand on her cheek. "I missed you." "I missed you too." "You know, I did specifically set those coordinates," Rocket says as he enters the room with Tony. "Technically I saved us." Your smile only widens and Natasha chuckles, turning to Tony to see what he has to say about your condition. "You really wore yourself out there fireball, is she still freezing cold?" He asks this to Natasha specifically and she nods. You furrow your eyebrows and turn to your fists, clenching them, only noticing now that you are freezing. "I'm gonna run a simple test and if all goes as expected, Bruce is gonna give you a shot." "Have you already got a conclusion on what happened to me?" You question. Tony pulls out something from his pocket. "Sure have. Now set this on fire." He tosses you a solid crumpled paper. Holding it between three fingers you expect it to turn into ash in your palm, but it stayed the way it is. You're looking at it now to help focus on setting it on fire but it still stayed as normal paper. Natasha grips you on the arm. "I think that's enough." "You went all out with your powers. I did see you let out an overwhelming amount when we were trying to outrun those creatures before you passed out." Rocket states. "Naturally it'll come back, but the shot should help you with your... body temperature and hopefully the speed of recovery." Tony adds. You groan, back landing on the pillow behind you. Not only does losing your powers suck but you aren't a big fan of needles either, but you'll deal with them if you really have to. Natasha's hand slowly crawls up to intertwine with yours, although her attention was still on Tony. "She's gonna have to stay here at least until she recovers, right?" She also looks at Rocket if he has any objections but he merely nods his head. "'Course, they're welcome here for as long as they want." Tony claps his hands together and dismisses himself, Rocket following behind. "In the meantime I'll be figuring out a way to build a new ship." The raccoon says before closing the door behind him. Natasha makes her way to sit beside you and you automatically scooch to make space and rest your head against her shoulder, taking a breath. "You alright?" You shrug. "I guess I do feel pretty useless without those powers. I mean, Quill without a doubt would never let me go on missions anymore. I'd just be a burden to everyone." She lets go of your hand to put around you. "Everything doesn't revolve around your powers, Y/N. You're not useless. I bet you could take that Quill guy down in a fist fight." You let out a chuckle, shaking your head. "What's that guy like anyway?" The sudden question makes your head perk up. "Oh, you know, Quill, he's a nice guy-" Natasha let out a noise, cutting you off. "Didn't sound like it while I was connected in the call." "He can be a mouthful to me sometimes," you admit quietly. "Not to everyone though, I do generally think he's a nice guy. I have no idea what I did that made him so pissed at me." You look up at her and she's staring at the wall, seeming like she's deep in thought. "He doesn't hurt you, does he?" "God, no. He's not like that," you say. "If he did want to of course I wouldn't just take it." Natasha smiles, "that's my girl." You hung your head low so she couldn't see the way you flushed at the phrase, biting your lip to hold in a smile. “I’m glad you have my back, though.”

“I always do. Always will.”

"So, when can I leave this room?"

"After Bruce gives you the shot, then we can do whatever we want." She tilts your head up to move your hair out of your face. You look at her with an amused expression, "where do you plan on taking me this time?” Natasha smirks at the question. She loves spending all her time with you and the sight of you enjoying yourself makes it better. "There’s a new bookstore open, thought you might like it. Also an amusement park. It’s a few hours away but I can always drive. Oh, Tony’s cabin. I’m sure he’d love you to meet his newborn Morgan.”

“Sounds like you have a list,” you muse.

Natasha hums, pulling you closer. “I do.”

final one!! no one’s really looking forward to this but I enjoyed writing it anyway :)

btw wrote this way before thor: love and thunder so i have no idea what him and the guardians are up to but i wish them the best

[shameless plug] check out this natasha ambience i made some people thought it was cool

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justcourttee · 3 years

Note

could you do one where dami and mari are dating but they havent told the waynes yet and they keep seeing hints of their relationship (like clothes around the place, dami talking to on the phone and smiling, stuff like that) but they cant figure out whats happening!!!! the ice prince is softening and theyre like wtf!!!

I’m sorry, it’s a little different. I got carried away! I hope you still like it!

Tim is Like a Genius or Something..

It was official. Tim had lost it.

At least that was the sentiment the family shared as they watched him tumble down the rabbit hole that he had sprawled out across the dining room table.

“-and then he smiled at me. At me! That has never happened before, at least not a genuine one.” He paused to catch his breath, allowing his theory to sink in.

“Timmy, don’t you think you’re giving the boy too much credit?” Jason was the only one able to voice what they all were thinking, at least the one with the best chance of not getting their head torn off. “I mean, he has trouble communicating with his own gender and now you’re telling me he’s been able to woo his female lab partner?”

Tim slammed his hands on the table in frustration before sinking back into the chair he had started in. For weeks now he had been gathering evidence of his brother’s oddities and for weeks he had been haunted by a softer and friendlier Damian.

“Think about it guys, please!”

His pleads seemed to fall on deaf ears as one by one they left the table, each offering their own look of sympathy until he was the only one in the room. It wasn’t long until he himself had given up, collecting his pictures from the table, tearing them in half one by one.

Maybe Dick was right. His hallucinations were getting the better of him. After all, even if Damian was changing, it couldn’t be because of one girl, right?

Absolutely nobody in the world could wield enough power to reign in a demon such as him. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tim had survived another week of hallucinations. He had tried sleeping more, laying off his coffee, and even cutting his hours back from Wayne Enterprises. But as he sat in the kitchen, going through his emails, his mind remained drowning in thoughts of his replacement.

“Timmy, do you know who this jacket belongs to? The ladies say it’s not theirs and if it’s one of Brucie’s night friends, I bet it’s worth thousands.”

Tim spared a glance from his laptop to where Jason stood in front of him, his fist clenched around a small black pullover. He had half the mind to wave him off when something pink flashed from the corner of his eye.

“Jason, let me see the jacket.”

Jason tossed it, his face cautious as if Tim were about to dart with his next paycheck, but it was the furthest thought in the younger Wayne’s mind.

“The girl that Damian is always bringing over, it belongs to her. His lab partner.”

“You mean Marinette? Damn, then I probably won’t make much off of it. Guess I’ll probably give it back next time I see her.”

Tim waited, his face showcasing the perplexion he felt as Jason seemed to walk away thoughtlessly. How he could come to the same conclusion that he did? How? It felt like it was so obvious.

“No.” His voice was firm, barely above a whisper as he shook off the thought, returning to his laptop. He agreed that he would drop it and that’s what he was going to do. “Marinette was just a nice girl trying to help out Damian and he probably views as some intriguing toy, yeah, that’s all.”

Besides, it was just one jacket and why would he want to damn the girl over one jacket.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . He should have damned her. That was the only thought that plagued his mind as he listened to the conversation at breakfast.

“Did you guys know that the Demon uses his phone during patrol?”

Bruce looked up from his paper, his face a mixture of disappointment and interest.

“Can you elaborate Dick? What do you mean by uses his phone?”

“Exactly that! We took a break on a roof in our sector and right as I was about to turn around to ask him where we should check next, he was answering a phone call! We sat on that roof for an hour because he said ‘he couldn’t hang up yet’.”

Tim nearly choked on his coffee as he slammed his mug into the table earning a glance from both the men.

“Richard, who was calling him?”

“Hmm? You know, I tried asking him but he waved me off instead.”

“You mean he didn’t try to tear your head off?” Tim watched in horror as Dick shook his head in denial, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe he finally has a friend other than Jon!”

Bruce nodded as if the notion weren’t completely insane, his eyes returning the newspaper in his hands. Dick smiled, returning to his crossword as if there was nothing wrong with the world as if he didn’t drop the largest bombshell in history.

“This is so wrong, why can’t any of you see how wrong this is?”

Neither spared him a glance as they continued their morning routines with thoughtless giddy expressions.

At this point, Tim wasn’t sure he could drop it anymore. There was so much evidence piling up, so much pointing that Damian obviously liked the girl at least. Why was he the only one who could see that?

It was decided. The next time Marinette came over, he was confronting this once and for all.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Tim waited and waited. Weeks passed between her last visit to the manor. Damian had left several times and random hours of the day, always giving him vague answers as to where he was going. It was as if the little demon read his mind and decided it was safer to meet her outside the manor.

He was so close to giving up when a truly diabolical thought crossed his mind. His smile was sinister as he approached Bruce’s office, his plan foolproof. He gave a slight knock on the door, two voices asking him to enter.

“Hey Bruce, Dick. I was just thinking the other day, we haven’t seen Marinette around lately. You both know that Damian is terrible at keeping up with his acquaintances. Maybe we should invite her for dinner one night! I mean, we all adore her, right? She is such a good influence for Damian too.”

It was like clockwork. Both Dick and Bruce jumped on the opportunity each pulling out their phones to let both kids know the details of when this dinner party would occur. As Tim left out the room, he couldn’t help the hysterical giggle that escaped from his lips. For good measure, he made sure to linger by Damian’s room, awaiting the reaction he was longing to hear. Surely enough, a soft ‘shit’ could be heard followed by heavy footsteps echoing as if he was pacing his room. It was the best sound Tim had heard in weeks.

Three agonizing days passed before Tim found himself waiting at the manor door to welcome Marinette into the manor. Damian had volunteered to bring her to the dining room himself, but Tim argued that it would be rude if not a single one of them were also there to greet her. In the end, Tim and Dick were volunteered to accompany one angry demon to see Marinette to the dining hall.

“Thank you so much for having me! I was surprised when I received a call from not just Damian, but you too Dick. I was under the impression that Damian hadn’t said anything yet.”

Damian’s face paled as his eyes darted to Dick’s as if Marinette said something damning. Tim caught onto immediately, his eyes also watching Dick’s face for any indication that he had realized the weight in her statement.

“Said anything? You mean about your friendship? Well, it’s impossible to pry anything from him, but we couldn’t let him keep you all to himself!”

In all of his blissful ignorance, he turned on his heel, dragging Marinette with him, chatting idly about whatever came to mind. Damian raced after him, his face a mixture of panic and hatred. It was a sight that warmed Tim to his core.

All dinner he watched as Damian stirred the conversation off Marinette only for someone to inevitably bring it right back. He relished in Damian nearly pulling his own hair out to ensure no one asked the question that Tim had been pressing for weeks now.

As the night drew to an end, Damian couldn’t rush her out of the manor fast enough. The doors slammed shut with a loud thud ricocheting through everyone’s ears.

“So, we’re in agreeance right?”

Tim turned his attention to where Jason leaned against the entryway, his lazy smirk building hope in the younger boy’s chest.

“Very much. They are definitely courting, or what is the phrase you call it now? Dating? Hangin’?” Bruce chuckled at his own joke before his gaze dropped to meet Tim’s. “It looks like we owe you an apology.”

Words never sounded more beautiful to Tim, he honestly felt like he might shed a tear. A heavy weight caused him to stumble as Dick threw himself onto Tim’s back.

“Tim is like a genius or something, right guys? I mean who would have ever guessed that Damian had a girlfriend! Hey, do you think they’ll get married? Does that mean at this point Damian is your best chance at getting grandkids?”

Tim dealt with the picking and jokes and the onslaught of fake apologies as they remained crowded in the entrance, waiting for Damian’s return. To him, none of it mattered as much as seeing his replacement’s face the minute they walked through the door.

After all, it was a large reward for a small price to pay. It all comes with being a genius.

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#maribat #daminette

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miss-choco-chips · 3 years

Text

F’coffee

-.-.-.-.-.-

Honestly. What did Bruce even think would happen? He should have known better.

Tim wasn’t Dick, indoctrinated from a young age to be a good, somewhat (when convenient) obedient son. Tim only went along with Bruce’s shit because, more often than not, it aligned with what he himself wanted. He also wasn’t Damian, so easily manipulable when one knew which buttons to push. And he certainly wasn’t Jason, who would sink his own ship to kill the captain.

So, when Tim and Bruce fought, and his adopted father decided to pull the ‘you live under my roof and work in my company, so I’m the boss all the way through’ card, well…

Yeah. Tim wasn’t going to take that lying down. He had a childhood of zero authority figures to obey and an overabundance of sass, plus a complete lack of fucks to give.

It was bound to go down like this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And, well. Tim had money. Like, an absurd amount of money. Even before being adopted by playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, Tim had his own no small fortune stashed away, a couple of properties gathering dust, two trust funds and more antique cars that he knew what to do with. So he could just… burn through that money, or sell the cars, or make a living of renting the buildings he owned, and he would barely even scratch the surface of his deep wealth.

But it wasn’t about being able to live comfortably with minimum effort. Tim was trying to prove a point here. What point, fuck if he knew. But a point.

So here he was, on the other end of the wooden counter, a cute red cap falling over his eye as he looked dead into his friend’s eyes.

“Tim. Tim, you’re rich. Why are you working in a coffee shop?”

Seeing as Kon and Cassie were currently too busy being shocked, Tim shrugged and went back to cleaning the cup in his hands.

It was a plastic cup. It didn’t need cleaning, he could just toss it away. But it was his favorite plastic cup, and he was gonna save it as a family heirloom forever.

(The fact that the pretty customer from the morning shift had drawn cute little doodles all over it had nothing to do with it’s worth.)

“Teenage rebellion”, he finally said, carefully putting his treasure away.

“You are twenty.”

“Time is a social construct and I’m but a slinky falling down an endless flight of stairs.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make any sense. How is it so symmetrical? It defies nature.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

“What can I get for you?”

“I'll have a mocha caramel latte-chino, made with skim milk, no whipped cream.”

“Bart, no.”

“Please put that in a grande cup”

“I’m begging you, don’t do it.”

“But use the same amount of coffee that you'd put into a tall.”

“I’m warning you, you don’t want to do this.”

“That way there's about an inch of extra room on top.”

“I wish you had an extra inch so I could look straight into your eyes when I murder you.”

“To stir in my own nutmeg without spilling any coffee at all.”

“You’re dead to me. Also, I AM going to make you that drink and you WILL finish it or so help me God.”

“What do you want, Kon?”

“To not be here when Tim’s looking like he’s planning both our unsolved murders.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

When Kon entered the shop, the messenger bag slung over his shoulder bumping against his hip as he rushed in to get his caffeine intake before his evening classes, he wasn’t surprised at the scene.

Cassie being there was a given, since there was always at least one of them there at all times, supporting Tim in this ‘independence’ thing he was dead set on trying. Kon himself had his Tim Shift later that day, after his creative writing course. Bart had probably just left, considering the amount of empty cake platters littering the counter.

Tim being face down in said counter, uncaring about the mess, was also old news. The dude barely ever seemed to leave (Kon was almost completely sure he actually owned the place, since he’d never seen any sort of manager and Tim’s hours seemed to work around his weird sleep patterns all too perfectly), and distraught was his general state of being, so. Normal day as far as he could see.

Still, he had to ask. “What is it today?”

Cassie, eyes never leaving her magazine, chin resting in one hand as the other one scratched at Tim’s scalp, snorted.

“A cute boy started working in the tattoo place next door. He came in for a morning fix, when Tim was barely awake, and he said something stupid, so he’s been having an existencial crisis ever since.”

“I said ‘you too’, Kon. He said ‘thanks for the coffee, I’ll enjoy it!’ and I said ‘you too’. What is wrong with me?”

Kon snorts a little. Tim doesn’t seem to be very interested in doing his actual work, so he just jumps over the counter and starts working the machines himself.

“You know that’s a question you can only ask your therapist, Tim, but if you need to know, I’d say you’re highly sleep deprived and a dysfunctional bi?”

At that, Tim does turn to look at him. There’s some cake frosting clinging to his eyelashes, and his hair is a mess. It looks cute, to be completely honest, and Kon has to leave his unfinished latte on the side so he can hug the little shit.

“Aw, don’t pout, Timbo. I’m sure he thought you were cute. Just try to sleep a bit more tonight, so when he comes back tomorrow you’ll be a little more alert and won’t embarrass yourself.”

“What do you mean, when he comes back?”

“I mean, if he works next door, he’ll probably get his morning coffees here all the time, right?”

That seemed to drive Tim back into the distraught spiral. He smashed his head back into the counter, making dying whale noises until Cassie’s hand returned to his scalp.

Kon privately thinks Tim’s life is starting to sound like fanfiction. He wonders which type of background character he would be, in it.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The shop is called F’coffee. That’s why Cassie is convinced Tim is the actual owner; no one else would really think that’s a proper name for a serious establishment. Kon isn’t convinced all the way yet, but with Bart on her side and Tim staying silent on the subject, it is just a matter of time until she convinces him it’s totally okay for him to do his gym routine there. She thinks, with Tim being his own boss, no one would tell him to stop it, and it would help his friend’s business to bloom with new customers.

The place's general aesthetic is exactly what you would expect, with old wooden tables, comfy chairs, potted plants hanging from the walls and tall windows just a little bit stained. The smell is constantly of the strongest brew Tim has, Death Coffee (which he’s actually not legally allowed to sell, so he keeps it for himself), and just setting a foot in makes her feel instantly awake. It's also always warm, and the sweets on display look mouth watering no matter your personal preferences.

In short, it looks like something out of a movie. It’s a tad too perfect for her friend, but she thinks it also fits his obsessive need for perfection.

Except for the board. Oh, the board. Cassie loves it more than life itself.

Tim has divided the drinks in categories. And made up names for all of them.

“Yes, hello! I’d like to order a grande, iced, sugar-free vanilla Latte, with soy milk, but I can’t seem to find it in your menu…”

Tim’s dead eyes turn to Cassie for a second, before facing his customer again.

“You’re probably looking into the Normal People section”, he points out, before raising his hand to signal a bit to the left. “There you have the Pain In The Ass selection. There’s nothing just like you asked, but you have the It’s Britney Bitch beverage, which is almost exactly the same except I’ll add a middle finger drawing in the cup and charge you extra for emotional damages. Also, we’re out of soy milk.”

Or…

“Hey, good morning! I’d like to order…”

Tim raised a hand, stopping the chirpy, good looking young man dead in his tracks.

“Don’t tell me, I know what you need. I’ll just go ahead and prepare it.”

“But you don’t even know what I/”

“You’ll have a Cougar Bait. It has cacao cream, a strawberry pucker and some grenadine seeds. I think it's fitting, for you.”

And also…

“Hey, hum… Sorry, I just have to ask… what’s on the ‘Barista’s heart’ drink?”

“Cacao powder, almond milk and espresso. Also some organic coconut ash, that gives it the blacker-than-night color, that’s just a shade lighter than my soul.”

“...noted.”

Cassie snorts into her cup of Jack it up (coffee that tastes just like a Jack Daniel’s; having Tim working here has opened up her eyes to the possibilities), watching as Tim makes his own usual.

“What’s in that one?” She asks, out of curiosity, when she’s sure there’s no other customer close by.

“Six espresso shots.”

She waits for a second. Tim finishes the drink, carefully handling the dark liquid inside his favorite plastic cup.

“...okay, and?”

“And that 's it.”

“Tim, that-- that would kill you?”

“Duh. Why did you think it was called The Last Sip?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

179 notes · View notes

iphoenixrising · 3 years

Text

DickTim Week Day 4: Dark!Dick and Vampire!Tim

So. So. *Steeples fingers* this may or may not be the fic for you. Yet another combination prompt because the people on the Capes and Coffee Discord are fucking enablers. You know who you are.

Warnings for: captivity, blood-letting, missing-in-time Bruce

The hidden bunker is outside the city limits of Gotham, a perfect place to stay off the grid.

Officer Grayson makes the drive with the radio on WKKG, All Gotham, All the Time. He moves his head to the beat of the pop song blaring over the line.

The outside of the abandoned gas station looks positively deserted and if they were any more rural, tumble weeds would be rolling around the decrepit gas pumps.

Officer Grayson parks around the back of the building out of sight and grabs the paper bags from the passenger side, holds his cup of coffee in the same hand, whistles to himself as he gets out of the police cruiser.

A complex locking system on a seemingly outdated walk-in freezer opens up to an elevator that is decidedly the newest fixture in the place.

He hums the chorus of the pop song from the radio on the way down, small smile on his face reflecting back at him from the mirrored doors.

The underground is a completely different world.

Apparently constructed to be a bunker, the basement is lead-lined and spacious with all processes set-up to stay off the grid, perfect for his needs. He has a separate power supply, a separate HVAC system, a security system with nearly imperceptible cameras to make sure no one, no one gets close enough to the property without alerting him immediately.

And he certainly doesn’t want anyone finding his personal mission here.

Officer Grayson puts one of the grocery bags down on a table littered with notebooks and read-outs he’d left the last time after he’d gotten samples. He sips on his coffee as he walks around the first room, lit only by the emergency lights at the top of the low-slung ceiling, and turns on the power, turns on the lights in the rest of the bunker.

The beeps behind him are the locks resetting on the elevator, the only way out.

Dick is still humming when he passes into the next room, blocked on either end with thick, metal doors complete with a complex locking mechanism and impressive alarm system. The many tables in this room are filled with laboratory equipment, a biotechnician’s playground.

Half-completed analyses are still running on the impressive screens mounted overhead, status bar at 68%.

Five-gallon buckets under the tables with black Sharpie denote chemical names with dates scribbled hastily below.

Dick sips his coffee as he looks up at the running totals, makes mental notes, compares previous tests and results.

It’s discouraging, but Dick just sighs to himself. Of all vigilantes in Gotham, he’s the optimist, and he knows that each failure will just bring him closer and closer to success. He just can’t give up.

Bruce is counting on them.

With his coffee and bag in one hand, he lets the analysis churn, and enters his code in the next door, then places a palm print on the pad outside. Leans down so his eye scan can be completed.

Unlike the other rooms, the lights come on the second the door fully unlocks and opens to allow Dick entrance.

The reason for that is to turn on the intense sun lamps to further weaken the figure strapped down to the gurney in the center of the room, strategically lessening the possibility of an attack.

Dick puts the bag and his coffee down on the only table in the room.

“Sorry I didn’t come yesterday. Rupert Thorne had a big shipment planned and we were up late tracking it,” his voice is light and cheery, his smile wide and white. He comes to the side of the gurney, takes note of the slight burning smell that always seems to permeate the room no matter how much he tries to avoid it by making sure there’s always something between skin and pure silver. Struggling dislodges whatever he uses, so the result is the smell of burning flesh.

He clicks his tongue in disappointment, looking down at Timmy’s closed eyes and painfully pale face.

His frown deepens when Tim Drake rolls his head over to face the wall instead.

Silver chains wrap his arms, legs, neck, and torso, rendering him utterly immobile. Holy relics hang over the gurney as an added safety measure. He’s completely naked under a flimsy sheet.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” He asks softly. “I’m letting Alfred pick up Dami so I can spend some extra time with you today.”

IVs are grotesquely hooked into each major artery, set on slow drain. The multiple blood bags hooked under the gurney show the slow trickle as the bags fill to a crawl.

Tim’s violet-blue eyes crack open a sliver, but he doesn’t look away from the wall, away from freedom.

“That isn’t very nice,” Dick’s tone stays soft, yet firm. “You know what I’m trying to do here.”

The sound of Tim trying to swallow is heard over the soft mechanical beeping, the hum of working equipment. “You know how important you are to this, Timmy. I don’t like how you keep refusing to be a team player.” Dick pauses just a moment, eyes narrow, “is this still about Damian being Robin now? Because you know how many times we’ve been over this.”

Tim closes his eyes again, a muscle in his jaw jumps.

“Well, I think you’ve been sulking about it long enough,” Dick brusquely throws the sheet out of the way to show IVs, burns, and the network of complicated blood vessels below deathly pale skin. “You knew even before you went to Iraq my choices were the best for everyone, not just you.”

Dick checks all the leads, makes sure the drip is slow. He doesn’t so much as lift up the solid silver chains and nudge them with the cloth he keeps underneath, the point of it is to try and keep Tim’s skin from burning, temporarily cauterizing his veins and killing the supply. The last time the chains were displaced this much, Dick had made the mistake of lifting one, giving Tim enough power to bare his fangs and lunge. Since then, the chains have stayed put, only shuffled around a little.

“And if you would have just listened to me and stayed in Gotham, you wouldn’t have been caught by vampires in the first place. You know that, don’t you? If you would have worked with us at home, Ra’s would have never taken that much of an interest and led them right to you. Heck, you might still be alive and have your spleen.”

Shaking his head in frustration at all the events from last year when Bruce’s body was brought back, when the Battle for the Cowl had forced him to raise his hand against Jason again and break his heart over Little Wing again, when he knew Tim didn’t need any more mentorship, didn’t need the support and encouragement Damian did after losing their father, and the ultimate decision to let Tim decide his own future after Robin, when seeing Tim six months after his disappearance as a vampire in a cape, all of it had made the choice on how to handle this situation.

How to fix everything that had gone so horribly wrong.

Do what he had to do, try disseminating the secrets of immortality so they could bring Bruce back.

And like this, Tim is going to help him do it.

“But it’s okay,” he’s back to smiling again, “we’ve worked past all that, haven’t we, Timmy?” Dick is satisfied all the leads are fine and the slow flow unimpeded. He steps back to the bag on the table.

In one hand is a pint of O Positive. In the other, a Krispy Kreme with sprinkles.

Both their favorites.

“C’mon,” he cajoles after taking a bite of his donut, “it’s one of Steph’s extra pints. I know you’re going to like it.”

He holds the oozing bag to Tim’s averted mouth and patiently waits, nibbles on his donut in the other hand.

“Why don’t,” and the tone is hoarse, faint because Timmy mostly doesn’t really talk to him anymore, “you just kill me?”

Dick pauses mid-chew, blinking down at the eyes filling with bloody tears, the hitch in the chest that doesn’t really move anymore.

Dick swallows the bite, suddenly more like ash than icing in his mouth. “You know I can’t do that,” is more harsh than he means. “We don’t kill. Not even vampires.”

“Then let me go.”

“Can’t let you go out and kill people either, Tim, and I need the supply for testing.”

“This is torture. This is fucking torture and you don’t even give a shit about me anymore–”

With a flick of his fingers, a crucifix falls right on Tim’s chest, and the screams are awful, horrible, but that is probably never going to outweigh the smell.

By the time Dick finishes his donut, Tim is weakly writhing in agony and the screams have died down to soft whimpers, mouth open to show those killer fangs.

He dusts his hands off and pulls on a glove from the Nightwing suit under his uniform, gingerly lifts the holy item off, grimaces when tissue and flesh stick to it.

“Kill me,” Timmy whimpers. “Just fucking kill me.”

Dick scoffs and takes the chance to lean down, presses his mouth to Tim’s forehead. “You know I can’t lose anyone else,” is the softest of reprimands. “Don’t worry. Once I just figure this out, we’ll get Bruce back and he’ll help us reverse the turning. Before you know it, this will seem like just a bad dream.”

Dick presses another kiss to each eyelid, talking softly against the deceptively soft yet immortal skin. “And when you’re back to yourself, we can be together again. I’ll take care of you just like I used to, promise.”

Dick leans back up with a small smile on his face and familiar fondness in his eyes. He holds the bag up to Tim’s mouth again, ignores the red tears streaming down the pale face. “We’ll get there, okay? I’m close to the answers we need. I just need a little more time. But, I have to have samples to work with, which means you to drink, Timmy.”

Like usual, the pink tracks down his face stand out starkly in the false sunlight when Tim finally gives in and punctures the bag with his fangs.

#how is this my life #dicktim #dicktimweek2021 #dick grayson #tim drake #vampire!tim #dark!dick grayson #tw: captivity #this might not be for you #and that's okay #winter goes a little off the rails #because writing #my fic #my writing

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andieperrie18 · 4 years

Text

moral of the story (batfamily x batmom reader)

Inspire by moral of the story by ashe

So I never really knew you, God I really tried to

Loving Bruce wasn't hard. I have a lot of love to give and I gave myself to him unconditionally and thought that I he'll learn to love me someday. There were times that he would open up to me about things and his children. I did everything I could to help him, from taking care and raising the children he adopted, loving them like they are mine, to supporting his nightly routine.

"Aren't you father's wife, why aren't you sleeping in the same bed with him?" asked little Damian as I tucked him to his bed.

It's surprising to everyone that I was the first to tame the blood child of Bruce but I didn't really know how I did it too. Same as all of Bruce's children. I guess I just loved them all equally as a mother would wth her own child.

He wasn't the first child to ask me that, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass and Duke did aswell but I didn't have the heart to tell them that I was hoping to be one day worthy to sleep beside him.

I was talking with my lawyer, saying where'd you find this guy

Said young people fall in love with the wrong people sometimes

I can't even move a muscle. My eyes were just staring at the blank line marked with an X and beside it was another line but filled with the perfect signature of my husband.

"I'm really sorry Y/n," I heard my lawyer/childhood bestfriend mutter to my side. I took a glance at her, teeth gritted and a frown blossomed on her face.

"Fei, its really ok-","OKAY?! HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT Y/N?!! YOU LOVED HIM FIRST!! YOU SAYING THAT YOU ARE REALLY LETTING HIM GO TO A S--"

"Fei, please. Don't make this harder. I don't need you to tell 'I said so' or 'you should have listened to me'. I don't even know how to tell my kids abou this so please don't make it harder for me..." I could feel my voice breaking with both my hands holding my torso cause I can't even read the contents of the papers placed before my eyes.

She finally stopped walking in circles from my pheripheral vision for a moment then pulled the chair she was sitting on earlier close to me. Then next I felt her pull my head to her until I was nuzzling my unmake-up face to her white office shirt.

That night, I walked down to the batcave where Bruce was. Alfred was there as well and didn't fail to greet me with a warm smile. But he saw the manila folder I held and it made the smile on his face disappear in a blink. I made my way to the man I once called my husband. He wasn't alone.

In his Batman uniform, his lips was sealed in a loving kiss by the only woman he had ever loved from the start. The very woman I can never compete for his heart.

Selina immediately notice my presence and pulled away from Bruce. She loved him. She really did, I guess that's enough assurance that Bruce will be okay. His world will keep turning with or without me in it.

Bruce turned to where she was looking to meet my pained smile. He put himself before her, it made my heart ache a lot more. Whe I got to them, I didn't let him speak as I gently handed the envelope I had. Judging how his face turned from concerned to guilty, he already knows what's inside.

"I just wanna say something to her, I won't her,"

He didn't speak but moved aside and I was face to face with Selina. I could tell with the way she avoids my gaze, she is guilty with my state. With slightly shaking hands, I took her hands.

Some mistakes get made, it's alright it's okay

You can think that you're inlove, when you're really just in pain

third person

"I know that he loves you and no matter how much love I give him, It won't come to that amount on how much you love him," despite the stutter at the end of the sentence, Y/n kept he chin up.

Bruce was silent but he knew what he did was eating him inside. His guilt was prowling beast ready to swallow him up at that running second. He was the one fueling it as well as regret grew. He understood this act was the cause of his heartlessness but in his mind he knew that Y/n didn't believe that.

What was worse at that moment and had made his guilt grow a lot more was winessing how his now ex-wife acted. Instead of rampaging, she acted civil and collected.

"I won't bother the both of you, all I ask is that you take care of my children,"

With that, she left the couple alone. They were silent but something screamed louder in it.

"Ummi?" Y/n's head shot up as her eyes found Damian who was rubbing his eyes as he had just woke up from a nap. The woman put a smile and walked to the boy, taking her in her arms carrying him. Damian didn't mind this gesture from her as he had grown custom to his only motherly figure in the house. The only woman he will recognize as his mother at the bottom of his heart.

"Hey baby D, why you up? It's half past bed time," Damian leaned his head tiredly on Y/n's shoulder and mumbled, "I'm hungry Ummi,"

Unknown to the boy that his sudden presence was what his mother needed at the moment of rock bottom. With a stuttering voice, she agreed to do the boy's request. Y/n walked to the kitchen with a slow pace while holding Damian close as if someone would try to take him away from her.

That night, she baked a lot of chocolate chip cookies because Damian wasn't the only one who came. Dick came with Jason and Tim after a tight shift in Patrol. They all shared about how their days went before Cass and Duke followed in and entered the last bonding they'll have with their mother.

They say it's better to have loved and lost

To have never have loved at all

Damian fell asleep on the island and Y/n took the liberty to take him to his room. But before he could leave, the slight pull on the hem of her shirt stopped her. She spun her head slowly to meet all of her children's lowered heads and sad faces. They already know.

"Mom I--…We...--" her eldest began his bright blue eyes turning glossy as every second pass, trying to form the right words he wants to say. He always knew what to do when it comes tips and advices for people like a typical therapist as Jason joked but for the first time, even he can't think of anything to do to ease the second special woman next to his biological mother, "Richard, sweet heart…"

The boy didn't finish but rushed towards her and his sibling followed, crowding over her. Y/n welcomed the comfort of the children she come to treasure in her heart. They all head to the living room and continued to crowd Y/n. Damian innocently slept as you cradle him to your chest, Jason and Cass occupied your sides, Tim rested himself beside you legs, Dick held his mother's hand resting in top of Jason's thighs as he no longer minded it, Duke sat at the opposite side of Tim and Stephanie sat beside Cass. All of them stayed up staring into thin air hoping tomorrow wouldn't come.

that could be a load of shit

but I just gotta tell you all

your pov

"U-ummi please…please…."

The weight on my shoulder doubled as I weakly tried to removed Damian's arms wrapped around my waist, his hand clinging to the thick beige sweater I wore to sheild me from the cold wind. I can't even breath with all my sobbing and I can't even see straight with all the free falling down from my eyes and cheeks.

"Damian baby, Ummi has to go," I tried to say straight.

As much as I wanted to shove Damian away so that I won't get caught and cornered up byhis siblings because if I do, it'll make leaving a lot harder than it is.

some mistakes get made, it's alright, its okay

third person

Turns out Y/n did all the things in one day. After signing papers, she had her bestfriend book her a flight to a foreign country. She will need a lot of alone time to contemplate and digest her current situation. Before she head to the cave, she had already packed her things for her flight. Everyone except Damian saw the bags waiting near the entrance. They would have rushed to talked her out when they found her happily talking with their youngest sibling like nothing happened that whole day. They all silently and mentally agreed that their mother needed this, Y/n needed this. Alfred couldn't bear the sad faces in the living room. Bruce didn't bother to come out his room after Selina have left. He can't face her. You don't derserve to see the man who betrayed you.

Dick and Jason was the first to wake when Damian's loud voice boomed outside the house. And soon everyone woke and they all head to the open doors. What they saw woke them to reality. Their aunt Fei's car was parked at the Drive way and beside is was Y/n and Damian, the latter latched on the woman's waist.

No one had the guts to walk over you two and pull the sobbing child on her mother's waist.

"I don't want her, I want you!!" the boy cried. Damian had never cried that much before. He was using all his strength to stop Y/n from entering the vehicle.

Y/n stopped struggling as she finally bursted to fits of sobs and collapsed in front of Damian who pulled her into his tight embrace. Both crying their hearts out.

"Don't leave," he repeated over and over as he buried his face on her neck. "I love you Ummi,"

"Damian, Baby I'm really Sorry. I am so sorry, I love you baby so much," Damian slowly collapse in her arms and Y/n dropped the sleep sedative she hid in her pockets if Damian ever find out. Continous sobs left her as her Dick came to her and took Damian from her arms. She hugged her eldest tightly, Jason followed with few tears escaping his own eyes, then Tim and so on.

Alfred who had been hidden by the crowd of her children walked to her. Y/n didn't hesitate to hug the old man who cried silently.

Y/n hopped inside the car and watched her children sad and crying faces but mostly to unconscious boy held by her eldest child.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #damian robin damianwaynexreader damianwaynexoc wayne batman batboys #damian wayne #damian way x batmom #batmom #sad #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas #batfamily x reader #batfamily x you

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bearly-writing · 3 years

Note

Hello! I absolutely loved "Bite the Bullet!" If you are still taking requests for Hurt/Comfort Bingo, could you possibly fill CPR with Dick Grayson/Nightwing receiving CPR from someone in the Bat family - preferably Bruce/Batman or Jason/Red Hood? Keep up the great work :D

Thank you so much for the lovely request! I’m really glad you enjoyed Bite the Bullet! I can only apologise for how long this fill has taken 😅

All of my prompts have been requested! I know it’s been a very long time since I last filled one of these, and I’m not sure if any of the prompters are still interested in these (or even remember that I was supposed to fill one for them 😂) but I am definitely going to finish these, including the Voltron ones!

Pale Reflections

Fandom: Batman

Prompt: CPR

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Warnings: Near death experiences, Drowning, Past character death, blood and injury

Summary: Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Read it on AO3 here!

Bruce doesn’t actually see Dick go into the water. There’s a shout - Jason, Bruce thinks - the confused sounds of a struggle, the splash of something heavy disappearing into the river. Bruce doesn’t have time to worry about it, not with the horde of Joker’s goons he’s trying to keep from overwhelming him.

So he doesn’t see his son hit the murky water. Doesn’t see his muscles seize at the shock of icy cold. Doesn’t see the dark gape of his mouth or the flash of black hair as Dick struggles to stay at the surface, his arms rigid and useless at his sides, his face tipped up to the dark Gotham sky and then, abruptly, not.

By the time Bruce has dropped his final opponent and turned around, Jason has already pulled him out. They’re both soaked, filthy water running in rivulets over Jason’s leather jacket, dripping off the curly ends of his hair. There’s a small puddle of it under Dick, who’s lying motionless against the concrete of the docks.

For a moment, Bruce doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. There’s Jason, kneeling on the ground, his helmet gone, face tight with fear. There’s Tim, standing over them, mouth wide, eyes gleaming in the dim light. There’s Dick, lying still underneath them, so still, the lenses of his domino flipped up, his eyes shut, wet strands of hair plastered to his pale forehead.

Bruce’s heart seizes in his chest. Thuds to a stop behind his ribs. Around him, the night is cool and dark but Bruce feels suddenly too warm, flushed with phantom heat. He blinks, lashes rasping against the lenses of the cowl and it’s somehow still there - that morbid plateau, his children blocky shadows in the darkness.

Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Jason glances up when Bruce reaches them and his eyes are wide and white and he snarls as Bruce reaches out towards Dick, hunching over his brother, getting in the way. Bruce ignores him. Kneels. Close up, Dick looks even worse: pale and shining damply like some water-logged corpse.

Bruce has to swallow against a surge of acrid bile. He yanks off his gauntlet, tosses it across the dock. Presses fat, nerveless fingers against the crease beneath his son’s jaw. For an aching moment, he feels nothing. No thrum of blood beneath his skin. No sign of life. The sun is hot against his back. Sand shifts beneath his knees - or maybe it’s ash, thrown up by the smouldering debris. The smell of blood is heavy in the air.

Then, weak and thready, but there - a struggling pulse.

There’s a ringing in Bruce’s head so loud that he almost misses Tim crouching beside him, the three of them lined up on their knees like men at prayer. Bruce tilts Dick’s head back and his face is like a mask, waxy and unnaturally blank and it looks so wrong. Bruce drops his own head and stares intently at his son’s chest instead. No puff of air against his cheek. No steady rise and fall of Dick’s ribs. Bruce yanks his cowl back with a shaking hand and presses his face right against Dick’s lips. Still nothing.

The world drops out from underneath Bruce.

“Is he breathing?” Tim asks. He sounds very far away, as if he’s the one who’s underwater. The air is thick as jello and just as hard to breathe,

Bruce’s throat is too tight to speak, the words sealed inside his chest. All he can do is shake his head.

He’s not breathing. Dick isn’t breathing. Bruce’s son isn’t breathing.

Remember his training: CPR, one of the first things he had learned. Clear the airways - Bruce has already tilted Dick’s head back the way you’re supposed to. So: rescue breaths. Bruce gently presses Dick’s mouth open, using his other hand to keep Dick’s head tilted back. Then he seals his mouth over his son’s.

One. Two. Three.

Check for breath. Nothing. Time for compressions, then. One palm flat on his sternum, the other curled around his own splayed fingers. Arms straight to keep the force behind the movement. Don’t worry about breaking ribs, right now, it’s more important to get his chest moving.

There’s a rhythm to the whole thing. A song: Nelly the Elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus.

Dick - Dick has a little stuffed toy elephant. Zitka, she’s called rather than Nelly, after the actual elephant he had known, back when he’d been part of the circus. Bruce has seen it a hundred times. Dick used to cart the thing everywhere - out on family walks on the grounds, cuddled in his arms during movie nights, tucked under his chin when he’d snuggled against Bruce after sneaking into his room at night, seeking comfort after nightmares.

Does he still have it? Bruce doesn’t know. Maybe it’s back at the manor, safely tucked away in a closet in his old room. Maybe it’s in Bludhaven, sitting proudly in the middle of a messy bed. It’s not like Dick is ashamed of that sort of thing - of needing comfort, of his fond nostalgia for his childhood.

Bruce should find it for him. Bruce - he needs to find his little boy’s elephant, he needs to make this better, because Dick is hurt and Bruce needs him not to be.

How many compressions has that been? Dick is still and silent under Bruce’s hands. When Bruce pulls back, he half expects Dick to be watching him, eyes bright, but his lids are still closed, pale and waxy in the dim light. The only eyes on him are Tim’s and Jason’s, burning heavy against the side of his face.

More rescue breaths. Dick’s chest rises a little beneath Bruce’s palm, but it’s only his own air forcing his child’s chest to move. More compressions. Tim is saying something, sounding like he’s speaking from the other end of a very long tunnel, and Bruce can’t hear him over the thundering of his own pulse in his ears. Something about an ambulance, maybe? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Dick to breathe again.

Something cracks under his palm. Bruce falters. His ribs. His little boy’s ribs are cracked and broken under his fingers. A jut of jagged bone, slick with blood and viscera presses against him. Bruce snatches his hands back like they’ve been burnt. Stares at them blankly in the dim light. There’s - they should be soaked in blood, gloves torn by debris, but there’s only the slight shine of water against the black.

There’s a roaring like distant thunder. Like desert wind. The air is so dry. Bruce can’t breathe. His chest is so tight. Like iron. Like his own ribs are caved in. His vision blurs like the whole world is spinning around him.

Someone pushes Bruce out of the way. He tries to plant himself in front of his son, his little boy. No one deserves to touch him. No one should have a chance to hurt him. But Bruce’s muscles don’t seem to be responding to him and he’s too weak to fight against the forceful shove.

Broad shoulders block his view of his son, brown leather stretched between them. Bruce stares blankly at the man’s back as he takes over compressions. Muscles ripple beneath his jacket. The thud of each push echoes in Bruce’s ears.

It’s Jason, Bruce realises, as slowly as if he’s swimming through treacle. It’s Jason pressing down on his son’s chest with measured, forceful thrusts. But that isn’t right, because it’s Jason on the floor, his body broken and ruined, his chest still.

Or - no - it’s not Jason. It’s not Jason lying shattered on the desert sand. It’s Dick. This isn’t a memory of the past. A painful ghost of a horror that Bruce couldn’t stop. This is real and this is happening. To Dick. To Bruce’s eldest son.

And Bruce is sitting helplessly at the side as his son dies.

No. No. This isn’t - this isn’t happening. Not to Dick. This isn’t possible.

There’s a strange disconnect in Bruce’s mind. It keeps him frozen as Jason bends down and forces Dick’s shattered chest to rise. As Tim shuffles closer, pale hands fluttering, brushing damp locks of hair from Dick’s still face.

In the distance, a siren wails. Bruce hears it as though it’s coming from another planet. How many times has Dick been on another planet? How many times has Bruce worried himself sick over the danger his boy might be in, where Bruce can’t protect him. And now Dick is dying right under Bruce’s nose and he hadn’t even noticed.

The breath feels caught in Bruce’s throat. If Dick isn’t breathing, then Bruce doesn’t see why he should. Please, he begs, please let him take Dick’s place. Bruce can’t bury another son. He can’t.

He barely notices the ambulance arrive. It only registers when Jason pulls away, making space for the paramedics to take over saving Dick’s life. A desperate possessiveness rises in Bruce’s chest then. These people don’t know Dick. They don’t remember when he messed up sliding down the bannister and skinned his knee. They’ve never tucked him into bed with them after a nightmare, feeling tears soak through their cotton shirt. They’ve never held him in their arms after he took a bad tumble on patrol and felt how small he is, how fragile.

When he lunges for his son, not even entirely sure what he’s planning to do, strong arms catch him. Bruce fights against them without any finesse. Snarling. Desperate. But the grip holds firm. Someone is murmuring low in his ear but Bruce can’t hear them over the pounding of his heart and his own frantic noises.

“B,” the voice growls. “Stop. They’re trying to help him. You need to let them.”

Bruce hears the words, but doesn’t register them. All he can think is that Dick is hurt and someone is keeping Bruce from him. Someone is stopping him from getting to his son.

“B!” A different voice. Less growly but no less desperate. “Listen to Hood. Calm down.”

It’s Jason’s vigilante name that finally breaks through the static in Bruce’s head. It’s Jason’s arms around him, his voice in his ear. It’s Tim standing in front of them both, face pale beneath his domino.

Bruce slumps. Jason takes his weight with surprising ease. When did his boy get so strong? So big? Bruce had missed it. Missed Jason growing from the skinny little teenager he’d been to the vigilante he is now.

Tim closes the distance between them, blocking Bruce’s view of the ambulance and whatever the paramedics are doing with Dick. His face is so pale he’s almost glowing. His dark eyebrows are pulled low over his eyes in concern.

“He’ll be okay, B,” he says, shakily.

Bruce shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the fear on his face or the ambulance as it pulls away, taking his son with it.

***

Dick is fine, Bruce tells himself. The heart monitor is beeping softly and steadily in the background. Dick’s hand is warm in his own, fingers limp but soft and dry. They’re only keeping him in the hospital to monitor for dry drowning and to let his ribs heal up a little. The worst danger has passed.

Jason is fine too. And Tim. They’ve gone to get coffee and snacks from the vending machine down the hall. They were in here just a few moments ago. Jason is here. Tim is here. Dick is here.

Bruce hasn’t lost anyone today.

As if spurred by the thought, Dick’s fingers twitch in Bruce’s grip. Bruce squeezes them in his own almost automatically. Then he shifts to lean over the bed, brushing Dick’s hair back from his pale face. Dick blinks, dark eyelashes fluttering. He groans.

“Dick?” Bruce asks, lowly. He hadn’t meant the name to come out so tentative, so broken, but his throat feels like it’s been torn to shreds.

Dick’s head lolls against the pillow. Bruce shifts to cup his cheek and hold him steady. Blue eyes peek out at him from beneath heavy, waxy lids. Bruce’s mouth feels so dry. Like a desert.

“B?” Dick murmurs. And if Bruce had sounded bad, Dick sounds as though he’s been gargling glass.

“I’m here,” Bruce says. “I’m here, Dick. You’re okay.”

Dick frowns. He blinks but his eyes are still glazed and unfocused. “What,” he manages, “what happened? Where am I?”

Bruce strokes a trembling hand over Dick’s cheek. Why is he shaking? Batman’s hands are supposed to be steady. And Dick is fine. He’s here. He’s talking, even. Perfectly okay.

“You’re at the hospital, sweetheart. You were thrown into the harbour during patrol.”

Dick swallows dryly. His throat clicks. It sounds like it hurts and Bruce can’t stop himself from wincing.

“The hospital?” Dick whispers.

“Gotham General.”

“Why?” Dick asks, dark brows low over shiny eyes. “Why not…the cave?”

Bruce’s throat is thick, his words unwieldy. “You nearly died,” Bruce croaks. “You were…you weren’t breathing. We needed an ambulance. Otherwise…”

He can’t bring himself to finish. Stupidly, Bruce feels quick heat rising behind his eyes, the threat of tears. Suddenly, he can’t breathe. His hands are shaking so badly. To try to stem the trembling, Bruce clasps them close to his chest. Then he bends over them, pressing his face to Dick’s sternum. His son’s heart thuds beneath his ribs.

“B?” Dick asks, again, voice small and unsure. A hand touches Bruce’s head, nimble fingers threading through his sweaty hair.

“You nearly died,” is all Bruce can manage, muffled against the hospital sheets.

Dick makes a soft sound. He pets at Bruce and a swell of painful affection crashes through Bruce’s chest.

“I’m here,” Dick whispers, voice rough. “I’m still here, B. I’m fine.”

“I know,” Bruce whispers back, but he can’t bring himself to lift his head. The thud of Dick’s heart is too reassuring. He remembers it weak and thready against his fingers. He remembers pressing his face to a shattered chest and hearing nothing but hollow silence.

Dick doesn’t reply, but his hand continues to move against Bruce’s hair. Bruce appreciates the reassurance - the way Dick implicitly understands that Bruce needs to know he’s awake. He’s alive.

They sit like that for long enough that Bruce is surprised Dick doesn’t fall back asleep. Eventually, Jason and Tim return. If they’re surprised by the scene they stumble on - Dick awake but not fully aware, Bruce bent over him like a man at prayer - they make no comment.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Jason says, gruffly. “You nearly gave the old man a heart attack.”

Dick hums. Bruce wants to defend himself, but he can’t seem to dredge up the words.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Dick says, softly. “All of you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Jason says, dismissively.

Bruce remembers the wide, wild look in Jason’s eyes. The way he had snarled at Bruce when he’d first reached Dick’s side.

He doesn’t remind Jason of that.

“Still,” Dick says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Bruce says, finally lifting his head. He cups Dick’s cheek again, fondly. “I’m just glad you’re still here.”

Dick swallows again. Bruce will have to ask Tim or Jason to get some ice.

“Me too,” Dick says. “I’m not going anywhere, B.”

#badthingshappenbingo #bthb #dc #batman #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #my writing #fanfiction #drowning tw #blood tw #injury tw #prompt: cpr

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raith-way · 3 years

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One Step Forward, Three Steps Back

“Sometimes,” Ryan thought as she looked out at the rippling water of the lake, “I miss arguing with Wayne. Things were simpler then.”

No matter what else was going on in her life or on any particular day, Ryan had known exactly who Wayne was and what to expect from him. (That wasn’t true though, was it? Even when goading him and enduring his every word, something had always felt wrong to her. She missed the blissful ignorance of their earliest encounters.) There was a time when she thought she knew Bats, to a limited extent. Some guy in a mask creeping through the dark in a futile effort to make the world better. (Nothing could make the world better, not enough for it to truly count. To truly make a difference.) Everything she thought she knew had been wrong, and now she knew Bruce. He wasn’t so easy to understand. He wasn’t just a combination of Wayne and Bats, but he wasn’t wholly separate either. He was all mixed up, broken pieces crammed into skin just as ruined as hers, and Ryan wanted to protect him.

As the wind picked up outside and caused small waves in the lake, Ryan scoffed at her own thoughts. Whatever changes she had been through, she had no right to protect Bruce. Not from people with cameras who wanted a glimpse of him or the people that wanted to use him for their own benefits. She had no right to protect him from Gotham’s criminals, those that prowled the streets at night while constantly looking over their shoulders for Gotham’s protector. As ridiculous as the notion was, there was something that she could protect Bruce from. Just one simple thing, and she could be selfless enough to do it. That was why she was here, why she had come to the lakehouse. It was why she was standing in the living room, in a neutral space, while she waited for him to come home. He’d told her when he’d be back, apparently telling each other little things like that was something that they did now, and she raised her hand up to press against the tightening of her throat. Felt torn skin, the rough edges of scars, and strengthened her resolve as she heard purposefully loud footsteps. Bruce was making an effort not to startle her. How sweet of him.

“Thought you’d be downstairs,” he said as he crossed into the living room. Yeah, going into Bruce’s underground lair hadn’t been an option. She was going to need to make a quick escape, so she’d stayed in the main part of the house. Ryan wanted to keep watching the lake, the moving water was almost calming, but she lowered her hands to her sides and turned around instead.

“We need to talk,” she told him and immediately winced. Starting this conversation with those words was such a cliché that she hated herself for every syllable, and Bruce had changed since the last time she saw him. This morning, he’d been wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt. All soft cotton. Now he was wearing a tux, that was slowly starting to unravel.

“Nothing good ever comes after those words,” Bruce sighed. His shoulders lifted and fell with the sound, and his black suit jacket slid down his arms. He tossed the jacket onto the nearby couch, without even looking to see if it landed where he intended, and then started working on undoing his cuffs. His bowtie was already loose around his collar, strips of black falling down the white shirt.

“This morning,” she started. For such a large man, he was surprisingly graceful. His fingers moved easily, slipping his cuffs free and then starting to roll his sleeves up. The entire time, his eyes were lifted to look straight at her.

“This morning was, unexpected,” he finally settled on. Unexpected? He had kissed her, like it was a natural thing to do. Like it was right. Had stepped into her space, one hand on her hip and the other reaching past her for his coffee, and she had looked up. Had looked up at him and smiled, because he hadn’t bothered to brush his hair after rising from bed and had looked so wonderfully human standing in his kitchen, and he had kissed her. Soft, warm, right.

“This morning can never happen again.” Her voice was even, tone firm, and his brows raised in question as he propped his hands on his hips. Keeping himself open instead of closed off, showing his willingness to listen to her. She knew that because she knew him.

“Can I ask why?” Bruce rarely asked for explanations. He preferred demands, in all of his different personas. That was something they all had in common. The need to know things.

“I’m not the person you want.” She could see his mind working, going over their late night and early morning conversations, because she was thinking over the same words. Ryan knew Bruce, but he knew her too. “I know you think I am.”

“I know, exactly, who you are.” Bruce’s voice was quiet and harsh, each word like a blow, and she forced herself to keep looking at him. Forced herself to start walking forward, towards him. Forced herself to get within touching distance, and she had to tip her head back to hold eye contact.

“I don’t. After everything, I don’t know who I am anymore,” she admitted. She’d told him once, that she hated that he knew everything about her when she could barely recognize herself at times. She hated him now, because they’d found a balance with each other and he’d ruined it.

“I’m not asking you for anything, Ryan.” His hand raised, like he wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, and she ducked away from his hand. Ignored the quick flash of hurt in his direct eyes and the way his arms crossed over his chest. (Not being defensive, like people assumed the move meant. Protecting himself.)

“The thought will be there, for both of us. The what if? that we can’t answer,” she pointed out. She’d thought of nothing else all day. How easy it would be. How disastrous it would be. Depending on his friendship was already enough to break her. If they ever became anything more? It would destroy her. In the end, he would destroy whatever was left of her. In the end, she would rip apart all his pieces and burn him to ashes.

“You’re running away again.” Bruce’s tone wasn’t accusatory, but her own arms raised to wrap around her stomach anyway. Her own protective stance. Ryan had run from him before. Never from Wayne, never from Bats, but she had run from Bruce. The worst thing? She always came back, like she just couldn’t help herself. Like the person she was now didn’t know how to exist away from him, and that couldn’t be healthy. Hadn’t she promised him that she’d try to take better care of herself? Couldn’t he tell that she was trying to help both of them? “Are you that afraid of being with me?”

“No,” she said in a choked whisper. She kept one arm pressed tight across her stomach as she reached up with her right, until Bruce’s scruff scraped softly against her palm. Her fingertips brushed by his eyes, that soft skin that wasn’t as dark as it used to be, and she hated that he turned into her touch instead of pulling away. “I’m afraid of how much I want to be with you.”

“Then stay here, be with me.” He moved closer with each word, until she could feel the heat of him and smell explosive cologne. Until her bare arm brushed against the soft material of his shirt, because she hadn’t stopped touching him. How could she when he so rarely allowed anyone to really touch him?

“I can do that,” she heard herself say. With Bruce, she might learn how to feel happy again. He’d made her feel when she had been reduced to nothing, so it was possible. She couldn’t be that selfish with him. Ryan, on her bad days, was so filled with anger that she wanted to tear the world apart with her bare hands. On her worst days, she felt nothing at all. Now that she knew every hidden crevice of who Bruce Wayne was, she knew that he deserved better than that. So she forced herself to continue, “But it won’t take long for you to realize this is a mistake.”

“Isn’t that my choice?” was his quick counter. Bruce was always quick, ready for any argument, but he wasn’t going to win this time. Ryan gave herself a moment, let her hand drift down to the side of his throat to feel his strong pulse as her face pushed against the center of his chest to feel the solid strength of him, and she breathed him in. For a single moment, she felt content.

“It’s my decision, and I’m choosing to leave,” she whispered. Her lips brushed across one of the small buttons on his shirt as she spoke, and then she pulled herself away. Slipped around him with ease and walked out of the living room, and she didn’t hear footsteps behind her.

“You can’t run away from all your problems.” Bruce didn’t yell, just raised his voice enough for her to hear him, and she paused. Turning around and walking into Bruce’s arms would be easy, but she wasn’t going to do the easy thing. She was going to do the right thing. She looked over her shoulder, but Bruce hadn’t turned to face her. He was the one looking out at the lake now.

“You’re not a problem, Bruce, and I’m not running. I’m walking,” she said and did just that.

Written For: Angst Prompts by @fyeahsuperverseocs

Angst Prompt: “I’m not the person you want. I know you think I am. But it won’t take long for you to realize this is a mistake.”

Forever Taglist: @jinxsflame @hughstheforcelou @uno-reverse-reversed @hiddenqveendom @asirensrage @ocfairygodmother @jewelswrites-ish @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle

#fyeahsuperverseocs #oc: ryan lopez #ch: bruce wayne #bruce wayne x oc #otp: mutually assured destruction #fic: memento mori #dceu #i split the sentences up #but i think it still works #one day #i'll write something for these two that doesn't hurt #but not today!#this was super fun to do #despite the angst #prompts always help me with inspiration #so i enjoyed this

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hollywillows · 3 years

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last kiss - peter parker x gender neutral!reader

this is a little angsty imagine with a happy ending! the song that inspired this is ‘last kiss’ by taylor swift. i hope you enjoy! my requests for all characters are open <3

peter parker had saved you in more ways than one. true, he was a superhero who saved people all the time, and who had saved your city of queens too many times to count. but he’d also saved you from giving up on yourself, and from giving up on love.

you loved the way he danced, you loved the way he joked and kissed you between your words. you loved the way he shook your father’s hand when he first met him, and you loved the way he was oblivious to how much you loved him.

and that’s what made losing him so much harder.

peter had been your rock for so long, and the two of you seemed unstoppable to the rest of the world. to the other students and midtown tech, you were just the best couple in school. but to those who knew your secret identities, you were both superheroes.

it was peter who had warned you against being a superhero, not because he didn’t think you were capable, but because, at the time, you were still unaware of his newfound powers.

but when you showed up to fight the vulture and you found peter there, the two of you ended up becoming an even stronger duo than you ever could’ve imagined. you ended up on the avengers’ radar, and when you showed up with peter to help stop ebony maw, no one batted an eye.

you’d never been to space before then, but you and peter were both quick to get onto the spaceship tony and doctor strange were on, both wanting to do everything you could to help.

thanos was the last thing you had expected. a big purple man with a gauntlet that held magical stones would’ve seemed outlandish to you until you saw it right before your eyes.

he was powerful, and he knew it, and the avengers being split up didn’t work for your favor. you had almost gotten the gauntlet off of him when peter quill punched him, taking him out of the daze mantis had him under and sending him into an enraged riot.

with his power, you wondered how your small group would be able to fight him if he did manage to get his hands on more of the stones.

you didn’t have to wonder for long, though, when he snapped his fingers. you hadn’t believed until that moment, or maybe you just hadn’t let it sink in, that his goal to wipe out 50% of all living things would work. but as you looked around at the heroes around you fade into dust one by one, your heart sunk.

was this it?

“mr. stark.. i don’t feel so good..” you heard from behind you, your eyes widening as you saw peter stumbling into tony’s arms. “i don’t wanna go, i don’t wanna go!” he mumbled into his shoulder.

tony lay peter down on the ground, hovering over him as you collapsed by peter’s side. “no no no no.” you managed to breathe out, putting a hand on his cheek. “you’re gonna be okay, you’re going to be okay..”

peter leaned up, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before resting his head back on the ground. “i’m sorry.” he said to both you and to tony, looking up solemnly as he, too, turned to dust and ash.

you let out a muffled attempt at a sob, reaching to the ground as if you could pull him back. all that you felt under your fingers was the dust that was once your lover, your body shaking with the violence of your cries. tony wrapped you into his arms as you sobbed, holding onto him for dear life.

“don’t go.. please don’t go..” you said into his shoulder, hoping with everything in you that he wouldn’t leave you too; that he wouldn’t leave you all alone in space.

tony didn’t leave, but your happiness had. when you returned to earth, you felt empty and exhausted. upon finding out that thanos had destroyed the stones, you get all of the remaining hope in your body leave.

you spent five years alone, barely coming out of your room. you’d been unable to come to terms with peter’s death, and you’d never been able to stop blaming yourself for it.

you didn’t think that you’d ever have to say goodbye to peter. you didn’t think you’d ever have a last kiss with him, or have no more time to hear his jokes or see his smile. you would sit on your bedroom floor in his midtown tech sweatshirt, pressing it up to your nose to make sure it still smelled like him. you didn’t know how to get over his death, or how to process it.

when you were told that there was a plan to go back in time and to bring everyone back, you were hesitant. you were scared to get your heart shattered, you were scared that it wouldn’t work, and you were scared that more people would be lost in trying to save those already lost.

but all fears were put to the side as you worked with the rest of the team to gather the stones. you watched hesitantly as bruce snapped his fingers, and you waited for something to happen. “how do we know if it worked?” you asked, looking around the room.

scott lang stood in front of an open window, watching as birds and trees came into view once more. “guys.. i think it worked..” he said in awe before the window blew up.

the compound blowing up should’ve been something you were used to by now, but you had managed to get stuck under some rubble. it was only when steve helped you that you were able to get out, and you made a mental note to thank him if you got out of this alive.

thanos was wait awaited you, and it looked so odd to see only him. thanos looked so weak as he sat in the ruins of what was previously the avengers compound. he had no stones, no power, no gauntlet. but you also didn’t have any gauntlet or stones.

you knew that he was waiting for someone on your team to find the gauntlet for him; you were like sitting ducks.

as each of the avengers were picked off one by one by thanos, you felt your hope start to get smaller and smaller. you used the last of your strength to use your powers on thanos, but you were too weak to be any sort of a match to him, and he flung you across the battlefield.

you landed on your back, coughing up blood and trying to no avail to sit up. you could only listen to steve fight thanos, and when the sound of clanging stopped, you had to assume that steve was dead. you closed your eyes, wondering if you could manifest your own death.

just as you were about to fall asleep from your weakness, a light from above made you slowly blink your eyes back open. a golden circle was in the sky, and you recognized it immediately as doctor stephen strange’s magic. placing a hand on your side, you winced as you sat up.

more circles appeared in the sky, and it was the adrenaline and hope you needed to fill your body up again. you stood up on shaking legs, looking into the sky with a bright smile spreading slowly on your face at the sight of asgardian’s, wizards, and wakandians all appearing in front of you.

one final circle caught your eye, and you watched as drax, starlord, mantis, and doctor strange appeared. then, swinging in came peter, and your heart swelled as he made eye contact with you.

“avengers,” steve said as he stood next to you, “assemble.”

#hollywillows #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker x stark!reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #spiderman

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

Those Who Are Kind

1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (you are here) | next

Summary: Siblings are the last thing on Marinette’s mind as she begins her frantic search for Tikki. Really, she can’t even consider them siblings, not yet. But they’re along for the ride, whether she wants them to be or not.

Duke doesn’t know what to make of the current situation.

He’s always known that the Waynes are crazy, insane, even, but he loves them all the same, in the begrudging, cautious way he cannot shake. (This approach has served him well over the years, allowing him to avoid multiple schemes that Tim or Jason typically start up to rile up Damian. From there, everything is guaranteed to snowball. The only time things get really bad is when Cass gets involved.) To him, it’s always been a bit uncanny how similar all the brothers looked, despite the fact that none of them shared blood. All of them had the same sharp jaw, piercing blue eyes, chiselled cheekbones and defined bodies. Only Tim and Damian differed slightly, with Tim having a dancer’s figure instead of that of a body builder or demolitions expert, and Damian having green eyes instead of blue. It’s also disconcerting that everybody the Waynes are more intimately involved with have some sort of alter ego. He often joked with other members of the Justice League that heroism ran in Bruce’s blood.

With the new addition of Marinette to their family, he has to say that he’s been proven right.

A girl who had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes in any capacity other than the fact that she and Bruce share blood becoming a hero. The leader of a team. Fighting supervillains at the age of thirteen.

He’s very, very glad that he was not adopted by or shared blood with Bruce. He doesn’t think he could have handled being a superhero at age thirteen. He can barely handle being Signal now some days, and he’s an adult. The amount of responsibility on Marinette’s shoulders is difficult to understand. To be the sole wielder of magic that can revert an entire city back to its original state. To bring people back from the dead.

Dick is strangely quiet. A car is driving them from a pit stop near a zeta tube to Marinette’s hospital.

Hands down, Dick is the most sane male of the Wayne family, not including Alfred. But there are times when Duke sees the weight that he carries. All the times that he refuses to talk about the burdens that he bears. Moving forward with a smile when he’s in pain. When he gets in a mood like this, he’s hard to read. But given the circumstances, it’s fairly clear exactly what’s bothering him.

“He’s known about her this entire time,” Dick says, tinted windows allowing Duke a glance at his expression, carefully devoid of any telling emotions. “Nineteen years. He kept her a secret.”

“It’s Bruce.” The man is known for keeping secrets.

“Yeah, but Marinette is family. She should have been, at least. And now…”

Now she’s all alone when she should be surrounded by people that love her, praising her for her victory, for how she shouldered so much responsibility at such a young age. But by bringing her to a hospital in America, she’s been cut off from her team, and any support system she should have had is gone.

“You and her,” Duke says, looking for a way to comfort him. “You’ll get along. You’re similar, after all.” After they brought Gabriel and Lila to the a top security prison and sent Emilie to a hospital that couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, they got two files from Tim. One detailing Ladybug and all of her exploits. The second, detailing Marinette’s life.

Duke has watched the videos. Has watched how Ladybug leads by example, comes up with the plan and begins the execution. How she shoulders more battles than she should.

He’s seen Marinette pull people together with a smile on her face, even while she’s running on empty after a strenuous akuma attack.

Dick and Marinette are alike.

“We’re too much alike,” Dick says. “I suspected for a long time that Bruce had another kid that he wasn’t telling us about, but I thought that if he was keeping her away from us, then maybe she’d have a shot at leading a good life. A normal life. Not the one she got. Sabine’s— Bruce’s biological daughter shouldn’t be somebody like me. She deserves better.”

Duke is acutely aware that Dick’s parents were also murdered, but whatever relation he had with Sabine is something he’s never been willing to talk about. There are pictures in his apartment of a petite Asian woman with a soft smile standing next to him, but whenever asked about her, Dick never gives a straight answer.

“Nobody has the ability to change the past.” Duke claps a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He sags imperceptibly under the weight.

Well— actually, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities, given the fact that magic, aliens, and metahumans all coexisted, supplemented by the fact that multiple members of Marinette’s team do have the ability to travel back in time, but that’s another matter entirely. There’s not a lot of information on the Miraculous, and all of their knowledge is coming from Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Zatara, and even the three of them don’t know everything.

“But you have the chance to do good by her. Be a good older brother, like I know you are.”

A thin smile appears on Dick’s face. “She’s going to need more than just one good influence on her life. And Damian is better, but you saw how he looked at her when Bruce brought her through the Zeta tubes. Tim’s not going to react well either, and Jason is a wild card. She’s not going to get the support she needs if she stays with us.”

Duke crosses his arms, knees brushing up against the back of the car seat. “The only person whose actions you’re responsible for are your own. Don’t worry about them. If they don’t like her, they’ll just avoid her.”

That’s certainly not true— all of the members of the Wayne family are notorious for going hard after all of the things they don’t like. But... it’s comforting to hear. Sometimes temporary and known lies are much nicer than harsh realities.

She’s gone.

All of her belongings are missing, the IV needle is hanging from the stand, the window open, and Marinette is missing from her bed.

At least she left a note?

Be back soon — Marinette

“Great,” Duke mutters under his breath. “Another incredibly vague, cryptic Wayne.”

Dick’s face turns to ash. “Her legs. Her head. She can’t go out so soon. Hold on, maybe Barbara can pull up some footage.”

“On the bright side, there’s no blood,” Duke says.

“That’s not a bright side.”

“It is,” Duke argues. “She fell in the worst places possible, right on top of that broken glass casket. If she’s not bleeding that clearly means she didn’t pull her stitches on her mad escape out.”

When Ladybug fell, they’re not exactly sure what happened, because the screen showed Ladybug collapsing almost gracefully. When they arrived on the scene, she flickered between Ladybug and Marinette as her earrings beeped. Her legs were slashed from falling on the glass with a seemingly unnatural force— simply falling would not have garnered cuts that large— and her head was twisted at an odd angle, debris bloodied beneath her.

Somehow, the Miraculous Cure seemed to be working backwards. Not from the epicenter out, but rather from the edge of the damage, in. It worked slowly, every mile taking minutes instead of mere seconds. It hadn’t happened before in any of the battles.

It was useful in apprehending Hawkmoth and Pavona, who were still knocked out. But Marinette, even after the Miraculous Cure washed over her, didn’t get healed. Her injuries didn’t revert. There was still a gash on her stomach from Hawkmoth’s cane, still muscles exposed on the back of her legs and blood on her neck. When she was first brought in, the doctors feared that she may be permanently incapacitated.

Good at keeping to her word at least. She came swinging through the window with worry on her face and grief in her eyes.

“I need to go back to Paris,” she says.

Dick will undoubtedly say no. He’s a very protective person, and Marinette is the center of his current efforts.

But she doesn’t look injured. He eyes her stance. She’s standing with no effort, walks with no limp. No hospital dress, no blood on her neck, no bruises in all of the places he was expecting them to be. Marinette does not look like she just faced a world ending threat less than twenty four hours ago. She certainly doesn’t look like she’s permanently lost the use of her legs. There’s the familiar Wayne Brand Stubbornness in her eyes— no way she’s not Bruce’s kid— that tells him that she’s going to get to Paris one way or another, and that they’re either lucky they were even notified in the first place or that she wants to use a resource that they have that she does not have access to. It’s fairly obvious what that resource is, considering that Paris is nine hours away by any normal plane and it sounds like she wants to get there in minutes, and not hours. Duke also knows that if they don’t take what she’s offering now, she’ll use an alternative method that definitely won’t be as nice or clear cut.

He jumps in before Dick can say anything. “We’ll take you as long as we go with you every step of the way.”

Oh, he’s going to get in so much trouble for doing this. Dick is looking at him with his Disapproving Dad glare, and he can imagine Bruce going into brooding silence when he hears that Duke allowed this to happen.

Marinette’s lips pinch together, but she nods. “Where’s the nearest zeta tube?”

Barbara gets Dick’s text and sighs in frustration.

She’s already got her hands full with watching Tim, who’s spiralling trying to find information about the Miraculous, muttering under his breath in the way he does when he gets a particularly hard case to crack. He’s gone through six cups of coffee in the last hour, and he kicked off his research with a combination of 5 Hour Energy, Monster, three packets of sugar, and 10 caffeine shots. Soon, she’ll have to start limiting his caffeine intake, but right now it’s clear that any attempt to get him to stop his research now will fail spectacularly. At least she’s not in charge of Damian and Jason. Wherever they are, they’re definitely on the move and not happy.

She never thought she'd be able to say she’s happy about being paralyzed from the waist down, but she certainly doesn’t want to be chasing after one of the two hellions. Cass definitely has her hands full and whoever’s watching Jason— wait, is anybody even watching Jason? Typically Roy gets stuck with Jason-sitting duty, but he’s been out for a while.

Barbara groans. Jason is probably on his own, wreaking havoc.

Great.

She’ll deal with that later, even though she has no doubt she’ll regret that decision, but if Marinette is gone from her room, Dick needs the footage, and somebody needs to find where she is. The nurse put in her latest report that her legs were almost healed and that she didn’t show any signs of a concussion, but Marinette was in bad shape when she got admitted to the hospital. Even though Barbara doubts that there was any misdiagnosis, given that Bruce sprung for a VIP room in one of the pricier hospitals, in a world where magic and aliens are present, who knows what’s true or not.

“Tibet!” Tim jumps up from his hunched over position for the first time in hours. “I’m going to Tibet, the closest zeta tubes are three hours by car away, but I can get somebody to loan Wayne Industries a helicopter while I’m over there.”

“Sit down, Tim.” Barbara takes her glasses off and pinches the bridge of her nose. Why can’t Bruce rein in his children? Why is she the one stuck babysitting? “Marinette left her hospital room.”

That certainly gets Tim to put the brakes on his movements towards the zeta tube in the bat cave.

“What?”

“I said, she left her hospital room. Just sit down while I send the information over. It’s not going to do you any good to rush into things anyways.”

A quick review of the surrounding CCTV shows that Marinette didn’t travel far, just around the hospital. She’s looking for something, calling out for it, too. Barbara grabs that file and slows it down so she can read her lips. “Dickie? Do she and Dick know each other already?”

A quick text back to Dick reveals that Marinette has already returned to the room and—

Oh, hell.

“Well,” Barbara pushes her laptop away from her, letting Tim watch the files she’s pulled up. “It looks like we’re taking a family trip to Paris.”

Somehow, Marinette almost manages to lose all four of them within the first four minutes of roaming around Paris.

Luckily, their family has an almost absurd amount of luck between all of them (not all of it good) and the person Barbara was half sure she could only find in prison, beating up Hawkmoth and Pavona, runs into Marinette on the streets and herds her back to them.

“Lose something?” Jason asks, arm slung around Marinette’s shoulder, the smaller, younger girl looking rather upset at having her plans thrown off.

“I told them that they could follow me,” Marinette argues without much real bite. It’s not my fault if they can’t keep up, is the clear meaning of her statement.

Again, Barbara is very impressed that the barely nineteen year old somehow managed to shake off vigilantes with decades of experience with ease. But it is, at least, partially due to her disability. Every time she goes out in her wheelchair, her heart aches a little, especially as the civilians she passes eye her with pity. Barbara doesn’t want pity. Doesn’t need pity. She shouldn’t feel anything when people look at her like she can’t keep up, because she can keep up.

Most of the time, anyways.

It doesn’t matter how she uses her tech skills to modify her wheelchair and deck it out with all the equipment she could ever need, or that she can easily get up to speeds rivalling sports cars for short periods of time before the power runs out. When she’s stuck in her wheelchair, she loses the maneuverability she had when she wasn’t paralyzed.

She couldn’t follow Marinette through the alleyways because she was stuck. Barbara was the one who noticed her escape first. If only she were more capable, she could have—

But it’s okay now. Jason ran into her. Marinette is back with them.

“I need to search for something, and none of you can help.” She’s not intentionally being rude when she says it, and if anything, sounds apologetic. Barbara sees the similarities between Marinette and Bruce. It makes a lot of sense that the two of them are father and daughter, when the two of them are so insistent on keeping major issues to themselves. Marinette twists herself out from underneath Jason’s arm, clutching her purse. Her head doesn’t move, but her eyes are wild.

“We can help,” soothes Duke, ever the voice of reason. “You know who we are.”

“And I’m guessing you’ve all either deduced who I am or have been told my identity,” counters Marinette. “Which means you should know why I can’t have you helping me.”

Barbara and Duke exchange pointed glances.

“That’s not really clear to us, actually,” says Barbara. Marinette isn’t moving, but the way her shoulders tense makes her believe that the younger girl is ready to run at the drop of a hat.

A small group of people from the parade on the streets tumbles into the alleyway they’re resting in. They smell like cheap booze and sweat.

“What are all of you doing in this alley?” one says, after he finished vomiting up his last (very colorful) meal. “You should be out there partying with the rest of us! Celebrating Ladybug and her team.”

“Fuck Hawkmoth and Pavona,” says another solemnly, with neon face paint and pigtails with glitter string intertwined. “Their defeat should be celebrated by even the darkest souls.”

Jason, easily amused by their antics, looks very willing to join them. “Yeah Marinette, we should be celebrating Ladybug not—”

As one, everybody looks at the place where Marinette was, just moments ago. The alley is decidedly empty of a small asian girl with blue eyes and pigtails.

“Fuck,” Jason curses.

“Fuck is right,” Duke agrees, placing a hand over his temple.

Marinette manages to disappear for three hours.

Three full hours.

“She’s good,” Tim says, typing into the holographic computer embedded into his sleeve.

Paris’ CCTVs are painfully easy to hack into, though he suspects that the lack of attention to them may have to do with the fact that everybody in the city is celebrating. Policemen, politicians, artists, students, scientists— people from all walks of life are in the streets today, screaming and shouting and being free for the first time in years.

He spies more than just a few dozen people bawling their eyes out within a few minutes. But that’s not surprising, considering how long Parisians have had to suppress their emotions for.

Dick and Barbara are still in the midst of profiling Marinette, trying to determine the most likely places where she’d stop by, either as Ladybug or herself. All of Ladybug’s usual haunts are decidedly devoid of the young heroine, though Tim does manage to catch a good amount of footage of the other young heroes like Carapace and Rena Rouge, who are most definitely in a relationship based on their makeout session on top of the eiffel tower (one of the first places Tim checked), Viperion, who seems to be the only one from Ladybug’s team to be seeking out the crowd which seems rather atypical considering that the hero never frequented interviews or was spotted on news coverage all that frequently, and Chat Noir and Queen Bee who Jason insisted were in a relationship as well, though the rest of them believed they were only embracing each other out of comfort— Chat Noir looks like he’s been crying for hours, and Queen Bee looks like she’s barely holding it together.

Ryuko has not shown up on camera once today. Neither has Ladybug.

The second place Tim checks is the bakery. She is not there either, though another girl is. It doesn’t seem like the girl has any ill intent, but Duke is more than happy to pull up past files to see if she’s been there before, if she has any reason to be there, and who exactly she is.

Just as Barbara and Dick are debating the chances that Marinette would be at Le Grande Paris, she walks past one of the cameras focused on Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie. Tim has the system rigged up so that any facial matches for Marinette automatically alerts the room. He hadn’t been able to replicate that with Ladybug’s face for some bizarre reason which is why he, Barbara, Dick, and Jason are manually combing through the areas where Dick and Barbar think she may be (magic is why, but Tim has always believed that technology can be used against and with most forms of magic) so it’s lucky that she enters as Marinette.

“Kagami Tsurugi,” Duke says triumphantly. “She visited often when Tom and Sabine were still alive. Potential candidate to represent France or Japan for Sabre in the next Olympics. Definitely friends with Marinette.”

“Thank God,” sighs Dick. “Now let’s get over there.”

It’s truly, truly unfortunate that they set up shop quite a distance away from the bakery.

They take too long to arrive.

Perhaps it was a mistake, telling Kagami first.

No, not just perhaps. It was a mistake. A bad one.

But Kagami was pushing so hard, and Marinette was so tired and so alone without Tikki at her side, without the knowledge that her parents would be waiting for her. Kagami pushed and pushed and pushed about why the house felt so empty, why there was dust on the floor, why the bakery was closed for so long, and where were Tom and Sabine? Why weren’t they there for the team yesterday, when the battle was won, when they knew how important it was to be there for Adrien who had just lost all three of his parental figures?

The moment the words fall from Marinette's lips, she knows she shouldn’t have revealed it at that moment, because Kagami draws in on herself, lips turning downwards, hands curling into fists.

Kagami has come a long way from the girl she was in lycèe. The thrill of victory is still something she enjoys, but not something she needs to feel secure in her place in the world. She has trouble expressing her emotions, but when it comes down to it, she communicates everything necessary to understand why.

With the news of Tom and Sabine’s death, she withdraws into herself, shifts back into that thirteen year old Marinette first met. Logic and rationale thrown to the wind in favor of cold anger.

It’s no secret that Ryuko, Ladybug, and Viperion are the main strategists of their team. Viperion, out of his duty of using Second Chance and his ability to keep a level head in the face of constant death. Ladybug out of necessity as her position as team leader and the power of Lucky Charm. Theoretically, the two of them should have been enough. But over the years, Kagami became Marinette's favored confidante; though Ladybug trusts all of her team to keep a tight hold on any information she gives them, Kagami is one of the few who is able to pick apart a given situation and transform the monsters they face into manageable pieces.

Today, it is Kagami who has broken to pieces. Very angry, razor sharp shards that seek to hurt.

“You lie to the media, tell them a pretty tale of how they died due to a break in. Why do you avoid pinning their deaths on Lila as you should? To absolve a quality woman from guilt?”

Marinette can’t look Kagami in the eyes.

Her parents deserved a peaceful death. To pass on in old age, hand in hand. Not looking on as a family member died, in fear of what would happen next for their daughter.

“The police know. The judges know,” Marinette protests weakly, but without much eight behind her words.

Kagami just scoffs. “Tom and Sabine were kind people. To not tell the media what truly happened— that’s preventing Lila from getting the full force of what’s coming to her. What happens if she gets out of prison one day? Without any real deaths to her name, she could just flee to another country to escape it all. And when another person loses their life because of her…”

She doesn’t need to finish her sentence. If somebody else gets injured in any way, shape or form at the hands of Lila Rossi, it’s Marinette’s fault. Marinette gets what Kagami is trying to say. She thinks the same thing, after all.

“My parents would not want their death publicized in that manner.” It’s the truth, but it’s said so weakly that the words come off as little more than a weak defense, and Kagami takes the words and twists their truth.

“You know little of your parents, considering that you’re their daughter.” Kagami stands stock still, not a single extra muscle moving. “Perhaps if you spent more time with them as Marinette instead of unsuccessfully gallivanting around as Ladybug, you’d have realized that Tom and Sabine admire truth above all else, even if it is painful.”

Kagami does not ask a single question about where Marinette was last night, or how Marinette felt over the loss of her parents or when she saw all those she held dear lying still on the ground after Hawkmoth and Pavona’s final attacks. She just purses her lips and sweeps out the door.

And then she’s gone, and Marinette is alone once more.

The bakery is bone-achingly quiet.

Every step Marinette takes creates such a disturbance in the peace that moving hurts.

But she can’t stay here. She can’t stay here. She does not deserve to stay here. Kagami is right. Marinette was a bad daughter. She could have prevented their death, could have given them justice sooner, could have—

And Marinette can’t breathe. She tries to, she tries so hard to, but she chokes.

She kneels down on the floor— Kagami is right again, the place is dusty, because Marinette couldn’t bring herself to use the living room and kitchen without her parents, could barely bring herself to sleep in her bedroom because she knew that her parents were not sleeping soundly in the bed below hers— and scrabbles at her throat, vision coming in and out.

Her legs burn. She knows that during the final battle, her legs were cut towards the end of it, and they should be healed, she should be okay now, she’s better than this, she’s—

Somebody gathers her in their arms. They smell slightly of Lotus flowers, just like Maman, and cradle her ever so gently.

Marinette’s eyes open— black hair, greyish eyes filled with understanding and love and—

She can breathe again.

She falls asleep.

“Cass?” Dick’s eyes widen at her unexpected appearance at Marinette’s home.

“I thought you were on Damian guard duty,” Barbara says, fixating on the red around Marinette’s eyes and the barely dried tear tracks on her face.

“Where’s that Kagami girl?” Jason scuffs his shoes on the hardware floor, silently marking the footprints on the floor and getting a general idea of what occurred before they were able to get here based on Marinette’s current state and the other girl’s absence. “I want to have some words with her.”

Cass inclines her head sharply, eye sparking with anger. Jason’s fists rise unconsciously— Cass rarely gets angry, and whenever she gets angry at a specific person, that means they’ve done something very, very wrong— ready to hunt down Kagami. Marinette sniffles and shifts in Cass’ one armed embrace, to which Cass places a finger over her lip and shakes her head, a universal sign to be quiet.

Jason scowls but settles down.

They’re quiet as they wait for Marinette to wake.

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip @theunquiet-dead @sleep-deprived-aroace @enternalempires @lilkymilky @woe-is-me0 @officiallydarkgeek @miyla-lokidottir @queencommonsense @demonicbusiness @iamablinkmarvelarmy

@emark7 (i will have the edited version of these on ao3 eventually but i think the link to ch 1 on this one works)

where i ended this doesn’t feel very good but ehhhhhhhhhh my writing process is summary then word vomit that barely correlates which means nothing makes sense unless i edit but looking back at my work makes me cringe so at a crossroads yayyy

also can you guys tell which prompts ive written these for because i’m curious

#bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio!dad bruce #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #duke thomas #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #barbara gordon #tim drake #cassandra cain #batfam

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