Tumgik
#dcu fanfiction
cas-backwards-tie · 10 months
Text
Heiress Of Gotham Masterlist
Tumblr media
Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader
Summary: After the sudden loss of your mother to mysterious circumstances, you’re claimed by a father you didn’t know you had: Bruce Wayne. If it isn’t bad enough that you’re complete strangers to one another, your world is flipped upside down with all the changes said to come with the Wayne name. What’s worse is that you’re not so sure your mother’s death was an accident.
Warnings: Angst, Anti-Police themes, Cursing, Depression themes, Negativity, Numbness, Disassociation, Depression, Existentialism, Cursing, Misandry, Crying, Suicidal Thoughts (if u squint), Yelling, Outbursts, Injury, Blood, Catcalling, Threats, Funeral, Knives, Fighting, Panic Attacks, Shame, Guilt, Fight or Flight, Spying, Voyeurism, Flirting
Mentions of: Death, Suicide, Body Fluids, Bodies, Sex Trafficking, Criminal Activities, Drug Busts, Prostitution, Assassins,
Part One Chapters: Seed Uprooted | Cruel New World | Memories Embarked | Desolate Days | Threatened to Reset | Summer of a Lifetime | Uncharted Territory | Reckless Decisions & Dancing | Fake Dates & Milkshakes | Revenge and Retribution
479 notes · View notes
dxckgrxsonx · 2 years
Text
Quiet Realisations (i)
Pairing - Jason Todd X (F) Reader (Friends to Lovers) Words - 2.6k Warnings - Fluff - Angst - Forehead Kisses - Platonic Affection - Jason Cries - Comfort - Domestic!Jason - Reader plays with Jason’s hair - Swearing. Notes - I’m trapped in a glass case of emotion. This is going to be a series because I have so many different scenes planned out for the Friends to Lovers trope. Plus I wanted to try and write something that would challenge me a little, personally, I don’t think fluff is my strong point. Hope you enjoy!! 💕
Tumblr media
PART TWO // MASTERLIST
**
‘There's something in your throat that wants to get out and you won’t let it.’
**
You swear it’s not a big deal.
There’s a lump lodging itself in the back of your throat and you find that no matter how hard you try, you can’t quite swallow it down. Fingers shaking like you’re holding onto something heavy, something so scorching hot that you’re convinced it’s going to burn a hole straight through the palm of your hand.
Part of you wants to drop it, nudge it under the sofa and forget about it, pretend it isn’t there–almost like kicking a rouge ice cube under the fridge in the kitchen. But you can’t forget it, can’t swallow the lump from your throat or clip a leash around that endless softness stirring in the pit of your stomach.
It’s not a big deal.
You’ve been close friends for a while now, you know in the back of your head that this is the next logical step forwards.
But god fucking help you, it feels like you’re offering up your soul on a plate.
**
He’s been here since before dawn.
The latch on your window remains slightly ajar. You find that something in the back of your head protests when you try to close it, digs its heels into the ground and refuses point blank to budge, even though you know that if you were to close it, he would still find his way in.
Something about letting him know that he’s always welcome. That if you close it, it sends him a certain message.
You’ve long since grown accustomed to the quiet click of your window as it opens. Memorised the almost silent pattern of footsteps as someone pads through your living room towards the bathroom. It used to fill you with dread, have you flaring awake neck deep in fight or flight and scrambling for your phone, a weapon, something to offer protection.
But recently, you’ve found that subconsciously your brain no longer registers the noise as a threat.
Still, you always make an effort to wake up, to check for injuries, to make sure he’s okay.
More than once he’s come tumbling through your window gasping for breath, weak, barely conscious and bleeding.
You remember the first few times that happened, the utter panic, the absolute shot of adrenaline punching fiercely through your ribs when you wake to the sound of his body hitting the floor like a complete deadweight.
After the first time, you started stashing first aid kits throughout the apartment. Sometimes you find yourself reaching for the one next to your bed in your sleep, would wake up with the kit clenched tight between your fingers like a lifeline.
Thankfully, this time he’s fine, and you were awake for a mere few minutes before he told you to go back to sleep with that small, tired smile you love so much.
You’ll never admit it.
Not to god, not under torture, not even to your own reflection in the mirror.
But you didn’t sleep until you heard him settle on your sofa and go quiet. You’ve always been more content with the knowledge that he was safe and comfortable than losing a few minutes of extra sleep.
Jason would never admit it either, but he knows that you stay awake and wait for him to drift off. Has known for months that on those nights where he comes to you, you lie in your bed and listen out for him until you’re convinced he’s okay.
You care in quiet ways.
Like stashing first aid kits in your apartment, leaving the latch on the window un-done, and waiting, soft and tired, for him to fall asleep first.
**
You pad into the living room quietly.
Beelining for the kitchen you smother a yawn into your fist and chance a split second glance to the lump on your sofa. There’s an involuntary quirk of your lips when your eyes settle on him, gaze cataloguing the lazy sprawl of his limbs and the way his hair peeks out at odd angles from underneath the blanket.
Grabbing the sight with both hands you tuck it away, ease it warm and gentle between the smooth curve of your ribs. You exhale—maybe in relief at the sight of him, safe and alive and uninjured for once.
Or maybe, you exhale because looking at him, curled up under your blanket–in your home–is making you a little dizzy.
You breathe oxygen back into your lungs quietly and almost miss the slight change in his breathing. For one horrible moment you think you may have woken him. Jason has always been sensitive to people’s eyes on him, even when he’s sleeping.
You wonder sometimes, if he ever truly gets to rest. 
Grabbing something to eat you wander back, and pull up short when you feel his gaze on you. There’s a strange look on his face you don’t see often, a flicker of something opening, it’s almost like looking at your window in the early hours of the morning, cracked open at the bottom and letting the cold air sweep in.
“Hey.” You smile, voice soft with sleep.
A small smile tips up Jason’s mouth in return and you find that your goddamn traitorous heart skips a beat.
Plonking yourself down directly on Jason’s stomach you take a big bite of your cereal bar and turn your head to glance at him, “You’re not very comfortable.”
Shifting so he lays flat on his back Jason grunts and plucks the cereal bar straight out of your greedy fingers, “Good. I hope sitting on me brings you incredible pain.” Shovelling the rest of the bar into his mouth he throws the wrapper at the side of your head.
Rolling your eyes you sweep the wrapper onto the floor, “Real mature.”
Shuffling around you settle with your thighs bracketing Jason’s hips. Smothering another yawn into your hands you squint when a beam of early morning sunlight streaks through your curtains and into your eyes.
Resting on your knees you lean over Jason’s head to tug them closed. Curling your fingers into the rough fabric you wobble, slightly unbalanced before firm fingers skirt over your ribcage and hold you in place.
There’s a flutter of your pulse at the feel of Jason's warm hand cupping your side. His thumb strokes gently over the curved bones and part of you feels like you’re going to turn to liquid and slip straight through his fingers.
You swallow and your voice comes out thick, “Thanks.”
Jason tightens his grip, “No problem.”
Leaning back and settling into place once more you stare at Jason’s hair, the strands sticking out at various angles from where it’s been trapped under his helmet on patrol, then ruffled as he’s slept. Your fingers itch with the urge to comb through the messy strands, mouth pressing into a barely controlled line.
“Jay,” You start, and you feel his attention swing to you. Humming non-sequentially as an answer he waits patiently, eyes slipping shut. “Can I please, please, please sort your hair out. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning.”
One side of his mouth hooks up in a crooked grin, one eye opening and flicking upwards, “You think mine is bad? You should look at yours.”
“You first.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, almost like you’ve wounded him, but he nods non-the-less.
Reaching out tentatively, you brush through the bone white streak first, fingers catching in the tangles and tugging them loose. Using your free hand you cup Jason’s face, thumb resting along his strong jawline to keep his head still as your other hand slowly works through his hair.
Pulling at a particularly stubborn knot Jason hisses through his teeth.
“Be quiet,” You mumble, slightly distracted, focused. “M’almost done, two more minutes, okay?” You feel his eyebrow quirk up against the pads of your fingers and a stupid smile curves your lips. “Put that thing down or so help me.”
Jason laughs and you feel the vibrations through your thighs, “Y’don’t scare me.”
It’s involuntary. You do it without thinking. In the back of your head, you wonder if someone has gone in and switched off half of your brain, the part that controls critical thinking. It’s knee jerk, reflective in that strange way people can do things on autopilot.
You pull his hair.
And witness something incredible.
Jason chokes back a groan, the sound trapped and desperate behind his teeth. His pupils blow wide, pretty colour swallowed by something heated, something you’ve never been before. Your breath comes out short, you feel almost giddy at his reaction, like you’re on top of the goddamn world.
Going to open his mouth you move your thumb from his jaw and press it against his plush lips, “Shush, I warned you. Now let me finish.”
Without missing a beat Jason bites your thumb, teeth sinking in hard enough to leave a perfect indent behind. His eyes are almost glittering and you grab his jaw between your thumb and forefinger.
“Todd,” You growl, squeezing tightly enough to get your message across. “Stop being a child.”
Holding him in place you comb your fingers through his hair one last time, satisfied as your fingers run through without catching on any tangles. Tugging at the white streak you twist the strands around your finger until it falls in a perfect little curl.
“There,” You declare, letting him go and leaning back. “Pretty as a picture.”
**
Standing side by side in the kitchen you and Jason work together to clean and dry the dishes. Looking over at him out of the corner of your eye you can’t help but think that domesticity suits him.
Sure, you’ve seen him decked out in his full Red Hood gear, kevlar plates, holsters filled with guns and a scary amount of knives tucked in his combat boots. You’ve seen him tall and broad shouldered and dangerous. But there’s something soft, something aching like a day old bruise at the sight of him in sweatpants and a hoodie helping you wash the dishes.
He suits being soft.
Jason fits into your space like a perfect puzzle piece, slots into the gap you never noticed was missing. He tucks his various angles into your home without a scratch and scathingly, you realise he’s managed to fold himself up small and quiet beside your heart.
Forearm deep in hot soapy water your eye catches his sleeve slipping.
Dropping the cloth from your hands you lean over and push his sleeve back into place, making sure to fold the elastic over his elbow so it doesn’t slip down again. A quick, pleased hum rumbles through your chest and you go back to drying the dishes again without a word.
“Thanks.” Jason mumbles.
There's something different in his voice but you can’t pinpoint what it is, his words are a little thicker than normal, his accent slightly more noticeable. You realise then, that he’s stopped what he’s doing. Goosebumps prickle over his skin and you think he’s cold, think that the slight breeze from the unlatched window in your living room is making him chilly.
A few weeks ago, whilst you were on your way home from work, you stopped to get something, something that at the time didn’t seem like such a big deal. It’s a practical gift, it’s nothing massively important or sentimental.
But it means something.
“Oh, no problem.” You answer, grabbing the next dish from the pile. “What time are you heading out?”
“Trying to get rid of me?” Jason grins, but you see the quick flash of uncertainty across his face. You find yourself wanting to soothe it as quickly as possible.
“Nah, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” Putting away the dried dishes and cutlery you press your hip into the counter. “Jus’ curious that's all. Do I have enough time to grab a shower?”
“Yeah.”
Suddenly leaning forwards Jason reaches out, and tenderly tucks a flyway strand of hair behind your ear. His hand, warm from the water lingers by your face, in a moment of weakness he cups your cheek and smooths his thumb across the skin under your eye.
“M’sorry for waking you up.” He whispers and you shake your head.
“You’ve nothing to apologise for, Jason.” There’s a firmness to your voice that doesn’t come out often. “I don’t mind one bit. I’d rather you come here than anywhere else.” Grabbing his wrist, you press your fingers against his pulse point, feeling the quick thud thud thud of his heartbeat. “I mean it, you don’t ever have to be sorry about coming here.”
Jason nods, and you watch as he swallows before letting his hand drop away.
Silently, you mourn the loss of his warmth.
**
Dressed in his Red Hood gear minus the helmet Jason waits by the window.
The latch remains undone, and you feel the chill of Gotham sweep through the apartment as soon as you open your bedroom door. Clenched tight in your hand is the thing you stopped for weeks ago. It’s sat in your bedside table for almost a week straight and every time you’ve thought about it you’ve tried to say it's not a big deal.
But it is a big deal.
Part of you wants to swallow it, maybe throw it away and forget you ever went out of your way to get it. But that other part, the soft part that brushes up against that quiet folded person beside your heart, protests the very thought of throwing it away.
Coming to a stop in front of him you fight to find your voice, “I’ve got something for you.” You start, and your voice shakes. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, okay?”
Jason does a funny thing then, he reaches for you, then yanks himself back.
“Okay.”
Unfurling your fist, you grip the object between your trembling fingers and hold it out.
A key for your apartment.
Jason studies your face intently and you notice that his hands are shaking slightly.
“Thought it would be easier for you than climbing through my window. M’not exactly on the ground floor.” You know your voice sounds unsure, a note of nervousness settling heavy like a stone on your tongue. “You don’t have to take it, okay? I just–”
Your words trail off. It feels like you’re prying open your ribs.
“I just want you to know that you can come here whenever you want, for however long you want.” You open your mouth to speak again but your throat closes up, you think you’re on the verge of crying. “This can–”
Jason looks into your eyes, his face is serious but his dark lashes are wet.
You swallow, “This can be your home too.”
He takes the key from your fingers and folds it tight into his fist, like he never wants to let it go. There’s a split second where everything is silent, it’s as if someone sucked the air from the room and left you in freefall. The next Jason is saying your name, his voice wet and shaking.
“I don’t–”
“It’s okay.” You smile softly when his voice breaks. “Hey. It’s okay, I promise.”
Stepping forwards you reach out with both hands and take his face between your palms. His skin is warm and you fight back the tears building along your lashes when Jason closes his eyes, and lets his tears spill down his cheeks and over your fingers.
“Oh sweetheart,” You breathe, “It’s okay.”
Thumbing them away you tip his head down and press a tender kiss to his forehead.
It’s not a big deal.
But it is.
**
2K notes · View notes
jasntodds · 9 months
Text
Too Heavy | J.T.
Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader
Request: @just-lost-inbetween-worlds​ : Can I get Jason Todd (doesn’t matter which version) with the prompts: bloodied knuckles, wiping the others tears away, as well as crying into their chest. Maybe bloodied knuckles bcs of punching something in a mental breakdown and then the rest happens.  Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompts
Summary: Sometimes things get a little too heavy for Jason
Warnings: Angst, blood, mentions of death, mental breakdown, hurt/comfort
Words: 2,802
A/n: I was listening to a lot of Too Heavy by The Plot In You while I wrote this so here we are lol If you wanna be added to my tag list, click the link below, send me an ask, or comment!! You can also follow my library blog @peteprkerlibrary​ !! If you like this, please reblog it and/or talk to me about it!!
masterlist | request info | tag list
Tumblr media
Everyone has bad days. They come and they go. It gets better. It always gets better. But for Jason, his bad days are sometimes so rough and harsh, the world collapses from under him. He falls through the cracks into a black abyss, surrounded by every failure he’s ever had. He falls and falls and falls until he finally hits the bottom and the wind is sucked from his lungs in a hard smack. Leaving him alone in the pitch black coldness. Today is one of those days.
He’s just gotten back from patrol and he was quiet not to wake you. He walks steadily to the bathroom but his thoughts are circling the drain. Every step he takes is like twenty pounds added to his ankles and another thought joins the damned ride. Jason’s chest grows heavy as he finally reaches the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.
The worst nights of patrol involve kids and tonight did. It’s always the most innocent of people that get to him. Most nights, he can handle it because it’s part of the job. It’s one of the reasons he puts the helmet on every night. But tonight is different. Tonight is different because it didn’t have the hopeful ending it should have and it’s not fucking fair.
Jason’s hands grip the bathroom counter so hard he thinks he might shatter it in his palms. He almost hopes he does. He looks at himself in the mirror, his back slightly hunched over and he looks hollow. A discarded shell of who he should have been. And he can’t stand it. His head spins while his eyes slam shut and his grip tightens harder against the cool stone.
His chest starts to heave as his breathing quickens. His chest grows heavy and he wants to start ripping out every single one of his organs in hopes it’ll lift some of the weight. The heaviness is suffocating and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think this would be his end.
But he knows better.
And this is the never-ending hell he’s trapped in while the inability to save the kids tonight triggers memories to flood back like overflowing rivers in a flash flood.
There’s the echo of metal on concrete seeping into his blood stream and that menacing laugh that never should be called a laugh beats against his eardrum. The feeling of the panic he felt that day wraps him in a cruel and painful hug as if to be living off of his inability to breathe properly. Images of the Joker and the look on his mom’s face flash across his eyes and he can’t take the heaviness of it all anymore.
The grief he suffers with is nearly paralyzing and it is agonizing. They say grief gets better but when is it that supposed to happen? Because it’s been years and he can’t breathe and he wants to rip his lungs out of his chest just to feel anything other than this. He was just a kid.
Jason was a just a kid.
Tears burn his eyes, one slipping by and sliding down his cheek and he grits his teeth so hard they nearly shatter under the pressure. All he wants is for it all to stop for even a second. He wants one damn second of relief.
He looks up at his own reflection once more and he can see some bruising from last week and he hates it. The white streak in his hair almost seems whiter in the light of the bathroom and he hates it. He hates it. He hates it and he can’t do it. He punches the mirror in a quick motion, just once and it shatters into the sink and over the counter.
“Fuck.” Jason groans because he knows it was loud and he can’t stop the tears now. They’re drenching his face and his breathing is racing, quivering.
Blood spills into the sink as Jason hovers his shaking hand over it. Not a single part of him even cares or pays the stinging any mind. All he can do is try his best to breathe and shake his thoughts away but nothing works. They’re still there. Flashing across his eyes like lightning in the middle of a raging storm.
His legs start to feel weak as if he’s just gotten done running for miles on end. It’s getting harder to stand the more he tries to fight his own breath and thoughts. His head spins and he his stomach turns and twists into gnawing nausea. And he can’t even be bothered to stand anymore because that is just getting too damn hard too. His own body is growing too heavy with every passing thought and he swears that’s some sort of cruel joke.
Jason sits on the floor against the counter, hanging his head and pulling his knees up to his chest. Tears fall down his cheeks and he tries to fight them off with every thought he has but nothing works. They fall anyway, staining his cheeks in a wet mess.
“Jason?” You call from outside the door. 
The shattering of glass woke you up and for a few seconds, you thought someone had actually broken in. And you were nearly frozen, stuck thinking if you had a weapon of any sort in the bedroom you could use. But then those seconds faded and you didn’t hear footsteps or shuffling through the apartment. You didn’t hear anything and when you checked the time to see it was after three, you knew.
“Jay?” You call again, knocking on the door gently when he doesn’t answer.
Your groggy voice breaks his heart. He never meant to wake you up.
Jason slides his hands over his face and clears his throat. “Go back to bed, sweetheart.” Jason tries to stabilize his voice but you can hear the weakness and quiver. He’s mastered the art of hiding pain but not disguising the pain of crying.
Taking the knob in your hand, you twist it slowly, gently pushing the door open. You spot Jason still in his Red Hood gear, minus the helmet, sitting on the floor with drops of blood on the floor. He keeps his head hung and his forearms on his knees. You spot blood on his knuckle with open wounds before you see the broken mirror and your heart just breaks for him.
You step in slowly and cautiously as if moving too quickly will make him dissolve right into the floor. “Hey,” You crouch down beside him, tilting your head to try and get a look at his face that’s covered by his messy hair. “What happened, Jay?”
“I’m fine.” Jason forces the words from the back of his throat and he hates how weak they sound. 
You don’t like the answer because anyone who’s fine doesn’t break a mirror. Anyone who’s fine doesn’t sit on the bathroom floor at three in the morning with bloody knuckles crying. He’s not fine but Jason has never been very good at admitting to anyone when he’s not. He’d rather drown than ask for a life preserver.
You move in front of him, sitting on your knees. You reach out cautiously, putting your hands on his wet cheeks. Jason’s eyes shut down hard with your touch and you’re so gentle with him. Why? What’s he done to deserve it?
You pick his head up softly and Jason lets you. His eyes are bloodshot as he looks at you. His pretty blue eyes are now a haunting shade of navy, like the sky over the ocean in the middle of hurricane. Why does the world treat him with such cruelty?
“Please, go back to bed.” He nearly begs you because you shouldn’t have to deal with all of his trauma.
It’s not fair for you to lose sleep over him. He swears you shouldn’t and you don’t deserve it. All he wants is to be alone with his grief. If anyone has to suffer what he went through, it has to be him. It can’t involve you. Not you.
But you’re stubborn and that thing in your chest beats endlessly for him.
You can see his chest moving harshly with every breath and he might be Red Hood but he was Jason Todd first. A kid trying to survive the best he could. A kid who just wanted to learn and be a kid. Smart mouth and relentless as hell. But a kid no one looked out for. Red Hood looks out for so many people, but who’s supposed to look out for Jason Todd?
“Please, I’m fine.” Jason voice finally cracks as a tear escapes his bottom lid. “Just go to bed. I’ll be there a minute.”
You move your hands from his cheeks and he thinks, for a second that for once, you might actually listen to him. And he’d be lying if that didn’t hurt, too. But, it’s you and you were never very good at following his instructions even on good days so you move closer to him and stretch out your arms.
“Come here, Jay.” Your voice is soft, etched in worry and love.
He’s reluctant at first because he knows if he does, he’ll lose it entirely. Every piece of him that’s been able to hold in a sob will finally crack and that’ll be it. But he sees the worry in every tired line of your face and you always look so inviting.
“I’m worried about you. Please.” You plead with him, your voice cracking with a mix of tiredness and sadness. And Jason can’t hold it in anymore because you’re worried about him.
Jason moves his legs and moves closer to you, resting his head against your chest because at his point, it’s all too heavy for him to even try for a proper hug. And folding into you seems a hell of a lot easier for everyone. You wrap one arm around his side and rest your other hand in his hair. And just like he breaks.
A sob rips through his throat, echoing through the bathroom and you have to swallow the lump that forms in your throat. He shakes against you, sliding his hands to your back and holding onto your shirt. His grip is tight as if he’s stuck between thinking you’ll disappear if he lets go or that he’ll disappear if he does. Your hand runs through his hair and you try to console him, knowing there isn’t much that can help at this point. But you try by playing with his hair and whispering softly to him despite your own heart aching and breaking for him.
Tears brim your own eyes as you hold him against you. If you could, you would claw out your own heart and replace his with yours. Maybe that would help some of his agony. Maybe that would make his pain a little more tolerable. Maybe if you could swap out your hearts, you could take some of his pain away. You’d do it if it meant he wouldn’t suffer so much.
Minutes tick by and his breathing is still harsh against you but the sobs have slowed. His grip is still iron-tight on your shirt and all Jason wants is for the world to stop spinning. He wants the aching in his chest to stop and he wants everything around him to stop feeling so damn heavy.
You pick his head up, cupping his cheeks in both hands again. His cheeks are tear stained and you swear you’ve never seen him look so broken before. Your thumb awipe over his cheeks, brushing the tears away gently.
Jason nearly shudders with the action.
“It’s okay, Jay.” You assure him and your voice is strained as if begging him to believe you.
“It’s fucking not.” He sputters, his brows pulling together and you can see him clench his jaw. “It’s all shit and those kids deserved fucking better.” His breath is hot, boiling on your skin as he seethes. And you know what lead him here tonight.
He told you. Right to your face he told you he died. He left out the gory details of it all for your own sake but you know he was just a kid. And you know why he was there and about the Joker. He was just a kid.
“Kids?” You questions and you know Jason always has a bad night when it involves kids.
“Forget it.” He lets out a scoff because he doesn’t want to talk about it. You don’t need to know the details.
“Hey, no.” You shake your head, eyes scanning over his face as your brows pull together. “I’ll listen all night, okay? I won’t ask anything if you don’t want me to, okay? You can talk or not. But, you’re gonna be okay.” Your eyes lock with his and he wants to believe you.
But he also knows he’ll back here again. He always comes back here. Haunted. The ghost of who he was then and the ghost of who he should have been follow him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to shake them as much as he wants to.
He places his hands over yours and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are whenever he does this. “Just so damn sick of it.” His voice is rough and exhausted.
“I know.” You nod with understanding.
You’ll never be able to understand how he feels or what he goes through but you try. And you see it across his face. You see it in the way he turns in his sleep, when he actually gets sleep. You see it in the way he’s always observing everything around him, always on guard. And you can see it in the way he is with his weapons, there’s always at least two weapons on him at any given moment. As much as you want to understand exactly what goes on inside of his head, you won’t but you can see it. So, you try your best to help and just be there in capacity he’ll let you.
“Why don’t we get you in the shower? I’ll wash your hair, clean up your hand, and we can get into bed? I’ll rub your back and you can tell me what happened if you want. Or I can read to you until you fall asleep.”
He’s almost always reluctant when it’s been bad. He never thinks he deserves the kindness and care you offer to him. On good days, he can accept it. It’s something he struggles with still because no one ever been so kind and careful with him before. So, it’s hard but on good days, he finds it easier to accept. But on bad days, like these, he’s reluctant because if he can’t see the good himself, why should anyone else? But he looks at your eyes that glossy with worry and you give him this look that makes him feel like he’s been put under a microscope. And you would do anything for him.
“Thanks.” He mutters, taking your hands away from his face. “I got it.”
“I know.” You nod your head. “I want to.” You smile gently at him, tilting your head slightly to the right. “You’re not alone, ya know?” You assure him because you think it must be lonely dealing with everything he goes through. “I got you.” 
He knows. As hard as it is for him to accept the care and kindness you offer him, he knows because he notices everything. He notices how he always wakes up with a blanket on him when he falls asleep on the couch and the way you always have his favorite protein bars on hand even though you don’t like them. You’re the one missing sleep when you have work in the morning to sit on the bathroom floor with him. It’s hard to accept sometimes and he gets in his own head about it sometimes, but at the end of the night, he has you.
And you’ve always had a way of lifting some of that weight for him, maybe without even trying.
“Okay.” Jason finally agrees, still a hint of reluctance in his voice.
You get to your feet and offer him your hand.
He almost chuckles because you can’t actually help him from the floor. But he takes your hand in his anyway, getting to his feet. You look up to him with gentle eyes before closing the distance between the two of you and wrapping your arms around him as tight as you can.
It takes a few seconds before you feel Jason relax under your hug and his arms come around your waist. His chin lays on the top of your head and he feels like he can breathe a little better now. 
When things get a little too heavy, at least he has you to help lift some of the weight.
Tumblr media
Tag list: @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai  // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @dgraysonss // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @vivian-555 // @kebonita // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog​
381 notes · View notes
thebiggerbear · 23 days
Text
Bane Masterlist
Tumblr media
(works coming soon)
Tumblr media
dividers by @firefly-graphics
23 notes · View notes
howtokillavampire · 5 months
Note
Trick or treat :)) Coldflash, please :))
okay. so. it was supposed to be 500 words and it may or may not have ended up as 4.6k... anyway, hope you like it!
here's the ao3 link or you can read it here on tumblr
So Long, Scarlet Speedster - 4.6k
The first time Len met Barry, he was eight years old. He was nursing a bruise on his right side and a black eye. He told his teacher it was from playing baseball with his dad. 
His father had come home from work in a sour mood that day and was drinking himself through a six-pack while going over plans for his next score. 
Len slipped out the back door and made his way across their small backyard, coming to a stop in front of a large tree. He placed his hands against the rough bark and traced the cracks with his fingers. They were like little paths connecting everything together, but leading far, far away. 
There was a sharp noise, and the smell of ozone singed Len’s nostrils. He turned around and found himself looking up at a tall man in a bright red superhero suit. He gasped in surprise as the man frantically looked around, eyes finally landing on the small child. He squatted down in front of Len and offered him a smile.
“Hey there,” the man began in a voice kinder than Len had ever heard, “What’s your name?”
“Leonard,” he said quietly. Something on the man’s face changed at that moment. His eyes focused as if he was seeing the kid for the first time.
“Leonard Snart?” the man asked. Len nodded and watched many emotions he didn’t fully understand yet flash across this man’s eyes. Then, he saw the man’s gaze linger on his black eye. Finally, with a hardened look, he asked, “What happened, Len?”
“My dad and I were- I mean…” Len tried to rattle off the story his father had made him practice, but for some reason, he felt compelled to tell this man the truth. It was those eyes, so green and bright. So kind. So understanding. It reminded Len of his mom.“It’s from my dad.”
The man nodded slowly, then took a deep breath.
“Len, how old are you?”
“I’m eight.”
“I made it back over forty years?” the man breathed out incredulously. “I never thought-” he cut himself off. He shifted his focus back to the young boy in front of him. “How would you feel if I told you that one day it all gets better?”
“Better?”
“One day,” the man continued, “You’ll be a very powerful and smart man, with lots of people around you who care about you very much.” He leaned forward and whispered, “And your dad won’t be around anymore.”
“He won’t?” Len said shakily.
“Nope,” the man said with a pop of his lips, “And you’ll be just fine.” 
“Are you a superhero?” Len blurted out. He had been trying to hold it in, but he simply had to know.
“Something like that,” the man said with a lopsided grin. “And one day you will be too. You’ll make it through all of this and you’ll be great. Until then, take care of yourself, Len.”
And just like that, the man vanished, leaving Len alone in the yard. He waited for a few minutes, hopeful that the strange man might return.
He didn’t return for five more years.
Len was thirteen and trying to disarm an alarm system inside of the museum his father was attempting to rob. His small hands worked quickly, rewiring the system before his father accidentally triggered the alarm. 
He was nearly finished, when suddenly there was a loud crash outside. He glanced up at the back exit that led to the rear parking lot, and back at the main door that led into the museum. He could hear the soft squeaking of his father’s shoes against the tile floor and he focused his attention on the wires once more.
There was a second, more muffled crash, followed by some groaning. Len finished with the last wire and slowly crept towards the exit. He grabbed a box lying near the back door to use as a prop for the door. He pushed the door open slowly and peered out into the night air.
There was a man lying in a heap of cardboard boxes next to the dumpster. He was struggling to stand up when a small hand appeared above him.
“Need a hand?” Len asked.
The other man gaped up at him. Then, he took the hand. 
Len heaved him up with surprising strength, and when the man was brought into the light it was Len’s turn to gape.
“Len?” the man asked cautiously.
“I thought I made you up,” Len said mostly to himself. 
“What year is it?” the man asked.
“It’s ‘85,” Len answered. He took a step back and sized up the man dressed head to toe in what looked like red leather. “What’s your name?”
“You remember,” the man said, a small smile curling on his lips.
“You’re hard to forget,” Len shot back. “But I never got your name.”
The man considered this for a moment, looking around at the backside of the museum and the vacant employee parking lot. 
“I’ll tell you my name if you tell me why you’re here,” the man said playfully.
“I’m robbing the museum with my dad,” Len said with no hesitation. The man gaped at him. 
“Why would you admit that to a stranger-” he was cut off by Len.
“Something tells me you’re in a hurry. Figured you wouldn’t have enough time to rat us out.”
“Your puns are even insufferable when you’re a child,” the man groaned. Then he took a few steps and crossed the distance between the two of them. He pulled down his cowl, revealing a mop of brown hair and piercing green eyes. “Barry Allen,” he said as he reached forward and offered his hand.
Len shook it firmly and smiled.
“Well, I better get back inside before my dad realizes I’m missing,” Len said. “Wouldn’t want to make him mad.”
Barry nodded and pulled his cowl back up.
“I better get back too,” Barry agreed. 
“Back to where?” the kid asked suspiciously. A mischievous glint flashed across Barry’s eyes.
“Bye, Len.”
With that he was gone, leaving a trail of red and yellow light in his wake. Len stared at the spot where the man had just been standing and saw a light scorch mark on the pavement. Then, he took a deep breath and headed back into the museum.
When Len was fifteen his sister was born. It didn’t matter that they had different mothers, when Lisa came into his life he finally felt he had a purpose.
Lewis would get nasty when Lisa cried. He’d yell at her mom and Len to shut her up before he had to. She was just an infant, and Len would already do anything to keep Lewis away from her. 
On nights when Lewis was out drinking with his cop buddies and Lisa was put to bed early, Len would go out and sit on the back porch. He enjoyed the evening air whipping through his short hair. It was the only time he felt at peace.
He would watch the tree in their backyard sway against the breeze and wondered when the breeze would carry that odd man back into his life.
Len was seventeen, freshly released from juvie, walking home with nothing but the clothes on his back. His house was a few hours' walk from the detention center, and Len knew Lewis wasn’t going to come and pick him up. He was walking through one of the nicer suburbs when he heard a friendly voice call out.
“Need a ride?”
Len whipped around, and there he was, just standing on the side of the road in broad daylight where anyone could see his outlandish getup.
“Barry,” Len said in disbelief. 
“Len,” Barry said with a smirk. “What year is-”
“1989,” Len answered before he could finish the question. Barry stared at him for a moment before he finally formed his next question. 
“How did you know-”
“You’re from the future, aren’t you?” Len asked casually. Barry’s mouth was agape at this point. Then, he started laughing.
“Only you would figure that out so fast. You’re always so quick on the draw, Len,” Barry said easily. Len stored this information away for later. 
“I’m guessing I can’t ask you anything about the future, the law of causality, and all that?” 
“I’m impressed, you know your stuff.”
“Got a lot of reading done in juvie,” Len said. 
“Wait- if it’s ‘89, then… You’re freshly out of juvie aren’t you?” 
“On my way home now,” Len replied, gesturing to the road ahead. Barry considered this for a moment before he stepped closer to Len. 
“Well, since you told me something, I guess it’s only fair I tell you something,” Barry explained, a small smile playing across his lips.  He took another step closer, coming into Len’s space.
Normally, Len would bristle and steel himself, ready to rear a fist back and connect it with the jaw of whatever idiot risked getting that close to him. Normally, his instincts would take over and he’d take a step back.
But right now they were the farthest from normally that Len had ever been.
“I’ll show you a secret,” Barry whispered.
“Don’t you mean tell me-” Len was cut off by the feeling of being pulled into Barry’s arms and, for lack of a better term, whisked away. For a brief moment, he was surrounded by streaks of light, tinged in reds and yellows as the world spun around him in a breathtaking kaleidoscope of colors. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was over. His feet were gently set under the ground beneath him. When he looked around he realized they were on the side of his house, tucked under a window, hidden in the shadows where no one would see them. He rounded on Barry.
“I knew it! You’re a fucking superhero,” Len whispered excitedly. Barry took a moment to pull his cowl down, shaking his hair from side to side and running his hands through it a few times.
“You were right from the start,” He confirmed. Len couldn’t help but grin. Barry’s face reflected his own for a moment, but it quickly fell. He took a step back and scratched his neck absentmindedly.  “But I’ve already been here too long.”
“I get it,” Len said, nodding, “Can you tell me something?”
“Depends.”
“Lisa, does she… is she okay? When you’re from?” Len asked in hushed tones. Barry’s eyes softened, and his hand fell onto Len’s shoulder.
“She’s alright.”
Len gave him a tight nod and felt a deep pressure in his chest finally release. Barry squeezed his shoulder lightly, then stepped away letting his hand fall back to his side. 
“Well, you should probably get back,” Len said.
“You know, you’re taking this really well, all things considered,” Barry added. 
“I like to keep an open mind,” Len offered casually. Barry chuckled and took a step back, fixing his cowl back into place.
“Glad to know you never change. Now, I have to run, no pun intended,” Barry amended quickly. Len chuckled.
“I’ll see you later, Barry.”
Later turned out to be five years. Len was in the middle of a jewelry heist, one of his first missions where he was running point and not taking orders from some meathead calling all the shots. They had just secured the cargo and were loading it into their getaway vehicle when it happened. 
One minute Len was slamming the back door of the van shut, and the next he was being slammed up against a wall. He took one look at the man before him, clad in head-to-toe red leather.
“Snart,” Barry practically snarled at him.
“Barry,” Len started in a friendly tone, “Funny seeing you here.”
Barry flung himself backward as if Len had stung him. He sized Len up, eyes raking up his body and lingering on his hair. Len’s brows furrowed.
“Is everything alright, Barry?” Len said cautiously. Barry took a tentative step forward. 
“How do you know my name, Snart?”
“What do you mean? You told me,” Len said, thoroughly confused.
“I haven’t even told Iris-” Barry said, abruptly stopping mid-sentence. Len put a hand out in a calming gesture and took a step forward.
“You haven’t met me yet, have you?” he asked.
“I’ve met you, Snart. Just not-”
“Yet,” Len finished for him. “This is your first time isn’t it?” Len said incredulously. 
“First time for what?” Barry asked carefully.
“It’s 1994,” Len said with a note of satisfaction in his voice. Barry stared at him for a long moment before ducking his head and peeling off his cowl. He ran a hand through his hair and dragged it down over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. 
“This is so not how I thought it would go when I made it over two decades back,” he said, exasperated. Len considered these words and watched as Barry’s hand fell away from his face. He looked young.
“How old are you, Barry?”
“I’m- I shouldn’t tell you that,” Barry exclaimed, nearly slapping a hand over his mouth as if to stop the words from escaping. Len put up his hands innocently.
“I won’t make you, but I do have to say you have impeccable timing.”
“What do you mean?” Barry asked.
“I’m kind of in the middle of something right now, aside from being slammed into the wall by a man clad in red leather.”
A light flush crept up Barry’s neck and dusted his cheeks.
“You mean the robbery,” Barry stated. Len shrugged and took a step closer.
“You’re not here to lecture me on ethics, are you, Scarlet? I think we both know that would be a waste of time,” Len slipped out smoothly. He took another step forward and sized Barry up, tilting his head appreciatively as he met Barry’s eyes and watched the blush deepen. “Besides, you know you can’t meddle with the past. That’s time travel basics.”
“I’ve already said too much, done too much, I should-”  he shook his head and pulled his cowl back up. 
“Leaving so soon?” Len teased. Barry looked up at him, blush still visible under the mask. 
“Sorry, I’ve gotta run,” he said with a slight smirk. Len snorted and gave him a wave.
“Until next time, Barry,” Len said with a wave of his hand. Then, Barry was gone.
Six years passed before Len found himself landed behind bars again. 
“Henry, meet your new roomie,” the guard said, nudging Len into the cell. He held out his hand.
“Leonard Snart,” he said not unkindly.
“Henry Allen,” the middle-aged man offered, reaching forward to shake Len’s hand. Len took it and shook it firmly. The guard nodded and left.
“So, what landed you here, Allen?” Len asked conversationally.
“They say I murdered my wife,” Henry started softly, “The only one who believes I didn’t do it is my son, Barry.”
Len felt his heart stop. Henry Allen, the name had been plastered on the front page of every newspaper and news channel in Central City over the past few months, His name, along with his wife’s name, Nora, were known by nearly everyone in the city at this point. 
It seemed that somehow the articles had left out one key detail: their son. Someone had paid to keep his name out of the papers, that much was certain. And it was just Len’s luck that he would end up cellmates with the time traveler’s father.
“Did you do it?” Len asked. Henry blinked, his eyes searching Len’s face. 
“No, not that it matters,” he sighed.
“Now you have two people who believe you,” Len said, stepping forward to give the man a pat on the shoulder. Henry relaxed and gave Snart a small smile.
“What landed you in here, Snart? Or should I even ask?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t.”
“Well now I have to know,” Henry joked. Snart looked around the cell and took stock of his new temporary home. His eyes circled back around to Henry.
“Just a couple charges of armed bank robbery and killing a few of Santini’s goons. Nothing too exciting,” Len assured him. 
“The men you killed - they were criminals too?” Henry asked. Len nodded.
“They had gang tattoos that tallied their kill counts at over twenty each, and I may or may not have had a chat with the drug dealers that hang out around the high schools.”
Henry laughed and took a seat on his bed. 
“I think we’ll get along just fine, Leonard.”
“Please, call me Len.”
Len didn’t stay in jail for long before Mick broke him out. He offered to take Henry with him, but the man made it clear he didn’t want to end up on the front pages a second time.
“Barry’s been through enough,” he said tiredly. Len understood.
“If you ever change your mind, I’ll come back for you,” Len promised. 
“Just… be good, Snart. I know you have it in you. Don’t let the darkness in your life snuff out what little light you have left. If you do… they win. And something tells me you don’t like losing.”
“I can’t change who I am, Allen,” Len reasoned.
“You don’t have to,” Henry stated. Len gave him a curt nod.
“I’ll see you later, Doc,” Len said before disappearing into the night.
Two years later, Len found himself eating lunch at the bar in the Motorcar while surveying the Precinct. The diner was empty for all but him and an elderly woman savoring her cup of hot coffee by the window. He was about to take a bite of his burger when the little bell above the door jingled.  Len looked over his shoulder and couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face.
“Long time no see, Barry,” he called to the man, turning on his stool to face him. He was dressed casually, no super suit this time, just blue jeans and a red t-shirt tucked under a brown leather jacket. When his eyes met Len’s a warm smile spread across his face.
“Len,” he said in a soft tone. He crossed the distance between them and wrapped him in a warm hug. 
“Good to see you too, Scarlet,” Len said stiffly. He forced his arms to cooperate and awkwardly patted Barry on the back. When the younger man pulled away, Len nodded to a corner booth. They both made their way over to it, Len bringing his food with him. They sat down and Len pushed the basket of fries towards Barry, who accepted them happily and began digging in. 
“Thanks,” Barry said around a mouthful of fries. 
“Anytime,” Len said easily. He watched Barry for a moment before following suit and digging into his burger. The two ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, glancing out the window to watch the people rushing back to work as their lunch hour ended. 
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Len asked after he had finished his burger and wiped his mouth off with a napkin.
“I was in the neighborhood,” Barry offered.
“So you just decided to pop in and pay a visit to your favorite criminal?”
“Something like that,” Barry said with a stupid lop-sided grin. He leaned forward. “Gotta get my energy back before I head home.”
“And when is home?”
“Don’t you mean where-”
“No, no I don’t,” Len corrected him. He raised an eyebrow. Barry shook his head and let out a small laugh.
“Always one step ahead,” he mumbled. Len grinned. 
“So, what’s the real reason you’re back in 2002, Barry?”
“I have some… business to take care of,” he admitted.
“Business? Do tell,” Len said, taking a drink of his sweet tea. He set it back on the table and left his hand next to it, running his fingers along the glass. 
“You know I can’t.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Len watched Barry’s face as the younger man gazed out the window. He seemed a couple of years older than the last visit, smile lines a little deeper, attention more focused. 
“Listen,” Barry said, focusing his attention back on Len. He reached across the table and took Len’s hand in his own. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I just- I needed to see you again. It’s been-” he looked away, blinking rapidly to stop the tears welling up in his eyes. 
“What do you mean?” Len asked, feeling as though he had missed something. Something big. Barry offered him a watery smile. 
“It’s just good to see you, Len,” he said, voice slightly raw. He ran his thumb over the back of Len’s hand and gave it one final squeeze before he stood up. “Be good,” he added. Len couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in his chest.
“Your father said the same thing to me,” Len said, tone playful, “Right before I broke out of prison.”
“You’ve met my dad?” Barry squeaked. 
“We were cellmates,” Len added casually. Barry dragged a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. 
“Of course you were. The universe loves to play twisted ironic games with my life,” Barry ground out. Len stood and offered him a pat on the shoulder. 
“I could say the same thing.”
Barry stared at him for a long moment, before bridging the gap and pulling Len into a tight hug once more. This time, Len hugged back. 
“Don’t do anything stupid, alright?” Barry whispered softly. Len gave him a light squeeze.
“I’ll try my best,” he agreed. Barry pulled back just a fraction and kissed Len’s cheek softly.
Len didn’t have time to process it before Barry was out the door. He lifted his hand to his cheek and stared out the big glass windows, watching everyone else go about their normal lives.
Over a decade went by in a flash of sporadic crimes and prison breaks. Len was no longer just a petty thief, he had made a name for himself in Central City. He was the head of his own operation, ordering his highly trained teams to help him carry out his missions.
They had their sights set on a transport moving a costly collection of original paintings - more than a few of which Len had been hoping to snatch to use as home decor for his safe houses. 
He was on his motorcycle, approaching the transport from the left, when suddenly the wind whipped around him and he found himself standing atop a building. He nearly lost his footing and flung out his arms, grabbing the nearest thing to stabilize himself.
As it turned out, the nearest thing was a man in a red leather superhero suit.
“Barry,” Len said breathlessly. His grip on Barry’s shoulder tightened, and he pulled the taller man into a tight hug. 
“Len - uh, good to see you too,” Barry said as his arms slowly found their way to Len’s back. He hugged the man uncertainly. Len could feel the tension in Barry’s shoulders and pulled away.
“What brings you to 2014?” he asked, taking a hard look at Barry. There was a trace of confusion that flitted across his face, that, combined with the awkward hug, gave Len all the information he needed. 
“I can’t tell you that,” Barry said slightly scandalized. He took a step back and raked his eyes over Len. “But you know that already.”
“Guilty as charged,” Len said, putting up his hands in defense. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“What are you playing at, Snart?”
“Back to last names, are we, Allen?”
“Just answer my question.”
“Not until you answer mine.”
“There’s a- look, it’s complicated, and I don’t have the time for this,” Barry huffed.
“But you had time to stop me in the middle of a job?” Len pointed out. Barry smirked.
“I always have time to fight crime.”
Len rolled his eyes and stepped forward into Barry’s space once more.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Scarlet. You just can’t leave me alone,” he said, tapping his finger against Barry’s lightning symbol on his chest. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were obsessed with me.”
Barry flushed, ripping off his cowl and grabbing Len’s finger. 
“Listen, Snart, as long as you are here committing crimes I will be here to stop you.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” he said, a little too pleased with himself. Barry sputtered for a moment, the red flush deepening on his cheeks. Len slowly reached his hand up to Barry’s face and cupped it gently, Barry’s hand still cupping his own. “So, when will I see you again?”
“Soon enough.” Barry leaned away from the touch and tried to take a step back. He lost his footing and tumbled backward. Before he could hit the ground, swift hands caught him, looping under his back and head. 
Barry looked up into Len’s eyes and felt his heart stop. The piercing blue felt like it cut straight through him and peered into every corner of his soul. He opened his mouth to say something, but it died on his tongue. With one fluid motion, Len pulled him back upright. He dusted off Barry’s shoulder and offered him a small pat. 
“Until then,” Len said. 
“Behave yourself, Snart.”
“If I behaved I wouldn’t get to see you falling all over yourself for me,” he replied smoothly. 
“I- I go after every criminal, not just you!”
“And here, I thought it was always personal for us. You sure know how to make a man feel special.”
“We are not doing this right now,” Barry said with a shake of his head. He pulled his cowl back up and turned to walk to the edge of the roof. “I’ll see you around,” Barry said, hesitating for a moment. 
“The least you could do is give me a lift, Barry,” Len called out.
“In your dreams, Snart,” Barry called over his shoulder, then he plunged off the side of the roof and disappeared into the night air. 
Central City had never been the same after the particle accelerator explosion. It caused a rippling effect that touched every corner and dark alley within the city. The streets were now the playground for a red streak, racing through to stop crimes and save lives. 
A red streak that looked awfully familiar to Len.
He had a plan that had been in the works for months, and he didn’t plan on postponing it just for the friendly neighborhood superhero. 
“Alright boys, we’re going over the plan one last time,” Len started, turning to the small team sitting around the warehouse. “There’s a big museum exhibit opening this month. The main exhibit is a nearly priceless jewel known as the Kahndaq Dynasty Diamond. And our plan is to snatch it before it ever gets there.”
Everyone nodded along as Len went through the excruciatingly detailed plan and three backup plans. After everyone knew what their job was, they headed home for the night to get a good night’s rest before an early morning robbery.
Len was left alone in the warehouse, and he walked himself up onto the roof to look out over the city. It was a surprisingly good vantage point that gave Len eyes on every major road around him. 
In the dim glow of the city at night, he could see trails of red streaking up and down the streets. He couldn’t help but smile. 
“See you soon, Barry.”
31 notes · View notes
zeroducklings · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
Art based on my sladick fanfic 'late ight tryst' (mind the tags!!!)
87 notes · View notes
selkienight60 · 2 years
Text
🌼 𝔽𝕒𝕟𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 🌼
MAY 2022
Drank spoiled milk and gave myself food poisoning this month, that was fun. Additionally, wrote three whole fics in May (two I have recc’d below!) As always, let me know what your recommendations were for this month. Also, thinking about putting together a collection on AO3 of all the fics I’ve recc’d over the months, just so they’re all in one place to peruse. 
∘₊✧── 🌼 ──✧₊∘  ∘₊✧── 🌼 ──✧₊∘
𝒪𝓃𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔:
How to Train Your Mers by SalParadiseLost + JUBE514
Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies
ℛ𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒲𝓇𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝒰𝓅:
Animus Infectus by A_Canceled_Stamp
When the Affairs are Done by Tantriception
A Long Fall with a Sudden Stop by eggmacguffin
I Want It Real by Dickered (Sagemistakes)
rainbow robin by SirLily
I will come (Always) by Batsthesecond
By Necessity by motleyfam
Timspresso by L_autore_Passionale
1-800-ROBIN by spqr
Family Values by Vamillepudding
𝒪𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 ℛ𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔:
Panic Buttons by Crowlows19
Call and Response by LPSunnyBunny
And If You Wrong Us by Ellegrine
ℱ𝒾𝒸 𝑜𝒻 ℳ𝓎 𝒪𝓌𝓃:
Motion Blur by sElkieNight60
Redraw Our Expectations by sElkieNight60
∘₊✧── 🌼 ──✧₊∘  ∘₊✧── 🌼 ──✧₊∘
🌸 ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ʀᴇᴄs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʙʏ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏʀ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢɢɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ sʜᴀʀᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs! 🌸 ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ! 🌸 ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛs ᴏʀ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴs!
121 notes · View notes
selene-borealis · 3 months
Link
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe, DCU Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010) - Freeform, Angst, Hurt & Comfort, Gen Work, No Romance, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Mpreg, Breastfeeding, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Jason Todd, Jason Todd Isn’t Red Hood, Jason Todd is Damian Wayne’s Parent, Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha Dick Grayson, 3+1 Things, kind of, Song: Never Make Me Cry (Fleetwood Mac), Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Don’t copy to another site Series: Part 3 of the storms 'verse, Part 31 of thetaverse Summary: AU//Jason had never been the type of person to sit around and mope at his fate. So in the aftermath of him and Damian coming home, when it seemed like that was all Bruce, Dick, and Alfred wanted him to do, it quickly got on his nerves.//Or, the third story in my ABO series, the storms ‘verse.
2 notes · View notes
Text
The Guild System - Overview
The Kryptonian society is supported on the backs of their Guild System. The Guilds are the institutionalized method of grouping together jobs and careers that make up Kryptonian society. All jobs in the world are classified under various guilds and are overseen by a variety of Guildmaster Panels.
When Kryptonian society created The Matrix - used to prevent the worst of inheritable diseases and to intentionally activate selective genes - children began being designed to better suit one Guild or another. It was almost never an intentional thing but rather, the things that their parents considered desirable in their children were traits that suited one guild over another. This is especially present in the Laborer's Guild which is primarily populated with individuals that build muscle easily - especially in the arms and core.
Every major city in Krypton - both Old and New - have their own guilds where the population of each guild varies based on the area. They’re so important that most members of Krypton will agree that a city without a guild is no city at all but rather, a village. Whenever anyone moves cities, their previous guild will be responsible for transferring their paperwork to the next guild so that all of their history and information is easily accessible to any potential employers in the area.
Guilds have housing districts - areas that are reserved specifically for the safety and security of a family. Typically, a family will decide which Guild their family places more value on and will move to that specific district. Guild Districts provide public education, hospitals, play areas and daycares for younger children. 
To Old Krypton, a guild was your life. 
It was very rare for anyone to change their professions once they entered their chosen guild and if they found themselves dissatisfied with where they are, they merely swapped to a profession in their guild that’s close to another guild. Such an event would require cross-training in the second guild allowing them to survive.
New Krypton is slightly different, where the beginner ranks are the ones considered to be the most acceptable ranks for someone to swap guilds. 
All children attend general education until they’re about 14 years old, learning about the basics of their culture, their history and math. This is about the time where children are discovering themselves and exploring their world, making friends and creating bonds with each other.
At 14, the children officially enter the Guild System and become Rank 1 rookies. The Rookie Ranks are ranks one though four (1-4) and are meant for newcomers to the profession. This is when specialized education comes into play and the members are frequently taught the history of their guild, certain universal safety laws and of course, shadowing professionals. 
One you graduate from the rookie ranks, you enter the Experienced or Professional ranks (5-8). They’re the backbone of the Kryptonian workforce, consisting mostly of late teens and adults. This is the rank where you start being given actual jobs in the form of internships and co-opts. These ranks have no set timeline for graduation, and many individuals are content to spend most of their young adult years in the experienced ranks, allowing them to master the skills they’d been studying for.
The final ranks to graduate to are the Expert ranks (9-12). These people are highly regarded traditionally as consultants or those who’ve invented impressive creations for their field. They’re the ones responsible for monitoring and ensuring the skills of those who were part of the experienced ranks. It primarily consists of older people who’ve long since mastered the tools of the trade, teaching themselves certain shortcuts and tricks to make their jobs more efficient.
While 14 is the traditional age for children to enter the guild system, it’s not uncommon for adults to really impress upon the values of their guild to their children. Some kids are rather skilled and advanced in their lessons as a result and as they speed through their general education, they are recommended the chance to take the guild exams early. Such children are given a lighter load to participate in when they first enter the system as they’re still considered too young to put that sort of pressure on them. As a result, 10 years old is the very youngest any child can take the guild exams.
For a long while, Krypton made do with only one Guildmaster per guild, but in the days of the Kingdom of New Krypton, it was confirmed that it wasn’t safe for only one person to be in complete control of a guild. As a result, in the age of new Krypton it was decided that a panel of Guildmasters should be elected for each guild. There is now a minimum of two guildmasters per ranking system - a rookie master, a professional master and an expert master. 
8 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
Mission in Venice
Rated: Teen & Up Author: lillyrosenight Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Hermione Granger Universe(s): DCU, Harry Potter Prompt: Venice, Italy - Sunglasses Word Count: 2,064 Summary: Hermione is sent to Venice by Gringotts and finds a familiar face.
Read stories from the entire collection here!
9 notes · View notes
starrnobella · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
My second summery themed story revealed today!
Title: Once In A Lifetime
Squares Filled:
#HHBingo23 - B2: Antelope Canyon, USA
#WCCBingo23 - N5: Muggle AU
#CastTheDice - Co-Workers (6’s)
Pairing: Hermione Granger/Pamela Isley
Rated General Audience
Fandoms: Harry Potter, DCU
Major Tags: None
Summary: Hermione Granger and Dr. Pamela Isley are two of ACE Chemicals' finest researchers who are excelling in their career. The intent was to award one of them with the chance to get away, but after an email mishap, both women were awarded a trip to Antelope Canyon, Arizona. Rather than letting the mishap ruin a perfectly good vacation, the two women make the most of the trip.
Word Count: 1746
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48025063
Written for @hermiones-have and @xover-connections
0 notes
cas-backwards-tie · 7 months
Text
Chapter Five: Threatened to Reset
Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader
Heiress of Gotham
Masterlist | Previous Chapter
Summary: With the family's help everything is planned for the big move. A trip to Bludhaven to organize, pack, and move all your belongings leaves the past to be drug up. How will they react to your home? Will any secrets be found? Will emotions rise? Will your past be disclosed? It's all up to you... and maybe a crime boss and his goons.
Words: 4.3k
Warnings: The usual Banter and Bickering, Cursing, Knives, Threatening, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Arguing, Fighting, Shame, Guilt, Fight or Flight.
Mentions of: Sex Trafficking, Criminal Activities, Police, Drug Busts, Prostitution, Assassins.
A/N: There's a lot of information to digest in the chapter, and really what was meant to be one chapters I actually am going to have to split up in order to make them manageable. It's been awhile, and while I'm still trying to figure out how to manage my life in the sense of hobbies, work, my health, a possible second job, and extracurriculars, I request you all be patient with me. I definitely do have more in store, yet for now this chapter isn't proofread (at least the beginning and end) I just need to get this one out.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Having discussed tomorrow’s events as a group at dinner, your Father let you lead the charge in what would happen with your apartment’s belongings. Decided on packing everything up and either donating the things you don’t need, storing the important things, and transporting the things you do need, it all was simple enough. Nothing a little packing tape and rounds of boxes won’t fix.
Starting the day with a hearty breakfast from Alfred, you all packed into a minivan you didn't know or think the Bruce Wayne would ever own or have anything to do with. Nevertheless, the ride was fairly timely to get to your old apartment building. Saying hello to the few neighbors coming in and out who you recognized and knew, you led the gang the seventeen flights and begrudgingly let them inside. You knew sooner or later they'd out where and how you lived. It definitely isn't as nice as Wayne Manor, but of course, what else could you expect?
Assigning everyone to different spots and or groups of items in the apartment, you really feel like they went for overkill. A welcoming and slightly overwhelming sense of love blossoms in your chest as they really didn't all need to help, but everyone insisted on coming. Even Tim's girlfriend, Stephanie. How nice, you think, for someone to actually care that much to go out of their way. Family almost congesting the apartment, you focus on your room and belongings. The fact that Damian hasn't even made any rude remarks (that you know of) is surprising.
After almost everything is packed and it's a few hours past noon, Alfred gets tired. Damian insists he's spent enough time in this 'hellhole' and almost demands that Alfred take him home. With the time having gotten away from you and some of the others, it seems to no one's surprise that Tim and Stephanie also apologetically explain their need to leave. They have homework they need to get done; and with that, Alfred agrees that it might be best to head back to the Manor with everyone who needs to leave. Dick lives in Bludhaven, so there's no surprise he'd stay, and while Jason has his motorcycle, he says he doesn't mind staying until it's all finished. Bruce having come separately after checking in at work explains that the two of you can drive back together once everything's done. It'd been lucky enough that he'd brought his car, and not one of the nicer ones, either.
Searching all the nearby boxes, you don’t find it. It’s nowhere to be seen, and if it’s not here then that can only mean one thing: They took it. Opening up the box near the kitchen you retrieve a butcher’s knife. Hand gripping the handle tightly you storm to the front door and lock it.
“Woah, woah- what’s going on?” Jason asks, hands raising in concern as he stops boxing the books that’d been on the nearby shelf.
With a tense look in his eyes, you adjust the knife in your palm, getting a better and more sturdy grip on it. Other hand rising to your mouth you place your pointer finger before your lips. A tacit command of ‘silence’. Jason’s fear had drawn the attention of the other two, though you ignore them as you quickly storm through the living room and down the hall.
Eyes flitting back and forth out the window, up and down the fire escape you quickly return with the same fervor you’d previously held. “Why do you have a knife?” Dick questions.
Back to the front door, you simultaneously listen to the hallway, hoping that if anyone were to come, you’d hear them first and be ready. In the attempt at a raid via bursting in through the door, at least you’ll be the first one in the line of fire able to protect everyone. While the worst case scenario always pops into your mind first, you’re not oblivious to the measly chance this could simply chalk up to coincidence. Holding out the knife, you point to each man in the room as your gaze shifts between them.
“Look. There was a gun in there last time we were here. It’s always there. If none of you have seen it, let alone packed it away… then we have a big problem,” you reveal. Knife pointed in the direction of the safe that's now open within a drawer of the tv stand, it's clear that everything else has been packed away.
Between the couch and television diagonally to your left stands Dick. Hands raised, he holds a stoic expression as he stands closest to the safe. His blue eyes flit to Jason. Knife shifting toward him, he too stands with his hands by his waist, palms facing you. Eyes filled with confusion and concern, he shifts his weight as he stands across the room in the corner between the kitchen's counter and beside the opening to the hallway. His green eyes shift to Bruce.
Before you can even turn the knife on the man closest to you, diagonally standing in the kitchen opening to your right, someone speaks up. “I took it,” Jason announces. All eyes dart to him and you watch as he slowly starts to reach around his back towards his waistband. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Bruce move.
“Don’t!” You warn, stepping back and pointing the knife at him. He’s not going to disarm you. Eyes back on Jason, you motion with the knife for him to place the produced gun onto the table between you two. Gun dangling from his fingers, he doesn’t move, so you gesture again with more of a ferocity this time. “Put it on the table.” It’s a command, not a request.
He slides it across the table. Three steps close the distance between you and the item. Though Bruce could easily do something behind your back, just out of your peripheral vision now, you focus on the task at hand. One look at the gun has you skeptical; face tense, you use the knife to turn the gun around. The examination is short. One flip of the gun onto its other side and a quick lift into your hands to make sure the safety is on, you release the bullet cartridge to find that one bullet is missing. With a click of the cartridge locking back into place, you toss it back onto the table.
Storming back to the door where you're at a far enough distance from all of them, your forearms rest against the splintering wood, face buried within them for a moment to gather yourself. Slowly turning back toward the men, but more specifically Jason, you glare daggers at him. “Why didn’t you just tell me you had the gun when I first mentioned it missing,” not waiting for an answer, your head tilts a bit as you don’t play his game. “Nevertheless, did you really think I’d be stupid enough to not recognize that that’s an entirely different gun? So what’s your game?”
Silence lingers. Jason knows he’s fucked, and they all know it too. Why did he think she’d fall for that? It was worth a shot, sure, but the real gun is still back at the Batcave. However, she can’t know that. “There’s no game,” Bruce says your name, a sincere look in his eyes.
“I wasn’t asking you,” you bark, knife turning on him as he tries again to take a step closer. His hands are still raised in an attempt to de-escalate the situation.
The silence is expected, however, the smile that creepily inches across your lips is not. A shift of the knife in your palm has you gripping the handle in an underhanded approach, ready to stab, rather than slice. “Ha,” you scoff, “I knew it… too good to be true. I can respect the lengths he’ll go to play his little games, but this is just beyond fucked. A ploy to what? Fuck with me, pretend to be my family, and now what? Kill me? I knew it. After yesterday, I just knew it was coming.”
“What are you talking about?” Jason asks incredulously, a hint of anger and fear within his tone.
“Who?” Dick asks coldly, taking a step closer.
“Antonio Marin?” Bruce asks. Eyes darting to meet his, you shift the knife in your palm again to get a better grip on it.
“Oh, you wanna play it this way? Act all fucking coy and innocent now?” Gears shifting, you eye the other two men. “Unless he’s just another victim to his plan, I don’t buy it. Richest man in the world and he’s a good guy? Yeah? No.”
“Should’ve known,” you sigh, shaking your head. “BPD? Too obvious.” With a sad smile and tears beginning to threaten your eyes, you chuckle. “Well if he wants me, then go ahead. I’ve got nothing left. If I’m the last piece to the puzzle then do it. Kill me. It’s three to one, I know you’ve got a gun and more than enough bullets to take me.” You thump your chest with your free hand, open, ready to accept your fate. “Do it! Shoot me, Jason. Right now! Kill me.”
As if the reality of the situation suddenly dawns on you, fear readily replaces the confidence you’d just boasted. Backing up against the door you shift the knife in your hand to a stabbing position again, as you continue to shift it, unsure which approach will be best in your defense. Suddenly you're terrified of what’s to come. “No… no. Three big men on one teenage girl?” The way Jason had hesitated, it’s apparent. “I knew he was expanding the business, but like this? NO.” Chest heaving with rapid breaths, you’re suddenly running on pure adrenaline. Panic sets in as you know what the man's got planned for you. “If you want me then I’m not going down alone. I’ll kill myself before I let that happen to me- and if that doesn’t work then I’ll mangle myself SO badly that nobody will buy me,” you threaten, voice deepening in a terrifyingly chilling way.
Placing the knife against your neck, you’re more than ready to take yourself off the table. You won’t let that happen to yourself. You won’t let anyone take advantage of you that way. A punishment worse than death is something you're not willing to participate in, nor offer.
Dick calls your name in a calm tone, one far too calm for this situation. “This isn’t any ploy, or game. We don’t work for anyone. If you think someone’s after you, you need to tell us. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”
“Oh,” you relinquish too easily, knife falling back to your side. Turning to face the door your eyes settle against it for a moment before spinning back to face the man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that Officer Grayson from the BPD was here! I’ll just tell you everything so you can either arrest me or take me out on his behalf!” With a step toward him, you raise the knife by your side again. “Do you really think I’m that stupid, Grayson? That I wouldn’t realize you’d try to get a confession out of me, record this- have them take a voice memo? This isn’t my first rodeo.”
"It's not like that. We're just trying to help! You can't seriously believe this is all some conspiracy against you," Dick argues. His voice is still calm, and while the raised brow elicits a begrudging irk and prick of paranoia in your mind, his words do nothing but continue to cause the gears to mentally turn. "If someone wanted to take you out there would've been easier methods. You would've been dead weeks ago."
A wry chuckle leaves your lips, a knowing smile still set on your features as you two stand off with one another. "Sure... if it was anyone else. Yet that's not how he plays his game and you know it."
"You still think I'm corrupt?" Dick asks, shifting his weight to lean into his hip on one side.
"How could you not be?! Look at me and tell me that you're not! That you don't know about Perdy Chapman, or any of the sabotage the BPD plays," you demand.
"I know about the sabotage. I don't know about Perdy Chapman, but if you know something," he recites your name, "you have to tell us. I can't do anything or help anyone if everyone's keeping secrets."
"What? So this is all a loyalty test? An attempt to get me to come back? There's no way he's that desperate."
"Come back? You worked for Antonio Marin?" Bruce pipes up, concerned blue eyes turning on you as he shifts his gaze between you and Dick. Hands still up in surrender, he takes a step towards you.
"Quit fucking with me! If this is because he thinks I'll rat, I won't! I'm not a fucking rat. We got out, we left! We don't owe him anything!"
"If you know where he is you need to tell us," Jason voices his concern, also taking a step closer. "No one is taking you back, no one is gonna hurt you. I'll be damned before that happens." Jason whispers your name, garnering your attention as he gives you a serious look, "If you think he's after you, we need to know. We can't help you if we don't know what's going on."
With a stomp and a slash of the knife by your side as you realize they're right, you won't do this without a stipulation. "Fine! But... I can't go to the cops. I can't... file a report. I can't do anything. Promise me-" you respond, voice starting off confident until his falls short of a whisper. Jason nods, starting to close the space as he pulls out the last chair remaining at the dinner table.
"No cops, you got it. Just... tell us what happened, what's going on," Jason concedes, hand settled on the back of the chair.
As you shake your head in decline toward the chair, Jason easily swivels it around and sits on his backward, attention on you. As you place the knife on the side table by the front door, you start to pace. "I... don't know where to start," you voice your thoughts.
"From the beginning," Dick encourages, voice gentle as he realizes Jason has made progress by building a rapport. Something he hadn't realized he could be making more of an effort towards, he supposes. Even if he already feels like he's done more than he can for the girl.
As the Detective sits on the back of the couch and Bruce leans against the wall, your eyes can't help but find his... your Father's. "I... I can't-" you realize. Steps coming to a halt, you find yourself face to face with the last person in your life who you feel like you can't lose. The only person you need to impress, to suck up to.
"This is important," Bruce says your name, head tilting further downward as he offers a more straight-on look with your height differences, not to mention the sympathetic look that cross his features.
Eyes falling to the floor, you shake your head. "I can't. I don't want you to look at me differently, and I know you will. There's no way you can't." It's a warning, a vague divulgence on the subject matter. There's no way this conversation can happen without someone's impression being changed or shifted. It's just not possible.
"That won't happen," Bruce reassures.
"There's no way it can't happen. You don't know!" You argue, hands gesticulating the emphasis of your seriousness.
"This is your safety we're talking about," Jason reminds.
"We all have pasts," Dick reiterates your name, "we've all done things. It won't change anything."
"I promise," Bruce adds on, following up with Dick's words. Crouching to be on your level, he holds out his pinky, and while part of you hesitates, the seriousness in his eyes begs for a piece of trust. An inkling of hope, sincerity, vulnerability, trust. Wrapping your much smaller pinky around his, you shake on it.
As he lets go and returns to leaning against the wall, they all sit in anticipation, waiting for you to speak. "From the beginning?" You question.
"From the beginning," Dick echoes again, trying his hardest to be patient. With a tacit gesture of his hand, he guides you to sit on the couch cushions. Despite his offer, you choose to sit on the floor in front of the couch, back leant up against it as Dick chooses to sit in the armchair to the left of it. Jason comes closer, perching himself on the edge of the tv stand, while Bruce lingers by the back of the couch to your right, still in your periphery.
"It... all started about, I don't know, two years ago?" Jason nods in encouragement, a sign for you to keep going. "I don't- I don't know exactly when, I can't really place a time or say because I didn't know- I didn't- I never thought- I mean," the words tumble from your lips as your thoughts begin to race with the memories. Heart beating faster, there was never a definitive point in time you could place. "He just... started coming over. After-" swallowing the thick lump that forms in your throat, the faint burning sensation of tears threatening to start welling up becomes real. "-Mom got laid off."
"Mhm," Dick hums, hands clasping in his lap as he expresses the fact that he's listening.
"Everyone knew who he was. We all do, but of course, you're nice to people you don't necessarily know. You don't wanna start any problems. I guess Mama met him one night when she was out with my Tia. He said he could get her job back, that he could help her make money again, that we wouldn't have to move, to get evicted. He'd get her job back. So he did. She didn't ask, she didn't even want her job back after everything they said and did to her, firing her just because of her skin- but... he did it anyways. He got her job back at the hospital and even got her a promotion. How? I never asked, but if you know Marin, then I guess you can imagine how."
"Then he told her she owed him," Bruce speaks up as you take a breath. His tone is definitive, certain, as if he knows. A shake of your head lets him know he's wrong.
"Of course, she went back to see him at the same bar. She thanked him, we all did... but that wasn't the end of it. He said if she ever wanted anything more, a side job, extra money, anything else, that he could give her that. That all she need do is ask." A sigh escapes your lips and you subtly shake your head again. you know you'll have to tell them. It'll get there eventually, yet there's no way of knowing how they'll react. "They became friends. I always thought he liked her, that's why he was so nice."
"But he showed his true colors, didn't he?" Jason comments, a dangerous and almost vengeful tone in his voice as he leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees. His hands curl in and out of fists as he listens.
"No... he was... just nice." Finally looking up to meet their eyes, you gauge the room. Each man has a different expression on his face, looks of curiosity, intrigue, suspicion, and anger all around. "He'd be at the parties, come over, take us out, have a drink. He became a part of the circle, at least... for a while. I think it all changed when Mama said no to him. He asked her out, and she finally understood why he'd been so nice to her. Yet, that didn't change anything. Being friends, he was still coming around. Maybe he was doing more, becoming more distant, but not much changed. He kept offering, and offering, and eventually I think she figured if she had control, and it was something he'd offer, then how could it hurt? It was only after that year and once the gifts died down that, well..."
"What?" Jason raises his eyes again to meet yours as he'd been mulling over his own thoughts for a moment, head in hands. A chuckle shakes his chest subtly as his hands shoot out in gesticulation. "You can't just say 'after that, well...' and not finish the story!"
"Come on, Jase-" Bruce gently reprimands with a look.
"It's clear there's more," Dick interrupts his Father to address you, still in the position he'd been in. Eyes intent on your figure as he waits for an answer, a scowl on his lips.
"I finally asked him if there was any way I could do something. Something small to make money; like mow someone's lawn, pet-sitting, house-sitting... things like that." Eyes falling to the pilled carpet by your sock-clad feet, you pick at the fluffy brown fabric. "I had school. My mom would hate me if she knew I asked him, but everyone else was getting money, and I figured if he was like my Uncle or Dad it's normal to ask for those things... I think." Hair falling over your shoulders, it masks your face as you rush to get the rest of the story out.
"He... had me do jobs for him. It was easy. Deliver presents, bouquets, envelopes, packages, things like that. No problem, lots of people do that, right? But I was making at least a hundred every week, if not more, and, and I didn't think about it. It was easy money! I could buy whatever I wanted, I could save, I could spoil my friends, my mom... I never thought about it until I... got curious." Words trailing off, you risk a glance up at Dick. Tucking your bangs behind your ear, his expression is immovable. He's stoic; a pickup of heartrate leaves you anxious as you haven't been able to easily read him like many of the others.
The movement of Jason's lips slowly opening garners your attention, and as his eyes widen you quickly duck your head back down again. "You were..." he tests the waters.
"So one day I decided to stay. They never opened their packages in my vicinity. Never opened the presents, envelopes, packages, or undid the bouquet. It didn't feel right. I haven't gotten many presents in my life, but I'd think if I got a big one like those, I'd open it right away... see what it is." Continuing with your story, you didn't give Jason even half a fraction of time to finish his thoughts. "So I delivered the package like normal, watched them count out the money and hand it over before I was on my way. Around the corner, I was halfway down the block when I realized I could probably wait it out, hide somewhere across the street and watch them from one of the store windows. They wouldn't notice. I could just put on my hood, if anything, and... well, then it-" eyes shifting back up to Dick, you don't look away this time, "-it happened."
"I hadn't realized it but parked on the opposite side of the road and right by me out of sight from where I'd come there were cop cars parked. Cops lined up with their guns pulled, batons and riot shields ready. I froze..." At this moment it seems like the gears in Dick's mind are finally starting to turn and place things together. "I thought I was caught, for something I only suspected, but... within seconds the cops were ushering me out of the area while the second team were busting the gang of boys I'd come from for having drugs."
"They were using you," Bruce states, an air of sympathy encased in his word choice.
"You were a mule f-" Jason affirms.
"-But that wasn't the end of it," Dick says confidently, his dark blue eyes still set on you, unmoving, a quirked brow joining his visage. "You said you're out. So if that's true then how'd that happen?" He asks, finally shifting in his seat as his head slightly tilts. It's almost as if he's testing you. "Exactly," he clarifies.
"Once I realized what was happening I ran home. I-" jaw clenching, your eyebrows furrow as you don't want to have to admit this. Especially not when Dick looks so confident and arrogant. You know he'd seen you that day, just like you knew you'd seen him. A silent staring match follows,a few seconds, before your resolve crumbles upon the memories. "I told my mom. I was crying, and she was shocked and surprised and angry and mad and I didn't know what to do! I didn't know where to go or who to tell, and I knew she'd be mad but she said she wasn't mad at me, but at him and that it was okay because she was gonna get us out of it. We met up with Anto- with- with Marin," you correct yourself. "We demanded out, and... he let us go. He said we were free to go as long as we didn't say or do anything that went against him. MY mom didn't want us involved with him anymore."
"He just 'let you go'?" Dick reiterates.
"Yes. That's it," you reveal, a shrug following as you don't bother to make eye contact. "Now you know!" The revelation leaves you upset and unaware of anyone else's responses. You just know that this changes everything, now that they know... they know that you're a bad person. You dealt drugs. You worked for a mobster. A gangster, a criminal; you stocked up drug money, saving it, keeping it. Blood money, one could even claim in earnest... and you couldn't argue with them.
~~~~~~~~
forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo
hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980 , @theroyalmanatee , @azazel-nyx , @nightrose-18 , @vanessa-boo , @ih4temy5elfs0b4d , @agent-nobody-knows , @scarlett13 , @hoeinthehouse
152 notes · View notes
in-som-niyah · 19 days
Text
Attentive!Jason who feels you toss and turn away from him in the night, signalling that something was wrong. He didn't know what, but upon feeling you curl into a ball, holding your stomach, it clicked.
Attentive!Jason who turns on his side to pull you back into his chest, hoping the warmth would soothe you enough to go back to a deeper sleep. Sighing sadly, he realizes that this time might be worse than he thought.
Attentive!Jason who kisses your hairline and slowly untangles himself from you in order to get up. He goes and puts the kettle on, fills a glass of water and brings your painkillers of choice, making a mental note of buying you more the next time he's out.
Attentive!Jason who sets the glass and painkillers on your nightstand, then slowly makes his way back into bed. Gently, he wakes you with kisses and firm strokes on your back, soothing some of the ache.
Attentive!Jason who, upon gently waking you, helps you to the bathroom to get cleaned up and take a hot shower.
Attentive!Jason who kisses your lips every time you try and apologize for ruining the sheets followed by a "no more tears querida, just let me take care of you"
Attentive!Jason that fills up your hot water bottle and a cup of herbal tea with extra honey just how you like it, and brings both items back to your room. He wraps the hot water bottle in a thin, fuzzy blanket, as to not burn you.
Attentive!Jason who puts your towel and clean pyjamas in the dryer for 5 minutes to warm them up for you before you get out of the shower.
Attentive!Jason who helps dress you when your shower is done, but leaving you to do what you need to privately. He just wants you safe and comfortable.
Attentive!Jason that guides you back to bed, not in a smothering and demeaning way, but just to make things easier on your aching joints.
Attentive!Jason that bundles you up snugly after you finish your tea, and reads to you to help you fall back asleep. The painkillers seem to be working, and he knows his voice soothes you.
Attentive!Jason that kisses your forehead and presses the hot water bottle to your sore abdomen once you begin to stir again, in effort to ease the tension.
Attentive!Jason who will, no matter what time it is, get up to get what you need. This boy is so madly in love with you, nothing you could ever need is too much for him. It doesn't matter if he just came back from a gruelling patrol, a fight with Bruce, or recovering from his own ailments. Jason Loverboy Todd is going to bring you tea at 4am. No complaints. No questions asked.
Attentive!Jason who secretly researches new ways to help you when you're hurting, always wanting to learn and improve.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a/n: answered this ask that disappeared for some reason???? it was from some general attentive!jason hcs when reader was on their period/cramping but i genuinely have no idea where it went....
anyways time for bed its 2am
1K notes · View notes
thebiggerbear · 23 days
Text
DCU Masterlist
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Characters
Bane (Nolanverse: TDKR)
Alice Kane (Batwoman)
Tumblr media
dividers by @firefly-graphics
0 notes
howtokillavampire · 5 months
Note
Trick or Treat!
A Superbat Trick please!
Done and done! here's the ao3 link but I also uploaded it to be read here on tumblr too. Hope you enjoy it!
Out of the Rain - Superbat - 1k
The last time Bruce saw him, it was raining. He had made a miscalculation, a nearly fatal error, and found himself bleeding out in an alleyway miles away from home. Through pain and a clenched jaw, Bruce forced himself to keep moving. Puddles splashed around his ankles as he slid through the shadows, the wet pavement slipping against each footfall. 
He ducked into one of his safehouses on the far side of Gotham, hoping the med kit he stashed was still there. The stab wounds to his shoulder and gut weren’t going to patch themselves. 
Bruce peeled his cowl off and took in a gasp of fresh air. The safe house was void of decorations, with only a small kitchenette and a single bedroom with a tiny bathroom attached. Bruce had surveillance cameras around the perimeter and enough alarms to make a high-security prison cry. 
He walked to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the shitty mattress. He was about to begin stripping his suit off when he heard a faint beeping noise. One of his motion sensors had gone off. 
Through labored breathing, Bruce made his way to the computer and pulled up the footage. He barely had time to process the flash of red and blue across the screen before there was a knock at the door. 
“Bruce, I know you’re in there. Open up,” Superman called from outside. Bruce grumbled to himself as he slowly walked to the door, reaching for the handle with his good arm. He opened the door just enough to stick his head through. 
“Now’s not a good time, Kent,” Bruce ground out.
“If we’re using last names, you must really be pissed off,” Superman replied. 
“What do you want?”
“I saw you get stabbed, so I followed you to make sure you were okay,” he explained.
“So you’re stalking me again?” Bruce said between gritted teeth. 
“I wouldn’t call it stalking. More like… looking after a good friend.”
Friend. Right. 
“I’m not letting you in.”
“You’re in no place to fight me on it,” Superman pointed out. 
Batman snorted and hesitated for a moment. Then he stepped to the side and opened the door wide enough to let Kent in. He didn’t miss the way Batman favored his right side and arm. 
The door clicked shut softly behind the two men, and Bruce limped his way back to the bedroom. 
“Take off your suit so we can assess the damage,” Superman ordered. 
“At least buy me a drink first,” Bruce joked through his pained grimace. He did as he was told. Or at least tried to. He could barely raise his right arm without shooting pain racing up his side. 
“Need some help?” Kent called from the doorway.
“No,” Bruce shot back, annoyed but not fooling anyone.
“Here, let me,” Kent said softly, reaching forward. Bruce swallowed the instinct the flinch away. Kent gently removed the cape and began unzipping the suit from the back. It fell off, pooling around Bruce’s waist and staining the sheets red. Bruce held his head high and turned to the side, refusing to acknowledge how close the two men were. 
Then, Kent bent down and began slipping Batman’s shoes off one at a time. A faint flush crept up Bruce’s neck. He motioned for Batman to stand, and began unclasping the belts and holsters, setting them softly on the floor. When they were all removed, Bruce was left with only the bottom half of the costume still covering him. 
The rain tapped on the window, echoing through the quiet room. It was nearly winter, so the rain bordered on sleet, beating down heavily outside. The cold air seemed to seep in through every crack and crevice, sending a chill up Bruce’s spine. Superman reached for the clasp on Bruce’s pants, but his hands were halted by Bruce.
“I can handle the rest,” he said. “Grab me a pair of sweats from the dresser.” 
Kent opened the bottom drawer and tossed gray sweats to Bruce. He stood and watched Bruce from across the room.
“A little privacy?” Batman said snarkily. 
“Oh, right. I’ll go grab the medical supplies,” Kent offered, leaving the room. He returned a few moments later with a tackle box full of first aid supplies and found Bruce sitting on the edge of his bed in the sweats. 
“It looks like the bleeding is finally coming to a stop,” Kent observed. He set the tackle box on the bed next to Bruce. “I’ll have to stitch up the wounds. It won’t be painless,” he warned.
“Not the first time, and definitely not the last,” Bruce offered. 
They settled into a tense silence as Superman helped Bruce lay back on the bed and began preparing the tools. Despite the circumstances, Bruce was glad to not be suffering through it alone.
Kent rested a hand gently on Bruce’s thigh.
“I’m about to start, do you need something to bite down on or grip while I-” he was cut off by Bruce holding up a hand. Kent nodded and got into position.
As the needle punctured the skin around the stomach wound, Bruce’s hand shot out and gripped Kent’s shoulder with surprising strength. He held on as the first wound was patched.
“Alright, one done. Shoulder’s up next Bruce.”
Bruce nodded and tried to unclench his jaw to form a semblance of a reply, but failed miserably. Kent focused back on the shoulder wound and began his second patch job. 
Bruce’s fingers slipped down from Kent’s shoulder and found purchase on his bicep, digging in as if Bruce was holding on for dear life.
It was over faster than the first one, for which Bruce was grateful. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before slowly sitting up. 
“Thank you, Clark,” he said, voice raw. 
“Anytime, Bruce,” Clark said with such nonchalance Bruce almost believed him. “I have to finish my patrol, but I’ll come back afterward, alright?”
Bruce nodded. 
Clark began walking out of the room but hesitated in the doorway. 
“You know, you can always call me when you need a hand. You don’t always have to be a martyr for this city.”
Bruce bit down on the urge to say neither do you and instead let out an amused snort. Superman looked back over his shoulder at the vigilante. 
“You’re not in this alone anymore. Let your friends help you. Let me help you.”
“Goodbye, Kent.”
Clark’s shoulders deflated and he turned his back to Bruce. He was out the door before Bruce could blink. 
22 notes · View notes
zeroducklings · 2 years
Text
Listen, I'm not here to brag, but this fic is hot 🔥 The 6th installment of the "Sladick connected fics" series. Slade decides to take his revenge on Dick, all the below tags ensue.
Tumblr media
11 notes · View notes