#I just want to be no thoughts head empty draw Batman
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Who even am I if I can't draw Bruce Wayne?
#I'm on the struggle bus#I'm just so tired and bored#it's been a loooooong few weeks#(worse for my mom but still long)#I just want to be no thoughts head empty draw Batman#instead I'm so many thoughts head stressed can't draw#fuck the chronic art block and fuck working at a law firm#I hate it here >:(#dad if you see this no you don't#don't psychoanalyze me#to delete later#not art
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Stolen by the monster pt 2
yes that first gif is not the man in question but i loved it so meh
I do not own August walker or MI6 by any means nesscary
Permission to copy my work in anyway is not acceptable.
with all that being said, here you go;
Your POV
Several weeks have passed since I've been taken. I refused to speak with him, August or Gus Gus when I wanted to irritate the man, after he left me breakfast. I locked my doors at night, but I doubted that would stop him but he never came in. On my second morning I was fitted with a tracking bracelet that would take an amputation to get off. The sick fuck just smiled at me while he placed it on my ankle and kissed my calf when he was finished “More clothing will be arriving for you this afternoon and anything else you need, please let me know. He's an odd duck to say the least. Doesn't mean I did enjoy making the list of items to get. A few i threw on there just to see his reaction but there was none, they all arrived. The sex toys included.
By the end of the second week I was allowed access to his “Home” if he wanted to go for the modern day gothic Batman look he sure hit the nail on the head. An open concept living room and kitchen, tall ceilings made me feel small. Even with the wall of windows he had at the back of the house, it was still rather dark. I found several empty bedrooms on the main floor and another room that was locked, i trying to pry it open when a low rumble of a laugh intruded the space “Petal'' the voice cooed i turned my gaze to the man before me “Gus Gus'' his eyes narrowed showing his displeasure, his hand reached out and grabbed my wrist “Come” he spoke it wasn't a suggestion it was a command. I followed him through the living room to the stairs. I came down and we took a left heading back to my room, when we stopped outside a set of dark oak double doors. Releasing my wrist he pushed the doors open revealing a large room, covered ceiling to floor bookcases and another set of wall to wall windows. Leading me in slowly, I spun in a slow circle to take it all in.
“Petal'' he called, drawing my eyes to where he stood. He was by a large fireplace and he beckoned me over. Walking over to look up at this looming figure. I felt small and meek in his shadow, sitting down on the couch he poured himself three fingers on whiskey and threw it back before pouring another. He sat in the chair across from me “Petal'' he said again “You must be wondering why i've taken you” with a smug smile “I've been wondering that, id imagined it had something to do with my father”
I cocked my head waiting for a reaction but he merely sipped his drink and leaned forward resting his elbows on his thighs. He chuckled, “What gave you that idea?” mimicking his movements “Growing up I heard the stories of my father and what a great man he was, it wasn't till I was older I understood that I'd never met him. Until 4 years ago, my mother returned from one of her trips with my stepfather in tow, an obnoxious man if you ask me, and she got a call, stepping outside to take it. It was my father, Ethan Hunt, the same man who believes that you are dead.. CIA Special Agent August Walker ``I leaned forward and plucked his whiskey glass from his hands, plastered a shit eating grin on my face and took a sip, feeling the burn as the whiskey went down.
I felt a surge of power rush through me as I thought that I finally had the upper hand on him, sitting back and taking in his hard stare. I slowly uncrossed my legs,the tennis skirt I wore barely covered my black lace thong that left little to no room for imagination. Shifting my hips to the right and recrossing my legs as he watched me slowly with a calculated look. I smirked into the whiskey glass taking another sip. He was up and out of his seat in an instant. He grabbed me by my throat and pinned me to the back of the leather sofa.
“Listen here petal” he spits. “Just because you know my name doesn't mean you know me.. The things I've done would make your skin crawl and your body would fill with disgust” when in fact my body was doing the exact opposite, a pool of liquid warmth growing in my low belly, my thighs dampening from my leaking arousal. I placed a hand on his wrist, to steady myself as I rubbed my thighs to relieve this building pressure. He scoffed at my actions “Look at you the wanton whore, are you so deprived for attention that youd fuck a man like me? A monster they call me, willing to sacrifice the whole world to build it a new”
His left hand found my jaw “Open” he ordered, i shook my head trying to fit his grip “Open your mouth before i break your jaw petal” i reluctantly obliged, the whiskey pooled on my tongue. His hot breath fanned over my face as he drew near “Don't you dare bite me little girl” I glared at him, the anger and lust rising. He placed his warm mouth over mine and lapped at the pool of whiskey on my tongue. He was slow and methodical at first just barely giving in. releasing my throat he gave in to carnal desire, he drank the whiskey from my mouth, in one gulp, the excess dripping off our lips and down our chins.
He tugged on my bottom lip with his teeth, biting so hard he drew blood. Ripping his mouth from mine and throwing me back into my chair. Chest heaving, his eyes black with desire “Do not try that again” before storming out of the room leaving me a shaking with need in his big leather seat
August’s POV
Slamming the door to my office, I let out a frustrated growl. My cock throbbing in my slacks begging to be let free. I cant lose control, especially not with you. Moving over to my desk I pull open my computer, I log into the security system to find you. I open my slacks and fist my cock as I'm waiting for it to load. That perfect mouth and the way the whiskey tastes on your tongue. I fist my cock again trying to relieve the pressure. The system booted up and I found you in your room. Spread eagle fingering your pink glistening pussy, you let your head drop back with a roll as you stuck 2 fingers in your slick cunt. “Fuck” whipping the precum from my tip to lubricate myself. you began riding your fingers with such vigor. your juices dripping down your hand to your wrist, you are fucking soaked. you slowly pulled your fingers out before reaching over to the bedside table where you had a toy waiting, making a show of it.
you brought the tip of the toy to your lips and licked it before putting it in your mouth, getting it nice and wet. My balls ached for release but I held back as I watched you, sliding it down your neck to circle your perky breast and down your stomach to your dripping pussy, rubbing the tip back and forth collecting moisture. As you pushed the toy in between your folds, you looked directly at the camera and gave me a wicked smile. you knew I'd be watching, you wanted this.
I should have turned it off but I couldn't help but watch you as you rode yourself to climax, soft and sultry moans coming from the screen as I leaned back, cock in my hand and following suit. You are absolutely stunning when you climaxing, it wasn't your moans or your panting that sent me over the edge, it was my name. On your lips as you came hard, you laid back and were panting. your legs are still trembling and your lower abdomen is still spasming. I spilled into my hand desperately wishing that it was you.
The wicked girl looked back at the camera with a sly grin as you pulled out the toy and tucked it under your covers. Tucking my semi hard cock back into my slacks, rolling up the sleeves of my shirt, I walked over to my safe and pulled out the sedative I used on you. Drawing up the amount I needed and making my way to your room. Using the master key to open the door I slipped in and shut it behind me. That black and white cat stared at me. Hissed and darted to a chair. “Stupid cat,” I muttered , making my way to the figure on the bed. Your short breaths told me you were still awake but not for long. I pulled the cap off the needle and made my way towards you, pulling back the covers when I heard your voice “Stop” I stopped in my tracks and you moved to a sitting position “ I’ll let you do whatever you want, you don't need that.'' I placed the cap back on the needle and placed it on the bedside table.
you swallowed with an audible gulp. A better man would think twice, but I have no such compunction. I sat on the edge of your bed trailing my fingers up and down your skin. I ran my hand down your thigh, to your calf then ankle before grabbing it. With little force I opened your legs to see that pretty pink pussy, still glistening with your orgasm. “Hmm” was all I muttered before dropping to my knees before you. Wrapping my arms under your thighs, I pulled till your ass is part way off the bed. you breath hitches as I nip at your soft thighs.
“Pray tell why do i not have to sedate you? It's rather fun that way '' I bite into another spot on your thigh leaving you a hickey. Fumbling with your words. I gave you a sharp nip to your clit to prompt your response “Maybe I also have something against my father” you whimpered as I drew closer to your pussy, you smelt devine. Fan my breath across your warm core desperately trying to gain any friction.
Darting my tongue out to lick you wet folds, you let out a low whine “please August” promptly stopping, “Tell me what i want and i'll devour you like you are my last meal” releasing a low whine in frustration “My father, all he could talk about was you and how you were dangerous and deranged. I was there at the camp that day your life was supposed to end.” suckling on the tender flesh of you inner thighs, slipping in two digits into your aching cunt, probing lightly “Go on, i'm waiting but i'm not a patient man” squirming where i held you, “Seeing you made it real for me, my father hated you and you'd be his downfall” humming in satisfaction, i liked your thinking. Sucking your swollen clit into my mouth and added another finger stretching you wide feeling your wetness spill down my fingers “Please August” you begged
“Then what?” sticking my tongue into your needy hole, absolutely dripping wet, swirling my thumb in your juice, I created a trail from your cunt to your tight hole. You squeaked at the touch. Flicking my eyes up I watched you struggle to get the words out “ I want to.. To… fuck August i cant” curling the two finger still inside i hit that spot causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. Releasing your throbbing numb “Tell me and you can cum all over my tongue and fingers” taking your clit back in my mouth and giving it a sharp tug. “Fuck August…” I slowed my attack of your body to a deathly slow pace. You blew out a frustrated breath. “I want you to use me to get revenge on my father by any means necessary.” the thought of that alone, i was hard as stone. “Good girl” I quickened my pace, coating my finger in your juices, I made my way to your back entrance and pushed in with little resistance. “Fuck petal your so tight i can feel you squeezing my fingers”
No response, just moans. “I can't hold back much longer,” I smiled wickedly. Flattening my tongue, I licked at your folds pulling your clit back into my mouth with a harsh suck and pulling you over the edge “AUGUST '' you cried as you rode my fingers. Drawing out your pleasure till your legs were absolutely shaking but I wasn't done with you yet. With drawing my fingers and giving your thighs a couple more nips for good measure I placed you back on the edge of the bed, moving from my knees to full height, my cock tenting my pants. Watching you gasping and with your hair a mess. You looked so good. Leaning over “Had enough?” we locked eyes and your eyes narrowed “Not even fucking close”
with a devilish grin, i captured your lips with mine, giving you a taste of you off my own tongue, reaching for the zipper on my slacks "Well then petal, let me defile you in everyway"
#august walker imagines#henry cavill#henry cavill imagine#henrycavill smut#august walker#mission impossible 6#henry cavill thirst#henry cavill gifs#henry cavill x you#august walker fanfic#august walker fanfiction
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Live Fast, Die Young
AO3
Fandom: Batman
Featured Characters: Claire Clover (Gotham Girl), Cassandra Cain
Wordcount: 789
I was rereading Batgirl (1999) vol. 1 and started thinking about the parallels between these too Anyway, I'm still on vacation so you get some quick, barely edited fic. Takes place in rebirth only Cass is still Batgirl for reasons.
I'm trying to work my way up to writing more of Cass, so thoughts on her in this are appreciated.
---
The cave was dark, but not empty. Claire could hear something, she thought she could at least. Maybe it was just a feeling. If she wanted, she could know for sure: burn a little power and she could hear the slightest sound. How much of her life would that take? A minute? Five? Batman— no Bruce, he wanted her to call him Bruce— he didn’t want her using her powers any more than hse had to. But. How much would it really do?
No. She shouldn’t. Claire called out instead. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
A piece of the shadows melted off and converged into a figure dressed in black, a bat outlined in bright yellow on her chest and her face completely covered by a black mask. She pulled off the mask to reveal a young face with short, dark hair.
“You’re Batgirl,” Claire said.
“Yes.”
“You’re working with Batwoman, aren’t you?” she asked, trying to remember what Batman had told her, back before the fear
“Yes,” Batgirl said again. “Needed something,” she nodded towards the back of the cave, where Batman kept his armory. “Who are you?”
“Claire, umm, Gotham Girl, I guess. I don’t know.”
Batgirl stepped closer. “I don’t know you,” she said. “You are new?”
Claire nodded. “I was— I was sick for a while, but I am.”
“Better now?”
“Yeah.”
Batgirl was studying her, analyzing her with that same focus that Bruce had. “Can you fight?”
“I can.”
“Want to?” She gestured towards the training ring.
“Umm, Batman’s still teaching me.”
Batgirl smiled. On a different person, it might have been cocky, but on her, it just looked confident, assured. “Scared?”
It was an obvious challenge, but that didn’t make it any less effective. Claire wasn’t scared. Not anymore. What was the point of everything Batman had done for her, of him going up against Bane, if she was still going to be scared. “No,” she said and stepped into the ring.
Batgirl walked in after her and took up a position across from her. She unclipped her belt and removed her gauntlets, and then, in a single languid movement, settled into a ready stance. She gestured with a single hand. Come at me.
Claire wasn’t useless in a fight. She’d trained in various martial arts for years with… with Hank. She wasn’t anywhere near Batman’s level though. Probably not at Batgirl’s either. She wasn’t going to be scared though, so, careful not to let the power out, she darted in and threw a punch
At least, that was what she was supposed to do. Instead, Batgirl moved impossibly quickly. Claire blinked and she was on the ground, Batgirl standing above her.
“I win,” she said
Claire picked herself up. “You’re good.”
Batgirl smirked. “I always win,” she said. And then, “Again?”
“You’d just beat me.”
Batgirl shook her head. “No. You were… holding back. Don’t need to.”
“No,” Claire said. “I kind of have to. I have… this power, but I shouldn’t use it unless I really have to.”
“Lethal?”
Her thoughts went to Hank, gone mad and wrecking the city. “It can be.”
A fist darted out and stopped just before Claire’s throat, too fast for her to even flinch. “So am I,” Batgirl said. She held it there for a second before drawing it back. “You can’t control it?”
“No, I can.” Most of the time. Unless she couldn’t control herself. “It’s less about that, and more what it does to me.”
“It hurts you?”
“Kind of.”
“Meta?”
Claire shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The question was clear on Batgirl’s face.
“It’s kind of a long story.”
Batgirl shrugged and sat down on the map.
Claire sat down across from her. “Me and my brother, we really admired Batman. We wanted to be like him.”
Batgirl nodded.
“So we trained and learned and tried to help people. And then we met someone and he said he could give us power. Strength, flight, super-senses. We could do anything, could be like superman, and all it would cost was burning some of our own life.” She shrugged. “Maybe it was a stupid deal to make. I mean, we were already helping people. Doing good.”
“Good,” Batgirl said. “Not perfect. You could do more, be better.”
“Yeah. Then would you have done it?” she asked. “If you had the choice?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “What we do, we can’t fail.”
“No.” They failed and people died. “And I have these powers now. That means I should use them.”
“No holding back.”
“I know, I’m just…” Not scared. Claire wasn’t going to be scared anymore. She shook her head. “Thanks.”
Batgirl stood. “Next time,” she said with a smile. “Fight better.”
Claire returned the smile. “I will.”
#cassandra cain#claire clover#pairing up the randomest female bat characters#my fic#havendance writes#carthago delenda est#live fast die young#dc#bats + birds + affiliated
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I posted 8,293 times in 2022
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My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
My unpopular opinions: positivity only!
I feel like there needs to be more love in the fandom so I'm gonna start a thing!
I absolutely adore the soup time joke in regards to the thermos
The amount of ocs and world building of the phandom is absolutely astounding
How the fuck do we have basically a phandom event every month?? Like yall put out so much content that I am shooketh
Danny being 14 and acting like a little shit is blessed
393 notes - Posted February 18, 2022
#4
DP prompt: Mr. Lancer is formally introduced to Clockwork at parent-teacher night.
Hi berry I love you berry but stop sending me prompts that get away from me I'm dying (affectionate and joking)
---
Mister Lancer heaves the sigh of an underpaid teacher with a long, long night ahead of them.
So far the parents have been…normal. Expected responses to common patterns of students.
He leans back, away from the desk to rub his face. The next pair of parents has him debating the flask he stashed in his bag.
He had sent a notice for young Mister Fenton to attend with his parents, against common practice. The boy had taken it with resignation lining his very soul. His eyes betrayed something else though. It made him wonder; if something else was happening behind the scenes.
Afterall, why would a child show signs of fear?
Sitting up, Lancer looks over the file again, feeling like he was missing something paramount to the situation.
A knock on the door draws his attention up.
A mop of black hair is barely seen at the bottom of the window.
"Come in!" He calls straightening his notes.
The door opens and Danny trudges in with his shoulders bunched near his ears.
Lancer can't help but notice the slight limp in his gait and the way one arm is curled around his torso.
"Are you alright?" He can't help but ask.
Danny flinches, ducking his head lower to hide behind his bangs.
"'M fine," he mumbles, shuffling his feet.
Lancer frowns, and looks back at the open but empty doorway.
"Are your-"
"No, they're not," Danny cuts in. He stands awkwardly beside the chairs in front of the desk. "Can we just get this over with?"
Lancer blinks at the level of aggression in his voice. He takes a moment to reassess, seeing the lines of tension as more than just fear and shame.
"Have a seat, Mister Fenton," Lancer says, keeping his tone even, his posture loose. Danny balks but does as he's told, curling up on the seat.
"I had wanted to go over a few concerns," Lancer says, making a show of pulling some files from the folder. He watches Danny tense further out of the corner of his eye. "However, I have decided that perhaps a…re-evaluation is in order."
He drops the papers into the trash.
Danny frowns, blue eyes flicking between the bin and his face.
Lancer waits, giving the boy time to collect his thoughts.
"Why?" It's small, barely formed without any malice.
"Because I believe I've never had the full picture," he answers, leaning forward on his desk to bend to Danny's eye level. "And I do see so much potential that's being buried away."
Danny scoffs looking away, "No potential here, I'm just the family fuck up."
Oh, and isn't that something.
See the full post
494 notes - Posted August 12, 2022
#3
"Wake up, Mister Fenton."
He flinches, smooshing his face into his arms before lifting his head.
Green.
Danny blinks.
"Oh Great Expectations," Lancer sighs with relief. Knelt beside him in the blue grass, "How do you feel?"
"Uh…" he looks around, sitting up properly.
They're in the Zone, half the class, minus Tucker and Sam. Sprawled out in the grassy field.
"What happened?" He asks instead. He tries to remember, pain lancing through his head at the effort.
"Whereizit?!" Dash shouts sitting up with a jolt.
"Easy, easy," Lancer grabs Danny's shoulder to steady him. "You hit your head pretty hard."
"I did?" Danny blinks the spots from his vision, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.
Somewhere further away, Paulina stares up at the drifting purple clouds. Muttered Spanish filling the air.
"What happened?" Danny asks, giving up trying to remember anything. He pushes himself to his feet. "Is everyone else okay?"
"Ah, you should stay sitting," Lancer says, reaching out to grab him. "Your head-"
"'M fine," Danny waves off, taking a step out of reach. He looks over the field.
Everyone is awake, and either getting to their feet to gather closer or staring in open shock at everything.
A brush of cold runs down his spine, making him gasp.
Danny pivots, striking a hard and fast punch to the center of the floating eyeball that had appeared behind him.
"Fenton?" Dash squeaks.
Danny shakes his hand out as he looks down at the bent over Observant.
"Why do I get the feeling this is your fault?" Danny asks them. He can feel the stares of the students, but he doesn't look back.
"Lor-" Danny grabs the front of his cloak to pull them upright.
"Skip the formalities, what did you do?"
"It has been- Ah- discussed that The King's Advisory Court needed to be…addressed." The Observant places wrinkled hands on Danny's and forces him to let go.
Danny hums.
"We have made the executive decision to assign members to-"
Danny punches them again, this time in the stomach. They double over with a wheezing gasp.
"So kidnapping humans to the Realms was your bright idea?"
"They are loyal to Lord Phantom," they gasp, glaring up at him
"You mean overzealous fans," Danny corrects, he leans over the Observant. "Send us home."
See the full post
821 notes - Posted August 21, 2022
#2
Danny rubs his temples, silently begging the building migraine to stop.
Unfortunately, that's not how migraines work.
His parents continue their screaming argument with Mister Lancer.
At this point they're so off from the original topic that he can't even remember what set them off to begin with.
(It was how to properly ensure the students safety.)
More unfortunately, they're in front of the entire school population in the gymnasium.
"You good?" Sam stage whispers from her place on the side of the makeshift stage.
"I'd rather deal with the Observants," he hisses back.
Sam winces.
Danny hiccups on a breath of cold air, as a presence solidifies behind him.
"Good, then maybe we can-" Danny grabs the hand that's placed on his shoulder and flips the Observant over, slamming them bodily between the adults.
The ensuing silence is deafening.
"Ancients, I swear if Johnny is nearby, he's getting souped for a month." Danny mutters walking closer to the ghost.
"Danny?" Maddie asks, a little bit shocked but something like pride in her eyes.
"Nuh-uh," Danny puts his hand up. "You're not touching this one."
Jack frowns, "But it's a-"
"I don't care-"
The Observant groans, trying to sit up. He stomps on their shoulder, pinning them to the stage.
"-and you shut up, I'll deal with you in a second."
The eyeball glares at him, "I will not be treated in such a manner."
Danny pulls out his thermos, "You want to be souped?"
The Observant holds their hands up, palms out.
"That's what I thought, now you two-"
"Did you just negotiate with a ghost?" Maddie asks, a little gobsmacked.
"Yes, now you two are going to pack your weapons up into the GAV and go home."
She frowns. "This is an educational-"
"Yeah no, it stopped being educational 30 minutes ago when you started a screaming match with Mr. Lancer."
"We did not-"
"I do have to agree," Principal Ishiyama says, watching the ghost warily as she steps on stage. "It would be best if you two were to leave, this assembly has officially lost its purpose. Or we can have you forcibly removed."
Maddie glares at her while Jack frowns, gaze bouncing back and forth between the ghost and Danny.
See the full post
1,356 notes - Posted September 7, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Danny stares at the glowing sticky note sitting innocuously on his notebook.
"Mister Fenton," Lancer says, drawing his attention up, "since you seem to be so studiously staring at your notes, perhaps you know the answer to my question."
Danny blinks.
He looks at the note once more before looking up.
"Is it 42?"
The class erupts in giggles as Lancer sighs. "That may be the answer to life but no that doesn't answer my question. Miss Sanchez, perhaps you know."
Danny tunes out to pick up the green sticky. Glowing blue ink glitters as it moves.
A single hand may lift a stone, but many can move the boulder.
Danny flips the note over, and back.
"What's that?" Tucker whispers, leaning forward on his desk to be closer to Danny.
"Bewildering, I need to visit Grandfather I guess."
"The mysterious one that you never mentioned before the C.A.T.S?" Sam asks.
"Mister Fenton," Lancer walks over. "There is no note passing in my class."
"But I wasn't-"
"Wow Fentina, don't know how you didn't expect to get caught with something that bright," Dash laughs.
"Pass it over," Lancer holds his hands out.
Huffing a sigh, Danny passes it to Lancer.
Or tries to.
The note passes through Lancer's hand.
Lancer blinks.
Danny blinks.
Lancer grabs the note again, fingers passing through.
"Wuthering Heights!" Lancer frowns, trying once more. "I'm losing my touch."
Danny flips the note and wiggles it. The sticky note does not make a noise. It does glow brighter however.
Lancer grabs Danny's wrists to move the note around to see it better.
"...Mister Fenton," he stares at the glittery ink, leaning closer.
"...yes Mr. Lancer?"
"This doesn't look like it's English."
"That's 'cause it's not."
"How the fuck-"
See the full post
1,714 notes - Posted August 10, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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I posted 7,248 times in 2022
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My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
A Spark in the Night | Dream of the Endless x Reader
A spark of inspiration, kindled in The Dreaming
Rated E for Endless, Eyes, and Everyone wishes they could be in this library, don't lie
A special note to thanks @captainpoopweinersoldier for reminding me that in these fics, these dreams, we can and must be the best versions of ourselves, for our souls, for our sanity. What once was a wallow fest of self-doubt and insecurity has blossomed with hope and catharsis. Thank you, Lisa, for not giving up on me and for all your encouragement. <3
--------------------------------
The hallways of your high school don’t look quite like you remember. They’re too bright and too empty and… since when was there a rabbit hutch on the wall instead of lockers? There aren’t even any rabbits in it, just downy little feathers fluttering about, but you know it’s a rabbit hutch just the same. And why are you even here? What class could you possibly be missing? Didn’t you graduate already?
A dream.
You’re walking through a dream.
And yet, even knowing this now, you still feel an urgency to duck into one of the classrooms. Like you’re expected. And you don’t want to disappoint whoever is waiting.
But what is through the door is no classroom. It’s really unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The marble tiles seem to glow, bathing the place in a surreal light that travels up the half dozen chiseled columns and archways. Archways that seem to magically dissolve into a purpled midnight sky where a ceiling ought to be. It dances with an aurora borealis in vivid greens and electric blues that nearly stop your heart as you stare in wonder.
The sound of a book closing draws your attention back downward. A large ornately carved table commands the center of the place, the darkest wood of it matching the brimming bookcases that line the walls. At one end of the table sits a singular high-backed chair, and in it, a man with a leather bound tome in his pale hand.
Dream.
You realize he must have been watching you since you came in, but when your eyes finally settle on him, the ghost of a smile crosses his face as he tilts his head. “Ah, there you are. I have been waiting for you.”
“Sorry,” you mutter offhand, attention torn between the marvel above you and the Dream Lord as you draw closer. “What is this place?”
“There’s no need for apologies.” He stands then, looking every bit the ethereal king you know him to be, but there’s something endearingly mundane about the way he cradles the book in his hand and straightens his shoulders formally. “Welcome to my library.”
That takes you aback. This place is much too small to be The Dreaming’s library, no way all the stories of the collective unconscious could be housed in these beautiful, but decidedly close quarters. As if reading your mind, or perhaps just the puzzlement on your face, Morpheus adds “This is my private collection. I thought it to be… less overwhelming.”
You stop beside the table, glancing up once more at the colors dancing above you both, and fix him with an incredulous look. “Right, much less overwhelming.”
His gaze follows yours up to the lights a moment, falling back to your face with the slightest quirk at the corner of his lips. And it almost seems like the flickering blue has been caught in his eyes as he rounds the corner of the table to approach you. Your mind takes you back to your first meeting with this Endless and you realize that blanket of calm has returned. Except where there was once fear, something else rests in your chest. Something else you’re not quite sure you have a name for just yet.
“I wrote the thing,” you offer, remembering the last dream and the story ideas that had flooded your mind. How he had already known them as sure as anything you’d actually put to paper. “The angsty one.”
“I know.” Of course he does, how could you have possibly thought otherwise. But there isn’t any smugness in the look he gives you as he stops a scant arm’s length away. It’s softer. It’s… kind. “I am pleased to hear it. Now, what shall your next one be?”
The book he’d been reading is still in his hand; he raises it in acknowledgement before setting it on the table between you both and you suddenly know that’s it. That’s the book that holds all your stories, everything you’ve ever written and everything you’ve never written. Without realizing, your hand finds its way to the cover, itching to open it, to know. But you stay yourself, fingers feeling along the spine wistfully.
“I don’t know.” You shrug a little, letting your hand drop to your side as you look back up at him. “Matthew, maybe?”
Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, surprises you with a half-annoyed little huff. “He will be flattered, I’m sure.”
Your lips draw thin as you try to contain yourself, peering at him curiously. “Jealous?”
Perhaps you were too bold, because your heart drops at the affronted way he raises his chin, brow cinched and lips parted as if to retort, to deny. But the spark in his eyes softens first, followed slowly by his expression, into something that feels almost playful.
“Are you laughing at me?” He squints at you, studying you, though his mouth quirks gently.
“No!” It comes out so sharp and fast you nearly startle yourself. This only seems to amuse the Dream King more. “No, of course not.”
His gentle hum is enough to soothe any worry in you. Though not quite enough to dispel your look of chagrin or the heat in your cheeks. Those you try hiding with another glance up at the color dancing across the glittering sky above. It’s beautiful, wondrous, and threatens to make you feel so small. Except…
“Can I…” You pause a moment to look at Dream again, not exactly sure where the ember of curiosity has come from, but feeling it fanned by the way this Endless watches you so intently. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
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59 notes - Posted October 12, 2022
#4
Untitled Document | Dream of the Endless x Reader
A/N: This is what happens when you have a million ideas and no idea what to do with him
Rated M for Morpheus is hot as fuck, but also there's a bit of naughtiness dotted in there
Special thanks to @captainpoopweinersoldier for encouraging this little idea and perusing it before posting to make sure it makes some semblance of sense haha
************************************************************************
“You’d seen entirely too many horror films to be perfectly at ease with the pale man draped in darkness at the corner of the room. More concerning still was the overwhelming urge not to feel concerned at all. A blanket of calmness as still as the night that seemed to hamper any tinge of fear without fully quelling it…”
The cursor blinks at you from the page and you nearly decide to scrub the whole thing. But… well, it’s not a bad idea. You just don’t know what to do with it. None of the ideas have been bad, per se. Some may be more inspired than others, but that’s the shape of things really. Yet it all feels like you’re scattering seeds to the wind and nothing wants to take.
Maybe gardening isn’t the best metaphor. You know actual gardening takes patience and care and hard work to achieve something beautiful. But at this point, you’d settle for weeds in the crack of a sidewalk just to have something. You also know that weeds can be beautiful too.
Instead of deleting the three measly sentences, you decide to… repurpose the document. If you can’t make a whole story just yet, you can at least throw these fic ideas into a Google Doc and maybe try plucking something up later.
Let’s see…
- Your cat gets the drop on a raven, but you save it and decide to take it home and patch it back up. Unbeknownst to you, the raven belongs to the King of Dreams, who comes looking for his companion
Hmmm… not terrible. But really, how would your lazy chonk of a cat manage to capture some mystical bird? The little tubbers can’t even capture flies worth a damn. Maybe the cat is magical too somehow? Are you a witch and the cat your Familiar? That’s worth exploring later maybe.
- You’ve trained as a dancer since childhood, but after years of chronic illness (chronic pain and fatigue syndrome? fibromyalgia?) the only place you can still dance is in your dreams, and it’s there that Morpheus becomes enamored of you
That has some potential. Write what you know, right? But while you know chronic illness, you don’t really know any dancing. This is the sorta shit that happens when you hear songs like “Tiny Dancer” while on your drive to work in the early morning. How would you even write about dancing convincingly? Like are you going to have to Google dance terms to try sounding legit?
But the thought of even his slightest of smiles, even the barest hint of adoration makes your tummy flutter
- Cockworship. Him splayed out on your bed (or his bed?) chiseled from the finest marble, adoring him this god, this endless being, this personification of dreams itself… and his breathless rasp of “Only you may worship me this way.”
Okay, that one has your cheeks heating up and you’re tummy flipping. What a lovely image. And certainly a mutual or two would absolutely love it as well. But… well, smut’s been a little difficult for you lately. Plus, you hardly ever write good smut. There’s always more feeling than you intend because you love a good backstory. Maybe you could try a Porn with Plot sometime, but today doesn’t feel like that day. Perhaps if you get a weekend alone with a bottle of wine one day…
- You dream-walk into a library, expansive and filled to the brim with every book and story ever written or ever going to be written, every life story, every flitting thought, more knowledge than you can ever dream of… What is this place? The Library of Alexandria?
“No, far more than that.”
“Will I remember when I wake up.”
“Only you of the Waking World knows that.”
An awed, hushed whisper “I hope I remember…”
The dialogue could use a bit of work, but it’s a start at least. Maybe this one? You’ve always dreamed of seeing the Library of Alexandria, of knowing every story, of knowing everything. What a draw! Anyone who reads or writes would feel that in their bones. But why would a mortal walking through such a fantastical library garner the attention of the Dream Lord? Like, what is so special about You? I mean, yes, in real life people fall in love randomly all the time. Who knows what attracts people to other people? But still, you have to be able to convince yourself before you can convince others. What could a mortal possibly give a divine being?
- You’re a mortal, with Lord Morpheus, but he decides that it’s too dangerous/not good for either of you to continue being together (is this too much like that Twilight book? anyway) Not only does he abruptly break things off with you, but he also banishes you from the dream world, worried that it would be too tempting for either of you, but this leaves you with terrible sleep and in a depression, so much so, you turn to a full bottle of sleeping pills
“Am I so cruel?”
Your heart stops, plummeting into your stomach so fast you’re surprised you don’t hear it whistle and crash like a cartoon character going over a cliff. Looking up from your laptop, you see him. Your dream -er, The Dream. Those first three sentences feel right, somehow. It’s not dark like in your imagination, but the same effect seems to wash over you. Even as you look at your laptop again, you find the words and letters a jumbled mess. The hastily crafted sentences strewn about haphazard and incoherent. Has all this just been a dream?
Something pulls your attention back to him, to Dream. That pale brow clouded by the pinch of curiosity between them. He’s waiting for your answer, and while there is patience now, you feel it will not last forever. And somehow, you know exactly what he’s asking.
“Not cruel, but…” You lick the dryness from your lips. His words are always so measured, so calculated in your head, that you feel he deserves the same from you. “Reserved? Aloof, maybe. Like sometimes you don’t know how to feel so it’s easier just… not to.”
His glossy eyes go distant a moment, and then without a sound he moves, closing the distance between you until he can perch on the end of your bed, one long leg hitched up on the mattress with the dark fabric of his coat pooling around him. “You see me as cold. Uncaring. You think I would condemn a lover to such torment for the mere crime of being mortal.”
“Haven’t you before?”
You’re not exactly sure where those words come from. But they’re right, just the same. Even if some latent part of you didn’t know for sure, the look that crosses his face proves the truth of it. The way his eyes avert, jaw working beneath the cold marble of his skin. There’s a ripple of anger in whatever blanket covers this dream of yours, but there’s shame in it too. Self-doubt. But your heart breaks from it of its own volition.
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73 notes - Posted September 29, 2022
#3
Star Gazing | Battinson/Reader
Shitty Title Alert! This was supposed to end up as smut, but my brain is apparently too bashful these days. Have some fluff instead.
Thanks @captainpoopweinersoldier @eravanaaaah and @whats-rambled-rambled for putting up with me haha
---
It was a rare occasion to find Bruce in bed with you in the morning. You’d long since gotten past any reservations you had about that fact; only to feel relieved to know in the first moments of consciousness that he was back home safe with you. He was curled up, faced away from you. No doubt to keep from waking you in the night upon his return. You’d have no complaint if he had, but you understood his reasoning as much as your own. And though you might prefer to have him coiled up around you beneath the expanse of covers, there were also few complaints at seeing the plane of his back stretching out across your field of vision, with the gentle rise and fall of his even breathing telling you he still slept.
Your hand reached carefully across the short distance to touch him, not wanting to wake him, but pausing only when the lean muscles of his back tensed beneath your fingertips. It used to be enough to jolt him awake, but now they eased under the familiarity of your skin against his. You took a sort of endearing pleasure in the fact he’d come to soften with you over time.
His skin was pale as could be, flitting through darkness as he did like the namesake of his alter ego. Thin lines of scarring marred the pallid landscape, each jagged ridge an echoing stab in your heart. But it was the dark smattering of freckles that garnered your attention now. Your heart soft for the delicate sight of them in so vulnerable a state. The Batman wore armor, but also was the armor, just as “Bruce Wayne” was its own armor for the soft lines of melanated skin speckled across the harsh sprawl. Layers upon layers. A matryoshka doll of defense against the world.
Your lips found each dark dot even as your knees tucked in behind his. The scars had had their tender share of affection. This soft morning scene and the way your heart filled your chest demanded your adoration for such intimate little specks. Gotham needed Batman, the public had Bruce Wayne, but this… this inverted constellation belonged to you.
It wasn’t long before Bruce began to stir beneath your ministrations. And your heart skipped a beat as the tight ropes of muscles all but melted into you. With a soft groan, he leaned toward your touch and you eagerly took the press of him back against you. You nuzzled at his skin, mouth lazy along the line of his shoulder blade as an arm snaked beneath his own. The softest jolt told you it was only a matter of time before he fully woke, but you took the opportunity of wrapping yourself around him as best you could, fingers curled against his rib cage and knee hiked over his hip. Just wanted to drag these quiet moments out with him before real life pulled you away from each other once again.
Your name tumbled from his mouth in a sleep-rough voice so endearing you could’ve swooned. You hummed a gentle affirmative against his spine, expecting the jig to be up and your little bubble of softness to burst. Instead, Bruce’s rough fingers laced with yours across his chest, his other hand palming at your thigh as if trying to tug you over him like a blanket. You chuckled fondly at him, squeezing him a little tighter, ever enamored with his little acts of vulnerability even after all this time.
“Mornin,” he husked against his pillow, dark hair a mess across his face when you leaned up to look at him.
“Rough night saving the world?” You smiled gently, planting a kiss on his shoulder that had him relaxing even further into you.
With a quiet hum, he finally lifted his head from the pillow in a vain attempt to look at you over his shoulder. Exhaustion and the remnants of black paint darkened the skin around his eyes. “Just Gotham First National.”
“A bank robbery,” you questioned, somewhat amused. “How very old school.”
“Tell that to the guy with a rocket launcher.”
You were upright in a flash, heart rate spiked as you looked him over, fingers frantic along his skin as he turned onto his back.
“M’alright. M’alright,” Bruce assured. His own hand reached up to cup your cheek, a soothing thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. It was your turn to melt a little. “Just a bad bruise. Cracked rib.”
Just as he said, there was a mass of angry red and purple blooming across his rib cage. Not for the first time you were grateful at just how sturdy his armor was. Still, the relieved sigh that left you was shaky with concern. Your hand carefully splayed across the darkened skin, wishing you could heal it with just a touch. And even worse, one of the precious black stars of your constellation was being drowned out by it.
“Your poor freckle,” you mused with a pout. Not even the furrow of confusion between his brows stopped you from leaning down and dropping a tender kiss on the spot. He squirmed in discomfort, though from pain or the spot usually being a soft one for you, you weren’t sure in the moment.
His little snort was plenty amused though, lips a lopsided tilt when you looked up at his face, sleep laden eyes just awake enough to roll at you. “My freckle? Really?”
“Don’t make fun of me.” Your pout deepened for effect, even as your finger poked gently at his side. Of course, the crinkle of his nose told you more parts of him than just that bruising must be sore. You decided to make yourself comfortable against him now, stretching your legs out along his as you lighted another kiss around his sternum before resting your chin there to look up at him. “Gotham gets the Bat. The Man and his freckles are mine.”
Something warm and tender crossed Bruce’s face then and you could’ve spent hours just staring at the way the lines of worry and exhaustion seemed to fade as he smiled at you, replaced by the creases at the corner of his eyes. For a moment, looking all the world like a man as beautiful as him really ought to. And there was no small amount of pride in you as his swollen knuckles ghosted along your cheek. “Yours, hm?”
“Mhm.” His relaxed grin was too infectious to ignore, but almost too pretty to bear. It still flushed your cheeks whenever you were graced with it. Instead, you opted to tuck your face away against his chest, lips seeking out his skin and reveling in the way his muscles contracted under your touch, anticipation more than pain.
“Mine..” You shifted to pepper kisses further and further down his abdomen. A new one punctuating each of your muffled words. “All…” Ending in a little nip just below his navel that had his breath hitching beneath you, turning your grin triumphant as you looked up to lock eyes with him again. “Mine.”
Your fingers curled into the waistband of his boxer briefs, lower lips tucked coyly between your teeth at the heat in his gaze. “And any freckles I find under here, too.”
87 notes - Posted June 14, 2022
#2
When You Move, I'm Moved | Dream of the Endless x Reader
A warm night, watched over by starlight.
Inspired by the song Movement by Hozier
Thanks as always to @captainpoopweinersoldier my wonderful cheerleader and partner in crime.
****
It’s warm and sultry where you slip through the trees, the cool glow of moonlight illuminating the wooded hills. The world is alive with music, something you know and feel in your bones, but that your mouth can’t quite name. Yet nothing so frivolous as words matter now. All that matters is the rhythm in your veins, the wild beat of your heart as you spin and twist and twirl your way up the dirt path.
Someone dances with you at the start. She’s young and her energy seems boundless. A mess of red curls struck through with every color of the rainbow. She’s in rags, she’s in a ballgown, a nightgown with fishnets, and her eyes don’t match. She takes you by the hands with a manic giggle and spins with you beneath the watching stars. Spins and spins until you’re both delirious.
The wind picks up around you both, kicking up dirt, flower petals, and sand. Sand swirls and sways like another partner. The girl gasps in absolute delight and for a moment she’s golden curls, then a school of brightly colored fish, whirlpooling their way into the woods beside the road you dance upon. Her laughter seems to echo through the valleys.
But the sand stays with you. Swirls and flutters around you, in time with you. An invisible hand leading you in a wild waltz, further and further up the moonlit hill. Closer and closer to the precipice that awaits you.
You can feel it coming. Or rather, you can feel yourself nearing it. As sure as you can feel the crescendo of the night’s music gathering in your chest. Thrumming with more anticipation than any sort of fear. The hand guides you still. And you trust it, even more than the dirt beneath your bare feet. Spins and spins and spins, wild, wreckless, free. Nothing but the warm air and the sweat on your heated skin.
The ground leaves your feet with one sharp turn. You barely notice at first as you dance right into the very air itself. The sand has you. Nothing has ever felt so safe as the golden grains whipping around you, carrying you ever upward into the starry night. The tension of the music coils tighter and tighter, higher and higher, until its sudden and inevitable snap.
Gravity has no meaning here. Instead of falling, you glide. Stardust cocooning you, glittering in the moonlight as you wheel around ever faster. The wind cooling your skin. A slow descent into the darkness below, face turning up to the twin pin pricks of light watching over you. You touchdown in a cloud of dust, melting into the ground as the sand engulfs you. And still you know no fear. Only a kind of peace you can hardly comprehend…
—
When your eyes flutter open, you’re buried under a mound of blankets on your couch. The last strings of some Hozier song play from your laptop as you fight your way out from under the weight of fabric. The clamminess of your skin has dissipated, your fever broken. Certainly the bottle of Nyquil haphazardly left open on your coffee table is to thank.
You can hardly chide yourself for leaving the bottle uncapped, though. The memory of the world spinning after the beep of the thermometer lingers in your mind. 102.3F. You barely got the dosage poured without making a mess in your state of delirium.
But, by the clock, it’s time for another dose. Thankfully, this one won’t be quite the challenge to pour with the world finally standing still for you. More medicine, more water, more rest. Your nap had been fitful, but hopefully with the fever gone and your body slowly on the mend, you’ll be back to sweet dreams by bedtime.
139 notes - Posted October 19, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
HAPPY INDIGENOUS PEOPLES DAY!
1,822 notes - Posted October 10, 2022
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The Angel of Death Pt49
Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev
Prologue Beginning Previous Next
Tris heard the hollow thud as the dart left the tube and immediately ducked down to move to a new location. There was a cry of pain, and she knew Talia’s best lieutenant was no longer a problem. Talia’s scream of rage was enough to make her smile. Hearing a knife hit where she’d been standing would have been enough to make her laugh if she didn’t want to give away her position. She forgot just how much she enjoyed pissing Talia off.
Once she saw a few of Talia’s men heading towards the spot she’d fired from, she peeked back at the others and immediately rolled her eyes. They were all yelling at each other and doing absolutely nothing useful. Well, except for Cass, who just met her eyes and raised an eyebrow. At least her cousin wasn’t an idiot. Talia was just screaming at Batman until one of the Miraculous holders said something to draw her anger. Just before she could go for them, a shield surrounded them as Fu popped up out of nowhere. She never thought she’d be happy to see the man, but her life was turning into one surprise after another.
When Talia seemed to not get proper responses from the holders, she turned back to Batman. She couldn’t hear anything, but it was obvious Talia wasn’t getting the answers she wanted, most likely because Batman didn’t have them. When her men came back empty-handed, she snapped and lunged towards Robin for some reason. That started what looked more like a brawl than a bunch of highly trained fighters. Tris was perfectly content to watch it all play out until Talia went for Cass’ back.
Her body moved without conscious thought. One moment she was on one rooftop watching, and the next she was deflecting Talia’s dagger with one of her own. She only vaguely registered that she shouldn’t have been able to get into position that fast. Talia just sneered at her. She was an inconvenience and not a threat. That was going to be her fatal mistake.
The Blake boys had been observing, but when Tris appeared, they went after Talia’s men systematically. She had a feeling their sister had insisted they protect her, and could only roll her eyes at the thought. Of all the people here, she was the last one to need it.
Talia went after Batman and Robin again, this time with serious intent. Tris used the distraction to make her way over to Gina and the Miraculous holders.
“I told you to keep them away from this. It is not their fight or their problem.” Gina had the nerve to shrug at her. Fu was the one who spoke.
“You’ve put the Miraculous at risk by handing them out when there wasn’t a need for them. It was foolish.” It really would be nice if, just once, the man would open his mouth without her feeling the need to strangle him.
“I don’t have time for your guilt trip. The Kwami agreed with me and I didn’t have any other options. Now take them and get to safety.” There were immediate protests, but they were all talking over each other so Tris couldn’t make out any actual words. Wonderful. She was going to have to end this herself so that no one did anything stupid. Before she could formulate a plan she heard Robin let out a cry of pain behind her.
She turned around to take in the scene and it suddenly felt like everything slowed to a crawl. Robin had a dagger sticking out of his side and Talia’s hand was on the hilt, drawing it out probably just to stab him again. She was playing with him because the placement wasn’t fatal. She wanted him to suffer. To bleed out in front of his family most likely. The thought caused a boiling rage inside her. Everything felt sharper. The details clearer than they ever had been. The pain Robin was trying to hide, the sadistic glee in Talia’s smile, the panic emanating from the rest of the Bats. She could see and feel it all with stunning clarity. And then there were the strings.
The colors were the same, but she could see more somehow. Patterns or textures on them perhaps. She could look at them and know which ones were necessary connections, and which ones were detrimental to the people and world around them. The strings coming from Talia were especially corrosive. It seemed like their function was to slowly eat away at whatever they touched. The one connected to her looked like it was trying to burrow into her body and when Tris looked at those connected to the League members, it seemed like they embedded themself in them and had started corrupting other nearby strings. Talia was a parasite, in the worst sense of the word.
Tris didn’t move, she was certain this time, but she was standing in front of Talia and kicked her away from Robin. His wound was deep but small enough he could staunch the bleeding himself until one of his family took over. His life or death also wasn’t crucial in maintaining order in the world, so he wasn’t her primary concern. That thought caused a moment’s pause, but Tris couldn’t let it distract her from the woman seething in front of her.
Talia lunged at her. It was sloppy and careless. How much was anger and how much was disdain for what she considered an opponent that was beneath her was up for debate. Tris dodged easily and pushed the woman back once more.
“You are nothing but a gnat. Now move so I can take care of my ungrateful progeny.” Tris could only frown at the woman’s tone. She actually expected her to just step aside.
“If that were true, you’d have far more men here. As it is, I would suggest you leave now. If you choose to stay, I will be obligated to end you.” It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to offer to let her walk away. All her instincts were screaming that Talia needed to be removed from the world, but she didn’t want to make that decision in the heat of battle. She wanted time to make sense of the new things she was seeing and feeling.
“You claim to be the one that took out my men?” Tris could only roll her eyes at the woman’s disbelief. One of these days, people would actually take her seriously.
“Make your choice.” Even through the voice changer, Tris could tell she sounded different. Gina and Cass were both eyeing her strangely as well. Talia didn’t seem to catch it. Instead, she came at her again. This time it was at least with real intent. Tris felt off, but she wasn’t certain why. It was like the air was charged and waiting for something to happen. As she deflected Talia's strikes, the woman became increasingly erratic.
“What's the matter? Too 'moral' to go for the kill strike?” She obviously thought Tris was one of Batman's team if she was throwing that out as an insult.
“You in a hurry to die?” It was an honest question, but it just enraged the woman further. Tris continued as she was, waiting for the right opening. It all seemed too easy, and that worried her. Every move Talia made, she countered flawlessly. She'd been away from the League long enough that she shouldn't have been that intuitive. She was waiting for something to go wrong, so she was just as surprised as Talia when her dagger entered the woman's rib cage.
As she fell to the ground, there was complete silence around them. No one seemed to know what to make of what happened. Tris just watched her. It felt anticlimactic, to be honest.
“Who are you?” Of course she didn't know. Tris was beyond feeling insulted at this point, and just removed her mask.
“I am the Keeper of Balance and the Hand of Fate. Defender of Gods and Voice of Strings. I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a descendant of two ancient lines tasked with protecting this world. They may have forgotten their oath, but it lives in my veins. You should have done more research into my bloodlines before you decided I was unworthy of your precious son.” Everyone was staring at her, mostly in shock, and she didn’t know where the words came from herself. They held truth and power though, so she didn’t question it. Talia laughed at her. It was not the reaction she expected from someone bleeding out at her feet.
“I should have killed you with your parents. It's a mistake I'll rectify after my men take me back to the Pits.” The sheer arrogance in that statement caused her rage to flare once again. She felt the string between her and Adrien begin vibrating. No, it was a string between her and Plagg. Once she realized that she knew what to do.
“Your men can’t resurrect you without a body.” Talia was still smirking at her, but she heard a gasp from the Miraculous holders. She tugged energy along the string from Plagg. Something must have changed in her look, because Talia finally seemed worried. Marinette focused the energy into the string between her and Talia. “You will no longer be a poison to this world.”
The rest of the people on the roof suddenly sprang into motion, but it was too late for any who wanted to intervene. As soon as the energy hit her body, Talia began to dissolve. The last expression on her face was one Marinette had seen so many times before. Not pain, or fear, or anything else that would be appropriate. It was surprise. They were always shocked that she was the one ending their lives.
“What did you do?” Batman’s voice held notes of horror and reproof. Great, now she needed to deal with this garbage.
“What was necessary.” Talia’s strings dissolved along with her and Marinette was surprised at how… free she felt. It was like the entire world was brighter, and the others who had been connected to her long term seemed to feel it too.
“Murder is not necessary, let alone whatever you just did.”
“Given he was stabbed, perhaps you should concentrate on helping Robin rather than lecturing me.” She had no wish to have this argument and hoped he would at least be worried enough about his son that she could slip off. Given the way he was scowling at her, that wasn’t the proper distraction.
“He’s fine, actually.” Nightwing spoke as he prodded Robin’s side in confusion.
“Will you stop that? The wound is not just going to reappear if you keep touching me.” Robin slapped at his hands.
“Well, since it just disappeared, you can’t be sure of that.” That was, unfortunately, a good point. What the hell had happened?
“The balance must be maintained.” Marinette could only blink at Fu for a moment. Well, crap.
“What does that mean?” Batman’s voice was gruff, but she couldn’t tell what emotion was behind it.
“It means that Robin is fine and there is no longer a threat, so you should leave Paris.” Just about everyone on the roof was looking at her like she’d lost her mind, but she wasn’t certain why.
“After what you just did, I’m not leaving without answers, at the very least. You can’t be left to yourself if this is going to be a recurring problem.”
“You have no authority over me, Dark Knight.” She didn’t recognize her own voice. It sounded distorted and echoed around her. “The balance in Gotham has already been destroyed by your refusal to do what is necessary. I will not allow you to upset it elsewhere with your inaction. I serve powers that you can’t even imagine. Do not make the mistake of getting in my way.”
She couldn’t stop the words, but even she knew they would just piss him off more. Unfortunately, that knowledge did nothing to curb her anger at his interference. If he had just left Paris like she’d told him to, none of this would have happened. Whoever, or whatever, was speaking through her was even more pissed off than she was. It was a strange felling. Almost as if she was physically holding someone back. One more problem she didn’t have time to figure out.
“She’s right. This matter is not under your jurisdiction. It really would be best for everyone involved for you to leave now. You would be unwise to invoke the wrath of the Keeper of Balance.” Well, at least someone knew what some of the nonsense she’d spouted meant. Granted, it was weird having Fu stand up for her. Both he and Gina stepped between her and Batman. There was more arguing, but she couldn’t concentrate on it because her head started throbbing. It felt one hundred times worse than the push back from when she’d fixed the Peafowl Miraculous.
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Pairings: Johnny x Reader, ft. nct 127
Words: 4.3K
Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst, some fluff
Request: Angst 42 and 48 ➵ “You promised.” “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.” / @jungcherie
(im so sorry i took so long.... i turned a drabble into a story... oops)
Johnny Suh had a reputation that was unmatched.
There was no other way to put it.
And a reputation like his left trails of tears.
A pool of tears that you were currently drowning in.
It was obvious Johnny was dangerous, perhaps that’s why you were drawn to him. While every single one of your instincts had you fighting and rejecting him, you were desperate for him all the more.
It was March 13th that you lost your first will.
“Y/N, right?”
You turned around to find a familiar face towering over you.
“Yeah.”
It was that stupid smile that had you.
“Hey, we have have Communications together. I was wondering if you wanted to do that project together?” He scratched the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. “I just know that you’re insanely smart so... Sorry, wait, that sounds like I’m just talking to you for your grades.”
You giggled nervously, a habit that you did when you were uncomfortable.
“Look, I just... do you? You know, wanna do the project together? I mean, I’m a pretty smooth talker so I can do the presentation. I get good grades too...”
Stupid smile.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. There’s actually a little party at my frat tonight, you maybe wanna come? Get to know each other before we drown in work?”
Fucking stupid smile.
“Yeah. I’d like that.” You blushed at the idea, cursing at yourself for being so obvious.
Parties weren’t really your thing.
But at the time Johnny Suh was.
Your ears were pounding because of the insanely loud level the music was at. You were actually shocked that no one had called the cops with a noise complaint, but the fact that they were on frat row made more sense.
“Y/N. You made it.” A arm was flung over your shoulder and, thankfully the lights were both dim and flashing enough that he couldn’t see the way that you blushed at the action.
“Yeah. Is it always this loud?” You asked, still not so comfortable with the atmosphere.
“What?” Johnny yelled, pointing at his ear, indicating that he couldn’t hear you. Of course he fucking couldn’t. Then he jerked his thumb to the right, nodding at the backyard, which was seemingly empty.
With his hand placed on your back, he guided you outside, your head already thanking him from the escape of noise pollution. It was far better outside of the house.
The two of you collapsed onto the swinging chair, sighing as you cleared your head.
“So parties aren’t really your thing?” Johnny leaned closer, noting the look of relief that you had donned the moment you exited.
“It’s not that I hate them... I’m just not a fan. I mean a bunch of sweaty, horny drunk people grinding on each other. I just like smaller things.” You explained, staring up at the dark sky, shivering slightly at the cool breeze.
“You didn’t have to come.” Johnny suddenly looked guilty, “I didn’t mean to force you into coming, I just... thought I’d invite you.”
You quickly backtracked, “No, you didn’t force me. If I didn’t want to come, I wouldn’t have.” You ignored the voice in the back of your head that begged to differ.
“Right.” He grinned, as if he could read your mind. “You’re not great at lying, but I’m gonna pretend that I believe you.”
You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
“Were you playing beer pong?” You asked suddenly, causing him to look at you in confusion.
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
You laughed, looking away from him, “You have quite the reputation Mr. Suh, even someone like me knows the extent of your skills.”
Johnny smirked, liking how easy you were making it for him. “Is that so? Is that the only skill of mine you’ve heard about?”
You raised your eyebrows, hating the turn that your mind took. “W-what kind of other skills did you have in mind?” You stuttered out.
Suddenly it felt like you were caged in, his arms tense around your frame, causing you to lean back against the back of the swing.
“Tell me what you’ve heard.”
You averted your eyes, unable to take his heavy gaze. His eyes had turned dark, full of lust, and you tried desperately to forget the effect they were having on you.
As if sensing how uncomfortable you were getting, he backed off, dusting off some invisible dirt on his shoulder. He cocked his head to the side with a sly smile, happy with a new challenge.
Things weren’t going to be as easy as he thought they were, but that’s what made it fun.
“No that’s so stupid. Are you kidding me? Robin could absolutely never beat Batman. Is that even a question?” Your hands were waving animately, far too much for an argument about fictional superheroes.
“Sure. I’m just saying that Robin could totally catch him off guard, like out of the blue, you know.” Johnny slurped on his drink shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t care.
“No. Absolutely not. First of all Robin doesn’t have the guts to do something like that and second of all Robin doesn’t have any powers. How on Earth would he beat him?”
“Umm... Batman doesn’t have powers either.” He made a duh face at you, which you chose to ignore.
“Yeah, well he’s got money, and that’s basically a super power.”
“Let’s be real, Batman isn’t even really a real superhero. He’s just a hero. Period.”
You huffed, rolling your eyes at the argument. “That’s a whole different story.”
“I’m just saying.” He sang back teasingly.
“And I’m just saying that this is stupid. How did we even get here?” You laughed, trying to remember how this conversation came about.
“Uh, you made the bold choice of saying that the Batman vs. Superman movie was shit. Very controversial by the way.” He frowned at the memory.
You let your bag fall heavily on the library table, earning you a few glares as studying students dug into their books.
You sent an apologetic look before sliding into your seat. “Let’s just get this presentation done. Our presentation date is the 23rd and I don’t even have a clue of what to write it on.”
“Well the topic is influencers that change your life. Do you have anyone in mind?”He asked, flipping through his notebook, which didn’t really have anything but drawings in them.
“Not really, is there anyone for you? I mean influencer is kind of vague isn’t it? We could pick like an athlete too, or a musician. Those are technically influencers right?”
He nodded, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah. Influencers don’t even have to be famous do they? Like they can just be someone in your life that made a huge impact on you. Like your parents or something.”
“Yeah, I guess. But that’s kind of hard when you’re working in groups. Like you’re not gonna want to talk about my grandma, you know. Like you don’t even know her. It’s probably just easier to use a famous icon.”
“Okay, so who?” He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it would give him inspiration.
“Hmmm... maybe we could do someone like Michael Jackson. Like he may not have affected us personally, but he affected the way that the music and performance was seen afterwards. That’s influential and life changing right?”
“I guess.” He cocked his head, “We could at least start with brainstorming ideas for him and then if we feel like it’s not working we can change it.”
“Cool. I guess we can start with that then.”
And you did. You spent every afternoon for the next week and half with each other in the library, and a little more outside of it.
“That one’s the big dipper.”
You grinned following his finger, but had more difficulty finding exactly what he saw.
“How do you know it’s not the little dipper?” You teased, squinting in to the dark, the scattered stars really just looking like paint splatters to you.
“Because that’s the little dipper.” He laughed, moving his index finger slightly to the right.
“Oh.”
Johnny leaned back into your space, smiling at you look of concentration quickly falling as you gave up.
“Where’s the North Star?” You asked turning to face him, but sucking in a harsh breath when you found your nose just centimeters from his.
Johnny lowered his voice, whispering and pointing without even turning away, “Right there, it’s the tail of the little dipper.”
It took more effort than you thought to pull away, eyes searching for it.
He leaned back, resting his body weight on his hands. “See it? It’s the brightest one.”
“No,” You pouted scooting forward, as if that would help you see it. “Oh, wait! I see it!”
Johnny couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he saw your face light up.
“Wow.” Suddenly your tone turned more mellow, still in awe. “I’ve always wanted to find the North Star.”
Johnny’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Why?”
“Well you know. They say if you get lost, just follow the North Star home.” You turned to face him, eyes sparkling with excitement, but the sound of your voice had gone quiet, almost somber. The smile on your face faded into a sad smile as you all but whispered your next words. “Now I can go home.”
Johnny frowned next to you, not liking the sudden turn in mood. He sat up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you against his chest.
“What makes you think that you’re not home right now?” He mumbled on the top of your head, staring straight out in the dark.
“I don’t know. I can just feel it, you know? Like I’m just constantly uneasy.” You sighed, digging your face into his jacket. “I think I’ll be able to tell when I get there.”
There was something in Johnny’s chest that suddenly ached, and he felt a sharp drop in his stomach at the thought.
“Maybe you’ll only ever know once you’ve left home.” He muttered, “Then you’ll know that this is actually what it feels like, and it’s so much worse when you leave.”
You stilled against him for a moment before relaxing, mulling over the thought. “That’s so sad though. Why do we only know we’re happy once we’re sad?”
Johnny shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Why does God make us hurt to only to help us heal?”
The sound of the wind passing through trees was the only thing that comforted you at the thought.
“I don’t want to have to heal, I don’t want to hurt in the first place.” You whisper out, feeling the most vulnerable you had in a long time.
“I’ll never hurt you.” He rubbed at your arms soothingly, feeling a lump in the back of his throat, but he pushed it away not liking the unfamiliar feeling.
“Promise?”
“Of course.”
You let your eyes fall, enjoying just the silence and comfort of each other’s arms and minds.
You woke up wrapped in Johnny’s arms, although it was an unfamiliar feeling you welcomed it with open arms.
Lost in your thoughts for the time being you were suddenly reminded of the conversation you had a couple nights ago.
Was this home?
You had never felt so safe before and it scared you. But you weren’t one to run.
“Good morning.” Johnny mumbled out beside you, his morning voice raspy to the ear.
“Morning.” You whispered back, letting his arm flop over your waist.
“Do you like pancakes?” He asked, letting his eyes fall close again.
“Pancakes?”
“Yeah. Taeyong makes some bomb ass pancakes.”
You giggled, “Yeah, I like pancakes. Especially bomb ass pancakes.”
But he didn’t move and it was only after you tapped him questioningly did he speak up. “Do you think he’ll bring them up if I yell loud enough?”
You smacked his chest. “Stop it. We should go down.”
“In a bit.” He answered, nose buried deep in the crevice of your neck.
A few minutes later you heard the clinking of kitchen tools from downstairs and you stirred. “Johnny?”
“Hmmm...”
“Johnny. Let’s go.”
“Five more minutes.” He mumbled, but he let you out of his grasp anyways.
“Fine. I’ll meet you downstairs.” You paused as you passed by the mirror, eyes tracing over the marks on your neck that Johnny had left the night before. You blushed, realizing that you didn’t have anything to cover it up with, but quickly moved on, attempting to find your shorts that were discarded in the frenzy of last night.
“Check under the desk.” Johnny said, sitting up and watching you.
Sure enough that’s where they were, although you weren’t really sure how they managed to get there.
You shrugged on the last of your clothes, turning to find Johnny doing the same. It took him less than three steps to get to you, landing a soft kiss on the top of your head.
“Let’s go.”
Taeyong was undoubtedly the closest of Johnny’s frat brothers to you. He had this really calming and sweet aura about him that just made you want to be friends.
“Good morning Y/N. Blueberry or chocolate?” He asked grinning as he took his eyes off the pan for a second.
“Blueberry please.” You slid onto the bar across from him. “Do you need any help?”
Johnny rubbed your lower back comfortingly, “No, you don’t want to get in his way. That’s when he loses his temper.” He whispered the last bit to you, but Taeyong obviously heard it, sending a sharp glare at him.
“Only when there are incompetent people in my kitchen.” Taeyong muttered back.
Johnny ignored the comment, shaking his head at you, “I’ll have chocolate.”
“You’ll get what you get.” Taeyong piped at him, still not over Johnny’s teasing, who grinned in response.
Both of them knew that Johnny was getting chocolate, Taeyong was really bad at being mean.
“Where’s the others?” Johnny asked, sipping on a cup of coffee.
“At school, as they should be because they are college students.” Taeyong answered, sliding a plate towards you. “Enjoy.”
You thanked him and bit into a piece, almost moaning at the taste. “Damn, Johnny told me they were good but I didn’t think it would be this good.”
Johnny swiped a piece from your plate. “What are you talking about? I told you he made bomb ass pancakes.”
Taeyong slid a plate towards Johnny.
His grin widened. “Thank you. You’re my favorite Taeyong ever.”
“I’m the only Taeyong you know.” He put his hands on his hips. “I should be the favorite.”
Johnny sent a wink in his direction before stabbing a piece.
“So I was thinking, that little bakery next to the park, do you wanna go? They just opened and I’ve been dying to try it.” Johnny asked around a mouthful of pancake.
“Yeah, sure. That sounds good.” You felt your stomach flutter, you were sure whether it was the pancakes or Johnny, but you had a pretty good guess.
“Sweet, we can swing by your place first if you want to get a change of clothes or something.”
You nodded, “Yeah, sounds good.”
“I’m glad that sounds good.” He teased you with a smile.
“Sorry, but it just sounds good. What else do you want me to say?” You pushed back, opting to add another piece into your mouth.
“I don’t know, maybe-”
“Okay, sorry to interrupt your little flirt fest, but can you start that after I leave?” Taeyong asked, making a few pancakes for himself.
“Sorry.” You giggled, sending him a genuine apologetic look.
“I’m not sorry.” Johnny said, shrugging.
You smacked him lightly.
“I’ll take away pancake privileges for a month.” Taeyong quipped, focusing on flipping the pancake.
“Sorry.” Johnny mumbled out under his breath, not one to admit defeat easily.
You laughed at the sight of a pouty Johnny, enjoying the view for the time being.
Waiting for Johnny had become a routine, but honestly you didn’t really mind it. Hanging out on the couch, you had met and befriended quite a few of his frat brothers.
Currently you were sprawled out on the couch with Jungwoo, who was retelling a very interesting story about his trip to the grocery store last week that involved a cereal box and a banana. Although it was a bit of a reach, you nodded and smiled at the right times, not really following the order of events, or really the importance of them.
“What does the fact that you were wearing- and I quote - ‘an incredibly sick pair of joggers’ have anything to do with your story?” You asked, tilting your head in teasing confusion.
“Oh, it doesn’t. I just thought you should know.” He replied matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Right. And I’m so better off now that I know.” You taunted him, voice dripping in sarcasm.
Jungwoo shot you an annoyed, and yet hurt look, before finishing his story. “And that’s how Johnny found out he was allergic to shellfish.”
“Okay. What the fuck? I’m literally so confused.” You cut him off before he could recount his story again. “I don’t really need to hear it again though. Thanks.”
He whined before laying his legs over yours, giving up.
For a few moments, things were quiet as you checked the time. It had already been thirty minutes, where was he?
You rolled your head to the side, finally focusing on the whiteboard that had what scribbles of writing over it.
“What’s the tally for?” You asked, scrunching your nose at the whiteboard that was situated on the far wall of the room.
“Hmmm? The tally?” Jungwoo glanced around looking slightly nervous which had you even more curious. “It’s just a game.”
“Game? What game?” You laughed turning back to see the strikes adorning the board. “It looks like Johnny’s winning.”
“Uhh...” Again with the nervous glances.
You giggled, “You’re losing, aren’t you?” The spot under his name had the fewest tallies and you figured that’s why he was being so shy about it.
Jaehyun entered the room, seemingly in a very important conversation by the way that he was speaking animatedly.
“The game’s over on Friday and Johnny’s gonna win.”
“That’s so stupid. He hasn’t bagged any since Y/N, how is he still gonna win?” Yuta complained all but scowling at the floor, neither of them had yet to notice your presence.
You frowned at the mention of your name, not liking the term ‘bagging’ to be in such close proximity with your name.
“Oh, Mark has a new strike, looks like he finally got Claire into bed.” Yuta continued snorting, “Took him long enough.”
“Wait, what the fuck? How the hell did Taeyong get two strikes?” Jaehyun, squinted at the board.
Yuta snorted, “He had a threesome last night. Can you believe it? This close to the end? It’s like he’s actually trying to compete now.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You muttered, effectively catching their attention.
“Y/N.” Jaehyun breathed out, eyes wide and darting between you and Jungwoo who was obviously trying to get them to stop talking. “Hey... what’s up? When did you get here?”
“Ummm.... no. What the fuck is going on?”
“What do you mean?” Jaehyun cocked his head, doing his best to pretend like he wasn’t panicking.
“No, I don’t want your bullshit. Just tell me what this game is.” You were using anger to hide your fear. You could feel the pounding of your heart in your head, a throbbing sensation that gave way to a sinking feeling of realization.
At that moment, when his eyes finally met yours. Not Jaehyun’s, not Yuta’s, but Johnny’s as he walked in the room with that fucking stupid smile you felt your last will got out the window. It was at that moment that everything came crashing down.
“Y/N, please can’t we just talk?” Johnny chased after you, begging you to turn around.
“You promised.”
Johnny’s heart dropped at your words, and his chest started closing in in fear. The burning feeling in his throat had him choking, panicking in belated realization.
It wasn’t just the words that you said, it was the way that you said it. So defeated, so broken. So betrayed.
“You promised that you wouldn’t hurt me. Do you remember that? Did you even mean that?” You felt the tears brimming, and you fought the best you could to keep them down. But your wobbling voice let him know.
“Of course I meant it.” He answered breathlessly. “You know me, I don’t say things that I don’t mean.”
“Do I? Do I know you?” You huffed out. “Because I really thought you were someone different.”
“No, I- I’m still me. I’m still Johnny. I just...”
“You just what? You just lied about our entire relationship? If it was even that, because I was just another tally to you wasn’t I? Just another tally on a stupid whiteboard for a stupid game.”
You choked back the tears that were burning in your throat, not bothering to wipe at the ones that managed to escape.
“You know what hurts the most? I actually thought you liked me. I actually thought that you meant all those things that you said to me.”
“I did mean it. I meant every single word, and I still do. Nothing was a lie, my feelings were real. Please just listen to me, I can explain.” He stepped closer, but you took a step back, keeping the distance.
“Explain what? I already heard everything for myself. What are you gonna say, that Jaehyun and Yuta were lying? Hmmm? That it wasn’t a game? That that’s not the reason that you approached me?”
“I...” He couldn’t find any words, because you were right. Every single word that you said was right. He struggled to catch his breath, panicking. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.”
“I love you. I need you. I can’t- I can’t imagine life without you.”
“That’s not enough.” You clenched your jaw, face going slack. It was as if you were losing the will to even be heartbroken over this.
“Please, I-I’ll do anything, what do you want me to do?” He begged, eye brows nearly touching as they furrowed.
“I don’t want anything from you, just stay away from me.” You mumbled out, avoiding his eyes.
“Baby, please.”
“Don’t fucking call me that, I’m not yours, I never was.” You snapped at him, backing away.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled under his breath and he wasn’t sure if it was meant for you or himself.
“So I’m kinda going rogue here. I know you already hate me, but try not to hate me anymore than you already do.”
Johnny didn’t look anywhere except for you.
The professor seemed to humor him, allowing one of his favorite students to continue with an amused smile on his face.
You on the other hand did not.
You stared at Johnny with a straight face, trying your best to not look flustered.
“The whole point of this assignment was to find someone that changed our lives. But my partner and I struggled to find someone. It’s not that we didn’t have great people around us, its not even that we don’t have people that we admired. It was because no one we came up with really seemed genuine to us. But I found someone. I finally found someone that I could trust, that I let in. But I did something really stupid and fucked it up- excuse my language.”
You watched him stand behind the podium, looking smaller than he ever did.
“You know, before I met you I didn’t think that my life needed changing. I thought I was doing just fine. But then I realized that I wasn’t. I was struggling to even feel normal, to feel like I was living for something. Y/N you helped me find home. Remember when I said that you only understand that you were already home until you lose it? Well I feel it now. And it feels like shit.”
You sucked in a sharp breath, a feeling in the back of your throat burning.
“Y/N. You’re the person who changed my life. And I don’t even deserve that. But I’m here, standing in front of you like a fool because I’m whining about losing the best thing that ever happened to me.”
For a moment you thought he was done, because the silence was deafening.
“Even if you sill hate me after this, I want you to know that you mean more to me than anything else. You are the person that changed my life. You are my person, and I want so badly to be yours.”
There was a beat of silence as he ended abruptly, taking a seat on the other side of the room, eyes still locked on you.
Your professor stood up with a clap. “Well, thank you Johnny for that... interesting presentation.” A wide smile was still on his face despite his word choice. “I guess we should end on that then. Second batch of presentations is on Friday, please be prepared.”
The students of your class stood, shuffling out the exit, voices murmuring to each other.
You sat on the bench outside your lecture hall, watching as Johnny made his way nervously to you.
“You’re an idiot.” You told him as he approached you, bottom lip wobbling against your will. Eventually you broke. “But you’re my idiot.”
Johnny felt a drop of relief in his stomach as he felt like his heart would burst.
“You’ve totally botched our presentation by the way. If we fail it it’s on you.” You shoved him away teasingly.
Johnny grinned, throwing his arm over your shoulder.
“Yeah? Well, I think we did better than you think. I think that things are gonna turn out just fine.”
(sorry, i was supposed to write a full angst, but i couldn’t help myself.)
© Copyright 2021. hyuckssunchip. All rights reserved.
#nct#nctcreations#cznnet#nct 127#nct dream#nct scenarios#nct imagines#nct drabbles#nct smut#nct angst#nct fluff#nct johnny#nct johnny suh#johnny suh#johnny#nct johnny smut#nct johnny angst#nct johnny fluff#johnny angst#johnny smut#johnny fluff#fool sun#request#jungcherie
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97 & 41 jaytim
Oh wow, this ended up long. /o\
97 (Time Travel) + 41 (First Kiss) + JayTim
He's boosting tires in the Bowery when the thugs find him. Crowd him up against a wall and threaten him with bodily harm for horning in on their territory, even though this part of the city is a free-for-all, with no one reigning supreme. There's three of them to his one, all of them full-grown men with bulging muscles and nasty tempers and Jason knows he's in his final moments, that there's no way he's escaping this. Still, that doesn't mean he's going to go down without a fight. He squares his shoulders, plants his feet, raises the tire iron in his hand, and—
Between one blink and the next, the back-most thug is on the ground, groaning and clutching his crotch. There's a blur of red, and then the next one's down on his knees, the crowbar he was gripping half a block away and the hand that was holding it pinned to the wall by a slim, sharp-edged disk.
Silver flashes through the night, and the final guy collapses in a heap, just sprawled out on the pavement like he's not even human anymore, just a pile of discard clothes over something lumpy and unmoving. Someone lands on his back, light and nimble and impossibly tall. "You okay there, kid?" the new person asks, crouching down so he's at Jason's level and smiling.
"…Batman?" He's only ever seen the Bat from a distance before, but he's heard about the cape and cowl, and this guy has both.
The guy shakes his head. "Nope, not him. I'm his partner, though."
"Robin wears green," Jason feels compelled to point out, because he's definitely seen Robin before, though always on the TV, when the Teen Titans are fighting really scary bad guys elsewhere in the world.
This time, a shadow seems to pass over the man's face, sad and unhappy. "I'm a different kind of Robin. Red Robin. I'm pretty new, it's not surprising you haven't heard of me." He leans back on his heels and glances around at the thugs, frowning. "I've got to tie these guys up and leave them somewhere the GCPD will find them. Do you think you can get home on your own?"
Jason gulps, staring up at him, at the way all that tight leather and spandex hugs his body. Gee whiz. "Yeah, I. I can take care of myself. Thanks!" He surges forward, practically smacking his mouth against Red Robin's cheek, before running off into the night. Maybe not headed home, but to as close as anything gets, these days.
---
Two weeks later, Batman catches him boosting tires on Crime Alley. A week later, he's going home with the man. Jason asks about Red Robin and gets a confused, clueless look, which is strange. With everything else happening, he forgets about the man in the black cowl with the silver staff, but he still finds himself drawn to that one particular shade of red.
---
He forgets until the memory is jarred out of the deepest depths years later on the other side of the multiverse, when he's bound to a chair and staring down the barrel of gun. A gun held by another Batman, a different Bruce. One who did all the things he thought he wanted his Bruce to do, only to end up a broken man as a result. Jason tries to explain himself and his presence, but it's hard to when he keeps seeing that suit in the case over this Batman's shoulder.
They reach an understanding, a kind of peace. Both of them, finally, for the first time in ages. This other Bruce offers him the suit, and Jason doesn't think twice before putting it on. He's traveled across the multiverse, seen places where dead people live again, where evil people are good and vice versa. It's not too far a stretch to believe that somehow, he's going become his own childhood hero.
When he finishes pulling on the last piece, Bruce looks on him with pride and announces, "Red Robin lives!"
"Red…?" Jason murmurs, more than a little startled. It's been so long, he'd nearly forgotten the name, but it fits, it makes sense. Finally, he's back on the right path, back to being someone the boy he once was could be proud of. Will be proud of, when their paths cross again, which he's sure they will.
---
The other Batman dies.
---
They get back, finally done traveling across the multiverse, fleeing across Apokolips, running from plagues and maybes and might-have-beens. Donna and Rayner return to wherever they call home, and Jason... He thought he finally found himself when he put on the cowl and became Red Robin, but with everything that happened after that moment, all the contrition he gained has been too long stewing in a half-broken heart. He isn't sure who rescued him when he was a kid, but it wasn't him, and it wasn't the long-dead Jason of another world. Maybe it was no one at all, and he made it all up and convinced himself it was real.
He runs back to Gotham, strips off the cape and cowl, the bandoliers and leather. Throws it all in the trash and goes to knock some heads and blow off some steam, anything to escape from what the rest of the Justice League brought with them—a sob story and a broken, days-old body.
---
The suit disappears from the can where he threw it, and he thinks good riddance to bad rubbish, but the person who's wearing it now doesn't understand the significance, the legacy. Doesn't know what it symbolizes, a last chance at redemption, a final loss of innocence.
The new kid distracts him, muddies the water and still Jason doesn't see it, doesn't realize what's happening. Even when the kid takes the cowl, adds it to his green-free suit, he doesn't see it.
Jason's too busy fighting, too busy screaming, raging, being angry at himself and the world to realize how things are swirling tighter and tighter, closing in, twining together, weaving themselves in an intricate, impossible mesh that's new and old and always existing all at the same time. The three of them—him and Dick and the new kid—push and shove and fight and scream and grieve in their own ways, trying to figure out who they're going to be now, what the world is without Bruce.
He ignores overtures of friendship, leaves the kid broken and bleeding out and thinks nothing of it, still too busy hurting and too busy denying he hurts.
Thinks nothing of Robin back on the streets in red and green and black and yellow, a different boy, an actual child.
---
Bruce comes back, but he's just as stubborn as always, and Jason burned the last of his bridges while the old man was playing possum. There's nothing left for him to do but lurk in the shadows and grit his teeth and watch Drake bounce around the city in a costume that isn't his, telling himself he doesn't care, that it doesn't rub him the wrong way.
Doesn't actually realize what's happening until one day he's watching as Drake races across the city, ready to step in and stop him if he dares to cross into Red Hood's territory when suddenly—
There's no one. The roof's empty, not a soul in sight.
He swings over, investigates. There's a strange acrid smell in the air along with the faintest traces of sweat and exhaustion, but there's no clue to where he's gone, no hint. Minutes pass and the sky is getting darker as evening turns into night. Just when he's given up, Drake reappears, but still, unmoving. One hand grasping his staff while the other touches his cheek and he stares into nothing, dazed and unfocused.
His attention snaps up, and Jason is too startled to move, still standing there in the middle of the roof, the two of them locked in place.
"Holy fuck." He can't. This isn't—
He's tried to kill Drake multiple times over the years. They've barely had a conversation that hasn't ended with Jason drawing a knife or a gun, and more often than not he comes out on top. Leaves the guy knowing that he's alive at Jason's mercy.
But now he's standing there, finally grown into the Red Robin suit and name, filling it in all the right places, all the right ways, grasping a staff that Jason somehow failed to recognize until this exact moment.
"I never—" He never thought to make the connection, always assumed it had to be someone else, some one huge. Big enough to match the larger-than-life figure that dominated a half-forgotten memory.
"Huh." Red Robin collapses his staff, clips it his belt. "Random time blip? I didn't even realize."
Which would explain it. Of course he didn't realize—no way would he have helped that other, younger Jason if he'd known who it was. Why save a boy who's going to grow up to become a monster bent on destroying him over and over again. "Sorry," Jason says, startled, confused, unable to wrap his head around it all as he stumbles backwards, tries to do what he always does when he's confronted with too much, too fast—run.
Red Robin—Drake—tilts his head to the side and then does something completely unexpected. He shoves back the cowl and studies Jason with cool, clear eyes. "I have a feeling this has been a weird night for both of us. You could stick around. We could figure this out together."
So help him, Jason hesitates. "Time travel is pretty weird."
"I was thinking more being kissed by my childhood crush. But yeah, that too."
"Your… what?"
"Come on," he says, holding out a hand. "I think it's time we finally talked. Maybe without the death threats this time?"
Gulping, Jason takes that hand in his.
It's not much, but. It's a start.
(The Fanfic Trope MASH-UP is still open for asks!)
#JayTim#time travel#Red Robin#ask meme#anonymous#themandylion writes#my fic#weirdly canon compliant in its own special way 🤔#trope mash up
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On the Thursday of the last week of kindergarten, the DVD that Miss Martinez was going to play turns out to be scratched beyond recognition, and so she gets out construction paper, scissors, markers, and glitter glue.
“Father’s Day isn’t for a few more weeks,” she says. “But why don’t we make some cards, just like we did for Mother’s Day, okay?”
The kids all get to work, reaching for the pile of brightly-colored paper. Stephanie Brown, who will be turning six in August, is the last one to get up. She shifts through the leftover colors--black, a pukey shade of green, blue, white. She picks up the black one and takes it back to her desk. She does not want to make a stupid card for her stupid dad. The other kids at her table are enthusiastically chattering about their dads’ favorite colors and jobs and drawing crayon drawings onto the paper. The girl next to her is cutting a snowflake out with safety scissors.
Steph picks up a white crayon and stares at her blank card. Across the room, Dexter raises his hand.
“What if we don’t have a dad?” he asks. Steph remembers from Mother’s Day that Dexter has two moms.
“Make a card for someone else,” Miss Martinez suggests. “Your grandfather, maybe. Or a neighbor, or a hero.”
A hero?
Steph looks at the black card before her, and her white crayon. She smiles.
And she makes a Father’s Day card for Batman.
-----
On the Monday of the last week of first grade, Mrs. Arnold, the art teacher, sits down her class and passes out white paper.
“Father’s Day cards,” she explains. Stephanie Brown, seven in August, considers making her own father a card. She didn’t get him anything last year but he didn’t seem to notice, and she’s not really that mad at him this year. But he didn’t seem to notice, and when Steph thinks about it, she thinks Robin probably doesn’t make Batman a card. Steph could make another card for her own dad at home, and make one for Batman at school.
Mind made up, she reaches for black markers and gets to work.
-----
On the Tuesday of the last week of second grade, Stephanie Brown, almost eight years old, sits down in art class and carefully draws a black blob with pointy ears, and a red and green and yellow stick figure, next to it, and she tries to remember what Nightwing looks like, and when she can’t remember she just draws Robin again but bigger.
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, she writes in red marker, and she closes the card.
------
On the Wednesday of the last week of third grade, Mrs. Arnold passes out watercolors in art class with pieces of thick paper, and tells them to make presents for their dads. Stephanie Brown, nearly nine, hasn’t seen her dad in almost four months, and she uses up almost all the black water colors at her table painting a picture of Batman.
------
On the last week of fourth grade, nobody sits down their class to have them make Father’s Day cards.
On the Thursday before Father’s Day, Crystal passes Stephanie Brown, age almost-ten, a card bought from the store and tells her that they’ll mail it to Blackgate the next morning. Happy Father’s Day, the card says. You’re the best dad ever! the card says.
Steph stares at it for a long time.
Then she tears out a piece of notebook paper and folds it in half, taking the rainbow gel pens she got in December and picking up the pink one. She squints at it and sees that it’s nearly run out, so she picks up the purple one instead.
When she’s done drawing Batman and Batgirl and Robin and Nightwing, she decides she likes purple, and she folds the notebook paper inside the card her mother gave her, and she doesn’t mail anything to Blackgate the next day.
-----
On the last day of fifth grade, Mr. Robinson turns on The Great Mouse Detective and sets out a stack of colored paper and scissors. He tells the class they can do whatever they want during the movie and even sets up chips and cookies, then he sits in the back of the classroom and maybe falls asleep. Stephanie Brown, ten-going-on-eleven, wants something to do with her hands, so she takes a black piece of paper and cuts out a batsymbol. She learned how to draw them by sticking her head out her window at night and looking at the sky, and she’s proud of her newfound skill. When she’s done cutting it out, she’s not really sure what to do besides maybe tape it to her shirt, but her dad’s been out for a week now and she thinks he’d be mad if he saw that.
Instead, she folds it in half and writes HAPPY FATHERS DAY across the middle using white-out. Skye, the girl who sits next to her, leans over and asks what she’s doing, and Steph pauses. She’s...she’s not really sure why she keeps making these. To prove a point, maybe. She’s not really sure what point, though.
“Do you think Batman ever gets cards?” she asks in a whisper.
“Yes,” Skye says. “Probably every day.”
“Oh,” Steph says. “Well, I probably won’t send it then.”
“Okay,” Skye says, and then she downs half of her dixie cup of orange juice and turns back to the movie. Steph puts purple glitter glue on her batsymbol.
------
On the first week of April, Stephanie Brown, age seventeen, pulls a plastic bin out from under her desk. There’s a cardboard box beside her, and two other cardboard boxes on her empty mattress, full and taped shut. There’s a full duffel bag of clothes next to her, and her posters from her walls have been taken down and rolled up. All she has to do is finish going through her desk, and then she’s done. The rest of her things will be sold or something, she’s not sure.
She pries off the lid of the bin before her and takes out old school binders and ragged notebooks, paper folders falling apart and ancient art projects. She lifts out a collage she probably made in seventh grade and tries to decipher the meaning behind it. There is a cutout of red heels from Kohls on top of a blue betta fish.
Steph decides it will go in the trash pile and sets it aside, lifting out a yellow plastic folder. She opens it, curious, and lifts out a black paper batsymbol. She gasps when she opens it.
Her Father’s Day cards!
Of course, she had never sent them, so she has all--she counts quickly--six of them. She looks them over, laughing at her kindergarten misspellings and looking at the evolution of her drawing ability fondly. This is--she totally forgot about this. Steph closes the folder reverently and puts it on top of her duffel bag. There’s no way she can get rid of this--especially with the purple cape still in the hidden part of her closet. Especially not with where she’s packing up to move to.
----
On the third Sunday in June, Stephanie Brown, age eighteen-in-August, takes up her yellow plastic folder from where she hid it under her new mattress, and she leaves her room, tucking it under her arm. She gets like four steps down the hall before another door opens, and already an accusing voice says, “What’s that?”
Steph whirls around.
“None of your business,” she says. Tim makes a face at her and she makes the same one back, because she is very mature. To prove her maturity, she slides down the banister on her way to the kitchen.
Dick and Cass are in there, doing the dishes. Steph watches them for a second and then says, “Why do you have dishes at this hour?” ‘This hour’, upon checking, turns out to be almost noon, but nobody wakes up early in this house.
“Breakfast for Alfred,” Cass says.
“You can do that?” Steph asks, thinking that Alfred would get offended if someone tried to cook for him.
“You can today,” Dick says, shrugging, and Steph frowns, realizes that they ganged together to make breakfast on Father’s Day for Alfred and didn’t invite her.
It was probably an accident, she reasons, but then she remembers Tim and turns to face him.
“Why didn’t you make breakfast for Alfred?”
“I was sleeping,” he says.
“He’s impossible to wake up so we called it a lost cause,” Dick says. “We have extra pancakes, though, help yourself.”
Steph is still a little affronted, but she knows that she’s the newest person in the house and she’s only staying here until her mom’s done with rehab and whatever, so they probably didn’t think she’d want to be included, even though Alfred is everyone’s grandpa, even Babs’s. She goes to pick up a pair of pancakes and bites into one, deciding syrup can wait, and she leaves before they can rope her into conversation. Besides, she’s a little scared they’ll start referring to whatever plans they have with Bruce, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to react.
She heads to Bruce’s study and pushes open the door, glad to find him in there. She thinks if she had to search for him she’d probably lose her nerve and chicken out. Bruce glances up for like half a second and then looks back at the computer, and she takes a deep breath and steps inside fully.
Now or never, she thinks, and so she marches right up to him and slams the yellow folder on the desk.
“What’s this?” Bruce says, and Steph isn’t really sure how to explain, so she says, “It’s, uh, I found it when I was packing my stuff, and it’s...it’s from a while ago, but I thought you might, um…”
She trails off as he picks up the folder and opens it, raising an eyebrow at the contents from inside. She kinda wants to look at his face, but also totally doesn’t want to do that, so instead she looks at the desk, and opens her dumb mouth back up. “They always used to have us do Father’s Day cards at school or whatever and I never wanted to make one for Arthur so I made those instead ‘cause...well I don’t really remember why but whatever I thought you might want to see them.”
“Stephanie,” Bruce says, and she shuts up and bites her lip, looking up at him. “You...made these?”
“Yeah,” she says. He looks back down at the cards in his hands, all spread out--even the one that was intended for Arthur that Steph never sent. He touches the one from kindergarten. “Um. You can keep them.”
Bruce stands up. Steph isn’t really sure at all what he’s thinking, but he steps away from his chair and wraps his arms around her, holds her tight.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Happy Father’s Day,” she says, and when he squeezes her she closes her eyes, exhales, and squeezes him back.
(based on this post x)
(ao3 here x)
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Saturday Challenge: Continue a Fic You Wrote for Jasonette July
Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event
Prompt: Continue a fic you wrote for Jasonette July
Rated: M (for violence and strong language)
Then Perish : Part 2
Marinette tossed the helmet aside, she glanced over at the desk and grabbed a letter opener. She tried to take several swipes at him, all of which he evaded with ease before grabbing her by the wrist. Marinette tried to drop the letter opener into her other hand but he caught it before she did.
“Nice try, mind telling me why you’re so desperate to kill me?” he asked, Marinette could just about hear him smirking under the mask. Up close, she noticed that, in addition to his dark hair, there was a white streak of hair framing his face. His eyes were still covered by the domino mask as they looked down at her.
“You killed my parents,” she growled.
“So is that what this is all about…tell me, what makes you so sure that I did it?” he asked.
“I saw you, I saw people begging for their lives just before you killed them.” she recalled, “I saw you standing over their dead bodies.”
He pushed her back with very little effort, but before she could charge at him again, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. He tossed it to her and she caught it, the cold metal felt heavy in her small hands.
“If you are so certain that I’m the one who did it,” he said, “then let the punishment fit the crime.”
Marinette looked down at the gun in her hands, she knew exactly what he was asking her to do. She took aim with the gun, her hands shook as she pointed it at the Red Hood. Her eyes were wide, her hands were shaking, she tried to steel herself. She tried to ignore the voice in her head telling her that something wasn’t right. It couldn’t be this easy, there had to be a catch, a struggle, something. She brought her other hand to the gun, trying to hold it steady. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart hammering in her chest, she tried not to think about how frightened or nervous she was at that moment. Meanwhile the Red Hood remained calm, beckoning her to shoot him. “Come on I’m right, here, need me to draw a bullseye?” he taunted. Marinette squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger, she heard a loud BANG, followed by silence. She slowly cracked open an eye to see her target. “You missed.” Red Hood remarked. Marinette tried to make another shot, but the gun went CLICK, it was empty. She looked down at the empty gun in her hand, before glaring up at the Red Hood.
“Look kid, you’re after the wrong guy. I’m not the one who killed your parents.” he explained.
Marinette eyed him suspiciously “More lies.” she scoffed as she glared at him.
“Fine, but the camera doesn't lie,” he walked over to the laptop on his desk and pushed a button. A projector screen appeared and began playing footage from a camera during that fateful shootout. Red Hood continued typing away, until he found the right camera to see the events unfold. “There, camera 5.” he finished typing and turned to watch the footage with her.
Marinette stared at the footage, her eyes widening in shock. She saw their final moments and it made her heart ache. She watched them go looking for her while she was helping other people as Ladybug. She wondered if she had left those people to die in Park Row, would her parents still be alive and well? She watched her parents run into some mobster with a gun, he tried to mug them. Her father tried using his large size to threaten the mobster, but he had a gun and her father didn't. Tom Dupain was then shot in the head, Sabine held his dead body begging for the mobster to spare her.
Upon hearing her mother’s cries of mercy, Marinette dropped the gun and fell to her knees. Her hands were balled into fists, trying to latch onto the carpeted floor beneath her. There were tears dripping down to her cheeks and clouding her vision. Even so, she could not bring herself to look away, she had to know who this man was. The man then shot Sabine in the head. He ran away, just as the Red Hood showed up on camera to inspect the unfortunate couple who walked past Park Row.
Marinette wailed as the video footage ended, “No more, please no more,” she cried. “<Mom, Dad, I’m so sorry.>” she cried to herself in French.
Jason watched the girl cry her heart out after watching her parents get murdered. He couldn’t blame her, no one could. He sat on his desk, as she continued crying. He brought up zoomed camera footage and a mugshot up on screen. Once he was done he stepped in front of her.
The Red Hood standing right in front of Marinette was enough to stop her from crying, she looked up. “You want the man who killed your parents?” he asked. Marinette could only nod. “Luca Angelo, known associate of the Falcone Crime Family.” he stepped aside and pointed to the mugshot. “Last spotted in the Falcone Slaughterhouse.”
“You want him? We’ll go together at sunrise.” he told her. Marinette stood up and nodded, wiping her tears on her sleeve. “All right Suzie’ll bring you back to your room, they’ll pick you up again later.” Marinette then left the room, escorted by Suzie Su.
Jason looked over at his window viewing the Gotham Skyline. “I know you’re there Batman, come on in, it's unlocked.” Batman emerged from the shadows.
"Isn't she the French girl that was in GCPD a few weeks ago?" Asked Batman, staring straight at Jason.
"Yup" said Red Hood, "Sent back to Paris, if I remember correctly. Came back to Gotham thinking I was the one to kill her parents." Red Hood shrugged and sat on his chair, feet resting on his desk.
“She could have killed you.” Batman pointed out.
“It’s nice to know you care, Bruce.” Jason said sarcastically, “You saw what happened there, she couldn’t even get a scratch on me.” he explained. “Not without her powers anyway,” he thought. “She could have killed me...just like how I could have killed the Penguin.” Jason told him. Batman sighed, remembering how Jason explained that the Penguin didn’t really die the night that he shot him. One of these days, Jason was going to give him a heart attack with all the elaborate stunts that he pulled.
"Why are you two going to the Falcone Slaughterhouse?" Batman asked, as Jason poured himself a drink.
"Closure." Jason told him, "You and Dick should know how important closure is when you lose your parents."
"Luca Angelo is dead." Batman stated, "That gang war was unsanctioned by the Falcones, they killed him to appease you and the Maronis."
"You're right, but she'll need to learn that herself.” Jason nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his drink. “At that moment she’ll have to make a choice, whether or not she wants to find peace or let her vengeance spiral out of control?”
“That’s quite a risk to take,” Batman pointed out, “what makes you so sure she won’t choose the latter?” His eyes fell on the helmet that lay discarded on the floor.
“Call it a calculated risk,” he said “sometimes you just have to give people a chance.” Batman narrowed his eyes, Jason looked back at him over the rim of his glass as he took another sip.
"Fine," Batman relented. "but I'll be there to watch you two."
“Say hi to Yo-Yo Girl for me, next time you see her.” Jason said nonchalantly, “She was a huge help getting people to safety that night.”
“Yo-Yo Girl?” Batman asked, Jason looked up and cocked an eyebrow.
“Sorry, thought she was one of yours,” he said, before finishing the last of his drink. Batman decided not to ask anything more about it, before he crept back into the shadows and vanished.
That morning, Marinette opened the Miracle box and took out Tikki’s earrings. Tikki gave her a sad look, “Are you sure about this, Marinette?” she asked in a soft voice.
“I saw the man who really killed my parents,” Marinette told her, “if I let him walk free, all this would have been for nothing.” Tikki sighed but had no choice but to comply. “Spots on” she said, she transformed into Ladybug, ready to face the real culprit.
When she stepped out onto the rooftop, Red Hood was waiting for her. He turned to see the Yo-Yo Girl who was getting civilians to safety that night, it explained how she managed to avoid meeting her parents’ fate that night. Still, this should be interesting. “So you got a name or is it really just ‘Yo-Yo Girl’?” he asked.
“Ladybug,” she told him, “let's get this over with.” she said. Red Hood grappled away and Ladybug followed with a very creative use of her yo-yo.
Later, Red Hood and Ladybug snuck into Falcone Slaughterhouse. The pungent smell of blood gave Ladybug the sinking feeling that livestock wasn’t the only meat that was cut up here. They quietly knocked out the guards as they made their way in. Red Hood pointed to the door with a sign above the said "Foreman". He then kicked the door down, and they quickly subdued the two guards in the room.
"What the fuck?!" cried the foreman as Ladybug ran up and bashed his head with an ashtray.
She wrapped the string of her yo-yo around the foreman's neck. "Where is Luca Angelo?!" she yelled.
"Rat-faced Luca? Motherfucker's already minced meat by now!" the foreman laughed.
"W-what?" Ladybug stuttered, “No, you’re lying!” she yelled. This had to be a trick, he was probably hiding somewhere, relishing in the memory of making her parents feel helpless. She would not be so easily defeated.
"Are ya deaf? He's dead." The foreman drew a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Ladybug. A shuriken then hit the gun, knocking it away from his hand.
Ladybug tightened her grip on the wire. As she was strangling the man her hands shook as rage consumed her. The man gasped and struggled for air, but she held it tight. “Please” he croaked, “have mercy.”
“Why should I show you any? My parents were shown none!” Ladybug growled, baring her teeth. She pulled the string tighter, as if she was garroting the man. She pictured how her parents had suffered, her mother’s cries for mercy echoed in her mind.
“Please...I..have..a..daughter.” The foreman barely managed to speak, he tried to paw at the wire with his hands but it wouldn’t budge. Ladybug paused, she looked at her reflection in the window. She had seen what she had become.
Shame and guilt filled her as the man became limp. She let go of her yo-yo, and released the man. She brought her hands to her mouth as she stumbled back in fear and guilt. What would Tikki, Alya and her parents feel if they knew she had blood on her hands? Her breathing became more rapid as panic set in.
Red Hood calmly walked over, placed two fingers on his neck. “He ain’t dead.” he commented. Ladybug ran, tears streaking down her cheeks. Red Hood didn’t follow, he knew she needed time alone to think. He hoped what she saw was enough to give her closure. He tried to be optimistic that Ladybug would not walk the path of vengeance, but he wasn’t known for his optimism. Roy would have known what to say to her, but thinking of Roy at all made his heart sink.
Ladybug ran, she had no clue where she was or where she was going, she just needed to be alone. She didn’t know how long or how far she had traveled, she just found a secluded rooftop. “Spots off” she muttered, Tikki didn’t say a word as she looked up at her. They sat on the edge of the roof, watching Gotham at night. They both sat in absolute silence, as Marinette came to terms with the tempest of thoughts, guilt and anger that stirred in her mind. She wondered if she could bring herself to use the Ladybug Miraculous again? If she could trust herself not to lash out at innocent people? A part of her began to question if she was even fit to be Guardian of the Miraculous?
“I almost killed an innocent man,” Marinette croaked, tears welled up in her eyes. “I don't know what to do Tikki, the man who killed Maman and Papa is already dead. It still hurts.” she cried harder.
Tikkie floated in front of Marinette’s face. Marinette didn’t even try to look at her through the sheen of tears in her eyes, “Marinette, I know, everyone needs time to grieve and move on.” Tikki told her, trying her best to comfort her.
“How, how can I move on? What should I do now? Go to Shanghai and live there?” Marinette asked.
“Maybe I can help,” came a voice from behind. Tikki zoomed straight to Marinette’s pocket and hid in there. The figure walked up to her and took a seat beside her on the edge of the roof.
The man wore a leather jacket, looked like he was a few years older than her, and he held a takeaway bag with him. She was about to ask who he was until she recognised that distinctive white streak of hair. Her eyes widened as he handed her the bag.
“Go on, dig in,” he said, pushing the bag towards her. She apprehensively took the bag from him until the scent of freshly baked bread hit her nose. “I had a friend make those for you, he’s an amazing chef and baker.” he told her, “Don’t eat his waffles though, they taste like paste.”
Marinette gave a small chuckle at his joke, “Thank you” she quietly said. She opened and tearfully ate the baked goods. They were just as good as her father’s baking.
“There’s not much left for you in Paris, and I know you don’t want to go to Shanghai. Why don’t you stay here in Gotham?” He asked.
Marinette paused to think, she had no plans on what to do after she had her revenge. She had just spiraled into obsession. He was right, she had nothing left in Paris, and Shanghai would be a struggle to start all over.
“I know you’re underage, why don’t I be your Guardian until you’re 18?” He suggested, “Then you can swing away and do whatever you want.” Jason thought she could do a lot worse for a Guardian, besides, Batman and Catwoman weren’t the only ones who were allowed to take orphans under their wing.
Marinette stayed quiet, thinking of her options. It was either Shanghai or Gotham. After a few minutes of contemplation, she nodded her head.
“Name’s Jason, Jason Todd.” He held out his hand.
Marinette shook his hand, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, but I guess you already knew that.”
“You don't have to call me ‘Daddy’ unless you want to,” Jason Joked. Marinette wrinkled her nose and playfully shoved him away. For the first time since her parents died, she actually smiled.
“I’m already a Guardian myself” she said, “but I always wanted an older brother.”
“I have one, trust me it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said. They sat in silence for a long moment, “so what’s the story with you and Ladybug?” he asked.
“I helped one old guy across the street, and he decided that was a good enough reason to make me a superhero.” she explained, “I had to fight against a villain who was using people’s negative emotions to control them.”
“Well, good thing he hasn’t found his way here, plenty of those going around in a city like this.” he said, trying to make her feel better.
“How about you?” she asked, “Were you always this big bad crime lord?” She said the last part as if it was merely a facade or the stuff of legend.
“My dad was sent to jail when I was a kid, my mom didn’t last that long after that,” he told her, “so I spent a few years living on the streets of Gotham.”
“Was it always like this?” she asked, her childhood in Paris was already looking rosier by comparison.
“Gotham? Almost certainly.” Jason told her, “When I was 13, I thought I’d be joining my old man in prison sooner or later, before I met the Bat himself.” Marinette’s eyes widened, she remembered hearing Alya gush about Batman and his various sidekicks over the years. “I thought he’d just beat me up for trying to steal the wheels off of the Batmobile, instead he gave me a hot meal and a place to call home.” he told her. “You’re looking at the second Robin,” he said. Judging by the sad smile he had on his face, Marinette could tell this story didn’t have a happy ending.
“So, what happened?” she asked cautiously, he took a deep breath as he tried to find the words. On the one hand, the last thing he wanted, the last thing anyone needed, was this girl making the same stupid mistakes that he did. On the other hand, she had been through enough, it would have to be a story for another time.
“That’s a story for another day,” he decided “but I promise you, one day I’ll tell it.” Marinette looked down at the city streets before her, it was a far cry from Paris, but maybe one day she would come to see it as home.
Batman watched the two of them from a distance and smiled slightly. Maybe this girl would keep Jason from going too far down the treacherous path he was on, much like Tim had done all those years ago after he lost Jason. Only time will tell if that proved to be true, but for now he was pleased to see the two of them getting along. He grappled away, leaving the two of them to talk, laugh and joke with each other.
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Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk (A Young Revolutionary!Zemo x Non-Binary Reader Oneshot)
(a/n: so, in honor of barricade day, have this young revolutionary!Zemo fic, which is basically just canon Enjoltaire dynamics but with a Zemo/reader twist on it, because that dynamic is literally my whole heart. Consider this a weird twisted Les Mis au if you want to, but you don’t need to know the book or musical to enjoy this, if it can be enjoyed...)
Synopsis: Helmut recalls the story of how he came to be the ruthless man he is and, more specifically, how he came into possession of his strange purple mask.
Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst, Young!Zemo, Non-Binary!Reader, Death, Enemies to Friends With Benefits to Lovers????, Implied Sexual Content, Friendship, Pining, Revolution, Speedrunning A Slow Burn
Rating: M (+16)
Warnings: Major Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Drinking, Minor Homophobia/Transphobia (it’s one sentence near the end and it’s very vague coming from Heinrich), Swearing, Survivor’s Guilt, Really Just Death Everywhere
Word Count: 10,200~
“What’s with the mask?”
The question was innocent enough.
Sam posed it while lounging on the expensive couch of Zemo’s Riga apartment, head tilted back and eyes closed in silent contemplation.
Bucky remained silent as Zemo glanced over from his place at the counter. Outside, the sun was long gone, giving way to a stunning moonrise over the city that poured through the stained glass windows and lit up the night with its glow. It was quiet, much quieter than things usually were between the trio. Still, things being quiet didn’t mean they weren’t tense.
Clenching his teeth, he took in a long breath through his nose. “I am unsure what you mean by that, Sam,”
“The mask,” Sam pushed, “you know, the one you wore during the fight in Madripoor. What’s the deal with that?”
“Ah yes. That mask,” As if on cue, Zemo took a long swig from his glass. It burned all the way down. He didn’t speak again, though, instead choosing to let his gaze fall on the elaborate tilework above his countertops, tracing the patterns with his eyes. Anything to divert himself from the thoughts that rushed back into his mind at the thought of the knit piece of cloth that sat firmly in his inner coat pocket.
Unfortunately for him, Sam wasn’t satisfied with letting the topic fizzle out. “Come on man,” he griped, rubbing a hand over his face, “we got you out of prison, so you owe us one. In fact, you owe us a lot. So, spill. What the hell is the deal with it? Were you Sokovian batman or something?”
That urged a dry laugh from the baron’s lips as he set his crystal glass on the counter with a little more force than was necessary. “Are you always so interested in your captives’ personal lives?”
“Usually,” Bucky chimed in dryly.
“I suppose I’m outnumbered,” Zemo sighed. The bile rising in his throat was easy enough to force down as he turned himself out on his stool to face the room. It wasn’t the right time for true weakness, not yet, but he couldn’t deny that painting himself in a desirable light and offering the pair honesty might give him the upper hand. So, he folded.
Slowly he retrieved the purple mask from his coat and turned it over in his hands. It still fit after all the years it had sat gathering dust in his storage unit which was a blessing in its own right. It still served its original purpose too. That mask had seen horrors beyond imagination, had been washed clean of blood more times than could be counted. Did it hold the memories of the things it had seen within its fabrics as Zemo did in his mind? Or was it as naive as he had been at the time of its creation? He let out a bitter laugh. That was a question they would have asked him.
As he exchanged his literal mask for one entirely emotional, Zemo leaned back on his stool and managed a smile. “How educated are you on Sokovian politics?”
Sam shut his eyes again, letting his head lol back once more. “I went to public school, so I don’t think I even knew Sokovia existed until it didn’t,”
“I know enough,” Bucky added. From his place leaning against the way, ever vigilant and ready to jump into an imagined battle, he turned to face Zemo and crossed his arms. “Hydra had fingers in the government there, more so than other places. There was a big power struggle in the ’90s when the king died, right? Because people wanted democracy, and they didn’t want the little shithead prince to take over,”
“Yes,” Zemo nodded, “My cousin Emil. I’m glad you’re familiar,”
A spluttered laugh escaped Sam’s lips as he shot up. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised by this stuff anymore, but damn,”
“He and I weren’t close,” Zemo waved his hand dismissively, and yet there was a strange sadness in his eyes. It wasn’t for his cousin, though. Not in the least. “But James was correct, there were riots in the streets when the king died. They were shut down quickly by the National Guard, though, who had more than a little help from Hydra’s favorite supersoldiers once they realized just how much power the citizens held. What street were you assigned to, James?”
Bucky sucked in his cheeks, eyes falling to the floor, but before Sam could butt in and defend him he had muttered an answer. “I cleared the barricade at 18th Avenue, the second largest. Those kids fought valiantly,”
Zemo hummed lowly. “And so they did,”
“Okay, what does any of this have to do with your stupid purple mask?” Sam exclaimed.
He was sitting up fully now, face turned to where Zemo had stood from his stool and begun to round the bar. His mask still sat in a small ball on the marble. It seemed to be a member of the conversation all its own, silent and sure, drawing all three men together as it weaved a story from the past into the present with its very presence.
“That mask served me well and hid my identity when I stood against the very men that were serving my family,” Zemo muttered, letting his fingers brush the fabric gently. The names of the lost sat heavy on his very soul even if they would never pass from his lips.
Hans, Andrei, Ivan, Vladimir, Anton, Lazlo, Nicholas, little Sebastian…
Y/N.
“I was young then, too young for my own good,” he said softly, “naive and hopeful and convinced that the world was able to change for the better if I simply willed it to be… so when I discovered the connection between my family and Hydra I packed up my things, emptied my bank account, and moved into a tiny apartment with another like-minded friend, Hans Perlitch,” a soft laugh escaped him, genuine and youthful and all too honest, “We preached to the hungry masses of a world free from the thumb of the elite and all the while we would return home to a heated apartment and a stocked pantry. Still, we were well-liked and gathered a bit of a following. That was when everything changed, the early fall of 1997…”
------------
“You know, for someone who claims to be as smart as you say you are, you’re quite a fool,”
The voice came from the back of the room, smoke still hanging thick in the air from the cigarettes shared by the masses of students that had packed the tiny repurposed stockroom of the bar while Helmut had given his speech for the week.
He didn’t give the interloper the dignity of his full attention as he gathered a few of his scattered notes from the table that served as his soapbox. Still, he was in a generally good mood. Almost double the usual students had shown up for the meeting and a few had even chimed in to ask questions, so he took a deep breath and resigned himself to the fact that rooting out one ignorant opposer now would mean less work in the long run. “I’ve never claimed to be smart, so I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to,”
A scoff came from the back of the room, but the person made no effort to come closer. “You can change your last name and present yourself as a member of the public all you want, but someday someone is gonna recognize that pretty face of yours, and your whole revolution is going to come crumbling to the ground,”
Now that was enough to make him pause.
“How did you-”
“How could I not?”
It was sardonic, biting and harsh in the worst of ways. Everything about the tone made Helmut’s blood boil beneath his skin. He was not one who enjoyed being threatened or outdone. Still, the play was out of his hands now, should this strange intruder choose to ruin him.
Biting his tongue, he finally turned to face them. “You have my attention, now what do you want?”
Across the room, the stranger remained unphased. They were relatively unremarkable, a bottle of cheap beer held firmly in their grip as they toasted to nothing and drank down the remaining dregs. With a smile and a chuckle, they propped their feet up on the small, round table before them. Something about that sight lit a fire in Helmut’s chest. He didn’t know who they were, or why he was there, but he was certain that he despised them already.
“I don’t want anything,” They replied, and with a certain grandness reserved for a gamin mocking the bourgeoisie, they flourished with their hands, letting their booted feet drop to the ground as they stood and bowed. “I’m just saying that if you’re trying to convince people that you’re not the missing baron while you’re pretending to be all impoverished and rallying us commoners, you might want to change more than your last name and your fashion sense,”
Helmut gritted his teeth. “So what? Did you come here just to rub my face in it, or are you going to help me make a change?”
That elicited a small snort from the stranger, but they did take the opportunity to traipse up to meet him at his table, leaning on the edge as they gazed up at him with a strange look in their eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. Their face was soft upon closer examination, alive and bright with a merriment that only came from intoxication. It made Helmut sneer involuntarily.
Licking their lips, they murmured, “Make a change? Is that what you think you’re doing?” and as they let a giggle escape their parted lips Helmut lost it.
He gasped them firmly by the front of their baggy sweater and dragged them in close. “At least I’m trying! What are you doing about it? Extorting the only person who might be able to actually make a change in this shithole of a country? That’s so much more helpful!”
Their faces were inches apart as Helmut spat his words like venom and yet the stranger never stopped smiling. It was almost dopey, the grin that made its way across their lips. Helmut couldn’t stand it.
“You know, baron,” they purred, setting down their empty bottle on the table beside them, “I like you. I might just stick around here for a little while, see what else about your little plan I can pick apart,”
Never in his life had Helmut been less thrilled for someone to join his cause.
“Why are you here anyway,” he groaned, releasing their shirt, “don’t you have something better to do with your Friday night than bother me?” and, as an extra jab, he added, “besides drinking yourself to death, of course,”
The jab didn’t land, though.
Taking it all in stride, the stranger simply grinned as if they too knew how badly they stank of cheap alcohol and was thrilled that someone had noticed. “Anton invited me. He said I should get out more, make some friends. It’s just a coincidence that I happened to recognize you while writing down an itemized list of all the things you got wrong while you grandstanded,” There was a pride in their words, a giddy energy burbling just beneath the surface of their skin, and suddenly it all made sense.
Anton was newer to their group, a poet and a free thinker, something hard to find in the slums of Novi Grad. Still, he lightened the impromptu meetings up with his smile and would often spend the hour scrawling away fervently in his notebook as he immortalized each and every word that was said “for posterity”. Helmut was sure that only someone as accepting as Anton would ever choose to spend their time with someone quite as insufferable as the person before him. Suddenly, and uncomfortably, he became aware that he didn’t even know their name.
Swallowing down a nasty barb, Helmut sighed and offered up his hand, which the stranger took after a moment of pause. “And you are?”
“Y/N,” They replied.
“Well, Y/N,” he spat their name from his mouth like a cherry pit, “I suppose I’ll have to get used to having a man like you-”
“Don’t call me that,”
Helmut cocked his head to the side. “Pardon?”
“Don’t call me a man,” Y/N replied, “and before you ask I don’t want to be called a woman either. I’m just… I’m just Y/N, at least for now I am, it’s not like I’d give a rich brat like you my legal name while we’re mixed up in all this illegal, halfway-treasonous nonsense you insist on spouting. Maybe next week I’ll be something completely different and new. Until I tell you otherwise, though, I’m just Y/N, your highness,”
“Do I dare dream that that means you might learn to respect my ideas?” Helmut sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face and choosing to ignore the sarcastic address in the hopes of letting such things fizzle and die without encouragement. Unfortunately, the goofy grin he got in return told him that was wishful thinking.
Suddenly, the door opened and Helmut jumped away from his newest tentative ally (if you could call them that) to find Hans standing in the doorway. At his side was Andrei, the third in command of their little posse and final member of the leading triumvirate. They seemed shocked at his lateness and he was quick to try to gather himself up lest they see him as undone as he had found himself while facing the smallest taste of Y/N’s antagonistic nature.
What had he even been doing when they interrupted him? It took him a moment to even gather himself together enough to remember. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the papers
Oh yes, he had been gathering up his notes…
He was quick to finish the task as Y/N sauntered away towards the door, preparing to push past the two men who stood beyond it.
“You’re Anton’s friend, right?” Hans asked, back stiff. When Y/N nodded he did little more than give a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat. He had always been good with making things impersonal as he crunched the numbers and calculated probabilities. That was why Helmut liked him so much.
Andrei, on the other hand, provided a needed warmth to their leadership in his outreach.
He smiled warmly at Y/N and clapped a hand on their shoulder. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around,”
Y/N was quick to offer one of their signature grins before winking back at Helmut in a way that made his stomach turn. “Oh, you’ll be seeing plenty of me from now on,”
“We’re glad to have you,” Andrei replied as they passed.
Before they fully left, though, they turned one last time to shoot Helmut a final smile. “Till next Friday, fearless leader,”
Then, Y/N was gone, lost in the crowd of revelers beyond the small, smokey storeroom and, more importantly, beyond where Helmut’s eyes could follow. Somehow, despite everything, he missed having them there. He quickly chalked the feeling up to wanting to keep a close eye on people with the ability to thwart his best-laid plans and left it at that. Besides, he had no room in his heart for anything besides the betterment of Sokovia.
Attachments meant the possibility of other priorities, and other priorities got people killed. He couldn’t have that happening on his watch.
Thankfully, Hans snapped him out of his melancholy quickly. “Do you have everything sorted?”
Helmut gave a short nod before tapping the pile of papers against the table and setting out towards the door, abandoning his thoughts and feelings about his interaction with Y/N at the table as he exited the room and gathered himself once more into the man his friends needed him to be.
He could only hope that as long as he ignored Y/N’s jabs, they would soon grow tired and be gone within the month once they realized he was anything but afraid of their little games.
------------
Much to Helmut’s abject disappointment, Y/N did not, in fact, stop showing up.
They did quite the opposite.
Instead of leaving him well enough alone, they showed up to Helmut’s meetings every single Wednesday and Friday for months, always piss drunk and happy to jeer at him from the corner, shouting their unwanted opinions and throwing off every meeting with their nonsense.
It was as if they did it just to get on his nerves, and get on his nerves they did.
As the seasons changed, from spring, to winter, to fall, and, finally, to the very beginnings of summer, so did the types of jabs Y/N decided to throw.
In the beginning it was all business, comments on the idiocy of his plans for a protest based on common police routes or mocking jokes about his unending optimism when it came to fighting the national guard on a large scale, but as things began to get more and more serious on the path towards a full-fledged revolt, they seemed to aim more and more of their vitriol towards Helmut personally.
Sometimes it was a comment on his face or voice. “Ease up pretty boy,” they’d jeer, “keep talking like that and a guardsman might just do more than knock out a few of your perfect teeth,” Other times, which Helmut found infinitely worse, they’d throw a jab at his ability to lead them to victory. “The only thing that waits for us at the end of this is a painful death, especially if you’re not joking about those fucking super soldiers they supposedly have on ice,”
The worst part was that half the time, Y/N was right.
Helmut hated to admit it but it was true. More than once he had to go back and edit his plans to take into account a valid point thrown in by Y/N that he had never even considered. Hell, if it had been anyone else picking him to nothing he would have been grateful, but it wasn’t a well-meaning contributor trying to make the world a better place, it was a drunk who seemed to have one solitary life goal: making his life as miserable as possible. Perhaps that’s why they had devolved to frantic angry fucks behind crates of wine and massive cans of chocolate spread after the worst of their arguments…
Not that Helmut cared for them.
No, he didn’t do attachments. Neither did Y/N. They hated each other, after all.
It was just a way to release their tensions at the end of stressful meetings and nothing more. They were dealing with matters of life and death after all. It was only normal to seek comfort in the warmth of a companion, if he could even call Y/N a companion.
Whether he liked it or not, though, they were they to stay, even if they rarely made themself useful to the cause.
By early June, the drunkard had become close friends with all of the remaining students that still gathered at Helmut’s location for meetings instead of ending up at the offshoots that began to form once the group got too big to pile into the storeroom. Helmut loathed thinking about it, but Y/N was probably invited to more birthdays and Saturday night get-togethers than he ever was. There was something about their smile that drew people in. It made them feel wanted, welcome. Helmut hated that he never got those smiles from Y/N, only ever the mocking, blithe kind that they handed out freely to friends and enemies alike.
He didn’t have time to think about that, though. Not with so much fast approaching as the first pears began to hang from branches down in the royal orchards, soft and ripe and ready to be harvested. Their growth marked King Hugo’s daily weakening. His death could come any day, and when it did, Helmut knew he would need to strike quickly if he truly hoped to overturn the system before the coronation of his cousin. That meant every meeting, now more frequently held throughout the week, was filled to the brim with preparations and planning.
Well, preparations and planning and a healthy dose of Y/N and Helmut yelling at each other about nonsense across the room until Anton or Laszlo stepped in to pull Y/N down into their chair once more so the meeting could resume and they could all go home before things got too late and they were questioned in the street on why they were possibly out and about at such an hour.
Things were no different on that Friday meeting on June 4th.
“Is there anyone here who isn’t already passing out pamphlets in the dorms at NVU tonight?” Helmut asked the room, scanning for a hand that didn’t belong to his least favorite member of the group. Unfortunately, none came up. “Come one now, at least one of you has to be free,”
Y/N groaned. “It’s like you don’t even see my hand waving up here, oh great one,” There they went again with the ridiculous terms of address that made Helmut’s blood sizzle in his veins. He remained composed, though. At least, as composed as he could be given the situation.
“I’m ignoring you because I remember the last time I asked your drunk ass to pass out pamphlets. What round of dominos were you on by the time I showed up to check on you, five or six?”
The scalding remark was enough to get Y/N to sheepishly lower their hand, eyes downcast. It was getting easier and easier for Helmut to manage to shut them up the more frantic meetings got, and he couldn’t say he was displeased by that fact no matter why it was the way that it was. A quiet Y/N meant less chance for mistakes which meant fewer future casualties. Fewer casualties were good, it was what he strived for.
Thankfully for Helmut, a new hand came up.
It belonged to Vladimir, the oldest of the group by a year rounding out at an even 26 years old. He was dependable, definitely the kind who could be trusted to run an errand as important as the one Helmut needed to have done. The thought that Vladimir would be the one to pick up the shipment of smuggled guns was a relief. He made as much evident while explaining their next moves.
Throughout the remainder of the meeting, though, Helmut couldn’t help but feel watched. It didn’t last long, half an hour at most. Still, there was the creeping itch on the back of his neck that told him there were eyes on him that he wasn’t aware of. Only when the group was dismissed and the feeling didn’t go away did he realize exactly who was staring at him so intently.
“I hope you know I really did intend to hand out those pamphlets,” Y/N said once they were the last one remaining, the rest of the group having trickled out to get food and drinks before heading home for the night. It wasn’t unusual for Helmut and Y/N to be the last two remaining at the end of a meeting. That didn’t mean he was happy about it though.
So, instead of offering up an acknowledgment, he busied himself with plotting out a few potential spots to barricade the roads and hunker down when things got messy in highlighter on the large, laminated map of Novi Grad that had found its home on the big front table.
Y/N didn’t let up, though. They never did. “I know you don’t believe me, why would you, but I did. I just wanted to loosen them up before I started talking about overthrowing the damn government, which is a terrible plan, by the way. Have I told you that lately?”
“Only every time you see me,” Helmut sighed.
Somehow, that made Y/N smile, soft and sarcastic and all too honest. Helmut didn’t know how they managed it. Secretly, he envied their neverending veracity. He’d never say that though. No, not while they crossed the floor and offered up a large bottle of whiskey.
“A drink, dear leader?”
“Absolutely not” He griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I need to remind you I don’t drink?”
“Too many,”
“For once, I agree with you,”
A laugh passed through Y/N’s plush lips and, regrettably, Helmut couldn’t help but look up at them and relish in the sight. Their hair was a bit longer than they usually grew it out, a particularly unruly piece tucked behind their ear. Helmut hated that he noticed little details like that, despised the way he had come to know the soft dip of their cupid’s bow and the warmth of their palm. It was still Y/N, after all, for better or worse. He couldn’t help but allow himself those small recognitions though. It made him feel human, or something close to it.
Still, all good things must come to an end, and they did when Y/N decided to speak again. “You know, the longer I show up for these stupid meetings, the more I think you’re actually gonna try to go up against those bastards,”
Helmut should have known the barb was coming, but perhaps his better nature, if it truly existed, prevented that. Nevertheless, he sighed into his hands as he dropped his highlighter. “If I didn’t intend to actually try to change things, why would I have spent the last year of my life living in a shitty apartment and putting up with you?”
“You’d be surprised the things people do and never finish. Not everyone is as driven as you are,” Y/N huffed. They were quick to seat themself on the table once Helmut wasn’t actively working over it, smearing the highlighter away on their corduroy pants. “Nobody would blame you if you did tap out, you know. There are plenty of ways to make a change that don’t involve trying to take down the entire local Sokovian military force until they decide to give you what you want,”
“The changes we could make without a revolt wouldn’t really be changes, they’d just be the illusion of changes. You know that as well as I do,” Helmut replied with a groan.
Two of the fingers from Y/N’s free hand, the one that wasn’t gripping their bottle like a lifeline, pointed towards the closed door behind them. “Is living under our current system and knowing they have fingers in a few less-than-savory organizations really worse than leading all of your friends to their deaths?”
That struck a nerve in Helmut’s chest.
“And who says that has to be true?”
“Come on, oh benevolent and giving baron,” Y/N’s voice was light yet pointed, like a million minuscule particles of glass flying through the air, “Do you really think we’re all gonna make it out of a fight with the big guys? And even if all of us do, can you say the same for the poor kids fighting where we aren’t?”
“I never said there would be no casualties-”
“What about Sebastian? The kid is barely 12 and I know you’re going to say that if he tries to show up, you’re gonna send him home, but I think you underestimate how many people will want even someone as young as him dead if they catch him in the street. Are you really going to let him risk his life for this? A half-assed plan for you to get revenge on your asshole relatives for making your childhood shitty?”
“You know that’s not what this is about,”
“Do I?” Y/N asked, and for just a second, no, a millisecond, Helmut wasn’t sure anymore. It was only a brief moment though, nothing more. The fact that they could make him doubt himself do deeply though… it was a problem. Calling it that was an understatement, but there was no other way to put it that truly worked.
Helmut growled lowly and nodded, pushing the doubt from his mind. He was right. He had to be right. What would he be if he was wrong? A spoiled rich boy who was leading his friends to their dooms for nothing?
No.
He had to be right, so he was. It was as simple as that.
“Is there anything else you need to critique, or can you leave me to work now?” Helmut asked. His patience had long since worn thin. That didn’t matter much to Y/N, though. They liked to wear him down thin, see just how far they could push without breaking his resolve. It was a game they were both intimately acquainted with.
They played their hand expertly. “In fact,” Y/N smiled while they spoke, another mocking little grin that made Helmut’s stomach turn in the best and worst of ways, “there is one last thing I needed to ask about,”
“I shudder to think what it might be,”
“How are you going to hide your face?”
The question caught Helmut off-guard as he leaned back on his heels, letting his forearms brace against the edge of the table, his face scrunching up in thought. “What?”
Y/N gestured absently towards his face before bringing their bottle to their lips. “I’m betting that your family will expect you to be out there whenever we actually stage our attack. If I’m right, that means the soldiers will be looking for you as their top priority, and if they find you, they’ll kill everybody around you just to get a chance to drag you back to mommy and daddy. Even if they don’t kill us on sight we’ll be charged for harboring you without turning you in to the proper authorities. So, how are you going to hide your face?”
Once again, Helmut found himself thinking that, despite their drunken stupor, Y/N might just be right, and he hated it. He hated that he hadn’t thought of it first, hated that it was a valid point, hated that he had no satisfying way to answer the question they had posed. He hated it all.
“I’ll just throw on a bandana,” He managed to grumble, and that was that.
Or, that should have been that, but Y/N scoffed at the idea, setting down their bottle and leaning in close to Helmut’s face. After a moment of contemplation, they brought their hand up to his face and let their thumb come to rest on one of his largest beauty marks, the mole that rested high on the left side of his nose. “I’m afraid that a bandana isn’t going to cover up your absolutely blinding radiance, fearless leader,” There was a softness to their voice, a gentility Helmut was unused to. It made his chest hurt. He hated that too.
“Are you going to offer a solution or are you just going to sit there telling me I’m stupid,” His words were a low groan.
Much to his surprise, though, Y/N reached into their back pocket only to pass him a crumpled purple ball. It was obviously fabric, though the outside seemed to be coated in some sort of weatherproofing, and upon closer inspection, once unraveled, two distinct eyeholes became visible.
“Is this-”
“A mask?” Y/N finished his sentence for him, “Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t think about it, so I whipped something up with some old polyester-based yarn and then I coated it so it wouldn’t be a problem if it got wet. It should still be breathable, though,”
For the first time since he’d known them, Helmut looked up at Y/N and thought that they were incredibly valuable. He still hated them, of course he did. Y/N was Y/N and he was himself and they hated each other because they were, at their basest, entirely incompatible.
At his silence, Y/N looked away, almost nervous. “I hope it’s alright,”
“It’s more than alright,” Helmut said as kindly as he could possibly manage, “I hate to say this, but owe you one,”
“Could I collect on that debt now?” Minutely, Y/N leaned closer, eyes falling to Helmut’s lips.
He swallowed thickly. “You’re drunk, Y/N,”
“I know I am. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Why would that be wonderful?”
“Because that means I won’t remember this,” And, with that, they closed the gap between the two of them and captured Helmut’s lips in his own.
Kissing Y/N wasn’t a new thing. They had kissed plenty of times during their frenzied hookups; soft kisses and hard kisses and long kisses and short kisses. Still, Helmut would never get used to the thrill of it. That was yet another thing he hated about Y/N. He could never quite get used to them. Every single interaction always felt as fresh and raw as their first.
With a fervor only he could muster, Helmut kissed back and pushed at Y/N’s hips, pressing them harder into the table below, and just as quickly as he had gained a physical mask, he had lost his emotional one.
------------
In the end, that was the last time Helmut had slept with Y/N.
They had fallen together, two sweaty half-dressed bodies laid out over the laminated map of Novi Grad, and then Y/N had gathered themself up and left with little more than one last kiss pressed to Helmut’s temple. By the time he himself had gotten home to Hans, the news of King Hugo’s death was almost an hour old.
After a few phone calls to lay the final plans and keep every sect of their band of revolutionaries on the same schedules, things rolled into motion like a finely tuned machine.
On the morning of June 5th, the barricades rose and Helmut wore his mask proudly as his people fought for freedom in the streets he had walked since childhood. Y/N was beside him.
By the early hours of June 6th, they were the only barricade that remained.
Helmut should have known that once things got too challenging that the super soldiers would be released, he should have anticipated that they’d be waiting for the backlash once king Hugo passed, and yet he hadn’t. He had blindly walked into the disaster with his eyes wide open. There was no one to blame but himself.
Little Sebastian, just one month shy of 13 years old, was dead, shot at long distance when he had attempted to grab a fallen box of bullets that had toppled over the peak of the jumble of hoarded furniture and scrap metal. Anton was dead too, taken at gunpoint while he stood guard at a side street and executed with his eyes bound and a sonnet on his lips. Even Ivan, stoic and strong Ivan who bound his knuckles in boxer’s tape and sparred with Helmut when he needed to clear his head, had been caught in the initial fire and bled out over the course of the day, dying with a smile on his face as he leaned on a discarded chair.
I never said there’d be no casualties.
His own words rang in his ears, taunted him with every bullet he shot and every breath he dragged into his aching lungs. How had he ever been so naive to believe that even one life could be expendable?
The real lowest point came at almost midnight when Helmut picked up a call from a student on another barricade only to met with screaming. “Winter is coming!” They had wailed, “Winter is coming!” and then they had died, right there over speakerphone. Helmut had the good sense to hang up once it got to the worst of it, the strangled gurgled growing to be too much for the group.
As things truly settled, in those hours so early that the world still considered them night, Helmut still stood vigilant. That’s when Y/N finally approached.
They wore no smile, not like usual. Instead, their face was stoic as they came to stand beside Helmut and waited silently for a moment. He took the chance to beat them to the punch.
“You don’t have to tell me you were right. I know you were,” I hate you for it.
Y/N offered a gentle, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t rub it in at a time like this, but yeah, I was,” I know you do. I hate myself for it too.
Slowly, Helmut brought a hand to his face, scrubbing the exhaustion away from his eyes. How had it all come to this?
“How much time do you think we have,” Y/N was speaking before he had a chance to say anything more, saving him from having to elaborate on his admission. He was grateful. Grateful to not be alone, grateful to be spared more shame, grateful to see Y/N’s gentle smile one more time. He’d never show it though. No, he was to be the fearless leader till the end.
So, he sucked in a deep breath and stared out into the starry sky. “A few hours at most. I’m surprised they haven’t made another advance after the last big push in the evening when we lost…” he swallowed thickly, “when we lost Anton,”
Licking their lips and pushing back their hair, Y/N sighed. “For what it’s worth, for a minute there I really believed you could do it,”
It was a bigger compliment than it seemed and they both knew it, but neither acknowledged it. Instead, Helmut gestured absently towards the half-full bottle of wine in Y/N’s hand. “You mind if I have a drink of that?”
A grin spread across their lips, but it was as far from mocking as was possible as they passed the bottle over.
“I never thought I’d see the day,”
Lifting the bottom of his mask to take a swig, Helmut groaned at the deep, bitter burn of it. “Don’t get used to it,” He replaced the fabric quickly before passing the bottle back.
“I’ll try not to,”
“Happy 20th, by the way,” Y/N added, “this is a hell of a way to celebrate, but it’s very you,”
Helmut froze as the realization sunk in that it was, in fact, the 6th of June, even if it had only been that way for a couple hours.
There had been a party planned. It was just an intimate thing, cake and a few card games in the afternoon with his closest friends, but that was long behind them now, forgotten in favor of the larger cause. To Y/N, though, there was never a larger cause than Helmut himself. He was realizing that slowly. In a bitter moment of realization, he laughed.
“What?”
“You weren’t invited,”
They quirked up an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“To the birthday party. I didn’t invite you,”
“Well, I’m here now, and this is a pretty good party if I do say so myself. You and me and the revolution all jam-packed together in the middle of a street. Wouldn’t it be cool if the new democracy was born on the same day you were?”
He smiled softly. “It was meant to be,”
“I got you something, you know, even though I knew I wasn’t invited to the party,” Y/N added breathlessly. “It was stupid, just some dumb sweater with a whole bunch of random ass quotes from Machiavelli all over the back, but Anton and I saw it when we visited the better side of town to hang up those fliers for the march a few weeks ago and we knew you had to have it. It’s sitting all wrapped up on my front table,”
“It’s a shame I won’t get to open it today,”
They nodded distantly. “Yeah, a real shame…”
Then, they were quiet again, staring up at the stars mere feet away from each other and yet miles apart, farther than they’d ever been.
Y/N cut through the soundless night first, but not before several silent minutes had passed, filled with only the distant chatter of their surviving friends and the gentle whistling of the breeze over the rooftops above. “When everything goes to shit… with the universe, I mean, not now. Everything’s already gone to shit now. But that notwithstanding, when the world goes kaput and the sun explodes, we’re all gonna be starstuff together, right? You and I and Sebastian and Andrei and Anton and… all of us. We’re gonna be nothing but matter and dust out there in space,”
“Is there a point to this or are you just having an existential crisis?” Helmut muttered, but there was no bite to it.
They just chuckled as their eyes scanned the sky.
“I was just thinking, if all of us are gonna be nothing more than matter and dust and star stuff, it only makes sense that someday, even if it’s a billion years from now, a little part of each of us will be together again as part of some supernova in the sky to be seen by somebody else, and, when that day comes, I think I’m gonna know, and everything is gonna be alright,”
He hummed thoughtfully, running a hand absently over the thick purple knit of his mask, relishing in the gummy softness of the coating on his bare fingertips in the cooling air. “That makes no sense,”
“Do you think I don’t know that?”
“Still, it’s a pretty thought. Anton would have liked it,”
“Yeah, he would have…”
Helmut let his eyes fall from the sky to his companion. They looked so fragile, so broken, that he could barely stand himself, because, if he hadn’t made the stupid choices to lead them here, they never would have felt that way. They’d be curled up in bed somewhere, asleep and safe, far from the cold darkness of the night at his side. It made him sick.
How could he possibly put that to words? How could he apologize for denying every nudge, every chance to turn around? He couldn’t, and it made him as bitter as the wine that Y/N sipped from absently before turning to face him once again.
“Hey, Helmut,” they whispered, and his breath caught in his throat because how dare his voice sound so sweet on their lips? How dare they keep that joy, the joy of hearing his name whispered with reverence on the early morning breeze, real and caring and perfect, away from him for so long? “Do you think I could take a chair from the barricade?”
Just as soon as it had come, the joy was gone. “Why would you need a chair?”
Y/N shrugged. “I want to go sleep,”
“Why can’t you sleep out here?”
“I don’t want to be woken up,”
“We wouldn’t wake you until the fighting was starting back up again-”
“Oh, my darling fearless leader,” their voice was empty, tinny and cold, “I don’t ever want to be woken up,”
Their words pierced Helmut straight through the heart he didn’t know he had. It made him feel so much, so many emotions he had simply not allowed himself out of a misplaced sense of self-preservation. “But we’ll need every able body ready to fight when they send in the super soldiers if we even want a chance at making it out of this,”
The smile that crossed Y/N’s lips didn’t come from a place of joy, nor did it mock Helmut for his blind and dying faith. It was simply there because they did not know how to do anything else. “There’s no making it out of this. Not for me, at least. For you, though… you still have a chance,”
Denial and anger went hand in hand as Helmut sucked his teeth, grinding his molars and letting his hand ghost over his pistol hanging at his hip.
“So you’d really rather die like a coward than take a stand against the evils in the world?” he spat, harsh and cold as the air around them. “Pathetic,”
“Don’t do this now, Helmut, not after we were finally getting somewhere. I don’t want to die with things like that,”
“I’m not the one who’s giving up,” he snapped.
He just needed… something. A reaction. A reason to keep fighting when the war was already lost. Anything. Why couldn’t Y/N light the same fire in him that they’d kindled for months? The fire that had driven him to spend sleepless nights poring over maps and plans and speeches and guns. If he just pushed a little harder, just hit the right button, they’d light it again, he just knew it.
“Please,” the word fell fragile from Y/N’s lips. Not a beg, just a soft plea.
It fell on deaf ears.
“You know what? You can take your chair!” Helmut was shouting then, loud enough that the remaining students on the barricade could hear every word. “Take your chair and leave us to fight while you die in your sleep. If we make it through the day I’ll put the bullet between your eyes myself. Now get out of here! I don’t want to see you again,” There was a cruelty to it, an edge that he thought might just push them off the edge. Still, it wasn’t cruel without reason. Helmut thought that maybe, if he was lucky enough, Y/N would simply leave.
They had no stakes in the results of the revolt, no serious lasting ties that would get them hunted down in the weeks to come if things came to a gruesome end. If he bid them to leave, to disappear from his sight, there was a chance, however small, that they would disappear into the shadows with a chance to live.
Against all odds, though, Y/N smiled one of those empty smiles again and drank down the very last of their wine.
“As your baronship commands,” they whispered, before departing to gather up a chair and disappearing into the restaurant where they had met so many times before.
Then, they were gone, and Helmut was free to sink to the ground as his heart broke and mended and broke again.
------------
As expected, the super soldiers arrived only a couple of hours past Y/N’s departure.
Their arrival was silent, only marked by the slow thud of retreating national guardsmen in the distance. They weren’t needed there anymore, and the less they saw the better.
Helmut watched his friends fall one by one in the panic, the barricade falling to ruin as the soldiers- if they could even be considered that, soldier seemed a far too human term for the monstrous creatures before him- pulled it apart with their bare hands. From there it was just a game of who was caught first in the insanity that ensued.
Nicholas; caught a bullet through the neck.
Vladimir; thrown against a solid stone wall at a speed near impossible.
Lazlo; impaled on a bit of broken wood as the wood exploded.
Andrei; shot 3 times point-blank in the chest as he held the door closed to buy Hans and Helmut a little more time with a love confession for his closest companion falling from his mouth.
Hans…
Helmut didn’t know how Hans died.
He had never asked. All he knew that the shots had come as he wailed Andrei’s name, and then there was a deathly silence in the golden light of the morning sun as Helmut stood alone at the back of the storeroom, taking in the 4 walls that had held the best year of his life.
What remained now?
A failed dream? A pile of bodies? A single survivor waiting for his death?
Helmut didn’t know. He couldn’t fathom it.
The two soldiers sent to finish the job were nameless and nondescript as they slipped through the door, armed with long, silent rifles and hidden by masks not too dissimilar from Helmut’s own. They did not speak, not a word. Instead, they simply raised their guns and took aim at Helmut as he closed his eyes and thought of-
“Wait!”
The word rang out heavy and made the two executioners snap to the side.
“I’m with him! I’m with the revolution! Down with King Emil! Down with the monarchy!”
There, hidden among the crates and shelves of canned goods and glass bottles, was Y/N.
They looked objectively awful, eyes rimmed red and hair mussed up and coated with oil. Still, it was the most beautiful sight Helmut had ever seen.
It was only right that they go together.
Slowly, Y/N made their way across the room to take their place at Helmut’s side. “I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but I assume you’ll make an exception for the circumstances,”
“I never meant it,” he whispered back, and Y/N smiled, “You have to know, I never meant it,”
“Even if you did, I never would have listened-”
Suddenly, one of the soldiers spoke, taking aim straight for Helmut down the barrel of their gun.
“Quiet,”
Y/N only paused for a moment before pressing their hand into his. “Kiss me, Helmut?”
Who was he to deny them?
Pulling off his mask, he pressed his lips to theirs and clasped their hand like it was the last thing he would ever do. When he pulled away, they were smiling one of their old, mocking, joyous smiles.
“Oh, fearless leader… I win,”
The words were a whisper of air against his lips. Before he could fathom the true meaning of them the pair was peppered in a spray of gunfire as Helmut closed his eyes to the world for what should have been the final time.
When he opened them, Y/N was struck dead at his feet.
------------
It was their final winning move, he later realized, the checkmate to a game of chess he never believed would end.
In the end, Y/N had been as correct as they always were.
All the same, he hated them for it.
Some nights, in the darkness of his room back at the summer estate where his father has imprisoned him until further notice, he wondered if Y/N had kissed him because they wanted to or if they had done it to get him to remove his mask long enough that the soldiers would recognize him and spare him. It wouldn’t surprise him. Y/N did have a tendency to be right about things like that.
Ghosts haunted him often.
Not full specters, he would wish for something so merciful. Instead, he saw flashes in the periphery of his vision. Outside his window, he’d hear a child’s laugher and be so sure it was Sebastian until he looked out to find that it was simply a group of the staff’s children playing ball. Or, when the assigned guardsman brought him his dinner, he would glance down the hall and be so sure that a man at the other end was Lazlo, preparing to face a board of proctors as he delivered a thesis he would never write. It never was, though. It never would be.
Worst of all, when he laid awake in his bed as the clock struck twelve, he would feel them beside him.
They had never slept together in the literal sense. Whatever they had shared (love, Helmut would come to realize after many, many years with Heike, painfully hollow without the same kind of flame. He had loved them and simply never known how to show it) was purely physical and contained within that bloody, bloody storeroom that he was sure would be torn down someday soon as they glossed over the casualties and stamped out the evidence. Still, he could feel Y/N beside him in the darkness despite the fact that they had never been there.
Their head on his chest, their body pressed flush to his side, their hot breath fanning over the fabric of his nightshirt, creating a patch of damp warmth in its wake…
It was maddening, an eternal punishment he was doomed to endure for his stupidity. Nevertheless, if he let his brain wander to a better place, a different lifetime, it was almost comforting to feel their ghost wrapped tightly to his side.
When he woke, though, the loss of the dream was more maddening than living through it.
Almost a month after the failed revolution, in the hot and heady days of early July when the wasps buzzed loud at the window and the skies were filled with thunderclouds most of the time, his father finally came to speak to him.
“I trust you spent your birthday how you wished to,” Heinrich said plainly. There was no question to it, just an empty sentiment.
Mockery wasn’t nearly as pleasant when delivered by his father and not his lover, Helmut thought distantly.
“On the contrary, I spent my birthday watching everyone I cared about die,” he snapped back.
Heinrich didn’t offer any sort of commiseration. He simply shrugged and continued on with what he was there to say, not that his son minded much. The less time he spent there the more time Helmut would have to himself, which was preferable to listening to his father’s droning.
“You’re lucky to be alive. The family is on thin ice thanks to that stunt you pulled, but with time we’re all sure that you’ll become an asset if you simply learn to use that fire for something more… productive,”
Who the ‘we’ was went unspoken. It didn’t need to be.
Helmut sighed and looked out the window at the rain falling on the garden. Nicholas would have loved the gardens at this home. He would have pressed every flower at least once in the little book he kept beside him filled with the pieces of the world that he collected as he passed through it. Where would he be kept and collected now that he was dead?
“I’ve called in a favor and enrolled you for military service. You’ll be tested to find your strengths, sent where you’re best suited, and trained from the ground up. Once we know you can be trusted, you might even lead your own squadron and make some friends more of your caliber,”
It took all Helmut’s strength to clench his teeth and hold back the rage he felt in his chest. “When do I leave?”
“As soon as you’re married,”
Married.
The word struck a bolt through the rage and dissolved it, giving way to pure shock. “What the hell do you mean?”
Crossing his arms, Heinrich took to pacing a 2-foot line back and forth in front of the door. “We’ve found a suitable match from a good standing Sokovian family, and they’re willing to look past your little misstep as long as their daughter becomes a baroness and is adequately involved in society. She’ll be here in three days time and you’ll have a week to get acquainted before the wedding,”
“I never said I was going to get married,” Helmut growled, “You can’t make me get married,”
His father stared down at him from above like he was a little boy again. “I can make you do whatever I want. Don’t think I didn’t hear about what happened with that freak they shot down at your side! No son of mine is ending up with someone like-”
In an instant, Helmut had rushed across the room and punched his father square in the jaw. As blood poured down the man’s face, a hiss escaped his son’s lips.
“Never talk about Y/N like that again,”
“So it had a name!”
That earned him another punch, but Heinrich escaped Helmut’s grip quickly, cupping a hand beneath his nose to catch the redness that poured from his face. As he retreated out the door, he turned to deliver his final verdict. “You have three days to get your act together, and maybe, just maybe, if you don’t fuck this up, I’ll let you know where they dumped all your little friends to rot,” And with that, he shut the door behind him and left Helmut to pick up the pieces of his soul.
------------
The tale Zemo wove was a sad one (sans most of the details about Y/N. That was a story whose finer details he would take to his grave) and as he came to a close, the purple fabric between his fingers was a tether to reality. The coating was a bit old, thinner in places than it should have been, but it had remained steady and strong for over 20 years and he didn’t know the first place to start repairing it.
Y/N would have known, they’d been the one to do it in the first place after all, but they were long gone, not even a ghost anymore. Just a name and a face forgotten to time as all the other impoverished students were, buried in an unmarked grave in a place he never learned. It was all that remained of them. The only thing that proved they were ever there at all.
“You know the rest of the story,” he added firmly. “I married Heike, climbed the ranks of the military, had my son… and they were simply lost, an unwritten page in the history of a country that no longer exists,”
Suddenly, though, a deep voice cut in through the heavy air between them.
“Ciczheni,”
“Pardon?” Zemo asked softly, pouring himself a final tumbler of whiskey and stuffing the mask back in his pocket.
“We buried them in Ciczheni,”
He nearly dropped the bottle in his hand.
Bucky was quick to continue, voice low and eyes clouded with memory in a way that only the two of them would ever truly understand. “It’s a tiny town along the border to the Czech Republic. There’s a big open field there, or at least there was, marked with a flat grave marking it as a burial site. I don’t remember the name on it, some random pseudonym, but they’re all there, all 57 dead and buried in the ground under that rock,”
Helmut gave a stiff nod. “I see,” Then, in one long gulp, he downed the whole two fingers of whiskey straight and relished in the way it burned down his throat. When the glass was empty and set down safely on the counter again he was quick to school his expression as he turned away. “I’m afraid all that excitement has exhausted me for the day. Goodnight, gentlemen,”
He was gone down the hallway into his bedroom before the pair had a chance to say another word.
Ciczheni.
As he undressed, he smiled softly, letting a few errant tears drip down his cheeks.
They had been born and raised in that tiny farming town. Sometimes, when he had let himself listen in on their conversations with some of the other members of their small, tight group, they would talk about how much they wanted to return someday, once they’d made enough money to live on for a while if they supported themself by growing a small garden and maybe keeping some chickens. The thought, even then, had always made him smile. Just Y/N and a cottage and a chicken or two.
Sometimes, if he was especially indulgent, he would imagine himself there with them. Sharing a home.
Making a family.
His biological family, the one he had created with marriage and his own flesh and blood, was something different entirely. He had loved them. God, how he’d loved them. Still, it was never the same. He was never at peace. He was never home. There would always be a bitterness there, as bitter as the dark summer wine he’d drunk the night he’d turned 20, a resentment that came with the obligation of creating a place in his heart for them when there never should have been.
For Y/N, though...
He sighed, wrapping himself in his robe and slipping on a pair of fleece pajama pants before crawling between the sheets and laying flat on his back, eyes to the ceiling.
Things wouldn’t have been happy all the time. Hell, they probably wouldn’t have been happy even most of the time. Still, they would have been where they belonged, seated firmly at his side for the rest of their long, wonderful lives.
Ciczheni, he repeated in his mind, then the memorial for Novi Grad. It was a minor detour, adding barely 2 hours more to the whole trip when he had plenty more to spare.
Ciczheni, then Novi Grad, and then, finally, peace.
Beside him, he could feel the phantom limbs wrap around his body, resting their weight firmly on his chest where the guilt and shame and terror built by the day, and for the first time in almost a decade they were not Heike’s. Perhaps, if all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be phantom much longer.
Or, if not, he would wait. He would wait a billion years to disintegrate into stardust and spread across the cosmos in search of them.
Either way, when they were together again, he’d know.
They both would.
--------
a/n: I’m not crying, you’re crying.
TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace , @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade , @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @wondermia69 , @booklover2929 , @lol-im-done , @rorodendra , @spookycereal-s , @viviace , @wxrmh0le , @whatawildone , @mush-room-princess , @aliyahsfantasticlife , @gredvb , @chipster-21 , @whatawildone , @cloud-of-roses , @bry-97 , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx , @be-cautious-around-bri , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car , @frothonthedaydreams
#zemo#baron zemo#helmut zemo#baron helmut zemo#zemo x reader#helmut zemo x reader#baron zemo x reader#baron helmut zemo x reader#barricade day#zemo fanfic
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Do You Believe in Magic?
AYO second day in a row can you believe it? I come with more content.
Fics Masterlist
Wallynette Oneshot 3.1K words (no warnings apply)
Summary:
“What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?”
without further ado:
“That’s ridiculous!” He was pacing back and forth, arms waving in the air to compliment his theatrics. “Magic shouldn’t be able to do that, it defies all logic!”
“That’s the point! Magic exists outside of logical reasoning!” The shorter girl was equally as furious, standing in place and growing redder by the minute.
“Nothing exists outside of logical reasoning! Everything can easily be explained with science.” The redhead had paused his pacing to stare down the noirette before him. He was uncaring of his volume, ignorant to how his voice echoed in the large cave. “Your Lucky Charm is nothing more than transdimensional materialisation. An already pre-existing object is broken down into subatomic particles and rearranged at your location.”
“Are you really trying to tell me how my own Lucky Charm works?” She had sounded absolutely livid at the assumption. And Dick had to agree with her. Wally was in no position to tell her how her own powers worked. Before he could interject the screaming match between his two best friends, she was going off again. “And are you really trying to tell me that somewhere in the world existed a red and black-spotted doughnut just waiting to be used? That when Antibug was around a ladybug patterned flamethrower was just lying somewhere?”
“Oh please, there are plenty of flamethrowers all over the world and they probably only appeared ladybug themed due to shifts in light refraction.” He had stopped waving his arms around and crossed them in front of his chest. He was standing in her space now, leering over her trying to be imposing. “Simple fact is magic. Isn’t. Real.”
“You can run faster than the speed of sound! If you really think it was your precious science that saved you after willingly striking yourself with lightning in hopes of tapping into a cross-dimensional ‘speed-force,’ then you’re dumber than I thought.” She had gotten even closer now, pressing a finger into his chest and pushing him back.
“Are they still at this?” Kaldur had walked up beside Dick with two soda cans, silently offering him one. His voice sounded tired, visibly annoyed at the constant bickering.
“An hour and counting,” he sighs. The sounds of their bickering slowly faded into background noise. “For today at least. But they’ve been butting heads ever since she’s joined the team. Kinda exhausting.”
Marinette, a.k.a Ladybug, had joined the team after Wonder Woman deemed Paris officially safe from any more magical mayhem. While the rest of Paris’s heroes chose to retire and preserve the rest of their teen years, Marinette did not have that option. Magical Guardian and all. The JLE welcomed her with open arms and Wonder Woman decided to introduce her to the Team. She got along great with M'gann, the two could almost always be found baking or exchanging recipes in the cave’s kitchen and they, plus Artemis, went on frequent shopping trips. Conner saw her as a little sister, which was unexpected but it probably had to do with the fact she was a whole foot shorter and he had natural instincts to protect those who looked meek. She was anything but meek but first impressions were a damning thing sometimes. Marinette was Kaldur’s biggest supporter, always ready to back him up when it came to tough Team related decisions, something born from her own experience as a leader. The two understood each other the best. She also related to Dick on the importance of secret identities and while the Team still only knows him as Robin, she was the only one who never pestered him on it, respecting the lengths he would go to for the sake of anonymity.
Wally was the only one the newest member clashed with. Magic skeptic, meet magic connoisseur. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. They almost never agreed on anything. Every time the two were left alone for more than two minutes it evolved into a screaming match. Wally was insistent on pushing all of Marinette’s buttons and she was always eager to defend herself and magic as a whole. Her rather short fuse didn’t make matters any better. It hadn’t affected missions, arguments reserved for the safety of the cave, but it was only a matter of time before that became an actual issue. He voiced as much to Kaldur who agreed with only a contemplative nod.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s moments like these where Kaldur hated when Robin was right. At least he was on another mission with Batman so he didn’t have to bear witness to this fiasco.
The Team was currently in Louisiana investigating the disappearance of Dr. Kent Nelson, better known as Dr. Fate, the Sorcerer Supreme. And Wally was being argumentative with Marinette while simultaneously trying to impress M'gann. It had put Artemis on edge and she kept taking jabs at him whenever an opportunity arose. And even when one didn’t.
They had just barely escaped the pit above lava, standing above the cool platform.
“Don’t worry, Megalicious,” Wally had moved to support M'gann, throwing an arm above her shoulders, drawing her into his side. “I’ve got you.”
“Enough!” Artemis had cut in between the two of them, pushing Wally away from the Martian, her frustration palpable even from where Kaldur was standing. “Your little ‘Impress Megan at all costs’ game nearly got us all barbecued.”
“When did this become my fault?”
“When you lied to that whatever it was and called yourself a true believer.”
“Wally, you don’t believe?” M'gann sounded hurt at that. Wally looked across the room, before coming to a silent conclusion.
“Fine, fine! I lied about believing in magic. But magic is the real lie, a major load.”
“I can’t believe you’re still on that.” Marinette, who had remained silent before, finally entered the conversation, ready to defend her craft. “We just fell over five hundred feet below ground into an almost fiery death and you still don’t believe it? Was the magically appearing Tower not enough? Or the fact that our feet are not being scorched right now?”
Wanting to put an end to this conversation, Kaldur said his piece.
“Wally, I have studied for a year at the Conservatory of Sorcery in Atlantis.” He had crouched down, rubbing the surface of the floor. “The mystic arts created the skin icons that power my water bearers.”
“Dude, have you ever heard of bioelectricity? Hey in primitive cultures fire was once considered magical too. Today it’s all just a bunch of tricks.”
“What I do is not a trick. Do you really think destroying the Eiffel Tower, and putting it back in place is just some trick? Or how about when an old akuma was able to control the weather and created a volcano in the middle of Paris? Were those all tricks too? Were the casualties just results of things that don’t exist?” Marinette was becoming increasingly agitated as her rant went on. M'gann moved to comfort her, embracing her slightly.
“Don’t put words in my mouth! I never said the lives lost weren’t real! It was tragic, yeah, but that was due to real scientific explanations.”
“Science can’t bring people back from the dead.” Her voice was more subdued and sombre and her shoulders were curling into her body. The atmosphere was increasingly getting more depressing so Kaldur grabbed onto the latch, hoping that making progress into the mission would revive the Team’s energy.
He ignored Wally’s protests about heat backdrafts and came face first to a rush of frigid air.
“Do you ever get tired of being wrong?” Artemis was rather smug as she threw a smirk over her shoulder. Kaldur just wished the rest of the mission wouldn’t be like this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artemis was going to tear her hair out. Or probably Wally’s. Yeah, she was going to tear Wally’s hair out. It had been a week since the Dr. Fate mission and he still hasn't apologized to Marinette. His refusal to believe in magic was not only screwing up the team dynamics but it was forcing Marinette’s hand, pushing her to dig up trauma, to try and prove to him that magic is real. Artemis didn’t understand why it was so important to her that Wally believed in magic but it was and that was enough for Artemis to stand by her friend.
The two haven’t even spoken to each other since the mission and it was painfully obvious that Marinette was avoiding him. Valid, but still aggravating when it put everyone on the team on edge. Artemis wasn’t one to play peacemaker, leaving that to Kaldur and Marinette, but since this ongoing conflict involved the Parasian, and Kaldur had his hands full with a mission in Atlantis, someone had to step up and that person was her. Wonderful.
She had tracked Wally in the medical facility, tinkering with some of the equipment and taking inventory of their supplies, a job Red Tornado routinely asks him to do. She skipped any greeting and just started plucking items out of his hands. Ignoring his protests, she kept going until his hands were empty then grabbed his wrist, pulling him into the training room and shoving him into the center ring.
“Shut up and stay,” was all she said, crossing her arms and freezing him with a glare. She wasn’t in the mood for any of his gimmicks tonight. The sound of the zetatubes announcing the Ladybug designation alerted her to Marinette’s return from Paris. Time for the next part of her plan.
“Don’t move,” she said as she turned to retrieve the other person for her plan. A firm ‘I mean it’ was tossed over her shoulder as she left.
Collecting Marinette was easier said than done. Artemis was headstrong on a good day, she will admit, but now as a woman on a mission she was down right intimidating and she knew it. Marinette took one look at her expression and bolted for the zetatube she just stepped out of. Artemis was having none of that and was able to grab the much shorter girl before she could get any further. While Artemis was mentally applauding herself she was also begrudgingly impressed with how difficult it was to hold the girl. Dragging her to the training deck was becoming more trouble than it was probably worth.
Artemis could pinpoint the exact moment Marinette’s eyes landed on the speedster because her efforts doubled and she almost escaped Artemis’s grasp. She dropped her gracelessly on the floor and moved to block the exit before either could do anything.
“Neither of you are leaving until you work out your issues,” she was huffing from exhaustion, both mental and physical. “Whether that means punching the shit out of each other or talking it out like normal people: I don’t care. But no one leaves this room until you two stop screwing with the team dynamics.”
She left no room for arguments and turned to stand outside the exit, giving them some semblance of privacy. If they didn’t work out their issues here, Artemis’s plan B involved Connor tossing them into the far end of the coastline. Hopefully, Wally and Marinette were reasonable enough it wouldn’t have to come to that.
Oh, who was she kidding?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wally stared at Artemis’s retreating figure and then at a very interesting spot on the cave wall. He felt like an asshole all week and, after his experience with the helmet of Fate, he knew he would have to be the one to mend the ever growing gap between him and Marinette. Still, he couldn’t face her yet. Every time he looked at her, or saw her hastily leave any room he was in, his mind flashed to those haunting words she had said.
Science can’t bring people back from the dead.
He knew that. He knew there were harsh limitations on what science can and can’t do. Magic shouldn’t have been any different. And he thought he understood what she had to deal with during her time in Paris but he was wrong. He was so painfully wrong that it took his body being overtaken by a mystic ‘Lord of Order’ for him to really comprehend that. He just… He just couldn’t wrap his head around someone so young being entrusted with so much power. Magic was inexplicable. It defied reason and was unpredictable so he never understood how someone as self-assured as Marinette could put her faith in something that unreliable. So he lashed out at her. Then he did it again. And again so much so that he can’t remember ever having a civil conversation with her.
He messed up and he knew it but the shame he felt in the past week was too much for him to handle and he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“Look,” his head snapped to the sound of her voice. She wasn’t looking at him, holding herself for comfort. “I’m sorry for ignoring you, I didn’t realise it was affecting the rest of the team.”
No. no no nonono.
She shouldn’t be apologizing. She had nothing to apologize for and Wally is the ass in this situation not her so why is she apologizing? He needs to fix this. Fast.
“You don’t need to apologize,” such a terrible start, Wallace. Congratulations. “I was the one who pushed your buttons and called magic a big trick.”
She had lifted her head slightly but her gaze still wasn’t focused on him, rather she was looking beyond him just above his shoulder. He took a step closer and when she hadn’t made a break for the exit, he took that as a good sign.
“Listen, Marinette,” her eyes dart to and away from him in an instant. He didn’t let that stop him though. “All those times, times when I called magic fake or belittled its legitimacy, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was just trying to wrap my head around its absurdity.”
“It doesn’t matter what you were trying to do,” she finally locked her gaze on him and the pain swimming in her eyes was going to burn him alive. “You still hurt me. You took everything I did, everything I’ve learned and lost and loved and called it a hoax, you called it unreal, and you doubted everything I’ve ever accomplished. I have memories I may never recover from because of magic, scars that will never heal from something you didn’t want to believe in.”
There were unshed tears in her eyes and Wally wanted to brush them away. He didn’t, but fighting the urge was herculean of him. He didn’t get the chance to respond, though, but he wouldn’t dare interrupt her.
“Did you ever realise how those arguments affected me? I used to look up to you, Kid Flash, before joining the team.” He never knew that. Why didn’t he know that? “You were always so cheerful and the media framed you as someone who believed in the impossible. That was something I needed back in Paris. Because there was nothing more impossible to me than ever getting a chance to defeat Hawkmoth.”
She was openly crying now, her cheeks blotchy and eyes red. Wally didn’t know what to say so he took a chance and opened his arms to her. A silent invitation, a quiet apology. Whatever this little spitfire needed from him. He would willingly give it.
She took the offer and crashed her face into his chest, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He wrapped his arms snuggly around her, almost crushing her to his chest.
“I needed someone who believed in the impossible to believe in me.” Her sobs were heartbreaking. Wally could only caress her on the back in a futile attempt to comfort her. “That someone was you but then you had no problem looking me in the eye and saying you don’t believe in magic. How could you?”
“I am so sorry, Marinette.” He could never apologize enough. He was willing to dedicate his life making it up to her. He was silently praying to gods he also didn’t believe in that she would let him try. Before she could say anything, and he felt the hitch in her shoulders as she was taking steadying breaths to do so, he continued.
“I never knew what I—Kid Flash— meant to you. I only argued against magic so much because I didn’t want to believe that something that unpredictable was the only thing keeping someone like you safe. I heard all the stories; Wonder Woman loved to gush and brag about her mother’s successor, but I could never believe that someone could do such incredible things by magic alone. It was mind boggling.”
Wally felt more than heard the faint gasp at his confession. He pulled her off his chest, holding her a short distance by her shoulders, so that he could look into her eyes.
“I’m really sorry; I don’t think I can ever tell you how sorry I am.” She needed to know how genuine he was. He may clown around a lot but he was absolutely serious in this moment. He hoped she could see the sincerity in his eyes.
“I—,” she cut herself off, and Wally could see her growing frustrated with her own loss of words. She opened her mouth to speak again but she was interrupted.
“OH just kiss already!” Artemis’s rough voice echoed in the room and Wally’s gaze flashed to where her back was facing them by the entrance. She looked uncomfortable standing there but clearly she had an agenda she was seeing through. He didn’t pay her any more attention as he focused back on the increasingly red girl still within his grasps. The hurt that was previously in her eyes was quickly replaced with embarrassment and she couldn’t look Wally in the eyes.
He felt a sudden rush of confidence at her demeanor and hoped he wasn’t about to make the second biggest mistake of his life. He bent his head slightly, casting a smirk at the small girl.
“Well, if that’s what the people want,” he pulled her closer to him then, her mousy ‘eep’ sounding adorable in response. He cupped her chin between two fingers, tilting her head up. “May I?”
She didn’t speak but her answering nod and slow closing of her eyes encouraged him to close the distance between them.
Wally’s been struck by lightning before but it doesn’t compare to the feeling of her lips on his. Her lips tasted like slowly drying tears and her favourite vanilla lip balm. The kiss wasn’t perfect, her lips were slightly chapped, as were his, and their noses bumped into each other, but it was the best kiss of his life.
They broke away from the kiss but neither moved far from each other. They stayed like that for who knows how long. Staring intently at each other, committing the other’s face to memory. And as Wally stared at her tear streaked face and into her slightly red and puffy eyes, he came to a single conclusion.
He definitely believed in magic.
#maribat#mgi trope tussle#enemies to lovers#speed run#wallynette#I am doing such interesting rare pairs for some reason#mlb x dc#ml x dc#tumblr do me a solid#tumblr please stop hiding my posts#no beta this is tussle#mgi event#tumblr wtf pls#AAAAH i completely forgot to mention this was based off a specific piece of canon#yj series season 1 ep 7 btw
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Hearts Painted on Skin
Written for @damianwayneweek's Day 4. I selected Soulmates for this. I've never written a soulmate AU before, so this was fun to explore. Thanks @audreycritter for the idea! She flooded me with ideas for this week and I am so thankful for them all.
Characters: Damian and Dick
Summary: Damian has a mark just under his collarbone in the shape of a feather. Mother has always told him it was a scar. He was mostly okay with that until he came to Gotham and saw more marks. Marks that could not possibly be scars. He is starting to wonder if she lied, and why.
AO3 Link
~
Damian looked in the mirror, his shirt in his hands, prepared to pull on. For what felt like the thousandth time, he paused to look at the little mark on his skin. It was a feather, unmistakably. Damian had held enough up to it for comparison, whenever he could get his hands on one.
“It is a scar.” Mother’s voice echoed in his head.
It was a statement she’d told him time and time again. Each moment he brought it up. Every moment he looked at a League member who had a darker patch on their cheek, or wrist. Whenever his eyes lingered on flowers and swirls and shapes painted on fingers, arms, feet, and one time an eyelid. She would lean down, her voice soft, promising, full of truth, hard as law, and whisper those four words. It. Is. A. Scar.
“But others have similar.” Damian had asked once.
“Of course they do, they are fighters as well.” she had told him.
Damian believed her. Why would she lie? What reason had she to speak falsely about such a thing?
And yet.
He dropped half of the shirt to run his fingers over it, it was smooth as the skin underneath. It was skin, just of a darker color. A warm chocolate to his tan. It was not raised, not pinched. Nothing about it was creased or seemed to be anything but natural. As if it had always been there.
“But I do not remember getting it.” he had said again, in response to her once.
“You received it when you were young. A baby.”
He had furrowed his brow. Who would harm a baby? Even in the League? Especially Talia’s child? She’d never told him.
Damian tugged his shirt on, covering the spot with soft cotton and a bright pattern of animal silhouettes that somehow did not look childish. He ran his hand over the fabric, again pausing by the not-scar. His eyes flit to his dresser. In the drawer rested a bottle of concealer, matched to his skin tone exactly. It was empty now, used up and he had yet to replace it.
Normally, Damian would cover his not-scar with it. Careful layers blended to hide the fact that anything blemished his skin. It was a dangerous mark. Made when he was a baby, and carrying a weight on it that Mother insisted would draw catastrophe to him if it were seen.
He had complained about the concealer once, hating the time it took to apply and how it made his skin feel itchy sometimes.
Mother had run her fingers through his hair, gentle and loving, “I know, dear, but it is not safe to bring attention to. If others learned of it--you would be in danger.” She had even gone so far as to insist Damian not tell Grandfather.
It was a dangerous secret so terrifying the leader of the League of Assassins could not know. One Damian had to protect him from. At least, that was what Damian had thought then. Now, he wondered if Mother was protecting him from Grandfather.
He tugged on his shirt, testing the collar, even stretched it hid his mark with ease. No one would see it today. Perhaps his new concealer would arrive soon. Pennyworth had approved the order, as something useful to help them hide their identities better. Bruises from patrol were hard to explain, especially when Richard was under scrutiny for caring for him.
A knock immediately preceded, “Damian? You ready?”
Damian turned and nodded at Richard, “Yes, I believe I am.”
He looked over his brother, searching his skin for anything like Damian’s own mark, but beyond real scars, Richard was unblemished.
His brother, and guardian, smiled at him, “Great, let’s go! It’s a beautiful day and I promised you some ducks.”
Damian allowed a smile, “Yes you did.”
They spent the day at one of Gotham’s parks. Richard said they were doing recon to determine if Wayne Enterprise should fund a beautification project, but Damian was well aware his brother was using this as a day of relaxation. He was taking the day off work, and Damian had been excused from classwork for the outing.
He’d intended to take the recon seriously, by marking down elements both in favor of, and against selecting this park as the location for beautification funds. And for a little while Damian had. Then he’d flipped to a blank page in his notebook and started sketching the scene ahead of them.
Beside him, Richard lounged on their picnic blanket, reading what looked to be a romance book, and picking at grapes Pennyworth had packed for them. Normally, Damian would take the opportunity to berate him for laziness, but they had faced a number of difficult patrols over the past few nights and Damian was inclined to let him have his break.
Richard consistently drilled into him the importance of caring for one’s body all the time, mentally and physically. Damian knew this day would make Batman safer in the field, and also--he was kind of enjoying the quiet time. It was new to him, learning to relax and feel safe outside of the very few places he’d had at the League, but he could see the appeal to it. It did help keep him sharp, and he was always better rested after.
So he focused on on relaxing. He sketched for a while, drawing the pond first, and the trees around it. Then flipping the page to work on his figure drawing. As he drew, Damian’s eyes caught on marks. On birthmarks, and scars, and tattoos. Most importantly, his eyes locked onto various not-scars. Which is what they had to be.
He doodled them on another sheet. Drawing each unique one. Even those that were similar in style usually had little differences. A star might have one arm longer than the other, while one was perfect.
The only time he saw two of them match perfectly were on a couple pushing a stroller. The couple had little numbers on the back of their hands, one on their left, the other on the right. Damian pressed his lips together. They could have been tattoos, many people had them, but Damian couldn’t help but wonder.
He had been wondering since he’d arrived in Gotham months ago. People here all had marks. They had marks and they showed them off. Confused, Damian had messaged his mother to ask her. She’d said they were scars, tattoos, birthmarks that were meaningless. They were the marks of a different type of people than Damian had been raised around.
Distance had a way of stripping his mother’s voice of it’s old comforting truth.
But he had been busy learning. There was so much to learn in Gotham that had nothing to do with the mark on his body. Damian had spent more time frustrated about rules, and fearing he’d be sent back to a place that felt less and less like home every day. More and more time learning to be a good Robin to his Batman, and learning to trust Richard.
The question of his mark was rarely on Damian’s mind, and mostly relegated to moments he was alone or like this.
He glanced over at Richard. The man was still immersed in his book and Damian’s question died on his lips. He flipped his book to a new page and focused back on the pond, specifically the ducks swimming around on it. He had, after all, been promised some ducks.
That night they returned to patrol. Damian almost suggested they take a break, but they’d been working a drug trafficking case over the course of the week and were close to wrapping it up. If all went well during this patrol then they could rest. Damian would insist upon it if Richard did not.
They staked out an old appliance store. Richard figured the drugs were being shipped out either in the appliances or the crates. They just needed to intercept a shipment, incapacitate the team working on it, and confirm the drugs were there. Then they could call in Gordon and be done with all this.
Batman and Robin were crouched together. Richard had declared that they should stick close tonight. Damian wondered if it was because he knew they both were still feeling a little worn down. He could read it in Richard’s body language, and he knew his mentor could read the same in his.
After around twenty or so minutes, a truck pulled up to the building and the shipping door opened to allow it to back in. They watched for a moment, confirming no other trucks were on their way, and then both pulled back from the edge of the roof they’d been peering over.
Richard pointed to a large vent they could drop in on the store from. Damian nodded, and followed his mentor. The slipped into the vents, then moved like mice over to where the shipping area was located. Damian paused behind Richard as the man peered through an exhaust vent to watch the proceedings below.
“They’ve started unloading.” he whispered, then tapped something on his cowl and was silent for another long moment, “And they’re talking about the drugs.”
“So we go?” Damian asked.
“I’d say so.” Richard said, “Stick close tonight Robin, I’ve seen a couple guns swinging around and I don’t want to explain a bullet wound to Al tonight.”
“The same goes for you.” Damian responded.
“There’s twelve by my count, two of those are still in the car. Try to get to them first. I’ll grab the guys with the guns,” Richard directed.
“Affirmative.” Damian agreed. Taking out the ones that could remove the product, and the ones that were the most dangerous first was a good idea.
With that, Richard kicked out the vent, tossed a handful of gas pellets, and they dropped into the smoke.
Damian bolted through it for the truck. He was able to easily dodge the men and women in the room, now sent into a flurry of action and confusion over the smoke. He ducked around the driver’s seat of the truck and yanked the door open.
The man inside was shocked, and Damian was able to use that element of surprise to yank the man out of the front, sending him tumbling to the ground. A few quick blows had him unconscious.
Damian straightened, and turned back towards the truck cab. His eyes went wide, seeing the passenger leaning over both seats, a gun aimed out the door at him. Damian dodged to the side as the gun went off. Pain sliced through his arm as the bullet nicked him, but at least it hadn’t hit him in anything vital.
He swore, Richard had just told him not to get shot.
He snarled at the man, immediately returning fire with a batarang. It caught fingers, and the gun went tumbling to the floor of the cab. Damian then lurched forward, and dragged the passenger out of the car. Twisting his arm as he fell to drag it up behind his back.
In another movement, Damian grabbed the man’s other hand and yanked it behind his back, securing them both with a zip tie.
“Stay.” he growled into his ear, “Or you will regret it.”
He climbed up into the cab and jammed a pole under the steering wheel, locking it in place to keep it from moving if anyone tried to drive the truck.
With that, he turned back into the fray. At this point the smoke had begun to clear. Damian could see that Batman had knocked out a few men already, they were down to 8 enemies to fight. Richard’s warning to stay close was fresh in Damian’s mind, his throbbing arm a reminder that maybe his Batman had wanted him to not quite jump ahead like he had. But then again, Damian should have been able to handle two men in a truck.
He huffed, and fell into line beside Batman.
“Robin, you get the car under control?”
“It will not be going anywhere.” Damian confirmed.
“Good.” There was something tight in Richard’s voice Damian didn’t recognize, but there wasn’t time to explore the reason for that the other men and women were on them already.
Damian had to admit, he and Richard worked well as a team. They were efficient, and quick. Richard’s insistence on having them run drills and practice together before they’d ever gone out into the field had paid off early on, and since then they’d only built on that success.
They managed to take out the rest of the criminals quickly, and they prevented any of them from escaping. After that, Richard directed Damian to zip tie the unconscious thugs while he checked out the boxes of goods.
As Damian was finishing up with the last man, Richard called out, “Found them! I’m calling it in.”
“Good, I am finished here.”
They paired back up outside the building as Batman called the car to their location. Damian had his cape tugged over his arm in an attempt to hide the bleeding, but as they waited, a breeze caught him by surprise and tugged it up, and out of the way.
“Robin!” Batman said, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been injured?”
Damian tugged his cape back in place, scowling, “You told me not to get shot.”
Then his eyes caught on Richard’s left arm, it too was visible and bleeding. Damian pointed at him, accusing.
“You as well! How could you not tell me you’d been injured?”
Richard opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, “I-For the same reason as you. It happened right at the start.”
That must have been why Damian hadn’t heard it, they’d been shot at roughly the same time.
His brother shook his head, “Amazing, we both managed to do the one thing we didn’t want to. Alf’s going to have a field day with this one.”
When they returned to the bunker Alfred directed them both to a shared cot.
“Shirts off young masters, I’ll need to dress both of those wounds.”
Damian rolled his eyes and started tugging off his vest, then undershirt. It wasn’t until it was off that he remembered he still had not covered up his mark. Hopefully they would lump it in with the other scars across his chest.
It was not to be however. Next to him, Richard had stilled. He was staring at Damian’s chest. Damian could feel it, his eyes locked on the feather just under his collarbone.
He froze, his spine stiffening. He didn’t know what to say. His mother’s excuses felt like lies on his tongue and he knew he couldn’t give them to Richard. The man wouldn’t believe him for a moment.
Richard’s gaze was strangely soft. Not angry or upset or any of the things Damian had come to expect from what someone might do when they saw his not-scar. It made him want to squirm in his seat, but he was Damian al Ghul-Wayne. He did not squirm.
“Damian--” Richard’s voice was terribly soft, his eyes glittering, “I had no idea.”
Damian swallowed, there it was. The sadness that he had thought might come. It was dangerous. Seeing it put people in danger, and Richard had seen it, and Damian--Damian did not want him in any kind of danger.
He reached up to put his hand over the mark, and looked down, “I am sorry--I forgot. Had I remembered I hadn’t covered it I would not have--I would have dressed my arm on my own.”
“Do you not want me to see it?” Richard sounded hurt.
Damian looked back up at him, surprised. Richard sounded like he did when Damian was particularly cruel. He tried not to be that way sometimes, but--well pain or frustration drove him to saying things he regretted.
“I--Mother told me no one was allowed to.” He pressed his palm against it a little tighter.
“Why?” Now Richard sounded confused.
Damian was confused. Shouldn’t he know? The way Mother spoke of it had made Damian believe it to be something that anyone would recognize. A black mark.
“It is dangerous.” Damian said simply, “Just seeing it would put myself and others in danger.”
Richard’s brow was furrowed. Behind him, Alfred cleared his throat.
“Master Damian, might I ask, do you know of soul marks?”
“What?” Damian asked, looking up at him, “No, I have never heard of the term.”
Something twisted in his stomach. Sour and warm. He was certain now Mother had lied. He didn’t know why she had lied, but it was making him sick. The warmth was a kind of hope. An answer to the questions plaguing him since he’d arrived.
“A soul mark is a mark each of us are born with. It is to help us find the person most suited for us in the world. Some people never meet their soulmates, but find love all the same but others do and their marks always match.”
Damian remembered the couple he’d seen in the park, their matching hands.
“So then--this is one of those? Not a scar?”
He let his hand drop, fingers grazing the feather.
“I can confirm that it is indeed a soul mark.” Alfred said.
Damian frowned at him, “Have you seen its match?”
Alfred smiled at him. Richard cleared his throat and Damian returned his attention to him. Understanding now blooming, Richard had thought he’d keep something like a soul mark from him. Had believed Damian wouldn’t want him to know something so personal. He must apologize.
Before he could get the words out, Richard had tugged his own shirt off and there, under his collar bone and just above his heart was a feather. It was the feather. Damian’s feather. The one he had seen every day in the mirror. The one he’d traced a hundred times wondering about.
“Oh.” Damian said.
And then, “I don’t understand. I--we would not be romantically compatible?”
Richard snorted, “Soulmates don’t have to be romantically involved, Dames. It can be totally platonic. Often best friends will have matching marks, or a father and son. It just means--well it means we fit together in a special way. That we’ll always be precious to each other.”
Damian could have told Richard that, and it seemed his body had already done the work for him. Or fate? Damian felt he may get a headache if he tried to figure this out.
The point was, Richard was the most important person in his life. He just--he’d had no idea that it had been declared before he’d even met the man. Before he even knew that they would get to the point where they’d trust each other with their lives. It felt right. Instead of a declaration these marks were a promise.
Richard had chosen to love Damian with his whole heart before even knowing who Damian would be to him. And Damian? Well Damian had done the same.
“I hate to break up this moment, but you are both still bleeding.” Alfred said, “You may continue to talk but I really must begin caring for your wounds.”
Damian blushed, “Yes, of course.”
Instead of talking, they fell into silence, both Damian and Richard lost in their own thoughts. Soon, Alfred was finished, and had dismissed both of them.
Damian looked from Richard to the elevator that would return them to the penthouse and back, “I still have questions.” he said, not wanting to be sent to bed with his mind still racing.
“Me too.” Richard said, “How about some cocoa? We can talk upstairs.”
“That sounds nice.”
They moved up to the penthouse, and Damian sat at the bar, his hands pressed into the marble countertop of it. They’d both dressed in pajamas, but even with a shirt tugged over his soul mark --and how nice it was to have a real word for it-- he still felt exposed. Raw. Like there was something new and strange about him.
But nothing had happened with it. It was still there, still the same color and size. Still just a part of him that he’d always had.
“So.” Richard said, taking the seat next to him, and sliding a mug of steaming hot chocolate over, “You have questions?”
“As do you.” Damian said, taking the mug to hold between his palms, “Why don’t you ask yours first?”
His brother hummed, “I think yours will probably answer mine, but let’s start with something easy or maybe not easy, but, well what do you know about soulmates or marks?”
Damian nodded, “I--Mother never explained soulmates to me. I know the term only in a general sense. A phrase used not literally, but figuratively to describe two people romantically entwined. None of my teachers spoke of it, and no one at the League did either.”
He tapped his mug, “I was not blind, I saw the marks. But I believed them to be other things. Scars, birthmarks, or--well I did not have a word for what they were.” Damian could not look at Richard, it was silly. He should have asked more, pressed Mother for answers or done his own research, “It was not until I arrived in Gotham that I saw so many and began to wonder. Surely not everyone in the world could have gotten tattoos? But--not all were visible and so I did not ask.”
Richard was quiet, listening and taking in Damian’s words with rapt attention. He hadn’t even sipped his cocoa. Damian took a gulp of his, just to do something that wasn’t watching his brother.
“And yours?” Richard asked, “What did Talia tell you about it?”
“I--Mother told me mine was dangerous.” Damian pressed his fingers to his chest again, “I was not to talk about it or ask about it. It was supposed to be a scar, from an attack on me when I was a baby. But I always knew it was not. Still, she was insistent I not tell anyone or let others see. Especially Grandfather.”
Damian frowned, “I thought for a long while it was to protect him. That I was cursed.”
He looked up at Richard, into his brother’s eyes, and knew at last why Mother had been so insistent he stay silent, “But I was wrong. Mother was protecting me, and you. If Grandfather knew I had a soulmate, he would have hunted the world for them, and then used them against me.”
Damian did not think he could have stood having Richard in danger because of him. He hated the very thought that anything would happen to his brother. Especially because of him.
He sipped his drink again, “Mother used to rub her wrist. I saw a mark there once. A little bat. I never asked her about it, and she never offered to tell me--Richard? Do the marks have special meaning? Or are they obscure?”
“They do have a meaning, there’s a lot of meaning in their placement and look and well everything.”
“Teach me?”
His brother smiled, “Of course. I’d be happy to.”
They worked their way through their mugs, and second rounds while Richard spoke. He talked about how soul marks that were hidden usually meant that the relationship was more intimate, but not always. How marks mirrored each other, one on the left, one on the right so that the pair could be face to face and match, like looking in a mirror. How if one’s soulmate died the mark faded to be almost invisible or if their relationship broke and shattered how it would line with cracks.
“Just because someone has a soulmate doesn’t mean that things will work out perfectly. We are human after all.” Richard said.
Some people could be born without marks, and very rarely one would change, and shift to take on the form of another. Most often that happened if a soulmate had died, but sometimes it happened for other reasons.
“And the meaning?” Damian pressed, wanting to know, to understand why a feather? Why this mark on his skin and not something else?
His brother hummed, “There’s books and stuff out on their meanings, especially for marks of similar styles. But when it all comes down to it, the meaning really comes from the pair. Some people know instantly why a mark looks the way it does. A shared memory or love of something. Maybe it is the first line a lover traced across another’s wrist, or an idea that is important to them.”
He leaned forward, elbow on the bar’s counter, “Want to take a guess at ours?”
Damian furrowed his brow, “Robin?” he guessed, “or your previous title, Nightwing is indicative of a bird and flight?”
Richard nodded, “Those are good thoughts. I’ve always looked at it as a symbol of flying and of freedom. But feathers have other meanings too. Trust, loyalty, hope, a connection between the creature who had the feather and where it has gone now.”
“I like those.” Damian said, and then looked down at his mug, “You have given me many of those things.”
“And you’ve done the same for me.” Richard said, “We don’t need to name why it is a feather you know. We can feel the meaning here.” he pressed a palm to his heart, “and just know.”
Damian nodded, “I am glad I share it with you. And--I am glad I did not know before now.”
His brother frowned, then nodded, “I see, if you did, and we’d have seen each other’s marks, then you might have thought our relationship was because of the soul mark?”
“Is that silly?” he said, peering up.
“No. It’s a worry a lot of people have.” Richard reached out and took Damian’s free hand, “But soul marks don’t make relationships Damian. They just indicate potential, and while they are incredibly accurate in that indication, it’s up to us what we do with it.”
Damian squeezed Richard’s hand, “I see. We are--doing well?”
Richard laughed, “I’d say so. We had a rough start, but yes, Dames. I think we’re doing just fine.”
Damian smiled, “Excellent. Thank you for answering my questions.”
“Of course.” His brother stretched, “Now, it’s later than either of us should be up. We can chat more tomorrow.”
“Yes.” Damian said.
They got up, rinsed their cups and moved to the hall with the bedrooms. Damian paused, hesitating before he entered his own.
“I was planning to suggest we take the night off patrol, but our injuries have cemented that. Perhaps we can return to the park tomorrow?” he said.
Richard smiled, “Sounds like a plan.” In a motion he tugged Damian forward into a tight hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Love you, kiddo.”
Damian returned the hug, “You as well.”
#damianwayneweek2021#Damian Wayne#Dick Grayson#day 4#soulmates#platonic soulmates#soul marks#fluff#canon typical violence#hurt/comfort#injury#precious posts#fanficiton
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An Irrevocably Gone Heart
Tim tugged on her arm. “You’re coming with me.”
“What?” Marinette exclaimed a little louder than she meant to. She immediately looked around to see if any of the other party goers had noticed them and cringed at the eyes on her. She gave them a weak smile and moved closer to Tim, who was still pulling them toward the stairs. “No, no, no, no. This is a family thing.” She tried to pull away discretely but Tim had her arm in a firm lock. Damn vigilante training. She could break out of it of course, but not without making a scene in front of a growing audience, which was starting to include his family.
They were all moving to the stairs like Tim was, and unwillingly her as well, to stand behind Mr. Wayne as he addressed the crowd at his New Year’s party. She briefly looked over to them to see if they had noticed her yet. One of the brothers in particular, Jason, had observed the interaction between her and Tim and was watching her carefully. She accidentally met his eyes and couldn’t look away. She saw a flicker of interest and amusement in his eyes and blushed at the attention. She was so caught up in his eyes, she stumbled slightly, giving Tim the advantage in dragging her the last few feet to the stairs.
“You’re like family. In fact, I like you more than most of my family so… You’re coming.” Tim grinned at her mercilessly. She couldn’t get away now without causing a stir in the crowd, drawing all eyes away from Mr. Wayne and to her. She was caught and they both knew it, trapped by societal convention. He pulled her onto the stairs next to him and the rest of the family, facing the crowd of party goers and reporters.
“Okay first, I hate being in front of a lot of people. Second, this seems incredibly counterproductive,” Marinette hissed quietly at him.
“Depends on your goal,” he said with a polite, fake smile, keeping his eyes on the crowd. “Now smile for the cameras, Love.”
Marinette groaned quietly at him and turned to face the crowd with the practiced, PR worthy smile Adrien had taught her. She stood a polite distance from Tim, making it clear that although she was here with him, she wasn’t here with him. Tim chuckled devilishly and pulled her closer to him, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “I’m going to make you pay for this.” She threatened through gritted teeth and a beautiful smile. “You know who I am but you won’t know where I am and you will never see me coming.”
“Calm down, Trevor. And you’re welcome.” His smile turned real and his eyes glistened with mirth. “Tomorrow our picture, and more importantly your clothes, will be everywhere in Gotham.”
As soon as Bruce was done with his welcoming speech, they bolted from the stairs to escape his family’s and reporter’s questions. Tim guided her as they ran through the maze of the manor. They finally stopped running in a back hallway, doubling over in laughter and out of breath. “Oh man, my family is going to drive themselves insane trying to figure out who you are.”
Marinette closed her eyes and groaned. “How did this help? It’s only going to make Bruce more curious about me to make sure I’m not a gold-digger or using you.”
“Marinette, calm down. You aren’t using me or abusing our friendship to get your name out there. It was my idea and as I recall, to get you to let me commission you for the suit and come with me, I had to blackmail you int...” She lunged at him to slam her hands over his mouth.
She glared at him as she looked around to see if anyone heard them. As soon as she was sure nobody was around to hear them, missing the body listening to them around the corner, she batted at Tim with a pout. “They don’t know that and how are you going to explain it?”
“I’ll figure it out without saying anything important.” He looked back in the general direction of the party. “We should get back though.”
“Ugh, fine, but I’m not staying until midnight just for some trust fund prick to try to ‘slum it’ for a night with me. And next time, you come with your boyfriend, not me. And I can design both of your suits instead.” She adds with a smug grin.
“If you can get him into a suit, deal.” Tim scoffed. “Good luck with that by the way. Come on, give me one dance as a reprieve before I have to be sociable. And if any other trust fund pricks try anything with you, I promise to destroy them.” He gave her a wink.
“Like I need you to do that for me.” She snarked at him.
“Oh definitely not, but it would give me an acceptable excuse to leave the party.” Tim shrugged with a smile.
Jason watched them walk back toward the party from his spot tucked away in an alcove. Well, this night was certainly more interesting than he had anticipated. He followed them back to the party and kept an eye on the friends as they danced. The woman, Marinette, seemed to be having an awfully good time dancing and joking with Tim considering he was ‘blackmailing’ her, but then again if they were friends, like it seemed they were, it was likely to be more embarrassing than damning.
As far as Jason could tell, despite how much she had complained to Tim earlier, Marinette was handling the crowd brilliantly. She managed to make the rounds at the party talking pleasantly with quite a few people. A few of her conversation partners had been attending Wayne parties for years and tonight was the first night Jason saw them give a genuine smile. But, if anyone made the mistake of trying to touch her a little too intimately or make a comment that was a bit too suggestive, or just flat out insulting, she sent them a dark glare that would make Batman proud and crowded their personal space in a way that had the aggressor backing away intimidated and Jason impressed.
Jason tore his eyes away from Marinette and moved to the bar to get some liquid patience. Tim might be a natural at mingling but he needed a little help to deal with this crowd. The only interesting part of the entire evening had been Tim’s friend. She had wandered around the room with an effortless grace and stood up for herself with just as effortless strength. It was a hard balance to maintain and she pulled it off beautifully, just like the rest of herself.
Jason set his empty drink down and looked down the bar for the bartender. He didn’t find the bartender, but he did find the stunning woman herself sitting alone with an empty seat next to her. He moved quickly, seeing a few other men eying her with interest as well. “Is this seat taken?” He asked with a charming smile.
“It is not.” She said tiredly, not even bothering to look up. “My date isn’t using it right now.”
“Smooth.” Jason nodded in approval. “Timbo would just push me out if he wanted the seat. Well, he’d try anyway.” He took the seat and ordered another drink from the newly appeared bartender. “Want a refill?”
“I’m good thank you.” She continued staring at her drink.
Jason grinned at her. She wasn’t remotely interested in playing nice just for the sake of propriety. She wasn’t rude, just not easily impressed. “I’m Tim’s brother, Jason.”
She looked over at him in surprise and immediately cringed internally. He was the brother she had embarrassed herself gaping at earlier. “Oh, I’m sorry. Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Marinette.” She reached her hand out to him with a smile. “Sorry, I thought you were another… never mind. Hi.”
He gave her a disarming smile and shook her hand. “Don’t worry about it, I understand. The kind of people who come to this are… rich is the nicest thing to say about almost any of them. And you know what they say, eat the rich.” He dropped her hand but kept his eyes on her.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you rich?”
He chuckled. “No, Bruce is. I make my own, significantly less red carpeted, way.”
She looked at him skeptically then eyed his tuxedo. “Awfully expensive tux for someone who isn’t rich.” She commented wryly.
“Bruce’s party, he wants me here, he pays. I don’t normally wear suits, let alone ones that cost more than six month’s rent.”
She studied the tuxedo again. “Six months, huh? That still affords you a pretty nice apartment by Gotham standards.”
He bobbed his head to the side in acknowledgement and studied her again, trying to make sense of her. “So, what does he have on you?”
She cocked her head to the side and stared at him in confusion as she tried to figure out what he meant. Her face scrunched in annoyance and her entire posture stiffened once she figured it out. “If you think Tim has to blackmail me into being his friend, you vastly underestimate your brother’s charms.”
“No I don’t.” Jason scoffed at her. “I meant bringing you here.”
She raised an eyebrow at him and set her mouth in a firm line. “You think he has to blackmail me to spend time with him? How is that better?”
“I think he blackmailed you to get you to come to this specific event. And I think that because I heard him say it to you in the hallway a little bit ago.” Jason responded matter-of-factly, taking another swig of his drink.
“Ah…” She looked back down at her drink and took a long sip trying to figure out how to respond. Well on the bright side, he wasn’t insulting Tim with his question, he was trying to understand if she was a threat. But, she wasn’t going to make it that easy for him. She looked back over to him and gave him a pointed look. “If it was something I wanted to share, it wouldn’t be blackmail material.”
Jason grinned at her “True.” Still staring at her expectantly.
“Let’s just say there are things I would rather… uh…” she looked around cautiously, “Bruce Wayne, not know about me.”
Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that so?”
“Yeah… Oh! No. Nothing like that. I’m not like Catwoman or one of the sirens or anything.” She waved her hands frantically in front of her.
He chuckled. “Honestly I don’t think that would be considered an issue for him.”
She cocked her head to the side, “True. The most bizarre relationship ever.”
“Not when Joker and Harley once existed.”
“Most appalling relationship ever.”
Jason chuckled and looked into his glass until he realized what she had said. “Wait, how did you know…”
“What?”
“Catwoman and…” he motioned vaguely with his hand. She hadn’t confirmed she knew Bruce was Batman and he wasn’t about to out that particular secret if she didn’t know.
“Ohh,” She nodded in understanding and gave him a grin. “Your family isn’t as slick as they think they are, Red.”
Jason stared at her dumbfounded for a few seconds. She knew their secret and apparently Tim, the one person that matched Bruce in paranoia, wasn’t worried about her in the least. “And he’s blackmailing you?” Jason asked incredulously. “How bad is your secret?”
“Not bad just… I don’t need someone critiquing all my life choices, you know? It’s a threat of annoyance, not retribution.”
“Mood.” Jason said lifting his glass to hers. She clinked hers to his with a sardonic smile.
She was beautiful, smart, elegant, tough, funny, judicious, cautious, and far out of his league. But he was here now and they were having fun and he wasn’t stupid enough to blow a brilliant opportunity. Jason gazed over his shoulder toward the dancefloor and back to her. He looked her up and down and gave her a roguish smile. “Care to dance?”
“I didn’t take you for a dancer.” She responded as she moved toward the dancefloor and held out her hand for him.
He grabbed her hand, holding it close to his chest and wrapped his other hand around her waist, pulling her closer to him. “It has its advantages.”
Marinette looked up at him with wide eyes, a light blush dusting her cheeks. “I see what you mean.” She ducked her head trying to collect herself. He wasn’t the first handsome man she’d danced with, why was this one making her lose her composure? She wasn’t 15 anymore, damn it!
“So how did you figure it out?” he asked casually. He clearly wasn’t upset, just curious.
“How does everyone not? Seriously, Bruce admitted it under oath.” She scoffed. “Plus you guys are terrible at hiding it. You don’t even try to act or look different. Oh look Bruce Wayne has a new ward or person who hangs out with the family all the time. Oh look, there’s a new vigilante with the same build and hair color. Pure coincidence surely. Then there’s the whole butts match thing.”
“Wow, been studying Bruce’s butt that closely, huh?” Jason raised an unamused eyebrow at her.
“Who said anything about Bruce’s butt?” She asked without thinking about it. Jason spluttered at her. Her eyes widened and her face paled as she realized what she had just said.
“Forget I said that,” she pleaded, her face turning bright red.
“Oh fuck no. That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. A gorgeous woman has been studying my ass so intently she was able to identify me by it?” He gave her a brilliant smile so wide, his cheeks would surely hurt the next morning. “My ego will never come down from this.”
Marinette groaned in embarrassment and buried her head in her hands and then buried her head and hands in his chest, trying to erase all evidence of her existence. Jason wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly as he roared with laughter. Marinette could feel his body vibrating with the sound. The movement calmed her enough that she was willing to remove her hands from her face but not her face from his chest. “I hope you’ll let me return the favor someday.” He whispered in her ear.
Marinette jerked her head back to look at him, her eyes wide and cheeks a deep crimson. When her eyes met the wicked glint in his, she narrowed hers, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Good luck with that. Magic is a hell of a thing.”
Jason looked at her confused. That was not a response he was expecting… or understood. They stared in each other’s eyes for a few moments, both trying to figure out something about the other. Marinette finally broke the silence with a teasing smile. “So, you’re Jason, huh? I’ve heard a few things about you.” She chuckled lightly when he rolled his eyes at that and groaned lightly. “Did you really do a flip off of one building to crash through the skylight of another and beat up a bunch of henchmen then set their drug room on fire all while quoting Shakespeare?”
He barked out a loud laugh and smiled brightly at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “It was Austen.”
She smiled back at him but quickly narrowed her eyes and quirked her head to the side. “Prove it,” She challenged him, a playful lilt in her voice. He looked at her questioningly not sure how exactly he was supposed to crash through a skylight when there wasn’t one here. “Quote some Austen to me. I have a hard time believing the formidable… you, is secretly a book nerd.”
A delighted smile creeped onto his face. Marinette was the first person to ask him about his love for literature and encourage him to indulge in it. He tried to remember all the many Jane Austen quotes he’d memorized through reading and rereading her works so often. What would be the most impressive quote? Which one would wow her the most? He ransacked his brain, but suddenly his mind was blank. He couldn’t think of anything. The harder he tried to remember, the harder it was to think. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.
Marinette watched the panic flit across his eyes. She cringed internally. She got anxiety when she was put on the spot. Jason must be the same. It was one thing to do it in the heat of the moment, without thinking about it, but being asked to perform on demand, was a different kind of pressure. She gently cupped his cheek and brought his eyes back down to hers and gave him a soft smile. “Maybe you can show me later. I’ll still be impressed tomorrow.”
He looked in her eyes and instantly felt himself calm down. Her eyes were shining with compassion, like she understood exactly what was going on in his head and believed in him. He pulled her closer and gave her a tender smile in return. He ran his fingers slowly up and down her back, “The very first moment I beheld you, my heart was irrevocably gone.” He quoted quietly.
Marinette gasped at his frankness. She leaned her head against his chest, trying to hide the deep blush that enveloped her cheeks and spread to her ears. After a few moments of silent swaying in his arms, she cleared her throat and weakly spoke, “That… yeah, uh… that works. Point proven.”
He chuckled lightly, a proud smile working its way onto his face. He moved his hand so they were both wound around her waist, holding her close to him. She settled further into his chest, causing him to sigh contentedly. They danced together for a while, refusing others that attempted to cut in with either one of them, Marinette doing so significantly more politely than Jason did. After a while, Tim tapped her on the shoulder. “I thought I was your date.” He stated with a suspicious smile.
“Oh fuck off, Timbers.” Jason grunted at him, twirling Marinette so she was on the other side of him from Tim.
Marinette poked her head out around Jason’s side to give Tim a sheepish look. “Sorry, Tim. You were busy. Did you need a break from socializing?”
“Uh huh,” he responded sarcastically. “No, I’m good. And I thought you weren’t going to stay until midnight? Something…” he eyed Jason meaningfully, “come up?”
Marinette looked at him in surprise and searched for a clock. Surely it hadn’t been hours. If felt like it had just been a few minutes with Jason. She finally found the prominent clock that had been hung to countdown to midnight and gaped at it. “Oh my God. It’s almost midnight!” She looked back to Tim in time to see him pulling back from whispering something in Jason’s ear.
“Well, I’m going to go call Kon so we can ring in the New Year together in some way.” Tim said tightly. He leaned over and kissed Marinette on the cheek. “Happy New Year, Marinette. I hope it’s a happy one.” He gave Jason a pointed look.
“Happy New Year, Tim. I hope it is for you as well.” She smiled at him. As soon as he left, Jason pulled Marinette back into his embrace. “What was that about?” She asked him.
“What?” He asked innocently.
“The whispering. There isn’t a problem is there? You’re not going to have to run off 2 minutes before midnight?”
Jason chuckled at her. “No. No, that was him warning me to treat you like you deserve.”
“Like I…” she thought about it and gave him a half-hearted smile before muttering. “Not sure if that is a threat to you or me.”
“Threat for me, blessing for you.” Jason answered softly.
“You think too highly of me.” She shook her head with a small smile.
“Doubt it.” He answered back quietly. “And it sounds like I’m going to be held personally accountable if your year isn’t amazing, so I better get on that.”
10
“Sounds like you’ll have to keep a close eye on me. I can be a handful.” She said quietly, looking up at him from under her lashes.
9
“Rough job, but amazing work environment.” He answered just as quietly, pulling her even closer.
8
“And what are the benefits to giving you the job?” She gave him a playful smile.
7
“You get to see my roguishly handsome face and get Austen and Shakespeare quoted at you daily.” He grinned back.
6
“What if I prefer Verne or Hugo?” She asked with exaggerated innocence.
5
“Then I’ll learn.” His eyes turned serious and his voice husky.
4
Jason slowly moved one of his hands up her back, around her shoulder, and rested it on her neck, stroking her jaw with his thumb.
3
Marinette parted her lips in surprise and leaned into his hand.
2
Jason leaned down toward Marinette, stopping a bit short of her lips, giving her the chance to pull back if she wanted to.
1
Marinette rose up to close the gap, meeting his lips in a soft, tentative, hopeful kiss.
The room erupted into cheers and applause at the clock striking midnight. Balloons dropped from the ceiling all around them, but the only thing Jason or Marinette noticed was each other. The feeling of the other’s lips against theirs. The feel of the other’s hands on their bodies and the feel of their own hands on them. The warmth of each other’s bodies against their own. The deep need that grew the longer they kissed. When they finally broke apart, it was just far enough to catch their breath and stare in each other’s eyes.
“This was a great way to ring in the New Year.” She whispered against his lips.
He nodded absentmindedly, still in a daze from the kiss. “There’s still a few more time zones that need to be rung in,” he said leaning down to capture her lips again in a passionate kiss.
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Drastic Measures- Part 2
@daminette-december2019-2020
~Swordplay~
To summarise: I will have the love square one way or another!
Ao3
First >Next
--------------
As far as homes go it’s pretty good” Adrien stretches out, Plagg curls up next to him.
“Don't get too comfortable we’re going to be on the move,” Marinette types furiously at her computer.
“I will try my hardest,” Adrien stares blankly at her, sat atop a pile of grubby blankets next to a broken window. Marinette loses connection to her computer and slams it shut with a huff.
“Get some sleep I’m going to find an internet cafe,” Marinette stuffs the cheap laptop into her bag, amazing how something she bought at a hole in the wall place for thirty bucks didn’t work well.
“Who needs sleep when you can have coffee,” Adrian stands up, ready to follow her.
“Sleep Chat,” She pushes him down by the shoulders, “I need my partner fully operational,”
“Yeah kid, take a break, we worked hard,” Plagg yawns, turning over.
“You also worked hard Bug,” Adrien lets himself be pushed back onto the blankets.
“I won't be able to sleep until I know how everything is in Paris,”
“Neither can I,” Adrien protests, already half asleep.
“Sure you can, night Chat,”
“Night M’lady,”
Marinette leaves the same way they came in, though the window. She has to slide down the gutter to get on the street, Tikki hiding away in her bag. She has to go pretty far in town to find a suitable cafe, too far from Adrien to be comfortable. Marinette pops in her earbuds before opening her computer to let her talk to Tikki freely.
She doesn't immediately search up missing person cases. Looking instead at Paris tourist destinations and guides. Switching to the dangers of traveling to Paris; the only mention of Akuma being on obscure question and answer sites. She looks at kidnapping potential and then moves onto missing person cases. Adrien's is the first to come up, obviously.
There was lots of outcry among his fans. Many were throwing around accusations of foul play on Gabriel's part from abuse to locking Adrien away from the world. However, Gabriel was also fiercely looking for his son. Adrien hadn’t left behind any sort of note. Well only to Nino, which Adrien had told Marinette was asked not to mention to anyone.
Marinette then feels safe enough to look up her own case. It was smaller, although was gaining attention as Jagged proclaimed it to high heavens; more so asking what they did wrong and how they could fix it and asking for any sightings of her. That could be a problem if her picture was already around. Marinette pulls her hood up higher. They might have to get haircuts and wear disguises… on second thought wearing suspicious disguises in Gotham might cause more problems.
“Tikki they seem really worried,” Marinette watches the videos Jagged posted, her parents in the background running around talking with police.
“Of course they are Mari,” Marinette feels a light tap on her side, “But you're doing the right thing,”
“No I’m not,” not when she’s watching a video of her parents crying, “I’m doing what needs to be done, this is my responsibility, no matter what a certain someone thinks,”
She spits with venom. Maybe Adriens rant last night rubbed off on her.
“He’s the hero here,” Tiki says non accusingly, “Imagine if another hero came to Paris without asking you… remember Volpina?”
“Ah now that was an actual villain,” Marinette hadn’t trusted her from the start, “Plus she was akumatized,”
“Marinette,” Marinette can’t bring herself to feel guilty, even under tikis scolding.
“Right but that still doesn't give him the right,” Marinette huffs, “After all would he attack Marinette? No!”
“Are you implying you would attack Lila?”
“......... no,”
“Marinette,”
Marinetti smirks to herself instinctively looking around for Adrien to share her joke. Then Marinette froze. The cafe was empty, not even a barista. How had she not noticed!?
“Wait,” Marinetti says out loud before Tiki could talk, “I’m going to have to call you back, something just came up,”
Something was watching her from the kitchen door as if she couldn’t see them. Marinette tries to act normal going for the pepper on the table and putting it on her food. They move at the same time. The attacker runs towards her, Marinette throws the shaker at- Robin?! It hits him square in the forehead, with a curse he touches his bleeding forehead.
“I am so sorry!” Marinette panics, “That was meant to explode in your face!”
“How is that better?!” Robin runs forward, sword drawn. Marinette ducks behind the table grabbing her plate and frisbeeing it towards him, he manages to dodge this one, “Draw your weapon coward!"
“I don’t have a weapon!” She grabs the table cloth ready to take the vigilante down, “What is wrong with you?!”
He doesn't answer lunging at her again with the sword. Marinette kicks up the table then kicks it towards him in one swift movement. With the impact of the table he drops the sword, Marinette jumps up landing on the table which pins Robin down to the ground with its weight and hers, with the legs sticking up.
“I knew it,” Robin spits and she presses her weight into the table to keep him pinned.
“Excuse you,” Marinette catches his wrist as he tries to pull a dagger on her using the table cloth to tie it to the legs of the table, then does the same with the other, “You attacked me,”
“-Robin!” she hears a faint call, no one is around so it must be from his communicator, “-Robin report back to the cave!”
“I’ll take that~” Marinette sings songs ignoring how he growls at her. She rolls her eyes stepping off the table she needed to get out of here now.
She steps out of the cafe throwing the communicator and likely a tracking device too on the roof of a passing car then sprints in the opposite direction. She heads for the alleys looking for an area with no cameras as she runs. When she finds a spot Marinette transforms running back to their base with record timing.
“Adrien wake up!” Ladybug jumps through the window, barely avoiding landing on him, “Batman’s after us,”
“What?!” He sits bolt upright, Ladybug pulls him onto his feet.
“Move! Now!” She grabs their bags, Adrien transforms and they take off over the rooftops.
“What happened?!” Chat shouts as the runaway, “Is Batman chasing us?”
“Yes, well kinda-- Robin tried to kill me,”
“He what?!”
“As Marinette,” She adds, slowing down as they should have put enough distance between them.
“Did they figure us out already?” Chat Noir slows down into a walk then collapses on the rooftop,
"Probably,"
“This is the worst wake up call ever!”
“Well, it's about to get worse,” Ladybug cringes feeling the distinct trace of magic she was all too familiar with.
“Akuma?”
“Akuma,”
“Great, perfect,” Chat complains standing back up.
“At least we’re not at school,” Ladybug shrugs, launching herself over a roof.
“No you’re right being chased by a masked vigilante is a massive improvement,”
---
Wow
“Robin! Get your head out of the clouds and get over here!”
Damian breaks out of his trance, regrettably tearing his gaze away from Ladybug to the much less awe inspiring sight of Batman trapped under a car. They shouldn’t be wasting their time worrying about these established amazing hero’s and worry about that assassin on the loose. Who knows who she was after. She could be planning Batman’s demise at this very moment; if she was close with his mother then surely she knew their identities which was far far more dangerous.
Ladybug could handle herself as evidence by her going toe to toe with the newest villain. In a matter of minutes, the villain was down for the count with no help on their part.
“Ladybug!” He calls before she leaves again, maybe she could help him convince his father that he was being an absolute buffoon.
“Oh it’s you,” She says surprisingly coldly, “What do you want now?”
“Now?”
“Are, you here to attack me again?”
“... I didn’t attack you?” He had spent all morning tracking down a dangerous assassin.
“... Oh! Of course, you did- haha I just ummmm-- there must have been an… Akuma! Yes! There must have been an Akuma earlier that looked like you,”
“An Akuma was impersonating me?” Robin growls.
“Yeah, they do that sometimes,” Chat Noir pipes up, “It’s annoying,”
“Yes and if you’re here, that uh… that means the Akuma is still out there so we gotta go deal with that so-bye!” Ladybug swings off closely followed by Chat Nor; off to go save his name and reputation.
---
“So you really think that was an Akuma?” Adrien asks as they transform back.
“Maybe- I don’t know it was just an excuse so he wouldn't figure out my identity,”
“Well at least he doesn't know it,” Adrien shrugs as they walk through the alleys in search of a new place to rest that night.
“If he doesn't know then why would he attack Marinette?” She asks, “And if it was an Akuma that means Hawkmoth knows my identity which is so much worse!”
“Is it tho?”
“Chat,”
“I mean back in Paris it would have been bad,” They both cringe, “But here we have no home, no family, no friends! He cant use any of that against us now!”
Adrien beams his contagious smile.
“You always manage to find a bright side,” Marinette smirks punching him in the shoulder.
“So that's why,” They both turn around, staring in shock.
“Batman?!” Turning back their way out is already blocked by mister boy wonder. Who, by the way he is glaring at her, was not an Akuma this morning.
“I can't believe Talia called me because some teenagers were eloping,”
I know that name- WAIT!
“Eloping?!” Marinette chokes, “We are not eloping!”
“As in not at all,” Adrien blanches, “And I mean no offense Marinette you are literally the sweetest person but I can’t imagine anything more horrific!”
“Oh god, same!” At least now, “I mean once when we were younger…-- it was a silly crush!”
“Wait you had a crush on me?!”
“Yeah, well, you had a crush on me!”
“... oh god… I did, didn’t I?!”
While Adrien is dealing with that little revelation Marinette looks around for an escape. There isn’t much opportunity since both have their eyes on them, partly out of morbid curiosity at their little freakout. Well if you don't have a distraction homemade is fine.
“AKUMA!” They both look, predictably.
Marinette grabs Adrien and runs. She goes for the side Robins guarding, sweeping his legs sending him crashing to the ground.
“I’m not sorry!” Marinette calls as they sprint down the alley.
Marinette heads for the main street, enough of a crowd to camouflage. As they are walking through as casually as possible Marinette sweeps them both for bugs putting any she finds on random passerbys. They walk sometimes ducking into busy shops in hopes of losing their trail. They come across the mall which works perfectly for them. They stay until it starts to approach closing time, it’s easy enough to avoid security and so they get locked in for the night.
“So what do you want to do?!” They walk through the empty halls Adrien skipping along and looking at each display. Marinette stops outside an electronics store, the tv’s still on and displaying the news.
“Make a plan for a way to deal with that,” On-screen are the two of them, a video of Ladybug throwing a car at Batman, “This is taken completely out of context!”
“What’s the context?”
“Batman was being a little bitch!”
“I’m sure that will hold up in court,” Adrien laughs taking a seat in one of those massage chairs, “Besides what's the problem?”
“The problem?!” Marinette yells, “The problem is that now all of Gotham is going to hate us!”
“So? Do we really need them to like us?” Adrien gets up to stand by her, rubbing her shoulder.
“They did in Paris,”
“We’re not in Paris anymore,” Adrien says quietly, leading her towards the seats, “We have a chance to start new again, everyday something we haven't done before, a couple of pals living day to day on the edge, isn’t that exciting?”
“I just--” want to go home, “I’m tired,”
“Take a break,” Adrien sits her down in the massage chair with a kind smile, “I’ll keep watch,”
“.. ok,” Marinette curls up in the chair Tikki coming to lie beside her. With not much strength to fight it, Marinette falls asleep while she can.
-------------------------
Taglist? nope don’t have one, horrible at keeping track of them sorry~
#miraculous#miraculous ladybug fic#miraculous fanfic#miraculous marinette#Marinette#badass marinette#batfam#daminette#good adrien#slow burn
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The day he understood what Death means - Batfam x Fem!Reader
Synopsis : The youngest Wayne makes a shocking discovery...And will need his parents, siblings, and the one and only Alfred, to recover from it. /Drabble.
I don’t know. I was thinking about this. How when you’re a kid, realizing that one day you’ll die, but worst, that the people you love will die, is sort of traumatic...And wanted to write about it. So. Here we are, with little Thomas eh. I hope you will like it :) :
My masterlists blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives
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If you have no idea who Thomas is, he appears in those stories (long story short he’s the youngest kiddo, biological of Batmom and Bruce) : The Great Mall adventure, Master of Diaper Shaky steps and bad teaching, Polichinelle, “Go away, you’re confusing my baby”, Wild Child 2, “We want them back”, How do you make babies ?“ and Mom got lost again”
******
Realizing your loved ones are not immortal for the first time can be traumatic.
Especially if they’re amazing, if they’re your heroes, if you admire them beyond all measure, if they love you unconditionally just like you love them so damn much, and if you can’t even imagine your life without seeing them every day.
If you can’t even fathom the fact that maybe, one day, they won’t be there when you wake up and go look for them. And that they will never be there again.
And so it was particularly quite the shocking discovery for little Thomas Clark Wayne, 5 and a half years old, to find out about that certain thing called...”Death”.
It happened on a moody, rainy Summer day. The weather outside was awful, even for Gotham City. And it meant that Thomas was calmly playing inside, rather than getting up to some shenanigans in the garden.
His parents were home, it was one of those rare day they both had off.
Which always filled little Tommy with joy. It wasn’t often he could get them both with him !! In the end, the fact it was rainy outside was good. It meant they’d probably all snuggle up later in the day, and watch a film, a mug of hot cocoa in their hands.
You would probably throw a blanket over him, and keep him close, sandwiched between you and his dad. His father would fall asleep half-way through the film, which would annoy you and Damian.
Damian would join for sure. Sitting next to you. Yes. He would. Maybe Tim too, if he wasn’t too busy with college ? Oh he would surely make the time to come. And Cass ? Yes. Yes Cass would be there, sitting in her usual spot, on the floor right in front of you (or maybe Tommy). Because she knew you’d gently run your hand through her hair, and your youngest son slowly took the habit to do the same. Which was so soothing to Cass...Duke would certainly be there, he never said no to a good movie.
Maybe, because it was a rainy day, Dick and Jason would come too ? Unlikely, but Thomas could hope. He loved having his entire family in one spot.
They’d ask him to do his “puppy eyes” and convince Alfred to join them too, and not work.
Alfred had an armchair reserved just for him. Right next to the couch where Bruce would sit, leaving enough space for Ace to lay down (Damian’s dog, Titus, always preferred to be near his master, who would more often than not be sitting next to you, laying his head on your shoulder, even as he was not a child anymore...Yes, Titus sat next to Cass, at Damian’s feet, letting his head fall down in Cass’ laps).
Ace...Ace didn’t feel well yesterday, and this morning, the “dog doctor” came.
Thomas heard him say they needed to give him a...an “indection” or something ? (An injection, really) So he’d probably get better. Shots were supposed to get you better or to avoid you getting sick, that’s what you told him.
His dad looked upset, but it didn’t alarm Thomas much. Because his dad was always upset when him or his siblings would get a shot, he hated going, so it was probably the same thing.
Come to think of it, Thomas hadn’t seen Ace since the “vekerinarianan” (or whatever it was pronounced) came earlier in the day.
He suddenly wanted some “doggle” (dog cuddles), and so he put down the toys he was playing with, and went to look for him.
Maybe, he could also round up the rest of his family so they’d start movie time earlier ?
Hyped to have some family time, as he considered his dogs family for sure, he went on the hunt to find Ace, and gather everyone else.
If only. If only he had known...
************
“Aaaace !! Aaace ? Ace boy, where are you ?”
This was odd. Usually, Ace would come running if he heard the little one’s voice. That dog loved children, and he made it his mission to protect all of them (bonus point if he had some snuggle, and a few treats, while doing it).
Bruce told him long ago to protect his kids...So Ace was always there.
Maybe he wanted to play hide and seek ? Thomas would play that game with Titus and Damian, Ace never seemed very interested, but maybe he changed his mind ?
“Ace ? Aaaacceeee ?”
The boy roamed the manor, but every room Ace would usually hang in were empty.
Finally, he decided he’d ask his parents, who would usually hang out in...oh, they weren’t in their usual spot either. In their bedroom, maybe ?
Thomas ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, sure that he would find Ace, and his parents, asleep in the master’s bedroom. When they had their day off, his mama and daddy would often take long naps together.
Thomas immediately knew something was wrong when the door to the room was wide open. Slowly, he approached the place and...surely his parents were there.
But something was off.
His dad was laying in the bed, back to the door, his head laid in your lap. One of your hand was caressing his head soothingly, while the other was drawing calming circles on his back.
Definitely something was not normal. You’d do that to your kids when they were sad, or sick...Was daddy sick ?! This gave Thomas a little fright.
You whisper something into Bruce’s ears, and he doesn’t answer, just shaking his head to say “yes”. And so you stand up, after giving him a kiss on the cheek, and...You spot your youngest son.
You smiled at him reassuringly, and go to him.
“Hey little buddy. You should give a big hug to Daddy, he’s very sad today.”
You say, walking past him and ruffling his hair.
From the direction you were taking, you were going to the kitchen, and Thomas just instantly assumed you were going to brew some tea for his dad. When Bruce was sad, you’d always brew some tea for him, from his mother’s garden (which was kept up nice and clean by you and Alfred, now).
Worried about his dad, Thomas slowly walked to him and climbed on the big bed. Bruce turned around to see what this new weight was, as he knew you had just left and...He smiled.
Of this wide pure genuine smile he gave his family only.
But there was a hint of sadness behind his eyes, and Thomas didn’t like that one bit. So the little boy crawled to his dad, and nestled next to him, wrapping his little arms around his dad’s neck and holding tightly.
Bruce engulfed his son in his own arms, holding onto the little one, burrying his face in his hair. There was always something comforting, in the smell his kiddo had. It was a mix of your smell, which was always soothing to him, but also something more...Something soft and sweet.
Just like his son.
Little Thomas was the epitome of a sweet child. It was a miracle, a man like him made a child this cute and happy. Ah, but he wasn’t raising him alone of course. There was you, and his siblings, and Alfred...
After a pause of the little boy holding his dad, he whispered slowly :
“Daddy, why are you sad Daddy ? Please don’t be sad, it makes me sad too.”
Thomas unwrapped his arms from around his dad’s neck, and squished his little hands on Bruce’s cheeks. Which made Bruce sigh fondly, chuckling a little as he said, honestly (he shouldn’t hide this sort of things) :
“Because Ace is gone.”
There’s another silence, during which Thomas tries to understand why is the fact Ace went somewhere so sad. He cannot figure it out, so he asks :
“But, he’ll come back daddy. Like always. Yes ? Ace is a good boy.”
“Was.”
Bruce is clumsy in his grief. He always been. He’s not sure how to broach the subject to his son, how to explain to him their dog was just too old and sick to make it...He doesn’t know how to explain death to him.
“Was ?”
“Ace is gone for good.”
“What do you mean Daddy ? Where did he go ? Why couldn’t we see him again ? Did he move out, like Dick ?”
Oh. Oh the sweet innocence of a child that is maybe a little too sheltered by his family (he’s the youngest, the one they’re trying to keep away from the horror they see every day as much as they can...Although he’s still trained, all of them hope he will never become a Robin, or worst, a Batman).
“Did he move out, like Dick ?”
Sweet, sweet Thomas. Not able to even fathom that Ace is never coming back...and why would he ? How could he know what his father meant ?
“No, no he didn't move out. He left us, to a place we can’t follow him to.”
Another short pause. And you could see the gears in little Thomas’ head turning. After a little bit, he asks :
“...The toilets ?”
This makes his father chuckle, even in this sad times. But he continues :
“No. Not the toilets. He...He went really far away, where we can’t ever see him again.”
This idea is so foreign to your son, that he raises himself on one of his elbow and exclaims :
“Why would he do that ? Does he not love us anymore ?”
Obviously, the thought is distressing to the little bird. So Bruce says :
“No no no, of course he still loves us...loved, us. But he had to go.”
“But why ?”
“Because he was getting very old, and sick.”
“But we don't mind daddy, right ? We don’t mind ? He doesn't have to go away for that, I don’t care if he doesn’t play like he used to, I want him to stay ! Tell him daddy, call him on the phone to tell him to come back.”
Bruce is lost. How ? How can he explains what death means ? He thought about this moment coming many times, but never told him anything as he thought that he had time to know what it meant. He had time...
How do you tell a child that one of his favorite “person” in the world is dead ?
“Unfortunately buddy, we have some sad news.”
His savior. You, as usual. With two cups of tea, and a cup of hot cocoa on a tray. As you went downstairs to get some “pick me up” for Bruce, you knew your son was gonna need it too.
“What news mama ?”
“Ace. He died today.”
You actually thought about it as you were preparing everything for them. How to talk about this ? You decided to go with “honesty”. Not brutal honesty though. You weren’t about to traumatize your son.
But you thought it was important he knew what happened to Ace. As a child, you hated how your brothers tried to make you think your ferret ran away to Las Vegas or something of the like.
You understood this sentiment, of course. But you also remembered how betrayed you felt when you finally understood “death” and realized your beloved Mister Will Ferret was NOT in Sin City having fun, but just died...
The truth was important.
Especially about such subjects.
Children weren’t dumb. And they had every right to know certain truth.
Did you wish your son could stay innocent for longer ? Of course. But he still had a right to know what happened to his dog. To be treated like a person and be explained things.
People, too often, treats children as some kind of idiots who wouldn’t comprehend complex things anyway, and who have to be protected at all cost from anything...
Kids were clever. You had a bunch of them to prove it so. But above that, although you agreed kids had to be protected...You weren't one of those person who thought you should lie to your children in order to do so.
Because one day, he’ll know what death is. He’ll know what happened to Ace. And what if the fact you lied that day, settles a slight distrust in him towards anything you’ll ever tell him ? Just like it did with you and your brothers ?
No. You thought at first it was a good idea to delay such a conversation. But why ? Because it would make you more comfortable ? That didn’t sound very fair in regard of your boy.
Everyone always talked about “the birds and the bees” talk, but never about something that was even more inescapable than that...
Death.
You give him a few seconds to take in your words. “Ace died today.” You wait for his reaction. He seems to think about it, having vaguely heard of “death” before...finally he asks :
“What does it mean ?”
He’s sitting up in the bed now. Bruce did the same, encircling his arms around his boy protectively (old habits die hard). But he’s determined to explain things to him too. You and Bruce were always rather in sync, about how you should raise your children.
“It means he will no longer be with us. He passed away to something else.”
“To what ?”
“No one really knows.”
“Will we see him again ?”
“No.”
“Why ?”
“Because he’s dead.”
“And being dead means you can’t see anyone anymore ?”
“Being dead means you are not living on this Earth anymore, so yes, you cannot see them anymore.”
“It means we can’t see him ? And what do you mean not on Earth ? Is he in Space ? Can we see him if we go to the watchtower ?”
“I mean in our life, we will not see Ace again. He won’t be with us ever again. He’s not in space, he’s just gone.”
“Because he’s dead ?”
“Because he’s dead.”
“So, being dead means we don’t get to see someone ever again ?”
“Yes.”
“Ever ever ?”
You decide to leave any conversations about a possible after-life aside, as it’s clear this, he’s not quite old enough to comprehend. So you keep on talking about the truth, with the support of Bruce.
“Yes. Ever ever.”
It takes Thomas a few minutes to take in all those new informations. Bruce is sitting on the bed, legs crossed, behind the boy. And your son is clearly lost in deep thoughts...Up until finally, finally tears are starting to well up in his eyes.
“But I didn’t even say goodbye !”
“Unfortunately, we don’t always get to say goodbye...”
“But mama, how will he know I loved him so much if I didn’t even say goodbye before he left ? How could you let him go before I did ?”
“I’m sorry, if I could chose I would’ve-...He knew you loved him and-”
“Are you going to die too ?!”
The dreaded question. Dreadest of them all, really. But you can’t lie to him. Not now that you started to explain things.
“Yes. Everyone dies one day.”
“But but but...but I don’t want you to die ! And Daddy ?”
Bruce nods, and...and that’s when it finally happens.
The awful moments your sweet innocent boy realizes what death sort-of means. That one day, none of his parents will be in his life anymore. Than one day, he’ll lose his siblings, and Alfred.
Just like he lost Ace. Because he was “old and sick”. But...Thomas knew a lot of sick people ! And a lot of old people ! Were they going to die too, without him being able to say goodbye ?!
And so the tears started to fall. And oh, oh did they fall.
Bruce held his son against his heart, drawing soothing circles on his back, just like you usually do. And you came to sit next to them, encircling them in your arms as well.
Thomas was trying to talk, but nothing came out very clearly as he cried, cried, cried and cried some more.
When he finally calmed down, he was slowly falling asleep, crying drained him of all his energy. That night, there was no “movie time”, but comforting snuggles with his parents...
Thomas had finally discover what “Death” meant.
************
“Oh my God Thomas !”
Bruce’s heart drops.
The entire scene goes in slow motion, and the fearless Batman can see his entire life flash in front of his eyes, as his tiny son is running towards him, while a few thugs were about to shoot automatic weapons at him...
“There’s a kid ! There’s a kid !”
“Who cares, we have the bat right at our mercy, just shoot !”
“I can’t shoot a kid...”
“Should we shoot ?”
The few seconds of surprise after Thomas bursted in allow Damian to swoop down, and to get rid of everyone. Slowly, a serious face on, your son walks to his dad and, solemnly, he says :
“This was too close, father. And...Thomas...”
“I know Damian, I know.”
Your little boy was inconsolable, clinging to his dad.
They didn’t even have to ask him how he got there. It was obvious he somehow snuck into the Batmobile (which wasn’t that much of a surprise, although it was already quite a feat...Thomas was small, but also very stealthy, as he was taught to be).
He was only five, and it wasn’t really clear to him yet his dad was that “Batman” everyone talked about, that his siblings were also vigilantes...But he knew that when they went out at night, they were often in danger.
And that night. That night right after the one Thomas learned what Death was...He snuck in the car, so he would make sure “she” would not take her dad away ! Or her brothers and sister !
Only Damian and Bruce were in the car, on patrol together. The rest of the kids were scattered across the city, and you were taking care of the bat computer (nowadays you were the one doing so to give some relief to Alfred).
Thomas took the habit to fall asleep in the cave, in a bed there just for him...and he must’ve snuck into the car.
It was nobody’s fault. It was very unlike the boy, to do such a thing.
He got into the car. When Damian and his father got out of it to apprehend a few of Two-Face’s thug, he stayed behind, looking at what they did...but when he saw those men about to shoot his dad (a proper ambush), he jumped out, punching every buttons (which was quite dangerous itself) to find which one opened the door, and then he ran to his dad...
The surprised probably saved Bruce. But it also almost killed him with a heart attack.
What if those men didn’t hesitate long enough for Damian to take care of them ? What if they shot anyway, ignoring the surprising appearance of a small child ? What if they had recognize who that kid was, too ? (Unlikely, this was a time where Thomas was still quite sheltered from media, as you tried to give him a childhood as normal as you all possibly could).
What if they shot anyway...
Bruce doesn’t think he would’ve survived the death of his youngest son. He was sure, actually, that he would’ve killed those men.
That is, if Damian didn’t do it first.
But it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen, but it was so close. So close.
Later, when everything calmed down, Thomas would explain he jumped in the car to “keep death away”, to protect his daddy and brother. To make sure Death wouldn’t take them.
And that's when you all understood Ace’s death, and the discovery that everyone dies one day, one way or another, truly was “traumatic” for your baby.
From that point on, you made sure that Thomas would be in the cave...but this event. This event really unfolded a problem you knew you’d have to tackle truly one day.
You just had no idea yet how to help your son.
************
Damian had told Jason the debacle that was yesterday. About his parents explaining to their little brother what it meant to be dead. And about how it lead to Thomas sneaking into the Batmobile and running in front of danger to “protect” his dad.
Because of where he grew up, Damian always knew what death meant. And he never cared much (or convinced himself he never cared much). He understood from a very young age what all this shenanigans was...
Jason did too. He found his mother, dead, when he was three years old. He grew up surrounded by death, in the gutter of Gotham. He knew. He did.
But Thomas.
Thomas was a “normal” 5 years old boy, as normal you can be in such a family. He trained a little, and sort of knew about his dad being “Batman” (but it seemed he didn’t understand he was ACTUALLY the Batman people talked about in the city).
He spend most of his nights in a little area made just for him, with a bed and such, in the batcave (he hated sleeping upstairs alone, so he would sleep in the batcave and you’d pick him up to bring him in his bed once you’d go to bed, and/or once the rest of your family would get home).
So for a little one like Thomas, who was pure and sweet and nice...It was a shock, to know one day he’d lose the people he loved.
He was inconsolable, at Ace’s funerals (thrown at the back of the Manor).
He couldn’t get over the fact he didn’t get to say goodbye, and that he would never play with his dog anymore.
It made it worst, that Ace’s death made everyone else sad. That dog truly was a member of the family...
“I know you're feeling very sad. I'm sad, too. We all loved Ace so much, and he oved us, too.”
You told him a few times, tryin to put words on his emotions and helping him understand...God, to Damian, you truly were the most amazing mother. Always knew what to say, how to say it, when to say it.
But Thomas was still blue, and it was so unlike his usual bubbly personality.
And so, both Damian and Jason made it their mission to distract their little brother, and...it worked. For the most part. It really worked.
Amongst all his siblings, Damian and Jason were the ones that loved having a little brother the most. Not that the others didn’t, of course ! They just were a little less willing to play for hours on end with a little kid.
They were rather busy. Jason and Damian always found ways...They were an unlikely pairs at first glance. Most people would think Damian was the closest to Dick, and Jason too. But no. They were equally as close to all their siblings, in different ways.
But Damian and Jason, they had an extra connection. Jason was there, when Damian was a baby. He didn’t remember his own name, and was used by the Al’Ghuls after they resurrected him...But he was still one of the only person in Damian’s life that truly valued him.
Fate, right ? A funny thing. After all, how small did the world have to be for two of Bruce’s sons to meet in such a way ? A hidden son, and one he thought dead, at that ?!
In any case. They were closer than most would think. And they also were linked not only by the Al’Ghuls, but by how they were both ripped off of an actual childhood, and therefor wanted to make sure their little brother had one too (Cass was the same, but more subtle, and discreet).
And so...
They played, made art pieces, jigsaw puzzles, watched his favorite movies, cooked...Anything to take his mind off of “Death”.
That little boy would overthink too much, for such a young age.
But overall, Damian and Jason did a good job distracting him from the pain.
They did an amazing job.
You were so proud of how they took care of their baby brother (and it would give yourself more time to go cheer up the “Oldest Wayne”, your dear husband, who definitely had a hard time getting over his dog’s death...).
Only, there was one problem...And that problem was that neither Damian nor Jason, just like everyone else, were immortal.
And this, this, Thomas would realize very soon.
************
“More compresses, Master Tim !”
“On it Al !”
The loud noises woke Thomas up. You knew. You knew you should’ve gone up to bed earlier. Tuck him in, and wait for your family to come back.
Ah. But when they all arrived in the cave, ALL of them, including Dick who did not live at the manor anymore...You knew there was a problem.
And indeed. Jason had been badly hurt. Not something that couldn’t be fixed, but ah, once again, too damn close.
Everyone was on the tail of a high profile serial killer, the newcomer called “Dr Pyg”, and...Collateral damage. It happened, in this line of work.
It wasn’t easy. Especially when it was one of your baby. But you had to keep a leveled head, as you helped Alfred fix your boy.
You had taken medical trainings early in in your relationship with Bruce. For obvious reasons. And there was rarely a day it didn’t come in handy.
In any case, all the noises around woke Thomas up.
Before. Before he knew what death truly meant, he would’ve been worried. He would've cried. He would’ve been distressed. Of course.
And one of his siblings would’ve taken care of him, reassure him, soothe and console him, and little Thomas would be ok again.
Before he knew what death truly meant.
He was so small anyway, most of the time he’d forget things, or just not understand them...but he was five now. Close to the age of reason. And definitely aware of his surroundings enough now to pay attention, and remember things.
And he knew what death truly meant.
He clung to Jason for dear life, even as everyone reassured him he was actually ok. Jason himself was conscious, he had been badly hurt but nothing he hadn’t seen before.
He needed some rest for sure, but it was fine, really.
It wasn’t fine for Thomas. He yelled, threw the biggest tantrum he ever threw, yelled some more that they should stop. That he didn’t want them to die. That whatever they were doing...He begged them to stop.
Never before in your life, had any of you witness Thomas being in such a state. He was inconsolable. You couldn’t calm him down, no matter what...
And once more, it’s only because of exhaustion that he finally relaxed. But yet, still in his sleep, he clung to Jason’s sleeve, as if afraid his brother would be gone when he’d wake up.
It tore yours and Bruce’s heart apart, to see your baby like this. But to be honest...neither of you knew what to do...
************
“Where’s Damian mama ? Where is he ?”
Thomas was truly panicked.
The first day, he thought maybe his brother was busy with school and such. The second day, he started to worry. But now ? Three days in a row with Damian not at the dinner table ? Or in his room ? Or in the batcave ?!
It made Thomas anxious. What happened to his brother ? Was he...was he...DID DEATH TAKE HIM AWAY ?
“Where’s Dami mama ? Where is he ?!”
Thomas kept asking, crying. And it took you moment to finally realize what your son must’ve thought. When you did, you picked him up and calmed him down, explaining Damian was simply over at Jon’s for a few days...
And from that day on, you’d make sure to tell him why anyone would be gone for any amount of time.
That night, Bruce and you talked about what you could do to help Thomas get over his consuming fear of losing one of you.
But nothing really came to your minds.
And it was awful, to feel like a failure like that.
Later on, your Damian would tell you you were NOT failing at parents because you were a little lost about this. After all, none of your other kids got into quite a crisis like this one. He said maybe considering a therapist could do ? But oh, oh Thomas was so little.
And if words were out that Thomas Wayne, barely five years old, was seeing a therapist ? The scandals would be unending, and would it really help your son ?
Damian joined in in the search for a way to soothe his baby brother. He never said “no” to cuddles from him, but lately...Lately, Thomas almost became overbearing, as he made sure he’d always sort of have his eyes on everyone.
And it wasn’t healthy, for such a little boy to worry so much.
Damian missed his carefree baby brother. He knew he had to eventually grow up, of course, and that he’d have some hardships but...he was just five and a half ! He wasn’t suppose to be so scared of death !
And so he thought, nights and days, of a way to soothe him. But just like you and Bruce, this matter was quite delicate...
************
It seemed like Cass was the only one able to truly console him, and make him relax. She would sing him songs, just like you did to her when she felt sad.
She would tell him tales of Death as a good thing, inspiring herself from many legends from around the world.
She would try to put perspective on everything, in a way you truly admired.
She never spoke too much, your Cass...But when she did, every words were carefully chosen and crafted into truly beautiful things.
And it would soothe your boy.
But only as long as he was with Cass. And he couldn’t always be with her.
You didn’t have her talent to tell those tales, and your singing was working only for a few moments to put him to sleep but...you couldn’t always have him sleep. You had to think of more viable options.
Nonetheless, when Thomas was really too anxious, Cass would be there.
Relieving everyone of their worry, as she could calm her baby brother in matter of seconds. In those moments, you wished time could stop. You truly did...
************
Thomas would cling to you and his dad the most. His siblings were often out and about, but you two ? Well you took some time off to be with your youngest son, to be there for him in this odd times...
And you weren’t sure it was such a good idea, in the end.
He would often just snuggle up to you or Bruce, listening to your heartbeats, which would calm him...You’d normally never say no to hugs from your children. But this was all starting to become so unhealthy for the little one.
What could you do ? What could you do ?!
************
Duke was panicking.
Thomas was doing fine today, and Duke felt like he royally fucked up.
Thomas was worried about Duke, telling him to be careful and that his heart would break if Duke ever died...Which melted Duke’s heart.
It made him feel so loved and accepted. And he wanted to help little Thomas so much...
That’s when he made a rookie mistake.
After all, he was still quite new at this “big brother” thing.
“There are things worst than death.”
Is what he told him. What was he thinking ? Reflecting on things, Duke realized he didn't think it through. To him, it was a soothing way to say death wasn’t that bad. But...Ah, ah it made Thomas cry.
“What ? What is worst than not seeing you guys ever again ?!”
At that moment, Duke hadn’t realized quite yet how much he fucked up. So he said : “Well, my parents can't remember me, can’t remember who they are...They’re not dead, but they’re not here anymore. They’re physically here, but they don’t know me, they don’t know how to hug me, they can’t be my parents anymore...Yet they’re still alive.”
The horrified look on Thomas’ face is what gave him a hint that this really wasn’t a good thing to say...
“No no no wait Thomas, don’t cry please, I was trying to tell you...Wait Thomas, please, no. Oooh buddy, buddy I’m so sorry.”
It almost made Duke cry too, to witness the one he considered his little brother in such distress. He wasn’t trained for this ! He wasn’t trained for this !!!
This was the first time Duke truly felt like an older brother, truly felt like he understood this important role. He had to think before saying something. He had to protect his baby brother. He had to find ways to soothe him...
“Ok here we are, here we are everything is a-okay, you’re ok, things will be ok...”
Duke picked Thomas up, and started to rock him back and forth slowly, just like his own mom did to him...He mixed the way his mom used to put him to sleep, with your soothing singing. With words he borrowed from you.
“I’m here, I’m here. Don’t worry I’m here, I won’t go anywhere. Things will be ok baby boy, things will be ok. You’re gonna be ok. I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t mean any of it...”
Duke had been living with you for a while now. He came to see all of you as his second family, even as his parents were still alive, and a constant chain holding him back at times...a chain that broke right at this moment.
Thomas was his little brother. He truly was.
And Duke was determined to be there for him. Especially after he made him cry.
“It’s ok Tommy, cry all you want. It’s ok to cry. It’s ok to cry.”
You always told him that. It was ok to cry. To be angry. To want to break everything. To want his mom...
But you were his mom too now. You were. And you had such a way with words. Such a soothing touch. Even as he was grown up now, you always knew what to say. You always did.
“You’re ok, right ? Yeaaaah you’re ok. See, things are fine, we chill, we chill.”
Duke was slowly swaying from left to right, Thomas in his arm, slowly lulling him to sleep, calming him down. His voice seemed to have the same effect than yours...Because he was calm. And because he meant it.
The love.
The love he had for this little boy.
It poured out of him, easily, naturally.
He loved that kid so much. And he wanted him to be ok. And it seemed like Thomas ? Thomas felt it. He felt the love. Just like Duke felt the love of all of you...
That little bean put himself in such a state at the mere thought of Duke dying, of one of his brother leaving...And Duke. Duke realized he felt the same.
Couldn’t imagine any of them dying.
And so he poured love in his every word, and swayed from side to side, calming Thomas, and making sure he knew...He knew that, he was right there.
Right there.
************
“You’re getting old, Alfred.”
You said jokingly, as you beat him at chess. And oh. Oh what a mistake you just did.
“Old ? I don’t want you to die Alfred, I don’t !”
Thomas was playing next to you. You hadn’t thought about his “trauma” for a little while as he seemed to feel a little better lately...But oh, he plunged right back into it there.
Because of you. You felt absolutely awful...
“I’ll fight Death for you Alfred ! I will ! I won’t let her take you !!”
It took a while, as it became usual now, to calm him down. He was ready to throw hands with Death. Fierce that no one would take his “grandpa”. But he was still very scared and sad...
“I’m a terrible mother...”
You told Bruce that night. And he held you against him, consoling you, saying it wasn’t your fault and that it was just friendly banter with Alfred as usual...
“You are the literal opposite of a terrible mother, my love.”
“But Broosh, I made him- I-”
You sniff, unable to control your sobs as you remember your poor little boy holding Alfred and yelling at Death she can’t take him. The poor butler himself didn’t even know how he could do anything to calm him down...
“We’ll find a solution my love, we’ll find a solution...”
This entire night, Bruce stayed up although he was exhausted, so he could soothe you and take care of you. Skipping patrol (knowing though the city was safe with his children out).
At some point during the night, Thomas came to your room.
It was often, lately, that after a nightmare he’d come running to you. His nightmares would often be about losing you...
You had finally fallen asleep, in your husband’s arms, and Bruce gestured to your boy to not make too much noice.
Sweet little Thomas acquiesced, and slowly came to the bed, taking the hand his father gave him.
Bruce was about to fall asleep too, knowing you had finally found sleep...But now, he wasn’t going to. Not until he made sure his son was asleep as well.
All he could do for now, was being there for you two. Try to soothe you as best her could. As best he could...
Sleep was restless and full of nightmares.
************
Dick would try to often visit his parents and siblings. As much as he could, which wasn’t always easy, with his work in Bludhäven. But nothing is more sacred than family...He realized that over the years.
During those moments, it would be rather normal for Thomas to go settle in his oldest brother’s laps. He would make the most of seeing him.
So today, as Dick was in the kitchen trying to make himself a cup of coffee, it was no surprise when little Tommy came to see him.
You had bought a new espresso machine, and Dick had no idea how it worked...Slowly, his littlest brother came in, dragged a chair next to him, and used it to climb on the counter.
He then started to make Dick’s cup of coffee, without much of a word being exchanged. Dick smiled widely, his little bro was so cute and clever. In no time, he had make a great cup of coffee for him.
But...Something seemed to bother him. Tommy was an exuberant child when around his family, but he had been quiet right there. He didn’t jump in his brother’s arms like he usually does, and he wasn’t telling him all about what he missed since last time he came in !
Was it still this all thing about being worried about death ?
“Are you ok little wing ?”
Ever since Jason, “Little Wing” or “Bird” became the common denomination for his younger siblings. A term of endearment that they all (secretly or not) loved.
Tommy seemed to think a little, while raising his arms, signifying he wanted Dick to pick him up.
Dick did, of course, and they went to sit at the kitchen counter, and as usual, Tommy settled down on Dick’s laps. He turned around and, after another short pause (Dick always knew when to stay silent, and wait for the other person to speak first) said :
“Dickie, are mom and dad not your mom and dad ?”
“Mm ?”
“Your real mom and dad, they died ? You can’t see them no more now ?”
There was a lump in Dick’s throat. Not because he thought about his parents no. He actually came to peace with their death long ago now. And though he missed them every day, it didn’t hurt as much as it used to.
He was lucky to find another loving family...From which that little worried kiddo in front of him was an important part of.
“Yes, I can’t see them anymore.”
“It hurts ?”
“It used to. Now less. I miss them, but I wasn’t alone.”
“Because you have our mom and dad ?”
“Yes.”
Dick ruffles his hair fondly.
“Do you wish you’d still have your real mom and dad ?”
“Mom and dad ARE my real parents too. I was lucky enough to find new ones. Not everyone is as lucky, like dad. He was alone for a long time”
“What about Alfred ?”
“It took dad a while to realize that Alfred was a second father to him”
“So...Will you be my second dad if dad goes ?”
Dick feels another lump in his throat. Bigger this time.
He couldn’t even imagine the day he’ll lose this “second dad”, this one he had now called “dad” for longer even than his own biological father...Dick was 8, when he came into yours and Bruce’s life.
He spend more years with you two than with his “real” parents. You never replaced them, no. You just..became his parents too.
He would never forget his biological parents. But he would never diminish the impact his adoptive one had. The love you and Bruce gave him.
Would he be good enough to be Thomas “second dad” ? After all, he currently had about the age Bruce had when he adopted him...
But Dick couldn’t imagine losing Bruce too. Losing another father. No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
Thomas was already moving on, asking more questions :
“Will I find another mom and dad too if mom and dad die ? Or will I be alone like dad ? Will I have Alfred forever ?”
“I-I don’t know buddy.”
“What if I lose all of you at the same time ? I will be all alone then.”
“You won’t.”
“But what if I do ?”
“I’ll always be there.”
“You can’t know that, can you ?”
“Maybe, but this will never happen. You will never be alone.”
“You really think so ?”
“I Do. And I promise little wing, I promise...You won’t lose all of us. You won’t.”
Dick held his brother even tighter against him, and missed the unconvinced expression on Thomas’ face.
************
Your youngest son was still utterly terrified of losing any of you. But his terrible fit would pass now, he would calm down more easily, and wouldn’t cry until exhaustion...But it didn’t mean he wasn't afraid anymore.
Unfortunately.
“Death” was still a constant on his mind. One of the biggest question. Without much answers.
His mother and father said no one knew what happened after “death”, but Thomas wasn’t convinced. So he went to the only one he knew would tell him the truth, and was most likely to know...Tim.
His older brother was currently in the garden, studying for his finals. But oh he’d take a break for his little brother, of course.
Especially lately, as said little brother was overly worried and needed constant reassurance.
“Hi Timmy.”
“Hey little one.”
“Bothering you ?”
“You are not bothering me, never.”
“Can I ask you a question then ?”
“Of course.”
“What happens when we die ?”
Oof.
OOOOF.
Not something Tim could say he expected to be asked. Even as he knew Thomas was sort of obsessed with this lately. And ah...Ah he started to get lost into physiological effects of death, into science, into things Thomas could definitely not understand...
And into things he didn’t care about.
Thomas had no interest in knowing what happens to the corporeal side of things. To our bodies. He wanted to know where “we” went. Where the being went. The conscience.
Of course he wouldn’t word it that way, but it was easy to understand that it was what he meant when he said : “where do we go when we die ?”.
After a long time of Tim getting lost in many complex explanations about decomposition (what the Hell Tim ?), he finally stopped as he saw that Thomas was most definitely lost.
“Where do we go after we die ?”
“Yes. What happens ? You must know, you know everything !”
The faith his littlest brother put in him made him feel warm inside but...unfortunately on this subject he had to disappoint him.
“I..I don’t know about this, actually.”
Thomas looked crestfallen. Was nothing sacred anymore ?? Death existed, and the one he thought would always have a solution to everything didn’t know something that important !!
“There’s many theories.”
“What’s a theories ?”
“One theory, multiple theories. A theory is...an idea of how things might work.”
“What are the theory ?”
“Theories, plural.”
“What are the theories ?”
“Well. Some people think that you go into some kind of afterlife. It depends the culture, and the religion, and...many other factors. But there’s usually a few places we can end up.”
“And we’ll see the people who died there ? We’ll see them again ?”
“Supposedly so.”
“Is it sure ?”
“No, it’s just a theory.”
“You said a theory is an idea of how things might work.”
“An idea that might not be proven.”
“What’s the point then ?”
“Theorizing.”
“I don’t understand...”
Of course he didn’t, he was a smart little boy...But still just five. Tim sat down to his level, and looked at him in the eyes :
“Well. You have to understand that um...No one knows what happens after death. So we have to make theories, things that might or might not be. You understand ?”
“No.”
“Well, since we don’t know, we make things up. But maybe those things are right. Maybe they aren’t.”
“So the answer is we don't know ?”
“Yes. But there are theories ?”
“Ok. So aside from the place we see others again, what are the theories ?”
“Well (...)”
Tim was a patient boy. For hours and hours, he tried to explain every single “theory” people might’ve had about what happens after Death. And Thomas listened carefully.
Finally, Tim was done, and his brother said :
“So...No one really knows, and there’s a lot of theory...ies. Theories.”
“Basically.”
Thomas looked so discouraged. Tim was very well aware that none of what he told him really helped his brother, or reassured him...But ah. Tim was known to not lie. Which was a good thing. And he couldn’t possibly have a free conscience if he had told his brother just one theory of the after life, the nicest one, just to reassure him.
Of course, he wanted to reassure him. To distract him. But he would do so another way. Lying to him was not it.
Still, it was so disheartening to see this sweet little boy so crestfallen.
“Um, Well...I guess some people know.”
Thomas looked up at his brother, hopeful, waiting for him to continue.
“Like Constantine. But um, he’s sort of crazy. And dad doesn't want him around the house for...reasons you’ll understand when you’ll grow up. And-”
Ah but Thomas wasn’t listening to Tim anymore, and his monologue as to why maybe John Constantine wasn’t such a reliable source.
“Constantine” huh ? Interesting. Ah. Sometimes, Tim forgot how smart his little brother truly was...for a five years old. And how he took after his father, when it came to memory and attention to details.
************
This constant worry went on for quite just a few days. A few very eventful days, that were so...exhausting. Thomas was constantly scared for your lives, and would cry if anyone got hurt too much.
He would follow you around, and be way too stressed for such a little bean.
Everyone came to hide their injuries from him, tried to distract him from what they were doing when out as the Bats...But it was becoming a real problem.
How ? How could they make a little five years old understand that he couldn’t forever be afraid of death ? It was impossible. None of you, not even you, had the right words. There were no right words anyway.
You could tell him whatever you wanted, it’d never make him stop thinking about Death taking one of you with her, taking one of you far away from him.
“A place he cannot follow you to.”
How ? How could you help ?!
But the change had to come from within him, you would soon realize.
About a week after Ace’s death, and a truly painful few days of everyone being lost and unable to help the baby of the family... he suddenly spoke up, at dinner time :
“Mama, mama, if one day you die, I will bring you back. I promise. Same for daddy, and Dick, and Jason, and Cass, and Tim, and Duke, and Damian, and Alfred. I don’t know if we can bring dogs back, but humans yes ? And worst case scenario, I’ll conjure your spirit so I can say goodbye, and then I’ll know we’ll see each others again !”
“Wh-What ?”
“Stunned” doesn’t quite cover how you felt at your son’s sudden tirade, at dinner that night. Everyone was here, a rare occasion. Your one dinner a months that was mandatory for all your kids ! To make sure you’d all have moments together.
And boom. Came this monologue out of nowhere, from your small little five and a half years old son.
Stunned. Not a strong word enough to describe you, or your other children.
But Bruce. Oh Bruce. Bruce was frowning. Narrowing his eyes in a way you knew perfectly well...It meant he was angry at someone.
“Who told you all this, son ?”
“Mister Constantine.”
A growl. A scary growl. From deep within your husband’s throat. You would NOT want to be John next time he’d see
“How did you talk to him ?”
“I used your phone.”
“I don’t have his number on my...Wait, the bat phone ?!”
“Yes. The one you call uncle Clark on !”
“What the-...how did you-ugh ?!”
There were so many questions. So many.
“I copied what you do, on the phone. And I asked it if it could call the Constantine.”
“The Constantine”, this better not be a stupid way he called himself in front of his son, Bruce thought. Ah, and curse the fact he kept having kids that were too damn smart for their own good !
Kids this days. Growing up with technology. Able to work a batphobe at age 5 and a half !!
“Hope I helped little man - John Constantine”, said the note that came to the manor a few days later. Which made Bruce fume with rage, but Thomas beam happily.
Bruce was already planning to go after John, and force him to say what he told his son. But...But...
To be honest. Whatever he said. You didn’t care. You knew, more than anyone else, that “Death” wasn’t as definitive as it sounded at times. And you knew for certain there was something after you died. What ? You couldn’t be sure. But something. Another place. Or maybe reincarnation ? Who knew.
Deep in your heart though, you knew that no matter what, if you ever were to die...You’d see your family again. You weren’t sure how or where. It was just a certainty in your heart. A gut feeling.
Yes. You didn’t care what John told your son. If it could help him accept that everyone will die one day. Didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid of losing you anymore. Oh no. But at least...At least he knew worrying about it lead nowhere. And to truly enjoy the moments of the present.
Whatever John said, it helped your son. That’s all that mattered. And as Thomas would grow up, you knew he’d understand things more and more.
He already knew he was luckier than many people. He had a loving family. They were all there with him for now (minus Ace, whom he missed every day). A lot of people couldn’t say the same thing.
Death was an odd thing. Especially in the World you lived in.
It wasn’t as definitive as some would say.
Your family knew that more than anyone else.
Death was an odd thing, that wasn’t always the ultimate end...
This, one day, Thomas would truly understand.
The end
__________________________________________________
And here we are :). Just a quick thing again, my bigger story (fake boyfriend trope with Bruce hehe) is coming soon. But in the mean time, felt compelled to write about this. I hope you enjoyed reading it, and liked it ? Not my best work :/, another quick drabble written very late at night eh. But nonetheless, fun to write ? Hope it’s not a disappointment, it’s just a thing to make ya wait for a more elaborate thing that I took a lot of care writing. Anyway it’s 4 am, time for bed :).
If you did, don’t hesitate to leave a little feedback or/and to reblog :). If you didn’t as well really, it’s always good to know what’s not good so I can improve (just stay civil please).
PS : Bonus point if you get where I’m trying to arrive at with those last few words about how definitive death is :p.
#Batfam#Batmom#Batfamily#Bruce Wayne x reader#Batman x reader#Batfam x reader#Batmom x Batfam#Batmom x Bruce Wayne#Batman imagine#Bruce Wayne imagine#Richard Grayson x reader#Jason Todd x Reader#Tim Drake x reader#Damian Wayne x reader#Cass Cain x reader#Duke Thomas x reader#Nightwing x reader#Red Hood x reader#Robin x reader#Signal x reader#Batgirl x reader#Black bat x reader#Richard Grayson imagine#Jason Todd imagine#Tim Drake imagine#Damian Wayne imagine#Cass Cain imagine#Duke Thomas imagine#Thomas Clark Wayne Jr#Fem!Reader
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