#and tim would be the one who says 'aw i love you too egg' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lady-literature · 4 years

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for us to collide (part 4)

anyway who actually expected me to end this thing in 4 chapters lol

rip me ig

After the not-so-impromptu interrogation courtesy of her friends (because there was no way they hadn’t planned that, it was too coordinated) Robin doesn’t stop by for two weeks.

Which is… fine. Marinette is plenty busy anyways. The extra time she has free now that she isn’t entertaining a bratty vigilante, goes to more productive uses of her time. Like watching bad horror movies with her friends and jeering at the horrible acting and special effects.

(Red Hood stops by in the middle of watching Grizzly Rage and proceeds to rant for twenty minutes about ‘shitty, unrealistic blood splatters’. Marinette has long since passed the point of being worried about it.)

So, yeah. She doesn’t see Robin.

But Damian, oddly enough, seeks her out.

It’s early, and there isn’t anyone else in the studio right now which means Marinette has her music blasting and she’s humming along as she hand paints silk for Clara’s dress. It’s loud and she’s in her zone, so it’s only by Tikki warning her that she realizes someone entered her sanctuary.

Her eyebrows raise when she sees who it is.

“Uh, bonjour Damian," she greets confusedly, reaching over to lower the volume on her speakers. "I hadn’t expected to see you here. Is there something you need?”

He stops before her workstation, only slightly bigger than the ones the rest of her staff use due to the sheer amount of open commissions she normally has. She has an actual office on this floor, but Chloé uses it more than she does. Marinette likes the open space and being around her designers more than she likes the privacy.

His eyes catch on the two bouquets of flowers she’s yet to take home, neither of which have even begun to wilt—and likely won’t. (She’ll have to take them home soon before people start asking questions.)

“I was called here by Father, but he’s currently indisposed. I’ve been told to wait.”

She waits a moment for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, she asks, “So you came to visit me?”

“Yours is the only tolerable presence to be found.” His lips purse, and he crosses his arms. “And that includes that imbecile Drake who is no doubt still in his office like the pitiful insomniac he is.”

Her tongue is already halfway around a joke about excuses—she didn’t befriend Felix for nothing, okay? She knows how people like Damian work—when she realizes what he just said.

“Wait. Tim’s been here all night?”

Damian snorts. “He certainly didn’t return to the manor.”

She’s out of her seat in an instant, frowning and muttering up a storm as she rummages through the storage cubes pushed up against the far wall. She has a blanket, pillow and plain cotton shirt in her hands before Damian registers that she even moved.

“I’m going to kill your brother,” she says simply. “Would you like to come with?”

She’s gotten closer to Tim since working in Wayne Tower. He’s a notorious recluse and rarely leaves his office when he’s in the building, but Marinette makes it a point to visit him during lunch and before she leaves for the night.

He isn’t one of her Waynes, but he is a Wayne and her Waynes love and care for him so there’s not much of a difference really. She does like to think they might be something close to friends at this point though. And if the way Tim comes down to visit whenever he ventures out of his office means something, she might even be right.

Another thing that should be noted, is that Marinette is very much a ‘ride or die’ kind of person when it comes to the people she cares about. She will ruthlessly bully her loved ones into taking better care of themselves on threat of death because she is the semi-hypocritical mom friend and damn proud of it.

Damian looks her up and down, eyes lingering on the items in her hands and the determined set to her jaw and says, “Of course.” Then he’s plucking her things from her hands, offering her his arm and saying, “Shall we?”

Marinette laughs as she loops her arm with his. “We shall.”

***

She spends ten minutes scolding Tim before wrangling him onto the couch in his office and wrapping him up in the blanket so tightly he’d need to be an escape artist to get out of it. He tries to struggle anyway, but Marinette has too much practice at this and he doesn’t stand a chance in hell.

Damian stands at her shoulder and smirks the entire time, eyes dancing with amusement as she forces the CEO of Wayne Enterprises to take a fucking nap. Then, she’s treated to the sound of his surprised laughter as she begins switching out all of Tim’s regular coffee for magic-decaf—not that Damian knows it’s magic.

(By the devilish smirk playing at his lips, she’s starting to think that maybe Damian really is just as sadistic as Duke and Jason say he is.)

***

Damian starts dropping by more often after that (read: starts dropping by at all). Not that Marinette minds. She quite likes his company, actually.

He normally stops by first thing in the morning when Marinette is the only one in the workshop, walking in like he owns the place. For the first couple days, he asks about Ladybug and the rest of Paris’ Court, claiming that he’s curious about them.

She answers them, but only as far as she’d answer them for any reporter and is careful not to give away any sensitive information not known to the public. He gets a bit frustrated at one point, complaining that she must know more, but she stays stubbornly silent about it and, sometimes, steers the conversation deftly to the Great Bat and his Flock instead.

He eventually stops asking about the Parisian superheroes and instead their morning conversations turn to a thousand random things. Complaints and anecdotes and a silly back and forth between the two.

Marinette’s never been much of a morning person but having Damian there to keep her company is… nice.

She almost finds herself looking forward to mornings now.

***

When her Waynes learn that she’s started a food kitchen and makes a habit of spending her weekend there, they immediately insist on joining her, despite her protests.

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” she says even though the three of them are already in their aprons and Cass is eyeing the boucher, Vivian, and her collection of knives with glittering interest.

Duke grins at her, “We know, M. But we want to.”

Jason finally turns back to her from where he’s been staring at the kitchen with something just shy of awe on his face. “You’re downright incredible, you know that?” he waves a hand out at the seating area, and then at the people in the kitchen assembling the healthiest and cost-efficient meals she and Felix could find after days spent researching. “I would’ve killed for something like this when I was on the streets.”

“It’s not just me who’s got this up and running-” she tries protesting but then Fiona, the woman Marinette actually put in charge of this place, is at her side and all but shoving the four of them into stations.

Marinette ends up by the pastries, like always, and she can see Jason making sandwiches. Duke's been roped into making eggs and bean casseroles and Cass, by some grace, actually ended up by Vivian and is having a blast cutting up all the meats as fast as she can.

They don’t stop until lunch, all four of them helping prepare meals for the upcoming week in bulk. After, they all go out for ice cream by the pier and Jason smears chocolate on her nose and Duke carries her around on his back when she complains about being tired.

Cass takes pictures of it all and later, Marinette gets them all printed out.

It ends up being a really good day.

***

The buzz from the charity gala and all the press regarding her and Damian’s non-existent relationship had calmed down weeks ago. There was still the odd article about Marinette being seen with her odd assortment of Waynes and the newspapers still called her ridiculous names when they got a picture, but it was about as close to normal as she gets.

The quiet lulled her into a false sense of security.

Ice Prince and Sweetheart Finally Seen on Date: Fairy Tale Romance or Publicity Stunt?

The ‘date’ in question was a coffee and lunch run for her designers and also Tim (because kwami knew he'd work through lunch if allowed).

Damian normally didn’t stay past Lilliane arriving in the morning (the poor dear was chronically late and always the last to arrive) but he hadn’t shown up until after she came that day and overcompensated by hours—which she hadn't minded. He kept to the fringes of her workspace and didn't distract her, instead focusing on his own thing. She wasn’t quite sure what he was up to, but she knew he was switching between his computer and sketchpad every so often.

(She's pretty sure he was hiding from Dick for some reason. He’s the only Wayne brother who doesn’t visit her at work, seeing as they have their bi-weekly gymnastic sessions; recently, with the addition of Mar’i, who still calls her ‘twin’ and whom Marinette still adores.)

And then lunch had rolled around, and it was Marinette’s turn to go out so she brought Damian with since he was still there.

They were out together for forty-five minutes. Tops.

“Why me?” she whines into the surface of her desk.

Damian, the asshole, just laughs at her and she can’t even be mad about it because he’s only just started laughing around her and not hiding behind so many of his walls. He laughs and Marinette knows it's precious so instead of shooting him the glower he deserves, she finds herself having to hide the smile slowly creeping on her face.

***

They’re splashed across the papers again less than a week later, only this time she has her Waynes there too.

Marinette's wearing her bright red sundress and she's somehow convinced Damian to wear a jacket with elaborate crowns and snowflakes embroidered up the sides. Because, as Chloé says: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

They see the camera this time and the photo splashed across the page the next day is of Marinette laughing with Jason’s arm slung across her shoulders as both he and Damian flip off the camera. Meanwhile, Duke and Cass stand just far enough in frame to capture their expressions of pain and amusement respectively.

(Marinette makes a mental note to order apology gift baskets for the PR department.)

There are a lot of headlines the next day about Marinette’s ‘harem of Waynes’ and how she’s a ‘horrible influence on such bright children’. She spends about ten minutes trying to decide whether she should be horrified or laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it and eventually decides on both.

Adrien, the little shit, sees the headline and immediately prints it out to hang in her kitchen.

It reappears every time she tries to take it down.

***

Gotham does not smile upon daytime heroes.

Not to say that Gotham really smiles on anyone, but it’s especially vicious to those that think they’re owed anything. She’s heard the way Gothamites talk about Superman and The Flash—it’s not exactly what one would call adoring.

But Ladybug's been a daytime hero her entire career and it is not difficult to see that there's something distinctly different about the way daytime heroes and Gotham’s vigilantes operate.

Something more vicious, maybe; something more restrained.

Without the light of day and without the people’s eyes watching them at every moment, the Gotham Bats have become something else entirely.

Signal, their Daytime Protector, is especially strange.

A bat who's meta, straddling the line between day and night. The Day Patrol, trained by the night.

Sometimes, when she and Signal talk about heroing, there is such an odd type of disconnect that it throws her. Nothing horrible or major, but little things she’s sure she wouldn’t notice if she wasn’t so intimately familiar with it all herself.

They don’t always talk about heroing though. After two months, Ladybug is proud to say she seems to be worming her way past his outer shell nicely. He tried so hard to keep his distance from her, but Ladybug’s always liked a challenge, and it isn’t long before she has him relaxing around her.

Well, for a definition of relax anyway. He's still a bat after all.

But then, it’s pretty easy to get past Signal’s barriers when she’s already had practice breaking through the more stubborn bats like Robin and, to an extent, Hood. Not that Signal, or any of the bats, know that.

Which, speaking of the bats, isn’t it a bit weird she’s only met three spread across two of her alter egos? As Ladybug, she’d expect to be hounded by a few of them but the only one she’s met is Signal. She can’t decide if it’s because he’s the only one that operates in the daylight, or if they just don’t want to spook her into running or something.

Either way, they’re going to start giving her a complex. She’s heard so much about the rest of the Batfamily, and not one of them even wants to meet her? Either her?

(Maybe Marinette should ask Robin and Hood what’s up with that? The way they talk about how nosy Red Robin is, she’s surprised he didn’t drop by months ago and- is it weird that she’s offended by vigilantes not prying into her private life?

…Probably.)

***

Marinette blinks, stopping dead in her tracks.

Damian's on her fainting couch, sketchpad in his lap as he waits for her.

“Why are you wearing a beanie?” she blurts out instead of greeting him like a normal person. "You never wear beanies."

Luckily, Damian scowls at her question rather than at her. It’s a subtle but very important difference.

“Sorry,” she apologizes anyway, putting her bag down. “I haven't had coffee yet.”

He hums, then nods to her desk where she finds a steaming to-go mug. Her face lights up and she quickly snatches it, breathing deeply the lovely aroma. “You’re a godsend.”

That brings a quirk to his lips, closer to a smirk than a smile, but progress nonetheless.

After a moment, where she sips at her overly sugary monstrosity—just the way she likes it, when had Damian even noticed that?—and he continues sketching she asks again. “Okay but, I actually am kinda curious. What’s up with the hat?”

He sighs heavily, closing his pad. “It’s… better than the alternative.”

Marinette snorts. “Alternative to what? A top hat?” But instead of snapping back like she expects, he just continues to frown. Immediately, her lips turn down into a concerned frown. “Is there something wrong?”

“Yes,” he grounds out and Marinette puts her coffee down. She’s just about to open her mouth and say something else when he reaches up and rips the beanie off his head.

For the second time in less than five minutes, she stops dead.

Marinette opens her mouth. Closes it. Blinks, but the scene doesn't change.

His hair is still blue.

Damian Wayne's hair is blue.

Damian Wayne’s hair is vibrantly electric blue.

Her hand shoots up to cover her mouth as she tries to stifle her giggles.

Damian’s scowl deepens. He moves to shove his ridiculous beanie back on his head but her hand snaps out before he can.

“No! No, I’m sorry I just-” she giggles again. “You looked so upset by it and you took me by surprise. I like it!”

He glares up at her, still sat on the fainting couch so it’s her who has the height advantage for once.

“Don’t patronize me.”

She rolls her eyes, the hand that wasn’t settled on his arm reaching up to touch the bright strands. It's slow enough that he can stop her, but he, surprisingly, makes no move to.

His hair is a lot softer than she expects it to be. But she supposes he didn’t use that gel stuff today, planning on keeping his hair under a hat the whole time.

“It looks good on you,” she says softly.

He snorts disbelievingly and she smacks his shoulder lightly. “It’s true! I swear you could look good in any color.” She clicks her tongue longingly. “I wish I had your skin tone. I’m too pale to wear pastels like I want.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Pastels?”

“Oh you hush,” she quips, finally pulling her hand from his hair. “Anyway, if you don’t like it, why’d you dye it blue in the first place?”

“I… lost a wager with Todd.”

She laughs, starting to move around and get ready for the day. She doesn’t have any meetings scheduled, which means she gets the whole day to create. She’s pretty excited about it.

“I should’ve guessed it was Jason’s doing.”

Damian shrugs, settling back into the cushions. He drapes himself across them in a way that’s effortlessly elegant and like he’s ready to be photographed for a magazine cover or something. Must all her friends be so pretty? It’s playing hell on her self-esteem.

“But blue is your favorite color, right? So there’s that at least.”

Damian hums. “Todd had threatened to dye it pink or some other equally garish color.”

“Hey!” she exclaims in mock outrage. “What’s wrong with pink? I’ve been wanting to dye my hair pink for ages.”

“Nothing. It’s just simply not a color I appreciate.” He makes a face. “Like orange.”

Marinette huffs, but there’s a smile on her lips. It's quiet for a moment, for long enough that she thinks the conversation's been dropped. But then-

“Why don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Why haven’t you dyed your hair?” he repeats. “Your friends—Couffaine and… Kubdel? They both have colored hair.”

Marinette shrugs. “I dunno. Never got around to it I guess. I suppose I could do it now. Dye mine in solidarity,” she jokes. “Oh! We could match even! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I thought you wanted pink?”

“Well, yeah. But blue is nice too. Besides,” she smiles wryly over her shoulder, “you just said pink was ‘garish’.”

Damian frowns slightly, shaking his head, “On me, perhaps. But I think you’d look very fetching in pink.”

“Oh,” Marinette pauses, feeling her face grow warm at the sudden compliment. “Well- Uh, pink it is, then.”

***

(Damian watches the blush rise on her cheeks as she turns away to try and hide it. Yes, he can’t help but think, fetching in pink, indeed.)

***

Luka insists on being the one to dye her hair, citing that he’s the one who had dibs all these years, but Alix and Jason both all but demand to be there too.

Her bathroom is not big enough for all four of them to sit in.

Not a single one of them cares.

Cass and Duke ask for progress pics along with Uncle Jay, and all her Parisian friends cycle through standing at the bathroom door to see how it's going.

The constant stream of people looking at her makes her feel not unlike an animal at a zoo. (When she wryly tells this to Alix, all she gets is her friend cackling on the ground.)

But, after all the bleaching and conditioning and waiting, she stares into the mirror with soft pink hair the color of bubblegum and thinks, yeah, it was worth it.

She thinks it again when Damian walks in the next day and almost trips over his own feet.

(She’s also wearing her Robin themed sundress, complete with hood, matching boots and personal touches not found on the mass-produced version—but Marinette doesn’t know why that would be relevant.)

Her favorite reaction to her new hair color though is, by far, Mar’i’s.

Marinette doesn’t see the young Grayson until a week later when she’s invited to the monthly family dinner Alfred insists all the Waynes attend—which includes her now, apparently (she tries not to show how pleased she is by that).

She arrived with Damian, who was kind enough to pick Tim and her up from work, and Mar’i takes one look at Damian and her standing next to one another before she starts babbling excitedly about Lilo and Stitch and Angel. A character who is—apparently—Stitch’s girlfriend and the complimentary pink to his blue.

Marinette is momentarily surprised, but Mar’i’s enthusiasm is contagious and it isn’t long before the rest of the Waynes are teasingly calling them Angel and Stitch. Marinette thinks it’s all very funny and adorable.

Damian, on the other hand, most certainly does not and threatens everyone who calls him that ‘ridiculous nickname’ with graphic depictions of bodily harm.

‘Angel’, oddly enough, sticks for Marinette. She finds she kind of likes it.

***

Later, Damian asks her about nicknames.

Well, he calls them ‘asinine titles’ and doesn’t so much ask as demand she explain why she allows anyone to call her by them seeing as she has a ‘perfectly serviceable name,’ in his opinion.

Ignoring the fact that she’s heard Dick call him multiple nicknames he hadn’t protested to, she says, “Well, I guess it’s that everyone uses Marinette. A nickname is something… special. A little more personal, I guess. And, I dunno. My parents named me Marinette, but it’s nice to share something between other people. And it shows they care.”

Damian looks confused after she’s done, but also thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything to that and Marinette doesn’t really expect anything to come of it.

She's proven wrong when, a week later, Damian calls her Starling instead of Marinette.

(And the transition from Dupain-Cheng to Marinette had been enough to make her beam—this is just ridiculous.)

***

When Robin disappears a second time, Marinette doesn’t get the chance to notice his absence on her own. He’s only stopped showing up four days ago—which is longer than normal, but not unheard of—when she hears unfamiliar voices on her balcony.

Looking out, she finds three semi-familiar individuals clustered around the plate of treats she leaves out for Robin and Hood.

Nightwing and Red Robin are both stuffing their faces full of the fruit tarts she had made while Spoiler glares at them and seems to be cursing the fact that her mask covers her mouth the same way Hood always does when she makes those raspberry scones he likes.

The scene is… odd. For many reasons but most pressingly that their arrival has come out of nowhere.

“Well,” Nightwing explains when she asks, “We wanted to visit ages ago, but baby bird threatened to stab us all if we tried.”

“He’s very… particular about you,” Red Robin tacks on while Spoiler nods sagely like she hasn’t crafted some strange straw monstrosity just so she can drink tea while still wearing her mask. Red Robin has one too, but his for the aesthetic rather than out of necessity.

Marinette stares at the three of them. “That… does not explain why you are here now.”

“Robin can’t stop us now, obviously,” Red Robin says casually, like he hasn't just kicked her heart into high gear with a few words.

“What? Why?” she demands, trying very hard not to sound panicked. “Is he okay? Was he hurt?”

Red Robin blinks, going quiet in that way Hood and Robin do when they’re judging her just a bit. She hates this family.

“No, he’s… fine.”

“B’s just benched him for the time being,” Nightwing helpfully supplies, amusement flickering at the edges of his lips. “He’s a little too… conspicuous at the moment.”

Marinette’s shoulders relax even as her brows furrow. Conspicuous? What in the world is that supposed to mean?

“Does that mean he won’t be coming around for a while?” she asks before she can think better of it.

The three vigilantes in front of her share a look before Spoiler says, “Probably. But the gremlin’s never been one to sit still so who knows?” she smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners as she leans toward Marinette conspiratorially. “But don’t worry. We can keep you company in the meantime!”

“We’re much better company than the demon anyway. Certainly less insulting.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad. He’s an ass, for sure, but you can tell when he means it and when he’s just stumbling over himself.” Marinette smiles fondly, “For someone so dignified, he trips over his tongue quite often.”

Now the vigilantes are really staring at her. She’s starting to feel pretty uncomfortable about it all when Nightwing beams at her, jumping up from his seat to sweep her into a hug. It startles her, but she doesn’t push him away, instead laughing at the sudden affection.

“Oh you really are perfect!” he exclaims, setting her down and still grinning like an absolute lunatic.

She’s smiling, because Nightwing’s joy is infectious, but she's even more confused than before. And then, before she can ask what he means, Red Robin’s wrist computer lights up—and damn, isn’t that cool? Marinette wonders if Tikki could do something like that for the Ladybug suit—and the three are moving to swing back out into the night.

She waves them off and they all promise to visit again.

Marinette shakes her head before going back inside with the empty pastry plate and four empty mugs.

***

Damian knows of Marinette’s friends of course. It'd take more effort not to when she talks about them every chance she gets and tells him all the wild stories about their escapades and misadventures.

(They also all came up in the background check he ran on her when they first met.)

Most of her friends are exceedingly normal oddly enough. Well, they’re all mildly famous and the leaders of their various fields, but they’re just civilians.

The only exceptions being, Bourgeois, Agreste, and Graham de Vanily.

Bourgeois is a former hero like Marinette, only she doesn't seem to still be in contact with the Parisian Court. All the articles he could find spoke about how Queen Bee was deemed unfit for her mantle and later replaced by the new bee hero, Ambrosia. Agreste was caught up in the scandal of his father being Hawkmoth, but he was found innocent and ignorant of his father's crimes (something Damian made sure to confirm). He now works at and is being groomed to own the bakery Marinette's parents run, seeing as their daughter has little interest to do it herself.

And finally, Graham de Vanily, Agreste's cousin, has a history of causing trouble wherever he goes. Nothing villainous, and rarely even malicious, but there's something about him that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Not everything is as it seems with the Graham de Vanily heir.

Besides those three outliers, Marinette's friends seem to be untouched by the vigilante life. Which means he thinks they must be utterly boring.

Only, when her friends start coming around to visit and drag her out for lunch or some other random outing, Damian keeps finding himself baffled by each of them.

They act strangely and with a dangerous air none of them should possess, except for Tsurugi. The questions they ask him are strange and the jokes they make have no sense. He's been warned about how he better treat Marinette so many times, he's started to lose count. (Which is ridiculous. He treats her just fine and would never intentionally harm her. What are they trying to insinuate?)

But, by far, his most memorable encounter is with Lahiffe. A veritable wolf in sheep's clothing.

Marinette is excitedly babbling about her newest idea for her summer collection, pressed up against him on the chaise and practically shoving her sketches in his face as she demands his critique and thoughts.

Her hands are waving every which way and, on more than one occasion, he has to quickly lean back so she doesn't hit him in the face.

He’s focusing on what she’s saying so much—because she has a habit of forgetting things if she doesn’t write them down and needs someone to remind her of the ideas she had at a later time—that he doesn’t even realize Lahiffe is there until he clears his throat.

Marinette jumps, almost elbowing him in the stomach. “Nino!” she shouts, springing up and flinging herself at the other man who catches her like this is something she does often.

“Heya, Nettie.”

“Wait- what are you doing here? You’re not-” she jolts back to look at Lahiffe’s amused expression. “Oh kwami, is it time already? Shit. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so sorry! I have to give this one thing to Publishing but then I promise we can go, okay? Like, just five minutes!”

She's already moving before she finishes speaking, sweeping up papers and rearranging files and putting things away with all the swiftness and agility of a speedster. Damian watches her go about her routine, occasionally handing her something she’s dropped or pointing out a thing she’s missed, weaving around her chaos with practiced ease.

Then she’s sweeping out of the office with a distracted “be right back!” and he’s alone with Lahiffe.

The second Marinette leaves, the man’s attention swings onto him with a strange weight. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything and Damian’s hackles raise with every passing second.

He doesn’t snap at him though, because he’s one of Marinette’s friends. Insulting him would only serve to make her upset and that’s something Damian's been trying to avoid causing as of late.

“Man,” Lahiffe says at last. “Alix wasn’t kidding about the whole besotted thing, huh?”

Damian rears back, straightening up to his full height. “I beg your pardon?”

Lahiffe laughs and waves his hand about like that’s supposed to mean something. “Ah, no need to be embarrassed about it, dude. You’re far from the first of us to fall for her charms.”

“What.”

“Yeah, we've all been there. I think over half of the Paris crew crushed on her at some point, including myself. None of us are into her like that anymore, so as long as you treat her right, you got nothing to worry about."

“I’m not- I'm not interested in Marinette,” Damian tries to protest but Lahiffe just calmly steamrolls over him.

“Nah. Everyone loves Nettie. It’s universal law or something. First, there was me and Adrien, then Luka—who she actually liked back for a while there but are now practically siblings. Chloé liked her in collége, but she hadn’t really come to terms with that at the time. Alix might’ve, but she’s pretty grey-ace and fluctuates on the romance points, so who knows.

“Oh! And Nath. He also snagged a date with her, but he was an Akuma at the time so I’m not technically sure that it counts. And he’s with Marc now anyway. Thinking of adopting a kid, last I heard. Anyway- my point was: everyone loves Nettie. And don’t bother trying to fight it, because it only makes her pull of gravity worse.”

Lahiffe then claps him on the shoulder like their talk amiable and not the most confusing speech Damian’s ever heard.

And then he doesn’t even get to say anything to that because Marinette is sprinting back through the door, grabbing her jacket and bag, telling him goodbye, and dragging Lahiffe out to who knows where.

Damian stands there longer than he cares to admit trying to make the world make sense again.

***

A week and a half after she learned Robin was benched, Damian catches her staring off into space as she doodles tiny robins in the margins of her sketchbook.

He gives her an odd look when she scrambles to hide them, blushing hotly and babbling about how she’s “Just fine! Nothing to worry about! I’m just, maybe, perhaps, a little worried for a friend even though I shouldn’t be, because his family says he’s just fine and-”

He looks contemplative when he leaves that day, but he didn’t ask about her outburst, so she extends the same courtesy to him.

***

That night, Robin returns.

“What,” she says around the laughter threatening to bubble out of her throat, “are you wearing?”

Robin scowls from behind the full cowl he has on that she’s pretty sure belongs to Red Robin. It makes him look a whole ten years older and she can’t get over how ridiculous he looks. If he keeps doing stupid things with his face while wearing that monstrosity, she is definitely going to laugh at him.

“What are you wearing?” he shoots back petulantly.

She blinks in confusion, then realizes she’s still wearing her Red Hood inspired jacket right now. Tan colored fake leather with fuzzy, red inner lining, done with all the same pockets, buttons, and zippers Red Hood has on his own jacket. It looks almost exactly like the jacket she fixed for him all that time ago, except she's also added a soft, crimson hood and his own personal bat symbol stitched across her shoulder blades.

As far as things she's designed goes, this is one of her simpler ones. It's nothing like the elaborate creations she makes for the Ambrosia or Ryuko themed items.

But Red Hood was a simple kind of person, and she likes that it’s reflected in her work.

Robin doesn't seem to agree if the poorly concealed disdain on his face means anything.

“What?” she asks teasingly, “You jealous?”

He scoffs and looks off to the side. “Of course not. I simply do not understand why you’d want anything to do with that simpleton. Especially not when I know you have clothing articles referencing far superior individuals.”

She snorts good-naturedly, "What 'individuals'? You mean you?"

The way he raises his nose self importantly is answer enough, and she can't stop herself from rolling his eyes. "Well, it's certainly a start. But I'm not the only one."

"Oh, yeah? And who else is marvelous enough to stand on the same level as you?"

"Multimouse."

Her mouth goes dry, and she can tell Robin is pointedly not looking at her.

“Come inside,” she blurts in lieu of all the things she really wants to say—which are mostly just embarrassing variations of I missed you. “I can, uh, make us tea. If you want.”

It's the first time she’s ever invited him inside and she can see the small bit of shock on his face—well, what she can see of it anyway—before he schools it.

“Yes,” he says in a tone of voice that implies it was his idea in the first place. “That sounds… good.”

She steps aside, allowing him to pass her by into the flat. Only instead of just walking past her, he stops halfway through the doorway and stares at her. She’s about to ask what’s wrong when he reaches out with his hand to gently grab a lock of her hair.

“Pink suits you, by the way.”

She quirks her lips, “Yeah? You don’t think it’s… too much?”

The corners of his mouth turn down, “Absolutely not. You look…” he trails off, mouth flattening into a line and dropping his hand.

She blinks at the odd behavior. “Nice?” she offers tentatively.

He nods, but it’s a little jerky and strange. But before she can ask about it, he’s already turning to enter her flat like he owns the place, remarking about her choices of tea and if she’s finally acquired an ‘adequate teapot’.

She shakes off the moment and goes in to follow him before he wrecks her kitchen in his careless search for tea supplies.

***

MinnieMouse: COME GET YALL JUICE

and by juice i mean me

I still do not have an american license

JaneAustenStanAccount: what do we get out of it?

MinnieMouse: ???

the pleasure of my company??

also youre literally the one that invited me to watch megamind

JaneAustenStanAccount: and??

daisyduke: shut up jay

we all know youre soft for M stop tryin to play tough

MinnieMouse: this is why duke is my favorite

he’s a living callout post

swanlake: :(

MinnieMouse: second favorite

im so sorry cass ily

swanlake: :)

daisyduke: i aint even mad

JaneAustenStanAccount: I AM

guys wtf

MinnieMouse: you brought this on yourself

maybe you should be nicer to me

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

daisyduke: ‘get fucked jason’ -marinette 2k20

btw im omw for you now

MinnieMouse: thnx ur the best

also im bringing scones as movie snack

daisyduke: noice

swanlake: !!!

JaneAustenStanAccount: FUCK YEAH!!!

MinnieMouse: you dont get any Jay

JaneAustenStanAccount: >:(

i hate it here

***

Marinette doesn’t know a lot about Robin’s past, which she assumes is by design. Secret identities don’t lead well to handing out details and concrete information about one’s personal life.

But, she thinks, one would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not see that whatever facsimile of a childhood Robin had was about eight different levels of fucked up.

It’s in the vague allusions to ‘training’ and the scorn filled way he says the word ‘mother’. It’s in the not-quite-confusion—because whatever family he has is better now, at least—of Marinette telling him about her own parents. About the happy memories she’s shared with them, of learning to bake bread and croissants and macaroons under the loving guidance of her father and practicing delicate designs and frosting techniques with her mother.

So, yeah. She knows he’s kind of messed up and definitely checks off the childhood trauma box that’s apparently one of the requirements for being her friend.

So when Robin suddenly decides to go against everything she’s learned about him up until this point and actually share something about himself—and when that thing he shares just so happens to be a story from his childhood—well… Marinette wouldn’t say she’s prepared, but she’s not- prepared.

He’s in her kitchen, because Marinette has learned her lesson about bleeding vigilantes on her couch, and she’s pretty sure he could’ve gone back to the Cave for this, but he came here for whatever reason. (Was closer, he said. Marinette doesn’t know if she believes him.)

She’s cleaning the knife wound on his arm, and she has his cape laid out across her island. There’s a hole in it she plans on sewing back up after she finishes sewing the hole in her reckless vigilante back up.

“You need to be more careful,” she scolds. “You’re lucky this didn’t nick something important.”

“It's hardly the worst wound I’ve ever acquired,” he tells her in a tone of voice that he probably thinks is reasonable. “At seven years old I had to dig a bullet out of my side in the middle of a Himilayan snowstorm while still making it back to base with time to spare after having successfully assassinated a Russian ambassador.”

Marinette pauses where she’s smoothing the gauze onto his bicep. Her eyes flick up to his, and she sees the exact moment he seems to realize what he just told her. He’s gone utterly still beneath her hands, with terror or worry or the effort it takes not to bolt out the window immediately, she doesn’t know.

“That’s horrifying,” she tells him as she finishes securing the obnoxiously bright bandage, “Never tell me that story again.”

She then drops a kiss onto his bicep, subtly imbuing it with enough luck that it will keep off any infection—the wound was filthy when he came in, seriously, was he in a sewer?—and pats his cheek warmly before moving to clean up all her supplies.

She feels his eyes on her the rest of the night, but every time she turns to him, she can’t tell what he’s thinking. All she knows is that he seems… softer, in a way.

***

Three days after Marinette’s unexpected look into Robin’s past, she finds a box on her desk. It’s a jewelry box, and the only reason she doesn’t immediately freak out is the fact that it lacks any of the miracle box markings.

Still, she opens it hesitantly, and inside, she finds a necklace. A completely normal, non-magical necklace that’s simple and pretty and very much shaped like a tiny toy mouse.

There is no note.

***

(Lahiffe was right.

The Earth spins around the sun. The sky is blue.

Everyone loves Marinette.)

***

The necklace is obviously supposed to be a reference to her Multimouse days, but that doesn’t exactly narrow down who could have left it for her.

Or well, it does, but all the people it narrows down to don’t make any sense.

Multimouse is a badly kept secret, but it’s still a secret. Most people outside Paris don’t know about her and the people in Paris didn’t exactly recognize her off the street either.

Her Court knows, obviously, and so do the Waynes and the bats. But her Court wouldn’t leave her mouse themed gifts, they tend toward ladybugs or their own animal motif as a gift (the amount of cat and bee themed items she owns is ludicrous).

Which leaves the Waynes and the bats.

But her Waynes wouldn’t leave the gift on her desk, and they certainly wouldn’t forget to put a note, so Duke, Jason, and Cass are out.

She must stand there thinking about it too long, because then Jeremy's walking in, just as bright and early as ever.

He sees her holding the box and his face turns a strange mix of curious and outraged. “Is it your birthday? I swear, Boss if you didn't tell us it was your birthday-”

“No, Jeremy,” she says, amused despite her confusion. “That’s not for a while yet. I found this when I walked in,” she shakes the box slightly for emphasis, “but there wasn’t a note.”

“Oh.” A smile slowly spreads across Jeremy’s face. “Oh?” he purrs, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Does the boss have a secret admirer?”

Marinette blinks and- what?

“What? No. I can’t- That doesn’t-” she splutters but Jeremy just laughs and walks over to his station to start setting up for the day, leaving Marinette to her breakdown.

Because this can’t have been left by a secret admirer. That’s just crazy.

There are exactly two people who could’ve left this for her and neither of them would be an admirer of any kind. And she wouldn’t want them to be anyway because that would be stupid and ridiculous and weird.

She doesn’t like Robin or Damian like that…

Right?

***

(It’s impossible not to love her, he realizes, mostly by accident.

She loves, wholeheartedly and unafraid and so much more than Damian had ever thought one person could. She loves with a ferocity and passion no person deserves or can match.

And Damian, foolishly, loves and wishes to be loved by her anyway.)

***

There are roses on her desk the next day, potted and still healthy.

The day after that, there’s a box of expensive chocolates. Like, the kind only Adrien, Felix, and Chloé buy without a second thought. The gossip has spread far enough that all of her designers know about the gifts and probably-admirer.

On the fourth day, there is a box full of high-quality pencils and a new sketchbook, one with nice thick drafting paper, but small enough to fit in her favored bag. Her name is embossed across the front, along with her personal motif of delicate apple blossoms.

On the fifth day, she shows up to find there is only a drawing, which should point to it being Damian, but drawing-her is holding a robin in her cupped palms which cannot be a coincidence. Drawing-her also looks serene and beautiful with her mouth curved slightly and her eyes gentle and soft and Marinette is as touched by the image as she is frustrated by it.

There are hair sticks on the sixth, and delicate pins shaped like flowers on the seventh. Another stunning drawing of her on the eighth, a bottle of wine older than Master Fu on the ninth, the softest cashmere blanket on the tenth, a basket of sweet floral lotions, a glass statue of a bird in flight—she gets so many gifts, Marinette has to stop keeping count.

It’s somewhere around day six that her designers must’ve ratted on her to either Felix or Chloé because it’s not long after that, that all of her friends learn about the gifts and start being terrifically unhelpful about the whole situation.

They each try to give her advice, which would be sweet if it wasn’t all equally terrible and conflicting.

They’re also placing bets on who they think her admirer is, Damian or Robin. They’re trying to be discreet about it—which means they’re failing miserably.

Marinette, admittedly, never expected any different from them.

***

Marinette begins watching Damian in the mornings with a newfound interest.

The gifts are always there before she arrives, which means they're also there before Damian arrives, so she’s in a prime position to catch his reaction.

Or, she would be, if he ever reacted. He barely glances at them and never says anything unless the gift is particularly obnoxious, like the giant stuffed mouse she found sitting in her chair last week. (It was almost as big as she was. Adrien, Nino, and Alix had ended up on the floor from laughing so hard when they’d seen it.)

Damian almost never comments on the gift she received that day, but whenever she uses or wears something that her mysterious admirer had gotten for her, he makes sure to compliment her. Which would be very suspicious except that Robin does the same thing.

It’s just- they’re both so frustratingly silent about it all! Marinette is this close to just grabbing one or both of them by the shoulders and just shaking until they tell the truth.

It’s driving her insane! Before the necklace appeared on her desk, she didn’t even know that she liked Robin and Damian.

And now she’s overanalyzing their nonreactions. She hates it.

It feels too much like she’s back in collège, trying to sort out her feelings for Adrien and Chat. (Who ended up being the same person—which was just very inconsiderate of him, really. The least he could do is let her angst have meaning dammit!)

And- ugh. What if she doesn't even like either of them? What if her mind is just making her think she does because the idea of them liking her was presented? What then? Or what about the fact that the two boys are also ridiculously similar when she thinks about it. What if she only likes one and is just projecting her feelings onto the other because her mind associates the two?

Oh, she doesn’t like that thought. That thought makes her feel upset and like she wants to cry into a tub of ice cream.

Nino happily indulges her and doesn't even complain when she eats her way through his stash of mint chip as she dramatically complains about stupidly confusing boys.

Honestly, she may as well be back in lycée.

***

(What Marinette does not realize in the midst of all her careful analysis of his reactions, is that it’s not the gifts he’s focused on.

When she wears the necklace and hair sticks, she misses the way his eyes linger on the slope of her neck. As she cares for her roses, she doesn’t notice the way he follows the easy nimbleness of her fingers. She uses her sketchbook and eats the expensive chocolates and doesn’t pay attention to the way he steals glances at her lips. She doesn't see the way his hands twitch when she ventures just near enough to touch.

(She exists next to him, in any form or light, and he is captivated by her very presence.)

Marinette looks, but it is in all the wrong places.)

***

Strangely enough, it’s Signal who helps her with her internal crisis—completely unintentionally and in a very roundabout way—but he helps all the same.

He’s taken an… interest, she supposes, in her magic. One that is entirely his own and has very little to do with that Bat from what she can tell.

His abilities and hers stem from different origins, but she would be lying if she said his weren’t oddly complementary to her own. His precognition abilities stemming from his photokinesis has been useful on more than one occasion regarding the experimental spell matrices she, Tikki, and Nooroo have been testing out.

The magic is normally invisible to people without a Miraculous, but Signal seems to have little trouble seeing what she’s doing, even if he can’t interact with it the way she can.

(There is also the fact that she seems… more when he is around. Days that he spends watching her do her work go by faster and smoother than when he is away. Her magic is easier, and her mind spins with ideas and creations faster.

It’s an odd phenomenon and Ladybug is looking into it.)

There has been more than one occasion where Signal had warned her of the matrix’s imminent collapse with enough time for her to prepare herself for its blowback.

The version she’s working on today is their fifth iteration. It’s supposed to pull the miasma out of the building, filter it through her and Tikki’s own magical energy, before flowing back into the brickwork. Marinette had thought of the idea while talking with Nooroo.

If she can get it to work, it will shift the misfortune into good luck and order and release it back into the environment. Then she’ll only need to cleanse strategic portions of the city in a lattice network, and the creative and destructive energies will mix from there, balancing themselves without much input from her at all.

Of course, that’s only if she can actually get it to work. It’s been almost a month and this is the fifth version and it’s already collapsed on her three times in the last hour. Signal must see the frustration on her face and has taken to trying to distract her with small talk.

She’s very thankful for it, actually. If he wasn’t doing that, she would probably start screaming right here and now, on this random rooftop in the residential district. Which would just be very startling and embarrassing for everyone involved, so. You know. Glad she doesn’t have to do that.

Eventually, she asks him, apropos of nothing, “You’re a detective right?”

He pauses, and blinks at her, likely trying to follow the train of thought that led her to that question. She assumes he did not find it because when he speaks, he still sounds confused.

“Yes? I guess that’s technically what I am.”

“So you’re good at figuring out who’s behind a crime?”

Signal only looks more confused. “Yeah? But Ladybug, what-”

“Great, so. Hypothetically, if you had two suspects for a—well it’s not a crime. A… thing? Situation. How would you figure out which one of them is actually behind the… situation?”

Signal’s lips quirk, just a bit despite his confusion. “I think I’m gonna need a little more to go on than just ‘a situation,’ LB.”

Ladybug purses her lips and stares down at the light weaving intricate patterns in the space between her palms. Slowly, carefully, she tells him, “There are items being left where a person can find them. But the identity of the person leaving them and their intentions are unknown.”

“Are the items dangerous?” he asks worriedly.

Ladybug shakes her head. “No. They're more like gifts.”

“Are the gifts unwanted or creepy? Unsettling? Threatening?”

Another head shake. “Just confusing and… thoughtful.”

“Someone is leaving you thoughtful gifts and you're worried about that… why?” Signal asks, slowly and disbelievingly.

“It’s because I- wait! I’m not the person!” she panics, causing the magic to spark dangerously in her hands but she barely notices. “The person doesn’t even exist. It was a hypothetical question!”

Signal stares at her. She can’t see his eyes or the top half of his face, but she just knows he’s raising his eyebrow judgingly at her.

“Stop that!” she snaps. “Stop being perceptive! I have enough perceptive people in my life so knock it off!”

Signal laughs like the horrible person he is. “But don’t you need me to be perceptive? That’s like, a requirement to be a detective.”

“Stop it,” she says again, mulishly and very childish.

And isn’t that an odd thought to have? Ladybug being childish.

How novel. Ladybug has never once been childish. She can’t afford to be, because when she is behind the mask, she is all the most important parts of herself. She is the Grand Guardian, is the one who must be in control at all times because she has an entire team to keep safe and alive.

Behind the mask, she’s all of her greatest responsibilities.

But here, in Gotham and with Signal, she is none of those things to him. She is simply another hero, that is his age and very much like him in ways so few are. Ladybug, in the moments she spends with Signal, is probably the closest she has ever been to carefree while in the mask.

It’s as comforting a thought as it is terrifying.

Signal raises his hands in surrender, but his lips are still quirked in amusement.

Ladybug regrets starting this conversation.

She regrets it even more when, five minutes later, Signal manages to pull the rest of the story from her… along with a name.

She realizes her mistake a second too late to stop herself, and then all she can do is watch.

She watches, with ever-growing horror, as Signal slowly puts the pieces together. She watches, as her whole secret identity starts unraveling around her for the first time ever. She watches, stricken, as Signal opens his mouth to speak.

And then she grabs both sides of his head and Orders him to sleep.

***

The second Marinette bespells him, she regrets it.

She was panicking, okay? And Marinette panicking is very different from Ladybug panicking and truly, she creates messes just by existing.

Nooroo flies out of his hiding place to make distressed noises at the now unconscious Signal with her, which is… actually kinda soothing, if not exactly helpful.

At least she knows she’s not the only one upset right now.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Nooroo frets, flitting around her head with agitated wings. Hers aren’t much better, if she’s being honest. “What are we going to do, Guardian? He knows who you are! This is bad.”

Marinette worries her thumb between her teeth, shifting her weight from foot to foot. With a thought, she's back in her civvies and Tikki is perched on her shoulder, blinking at the scene she’s suddenly a part of.

“Well,” Tikki says, sounding far too calm for the situation. “This isn’t ideal.”

The laugh that escapes Marinette is on the edge of hysterical. “You think?”

“It’s not ideal,” Tikki repeats firmly, “But neither is it a disaster.”

Nooroo lands on her other shoulder as she kneels down beside Signal to rearrange his limbs to not be so uncomfortable. “But he's unpredictable!” he argues, curling into the side of her neck like she will hide him from the world. “We don’t know what he’ll do with this information!”

Tikki hums thoughtfully. “Then we will have to ask. There are far worse people we could have been revealed to. We're lucky it was a friend rather than foe.”

“You think so?” Marinette asks softly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

She knows the Bat’s flock are good people. Many of them are her friends, or people she hopes to call friends soon.

But she doesn't know if these people Marinette calls friends could be Ladybug’s allies.

The bats hoard secrets like black holes, and perhaps they would keep hers just as well, but they could just as easily use it against her. Batman barely tolerates her presence, she can tell by the way Signal talks sometimes, and it is no small stretch of the imagination that he would use this to try and kick her out of Gotham.

Marinette cannot, as a Guardian, leave Gotham.

But more importantly, she doesn’t want to leave Gotham. It’s… her home now. Her friends are here. Her family is here. Robin and Hood and the other bats are here. Damian and all her Waynes are here.

Leaving Gotham would not only make her sick and jittery at the imbalance, but it would break her heart.

If, when Signal tells Batman, he reacts poorly, there is so much that Marinette is set up to lose. And that terrifies her.

Some of that thought process must show on her face—or perhaps Nooroo has just picked up on the turmoil in her chest—because the two Kwami are pressed on either side of her face, nuzzling and hugging as much of her as they can reach.

“We’ll make it through this, Marinette,” Tikki says firmly, no room for argument. “Don’t worry so much. Both of you. Everything will turn out just fine, you’ll see.”

***

@bluesimani @how-to-fuction-properly @chocolatecatstheron @mystery-5-5 @nickristus-dreamer @mochegato @thenillabean @animegirlweeb @novaloptr @darkdaysandfakesmiles @optimistically-pessimistic0524 @clumsy-owl-4178 @g-arya @undecisioned @smolplantmum @blackmagicforever @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @wannajointhecrabcult @paintedhope7 @redscarlet95 @roselynfey @ira-sairain @lozzybowe @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @2confused-2doanything @pepelachanel @too0bsessedformyowngood @miraculouspenta @itsmeevie01 @corabeth11 @jalaluvsu

#maribat #daminette #ml x dc #my typewriter #for us to collide

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simp4reggie · 3 years

Note

Can I request a imagine where Charlie Gillespie in Canada filming Julie and The Phantoms netflix show but with his girlfriend aka reader but He and Jeremy and Owen are dress as clowns for Madison Reys’s halloween party but the boys want to scare the reader and she was in the bedroom getting dress as Stitch from Lilo and Stitch disney movie.

Halloween

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Word Count: 2,097

A/N: I know I haven’t written in a while but this might be my favorite one I’ve written so far. I changed it a bit since misread “bedroom” but I hope you like either way

—————————————————————————

Halloween. The spookiest time of the year. However, for you this was the most wonderful time of the year. Your boyfriend was currently filming the first season of his new show, Julie and the Phantoms.

Halloween is your favorite day of the year and it sucks that you’re supposed to spend it far away from him. You decided to book a flight last minute to surprise him. The only person you told was his roommate and best friend, Owen.

“He’s going to be so excited to see you. He won’t shut about you and hopefully this will stop him for a little while,” Owen says over the phone.

“Haha iI can’t wait to see him and I especially can’t wait to finally meet you in person.” You and Owen have been talking a lot ever since he answered Charlie’s phone when FaceTiming and after Charlie found his phone, you and him exchanged numbers.

“I know FaceTime’s fun and all but now we can bully Charlie together in person” He replies.

“Hey remember he’s still my boyfriend. I can’t be mean to him all the time. I call you when my plane lands, okay?”

“Alright I’ll see you then. But (Y/N)!”

“Bye Owen!”

After what feels like ages you board the plane and a then after 8 hours and 1 stop you finally make it to Vancouver. You take a few moments to collect yourself and then call Owen to let him know you’re here. You grab your stuff from the baggage claim and grab a coffee from Tim Norton’s for a pick me up. Sitting on a plane for a full work shift can really drain the energy out of a person.

It doesn’t take long for you to hear someone call out your name.

“Y/N)!!! Over here!” You turn around and see Owen standing there and you run over and give him a hug.

“Owen! Oh my god!” After a minute you let go and he can’t help but grin at the big smile on your face, the face that Charlie won’t stop talking about. He never misses a moment to tell his co stars about how gorgeous you are and how much he loves your smile.

“Okay so I’m thinking we stop by the apartment and drop your stuff off and then head to set. We’re in the middle of filming but I may have asked Kenny if I could take a break to get something to eat.” You chuckle at that before answering.

“Actually I was wondering if we could just go right to set. I can’t spend another minute without Charlie.”

“Good. I can. So please take him from me.”

You laugh at that and spend the entire car ride counting the moments till you see your boyfriend again.

Owen parks the car and you don’t spare a moment jumping out of the car and running towards the closest door before realizing you have no idea where you're going. You stop and turn waiting for Owen.

“C'mon let’s head to the main stage. That's where they were when I left.” You follow Owen to a group of people.

“Hey guys have you seen Charlie anywhere?”

“No why?”

“This is his girlfriend, (Y/N)! She’s surprising him.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re (Y/N)? He’s going to be so excited. He never shuts up about you!” A girl with long blonde hair says.

“Yeah he might explode,” A guy wearing a leather jacket replies.

“Yeah I’m sorry about that. Hopefully it’s all good things.”

“Definitely. That boy is 100% in love with you. I’m Savannah.”

“And I’m Jeremy”

“The third phantom and Carrie right? He talks about you guys all the time too”

“Well this is fun but we need to go find Charlie before he sees you first.” Owen drags me in a different direction. You wave to Savannah and Jeremy hoping to talk to them more.

You see that you end up at Charlie’s trailer and Owen knocks on the door.

“Coming!” You hear on the other side and your heart leaps. It’s him. Owen pushes you behind him.

“Owen! Where’d you go running off to? That was a king lunch, dude.”

“Oh you know just out.”

“Well it must’ve been good enough for Kenny to stop production until you got back. All that was left was your stuff with BooBoo. Mads is getting here soon.” You start to feel bad for causing them to stop filming.

“Oh believe me it was. I have a surprise for you.”

“Please! No more dead birds!”

“No it’s good I swear! Close your eyes”

“I don’t wanna-!”

“CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

“Fine!” Charlie closes his eyes and Owen pushes you right in front him.

“Okay...Open!”

Charlie opens his eyes expecting something gross but is completely in awe of the view in front of him.

“Wait…(Y/N)? How are you even here right now? What? How? I don’t even know what to say!”

“Just kiss me you dork.” He doesn’t say anything just wraps you in his arms and gives you the biggest kiss possible. You kiss him back and just soak in the moment of you two. It feels like there’s no one else around and forget about where you are.

“Okay...I’m going to go leave and find Kenny.”

Charlie lets go and just stares at you in shock. “That son of a bitch went to the airport didn’t he?” You just nod chuckling to yourself. “I’m sorry but oh my god. I can’t believe your standing here right now.”

“Neither can I. Last week I was missing you so much and Owen convinced me to get a ticket.”

“Well you came just in time. We’re having a Halloween party tomorrow night and now you can come! Everyone’s going to be so excited. You’re all I can talk about.”

“So I’ve heard. I better live up to the expectations huh?”

“You already are just by being you...God I love you.” He kisses you again.

You spend the rest of the day watching him film scenes and meeting the rest of the cast. They were all so nice and welcoming. You kinda regret leaving your stuff in Owens truck but you had to Charlie to help you unpack so it didn’t take too long. After that the three of you went out for dinner and then cuddled with Charlie the rest of the night Because of the party everyone had a later call time. This meant more time with Charlie.

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed but a noisy apartment. You walk out of the room to see Charlie and Owen arguing over a pan of burnt eggs.”

“Good morning, old married couple. What’s going on? It’s too early for this shit.”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but SOMEBODY decided to let the breakfast I was making you burn.”

“How is this my fault?”

“I asked you to watch over it while I went to the bathroom and I came back out to you going live and not even paying attention.”

“Well sorry I got distracted but you were in there a long time.”

“It wasn’t that king oh my god!”

“Boys!! Stop arguing,” You walk up behind Charlie to give him a hug, “It’s okay. Thank you for the breakfast, baby.”

“I’m sorry for him over there. It would’ve been amazing.”

“Amazing or Charlie amazing. I saw the peanut butter out?” Owen says staring at Charlie.

“Oh...maybe it was a good thing they got ruined. You eat some weird food babe.”

“Hey! Who’s side are you on?” Charlie says low key offended but he can’t stay mad too long. “Whatever, we'll just get Starbucks or something. Are you coming to set babe?”

“I was actually thinking about going to the store to find a last minute costume. What are you going as?”

“It’s gonna be a surprise. We’re not telling anyone.”

“We?”

“Yeah. Jer, Charlie, and I are gonna match.” Owen replies.

“Oh god. I hope it wasn’t Charlie’s idea.”

“What is this? Pick on Charlie day?”

“No it’s Halloween! Best day of the year. Tomorrow is Pick on Charlie Day.” You laugh at Owen.

“Which reminds me I have to go to get a good costume.” You go back to Charlie’s room to get dressed before saying goodbye to the two idiots.

“I’ll see you later! Bye I love you!”

“I love you too!” Owen yells back.

“She was talking to me. Love you!”

“I don’t think so. She loves me more.” You hear them start to argue again and you leave quickly.

At the store you find a cute Lilo costume that there was one left of. You also buy a Scrump backpack and a little Stitch plush to carry with you (plus that fits in the bag so your hands don’t get tired. Spirit Halloween really has it all.

Charlie said to get to set around 6 and gives you the address of the school around 6 since that’s when they were supposed to done filming. You go through the door you and Owen walked through the day before. You start following the decorations until you get to the Cafeteria. You start to recognize people from yesterday. You see Sav is Kim Possible. Madison as the devil and Jadah as an angel. Sacha was also a devil. You look around but don’t see the three boys. You haven’t known Jeremy long but if he is willing to along with Charlie and Owens' plan he must be just as big as a doofus as them. After about 20 minutes you go to find a bathroom.

You look in the mirror fixing your dress and we’re fixing your eyeliner until the light turns off. You look around confused, feeling your way around. You got close to the light and feel a person.

“Hello?” You whisper.

You just hear footsteps walking slowly toward you.

“This is it. This is when I die.” You think to yourself. You walk backwards before feeling another body behind you.

You close your eyes to accept fate before seeing some light against your eyelids.

You open your eyes and see three scary ass looking clowns in front of you. You scream and run out the door. You take a moment against the hallway wall before realizing there were three people missing in the party. You wait hoping they would walk out soon. You see the door open and see one of the boys step out. Not caring which one it was you walk up against the door so they couldn’t see you. When you see his face you yell, “BOO!”

The clown screams and runs out pulling the rest of them behind him.

“Not so fun is it?” You let yourself be seen.

“I’m sorry (Y/N). I didn’t think that Owen was going to turn out the lights.” Charlie said walking slowly up to her.

“You wanted to scare her. It’s a small room and there's not many options.”

“Still I’m so sorry.”

“I actually thought I was going to die. I’ve never been more terrified in my life. Why would you do that?”

“I thought it would be funny.”

“Funny to watch your girlfriend terrified is it?”

“(Y/N)...I don’t know how to be anymore sorry.”

“Yeah we're really sorry.” Jer says hoping to calm the situation down.

“Yeah really sorry.” He was going to say something sarcastic but saw how traumatized you actually looked.

“It’s okay. I mean it is Halloween. I should have expected something like this from the three of you.”

Charlie walks the rest of the way to you and gives you a hug and kisses you on the head. He feels you calm down and says “You look really cute.”

“Thanks you don’t at all but it’s okay.”

“Hey you said Pick on Charlie day was tomorrow.” You smile before pulling away from Charlie and yell “Hey Owen!”

“Yeah?”

“Charlie just agreed to tomorrow being Pick on Charlie Day!”

“He did? Cmon lets tell everyone!” You run after him back to the cafeteria.

“Wait no I didn’t!!! (Y/N)! OWEN!!” Charlie just shakes his head knowing it wouldn’t do anything.

Later that night everyone got a text saying this:

This is your healthy reminder that 11/1 is now officially Pick on Charlie day! To celebrate, please spend the whole day picking on Charlie Gillespie. I hope you have a wonderful holiday.

Let’s just say when the next year came around, the fans had a field day and Charlie was not a happy camper.

————————————————————————-

A/N: oh look another 2 am post! Anyway I hope you liked it!

- Maddie xx

#julie and the phantoms #charlie gillespie #jeremy shada #julie and the himbos #owen joyner #madison reyes #charlie gillespie x reader #savannah lee may

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triforce-princess · 3 years

Text

well, i finally 100% completed hyrule warriors age of calamity in its entirety, including post game content, so i’m finally going to write a full review. beware this review will contain every spoiler imaginable so please do not click the read more if you haven’t finished the game yet and don’t want to be spoiled!

tl,dr; this game is a lot of fun despite some of its shortcomings and it’s really nice to see characters get the development they needed in breath of the wild. also a huge improvement gameplay-wise from the first game. if you’re a fan of breath of the wild it’s worth a try, just don’t expect breath of the wild style of gameplay! and if you’re a fan of the original hyrule warriors, you are going to love this a lot. ok now to get into the details. this is extremely long;

about the gameplay; it took me a while to fully adjust to the new controls and mechanics, but once i finally understood it it was so much fun. i originally wasn’t crazy about the sheikah slate runes since it was difficult at first to remember that a. i had that ability, and b. when the proper time to use it was. but when it finally clicked for me it brought a whole new interesting layer to the gameplay that challenged my memory in a fun way. it took me even longer to learn what the use of the rods were but those were great in a pinch once i figured it out. i also loved the flurry rush mechanic since dodging is a pretty important aspect of the gameplay. all these new layers added to this gameplay makes me wonder how i ever put up with the original hyrule warriors gameplay lol. something i wasn’t entirely crazy about was the wall jumping and paraglider stuff? i never really found it useful and it always just became a problem when i was trying to dodge and i’d be confused about why my character was slowly flying around at critical moments.

the camera in this game was pretty frustrating. with the more organic map & lots of tight spaces (which i’ll get more into later), the camera would get stuck a lot and you’d be unable to really see what’s going on and it got pretty frustrating at times. i wish there were some way they could fix that but i’m not sure what they could do without having the camera go out of bounds & show the edges of the map. maybe they could’ve made some of the objects that are in the middle not be things the camera get stuck on though.

i also felt like there were too many special effects going on with some enemies and attacks, sometimes it would cover up large parts of the screen & you wouldn’t be able to see what you were fighting and that was pretty stressful (i found myself frequently yelling “i can’t see!!” when i’d defeat a guardian or something in a room with lots of other enemies. this only became an issue in the later parts of the game though.

now about the maps, i do love how much more organic and natural they are. it’s a big upgrade from the original which had a lot of wide corridors leading into square rooms which were allied/enemy basses. but unfortunately, this causes issues with navigation and the camera getting stuck (like i mentioned before). i had a lot of problems where the map was too natural and i was confused about why i was getting stuck on level geometry when it looked like i could walk through there. i think the breath of the wild style makes this confusing too because you can’t really undo a thousand hours of being able to walk through nearly everything. but also it was just really unclear what was a wall and what wasn’t sometimes. i was surprised i actually had to zoom in on the mini map and look at that to move around at times. definitely an ambitious aspect of the game & i appreciate the effort and detail, but i don’t know if it works that great for this style of gameplay. i also don’t know why they bothered putting so many small details on the ground if they’re just going to pop in so close to the camera. it was kind of awkward when you cleared out all the enemies & were traveling to another location and it was the only noticable thing on screen.

speaking of ambitious, we can’t ignore this game’s framerate issues. it’s the first thing on everyone’s minds when talking about this game. most of the time, it was pretty acceptable. but they definitely pushed this game farther than the switch can go and it shows. i really appreciate the love they put into making this game as detailed as they did, but i don’t know if it was worth it in the long run. there’s only a couple times i can think of where the framerates got absolutely unacceptable, and it always seemed to be when there was a lot of electricity and enemies on screen at the same time. it happened once during the final vah naboris mission and another time where there were a ton of electric lizalfos all shooting electricity at once at the same time you have to fight an electric lynel. but, i’m not the kind of gamer that loses my shit over dropped framerates, i grew up with the n64 & have had to put up with poor early emulation many times in my life so framerates don’t really phase me until it just gets unplayable.

wasn’t crazy about how many late game missions were just boss rushes, but that’s pretty standard hyrule warriors fare. at least it was more fair in this game where most of the time you only had to fight one boss at a time and the next boss wouldn’t spawn in until you beat the first one, so there was no risk of accidentally aggro-ing a boss in another part of the map & have an unfair fight on your hands like in the first game. it was pretty anti-climactic how the seemingly final mission which had the highest recommended level was just another boss rush, and not even the hardest one (it was just a bunch of regular malice bosses in a row).

bit of a side note but i didn’t like having to grind for materials and find koroks for 100%. the koroks weren’t nearly as bad as breath of the wild though, thank god.

i’m pretty disappointed that some content that’s clearly in the game isn’t unlocked in the base game, it’s looking pretty likely that they’ll add it as dlc later & pretend it’s new content to make the game relevant again...i’ve always firmly believed dlc should be extra content that’s added in later. hopefully they’ll add some really cool stuff as dlc alongside the stuff that’s in the game & it won’t be so disappointing. there’s two characters i was sure would be unlocked as playable characters (sooga and astor) but i found it weird that you don’t get them in the post game and instead you get to play as the egg guardian (terrako) and calamity ganon???? talk about subverting expectations. also really frustrated to learn that zelda’s royal dress isn’t available in the base game but its in the files & is just missing one body part?? really hope that’s just a free update and not like, paid dlc. kind of dumb that they didn’t give the devs one extra day to model feet on the character.

about the story; the story starts out really strong i feel, i loved seeing characters get the development they didn’t get in breath of the wild and this game’s story makes breath of the wild’s story feel even more incomplete than it did before this game came out. and actually seeing the story play out in chronological order in real time without link having amnesia gave the story so much more feeling and connection. this is probably my favorite aspect of this game because i was always so disappointed with how disconnected you feel in breath of the wild because of the way the story is told. and it does so much of a better job illustrating link and zelda’s feelings. i’m probably the single most difficult person to convince when it comes to link and zelda being in a relationship or having feelings for eachother and i thought this was quite possibly the best master sword scene in any zelda game;

in previous games link has always had to prove his courage in a variety of trials spread across the land and to me its really boring, especially after how many times its been done. the thing that gets me about this scene is the master sword deems him worthy because of his desire to protect zelda even when he’s been beaten down & disarmed. that was a really beautiful moment to me & i’m glad they wrote the scene this way.

speaking of being worthy of power because you want to protect someone, i wasn’t really that crazy of zelda unlocking her power just because she loves link but honestly this game illustrated it in a much better way & i’m more down with it now. i loved this shot how it really captured what she was feeling;

it’s also in general awesome to see the champions in action, both in gameplay and in cutscenes. i remember being in awe the first time i got to play as urbosa. it feels like we finally really got to know them and how powerful they really were, instead of breath of the wild just telling us they were cool & we just had to believe it.

now for the part i know people say this game is shit because of; the time travel aspect. yeah, it’s a little silly and nonsensical, but honestly, it was kind of fun. and i don’t get how a time travel plot is somehow weird for the zelda series. the most critically acclaimed game of this series, ocarina of time, is entirely revolved around a time travel plot & the heroes would not have won if it weren’t for time travel in that game. yeah, it’s goofy, but this series is known for its nonsensical aspects & plotholes. there’s always some kind of unexplainable magic in this series that solves problems. i don’t think that makes this game shit. plus i was kind of starstruck when i first got to play as sidon lol. i was thinking to myself, man, who would’ve known 3 years later we’d get to play as sidon! crazy! none of the champion descendants were really my favorite to play as but it was still cool to see them & play as them.

something i didn’t understand was why kohga and the yiga clan joined zelda’s cause? i feel like a vital scene got cut. i don’t get why he’d join even when astor betrayed him, considering his group’s ambitions and how many times they tried to kill zelda. and where’d sooga go? the scene of astor betraying them kind of implied he was going to die but we never got confirmation of that, and he even shows up in a post game mission as an ally (no cutscene, just one line of dialogue during gameplay)

as for the ending, i guess it was alright? astor was a really lazily written villain and i just did not care for him at all. kinda don’t even care that we don’t get to play as him (yet, probably). calamity ganon’s design in this game was terrible. and i guess it would’ve been hard to make it work, but no beast ganon? just felt a little to easy to wrap up. despite this i guess it was nice to see hyrule get a happier ending even if it was a bit nonsensical at times. also this is just a bit of a personal thing for me but i liked seeing hyrule before it was destroyed. it always bums me out when you find a locaiton in game that’s been destroyed & you can only think about what it mightve looked like before. this is something that’s bummed me out since wind waker (was always disappointed you don’t get to see what greatfish isle is like!!) and breath of the wild gave me so much disappointment in that aspect lol.

one final thought but it was odd to me how many lines revali got & how often he interacted with link lol. was weird to see him slowly warm up to link a little towards the end (but of course he’s still a little mean...). no other character acknowledges link as much as revali. this scene confused me the most??

there were so many other people revali could’ve spoken to. he barely even acknowledges teba who was the one who specifically came to his aid!! and the way link looks at him with big puppy eyes?? link barely makes a facial expression at anyone else! and how revali expresses gratitude for the first time in his life after looking at link’s stupid cute anime face and smiles (but he turns around because he would be too ashamed to smile at link i guess)

anyway that’s it, i finally got out all my thoughts about this game. this went on way longer than i intended and i’m sorry if you read the whole thing & it took forever lol. this game is fun, get it.

#legend of zelda #hyrule warriors: age of calamity #breath of the wild #text #hwaoc spoilers

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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Your HK au post is so well thought out and I love it but as someone who has seen many hours of HK clips on Youtube, I am curious which cast members you can see making the most iconic mistakes. Who overcooks like a dozen wellingtons in one service? Who overcooks and throws away about 5lbs of pasta? Whose signature dish makes Elias physically sick even though they insist customers always love it? Etc.

oh i'm glad you like it!!! in no particular order:

- any time jude is put on the meat station, she burns the lamb. it's like a curse. she tries to make lamb for a challenge once before she gets sent home in an effort to redeem herself but she burns that one too. the night she gets sent home she burns three lambs in a row and elias sits her down and forces her to eat her burnt lamb at the chef's table.

- on the flip side, jane gets put on meat her first service and only puts out raw meat. she's like 'it's not raw it's rare!' and elias is like 'the fat isn't rendered and it's cold what do you mean it's not raw???' (she puts out raw chicken two times in a row and elias almost loses his mind)

- martin. i love martin. but his signature dish does not go over well at all. elias takes one look and is like 'this looks like you upended a trash can on this plate and sprinkled some chives on top of it. what is it supposed to be?' and then he eats it and spits it out almost instantaneously. martin's so nervous, all he can think to say is, 'it's something i serve all the time, people love it!' and elias is like 'remind me never to come to your general area of the country. zero points. next'

- poor gerry. the man just cannot cook scallops to save his life. elias is like 'they're rubber do them again!' and then gerry tries again and this time they're stone cold. the next time they stick to the pan. gerry gets kicked out of the kitchen, goes back to the dorms, and sits on the couch with his head in his hands like fuck.

- jon has mostly good services. but. his big mistake comes somewhere near black jackets when he gets up in his head about things. he slices a wellington, is like 'shit this is over' and is so afraid to bring up overcooked wellington or admit to it that he just... throws it away. he does this for two more before elias gets impatient and goes over and is like 'what are you doing??' and pulls perfectly cooked wellingtons out of the trash and is like 'these are perfectly cooked!! why are we throwing away perfectly cooked food!! you're better than this jon' and jon is convinced he's going to get kicked out even though it's his first real mistake in service.

- jared is the person who doesn't communicate at all. he either says absolutely nothing or gives conflicting answers ('two minutes on the fish' [one minute later] 'three minutes on the fish chef!') and likes to blame his communication mistakes on other people, saying that they didn't talk to him.

- mike puts up a lot of undercooked risotto (like... consistently) and eventually it gets to the point where he's put on apps and his teammate is like 'dude just- just let me do the risotto please' and in the cut-away interview portion, mike is like 'what the fuck dude, i know how to cook a goddamned risotto, get off my back' when clearly he doesn't lol

- tim has no palate. he does very poorly at all the 'taste it now make it' or palate challenges. elias gives him banana to taste and he guesses carrots. he gives him chicken and tim guesses egg whites. it's awful.

- manuela does the classic 'i didn't realize the stove/oven wasn't on!' not once, but twice in her time in hell's kitchen. she sits there stirring risotto over a cold burner for ten minutes before elias finally goes over and is like 'it... it's not even hot manuela!'

- agnes almost burns down hell's kitchen. twice.

- helen/michael (i think they would use both names, but i haven't decided yet) just can't remember the orders that elias calls out. he'll call 'two wellingtons one halibut one new york strip' and he'll ask helen/michael to repeat it back and they'll be like *dial up noises* 'two wellingtons, one- one tuna, um...' and elias is standing there like 😐

- in all of oliver's time in hell's kitchen, elias doesn't like a single original dish he does for any of the challenges. oliver, in his cut-away interviews, is like 'well, clearly he just doesn't recognize talent' when quote-unquote 'talent' is like... two weirdly butchered overcooked fillets and pomegranate mint pink peppercorn sauce.

- daisy sends up so much raw fish. the kind that elias slams down on the table and smushes beneath his hand because he's so frustrated. she has basira check it, basira says it's not ready, and for some reason she walks it up anyway. once (and only once) she sends up overcooked fish and elias is like 'finally, some fucking variety in your mistakes'

- julia talks back to elias, and when she gets cut, she says right to his face, 'you're making a huge mistake and you'll regret it' and then stomps away just to stomp right back when he says, a bit snidely, 'get out of my fucking kitchen.' she is escorted away by security. everyone else is like 😳🤐 it is silent in that room.

- basira is extremely meticulous in her cooking. this also makes her a very slow chef who tends to get in her head as a way to cope with the insanity of the kitchen around her. she'll often be like a brick wall when people try to talk to her and then pick up a pan and say 'walking scallops to the pass!' when the risotto still has three minutes to go.

- naomi is the unfortunate pasta-waster. she also basically falls apart on garnish, sends up raw eggplant three times in a row, can never remember what garnish goes with which thing. when they're prepping the kitchen she's standing with a little list trying to remember what goes in each dish.

- sasha is... not very good in the beginning, but around episode three there's such a sudden shift in her cooking that people swear she's not the same person anymore. the main way sasha avoids elimination in the beginning is her team not losing dinner services, despite the fact that she sends up near-consistent rubber scallops and salty risotto. the audience is surprised when she's in the final four, but she says in the cut-away interview, 'i just realized what i needed to do and i did it. i'm a different chef right now than i was when i came here, that's for sure'

- georgie once butchers thirty racks of lamb incorrectly during prep and they have to throw all of them away. she also has a tendency to struggle with cutting lamb and is often like 'melanie, just. can you do this for me' because melanie is frighteningly good at cutting meat in one slice.

- melanie is the contestant who gets in arguments with nearly everybody all the time but then next episode is friends with them again. this happens sometimes in the span of five minutes with jon, and people just cannot decide if they're friends or not. (they are.) she also makes a signature dish that elias refuses to eat because her steak is so raw it's 'still mooing' and she's like 'well if he'd just tasted it he'd know that my flavors were good.'

- jordan drops an entire pan of wellingtons. ten wellingtons just. rolling all over the floor. elias is furious and he has to go over to the other kitchen, borrow some wellingtons, and apologize to the other diners for the now-thirty minute wait time. then, he has jordan go out and apologize directly. jordan's cut-away interview is just him hanging his head and whispering, 'fuck me'

#ask #anon #tma hk au #i am so glad that people like this au!!#i thought it might be too obscure/weird haha #(i've also never watched the mistake compilations only a few full seasons so i'm drawing off of what i've seen so far!)#which is mostly 'stone-cold' and 'rubber' yelled ad nauseam lol

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awkwardbluefish · 3 years

Text

Moments Captured in Time

Bruce was tired. Exhausted really.

Despite the burning behind his eyes and the damp drapes of curtains that were his eyelids he continued to work, continued to gaze at the luminescent blue screen before him. It was quiet in the cave, yet the migraine continued to pulse behind his eyes and tighten in their sockets. Some would argue Bruce wasn’t really working, they’d be right in a way. Technically he was working, but the only reason why was in avoidance of something he did not want to go through.

Sleep. He was avoiding going to sleep. Because Bruce knew when he let the curtains fall and the false peacefulness usually bought by darkness then the nightmares would kick in. The memories would burn, flickering in his head like a burning candle despite how desperately he tried to make it to stop. He didn’t want to remember that night. He didn’t want to remember the boy he had failed, the boy he told himself he would protect. He didn’t want to remember the night he had failed his own son, just because he wasn’t fast enough, because he wasn’t clever enough.

For a second, he closes his eyes, let his shoulders sag. The memories begin like a broken record and his heart burns because he knows he was too slow. His heart thumps in the cage he calls his ribs as the visualising begins. There was nothing left that night, nothing left besides a broken boy. There was nothing there of that building but ash and smoking debris. His chest aches because he remembers there was no pulse but checking anyway. He remembers broken ribs shattering under his palms as he pumped, desperate for a single breath. Desperate for five more minutes with his Robin, his son. It hadn’t have worked, his boy remained dead. He stayed a corpse, a life snuffed out far too soon by a psychopath. He was gone.

“Bruce,” the voice forces his eyes to peel a part, cracking them open to see a darkened screen. A sigh escapes his lips as he rolls his shoulders, hearing the bones crack and groan like a hollowed-out house with only the abandoned ghosts left in those walls.

“I’m working Alfred.” His voice is rough, low, as if it’s been through a grinder and barley made it out. He’s not working, a plain as day lie. Alfred doesn’t say anything to that, staying silent.

Bruce forgets sometimes that he isn’t the only one who lost Jason that night. He’s not the only one mourning the boy’s loud absence. He brows wrinkle but no words escape chapped lips. He won’t apologise. Cant. He’s the reason Jason’s gone. He doesn’t deserve to cry, to mourn, when it’s his fault.

“I see.” His father murmurs, and the sadness behind his words slice at his heart, leaving a gaping wound that bleeds sluggishly. Bruce stares at the dark screen as Alfred sighs and in the reflection of a crystal-clear screen he can see the sagged shoulders, the weary tilt of the brow. Out of all of that he zeroes in and the thin envelope cradled in his fingers. Bruce doesn’t ask but Alfred answers. “Master Timothy gave this to me. He noticed you were upset and believed you would enjoy this.”

The envelope lays on the keyboards. Bruce doesn’t reach for it, lowering his head as he thought of the small and brilliant boy. The boy who wiggled his way into his life, made himself such a home that Bruce couldn’t even bare to imagine forcing him out off. He’s failed Tim. Not like he’s failed Jason, god forbid, but he hasn’t been kind to the boy as of late. He’s snapped at Tim, the ocean eyed boy who gazed upon Bruce with such awe he never quite knew what to make off it. He’s taken his grief out on him, the kid that absolutely adored him. That loved him.

“He’s a good kid.” Alfred says. He doesn’t stay after that. But the words echo in Bruce’s head. He knows the words left unsaid. Don’t lose him too. Don’t push him away like you’ve done with Dick.

Eventually Bruce reaches out, lifting the envelope into dried up and broken skinned fingers. Carefully, gently, he opens the letter, watching as paper breaks as it clings to glue. Carefully he pulls the slim piece of something out of the paper cage, breath catching and throat clamping tight as the picture shimmers in the dim lights of the cave.

It was Jason. It was Jason, in his bright costume, alive and happy. It was Jason laughing, his wiry and far too thin arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, doubled over and Bruce can hear his laughter, loud and booming echoing in his ears. Its Jason, laughing at Bruce. Bruce, dressed up as Batman, egg yolk slipping down his cowl. The lighting of the alley shadows his features but Bruce knows he’s smiling because he knows this moment, remembers this moment. It had been nearing Easter, and Dick had created a competition that night to see who could egg Batman the most. Jason had caught him by surprise and Bruce remembers, despite the slimy yolk sliding down his back, cold and thick, he had been so proud of this boy for the surprise attack.

Tim. He had taken this photograph.

Bruce licks his lips, ribs caging in his heart tight. His heart is warm, blood bubbling in his veins. A small laugh breaks free from his lips, his eyes crinkling and heart clenching. He cradles the picture, a moment frozen in time and he smiles, pretending there wasn’t tears clogging up his eyes. A hand cradles his lips and he ducks his head, caving in on himself. In this picture Jason was alive. In this picture Jason was happy. In reality he was neither.

Swallowing down the tears he blinks his eyes, revelling in the fact it was just a tad easier this time despite the tears dampening the curtains even more. He shakes his head, unwashed bangs tickling his forehead. Body aching, heart hammering he forces himself to his feet, photograph clutched gently in his hands. The walls that usually held him up, made him strong, made him invincible, made him Batman, collapse in a pile of debris. Moment by moment, they fall. Salty drops fall down his chin, drenching a grey, sweat damp shirt.

Steadying himself he presses his palms to the black leather chair, focusing on breathing. Vaguely he realises he’s trembling. There was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound, all of this forced out of him by a picture. The sobs were stifled at first as he attempts to hide the grief from the world, from himself, then, overcome with the wave of emotions he just breaks. All the defences he built up those upcoming weeks wash away by salt tasting tears. It was pathetic, the picture he was painting, one of grief, loss and broken devastation.

He had to pull it together. He had to see Tim. He needed to know if there were more, he needs to see these moments frozen in time. He needed to see Jason alive, even if it was just through a picture. He inhales sharply, unfolding himself from the curved form over the chair, picking up the debris of his walls and building them up all over again. The shutters come down; his emotion being walled off behind a mask of coping. He’d wear it around Tim, he had too. He just had to keep it up a little bit more.

Slowly he focuses, roughly scraping his balled-up fist against his cheeks, ridding away the evidence of his loss. Tim took this photograph. Could he have more?

He finds the boy resting on the couch. His face is scrunched up, eyes screwed up, creating wrinkles as he bites at his lips between his mutterings. He’s sitting there, mouth moving a mile a minute as he shifts through contents in an old shoe box. Bruce can’t make out the words, he never could when Tim murmurs like that, voice trying to catch up with his mind. He never minded it though, knowing this was how Tim sorted through his thoughts. He never does it during a stakeout, fingers always taking over and tapping along his knees and up his thighs so Bruce never had a reason to complain.

“You’ll draw blood,” Bruce’s voice echoes in the room. His voice is thick, deep and absolutely wrecked with grief. He swallows, tries to force a smile to his lips when the startled boy jumps, much like a startled cat. It falls short, watching Tim’s eyes fill in panic as he zeros in on the picture still clutched like a prized possession withing Bruce’s fingers.

Tim opens his mouth and Bruce can see the impending apologies about to spew from his lips, so, he steps forward. His lips clamp shut, tight as a clam and Bruce fiddles with the white edged border around the delicate photograph. God forbid, he was scared. He shakes his head and he knows he looks absolutely terrible and wrecked and he knows Tim can see it and he knows he thinks he’s done something wrong. But he hasn’t. Tim has done something absolutely perfect.

“Do you have more?” He asks and his chest burns but it’s nothing compared to his throat, coals stuck in the back of it.

Tim gazes at him, analysing. Then he nods, small and soft. His small, frail body shuffles over, cradling the shoe box tight to his chest. When Bruce doesn’t move, too scared too, he pats the cream cushion next to him, not meeting his gaze as he stares into the box with acute determination.

The weight shifts when he sits down and a small smile twitches at his lips when Tim’s raised along with the pillow. The boy isn’t bothered, smiling his small triumph when he finds whatever it is, he’s looking for. Carefully he pulls it out and holds it to his chest, eyes flickering to Bruce’s desperate expressions and nodding. He licks his lips, holds out the photograph at arms length.

Bruce nearly snatches at it, afraid that it would disappear into thin air. Despite the urge he’s slow, fingers twitching hesitantly a second away before Tim gently, forcefully, passes it to Bruce. His gaze flickers to the other picture, lips twitching by the way Bruce crinkles the edges with his grip. He makes no move to take it away and Bruce is grateful, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give Jason away again.

It takes a while for him to look at it, watching Tim give an encouraging nod at him that contrasts with the terror hidden behind those ocean orbs. He was scared he was doing something wrong, that he’d just hurt Bruce more. He could see the hidden worries behind those eyes. He was scared Bruce wouldn’t like it and Bruce could not stand that look on his childs’ face. He smiles, numb as it is, and trails his own blue piercing eyes to the photograph lying on his palm.

His eyes rake over the picture, devouring all the little details in a second. Despite that all he truly makes out is Jason, his boy alive and happy. There’s a huge grin on his face, mouth full of glimmering teeth. The domino covers his eyes but Bruce is brought to tears at the mere thought of how bright they are, how bright they were.

Any resolve crumbles and the pictures tumble out of his hands. He reaches out, desperate to cling to reality. His arms cradle around the boys’ shoulders, bringing him to his chest with a yelp muffled into his shoulder blade. Limbs are everywhere, bones digging into his thighs, arms and chest. A nose is pressed deep into his breast but it was nothing but good. The tears begin sliding down his cheeks again and Bruce was always and ugly crier but at this moment he couldn’t care less. Gently he cuddles the boy to him, burying his face into coconut scented locks, swallowing thickly, coals burning in his throat and his chest as he cries. He makes no sound, chest heaving and he feels oh so small hands weaving themselves around his back. His boy hugs him back, hesitant and nervous and Bruce brings him closer, having half the mind to place the brown shoe box digging into their waists on the crystal coffee table.

“Thank you,” he murmurs and the boy he manhandled onto his lap stiffens in surprise and if that doesn’t hurt Bruce than he has no idea what will. “Thank you, Tim, these are brilliant. Thank you for showing me.” He whispers, like it’s a secret only Tim is allowed to hear. The boy slackens in his hold, slowly and then he’s digging his cold nose into his shoulder blade and Bruce is laughing, tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes staining red the more the tears willingly spill.

“You can keep them,” Tim murmurs into his chest. Bruce’s voice is too wrecked, too broken to even speak. He swallows around the coals logged in his throat and manages to hum. Tim hums back and Bruce chuckles wetly, hearing Dick whisper in his ear about Tim being a Bruce translator.

“I’m so proud of you,” his words crack as tears begin to dry and crust on his cheeks and stubbled chin. Tim hums again, seemingly content with the silence. “I knew you knew our secret. But taking pictures of us? Absolutely brilliant, little ninja. You’ve done good. So good.”

Bruce says nothing after that, not when the arms tighten almost painfully around his waist, not even when his shirt dampens. He doesn’t tell Tim this is the first time he’s willingly cried in front of anyone without resistance. He doesn’t say this is the first time he’s laughed, smiled on the day of Jason’s death. He doesn’t tell Tim he’s the only reason why Bruce is keeping together. He doesn’t tell Tim he’s the glue keeping this small and broken family together. What he does tell Tim, is that he loves him.

#I’ve never felt so inspired before and you can thank Niul for that!!#tim drake #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dc #my writing #mine #angst

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itzagothamcitysiren · 4 years

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Pretty Please

I’m taking request now! I write oc’s so if you want to request something just shot me a ask or message! :) This one was requested by @comic-nerd-dc

Request: Will you do a damian (16+) with my name Sandy. Maybe like the dorky best friends to lovers trope I’d love to see damian get jealous over me and not understand what he was feeling and then like haveing a screaming match when he confesses his feelings

Part One

Damian Wayne had never gotten used to the big galas and parties his father threw. Even after living with his father for the last ten years and attending countless amounts of them, he still found himself uncomfortable as he was forced to put on a new face and pretend to be interested in anything and everything that people told him as he conversed; it was sickening.

Normally he’d be able to stomach it a little bit better but tonight was different. Tonight he could feel himself letting his face droop and show how truly uninterested he was in the conversation he was stuck having with one of his father’s business partners. He quickly caught himself though before the well-polished man before him noticed, straightening himself back up and plastering that fake look of attentiveness back on his face.

As the man went on about the coming merger between himself and Damian’s father, Damian let his thoughts trail off. He was one hundred percent not interested in a thing this man was saying if it wasn’t any clearer than it was before. He was more concerned about a different matter; a far more important one for that matter. It had been the whole reason why he was stuck here alone and finding everything unbearable.

He’d already gotten on warning look from his father already, as well as the famed family butler and to throw more salt into the wound even Grayson asked him what his deal had been. Tt, he thought to himself, remembering Dick’s concerned look. But as much as Damian hated admitting it, he was almost an open book to the man now and could never hide when something was bugging him.

Damian hadn’t noticed or heard the incoming of footsteps, well-trained or not, until a hand clasped against his shoulder. He jerked forward, face contorting into a scrunched rage for being snuck up on and startled. Between his thoughts, the man’s never ending story and the loud chatter and music throughout the room, Damian had been completely distracted.

“Hey,” Jason’s voice came to reach Damian’s ears, causing the boy to look up at him with a confused and annoyed face. “You wouldn’t mind if I burrowed my brother real quick would you? No? Thanks!” Jason continued, slightly with a teasing tone throughout.

He didn’t really wait for an answer, quickly turning Damian away from the conversation and towards the opposite side of the large ballroom. Damian quickly shrugged his hand off his shoulder, not as forcefully as he would’ve liked, knowing that his father would kill him if he made a scene. He still let Jason lead him away as he silently thanked him for getting him out of his previous predicament. He would never say so out loud, of course; this was Todd after all.

“What do you want, Todd?” Damian glared up at the older man, not having to look up as much as he used to, having hit a growth spurt over the last couple of years. He was practically Jason’s height now.

“Thanks for saving me, Jason; yeah no problem, Damian, you’re welcome.” Jason mimicked Damian’s voice in a fake conversation before taking a drink from the glass he held.

“Tt, you didn’t save me Todd.” Damian narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Okay fine then. Go back to that extremely interesting conversation.” Jason nodded back towards the man, who had locked a new victim into conversation. “By all means,”

Damian grunted but made no sign of moving. He prefer to not spend his already miserable night with Todd but even he had to admit that Todd was better than that. Why is father was willingly making himself a partner was unknown to him.

“Why are you here?” Damian questioned.

“Working a case, Tim was gonna decode something for me.” Jason started, taking another drink, leaving the glass now empty. “Dick found out and begged me to stay at the manor; I said no and he told Alfred, so now here I am.”

Damian nodded, understanding; you didn’t just say no to Alfred. The man was getting older, not being as active as he had been around the manor when Damian first arrived. Even he found himself caving more and more for the man, knowing that he’d regret it if he hadn’t.

“What crawled up your ass and laid an egg? You looked like you were two seconds away from murdering that guy.” Jason asked with a slight chuckled.

“You’re as ill-mannered as ever, Todd.” Damian rolled his eyes. “Nothing is wrong. You should know just as well as I that father’s parties aren’t the most pleasant.”

“This is true.” Jason nodded, “Though Dick said you’ve been pouting all week so,” Jason added with a shrug.

“Grayson’s delusional.” Damian spat, crossing his arms a little tighter, ignoring the feeling of chest constricting into itself.

“This is also true.” Jason laughed, “You’re also a liar. Does this have something to do about a specific lady friend? Which speaking of I haven’t seen her all night? Where is she?”

“On a date with her boyfriend.” Damian said grinding his teeth together.

“Blondie has a boyfriend now? Oh, I get it now.” Jason almost sang out. “You’re just jealous. Makes sense why you’re panties are in a twist.”

“Excuse me? We’re just friends, I have no reason to be jealous. Don’t be absurd, Todd.”

“Ha! Are you joking? You have the total hots for her. I may not be around much but even I can see it.”

“Grayson’s not the only delusional one in this family apparently.”

“Aw, you admit we’re family. But no seriously, it’s fine to be jealous. I mean it’s not, you shouldn’t have let it get to the point of being jealous and asked her out yourself-

“I am not jealous Todd. Sandra is completely capable of dating anyone in which she chooses. ”

“Okay Demon Spawn, you keep telling yourself that while I go get another drink.”

Damian huffed as he watched Todd walk off towards the bar. He was not jealous. He was Damian Wayne; he was Robin for crying out loud. He didn’t do jealously. There was no way in hell that he was jealous of whatever his name was again. He was so not jealous that he hadn’t even remembered the boy’s name, even with her talking about him nonstop in the last month of the two dating. Damian Wayne was one hundred percent not jealous.

Angry? Now that was a different story. Damian did do anger. He was angry about a lot of things actually. Was this one of those things? Possibly, but he knew that he couldn’t stay angry at Sandy for too long. They’d been friends for so long, meeting shortly after she had joined the Teen Titan’s a couple of years back. She was Black Cannery’s niece and thought it’d be best for her to work with kid’s her own age part time.

And at first Damian was Damian, acting closed off and untrusting, especially after the whole fiasco with Slade and Terra. He didn’t care if she could be vouched for by a hero as established as Cannery, he didn’t know her, so he didn’t trust her. But he soon got to know her.

Her bubbly and outgoing attitude was hard to avoid.

She had a voice to match too. Damian hated to admit but her powers and skill had been a great addition to the team. The pair built a great dynamic with each other unintentionally. They both were greatly skilled in hand to hand combat, offend sparring for hours and until they were both panting on the ground. She tested him; she pushed him to his limits.

It wasn’t just in training she did so either, as Damian noticed, she had a very big personality. She refused to let him skip out on team movie night and dinners. She always made sure he was included and participated. At first he found it unnerving, not understanding why she clung to him as much as she had. He didn’t know when it happened but eventually he began to find it endearing, and soon grew fond of the attention.

He wasn’t sure of the exact moment their friendship formed but it had. The former assassin knew it had something to do with her being the only one to actually remember his birthday. He had been thankful that she kept it to herself and not tell the rest of the team, knowing he wouldn’t want a big surprise party or anything like they’d end up wanting to throw.

Instead she kept it to herself and made a small party for themselves in her room. She’d made a giant blanket and pillow fort in her room, made a ton of his favorite foods and bought him new art supplies. His father and even Dick and Alfred had gotten him birthday presents in the past, along with trying to make a small celebration for the date but it hadn’t felt as genuine as this had.

So was he angry that she had ditched him tonight to spend time with her new boyfriend? Not necessarily. But was he happy about it? Absolutely not. Ever since they became close friends she went to every single gala with him knowing that it eased his anxieties about them and made them go by quicker. She could’ve gone out any other night for she knew that tonight was his night with her but she choice to instead go off and see some stupid movie and pay for overpriced snacks.

He found himself deep in though again, losing himself in another self-tirade. He watched the people move about the room, all laughing and appearing to have a good time, making a bitter scowl appear on his face. He hated how he was clearly the only one not having a good time. Normally he wouldn’t care but he felt like he had a terrible taste in his mouth and watching everyone else made it worse. His eyes traced the room again, scanning around as if it would change anything.

His eyes stopped on one particular head of hair. Blonde.

His feet were moving long before his mind was as he made his way across the marble floors. His target was right in front of him and he felt something snap in him before he could stop himself. When he stood right behind the person he had been glaring daggers at he reached out, gripping his fingers tightly around their wrist.

“What are you doing here, Lance?” Damian questioned, his voice thick as he jerked her around to look at him, cutting her off from her conversation she had been having with Dick and Tim.

Tim looked at the pair with a deadpanned look, nudging Dick, trying to signal the other man to leave the two alone but the birdbrain didn’t get the clue. Dick obviously opened his mouth, “I texted her where she was and asked her to come when she saw she was just at home.”

“What?” Damian jerked his head to look from Dick back to his friend. “Weren’t you on a date?”

“Erm, yes,” she said nervously, rubbing the back of her neck.

She brushed her hair over to her left shoulder, shifting in her heels. Damian knew she was hiding something, he could tell just from the sound of her voice let alone her stance. She also was wearing the same dress she wore to the last gala, something she would never normally do. It wasn’t that anyone would notice, the gala’s being so stretched out but she always fretted about being caught wearing the same dress twice and being embarrassed.

Cocking an eyebrow at the girl, Damian knew something was wrong when she averted her eyes away from him. He felt his sudden anger flare. They didn’t keep things from the other. Their whole friendship was based off of a certain level of trust and her just randomly showing up without his knowledge was something small, but something they just didn’t do.

Damian grabbed her wrist again, pulling her away from her brothers. He ignored her protests and question of what he was doing. He also ignored Dick’s voice.

“Where are you going?” Dick called out, only to be shushed by Tim.

Sandy shot them an apologetic look, before relenting and letting Damian drag her out of the ballroom. It wasn’t until they were halfway into the manor did she finally put her foot down, feeling her blue eyes growing sore from glaring at the back of the boy’s head.

“Damian if you don’t stop dragging me I’m going to scream.” She warned, giving her arm a good tug.

Damian scowled at her, releasing her from his hold but not without a little sass in his actions. He tutted, crossing his arms against his chest, looking at her straight in the eyes, being close in height.

“What’s your problem?” She questioned, mimicking his stance.

“You weren’t supposed to be here tonight.” He said not breaking his stern stair.

“Well,” she rolled her eyes, popping her hip out slightly. “I can leave if that’s what you want.”

“No,” He said a little too quickly, causing her to quirk an eyebrow. Coughing into a fist to clear his throat, he shook himself back into his strict demeanor he broke shortly. “I was just under the assumption you weren’t coming tonight. You said you had a date.”

“I did.” She said making an annoyed face. Damian made a face of his own, silently pushing her to explain further. She huffed, uncrossing her arms and placing one hand on her hip. The other ran through her soft curls as she furrowed her brow, “It ended early.”

“Why?”

“What’s with all the questions, Damian?” She slightly shook her head, feeling exhausted and about ready to crawl into herself.

“You’re clearing hiding something. I just-,”

“Just drop it Damian,” She signaled him to cease with a wave of her hand, crossing her arms against her chest once more. She turned her head away from him, looking back down the hall from which they came from. “We should head back downstairs before we upset your father and Alfred.”

“No, I want to know what happened.” He demanded, reaching out to grab her arm as she turned away from him. “Did he hurt you?”

“What?” She questioned, slight amusement cracking through. She shrugged her arm out of his grip, the lightness in her voice now gone. “Pfft, please. Like he could.” She rolled her eyes, “its fine. Please, let’s just go back downstairs, ya?”

Damian nodded reluctantly giving up. She looked about ready to scream and he was sure that his father wouldn’t appreciate the cry of a cannery ruining his party. He followed behind her as she now led him through the halls of the manor. His face still kept the same stern look, now noting how fake she looked as she pretended to be her regular self throughout the night. He wouldn’t call her out on it. He wouldn’t keep pressing that he knew she was hiding something from him. He’d give up.

For now.

#Damian Wayne #damian wayne fanfiction #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x oc #orginal character #batman fanfiction #robin x oc #Jason Todd #dick grayson #Tim Drake #jason todd fanfiction #tim drake fanfic #dick grayson fanfic #request #dc comics fanfic

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rigmarolling · 4 years

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Five Things Abe Lincoln Did That Prove He Was A BAMF

I love Lincoln. You probably know this if you’ve listened to me talk for more than two seconds. I have a literal entire bookshelf filled with Lincoln stuff. I teared up in Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln at Disneyland. I cried so hard when I watched Lincoln (2012), that I almost started dry-heaving. I was Lincoln (sort of) for Halloween.

Is it a problem? No. It isn’t a problem, Mom. Because Lincoln was a 100% USDA-certified badass.

Don’t believe me? Here are ten things Abe did to prove he was absolutely a BAMF.

1. That time he jumped out a window to prevent a vote.

In 1840, the Illinois legislature was voting on whether or not to fund the state bank. Lincoln was a member of the Whig party, which did not require members to wear wigs, contrary to what the name suggests, but which did support saving the state bank. The opposing party, the Democrats (different political beliefs from modern-day democrats, do NOT come at me, Reddit dudebros) wanted to shut the State bank down.

It all came down to a vote...and it looked like the anti-state bank democrats were going to win. Abraham Lincoln, then a 31-year-old legislator who looked like the pioneer version of a Tim Burton character, was getting nervous.

Above: Jack Skellington, 1840.

“Shit,” he thought, probably, “We Whigs are screwed if we lose this vote. And we don’t even get to wear wigs.”

The bank-hating democrats scheduled a vote to adjourn the session, which would effectively be the nail in the state bank’s coffin. Abe was panicking. He was the de facto leader of the Whigs; he had to do something.

“Prove your mettle, boy,” he probably thought to himself in a folksy, backwoods kinda way. “Show ‘em you ain’t gonna give up.”

So Abe did what any self-respecting legislator would do when stuck between a rock and a hard place:

He jumped out the window of the legislature to stop the vote.

To be fair, Lincoln wasn’t the only one to opt for a morning act of defenestration: a bunch of the other Whigs joined in, too. The rationale was, essentially, this:

Which is peak Internet comedy, but unfortunately, it was 1840 and the Internet didn’t exist yet, so nobody appreciated the gesture and the democrats eventually wound up closing the bank, anyway.

But at least Abe showed the entire state that he appreciated Looney Tunes-esque escape tactics.

2. That time he roasted a guy during a debate with good-old self-deprecating humor.

You ever rely on self-deprecating humor to beat people to the “yes, I KNOW I am offensive” punch?

So did our 16th president, Abraham Nicole Lincoln.

(Not his real middle name.)

When Lincoln was campaigning, his biggest rival was Stephen Douglas, the Democratic contender who was nicknamed “the little giant” because he was short but a heavy hitter in politics, and also because he looks like the kind of guy that just wouldn’t shut up at parties:

Above: “Actually, I’m not racist, BUT--”

In 1858, Lincoln and Douglas held a series of seven famous political debates called, brilliantly, The Lincoln-Douglas Debates, coming to you LIVE at Rockefeller Center, with performances by the Rockettes, Anna and Elsa on Ice, AND with special guest, Seal!

These debates were THE go-to political show of the season. If you were super into who would be elected to the Illinois Senate in the mid-19th century, then holy shit, you have got to watch these two men go at each other, man, it’s like watching a tree and an angry little dog slap each other across the stage.

During the debates, Lincoln quickly became famous for his one-liners, and also because no one had ever seen a talking tree in a suit before.

In one of the debates, Douglas accused Lincoln of being two-faced. Without missing a beat, Lincoln, who had been mocked his entire life for his ungainly, scarecrow-like appearance in the same way that I just mocked him a few sentences ago, whoops...

ANYWAY.

Lincoln turned to Douglas and went, “Honestly, if I were two-faced, would I be showing you this one?”

And then the audience did this:

And then Lincoln was like:

Check. Mate.

3. That time he was so strong and such a good wrestler that nobody messed with him.

When I say “wrestler,” what do you think of?

Is it this?

Maybe this?

What about this?

Huh? What’s that you say? “What the hell is...is that Lincoln? What...what the hell is Lincoln doing in a list of wrestlers?

“Um,” I answer, “Being a wrestler.”

Because Abraham Lincoln, 6′ 4″ and all of 150-something pounds, was, in fact, an incredibly talented wrestler.

So talented, in fact, that when it came to wrestling matches, he went undefeated for most of his life.

See, Lincoln grew up in the middle of butt crack-nowhere, out in the sticks of the American frontier. Ain’t no room for sissies out on the frontier. This here’s hard-scrabble country, see, rough-livin’; you gotta spit to live; you gotta live to spit; Neosporin? I think you mean weak-ass bitch cream.

So how did rootin’ tootin’ frontier folk blow off steam? Well, when they weren’t dying of dysentery or tuberculosis or minor infections that could today be cured by steady application of Neosporin, they were wrasslin’. And when it came to the act of picking someone up and throwing them back down, nobody wrestled like 21-year-old Abraham Justine Lincoln.

(Not his real middle name.)

One look at the guy and people were like, “The hell? What’s this ancient Egyptian mummy doing in the ring?”

But the second he got going, everyone shut up. Because this guy was nuts. He was a berserker. He could defeat a guy three times his size in seconds. He could bench the Rock, probably, and not even break a sweat.

He was the nicest guy in town. But nobody--and I mean nobody--messed with Abraham Ashley Lincoln.

(Not his real middle name).

One time, Jack Armstrong, the local heavyweight champion who was the Big Bad in town and undefeated in the wrestling and “I’m a giant asshole who smashes my way through problems” arena, challenged Lincoln to a match.

“Uh oh,” everyone in the little town of New Salem, Illinois thought, “That’s it for ol’ Twig Legs Abe. He might be good, but there’s no way he can defeat Jack Armstrong. Nice knowing you, kid; it’s a shame, because you might have made a solid president.”

But Lincoln, who knew no fear and ate chains forged in the heart of a dwarven cavern for breakfast, was like, “Bring it on, bitch.”

Above: Playin’ with the boys.

Jack and Abe started sparring and Jack threw insult after insult Abe’s way. I don’t know exactly what Jack said, but it was probably the 19th century equivalent of, “You may have 2,300 Facebook friends but nobody cares about the pictures of your homemade Shake ‘N Bake chicken that you post, eggwad.”

Abe didn’t relent.

See, he was getting angry.

Really angry.

So angry, in fact, that in one fell swoop, he suddenly slammed big Jack Armstrong to the ground so hard that Armstrong passed out, cold.

Abe had won. Everyone stared at the panting, growling, 6′4″ pine tree man in reverent awe.

A fun epilogue to this story: after Jack Armstrong recovered from getting his ass handed to him by a guy who looked like an extra in a movie about the Amish, he and Abe remained steadfast buddies for the rest of their lives.

Jack just never ever insulted Abraham Jessica Lincoln again.

(Not his real middle name.)

4. The (many) times he went off into long, rambling stories during Cabinet meetings to illustrate a point.

You know how grandma and grandpa sometimes go off on tangents and you’re like, “okay, okay, get to the point.”

But grandma and grandpa don’t even respond and just keep talking about that one time in 1953 that Anne-Marie told George that no, she hadn’t gone to the corner store, why do you keep asking, George? And then I said to George, I said, George, you need to listen to Anne-Marie because she knows that the corner store is the only one in town that sells fresh-laid eggs and Butterick circle skirt patterns, but did he listen? Did he listen to me? No, he didn’t, so I went to---

You get it.

So did every single member of Lincoln’s cabinet. Because Lincoln was a consummate storyteller, for better or for worse.

(Sometimes for worse, depending on who you asked.)

Above: “One time, at band camp...”

Lincoln would interrupt important meetings about, you know, saving the Union and the soul of the country itself with anecdotes that started something like this:

Lincoln: You know, Sec. Stanton, that reminds me of a fur-trapper I knew back in Illinois--

Stanton: Great, except, Mr. President, everyone is dying--

Lincoln: Now this here fur trapper was the best fur trapper in the entire state. Not the entire country, mind you, on account of we didn’t really have a way of measuring fur-trapping skills nationwide--

Stanton: *neck turning purple* Mr. President--

Lincoln:--but definitely the best fur trapper in Illinois. Now one day, this fur trapper set out to do what he did best: shoot some raccoons, or maybe a bear, or a wolf if he was lucky, or a deer, or some moose, or a beaver, or a mongoose, or maybe a possum--

Stanton: OH MY GOD--

Lincoln:--or a cat, if times were desperate, but not a dog, never a dog, because this here fur trapper loved dogs; had six of ‘em himself, all hound dogs, loyal to a fault, see, because this here fur trapper--

Stanton: JUST STOP--

Lincoln: --this here fur trapper could be short-sighted. See, he set his sights one day on shooting the biggest bear in the mountains--and this bear, why, this here bear was a Goliath of a bear, the biggest bear anyone ever did see, the biggest bear in the state; not the biggest bear in the country, mind you, on account of we didn’t have a way of comparing bear sizes nationwide, but--

You get the gist.

Above: “So I’m sitting there, barbecue sauce on my tiddies--”

Eventually, Lincoln would get to the point of his story; in this example, for...um, example...maybe the moral was, “Don’t get so focused on one goal (shooting that big bear) that you loose sight of other objectives in the war (getting rid of the wolf pack killing all the sheep or whatever).”

I would like to explain to you why telling long, rambling grandpa stories was such a power move:

Abe Lincoln was the president.

So his whole Cabinet had to listen.

And Abe Lincoln knew it.

They had to listen to this backwoods guy go on and on about how that one time the local long boatsman fell into the river actually serves as a metaphor for Gen. McClellan’s inability to take control of the troops; or how the rabid raccoon that lived in the local blacksmith’s shop can serve as a metaphor for acting too hastily when trying to take down the South.

Or, like, whatever.

Above: “All here in favor of me performing the entirety of Les Mis starring me as everyone, raise your hands.”

Apparently, Lincoln was also the kind of storyteller who, if there was a funny punchline at the end, took forever to get to the punch line because he’d start laughing hysterically at his own joke, and while many people thought it was incredibly endearing, others were like, “Boy, I wonder what it would be like if I dumped this entire fucking bottle of ink over the president’s head to get him to shut the fuck up.”

Spoiler alert: Lincoln did not, in fact, shut the fuck up. He was determined to teach folks a lesson through the the power of storytelling and also to help break the tension of a legitimately horrible war with the power of laughter.

Monopolizing the conversation to prove a point with anecdotes about frontier living that no one can escape?

Power. Move.

5. Those times he let his kids run amok in the White House and thought it was hilarious.

Lincoln had a four kids, all boys, who moved into the White House after he was elected president.

And these boys were little terrors.

To be fair, a vast majority of boys are terrors. Kids are terrors. They are small harbingers of chaos and discord with little regard for their fellow humans, which means they fit right in in the White House EYYYY POLITICAL COMMENTARY.

But Lincoln’s kids, apparently, were especially out of control.

Above: “Alright, enough pussy-footin’ around, Pops, fork over the dough and no one gets a kick in the nuts.”

Lincoln adored his boys, partly because he was a good dad and partly because he’d already had one child die tragically, so understandably, he was like, “Life is short and antibiotics haven’t been invented yet so we’re all going to die from getting paper cuts, probably; I’m just gonna let my boys do whatever the hell they want.”

And he kind of...did.

Willie and Tad Lincoln, his two youngest, brought tons of pets into the White House. Dogs, cats, birds...when people objected, Lincoln just sort of shrugged. He, too, was a huge animal lover and didn’t really care if ponies were clomping around the Oval Office. “My White House, my rules, my indoor ponies.”

The two Lincoln boys would dress up in military uniforms and have fake military drills and stage fake (LOUD) battles all over the White House, including when Dad was in a Cabinet meeting.

What did Dad do, you ask?

Laugh his head off.

While his kids would burst into Cabinet meetings, crawl under the table and kick important Senators’ legs and feet, generally causing a grade-A ruckus, Abe would try and fail to stifle his laughter.

Which, you know. Objectively isn’t the best parenting, but for Pete’s sake, they were at war, can’t they have a little fun? Jesus, lighten up, folks, they’re kids.

The Lincoln boys particularly irritated Sec. of War Edwin Stanton, but to be fair, almost everything irritated Sec. of War Edwin Stanton.

Above: “I have never had fun once, ever, in my life.”

Once again, Lincoln’s rationale was, “Life is fragile, one of my children already died, the country is at war, and kids make me laugh, so if they want to punch Sec. Stanton in the balls under the table, who am I to stop them?”

Also, Lincoln was the president, so nobody thought it was appropriate to go, “Um, hey? Mr.--Mr. President? Maybe you could tell your sons to, you know...not crawl under the table and interrupt, um...important...war strategy meetings?”

ALSO, Lincoln once wrestled a man twice his size to the ground without batting an eyelash, so you go tell him to make his kids behave. I dare you.

#abraham lincoln #listory #american history #us history #u.s. history

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nokomiss · 4 years

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deadtedkord replied to your post “taking prompts!”

more excellent jaysteph bonding please you're stuff for them is amazing!!

Even in Gotham, it’s hard to get takeout at 4am.

So after a particularly grueling night fighting crime -- not Arkham-escape bad, but involving the Condiment King teaming up with Mad Hatter for easily one of the grossest in every imaginable way nights Steph could remember -- the troops all ended up at the Cave, fighting over who got into the showers first. The troops in question being Bruce, Damian, Tim, Jason and herself. Steph saw the writing on the wall immediately and booked it up stairs to shower in luxury before Bruce could complain about ketchup in his fancypants rich people showers.

After convincing herself that she couldn’t, actually, just live in the bathroom at Wayne Manor for the rest of her life, Steph reluctantly got out, wondering if she could convince Bruce that installing the same shower at her decidedly less luxurious home was actually a necessary crime fighting expense. The water pressure alone had relieved a few lingering muscle aches she’d been nursing a few days.

She ransacked various rooms for a new, mustard-free outfit -- she had clothes stashed away somewhere, but everyone knew other people’s clothes are far superior, especially when they were Selina’s yoga pants, which she was never returning because damn they were amazing, Cass’ fuzzy socks and Tim’s softest hoodie.

By the time she returned to the cave, smelling like coconut and feeling like a champ, the boys had managed to clean themselves up and were bickering about food.

“I got Stromboli’s to deliver at 3 last week,” Damian was insisting, even though the Batcomputer clearly showed that they were closed.

“Maybe we could bribe someone at Batburger? They’re open all night,” Tim suggested, sounding doubtful about the prospect.

“There’s food here,” Steph suggested, because she, too, was starving.

Silence for a moment, then Bruce said, in a voice that almost sounded sheepish, “Alfred isn’t here.”

Steph felt a little bad about the smears of ketchup she’d undoubtedly left in the bathroom. “Did he… did he take the kitchen with him?”

“Pennyworth is the only one permitted to use the kitchen,” Damian said loftily while also not looking at anyone directly.

“Yeah, but… we’re hungry,” Steph pointed out.

“They don’t know how to cook,” Tim said, gesturing towards Bruce and Damian. “They’re really bad at it.”

“Like you’re any better,” Damian snapped. “Remember when you set the microwave on fire?”

“I didn’t realize there was still a spoon in the bowl!” The tops of Tim’s ears were turning bright red.

Steph looked at the only person in the room not howling about their own ineptitude in the kitchen. “Please tell me you’re not as useless as they are.”

“I’m insulted that you would think I am,” Jason replied. “I certainly didn’t grow up with a butler.”

Steph sighed, and said, “Wanna go make some food?”

Jason looked at the other three, who were suddenly very focused on writing the night’s mission report. “If it means we’re done with the paperwork, yeah.”

So she climbed the steps to up to the manor for the second time that night, and when she entered the kitchen she suddenly understood the silence and sheepish looks.

“I have seen active crime scenes less disastrous than this kitchen,” Jason said with an awed tone.

“How long has Alfred been gone? A year?” Steph said, staring. “And the question is, is he ever gonna return if he knows this is waiting on him?”

“Probably he will, but he’ll finally snap and murder them all in a dishes-fueled rage,” Jason said, poking at the mountain of dirty china piled haphazardly in and around the sink. He poked at a dish. “I’m pretty sure someone ate Spaghetti-Os out of fine china. Is this a real silver spoon?”

The spoon in question had curdled milk clinging to it.

“Okay so ten minutes ago, I would have told you there was no way anything could be grosser than Mad Hatter flopping around in a pool of mayonnaise,” Steph said, “but oh, how I have been proven wrong.”

“How do they even function as human beings?” Jason wondered. “Was it always this bad? I mean, I lived here. I know Bruce is an absolute moron in the kitchen. But…” He looked around. “Wow.”

“Do you suddenly feel so much better about yourself as a person?” Steph said. “Because I gotta say. Really feeling good about myself right now.”

Jason offered a hand to high five, and Steph did, happily. They rummaged through the pantry side-by-side and found that the staples were still intact, though anything ready-made had been ransacked. The fridge offered up similar bounty -- takeout leftovers of questionable providence, some wilting produce, and basics.

“Pancakes?” Steph suggested once she saw the state of the waffle iron -- had someone tried to make a grilled cheese on it? -- and pulled out the dry ingredients. “I’m not willing to eat anything that requires a condiment right now.” Thankfully maple syrup had not been one of Condiment King’s weapons of choice.

“I’ll make eggs,” Jason said, pulling out a carton. “And there’s some fake bacon of Damian’s.”

“We are a breakfast-making machine,” Steph said. It was true, too -- away from the chaos of crime fighting, she found that working alongside Jason in the kitchen was surprisingly easy. Steph stared at the sink again, and said, “I think that it’s time that certain vigilantes learned the domestic arts.”

“Yeah, we can’t let Alfred come back to this,” Jason said. “He’s too valuable. If he quit--”

“We’d never have his cookies ever again,” Steph said in horror.

“Maybe we could steal Alfred,” Jason said after a pause. “Like, let nature take its course, then swoop in and take Alfred for our own.”

“Share custody of him,” Steph said, nodding. “We could put him on a rotating schedule, and give him days off, and… I don’t know. Let him join a book club, instead of spending all his time with these disasters.”

They spent a few moments in quiet contemplation of a life where Alfred showed up and made creme brulee at any hour of the day. Then Steph sighed, giving the pancake batter one last stir before letting it sit and moving to the stove, clearing off several crystal goblets with what looked like coffee dregs in them before finding a griddle. “There’s only one flaw with our plan.”

“The thing where Alfred loves Bruce like a son and would never abandon him to die alone and hungry in his filthy mansion?” Jason flipped the fake bacon.

“That’s the one,” Steph said, deciding the griddle was hot enough and spooning pancake batter onto it in cute little shapes. She thought that Damian’s should be hearts, and she experimented with bat-shapes for Bruce.

Jason peered over and saw what she was doing. “I want stars.”

“Of course you do,” Steph said, though she tried to make one as soon as Damian’s hearts were done. It turned out a little wonky, but still recognizable. She was awesome. “Gotta be difficult, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason replied, cracking eggs into a bowl. He glanced at the kitchen door. “Are they hiding in the cave in shame?”

“Like, it’s wrong, but the fact that I think they are makes me really happy,” Steph said. “Like, kind of makes up for all those times they acted like I was a moron for not knowing something.”

“Right?” Jason said.

“I mean, how do you master dozens of different kinds of kung fu, but never once master the grilled cheese? I was making my own grilled cheese in kindergarten!”

“There are only three ingredients,” Jason agreed. “It’s a true embarrassment.”

“We should nominate him for Worst Cooks In America,” Steph said. “I really want to see Bruce on reality television, and that would be comedy gold.”

“Just seeing him get an invitation to be one of the worst of anything would be fucking amazing,” Jason said. “Like, congratulations, sir, you suck at this.”

“You suck so hard we want to feature you on television,” Steph snickered. She flipped the last of Bruce’s pancakes onto a plate before they burned, and began making Tim’s. She tried to make a coffee mug shape, but it turned out looking like a blob, so she made teddy bears instead.

“I mean, I kind of get why they’re so terrible at it,” Steph said, “given their upbringings. But I would have literally starved if I hadn’t figured out how to cook early on. Takeout was not an option.”

“Right? Only for special occasions,” Jason said. “The rest of the time, you had to make shit yourself.”

“Exactly,” Steph nodded. They didn’t really talk much about how they were the ones in the family who’d grown up poor, who’d spent a lot of time raising themselves because their parents hadn’t been capable of it. She knew it was why Bruce had compared them so much -- there was a startling amount of similarities between their childhoods, from their mothers’ drug problems to their fathers’ criminal inclinations -- and for once, it felt nice to be the ones with the necessary skills while everyone else floundered.

They grinned at each other, then put the last of the food onto the plates. Steph grabbed the maple syrup, and stopped short, staring at the calendar on the fridge. “Four days!”

“What?” Jason said through a mouthful of fake bacon.

“Alfred has only been gone four days,” Steph said, pointing to the note on the fridge, “and he left prepared meals.”

They gazed in wonder at the chaos around them.

“He’s going to be back tomorrow,” Jason said suddenly, pointing.

“Okay, so we feed the troops, then we start Mission: Learn to Do the Damn Dishes,” Steph said. Sleep was for the weak.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason said, and followed her to the breakfast nook, setting down Tim and Damian’s plates and going back for the rest. “Wanna tell them now?”

“Let them have a final meal first,” Steph said. “Then we’ll light a fire under them.”

Jason grinned. By the time Bruce, Tim and Damian came out of the Cave, she and Jason had polished off half of their meal, and Steph had to admit that delivering a lecture to Batman about chores was one of the highlights of her week. Possibly the entire month.

It took until dawn, but Alfred came home to a kitchen that no longer looked like it had witnessed the collapse of civilization.

#deadtedkord #my fic #batfamily #stephanie brown #jason todd #this is literally just steph and jay making breakfast and trashtalking everyone else's lack of cooking skills #totally a valid bonding experience

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abloomntime · 4 years

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A Bloom In Time Ch19

(It took me A LONG time to research and find out what all the paintings in Hat Kid's gallory looked like. If I missed any or got any wrong please let me know. All mentioned paintings can me seen in the painting room through the green door in the machine room of the ship.)

Lunch breaks were nice.

She was starving so before anything else she wanted to get somethin' in her stomach. Looking in the lil gal's fridge, there really wasn't too much of anything. It was all pretty empty except for a basket of apples, half a cheese wheel, and what looked like a carton of eggs. Well, she wasn't about to not get something to eat, and down at least three of those apples she had. They weren't as sweet tasting as she remembered the ones her father grew on their farm were, but as if this person was going to start complaining about food at this point of her life. Sure her life was REALLY crazy up to this calm point, all of it sounded like a really bad story, she was going to have to learn a whole knew pecking world different from her old one, and she was going to have to deal with her past. But if there was one thing she needed to do now was take that darn ghost's advice.

"The important thing is that I can't change or fix anything that's already happened alright? I can't send you back. I can't give you anything from your old life......And I can't change what happened to you. But, I can help make the future easier and help you with whatever you need to settle down with alright? But you got to understand that it's NOT just going to be with a snap of my fingers."

He was right. What had happened happened and there's no way she was going back there anyways, so it looks like she'd just have to start where she left off way back when. Hard work. Save up enough pons. And get that flower stand! May not seem like a giant grand idea like some would expect, but that's what she always wanted. A life where she could surround herself by precious beautiful flowers admiring their beauty and scent and give them all to people who enjoyed them as much as she does. Her blue eyes reflected in the gold coloring of the bracelet that was still tight around her wrist, bringing her other hand up to clamp around it to herself. Her business may have never taken off if that one fateful encounter with the handsome and kind prince from the neighboring kingdom hadn't taken such interest in the way she grew her little babies. He never said one bad thing about them. Complimenting on how deep a red her roses are and surprising him when she said they didn't just come in red...She chuckled remembering that silly surprised face of his.

The prince stared at her shocked, brown eyes blinking as she held out the white and red rose bouquet to him. "Wow. You're telling me they really come in more than three colors?"

She nodded back at him. "Yep! How many colors did you think they came in?"

He figeted fiddling with the soft petals of one white rose nervously. "W-Well. I knew there was a whole bunch of red ones, and I knew there was white ones because my mother always uses then for balls. A-And I saw black roses at my grandmother's burial. May she rest in peace.....Wait." His brown eyes widened as he stared at her. Poppy blinked when he suddenly put his hands on her stand leaning forward a little. "H-HOW MANY COLORS OF ROSES ARE THERE?! I DESPERATELY NEED TO KNOW!!"

After a moment, the red head smiled and gestured to a whole slew of potted roses behind her he didn't seem to notice and his jaw dropped at the sight of them all. "Well, you sure like to learn things, so let me tell ya a thing or two about roses. There's all different breeds of roses, but all of them fall under one of the eleven color catagories ya hear? There's red, white, n black like you're used to seein'. But then there's yellow, blue, pink, purple, orange, and even green!"

His eyes landed to a beautiful batch of emerald green roses Poppy pointed out and his eyes widened more. "Those would be perfect for Vanessa! They match her emerald eyes so perfectly." He smiled and turned to Poppy. "I'd love to have some....But wait." He counted on his fingers. "Red, white, black, yellow, blue, pink, purple, green, orange-....That's only nine. I thought you said there was eleven."

She giggled. "You caught me! You see. Some are different shades of blue or pinks, but they'd still be classified under those colors, but some roses have two colors on them."

"You're KIDDING!"

"Nope!" Turning around. She spotted one of her hanging planters and reached up to pluck one of the ones near the top, carefully minding the thorns and brought it down to him. He stared at it in amazement. IT REALLY DID HAVE TWO COLORS!! It was a yellow rose but the tips of the petals were a dark pink, almost red as Poppy smiled at it. "This is what you call a Bi-Color pattern. Some breeds of roses have two colors like this. They're really popular at birthdays. But...If you want something real purty like." She set the single rose down and looked at him. "I got one more surprise for the history books."

"And what would that be?"

"Rainbow roses." He blinked confused so she held up a hand and bent down to rummage around under her stand. "I wanted to keep these hidden for the time being because I wanted to sell my over stock of other roses first since an unexpected amount bloomed this year. And you know how everyone's gonna be itchin' to buy their loved ones flowers on Cupid's Day. I wanted to sorta save these for special customers." She grabbed a small pot of something and stood up. Holding the pot just enough to be seen by him leaning over the stand and no one else passing by. His. Jaw. DROPPED. THEY WERE RAINBOW!!! Every color save for black and white was on there. All in different places on the petals and some petals being full different colors along with blended petals with two different colors mixed on them. They almost didn't look real. As if someone painted on them blindly with multiple paints. Poppy gazed at them lovingly. "My Great Great Granddaddy Willow 'Tree' Bloomington was able to cross breed all kinds of roses together until he made them. "

"I heard of him before. He used to be the Royal Gardener for the Old Owl King didn't he? They say the gardens were never more beautiful than when he was in charge."

She nodded but frowned. "That's right. That ol' birdbrain wanted my great great granddaddy to never share his masterpiece with anyone else. Wanted them all to himself, but that's like askin' an artist to not show off his art. So when he retired, he stole a few clippings and fled the country. Since then these beautiful little guys have been my family's birthright. We're extremely picky about who gets them...Or at least I am. Papa thinks I should've just stayed on the farm and become a milk maid like Mama." The prince's eyes softened at the small frown on her face but she was quick to smile again for an important customer. "So! Will it just be the one bouquet for ya, Princey? Or were ya'll still interested in those pretty green ones?" She asked as she tucked away the beautiful colorful ones again.

"I..." he glanced over to the emerald green ones then to the giant one he was already holding....And smiled again. "You know I think I will take another lovely arrangement of those too. Equal size."

Poppy smiled. "Coming right up, Your Highness!" In a few moments, she held out a pretty arrangement of green roses the shade of Vanessa's eyes all wrapped up in pretty white paper. "Two extra large bouquets will be eight pons please-" She paused and blinked when the white and red rose bouquet was held out to her and eight tiny green diamonds were dropped to the stand. "Oh. Do you need me to hold that?"

"N-No. T-they're for you."

"Me? Why? I thought you wanted to give Princess Vanessa double flowers."

"Uh.." He quickly gave a nervous smile. "W-W-Well, on Cupid's Day people give their friends and f-family too. It's all about spreading love to those you care about. It doesn't have to mean romanticism at all! Especially because I consider you a close friend!" He grinned wider nervously and wished he could push himself for how weird he must've looked. But Poppy just smiled.

"Well aren't you sweet?" She happily took the roses from him. "Now I can see why so many people like ya! And why Princess Vanessa took a likin' to ya! Such a gentleman to everyone! But are you sure you're not givin' me my own flowers?"

"Hey. I paid for them, so technically they were my flowers to do as I pleased with, and I w-wanted to show my appreciation to my.....f-friend."

"Aw. Ya'll just too kind. If that's the case, then you don't need to pay for mine."

He held up his hand and grabbed the green rose bouquet. "No, no. You did the hard work growing them. I ordered them in the first place. And they're already cut. The least I could do was pay the four pons for them. B-Besides. I don't believe in special treatment."

"Well alright. If ya insist. But here." She looked back down to the yellow n pink rose she had picked to show him and picked it up again, minding the thorns and holding it out to him. "Here! A small token from one friend to another too! On the house!"

He smiled and slowly took it from her. "Well then...Thank you, friend....I-I..Should probably be getting these to Vanessa."

"That's a fair point. Wouldn't want to keep her waiting on Cupid's Day. It's the most romantic day of the year!"

"Heh. Yeah....L-Love."

Sells really did increase after word of the prince buying her flowers went around. That day alone must've been her best Cupid's Day ever cuz right after he left with those green roses a woman came up to her and asked for five purple roses for her parents and sisters followed by others. She sold her normal quote for flowers that day plus lots of extras! She was able to get lots of work providing for small weddings in the town square, parties, and other festive times. All because of one friend's kindness. She felt guilty now that she only got so much business from his reputation but this time she'd have to really work for her dream! And she was totally going to be the best florist anyone's every had in a thousand years! For now she'd just rest a little while and help out with whatever that purple onion jack o lanturn had in mind, and wait to see what he was planning. She wasn't sure what to expect from a giant ghost but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious. Poppy made her way back out the kitchen's double doors after dipositing her third apple core into the trashcan in the corner, and the scene in the control room made her smile. The two girls were sitting on pillows a little ways from the television playing with the gold castle, it looked like a game of princess since Bow was making a princess doll scream help from the tower and Hattie was acting out the villain with that golden mafia man. The other old things like the gold pencil and cookie was all in a small random pile a few feet from them both.

"You will never have the princess! She'll be locked away forever and the kingdom of gold will be mine! Muahahaha!!," Hattie said in a fake deep man's voice.

"Oh yeah! Well I, Sir Cat-o-lot, will save her!," Bow threatened back holding out a small black cat plush. They must've heard her giggling when she came down cuz they both looked up at her as she came in and Bow waved at her. "Hi, Poppy! Wanna play?"

"Yeah! You can be the giant who comes and steals the gold up the apple tree in the sky!...Or was it a bush in the sky?"

"I'd love to, Pumpkins. But I still gotta job to do, don't you remember? I'd rather finish it and then relax a lil bit. There anywhere we missed?"

Hattie shook her head. "No. Rumbi already swept everywhere, the painting room was so small and easy. He's still sweeping the engine room."

"What about the mail room?,'' Bow asked pointing to the yellow tunnel entrance poking out from the wall near the engine room door. "It has junk mail all over the place after Mayor Mafia Glasses read through them all."

Mail room huh? Well she didn't know who this Mayor mafia ..glasses?? was, but if it was the last room she needed to clean then she might as well get it all done. Then she could finally relax for the day. Walking over the yellow entrance, the children went back to their little game giggling. Great. This entrance looked small too, she'd probably have to crawl through there as well and drag the broom behind her like last time. Leaning down, she peeked inside....And fell backwards with a yell. Both girls flinched and looked up at her loud yell as Poppy stumbled before landing on her behind at the sight of two yellow glowing eyes and mouth smiling at her from the darkness. A high pitched raspy laugh rang out and two clawed hands reached out to grab the outside of the yellow tunnel, before the darkness pulled himself out smiling and revealing himself to be non other than the famous snatching ghost himself. Poppy's scared and confused face quickly turned to one of anger as she scowled.

"I should have known!"

"AHAHAHAHA!! You should've seen how utterly scared you looked! That's a feeling I never get tired of seeing any day," he rasped out and looked down smiling at her as Poppy stood up and dusted herself off. Giving him a scowl.

"So is THIS one of the pranks I heard about? Y'know for 'the most powerful ghost on this measly planet' that sure wasn't very impressive."

"HEY!" He scowled back and crossed his arms. "There's NOTHING wrong with a classic hide and go boo routine! Works almost a hundred percent of the time! And you're one to talk about not impressive work." He jabbed a claw over at the watching girls. "Playing and walking around when there's work to be done? That's not productive at all."

"We're already finished."

".........WHAT?!" It took him a few moments to register what she said but when he did his head snapped to her so fast she was afraid it was going to float off and faze through the wall. "You couldn't have cleaned an entire ship in one day?!"

"Well, to be fair we aren't all the way done." She pointed behind him with a deadpanned look. " We're waiting for Rumbi. An' I still need to go fix up whatever's up there and I need to hammer a plank of wood back in place upstairs since we found gold buried under it. Now excuse me." Snatcher gave off a confused noise when Poppy just pushed his tail aside and went back to peer back up into the yellow tunnel. She could see a light and some kind of papers floating around everywhere. "Hey! One of yall get me the broom and somethin' to catch a bunch of flying paper." Bow nodded dropping her toys in favor of running off to the kitchen as Poppy turned back to the tunnel and started crawling her way up it towards the light.

"You found what under what?!" Snatcher turned back as Poppy disappeared into the yellow tunnel. "H-HEY! Don't you know it's rude to walk away from your boss when he's talking to you about your contractual obligations!?" When he didn't get an answer he stuck his head in the tunnel entrance. "Yes? No? HELLO!! Why aren't you saying anything?!"

"Y'know, for a dead guy you sure have a loud mouth!," she called back smiling when she heard him sputter.

"WHAT?! The peck I'm not! You're the one ignoring me!" He floated through the walls after her snorting form.

"Maybe so but I think your bark is worse than your bite, Purple Onion! What are you doing here anyways? I thought ya were busy." Her face popped up out of the entrance just in time for it to get smacked by a very old envelope, to which she shook her head and got it off to gawk around. Papers were flying around alright, they were laying all over the place if they were flying about or in a big pile on the other side of the room. In the middle of the room was a desk with two pans on it. One was green and said IN and the other was red and said OUT. There was also a few pole blocker things in front of the desk like the ones around those metal table things she'd been seeing around. A small coffee table stood off to one side of the room with two blue seated cushioned seats, near the entrance was two metal deviders and a giant wooden dresser, and to her far left was a giant basket filled with more old letters, a fan, and a pale carpet stood under the desk. She gazed up hearing a snicker and Snatcher was there probably because of the letter smacking her face. Before giving a grunt when a piece of paper smacked him in the pace making her snort again. "Not so funny yourself Mr. Meany."

He swiped the letter off his face scowling and staring at her. "HEY! I'm not completely heartless you know. Every so often I steal letters from others and deliver them to my minions as if they were getting something. It helps lift their spirits so to speak. And to answer your question." He threw the paper away which fluttered to the ground. "I often come back and check on new employee's progress every few hours or so, this is no different. But I have to say I'm suprised with how reliant you were for this tack."

"Well I did have the two best helpers in the world." She smiled and finally got to stand up in the room looking around with a hum. "This one might be a little tricky, but can't be worse than a room of snow. And I still have to hammer that bourd back. Bow tugged it loose after that gold."

"Where the peck did you all get the gold? Im pretty sure I don't pay you until after the job is done, as I'm not legally obligated to pay for unfinished work."

"From the Roach King."

"The Roach what?!"

"Ask them if ya'll want some answers." She turned hearing some footsteps behind her and smiled seeing Bow in the entrance to the yellow hallway. A broom and dustpan in one hand and a trashbag in the other. "Well, why thank you honeybunch!" She reached over hand out for them and Bow handed them over.

"I couldn't find any nets, so I thought you could use the bag to catch them?"

Poppy smiled standing back up and looking over to the mail floating around and sighed. "Actually I think we'll be needing a lot more bags if we want to clear all this mess out." She pointed towards the giant pile of letters along the wall. "That spinny thing there is propellin' these here letters up and then they're blown all 'round the room makin' a mess. We'll have to just get rid of all this junk."

Bow scratched her head. "How? I don't think they'll all fit in the trashcan."

Poppy smiled and looked up towards Snatcher who after staring a couple seconds back to her finally got a sense of what she was thinking. "HEY! Just a pecking second here! You're not pawning them off on me!"

"I'm not. You can just take 'em and give them all to those precious lil helpers of yours can't ya?"

"Well...Yes. But who are you to decide what I DO with my time?"

"Oh c'mon. it'll be so sweet of ya." Her big blue eyes shined at him as she smiled up towards him. "Won't ya just help a gal out with this just once? You're other uh...'employees' would really get a hoot from it too-"

"OH ALRIGHT!!" He turned his head away. Anymore staring at her smile and he'd start feeling mushy which he hated. "But I expect YOU to get them all ready to go for me! Since Im not legally obligated to help with cleaning."

Poppy eagerly agreed and sent Bow back to grab more bags from her as she got to work picking up a few of the letters scattered about on the floor at her feet. Snatcher having nothing else to do at the moment decided to leave the mail room and fazed through the wall back into the control room in time to see Bow slam open the kitchen doors and run in. At the sight of her ghostly BFF, Hattie sprung up and bounded up to him. Chattering about how much of a good helper she had been and how she was STILL a better helper cu technically she was still cleaning....Well really Rumbi was the one sweeping away at the engine room but she put him there in the first place. And then when his yellow eyes looked over at all the random gold objects laying in a pile, he pointed a claw and asked about it. Her face lit up even more and she went on a long spree about how she found these mysterious notes in her room and then Poppy found a whole bunch more while cleaning and then they followed them up all the way to the attic. And then Hattie went on to tell him about how Bow busted open a plank of wood from the side of the staircase in the attic and it turns out there was gold in it! Speaking of Bow, she had burst back out of the kitchen sometime during her ramble and dragged a good number of black trash bags behind her disappearing into the yellow entrance most likely going to delivery them to Poppy. In the mean time Hattie told him all about how this roach stole her gold potion and turned all this stuff and the gold potion itself into gold. Holding up the objects one by one up to him. The cookie, the gear, the potion, and her most proud posession the gold castle which she beamed with happiness eager to show it off to him. If he was anyone else he would've called her reaction cute, but all it got was a small half smile from the ghost before the hatted child had the brilliant idea he should come and see the notes for himself. Eh...Why the peck not right? He had literally nothing else better to do while waiting on the cleaning duo up there, and he was sure Minion Number 47 could run the place for a little while longer in his absence. She WAS head of the manor staff when she was alive so she'd have no trouble giving orders to lots of people on a tight scheduale. He saw the notes alright, and this mysterious Roach King they were all talking about. The gold roach statue sat ontop of the papers he apparently left out for them to follow and Snatcher couldn't help but read through them all not that the child seemed to mind at all. She left in the middle of him reading through them, saying something about needing to check up on Rumbi but he didn't care. He was honestly surprised at the letters addressed to the girls, having such kind words to say about them both, but they weren't wrong either. In fact they were very accurate to their positive nature, but if he could add a few things it'd be childish, sassy, and a whole bunch of other things to describe them then just having a gold heart. As they were much more than a gold heart, but hey. The guy turned himself into gold. What was he supposed to expect from him? Placing the notes and gold statue of the roach wearing a crown, he decided it was about time he headed back and see what was up. Imagine his slight surprise when he popped his head through a wall and saw what looked like a large round black ball stuck in the entrance to the slide. Which gave way a moment later and tumbled to the floor revealing itself to be a full trashbag and Hattie tumbling after it landing on her stomach with a thud. The hatted child pushed her self up pushing the comically large hat off her face and scowling at the bag. Snatcher could only watch in amuzement as she rolled it over towards four other full trashbags near the control panel.

"Sheesh, Kid. That's a lot of mail," he commented.

"There's three more bags," Hattie groaned before hanging her arms and stomping her way way towards the slide entrance as yet another bag was having a hard time exiting. Most likely by Bow shove it. "Cleaning is so BORING! Why do I gotta do it?"

"You're not the only one, Kid. And by the sound of things, you've never would've found that gold if you didn't clean up," He pointed out just as Bow popped her head out as the bag shot out.

"Yeah. But now we found it and now it's boring!," she whined back heading to the slide.

"Aren't that robot and Poppy the ones who've done most of the work?"

"WE HELPED!!"

"Then you should have no problem helping her with one last teensy tiny room." He glanced at Bow running back with a smile on her face. "By the looks of things you're practically done already."

Hattie groaned but followed Bow back up the slide towards the mail room, followed by Snatcher who fazed through the wall after them. "Anyone ever tell you, you work too hard for you're own good," he asked popping his head just above the slide exit.

Poppy chuckled wiping down the desk before looking over her shoulder at him. "Lots of times. But I aim to please, and I learnt a long time ago that hard work comes good rewards." She watched the two girls dragging the last two bags away and smiled. The mail room didn't have to be that clean to be honest. There was barely even any dirt on the ground. A quick sweep, bag the useless mail, wipe down these tables, and she even dumped those blocker rod things in the empty giant basket over there outta the way. "The place is mighty fine looking without paper smackin' your face. I didn't know aliens had a mail room...Well to be honest I didn't know they could have a painting room or anything else either."

Something about that sentence made Snatcher freeze for a moment and stare at her. " You...saw the paintings?"

"Well....No. But Hattie told me she already had the place swept so it's already taken care of ain't it?"

"Would you like to see it?," he asked a small feeling of excitement bubbling from his chest.

"I would but I have the attic to fix don't I-" She jumped when Snatcher grabbed her arm and pulled her forward.

"That can wait! You're taking your once a day fifthteen minute break and coming with me. What's the point of living here if you don't see the entire complex?,'' he said with an almost cheery voice and looked down to the small girls pushing the last of the junk down the slide slowly. "Get good Kids! We have some real work to see!"

At one point, Hattie fed up with everything took a few steps back, before tackling the bags and Bow along with them. They all unstuck pretty quickly tumbling down into the control room with the kids landing all in one giant heap on the ground. Well ....That certainly did the trick didn't it? Snatcher seemed to be please as he tugged Poppy along and only stopped when she yanked her hand out of his grasp. He froze as she gave him a stern look for a couple seconds, before willingly going down the slide entrance herself. Oh if only he could punch himself for that. Poppy emerged a moment later in the control room and glanced up at Snatcher with narrowed eyes.

"I understand you're excited, but trying to yank me through a wall isn't an option. I would've bashed my head into that wall there!" Those yellow eyes glanced to the wall for a moment seeming to register what she was getting at. Oh. Right. Walls and humans don't really mix all too well huh? "Now don't you go doin' that again."

"Uh....Sure."

.....She gave a small smile again. "There. That wasn't too hard was it? Now whatcha going on about paintings for?"

"The painting room?" Hattie struggled out of the small pile her and Bow were in with protests from Bow but managed to squeeze out of there and up towards her dusting herself off and up to them. "I can show you! It's right by the engine room through the green do-"

"Whoa! Hey! That's MY thunder you're stealing kid!" A giant purple claw gently grabbed Hattie around the waist and pulled her back as the giant ghost leaned down to give her a look. "You have you're fun and now it's my shot. Don't be a rude little lady." Hattie gave a small pout and huff but didn't say anything else much to his delight as he put her down and patted the top of her hat before turning back to Poppy. "Well that seals that deal! Why don't we just go see those paintings?" he pointed towards the engine room door. "Trust me when I say this is the best part of the breaking experience."

"I reckon I don't have a say so to your looney persistance don't I?," she asked smiling at him but slowly followed behind none the less.

"NOPE!!"

A feeling of excitement welled up in him again as he smiled and shot through the wall faster than a bullet in one dark purple blur. Making her blink and shake her head. Well....She really ought to see the entirety of this ship then shouldn't she? One last room wasn't gonna hurt her. Leaving the girls to bicker over whatever little girls bickered over she followed right after the ghost through the tunnels. A moment later she saw himself sticking out of the walls of grinding gears above a green doorway and gestured for her to follow as he ducked back into the wall. And of course, she followed, side stepping Rumbi who was still sweeping around, wanting to see what he was so excited over. The hallway there was a little darker than the others but there was enough light for her to see that it also was littered with excellent gear designs but this time it was a very dark green. These aliens must be very rich to afford a weaver to make such excellent carpets. When the door opened on the other side oh boy she was in for another surprise.

"There you are!," Snatcher called from the ceiling below with a smile. That ghostly hair n fluff of his hanging down towards the floor as he grinned. "Took you long enough! Get in here and see what you've been missing!''

She did so and was thankful the room despite being small was big enough for her to stand in, it had red flooring and a green plain carpet running it's length. At one corner of the small room she saw yet another metal table thing with these 'relics' as Hattie had called them. This one was a UFO mobile and under it attached by strings were three cows that looked the same but were different. One wore glasses and a tin foil hat, one wore just green sunglasses, and the other one didn't wear anything and looked totally normal. But it wasn't that that caught the attention of the red head. PAINTINGS!! There were paintings of different sizes, lengths, and styles that she had never seen before. She gawked at the meer sight of them all looking at each wall slowly taking it all in. At the very back wall was the fist thing she saw when she crawled in and her eyes lazer pointed on the largest of the six paintings that were on it. Why..It was Hattie herself! She looked might sweet standing in a field holding her umbrella open, her yellow cap and hair blowing in the breeze. If she hadn't known better she thought the painting would've giggled at her funny expression. Next to that one was a city shrouded by night, the only lights coming from the windows on the tail buildings and the cresent moon painted under it. The one directly under it was a bit strange. It was the face of a gold tribal man on a grey background and he wore pure black glasses. How odd. The other three were realitively small compared to those three. One being a close up of a plant's green leaves, a baby crow leaning against a wall next to toy blocks, and a pretty forest landscape. She could see a few trees and mountains in the distance of it. Turning her head to the right, Poppy noticed the right wall had only five. The tiny rectangle one in the top corner of the right wall was a burly looking man riding on top of a ...giant slab of meat? Below that was a picture of Hattie's face. Well, four pictures of Hattie all looking alike but with different color pastels. The entire square painting was divided into four smaller squares and each one had a Hattie of a different color tone. How strange. Then there was a giant portrait of a man with a mustache and beard. He wore a red suit that looked quite expensive. And next to that was two others, one was a black background with nothing but red thorny vines painted on it, and the other was a bit more stranges. It was divided into three background colors (red, green, and yellow) and had a bubble with different items in each. One was a heart, another a giant green diamond, and what looked to be a small king's crown.

"What do you think of work?," Snatcher asked proudly crossing his arms and looking pleased with himself.

Poppy leaned to the right wall and gently laid her hand on the frame of the red suited man in wide eyed wonder....before turning to him. "YOU painted all of these?" she asked gawking at him.

His smile widened more smug if that was possible. "Yep. And those." He pointed to the left wall wear there was five giant paintings behind the space cow mobile. He then pointed behind her. "And the ones right behind you."

Poppy looked behind her and took a few steps back from the doorway she had crawled in from to look at the six painting hanging above the doorway. Two were big. One was of two burly men who looked exactly alike and they looked to be farming folk like her parents were, the other one was of the famous Snatcher himself, with some king of background she didn't recognize. Maybe a bridge? He was in the middle holding his face in what looked like a very shocked expression. The others weren't grand scale but interesting anyways. Three of them were again Hattie but one looked more like a sketch that had her with double arms and legs. How bizarre. The one of Hattie next to it was her from her shoulders up but wearing a strange mask. It was green and red with black polka dots. The one of Hattie above those two was a much more normal one. It was of Hattie sitting down with her hands in her lap and behind her was a BEAUTIFUL background of mountains, a wide lake, and forest. The last one in the corner was another strange one. It was the man in the red suit again sitting on a throne, and a whole bunch of the burly men who looked a like bowing to him as if he was a king.

"These are...A-AMAZING!!"

She looked over to the last wall which had the biggest paintings on it. The strangest one was also the biggest. What looked like some desert landscape with a single dead tree and melting hour glasses all over it. Above that was another one of you guessed it, Hattie. In outerspace wearing an astronaut suit and connected to her spaceship. She looked so cartoony and adorable! A red boat sailing alone on a stormy sea, she could almost smell the sea air. One of the smaller large ones was just a beige background and just Hattie umbrella painted on it. And the the very last one was an abstract orange portrait of some man wearing sunglasses and a flower shirt. Snatcher however was looking VERY pleased at all the praise he was getting stroking his already huge ego as the smiling red read looked back to him with a wide smile.

"I can't believe you painted all of these!"

"Well you better, Red. Because I'm taking full credit for what you see." He 'polished' his claws against his neck fluff and examined them. "I don't usually do it, but sometimes if I'm bored and don't have a new supply of books to read I'll start on one and work on it a bit at a time. One of my lesser known talents." He then pointed at the room around him. "Couldn't really have these in the forest. Too many ways they could be damaged, so here was more ideal."

"I can see why." She turned her gaze around the room again before giggling and giving him an almost smug look. "Ya'll must really adore that little girl. There's six paintins' with her sweet lil face on 'em. But strangely I see none with the other one."

He paused for a moment looking at her...before coughing and looking away embarrased. "Well. Yes. I'm proud of them. In a way.....But we learnt the hard way the kiddo was allergic to paint and she wasn't too fond of the idea of her being painted."

Poppy guessed he was referring to Bow and hummed. "Poor thing. I can understand how that feels. But still." Her smile became all the more loving to him. "You have acceptional talent for this king of stuff. I reckon now I can say I was abducted by aliens and saw paintings by ghost. Hehe!"

He felt a warm feeling bubble up at the giggle but he cleared his throat and looked away again crossing his arms. "A-Alright! W-Well I think your legal fifthteen minute break is over, Red. Didn't you have something else to do today?"

"OH RIGHT!! The attic. I wonder if that girl has a hammer and nails?"

"Pretty sure she does since she literally has everything around her-......" He stopped midway through his rant and stared at her. Or more acturrately the bottom of her dress with all the rips and hole in it and pointed it out to her. "What the peck happened to you?"

She blinked and looked down to where he was pointing. "Oh. This? I think I got it all ripped up crashlandin' through those trees."

"You look like a homeless maid wearing that." He grunt and rolled his eyes. "Guess I'll have to fix that too."

Her red brow rose in surprise. "You sew too?"

"Of course I can! I made the kids all those clothes and my minions their highly durable bodies." His hand proudly pointed to himself. "I happen to be a powerful being with unlimited hidden talents." ..........Poppy's face suddenly turned into one of amuzement and she snorted again hand shooting to her mouth while the other went to her gut to try and hide the laughter. Which Snatcher flabbergasterdly got angry at. "WHAT'S WITH THAT LAUGHING!? WHAT?! YOU DON'T THINK MEN CAN SEW!? THAT'S LOW COMING FROM YOU!!" She snorted again sounding like a pig doubling over a bit and smiling wider behind her hand making Snatcher give a small growl. "HEY!! DON'T LAUGH AT ME YOU DOTTED FACE!! IM THE SNATCHER!! KING OF SUBCON AND TAKER OF SOULS!!"

She snorted again and in a strained voice said. "Oh yes. *Wheeze* T-The great and horrible monster ghost. Daddy of aliens, Painter of...HMHM! HAHA!! D-Daughters. And tailor of dresses."

Snatcher let out the biggest flustered peacock sqawk she'd ever heard and she lost it. Doubling over onto her knees, both hands gripping her sides as she leaned over and laughed hard, snorting a few times. Snatcher's cheeks lit up with a bright yellow flush and his fluff floofed out of embarrassment as he just kinda sputtered and stared at the laughing woman on the floor at a loss for words. Eventually forcing something out.

"OH YEAH!! W-WELL YOU LOOK LIKE A POOR MAID!! JUST-.....GO CHANGE OUTTA THAT RUINED DRESS BY THE TIME I LEAVE IF YOU WANT IT FIXED!! A-AND GO FIX THAT STUPID ATTIC AS PUNISHMENT!!"

He dissappeared back up into the ceiling leaving the wheezing and laughing woman hugging her sides through her laughing fit. Coughing when she couldn't get enough air. Oh boy. Was he gonna be sour for a while.

#Snatcher

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heslikeaboyiveneverseen · 4 years

Text

No one is you and that is your power

Autumn killed summer with the softest kiss

We haven’t spoke since you went away | Comfortable silence is so overrated

Sounds like something that I used to feel

Lover what’s your next move?

Give me your number, pick any colour, I can tell your fortune tonight

Be my mirror, my sword and shield

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

I’m your wreck

Ain’t no shame in some hand me downs

Just a comma in a decimal town anyway

The Black clouds hanging above you will follow me tonight

If it’s good it never goes away

Comparison is the thief of joy

It’s just a super cut of us

This sunflowers waiting for you

Baby you were my picket fence

Just need you and some sunsets

Fine as wine

I like my coffee how I like myself; strong, sweet and too hot for you

Don’t be bitter, just be better

They say you lose time asleep but I’m just tryna dream

Enjoy the best things in your life

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:34

“Find someone who loves you well. Someone who never belittles you. Even in the heat of an argument. Someone who is gentle with you, but does not treat you like you are fragile. Someone who knows what you are capable of, and celebrates those pieces of you. Not someone who is intimidated by your strength. Someone who doesn’t make you feel guilty for being flawed. It is not love’s job to punish you. And remember the person you love is just as broken as you are when they fall short. No one is perfect – do not hold them to this standard. Find someone who is patient, forgiving, and apologetic. Someone who practices forgiveness freely and often. Love someone who is humble, kind, and empathetic. Not only with you, but with a beggar on the street, or a stranger in the supermarket. Common courtesy is important. Compassion is important. Kindness is important.”

My bones are too brittle to survive your love

Times are tough but I’m tougher

I’ll be fine

Study the painful patterns in your life then don’t repeat them

Never apologize for how you feel. No one can control how they feel. The sun doesn’t apologize for shining. The rain doesn’t say sorry for falling. Feelings just are

“Songs to listen to while you reflect on every awful decision you have ever made throughout your horrible life”

“Life is too short to waste any amount of time on wondering what other people think about you. In the first place, if they had better things going on in their lives, they wouldn’t have the time to sit around and talk about you. What’s important to me is not others’ opinions of me, but what’s important to me is my opinion of myself.”

C.JoyBell C

Definitely ≠ defiantly

Take chances take risks prosper

Visions of you maroon 5

Remember I told you I need you nick Jonas

The past is a place of reference not residence

Like I do David guetta

Best friend sofi tukker

So some days are just filler episodes. On Sunday, you feel a lot, but you don’t go anywhere. From the bed, to the fridge, to the couch, to toilet, to the sink, to the bed. Strips of light turn to strips of black between the blinds, and that’s the only way you know that the world is moving. You might even have a string of days like this one, where you can’t find meaning between the rise and fall of your breathing. It’s really nobody’s fault. All that I can tell you is: don’t close your heart to what comes next. In what other world do you get thousands of chances to discover yourself? Maybe on Monday, you’ll find some answers. Maybe on Tuesday, the pain will subside. Some days are just for getting through and getting by.

The egg don’t swim to the sperm bitch, never chase a man

I was an atheist until I reaLized I was god

What I want: money

What I got: a personality disorder

At least I have multiple disorders so they never get lonely

I have the same taste in wine as I do people, cheap and pretty tucking shitty

Get you a straw, you know this pussy is juicy

It would not be much of a universe if it wasn’t home to the people you love

And then some

To sink into myself courageously, electrically

Standing trial for your sins

Call me a safe bet, I’m betting I’m not

There is nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood

Just because you are soft does not mean you are not a force to be reckoned with, both honey and wildfire are the color of gold

When I look at the universe I feel large, because I remind myself that not only are we living in this universe, the universe is living within us

Don’t hate your body because it’s too fat or too thin. Hate it because it’s a prison of flesh and it’s existence is meaningless

“Many of us have been running all our lives. We have the feeling that we need to run—into the future, away from the past, out from wherever we are. In truth, we don’t need to go anywhere. We just need to sit down and look deeply to discover that the whole cosmos is right here within us.”a

We are products of our pass but we don’t have to be prisoners of it

Illenium drawl outta love

If nothing lasts forever can I be your nothing?

When you’re in a dark place, you sometimes tend to think you’ve been buried. Perhaps you’ve been planted.

Unique

Baby I’m howling for you

I think us bad bitches is a gift from god

Pussy so good I said my own name during sex

Now now / half noise

“I hate cats” Yo dude i trusted you wtf the fuck? What the fuck?? What the fuck what the

I love the way you stay away from me, you make me melt

Only got each other we can turn to

Lying here, I know they’ll never break you free

Sometimes you have to burn some bridges to create some distance

Be your main girl

Now you’re seeing black and white, so I’ll paint you a clear blue sky 🎨

What’s the deal with young chickens?

My little girl Tim McGraw

Aka the independent variable

Let it pass; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.

I’m a creature of a culture I create

You don’t know my brain the way you know my name, you don’t know my heart the way you know my face

We live for the nights decor

I’m never what I like, I’m double sided

A car, a torch, a death

Friend, please

So good

Britney Spears g eazy

We were going and wild and decided not to have a child

Teach me how to be like you so I can not give a fuck

I’m a sucker for the way that you move babe

Don’t dismiss the elements. Water soothes and heals. Air refreshes and revives. Earth grounds and holds. Fire is a burning reminder of our own will and creative power. Swallow their spells. There’s a certain sweet comfort in knowing that you belong to them all.

Can’t promise that things won’t be broken but I swear that I will never leave

No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.

I would love to say that you make me weak in the knees but to be quite upfront and completely truthful you make my body forget it has knees at all.

ur purpose on this earth isn’t to be liked by everyone why would u waste ur time trying to live such a restrictive existence trying to impress everyone like who really gives a fuck

What you seek lies far beyond this comfortable place

Close some doors today. Not because of pride, incapacity, or arrogance, but simply because they lead you nowhere.

No mighty oak grew tall all on her own, she called on the winds to carry her seed, the rich earth to settle her roots and the sun and rains to make her strong. Do not be ashamed to reach out for help, this is how all great things are grown.

Shits all fucked up: a memoir

So sad, so strange. The days that are no more

Close some doors today. Not because of pride, incapacity, or arrogance, but simply because they lead you nowhere.

You are too full of everything that makes you whole to ever be loved in halves

#pen

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redhoodieone · 5 years

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Don’t Tell Me Part 5

A/N: Okay, so here is part 5. Sorry this chapter is kind of short, but I felt like I needed to show how Bruce really feels about the whole situation with Jason, Y/N, and Tim. Now the question is: can Jason ever redeem himself? How you enjoy some angst and a lot of feelings! Lol!

Warnings: Well, language and confessions, really. But the next chapter will not be this clean though.

Jason knew his world was over when he saw the video clip of Y/N, lying on the hospital bed passed out, injured horribly because of him. He was still feeling uneasy about watching the Joker eating those robin’s eggs just to prove his sick point, as well. Of all the ways Joker could have gotten to him, he just had to choose the way where Jason wants nothing more than to finally put the Joker down underground with his spine ripped out and his head full of lead.

The image in his mind made Jason feel almost helpful that he could find Y/N, and save her and their child. But he knew he had to remain focused. Oracle, Nightwing, and Robin were busy attempting to find Y/N, Tim, and the Joker on the Bat-computer, while Red Hood and Batman were on top of Ace Chemicals, just waiting for anything, any sign. The silence between them is worse than Bruce screaming at him, Jason believes. Jason couldn’t remember a time where Bruce was never disappointed in him. He couldn’t figure out which was worse: Bruce’s disappointment in him, or Bruce being at a loss for words. Jason suddenly wishes Bruce wasn’t there with him so he could rip apart every building and warehouse to find them himself. But no...Bruce believes in strategies, and to always be a hundred steps ahead of everyone and everything. Just like Tim Drake. “You’re disappointed in me.” Jason’s words slightly surprise Bruce, even if he doesn’t move a muscle or change his usual serious expression. Batman sighs and relaxes his tensed body. “Why would you think that?”

“Let’s see…you’ve been disappointed in me since the day you met me. Remember how you and Alfred would have ‘little’ meetings in the cave, when you both thought I was already asleep in my bed? Come on Bruce, I was a little shithead back then and I’m still one now. I’m not fucking stupid, and I know for a fact you both thought I was too angry and too stubborn to see when I was crossing the line when you and I would fight alongside as partners. Fuck Bruce…” Jason says, shaking his head at his past mistakes. If only Bruce could see how Jason feels. “I’m the biggest asshole in the world, and you know what? After everything I have done so far, I honestly think when I die again, well permanently die I should say, I’ll definitely go back to hell and stay there for…eternity, I guess. I’ll be assigned to work with the devil, or until I take over his job because let’s face it…I’ll never be able to redeem myself ever again.”

Bruce smirks beside him. Jason glances over with a questioning look. “Don’t you think you’re punishing yourself a little harsh right now?” he asks, seriously.

“You don’t get it, Bruce. I slept with Tim’s girlfriend. I fucked Y/N, and I got her pregnant. And to top it off…I…fucking love her. I’m in love with her, and-and I feel like it’s all my fault.”

“How would this entire problem be your fault?”

“Because I knew Tim loved her, and I still did what I did because I couldn’t help but give into my feelings,” Jason admits softly, before kicking an empty soda can off the edge. “Fuck feelings and fuck everything! If I didn’t feel anything, none of this would have happened!”

“Even if you didn’t have feelings, something bad would always happen. You can’t blame yourself for things happening, when they’re not in your control,” Bruce replies, as calmly as he can.

“Y/N changed me…and I wish she didn’t…” Jason confesses quietly. “I wish I was the same, selfish, asshole who only cared about himself and did things his way. Life seemed better and easier back then. Couldn’t life stay that way and-”

“But something tells me you don’t mean any of that,” Bruce interrupts. He faces his son, and he gives him the look that he’s done hearing guilt, pity, and complaints. “It’s okay to have feelings. Even if I…have my own set of issues with feelings, I’ve come to see feelings are what keeps people going. And I know Y/N changed you, I knew since the first time she became a part in our family. I saw the way you would light up by just seeing her or being close to her. It’s okay to feel that way because sometimes, life likes to give back to those who deserve to feel love and to be loved. Even when we do or don’t get to choose who we’re attached to, it’s always a pleasant feeling to know that you matter to them and they matter to you. And as for mistakes, you’re not the only one who has made terrible mistakes, Jason.”

Jason scoffs sarcastically. “As if you, the almighty Batman has fucked up once or twice in his life. You have practically lived your life as a good boy and a kind gentleman raised by Alfred.”

“No, no I never had a guilt-free or pure life, Jason. I…was an awful child after my parents died. I rebelled against Alfred many times. I partied at just fourteen-years-old, drank as much as I could, fucked many easy women who just wanted to fuck me because I was rich, and I wasted so much money on shit I never needed,” Bruce reveals, with a small smile. He must think back and laugh at his wild antics, because everyone who knows Bruce now wouldn’t believe any word he’s saying. “I actually lived up to the playboy reputation, which is something I still have to continue to protect my secrets and my family. I…have done some dirty, fucked up shit, Jason. I even tried to sleep with Lois Lane, just to get back at Superman for fucks sake. Hell, even I cheated on women, and I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but I have actually fucked half or…more women in the league, and do you know why? Because I can, and that power has stuck with me ever since. But let me tell you this, and please…please believe me when I say it. I know for a fact that you’re not the bad guy you make yourself out to be. I know you have never done anything awful or hurtful to women, and I respect you for that. I respect how you still care about Y/N, even when its clear sex wasn’t the only reason you stuck around. I know for a fact that Y/N means the world to you, and I admire that. While I can disagree and be angry with how she cheated on Tim, I have to confess that you loving someone other than yourself just shows how at the end of the day, you don’t disappoint me like you think you do.”

Jason exhales deeply and lowers his head down. He focuses on the passing cars, lit up signs and buildings, and the cloudy sky that shows it’s going to rain soon.

“But can’t you just agree with me when I say I can’t be a father? How can me, a fucking, angry zombie, be a father to a child who could or couldn’t be like me?” Jason breaks down. His voice breaks, and the tears fall. “If I can’t get my shit together, what makes you think I can raise someone better than me?”

Bruce, realizing Jason needs him more than ever, embraces him. Jason knew Bruce despised hugs while in his Batman costume, but the hug is what keeps Jason from breaking down anymore. “If anything, you’ll be the best father you can be, Jason. After everything that’s built you, destroyed you, and remade you to who you are, you’re destined to raise, protect, and love a child, and to love someone who loves you back. You’re going to be the best father you can be, because deep down, I believe all my sons, even Damian, want to be happy and have families. Believe me, Jason. After everything that’s happened to you, you deserve a happy ending more than anything,” Bruce discloses.

“Tim will never forgive me,” Jason whispers, the pain in his voice is clear to his father. He puts his helmet back on. “Now how am I supposed to live with myself knowing that?”

Bruce pats Jason’s shoulder. Jason tries to keep more tears in his eyes, so he won’t cry again. “You give yourself time. Tim gives you time. Time will heal you both and will make you better men.”

A gush of wind above them alerts them. Batman and Red Hood get into their fighting stances, until strong, heavy feet land before them. Red Hood looks up after he regains his focus, and sees Superman standing in front of them, with an angry scowl on his face.

“Martian Manhunter was found just outside of Gotham. He’s severely injured, and he has informed me that Joker and Scarecrow are working with Tim. They plan to keep Y/N there until she gives birth,” Superman notifies Batman.

“No…” Red Hood whispers. The fear, the rage, and determination to stop this is stronger than ever.

“Did he say where they’re located now?” Batman asks.

Superman nods his head. “You won’t believe me if I tell you, but they’re at Joker’s Playground,” he hesitates to admit.

“And why wouldn’t I believe that?” Batman asks.

“Because…they’re recreating the same mental and physical torture that Tim went through as Robin, and this time, it’s Y/N.”

“Tim was tortured for three weeks, so whatever damage that has happened Y/N can be cured, right?!” Red Hood demands at Batman.

Batman growls under his breath. While Superman and Red Hood wait for Batman to gather his thoughts together, he looks at them with dread in his eyes. “If Scarecrow’s involved with the Joker, then this situation has just worsened. If we don’t stop them now, we’ll lose Tim and Y/N…forever.”

#dc comics #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #batman #superman #jason todd

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mentalmimosa · 5 years

Text

no room left for doubt

That he invites Clark at all is a surprise; that Clark shows up bearing gifts and balancing several pies, somehow, is not.

“Hi,” he says when Bruce meets him in the hall, divested of gifts by the kids and the pies by a very chuffed Alfred. “Merry Christmas.”

There’s a shyness to him, a sort of sweetness, that even out in the open, in sunlight instead of shadow, Bruce finds damned hard to resist. So there’s a kiss.

“You look nice.” Clark nuzzles his cheek. “Mmmm, smell nice, too.”

“Kent.” The word comes out more breathless than he’d like.

“What?” A blink of blue eyes, a thoroughly innocent grin. “You do. That’s just plain fact. I’m only telling it like it is.”

Bruce kisses him again because it’s easier than arguing and Clark holds him close, sighs when he slips a hand inside of Clark’s jacket and scratches at his back. And Clark is easy, Clark is caramel, because his mouth melts at the touch of Bruce’s tongue and he groans just a little, just enough for Bruce to remember that they’re not behind the solid lock of his bedroom door, or even in the depths of the cave: they’re out here in the open, in the heart of Bruce’s house, with prying eyes only an arm’s length away.

“Behave yourself,” he says in Clark’s ear, as much to himself as to Clark. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Clark’s expression is gorgeous, trapped between arousal and exasperation and a shaded face of affection. “Huh. You greet all your guests like this, Bruce?”

Bruce grins and lets him go. “Only the ones I don’t like.”

In the library, there’s a fire in the grate and a tree a mile high. Dick is knee deep in the eggnog and Tim’s singing along to Bing Crosby and Damian’s hanging upside down from the book ladder, twirling batarangs and swaying in time to the music, his face the same scarlet as his sweater. All in all, a rare kind of peace.

“Mr. Kent!” Tim calls when they push through the doors. “We thought you got lost.”

“No, we didn’t,” Damian says, pitching his voice over Bing. “We thought Bruce took you upstairs to--”

“Damian!” Dick barks.

The kid scowls at him, upside down cross-eyed. “What? You’re the one who said it.”

Now Bruce’s cheeks are red and he kind of wants to sink through the floor even though Clark is smiling at the whole scene, a big beam that refuses to dim as the bickering kicks up in pitch.

“See?” Clark says, sotto voce. “This is why I always wanted siblings.”

“Hmph. This is why I’m glad I’m an only child.”

“Hmm, maybe. But you’re a heck of a dad.” A squeeze of his fingers, a shout. “Hey! Fellas, is that eggnog? I love that stuff. Think I could have a cup?”

The boys freeze in mid-tussel, Tim caught between Damian’s fists and Dick’s snarl. “Um,” Tim says. “Of course you can. Sure. You can have a whole glass. Dick’s the only one that likes it.”

“Yeah, because it’s gross,” Damian declares. He flips out of Tim’s grip and onto his feet. “Eggs and milky stuff? Yuck.”

“Hmm,” Clark says. “Have I ever told you about the first time I tried eggnog? Well, the first time that I ever tried to make it, actually?”

It’s so obvious a turn, an attempt to redirect, that Bruce rolls his eyes; Clark’s got a lot to learn about kids.

Except Damian doesn’t turn away with a sneer like he would’ve if Bruce had tried something that corny. Instead, he tilts his head and squints. “Were you making it as a weapon? I can see how that might be effective.”

“Ah, no.”

“Was it a thing in your family?” Dick asks. “A tradition, I mean?”

Clark laughs, a sound that lights up the room. “No. Definitely not.”

“Did you have a ton of eggs you needed to get rid of?” Tim settles on the rug in front of the fire, his legs folded neatly beneath. “You grew up on a farm, right?”

“I did,” Clark says, taking a seat on the rose-colored settee next to Dick. “And we did have a lot of chickens, but no, that wasn’t why, either.”

Damian slips his batarangs into his belt--yes, he’s wearing his utility belt with his dress pants and Christmas sweater, so be it--and crosses his arms, leans his hip against the nearest wingback. “So, why then?”

Clark settles back. “Well,” he says, “it started with a visit from some friends. Some folks who’d become friends, that is. At the time, I’d never met them before until they showed up at our front door.”

Ten minutes and one Legion of Super-Heroes later, the boys are leaning towards him, following his every work and laughing at every aw shucks joke. Damian’s even sitting in a chair rather than on it. It’s some kind of weird Christmas miracle, one that’s still holding when Alfred comes to the door and calls them to lunch.

“So they really don’t have chickens in the 31st century?” Damian asks, scooting along at Clark’s side.

“Apparently not.”

“Huh.” Bruce can see the gears in the kid’s head turning. “Interesting.”

“You realize,” Bruce says as Damian zips ahead and starts yammering at Tim, “that he’s going to obsess about that for a week.”

Clark laughs. “Only a week? Darn it. I was aiming for two, at least.”

At the table, Dick says grace and Alfred passes plates, watching eagle-eyed to make sure there’s plenty.

“Master Damian,” he says, “let’s take as many yams as we do marshmallows, yes? And Master Dick, the gravy boat is just there, on your right. And yes, Master Tim, the brussels sprout casserole is vegan, as you requested; I omitted the fish oil this time.”

Bruce chuckles, nudges Clark in the shoulder. “He’s more a mother hen than I’ll ever be.”

“Master Bruce,” Alfred calls, “there are more rolls down this end. Would you like some?”

Clark squeezes his knee under the table and laughs. “You were saying, Master Bruce?”

“Oh, see if you get an extra roll now, Mr. Kent.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Wayne?”

“You better believe it is, Supes.”

There’s a burst of snickers from across the table. “Oh, man,” Tim says. “You guys are adorable.”

“Blech,” Damian says through a mouthful of potatoes. “They’re even grosser than you and Barbara, Dick.”

Dick gives up a big, mournful sigh. “One day you’ll be in love, brat, and you won’t think it’s so gross.” His hand goes to his phone, half-buried under his salad plate. “But maybe I should try her again, though. She’s probably at her dad’s now, anyway. I should--”

“After lunch,” Bruce says. “You can call her then.”

“After lunch is presents!”

“You’ve waited this long, D,” Tim says. “Ten more minutes won’t hurt.”

“But it won’t be ten minutes! They’ll talk for hours!”

“Master Damian, no knives at the table.”

“No phones either, but Dick has his!”

“We could sneak out,” Bruce says in Clark’s ear. “I honestly don’t think that they’d notice.”

Clark’s mouth turns up. “Sneak out? Why, Mr. Wayne. Why on earth would we do that?”

“So I could take you upstairs. And you could unwrap your present.”

“My present, huh?” Two fingers on the inside of his thigh, a slow, insolent stroke. “You mean it isn’t under the tree?”

“It can be. Later. If you have a thing for pine needles.”

“I have a thing for you.” Those two fingers slide higher. “But I’m pretty sure that you know that. Hence you trying to lure me away.”

“Me?” Bruce has to swallow, has to fight the urge to tip his hips up. “Lure you? Never.”

A smile, a full-on shot of blue, amused eyes. “Good. Because I want the whole Wayne family Christmas experience before I get anywhere near your cock.”

Bruce chokes. “Before you--?”

“Presents!” Damian yells, his voice like a razor-edged gong. “It’s time to open presents, guys! Alfred says!”

“I hate you,” Bruce murmurs as the gang gets up and turns away from the table in an Alfred-led melee. “Sometimes, I really, really hate you, Kent.”

Clark leans over and drags their mouths together, pets the swell in Bruce’s trousers. “You love me,” he says. “That’s what makes this hard.”

“No, pretty sure that’s you doing that.”

Clark laughs. “Come on. Let’s go see what Santa’s brought.”

Tim insists they take turns opening gifts and it makes Damian crazy. Which Bruce figures is sort of the point.

“Fine!” Damian shouts when it’s clear he’s been overruled. “But I get to go first.”

Soon enough, there’s paper everywhere, ribbons and tissue paper caught in the boys’ hair and snagged in the arms of the tree. Clark appoints himself Santa/referee.

“Ok,” he says, diving into the pile. “Remind me, guys--who’s next?”

Alfred gets a new sous vide machine, the one he’s been waxing about for a month, and reaches out to hug each of the boys in turn.

“Dick picked it out,” Damian says, but he takes the hug anyway, his fierce little face disappearing for a moment against Alfred’s bony shoulder.

“Damian tried to break it,” Dick says with a laugh, squeezing Alfred tight. “But I double-taped the box.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Tim says, a big smile and a bigger embrace.

“Of course I do,” Alfred says, his gray eyes going wet. “Thank you, boys. Thank you.”

Dick gets a new laptop and Tim a leather-bound set of Holmes collections and Damian a set of Choose Your Own Adventure books and a new throwing knife set.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Bruce?” Dick says, draping himself over the back of the couch. “I mean, no offense, but the kid’s got enough blades, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but this come with a caveat. Don’t they, D?”

Damian’s frowning at a piece of paper. “This says I can only use them with Ms. Lance. What’s that mean?”

“It means," Bruce says, "that Dinah’s going to teach you how to throw them like she does. In a balanced and more practiced way.”

That gets him a look like could melt glass. “Ugh. Why? I already know how to throw.”

“Because adding different techniques to your repertoire makes you harder to fight. When you can mix things up, diversify your approach, you can throw your opponents off balance faster. Gives you a big advantage.”

Damian blinks. “Huh. Really?”

“Really. But she won’t go easy on you. I’ve asked her not to.”

A wicked grin kicks over the kid’s face. “Good.”

Bruce laughs. “Yeah, I thought you’d like that.”

“Does this mean Ms. Lance will be coming here?” Tim asks. “To the house? Like, um, a lot?”

“Most likely, yes.”

A different kind of smile blooms on Tim’s face, dreamy and pleased. “Oh, wow. Wow. That’s--that sounds great.”

“Huh,” Damian says. He stares at Tim, suspicious. “She’s coming to train me, not you. You can’t butt in, can he, Bruce?”

Bruce gets a look at Clark’s face which is a gigantic mistake; it takes all he has not to laugh. “No, he can’t, D.”

Damian smacks Tim on the arm, doesn’t at all dislodge that big, dreamy grin. “There,” the kid says haughty. “See? Get your own present, Drake.”

“Oh,” Dick says with a snort, “I think he just has.”

The last box in the stack, when all is said and opened and done, is for Bruce from Clark. It’s small. Doesn’t weigh anything. The boys all crowd around the back of the couch and even Alfred tips forward, peering eagerly around his tea. Only Clark, still seated at Bruce’s feet, doesn’t watch.

He tears at the paper carefully, working his way from end to end, and then unwraps it with a turn of his wrist. It’s a smooth black box with a lid that flips up; there’s something shiny inside.

“Is that supposed to be a bat?”

Bruce hears a whump behind his head. “Shut up, D,” Dick says. “Of course it is.”

It’s heavier than it looks, delicate, and the metal isn’t one that Bruce knows. It’s warm and strong, this charm, cut indeed into the sign of a bat.

“It’s Kryptonian metal,” Clark says, his cheek pressed now to Bruce’s knee. “I’m not sure what the name of it is, exactly, but it’s what the ship that brought me here was made of. The one my parents built. This is, uh--I cut this from that.”

A ripple goes through the room.

“You made this?” Bruce says. He traces the tiny points of the wings, the sharp rise of the ears.

“Yeah. That’s why it’s a little off. I couldn’t get the proportions quite right.”

There’s something in Bruce’s throat, a catch, a sweet little scratch. He swallows around it, makes himself speak. “Clark, it’s beautiful.”

Those bright eyes find his. “Really? You like it?”

“Ugh,” Bruce says, and then he’s leaning down, pitching forward, kissing Superman in front of his family, the open windows, the world. “I love it.”

“I thought you could wear it under your suit, if you wanted. There’s a chain in there, too.”

Bruce squeezes the back of Clark’s neck, gentle and fierce. “Yes. I will. I’d love to. I love you.”

Clark makes a soft sound, sweet and unbearably hot. “Funny. I love you, too.”

They kiss again and grin and when they part, there’s one last second of silence, one last beat of something special in the air.

“Ok,” Damian says, definitive, “enough Christmas. Now can I play with my knives?”

“No,” Alfred says, patting his eyes with a handkerchief. “Not until at the very least we’ve picked up this mess.”

Later, when the house is quiet and the fire’s dampened, Clark draws the charm from the box and fastens the chain around Bruce’s bare neck, traces the place where the metal hangs heavy and solid at the edge of his heart.

“You look--” Clark says, his eyes hooded, his fingers dragging down Bruce’s ribs. “Oh, Maker, Bruce, you look like--”

Bruce reaches for him, pulls them together, skin to skin. “Like what?”

Clark groans in his ear. “You look like mine.”

He pushes in too soon, before Bruce is really ready, but that’s what Bruce wants right then; wants to feel how much Clark needs him, wants to feel his own body bend and open and stretch.

Normally they talk to each other, poke and laugh and occasionally curse, but on this night, there aren’t any words needed, nothing except flesh upon flesh.

Clark bites his neck and he pulls Clark’s hair. He claws at Clark’s ass and Clark fucks him in this rough, needy way that makes Bruce feel like he’s splintering, like the only thing holding him in one piece is Clark’s body and Clark’s mouth and Clark’s deep, inexplicable love.

He comes twice like that, at the mercy of Clark’s ferocity and the heady smell of his own spunk, the feel of it sealing their bodies together, fused by the heat of their skin, and it’s only when he whimpers that Clark lets go, lets himself go, rises up on the heels of his hands so they can stare at each other as Clark’s hips shift from piston to desperate and he comes in a rush, fills Bruce up relentless until there’s no room left and it spills down the hot sting of Bruce’s thighs.

“I almost made you a ring,” Clark pants while his hips are still jerking. “But this is better. This is so much better. Looking down and seeing it there while we fuck.”

Bruce smooths the strands from Clark’s face, the dark waves dampened with sweat. He feels like he’s floating, as if his body’s made from a cloud. “You like that, huh?”

A groan, another full-body shudder. “ Yes . Maker, yes. You have no idea.”

“Well,” Bruce says softly. He raises his head and licks at Clark’s lips. “I don’t know. I think you’ve just given me some.”

Somewhere in the long dark, he crawls out of bed and comes back with a small, wrapped box. Sets it at the center of Clark’s chest.

“What’s this?”

Bruce worms back under the covers. “What’s it look like?”

“But it’s not Christmas anymore. It’s the 26th.”

“You’re that much of a Christmas purist. Really?”

Clark laughs and sits up a little, tugs at the ribbon. “No, not really. I used to beg Ma to let me open presents on Christmas Eve. No dice. I had to wait until 8 am Christmas morning, after the chores were done. Ugh. It was awful. And I wasn’t allowed to use my powers to rush.”

“Tsk tsk,” Bruce says. His heart’s pounding in his chest; he knows Clark can hear it. “Poor baby.”

It’s hard watching Clark open it; harder still seeing him lift the lid from the box and stare at what’s inside.

“A key,” Clark says. “Hmm. Something tells me it’s not for the Batcave.”

“It’s for the front door. For, ah”--he clears his throat, grateful all at once for the dark--“I want you to feel at home here, Kal-El. Like you can come and go as you please.”

Clark is very still. Still and quiet. Neither of which are familiar Clark states.

“I know you can’t, obviously, leave Metropolis and come here. It doesn’t--that wouldn’t work, I know that, but I thought, when you are here, it’s ok if people know that you are. You’re part of the family, Clark; there’s no question about it. And I don’t see any reason to hide it.” He presses a kiss to Clark’s shoulder and leans his face in to hide. “That’s all.”

Clark takes a deep, deep breath and turns his head. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “Come here.”

He clutches the key in one hand and Bruce’s face with the other and kisses him until they’re both gasping; pulls Bruce on top of him and kisses him more.

“I love you,” Clark says.

Bruce’s smile is a mile wide. “You do, huh?”

“Hmmm.” Clark’s fingers find the bat, push it gently into Bruce’s skin. “You’re still not sure about that?”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure. Fairly convinced.” Bruce shifts his hips, shivers when their cocks brush. “But you know how it is. There’s always that slim bit of room left for doubt.”

“Are you goading me?” Clark’s hand opens and finds the curve of Bruce’s ass, lets him feel the catch of the key's teeth. “Is this you goading me, Mr. Wayne?”

“Maybe. Mmmm, is it working?”

“I don’t know yet.” A kiss on his chin, another on the edge of his mouth. “Keep going and let’s find out.”

*****

Christmas passes for another year, then. Alfred and the boys wrestle down the tree. The holiday china Bruce’s mother bought a lifetime ago goes back in the cabinet, clean and carefully put away. Batman goes on fighting crime and so does Superman, each in his own city. But there are, in the new year, more and more occasions when Clark makes use of that key; when Bruce comes home from a board meeting or a swing through the city and finds Clark in the kitchen helping Damian with his homework, or in the library with a pot of tea and a big, absorbing book, or in Bruce’s bedroom waiting to drag him into the shower, to rub sweet-smelling soap into his skin and kiss his bruises, one by one, his fingers never far from the little bat that hangs from Bruce’s neck.

“I love you,” Bruce says, at the dinner table, in the practice room, in the warm confines of their bed.

“Funny,” Clark will will murmur, tugging him in for a kiss wherever, whenever, “I love you, too.”

#bruce wayne/clark kent #superbat #chrismas #bat family

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amarits · 5 years

Text

Are We There Yet?

Summary:

Bruce does not look forward to traveling with his ever-growing menagerie of children

Also on Ao3

***

Tim was a quiet child. He always had been, ever since Janet dropped him off at barely a year old and he didn't even ask where his mother had gone. Most of the time it worried Bruce. When traveling, it was a blessing.

Cameras clicked around them as he stood near their gate with Tim propped on one hip and his phone in his other hand, talking Chinese sales with the European marketing team. He was so many levels deep in the conversation that he’d lost the thread, but he kept answering questions and spouting figures in the hopes that they could all move on with their lives.

He’d had primary custody of Tim for over a year now (sole custody, really, except for when Janet deigned to make an appearance) and the tabloids still hadn’t gotten over it. They ran any picture they could get of Bruce and Tim with headlines like, “America’s Most Eligible Bachelor Turned Single Dad?” It was ridiculous. Tim wasn’t even his first kid, but apparently the media found it much more likely that he’d father kids than that he’d raise them.

First class was supposed to be boarding by now. He tilted the arm holding Tim to check his watch, and Tim shifted easily with the movement. He was perfectly content to just sit there and watch the crowd. A little bit of jostling had never bothered him. Sometimes Bruce thought it was because he was a good kid. Sometimes he thought it was because there was something wrong with him. He didn’t actually know anything about raising a child. He’d managed, with far more of Alfred’s help than he liked to admit, but there were still so many little things he was sure he was doing wrong. Dick had never been quiet like this, that he was sure of. He tried to spend as much time with Dick as he could, even with the kid’s constant international touring, and at two Dick had talked so much he could have powered all of Gotham with the sound of his voice. Tim was just… quiet.

Now the European marketing team was asking about the budget for steel in South America. This couldn’t possibly be important to their jobs.

“I’m afraid the plane is boarding,” he said, even though it wasn’t. “Email me any further questions you have and I’ll address them when we land.” That was a dangerous invitation, but hopefully they’d sort through their questions and only send the ones they actually needed answers to.

According to the flight board they were still on schedule, but he didn’t think there was even a plane out there.

He really should stick to chartered flights, but a certain nosy reporter kept accusing him of damaging the environment. Commercial flights were more environmentally friendly, especially for international travel, and made him look more down to Earth, but he hated the lack of control. He and Tim were supposed to see Dick’s show two hours after landing. That should be plenty of wiggle room, but if the flight was late and customs took longer than expected, they could miss it.

He sighed loudly. Beside him, Tim echoed his sigh a bit more dramatically than Bruce thought his own had been. Bruce looked down at him and Tim looked back with a serious expression that Bruce thought probably mirrored his. Oh boy. Bruce didn’t think mimicking him encouraged healthy behavior. He forced himself to smile.

“Are you looking forward to seeing your brother?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” Tim replied in a voice much too serious for the conversation.

“Are you looking forward to seeing the clowns?”

“No,” Tim replied in an equally serious voice. Bruce thought that was fair. He had never liked clowns either.

“Do you want to play a game?”

Tim nodded and Bruce looked around for something that could entertain a toddler. He vaguely remembered his own parents playing games with him when they traveled. There were societal expectations for how Waynes should behave when in public, but in private they could be as loud or boisterous as they wanted. His lips twinged at the memory. They would have known what to do with Tim.

Tim was watching him expectantly, so he said, echoing a memory of his mother playing in his mind, “I spy with my little eye, something that starts with…” Wait, Tim couldn’t spell yet. “Something that’s the color red,” he amended.

Tim studiously inspected the gate’s waiting area, his eyes narrowed. After a minute of him silently searching, Bruce said, “It’s okay to guess. It doesn’t have to be right.” Tim gave him a scandalized look like he’d suggested eating the dog. Bruce was doing something wrong with this kid, he just knew it.

Bruce let him continue to search for another two minutes until Tim said with absolute certainty, “The bag,” pointing at a blue bag with red birds scattered across it.

“That’s right, champ,” Bruce said quietly, rustling his hair. Tim beamed proudly.

“First class can now board,” the hostess said.

Thank god, Bruce thought, checking his watch. They were only ten minutes behind schedule. They’d make the show.

They were the first ones on the plane. He settled Tim into a chair almost three times as big as he was. Tim immediately shifted over to watch out the window even though the only things out there were baggers loading the plane. His eyes flit back and forth, following their movements. Bruce put his bag of picture books next to him on the seat. Tim could entertain himself, Bruce knew. He did it for hours while Bruce was working on cases or reading files for work, calmly sitting in a corner staring at pictures in books he couldn’t read yet. Bruce knew he should be doing more, but he didn’t know how.

Visiting Dick would be good for Tim. For both of them.

***

At four, Tim was still the perfect flyer. He was quiet, calm, and content to stay right by Bruce’s side.

Dick was not.

“Get down from there,” Bruce said sternly. He did not yell. Yelling was for bad parents. He sternly, and very loudly, just so Dick could hear, told him to get down.

Dick pouted down at him from his perch on top of the flight board like Bruce was the worst villain he had ever encountered.

“I’m serious, Richard.” Dick hated the name Richard. Calling him that was a more successful punishment than grounding.

Dick grumbled but climbed down. They weren’t even halfway to their gate yet. He definitely needed to start exclusively flying private. His heart wasn’t made for this.

They made it another few steps before Dick started walking on his hands instead of his feet. Bruce could hear the clicks of cameras surrounding them but he’d long since given up on keeping his kids out of the media, and Dick loved the attention. Bruce thought it was half the reason he acted out. At least if he was walking on his hands, he wasn’t getting into trouble.

Dick flipped forward onto his feet. “I’m bored,” he whined. Bruce knew he was bored. He was always bored. Dick could be doing five things at once, one of which was life threatening, and still be bored.

“Okay,” he said. “I spy with my little eye—”

“A burger place!” Dick said, swerving towards a dingy looking restaurant near their gate. “Can we get burgers?”

Bruce picked Tim up, bag and all, and followed. “There will be food on the plane.”

“But I want burgers.”

Bruce sat Tim at one of the few tables surrounding the burger counter. It was one of those places that you ordered and got your food at the counter and took it to the table yourself. Not exactly his normal scene. Dick was already studying the menu with the concentration of a stock trader though, so Bruce resigned himself to cheap diner food. Tim pulled a book out of his bag and started flipping through it. He was such a good kid. So easy.

Bruce approached Dick at the counter. “Do you know what you want?”

“A triple bacon and onion bbq burger,” Dick said. “Or the one with a fried egg and hash browns on it.” Bruce’s stomach twisted at the very idea. “Yeah, let’s do that one.”

Bruce didn’t know having children would test him like this. He pulled out his wallet and said to the cashier, “One—” he winced “—Breakfast on Beef Burger.”

“No, you have to get two,” Dick said. “One for you too.”

“I’m not going to eat that.” It was possible that if a villain held Gotham hostage in exchange for him eating a Breakfast on Beef Burger, Gotham would fall.

“You need to be more adventurous,” Dick insisted. “Two,” he told the cashier. She obediently rung it up. Bruce was quickly losing control of the situation if she thought Dick was the authority here.

“I’m plenty adventurous.”

“No way. You even manage to make jumping off buildings boring with all your rules and regulations.” Bruce side-eyed the cashier, but she looked like someone thoroughly used to ten-year-olds saying weird things.

“You can get two burgers if you will eat two, but I’m not eating any.”

“We’ll see,” Dick singsonged as Bruce paid.

They hadn’t even waited one minute before Dick got distracted by something else. “Is that a Disney store?” he asked, going from standstill to a full sprint in a split second.

“Dick, come back here!” Bruce called, following quickly behind him. Dick was already inside, browsing through the stuffed animals.

“Look at all of these, Dad,” he said, voice awed. There were rows of Dumbos, Tramps, Stitches, Nemos, Simbas, and Tiggers. “I need at least one of each.”

“You need no such thing,” Bruce said, trailing behind him as he walked down the row. He knew Dick wasn’t serious. He’d always been willing to give Dick whatever he wanted, but Dick hadn’t wanted much. When he was with the circus there wasn’t room, and he’d brought the minimalist lifestyle with him when he left. Of everyone in the manor, he was the one who could most easily pack everything and leave, Alfred included.

Dick put on a tiara as they passed through the clothing section. “Board games!” he exclaimed. “Disney Monopoly, look.”

“We already have Gotham Monopoly.”

“Yeah, but that’s just depressing. All the tiles are like, abandoned fairgrounds and murder dock.”

“That’s not true.” Actually, Wayne Enterprises was one of the properties. It always amused him when one of the kids got it.

“You’d rather have Disney Monopoly, right Tim?” Dick asked.

There was a silence as they both turned to the empty spot behind them.

“Where’s Tim?” Dick asked.

Bruce’s heart froze in his chest and he raced back out of the store. It hadn’t been long, but there were more than a few people who would happily snatch a Wayne kid.

Tim was still sitting at the burger table, his book closed neatly in front of him. The cashier was leaning over the table talking to him, and Tim pointed as Bruce approached. “There he is.”

Bruce flushed. The cashier seemed nice enough, but he just knew this was going to end up on her blog or Twitter and be on the evening news by tonight. “Thank you,” he said, picking up Tim. She smiled in response and held out his bag of burgers. He’d entirely forgotten about that. Less important than forgetting his four-year-old, but still. He was losing his mind.

“Where’s Dick?” Tim asked.

Bruce turned around. Dick hadn’t followed him. Of course Dick hadn’t followed him. He didn’t know why he thought Dick would. He jogged back towards the Disney store. He thought he heard the cashier giggling behind him. At least most people would assume this was more ditzy Brucie stuff, but he did at least try to look like a good dad.

Dick wasn’t at the Disney board games. Bruce almost had a heart attack before he saw Dick playing in a large castle with a couple of other kids.

He slumped into a Queen-of-Hearts-style throne. “I have your burgers, Dick,” he called.

“I’m good!” Dick called back, climbing the side of the castle. “You eat them.”

By the time he managed to herd both children to the plane, they were the last to board. They had two seats on one side of the aisle, and one on the other side. He hesitated. Logically, he should sit with Tim, who was younger, but Dick was far more likely to wander off if left to his own devices. He was certain he shouldn’t let the four-year-old sit on his own though, no matter how well-behaved he was.

“You two take the seats together,” he told them, making a snap decision. Dick was good with Tim, and he always behaved better when given responsibility.

“You hear that, Timmy? We get to hang out,” Dick said, leading him to the seats. Tim looked a mix of cautiously excited and concerned. Bruce understood, he thought tiredly as he sat down. Dick could be overwhelming.

When they got settled, Tim took out one of his books. “Whatcha reading?” Dick asked, scooting over into Tim’s chair. They didn’t quite fit and Tim was squeezed tightly between Dick and the side of the chair.

“Dick!” he whined.

“Sorry, here,” Dick said, lifting Tim so he was half seated in Dick’s lap. Tim was only a foot shorter than Dick, and the position looked awkward. Bruce watched them carefully in case he needed to step in, but Tim settled down as Dick held Tim’s book in front of them. “Let’s read together.”

Bruce knew the flight attendants wouldn’t let them stay like that when it was time for the plane to take off, but for now they looked content. Tim cuddled against Dick’s chest as Dick started to read the book out loud, dramatically acting out the dialogue.

This was a great idea. Maybe Bruce could even take a nap.

The second he closed his eyes he was plagued with visions of Dick climbing into the baggage compartment and doing backflips in the aisle.

Or not.

***

Bruce counted his children again to make sure they were all there. One, two, three. When did he get three children? How did this happen?

Dick was drifting towards a shop. “Stay by my side,” Bruce said.

“I’m seventeen,” Dick replied. His tone was scandalized, but he wasn’t fooling Bruce. Bruce had been doing this for years, and it all went to hell the moment Dick started wandering.

“Yes,” he said, “and keep your seventeen-year-old butt by my side.”

Tim and Jason were walking together a few steps behind them. He could probably trust them to stay out of trouble. Unlike Dick, who was now two feet away. “Richard,” he said.

“Seventeen!” Dick repeated.

“It’s okay,” Tim said, tone comforting. Bruce glanced back at them, but he and Jason seemed fine.

He just needed to get everyone to the plane without any distractions, detours, or disasters. He handled worse things than this on the average night.

Dick eyed a nearby story with more interest than Bruce approved of. It wasn’t even a good store. Just one of those schlocky trinket stores that popped up in every airport.

“It’s okay,” Tim said again. Bruce looked back sharply. Tim and Jason were walking down the center of the hallway. There weren’t any strangers near them. They had their bags. They were staying away from the shops. His gaze caught on Jason’s fingers where they were tapping rapidly against his leg.

“I should get something for Babs,” Dick said, veering to the side.

“No.” Bruce grabbed Dick’s sleeve before he could walk more than a few steps.

“I’m just going to be a minute,” Dick insisted. “I’m old enough to be on my own for one minute.”

It echoed a number of arguments they’d had in recent months, as Dick fought for an independence Bruce wasn’t quite ready to give him. This wasn’t about that though. This was about actually making their flight. “We should stay together. You can get her something later.”

“It’s okay,” Tim said. Bruce spun around. Jason’s fingers were rapidly tapping. His shoulders were hunched up. His face was locked in a scowl.

“Are you scared of flying?” Bruce asked.

“Of course not! Why would you think that?” Jason asked. “And if I was, it wouldn't be embarrassing. Not everyone grew up jet-setting around the world, you know. Some of us didn’t even have enough money for a bike.”

“Do you want a bike?” Bruce asked.

“What? That’s not even... Shut up.”

“It’s okay to be scared of flying, Jason.” He hoped that was the right thing to say. Jason was as likely to snap at him for some perceived insult as he was to take it as the comfort it was meant to be. More likely, actually.

“Dick left,” Tim said. Bruce spun around. Sure enough, Dick was no longer beside him. He breathed in slowly through his teeth.

“Do you think you two can go ahead to the gate?” he asked. “I need to wrangle your brother.”

“He’s seventeen,” Jason said with a tone of disbelief. He didn’t know better. He hadn’t traveled with Dick before.

“He’s a menace,” Bruce replied.

“Come on,” Tim said, tugging Jason towards the gate. “Would it help if I explained how planes work?”

“I know how planes work, Tim,” Jason said. “It’s not how planes work that’s the problem.” But he followed without complaint. Bruce watched to make sure they kept going the right way before heading towards the tourist trap Dick had been eying. He found him looking at gaudy plastic ornaments of Gotham’s skyline.

“Shouldn’t you wait until we actually leave Gotham to buy souvenirs?” he asked.

“Look at this, Dad,” Dick said, holding up a snow globe ornament with a floating yellow bat signal drifting alongside the snow. “I need one. I need one for all of my friends.” He tilted his full body to look behind Bruce. “How’d you lose the kids already?”

“I sent them ahead to the gate.”

Dick looked aghast. “Wait, you trust them by themselves and not me? I’m seventeen!”

“You’re a seventeen-year-old who missed a flight to Baghdad last month despite being in the airport the whole time.”

“I caught up!”

“And how will you explain ‘catching up’ to your brothers?”

Dick snorted but put the snow globe back and followed Bruce out of the store. “There is more than one flight. You know that right?”

Jason and Tim were sitting in chairs near the gate. They’d managed to get there without issue.

“So the wings make the air go down which makes the plane go up,” Tim was saying as they approached, using broad hand gestures that did nothing to illustrate his point.

“I’m less comfortable with how flying works than I was before.”

Tim looked frustrated. “I’m not explaining it well.”

“No, I get it,” Jason said. “The wings create weather magic.”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” Tim whined.

“The plane’s a meta. That makes sense. Does Superman also fly by creating weather magic?”

Bruce was ninety percent sure Jason was messing with Tim. It was heartwarming, actually. Jason was starting to feel enough like part of the family to tease his little brother.

While they devolved into an argument about how Superman flew, he approached the podium. “Is first class boarding yet?” The sooner all of his children were actually on the plane, the sooner he could relax.

“We’re just starting now, sir!” the chipper woman behind the podium said. He gave her his most charming smile to make up for whatever disaster his children were likely to cause.

“Come on, boys,” he called back to the bickering… well, they weren’t all teenagers yet. Oh, god. Tim would turn thirteen before Dick turned twenty. He was going to have three teenagers at once.

“Wait, why are we boarding before everyone else?” Jason asked, eying the crowd of seated passengers.

“First class boards first,” Bruce told him. Jason stiffened and Bruce could feel the argument coming like a shift in the winds. He picked up Jason’s abandoned bag and started down the gangway, trying to at least get on the plane before the inevitable explosion happened.

Jason, thankfully, miraculously, followed. “I don’t want to fly first class. That’s for rich assholes.”

“We’re rich assholes,” Tim said.

“Language,” Bruce said mildly.

“He said it first!” Tim exclaimed with the righteous anger of a kid that got away with far fewer curse words than his dirty-mouthed brother. It was a fair complaint, but Bruce had to fight too many other battles with Jason to worry about his gratuitous use of profanity right now.

“I’m not a rich asshole,” Jason said. Tim gave Bruce a look like ‘aren’t you going to say something?’ then scowled when he didn’t.

“Which part do you disagree with?” Tim asked. “Rich or a-hole?” He emphasized a-hole and shot Bruce a dirty look. Bruce did feel bad. He’d talk to Tim later. He was a smart kid. He’d understand.

Jason floundered with an answer as they entered the cabin before finally saying, “I might be rich now and an asshole, but I’m not a rich asshole. It’s different.”

“How,” Tim asked, his curiosity overwhelming his annoyance for now.

“It’s about what you do with the money. I mean, look at this,” he said, standing in the curtained doorway between first class and coach, where the difference between the two was most stark. First class had large, lush reclining chairs with plenty of legroom, large screen TV’s for each seat, and privacy walls that could be pulled up. Bruce didn’t even think he could fit in a seat in coach. “We’re not better. We shouldn’t get preferential treatment.”

“It’s not about being better,” Bruce said. “If you pay more, you get more. That’s true for anything. Food, lodging, clothes.”

“It’s such a waste of money,” Jason said, scowling at the seats as if their comfort levels offended him.

“We have the money. I don’t see why we shouldn’t spend it.” He knew it was the wrong thing to say when he said it, but he honestly wasn’t sure why. Jason was sensitive about money, having grown up without it. Bruce ached when he thought of all of the things his son had been denied, and that he still denied himself because of it. He’d think Jason would just be grateful to have money now, but instead he always insisted they should have less.

“Then we should give it to people who actually need it!” Jason exclaimed. “Do you know what… what… how much did this cost for the four of us? Three-thousand dollars? Do you know what that could do for a family?”

The total cost of their tickets had been over twenty-thousand, but Bruce didn’t think correcting him would go over well. “We donate a significant amount to charity every year. Denying ourselves wouldn’t result in more money for charity.”

“Well, why not?” Jason asked. “What if every time we were going to fly first class, we got normal tickets instead and you donated the difference to charity?”

“Actually, every time we fly, Dad says we’re going to charter a private plane next time.” Dick said cheerfully.

Jason looked horrified. “I won’t do it. You take the private plane. I’ll fly coach by myself.”

Tim had already settled into a window seat, but he leaned around the barrier to snap a picture of Jason.

“Tim!” Jason exclaimed.

“It’s your first time flying,” Tim said unapologetically. “It should be memorialized.”

“What did we say about asking permission before taking pictures?” Jason asked storming over to him.

“If I asked permission first, I wouldn’t get genuine emotion.”

“Genuine emotion like shock and anger?” Jason asked.

“Yes,” Tim agreed, as he looked at the picture he’d taken with a pleased smile. “Those ones.”

Jason sighed loudly and slumped into the chair next to Tim. Dick was settling into one of the seats across the aisle. Bruce had been debating what the seating arrangement should be, but it appeared they had already decided without him. At least the argument about money seemed to be allayed for now.

Dick pulled his legs up onto his chair as Bruce walked past him to the window seat, and left them there in a crisscrossed position. “It’s going well, I think.”

Honestly, it was going better than Bruce expected.

***

Four kids. Four rambunctious kids in a crowded airport. Bruce remembered how easy it was back when all he had was Tim. That was nice. He could get work done. When was the last time he managed to do any work while traveling?

His eyes swept over his children again, taking stock. Tim and Jason were together, which probably meant they were getting into trouble. He watched them drift towards one of the large bay windows, talking conspiratorially in low voices. If he left them alone long enough, they’d somehow end up stowed away in the luggage compartment of a hijacked plane. He didn’t know why that would happen, but it would. He just knew it.

Dick was, miraculously, still with them, cheerfully pointing out shops to Damian. The younger boy’s expression had been stuck in a scowl since they arrived at the airport and he realized they were joining the masses of holiday travelers instead of going to a private terminal.

“I don’t understand,” he said again, ignoring the latest wonder of the airport Dick was pointing at. “Are we poor? Why are we flying with these commoners?”

“It’s fun!” Dick insisted. Bruce suppressed a small smile as Damian sputtered indignantly in response. He had to admire Dick’s ability to find joy in the mundane.

“Can I trust you to stay with Damian?” he asked Dick. “I need to check on your brothers.” Tim and Jason were now staring contemplatively out the window at the planes driving by. He was almost positive they wouldn’t steal an airplane but they’d surprised him enough times over the years that he’d rather not risk it.

“I’m twenty!” Dick exclaimed.

Bruce gave him a look. He did not stop giving him a look.

“You trust the ten-year-old more than you trust me,” Dick groused.

“As he should,” Damian said. “I would not wander off.”

“Keep an eye on him,” he told Damian. Dick made a high-pitched offended noise, but he’d brought this on himself. Damian nodded, solemnly accepting his duty.

Tim and Jason stopped talking as he approached, which was always cause for concern. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison. It was enough to send an icy spike down his spine.

“Let’s all do nothing together by the gate then,” he said, herding them back towards Damian and Dick.

“Jason wants to get a pilot’s license,” Tim said, which Bruce knew was an attempt to distract him from whatever they’d actually been talking about. He’d allow it for now.

“Maybe you should get a driver’s license first,” he said.

“Sure,” Jason agreed easily. “Car license, motorcycle license, then pilot’s license.”

They made it to the gate in one piece. Early, even. Dick looked like he was itching to explore the closest shop, but either his instinct to stay with Damian or his desire to prove Bruce wrong kept him in his seat.

“Father, this is infuriatingly slow,” Damian said, standing and pacing back and forth in front of their seats. “We shouldn’t be required to wait.”

Bruce rubbed at his temple where a headache was starting. “Why don’t we play a game? I spy with my little eye, something that starts with—” He looked around for something to say, but Damian didn’t let him finish.

“Your eye is not small,” he said, coming to a stop in front of Bruce and crossing his arms. “This game is childish and stupid.”

“I spy with my little eye something that starts with a b,” Jason muttered.

“A brat?” Tim asked.

Damian twirled on them. “How dare you. I am trying to uphold this family’s respectability, something that has clearly been lacking.”

“Come on, Little D,” Dick said, patting the chair next to him. “It’ll strengthen your observation skills.”

Damian brooded. “Fine,” he said, sitting down again. “But only because it’ll improve my already outstanding abilities.”

Tim rolled his eyes and Jason didn’t even try to hide his laugh. Damian glared at them both, but settled against Dick, curling up a little closer than necessary as Dick picked a letter. He still wasn’t comfortable with his place in the family, Bruce knew, but watching him with Dick, he was sure it was only a matter of time.

The hostess announced first class boarding and Damian stood up, then looked around at them confused when they didn’t join him. “Is this not us?” he asked.

“Nope,” Jason said, with a delighted pop on the p. “We fly coach.”

“Why?” Damian asked with dawning horror.

“Because we’re not rich assholes,” Jason said.

“We donate the difference in cost between first class and coach tickets to charity,” Tim explained. “Jason picks the charity. I think we’re doing End Homelessness right now.”

“Children’s Protection Group,” Jason corrected. He put a lot of time into researching which charities did the best work and needed the most help. Bruce was proud of him. He’d spent years doing his best to carry on his mother’s charity work, but nobody in the family had her spirit as much as Jason did.

“Father, please,” Damian pled, turning to him. “We’ll look ridiculous. We’re Waynes. We’re better than this.”

Actually, Wayne Enterprises stock had jumped significantly when the media caught wind that the Waynes were flying coach. Apparently Jason wasn’t the only one who thought first class was for rich assholes.

Bruce held out an arm to him and Damian sat beside him, curling up like an angry kitten as Bruce put an arm around his shoulders,. “It will be good for you,” Bruce said.

Damian tutted angrily, but didn’t protest further.

A benefit of flying coach was that all five of them could fit in one row. Tim went straight to a window seat as usual, Jason took the middle, and Dick sat in the aisle, where he’d most easily be able to get up and walk around (and probably make five new friends before the flight was over). Bruce let Damian have the other window seat and squeezed into the seat next to him. His knees pressed uncomfortably against the seat in front of him.

“I am not pleased,” Damian grumbled, staring out the window.

“We’re doing good in the world,” Bruce said. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

Damian was silent for a few minutes, staring glumly out the window, before saying, “I suppose.”

Bruce remembered sitting in the large first class seats with a tiny, quiet Tim, who kept to himself and let Bruce work. It was a pleasant memory, but as he watched Dick already chatting it up with someone in the seat in front of him, Tim and Jason resuming their plotting now that Bruce was safely out of earshot, and Damian, who he was certain had a huge heart underneath his rough exterior, staring out the window beside him, he knew he wouldn’t go back to it for the world.

#batfam #batfamily #bruce wayne #batman #tim drake #jason todd #damian wayne #dick grayson #common people #i never know what to tag these things #happy new year!#mine #mywriting #fic #batfic #hall of fame

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