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ijustthinkhesneat · 3 months

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I feel compelled to expand upon the previous fae/folklore! Batboys headcanons:

-Bruce is just a straight up normal human. I think this provides a great opportunity for angst because unlike his immortal? children Bruce does age and it terrifies them. And Bruce is young he’s in his early 30s but like his knees will crack a little or his back is slightly stiff after a bad patrol and it just sends them into a spiral because they cannot fathom their dad not being around forever. I can definitely imagine them trying to strong arm Bruce into becoming some flavor of unaging. You could go super dark or just more generally emotional angst but damn the possibilities.

-Cass is giving me shadow person. Very cryptid of her. I’m not sure that I have a clear backstory for her worked out yet. Either magic gone wrong or she’s another flavor of undead like Jason and Tim. I like to imagine she just hovers over people at night to be creepy.

-Originally I wanted to say Duke was a Will-o-the-wisp. But I’m not really sure it fits, especially since he’s primarily active during the day. Then it hit me. Mothman. My lamplight boy is a moth creature. I like the idea of him hiding his little antenna under a beany and wearing sunglasses. The wings would be difficult. But my boy is creative.

- I think Steph and Barbara are also human like Bruce they just are extra bad ass.

-Coming back to life as a magical creature warps peoples memories and emotions from both the trauma and changing into something not human. Tim is significantly less effected than Jason, at least outwardly, because he was only a toddler when he died so he didn’t have many memories or experiences to draw from, but Jason was super volatile. His memories surrounding Willis became even more dark while his memories of his mother sort of glossed over her absentee parenting and drug use. Jason can’t help but struggle with associating the negative learned experience he had with his first paternal figure with Bruce. Jason ends up going to live with Talia for a while because he doesn’t want to feel that way about his dad anymore.

-Basically I think Jason, at least mentally, is the most human of Bruce’s kids besides Damian because he actually lived a life as a human, where as Tim changed so young that he doesn’t really know how to be anything but his extremely disturbing self.

-I think Gotham just has major ‘I do not see it’ energy. Like The Batfamily? Demons from hell. The Wayne’s? Hot neurodivergent people. Did you see Dick Grayson unhinge his jaw like a fucking snake at a gala? No you didn’t he just has a really big smile. Jason Todd??? Has scales??? Nope actually he just developed early onset Eczema and he’s really self conscious about it how dare you! Tim Drake sucking the blood of the himbo blonde boy? Everyone knows Tim and Bernard are total freaks. Cassandra Cain is your sleep paralysis demon? Honestly fair.

-It’s totally a coincidence that strange misfortune befalls anyone who threatens the Wayne’s!

-Clark is Bruce’s favorite man to sleep on so he gets a pass. I don’t know why but a midwestern spin on the story of princess kaguya lives in my head rent free. Like Martha Kent is just shucking corn and then boom baby in the corn. We call that children of the corn. I still love to imagine him being like so perfect that it’s high key alien, but his little sharp nails and fangies! Maybe even slightly pointy ears. And like Clark fully thinks he is human, like his parents don’t tell him humans can’t fly until he’s in kindergarten, and even then they just tell him he is special and learned super fast and shouldn’t embarrass the other kids and Clark is such a Good BoyTM that he just never uses his powers in public cause he doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. Like bro doesn’t learn he is adopted until he is about to go to college, he is just straight up clueless.

-Clark learns Dick is a Fae creature when Batman brings Robin to the Watchtower cause he couldn’t get a baby sitter and Alfred doing some spooky shit like dusting the mausoleum. Like Batman just slinking around but there is this super colorful child with him. And then Dick turns and smiles and it’s just so wrong, like his mouth just stretching his face like some horror movie shit. Clark almost shots himself cause like what the fuck. Bruce told Dick to just ‘be himself’ so like he just thinks he’s being friendly. Despite being creepy as all hell Clark kinda thinks Dick is super adorable. Like was he spider crawling around the floor with all his limbs bent the wrong way while Bruce and Clark were talking? Yeah but then he just tugged on Bruce’s cape to ask for a juice box, like that’s a baby.

-Jason freaked him out in a different way. Since Jason is undead he doesn’t have a heartbeat and doesn’t need to breath so when he isn’t moving he makes literally zero noise. When he first met Clark he was just watching him from around corners and behind stair banisters and Clark was convinced he was losing his mind and hallucinating the kid from the Grudge. Then Bruce is just like “Oh you met Jason! He’s so sweet, just a little shy. He’s my second oldest! I think he likes you though.” And then a little grey blue slightly webbed hand just reaches around the corner to give a little wave and boom Clark would kill for him.

-Tim is similar in that Clark has trouble pinpointing his location because of a lack of normal bodily functions, but Tim has no idea what a boundary is. So like at first he’s a shy little toddler and then that night he’s crawling all over Clark and pranking him nonstop.

-Damian is a baby but like Clark looked in his eyes and just felt like this infant could see his past present and future and was judging him heavily. Clark was relieved cause at least he had a heartbeat.

-Cass lives to fuck with Clark. She’s Jason’s age but not only has no heartbeat and doesn’t breath, when she is in shadow form he can’t see her with X-ray vision. She can literally make herself undetectable to Superman. He learns this one night sleeping in a guest room at the manor. He gets the feeling he is being watched but can’t find anyone. Then right when he relaxes her arm shoots out from the darkness under his bed and grabs his leg. Clark screams so loud it cracks the window. And then just nearly silent muffled laughter as the arm retreats into the darkness. He X-Ray visions but nothing is there. He demands to stay in Bruce’s room after that. Bruce is just like “Oh that was just Cass. She likes playing practical jokes, she is my little princess!”

#batfam #bruce wayne #jason todd #batman #dick grayson #damian wayne #dc batman #tim drake #red hood #nightwing #red robin #robin #fae!dick #Fae!batfam #Folklore!batfam #freaks all of them #but like hot freaks

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dcmeme · 5 months

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My boyfriend guessing the name of Batfamily members (unmasked):

Bruce: “Bruce Wayne! Easy!”

Selina: “Is that the one you said had a baby with him” “she’s one of the women yes but not who you’re thinking” “ah, sh*t…Vanessa?”

Stephanie: “…You drive me crazzzyy-” “NOT EVERY BLONDE IS BRITNEY SPEARS”

Tim: “Is he one of them bisexuals?” “What’s wrong with bisexuals?” “Nothing he just looks like it.” “What does a bisexual look like to you?” “*points* THAT” “Kay!” “Bill the bi.” (He refused to answer again)

Damian: “It’s giving violence” “Name?” “Rage”

Dick: “It’s giving f*ck boy.” “You don’t know his life!” “Chad.”

Jason: “That’s the guy I’m going as for Halloween, right?” “Yes but what’s his REAL name?” “(Says his own name)” “Fine. But I hope you know he dies at one point.” “Even better.”

Barbara: “She looks like a Beth? Bethany?”

Duke: “Joseph.”

Talia: “THATS the one you were talking about-“ “yes!” “Talbitha”

Cassandra: “I’m freaking telling you that’s the girl from resident evil!” “It’s not Ada Wong.”“Someone go find her Leon.” “SHE’S NOT ADA WONG!”

Alfred: “Henry.”

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zaceouiswriting · 1 month

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The favorite Bat-Brother?

Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd and Brother!Male Reader

Universe: Somewhere in DC

Warnings: Slight Brutality

The warm summer sun shone on the beautiful world. On a day like this, you would usually have been sitting by the pool or challenging your brothers to a water fight, but instead, you were in the garage working on your car to distract yourself from what you saw the day before.

To say you were heartbroken would be an understatement. For the first time in your life, you cried. You had felt like a schoolgirl as you stormed through the front door of your home and cried your heart out. On your way to the room, you ignored your brothers' and even Alfred's pleas to talk, but you couldn't speak. Since then, you've been ignoring everyone, whether, in your bedroom or the garage, you always had your headphones on.

So it was no wonder someone tapped you or, in this case, gently kicked your leg. That alone let you know who it was, and that didn't help your terrible mood.

As you rolled your board down, on which you went under the car, the light was blinding, but you, thankfully, didn't have to get used to it because Damian came to stand over you, blocking the light. He looked moody as always, but that day he seemed strange. Suddenly, he motioned for you to take out your earbuds, which you did, only for him to squad next to you.

“Do you remember Alek? The tall black-haired one? The one who models part-time?” Damian asked you casually. But his words broke your heart even more.

“You mean my boyfri- sorry, ex-boyfriend?”

“Whatever,” Damian said, rolling his eyes. But before you could tell him to fuck off if he wanted to make fun of you, he suddenly took your hand and played with your longer fingers. It could only mean one thing: he had done something he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do.

"What happened? Did he do something to you? Do I have to punch him?"

Damian looked at you questioningly, as you both knew that as the only pacifist in the Bat Family, you wouldn't do that. Still, it made Damian smile.

“I think he learned his lesson.”

“What do you mean?” You asked him suspiciously because his questionable words made you feel uneasy.

“Someone got to his car last night, you know, the red sports car, where he cheated on you with this blonde girl. That someone scratched his car paint and broke his windows with a crowbar.”

You were stunned, unable to speak, and not knowing what to say. On the one hand, you were grateful, but on the other, you were afraid that he might get negatively involved with the law, even though your family is filthy rich. However, Damian had taken your silence strangely as he was fiddling with something in his pocket while, at the same time, moving nervously and still playing with your hand. You didn't know whether he was excited or nervous.

But since you still hadn't said anything after a few minutes, Damian took his hand out of his pocket, placed it in your open palm, and dropped something into it. As he pulled his hand back, you saw something small that looked vaguely like a small pebble. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. When you raised your gaze again, words were on the tip of your tongue, but when you looked at Damian's nervous face, your throat tightened.

Nothing was said for a moment, but when your eyes finally met, you saw the fear in his green orbs, letting you know you had to say something.

“What is the meaning of this?” You asked him quietly. “Why did you give me a pebble?”

Damian shrugged. "When I destroyed the dickhead's car, he was there too," he finally confessed. “He won’t be doing any more photo shoots anytime soon,” he continued cryptically. “Unfortunately, he was with a gang I was hunting for a while.”

You were stunned. Up until that point, you thought no one cared. You were always quiet and often felt left out of place. Unlike the others, you couldn't hurt a fly. At least not yet, even though you're Bruce's blood son, just like Damian. Although it didn't matter to you, all four boys were your brothers. You still looked after them, helped them when they were sick or injured, lent them an ear or your strength, whatever they needed. But all the brotherly love was never reciprocated. It was the very first time one of your brothers did something for you. And it was the baby brother of all people.

“Why?” You could only ask before a lump in your throat stopped you from making another sound.

Damian rolled his eyes again as if the whole thing was a nuisance to him, even though you knew better now. “I couldn’t hear you crying at night. You know our rooms are next to each other. I hear everything that happens,” he spoke the last part exasperatedly.

“But-„

Damian groaned in annoyance and rolled his eyes so hard he bobbed his head. "Can you just accept it and not make a big deal about it?" His voice was just as annoyed as the rest of his demeanor.

At this point, you could only nod, still in a strange trance. You were sure that this had to be a dream because it couldn't be real life. Damian had gotten up again and was about to leave. But after a few steps, he stopped.

Damian was always the easiest for you to read, so you knew he was reluctant to say something. But as you knew him, he would turn around once to make a decision. And just as you thought, he did just that. Meeting your eyes, you could see his body tensing and then hopelessly deflating.

“It’s not a pebble,” he admitted strangely. Your face contorted in confusion. “It’s a tooth.”

“What?” you asked, confused. Your eyes fell on your hand. “Whose tooth is that?”

“Shouldn’t you remember that?" He asked you dryly. "You tongued it several times in the lounge,” Damian told you, suddenly teasing with a sideways smirk. Only to have his face scrunch up in realization and disgust. You could only laugh.

“And why is there red...color? I believe?"

"Oh." Damian suddenly became more sheepish. “Well, I accidentally broke the idiot’s tooth on his car. Even though I had already destroyed it before when I found the tooth, I took it and scratched it further in front of the dickhead's face, but just to be safe, I followed with a knife."

Damian tried to remain casual, but you could see a spark of pride in his glimmering eyes. At that moment, all you could feel was the same thing: Pride. With a speed that not even your battle-hardened little brother could comprehend, you stood up, scooped him into your arms, and swept him off his feet. You spun in circles, laughing as you watched Damian try not to smile.

“What did I do to deserve a little brother like you?”

You slowly stopped spinning until you placed him back on the ground. Only then did you see the blush growing on his pale cheeks. You nudged him and asked what was wrong with him. He didn't want to talk, so you laid your hand on his little head and ruffled his hair. You told him everything was fine, not wanting to overwhelm him further. You turned to your car but stopped when you heard a whisper behind you.

"What?" you asked, chuckling in delight.

“Because I love you,” Damian whispered again, but this time you heard it. When you saw him look away, his ears glowing red and tears in his eyes, your heart melted. It made you wonder if your brother had always been this cute or if this was a recent development.

Once again, you were in front of your brother before he could react. You pulled him close, his head barely reaching your chest. Tears quickly wet your dirty shirt. It was the first time he had shown real feelings towards someone. You couldn't bear to say a word, so you petted his head instead.

For minutes, the two of you stood there silently, enveloped in each other's warmth. Only when a lightness befalls the atmosphere did you dare to speak.

“And I love you too, little bird,” you whispered in return with a big smile. “And from today, I break my neutrality! You’re my favorite now!”

“Really?” he asked quickly, looking up. His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks were even redder than before.

Instead of saying anything else, you kissed the top of his head, ruffled his hair again, and turned away, only to burst into silent tears. You just couldn't let him see you like this, you were still sore from the heartache you had just endured.

***

Damian took it as a sign to leave, but not before hugging you from behind, giving you a tissue, and running away. He went outside and walked back to the main house from the back. When he went back into the main living room, he found Jason and Dick there. He didn't care that they saw him in this mess. Instead, a devilish grin crossed his face.

Both older brothers looked questioningly at the boy, who they believed was the devil reincarnated.

“I’m his favorite!” he announced proudly. His two older brothers looked at him stunned. Then they looked at each other, wondering where Damian had come from. At the same time, something clicked within them. They both stood up simultaneously.

“You liar!” they shouted, not angry but more panicked.

"What did you threaten him with?" Jason asked further through gritted teeth, ready to pounce on the little boy.

Damian shrugged. "I just helped him get rid of a little sadness by beating up his ex," he told them, equally proud. He bathed in their stupid looks before he started whistling and walked away completely relaxed.

The information left the two older brothers speechless, thinking you didn't like brutality. But maybe they had the wrong idea.

Dick jabbed his elbow into Jason's side with a mischievous grin, and when their eyes met again, he couldn't hold it back any longer. “I told you we should have done it ourselves!”

Jason mumbled something incomprehensible before leaving. Dick never thought the other one would be the soft one since he prevented them both by going after your ex, but he had a feeling another chance would soon open up. After all, you're handsome, intelligent, and a Wayne. There are other fish in the sea for you. Maybe, if he finds your future husband, he may finally become your favorite, everything he ever wanted to be. And all your brothers fought about. Only now the war has really begun.

[Masterlist]

#damian wayne #male reader #x male reader #dc x male reader #dick grayson #jason todd #batfam #dc #fluff #sad #heartbreak #bat brothers

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boiledbirdy · 1 year

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BRAD FUCKIN WAYNEEE

headcannons i have abt this sweet himbo fratboy

This man is the largest in the family, like 6’6 and built like a non-green hulk. He can easily pick up and fireman carry Bruce and Jason

Is the guy in a frat party to sit with girls and hear about them bitch about periods and now carries a little pack with him everywhere that has a few tampons, pads, hand-warmers (for on the go heating pads), and Tylenol and Advil

Where does he keep this stuff and the random assortment of weird things he has, you ask? He wears a fanny-pack

read it and weep y’all he wears fanny-packs, usually the cool way over his shoulder, but mostly around his waist since he carries a backpack almost 25/8

He drives a beater truck (just an old car whose been through like three accidents and is still going strong) specifically a 1991 dodge D250 truck with a scratched up white paint job where there are dents, scratches, and a few patches of off white paint on dents that was sorta DIY-ed

his keys 🔑 have a weird ass mesh of keychains on it like: Ally flag keychain and a flag keychain for every single label a person has come out to him with, also a keychain from every museum, tourist spot he’s ever been, also a beer and bottle opener he’s a frat boy duhhh, he has a little bracelet that is made of sparkles and purple beads that steph gave to him but it was too small so he put it on his keys, a collage logo keychain, a keychain from his local gym and one with rugby on it etc

the keychains and keys are never ending

HE PLAYS RUGBY, argue with the wall.

getting a bachelors and masters in sports medicine

he makes sure to give Duke, Damian, Cass, Steph, and Tim copies of his keys first (the rest of the fam too they just get priority)

A) because they are the kids, and he wants them to know that he has an open bed any time

B) cause he’s the sibling to not get mad if they are intoxicated in any form and will cover for them

This next one is so important to me

He takes Tim to his first midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, same with Damian

He pretty much eats at the Wayne mansion every night but sleeps at his apartment

Shows Damian some good rock’n roll ex Red Hot Chili Peppers, Sublime, Ramones, The Clash, Oingo Boingo, Ghost, Blonde, Foo-Fighters (i can make a playlist if wanted)

Just will sit and have a beer with Jason and sit in silence or talk about weird things that happened today

Steph and him have study sessions together

He will watch any ballet practice Cass wants him to see and he never misses a competition or performance

he sends Tim stupid skateboard tricks and fails videos (tiktok or insta reels) daily and then once a month they take Brad’s truck to a park and Brad sits on a ramp and cheers Tim on like its the Super Bowl

Watches Dick’s dog when he’s away from home and they both watch Barbie movies together

He gardens at Alfred’s request, yes he sucks but this man cannot not say no to the tidbits of Alfred’s life story he learns

Can kick back like 4 kegs of beer with no fucking consequences, he has a liver of steel thanks to Brucie Wayne

He’a the high guy in the bathtub at frat-parties and will give shitty or good life advice its 50/50 honestly

Does stupid white people fraternity things that would kill a normal person but he just is quirkily busting it down and Death just cannot vibe with him

makes (and i cannot stress this enough) the best and i mean best, (Alfred and Ma Kent can’t win in this one) brownies. Whether they are edibles or not they are the best.

has done the Tide-Pod challenge and survived

He is the Frat God of Gotham

Him and Duke are like the best duo

They blast Rock and Rap so that all five cars in every direction can hear it

Duke has the habit of putting weird ass bumper stickers on Brad’s desk and bed frame (at his apartment, they Do Not fuck with Alfred) Brad smiles fondly every time he finds a new one

Brad = Mark, ya know the tiktok sound

Him and Harper simp over women 🙏 together

In his fanny-pack, truck, and various rooms he has stim toys/do-hickeys bins or sections

bc he has Nerodivergent siblings and he was just trying

he asked kinda rude blunt questions, he didn’t know anything and he kinda (really) sucks at subtlety and reading a room but he was just trying to understand

He will take Damian to amusement parks and zoos pretty much bi-weekly

The girls can put on a horrible outfit and makeup and he will think he looks fabulous and no one will ever tell him that he’s sporting fashion and makeup crimes

has a small hidden bookcase of Wings of Fire, Warrior cats, Land of Stories, etc.. cause Damian is embarrassed to admit he actually likes reading them

Watches the trashiest brain rotting tv shows like Dance moms or keeping up with the Kardashians

Goes to any march or parade his siblings or friends are going to so: A) he can be that decked out ally tank of a man passing out water bottles and granola bars B) so if the police are back on their BS he can protecc atacc and throw that tear gas bacc

*Sniff 🤧* I have something I need all of you to know, I say this with a heavy heart *holding back tears 😥* Brad is a former highlighter kid— *single tear falls*

This fucking himbo stud-muffin has slept with, kissed, crushed on, and went on dates with men, but still doesn’t realize that he’s Bisexual

his favorite flavor ice cream is pistachio and carmel

KNOWS NOTHING and i mean nothing about zodiac signs

Has been caught in the middle of Gotham Rouge and does not understand what the fuck is happening

He either Teddy Bear fratboy golden retriever energies them to friendship or friendly acquaintance or annoys them to the high hells of mosquito bites on your butt

^I can expand if wanted

His phone you ask?

Screen cracked like rice crispys

apps more disorganized than the random shit drawer in someone’s house

he has a model 6S and will not upgrade or replace it to save his life.

he has an otterbox case and we all know it, no more denial

Okay thats my time yall see ya

#brad wayne #batfam #batfam hcs #batfamily #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #stephanie brown #cassandra wayne #cass cain #duke thomas #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #brucie wayne #brads contact for Bruce is infact Brooshy dad #He infact has paw patrol bandaids #If damian gets a scrape with brad paw patrol bandaids only

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fa-headhoncho · 2 months

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Old Men

(Eventual) George Weasley x Malfoy!Reader

Summary: Aftermentioned gits put their plan into motion.

Word Count: 2453

Reader: Female

Warnings: Admitting your wrongs :(

Author’s Note: Inconsistently back as ever :)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

=====

The group lets out a booming roar as Cedric drops his name into the goblet. You half-heartedly join in, clapping along with his friends while the blue fire eats his name. The sound of singeing seals Cedric’s fate; if his name is popped out tomorrow night, he was in the game.

The Tournament was filled with hard tasks, doubling the intensity most likely since the volunteers were at legal age. Times were pretty messed up right now and you wouldn’t put it past whoever was behind this to make the students work for the reward. The uncertainty is what would kill you… and possibly Cedric.

Alfred already has the blonde in a chokehold when you turn back to them. You watch as the rest give him pats on the back or words of positivity, the worry slowly dissipating when you see the smile on his face. He lets out a laugh before pushing his friend off of him and lurching off him and onto you.

You barely have time to hug back as he starts to squeeze you, letting out another laugh.

“Oi, Cedi, I don’t think they’ll let you participate if you’re in Azkaban for suffocating me to death,” You joke but he only tightens his hold. The pressure and his excitement rubbing off of you makes you giggle.

He pulls back slightly and stares at you for a moment then he places a wet, sloppy kiss on your forehead and disappears back into his crowd of friends. A large blush appears on your face from his affectionate action. It wasn’t like you weren’t touchy with your friends, far from it, but the new crowd of students intimidated you. You could feel the eyes burning into your skin and you just wanted to combust.

A tuff of red hair comes into view and you reach out for safety. Ron’s head turns as he feels a gentle touch on his elbow, his confusion dissipating when he sees you falling into step with him and Harry.

“Oh, hi (Y/N).” He greets you with a small smile which you half return, “Pretty wild that Cedric put his name in the cup, huh?”

You nod absent-mindedly, looking around the students standing about the room to see if you spotted the two nimrods you were searching for. “Have you seen the twins?”

He shakes his head and you turn to Harry who does the same. You let out a sigh, dropping your hand from your hold on him and looking down at your shoes. You wanted to find the twin before they finished their potion, hoping to help them out instead of having them kill themselves prior to them even putting their name into the Goblet. There was an apology in order from you once you realized how your words had a double meaning to them. You weren’t trying to undermine them, you were just scared to lose them.

Harry seemed to notice your face fall and the gears turning in your head, “Why are you looking for them? Is everything okay?”

You bite your lip, debating telling the two what happened. “I kind of… yelled at them this morning for wanting to put their name in.” You shyly admit making Ron let out a light laugh. Your eyes immediately snap to him and send him a scowl. He doesn’t seem to get the hint until Harry knocks his shoulder with his.

“Yea, I would be mad too if I were as close as you were with them.” The black-haired boy consoles, “Who would want to put their life at risk for a silly title and some galleons?”

Sometimes you wonder how someone could be so rude to that boy. You didn’t interact with Harry a lot but when you did it was always pleasant.

You open your mouth to respond but it dies in your throat when the room fills with cheers and hooting. All eyes turn toward the door as the twins bounce through causing an uproar. People clap as they hold up the long glass vials, showing off their finished product.

Their cockiness makes every bit of guilt and remorse you feel fly out the window. Sure, it was kind of impressive that the two could whip up such a complicated potion within less than 24 hours but still. They were prancing around like it wasn’t going to be the thing that killed them.

Maybe you were being a bit extreme. But, still, it was a stupid idea. They had an age restriction for a reason.

After a brief conversation with Hermione who pointed out that the age line would just knock them out (something your brain failed to point out before your emotions took over), they make a show of linking arms like a couple at a wedding and down the liquid.

Your breath hitches when they drop from the bench and leap over the age line, the room going silent in anticipation. When nothing happens, the crowd resumes praising the two. You can’t help yourself from smiling, a weird sense of pride replacing the worry since they outwitted Dumbledore himself.

The boys dance around the circle, yes-ing and throwing thumbs up to everyone. They then both raise an arm and drop their papers into the Goblet. The same bolt of panic that surged through you when Cedric put his name in shoots through your spine again. You didn’t have any time to dwell on the feeling before their whole plan turns sour.

Blue flames twist out of the goblet, swirling in the air before shooting out and blasting the red-haired nitwits. The blow sends them flying back, students circle them once they land. You’re too far away to see what they’re doing, too busy processing what just happened before chants fill the air.

“Oh Merlin,” You finally snap out of it, rushing around the circle and rushing towards them. You wiggle through the crowd, pushing people out of the way and halting when you come to the front. The twins were rolling around on the floor, greybeards and all, wrestling each other.

You let out an indigent sound, angry at the two for getting themselves into this situation in the first place but also at everyone who is just sitting back and watching.

Rushing forward, you try to pull the two old men apart. You tug at whoever was on top’s robes and a hand flies back to hit you. You gasp at them, grabbing the hood and using all your strength to at least give them a hint. The twin on top rolls off beside the other and they both look up at you.

You stare down at them, they both have long grey hair and matching fluffy beards. There was a small skip of a beat in your heart as you looked at what the two would look like when they were old. Hopefully, this won’t be the only time you would see the two like this.

Shaking your head to knock the paranoid thoughts out, you focus back on the situation at hand. “Are you two stupid? Even Hermione told you that it wouldn’t have worked.” They just share a pained glance with one another. You snap your fingers, grabbing their attention again but all you get is their puppy dog eyes. “Why don’t you two listen to me ever?”

They send you a sheepish smile, barely visible under their large beards. You let out a dramatic groan, “Get up, nimrods.” You signal them with one hand and turn around, not bothering to see if they are following. The sea of students part for you, the scowl on your face enough to strike fear into them to clear a path without question.

None of you say anything until the three of you were out in the corridor, the only words being spoken along the way were Ron wishing the twins good luck. Once the doors shut, the two start bickering once again.

You’re tempted to stomp your foot like a child, but you are too busy focusing your energy into not tripping up the staircase. People stare as you march through the corridors, some Beauxbatons students whispering in French as you pass.

The twins bump into you when you stop abruptly. Both of them are about to mouth off something yet decided against it when you raise a finger. “Could you two stop for one second?” One of them, Fred presumably, opens his mouth to spit something back but George stops him with a light smack to his chest. You give him a grateful smile before digging into your robes for something.

Two potions daggle in front of the two boys making the older, well usually older, one roll his eyes. “You really made a bloody antidote. Do you have zero faith in us?” He scoffs but takes the potion and storms off.

You call after him, giving up when he turns a corner and disappears. As much as you like Fred and appreciate the friendship he forced upon you, he was quite difficult to make amends with when a problem arises. A frustrated huff escapes your mouth and your shoulders slump. Would he have rather gone to the hospital wing and get in trouble?

Deciding it was better to talk to him when he cools off, you turn back around to face the remaining twin, “I’m sorry, Georgie.” A guilty smile crosses your lips, “You have to be a wiz at charms and potions to pull the pranks. I didn’t mean to insult your guys’ intelligence, just your decision making skills.” He rolls his eyes, “I mean, I just don’t understand why you two would just jump on the opportunity to basically kill yourself for money.”

“Well, we’d rather die than not get the money.”

“George— “

A small smirk appears on his face when your voice raises a few octaves, anything to release some of the tension built up between the three of you. “Love, I’m kidding.” He runs a soothing hand over your scalp, running it down your arm and ending its journey when his hand slips into yours. You lean into his touch easily, glad they’re not the wrinkled ones from moments before. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

His tilted head makes you frown, you truly had no idea why the two were so adamant about joining this tournament. The risk outweighed the reward by miles. You felt guilty about calling them stupid, not about being protective of them. You just shake your head in return and let him guide you to a nearby bench.

The red head opens his mouth then closes it, not knowing how to express his feelings without you taking it the wrong way. “Fred was right when he said we don’t have money like you do-- not that he said it in the nicest way,” He quickly adds when he sees your head tilt down in shame, “Nor do we have the same notoriety that comes with your last name. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just--” He trails off and looks past you, trying to reorganize his thoughts.

“I don’t know my privilege sometimes.” You finish for him, and he nods to confirm. “I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t realize that.” The connections make sense, the glances shared between them when you went to the shop together, the nervous expression on George’s face every time you exchanged gifts during holidays, the staying at home during Hogsmeade weekends with “doing homework” excuses.

“We needed the money to open the joke shop and the allure it would get being owned by a Triwizard Champion, not because we wanted it for anything else.” He explains fully, glad to the realization on your face.

“What about the money from your bets at the cup?”

“Bagman said we needed a lesson about underage gambling.”

“That no good--”

George lets out a chuckle at how easily you switch moods. “Love, it’s fine.” He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him when he goes to run his other hand over your head again. The clarification of you worrying about him -them- waters his insides as his crush on you blossoms even more, “We’ll figure something out, Fred and I already have some plans.”

You huff and lean into him, “I am truly sorry, George. I really didn’t mean to insult you guys. I worry about Cedric but if something happened to you.” You look down at your intertwined hands, enjoying the moment before your eyes widen, “--Or Fred!” You quickly add, realizing what you said. If he heard your slip, he didn’t mention it. But, if you took a daring glance, you would see his bright red face. “Is there anything I can help with? As an apology?”

He fiddles with a loose string on the sleeve of your robe, debating between his options. “Do my potions essay?” That earns him a slap on the wrist making him giggle and squeeze you closer to him.

“I’ll be your first employee.” You offer, running through different ideas through your head. “I bet I can stock shelves faster than you.” A proud claim yet there is a mischievous glint in your eyes as you look up at him.

His mind goes blank at the thought of you suggesting a future event with him after graduation even if it was to make up for some silly understanding. Add that to the way you’re looking up at him, he couldn’t tell someone his name if they asked. He’s glad Fred stormed off because if his brother saw him this way, he could never live it down.

You call out to him, pulling him back into reality.

He feels his cheeks start to heat up, so he just pushes your head back into his shoulder, “We’ll see if you’ll have time once you’re traveling the world saving creatures.” You easily tuck into his side and fall into step with him as he starts moving the two of you down the corridor.

You falter a little at the mention of your dream career, the possibility of it slowly dwindling as time goes on. “I’ll always have time for my favorite Weasley.” The response comes so immediate, like it’s something you’ve said to him a thousand times. It’s like you don’t know what you do to him when you say those words— well, you couldn’t have since he’s never told you.

“I mean Ginny, of course. Not you.”

One last blow to regain the normalcy between you too. George recovers rather quickly this time, pinching your sides to make you as frazzled as he was. You let out a squeal, surprised by the action and push your face into him more.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #slow burn #friends to lovers #draco malfoy x sister!reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #cedric diggory platonic #george weasley x you #george weasley imagines #george weasley imagine #george weasley x malfoy!reader #malfoy!reader #malfoy reader

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arcielee · 11 months

Text

Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings: SA mentioned in passing/implied, abuse implied, death mentioned in graphic detailing (because it was deserved) and overall sexism because it is the 9th century. As always, MDNI, 18+ Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 4857 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Author’s Note: This chapter is definitely a hybrid of the show vs the books, with me adding flare to what happened to fit the narrative for this story as it is the fanfiction way. Anyway, enjoy. 💜 Thank you to my darling beta reader @aspen-carter for helping me with this chapter. 💜 Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @triscy @assortedseaglass @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek @heavenly1927 @greenowlfactif @larlarle @babyblue711 @fangirlninja67 @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauftivy @tssf-imagines (bold means I was unable to tag you!)

Chapter 4

Coccham thrummed with the return of their lord, and his stride brimmed with an almost arrogance as Uhtred entered the great hall. Keavy thought it endearing to see how he greeted Gisela, how she glowed when his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss.

“I have the monk you sent me,” she said, pulling back with her brow raised, her lips curled upwards.

Uhtred had his own roguish grin. “He has left that life behind and wishes to serve me instead.”

Now both her brows raised, with a hum to acknowledge what he said, and then Gisela beckoned to Keavy to follow behind as they moved back towards the small side room. With their entrance, Osferth pushed to sit upright, his dirty blonde hair mussed, and he smothered a groan. He looked expectantly around before his gaze settled on Gisela.

“I understand you left the monastery,” her tone held no judgment, and her smile remained on her lips. “You truly wish to serve a heathen, Osferth?”

Keavy peered at Uhtred and saw his brow quirked, his expression amused by his wife’s blunt tongue, but Osferth remained focused, his lips pursed in a thin line. “My uncle Leofric told me your husband is a good man, lady,” and he then looked up to meet her eyes. “A great man.”

“He said that?” Uhtred of Bebbanburg had a presence preceded by reputation; he was fearsome, tall and built solid, but with Osferth’s words, he seemed to soften at the mention of Leofric.

“Yes, he did, lord.”

Gisela ignored her husband, her eyes still focused on Osferth. “And yet, this good man will let you join him for one reason only,” and then she looked to her husband. “To embarrass Alfred.”

His gaze fell back to Uhtred and he nodded. “It’s true.”

Osferth brought his legs to the side, pushing himself to stand; though Uhtred was tall, he just peeked just past his height. “That may be the reason you allow me to join you, lord,” and there was a determination that burned, complementing the blue of his eyes. “But I will give you a reason to let me stay.”

Amusement flickered over his features again, and then Uhtred called for them both to be brought to rooms of their own, back at the barracks that housed his men; there were vacant rooms at the end, with Osferth’s next to her own.

And Keavy began to find a sense of comfort within Coccham’s walls, beginning with the friendships of Gisela and the abbess.

As a grown woman, Keavy had a newer appreciation for the wit and the conversation of Lady Gisela, and she adored Keavy in return, as well as the extra set of hands to help her with the homestead. The children were taken with the Irishwoman: Stiorra was fearless with her affections, whereas Oswald was more reserved, but still offered shy smiles and would always come when she called.

The friendship that blossomed with the abbess felt forced at first; Keavy eventually understood that Gisela must have confided in Hild and was relieved to know the abbess’ disposition never changed. Instead, she seemed to exude a warmth with her understanding, her blue eyes watchful and kind as Keavy began to share, little by little, what truly happened in Lunden. In return, Hild shared the horrors that Uhtred rescued her from, and she gifted Keavy the chainmail she wore for her years when she fought at his side.

Keavy felt choked from the gesture, from finally admitting out loud, “I feel broken, Hild.”

The abbess’ hands still held calluses, though they started to soften with prayer, and her touch was warm, like a balm to the ache that Keavy carried still. “I did as well, for a long time, and I burned through that anger I carried as I fought alongside Uhtred,” she began, and Keavy felt lighter with her confession. Hild smiled. “But it clouded my mind, kept me from the true purpose of my life and the plan that God–”

Keavy could not smother her groan and Gisela’s laughter was light above them, calling to the abbess. “Hild, remember we sit in a pagan hall,” she teased, a gold glitter that danced in her hazel eyes. “Keep your God within the four walls that my husband allows you and allow us our own beliefs.”

Hild held up her hands, her own good-natured smile worn, and Keavy looked to Gisela. “I believe in the true gods, Keavy, and I see that you have been brought here by fate,” she finished, her smile as though she was aware of more than she gave on.

Fate, how it echoed in her mind with uncertainty, something she pushed aside with crimson cheeks that accompanied her daily routine.

Which included her instruction to tend to Osferth.

Keavy would wake him with a soft tap on his door, bringing fresh bandages and a plate to share their morning meal. She enjoyed his company, how he was not shy to share about himself and she listened with rapt attention, with a rose color dusting her cheeks.

Osferth shared his origins, how he was King Alfred’s bastard, though the weight he put behind the word meant nothing to Keavy as she viewed that his blood still held royalty all the same. When she said this, she watched how his dimples lined his cheeks with his pursed smile, “It is not the same, my lady.”

And Keavy was lost in her thought of how handsome Osferth was, dimples and all. “I am not a lady,” she reminded him, her complexion almost crimson.

As time healed him, she saw how his skin mended together, the bold pink stripe of new skin across his chest, and how the bruising faded into muted shades of green, peeking beneath his chest hair. Osferth was lean, but without his shirt or his albe, she was able to admire the tone to his lithe figure and the pale planes of his chest; she was so lost in her thoughts, her fingers were soft to trace his scar, from his shoulder until the middle of his chest before she realized the intimacy of her touch.

Osferth was watching her, the brilliant blue of his eyes wide.

Her hand dropped to her side. “You are healed enough,” she announced, her voice too loud, moving to gather the clean cloths she brought with her. “You have no need for these…”

She burned, too focused to notice how he reached for her, her name fell from his lips, “Keavy…”

And she recoiled from his voice, her mortification boiling under her skin. “Excuse me,” she rasped, leaving his room and fleeing back to the hall where she found Gisela and Hild at the large table. They were startled with her abrupt entrance, their attention focused on the red that bloomed on her pale features.

While Hild tilted her head, her brows knitted above, Gisela wore her same knowing smile. “How is Osferth fairing today, Keavy?” her tone teasing, as always.

She was grateful that Osferth was a gentleman, not breathing a word about earlier and accompanying her when she took the children out from under Gisela’s step. He lifted Oswald to his shoulders, with a slight grimace still, and Stiorra rested on her hip and a quilt on the other, and they walked out to a knoll in a nearby meadow.

It was one of the last sunny days of the season and Keavy laid the quilt on top of the grass, a place to sit as she braided daisies into Stiorra’s curls. The boys found sticks and Oswald preened for the praise as Osferth corrected his stance, while the girls’ cheeks were rosy from cheering them on.

The evening was her own, as always; after supper was had and the children were tucked into bed, Keavy was able to wander through the village. Often, Osferth would join her, his long legs easily keeping with her pace, his eyes watchful as she explored what she considered to be her newfound sanctuary.

As the autumn months crept, an evening frost accompanied it, and a large bonfire was often made. They seated themselves on a log, talking under the night sky by the crackling fire, long after Coccham was lulled to sleep. Osferth stood, reaching for her hand, a habit that remained and she was always glad to take it still, and he walked her back to their rooms.

Her cheeks burned within his peaceful proximity, and she shyly admired his sharp features. In the daytime, she was able to speak freely, unabashedly, and enjoyed when she could cause cracks in his stoic demeanor, to see the upwards curl of his lips.

But in the quiet of the night, underneath the stars that sparkled against the navy velvet sky, she felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth, an inability to string two words together before they arrived to her door.

“I never thanked you,” she almost whispered and she peered up. His face was shadowed with dark, an offset amber hue from a lone torch still perched in the sconce outside; her cheeks grew warm, her gaze falling down. “For saving me that night in the woods.”

Osferth hummed, a finger curled under her chin and brought her eyes to meet with his. “You saved me first,” he reminded her, a soft curl to his lips. “Sleep well, Keavy.”

She slipped into her room, the door closed quick and quiet, her backside pressed against and she covered her face. She could feel the heat of her blush against her palms and her fingers flitted to her jawbone, to her marment; it was a reminder of her lot in life, of her place and purpose supposedly ordained by the Christian God, if she wished to entertain the words spoken by holy men and women.

She was a shadow of a nursemaid, serving an unpayable debt, and possibly cursed, if she chose to believe the slavers. And Osferth had the blood of a king that she knew thrummed underneath; he was honorable, and held no resentment with his disposition, just an understanding of his place in this world.

“I am cursed by God because of my birth, the sins of my father have already doomed me,” he once shared the night they watched Æthelflæd arrive with her new husband. Keavy could see the similarities between his sister, how they shared the severity that Osferth carried in his features.

“I am cursed as well,” was all she said in response, and she did not dare look to him.

His words embedded into her mind, pushing aside the so-called fate of the gods, and she saw his drive, his determination to create from nothing. There was a flicker of disappointment when Untred denied him to join the men to retake Lunden, how Uhtred pressed his fist into his shoulder and Osferth flinched, subtle, but enough to be decided that he would remain in Coccham still, to continue to gather his strength.

Silly girl, she chided herself, pulling from the door and undressing for bed. She knew soon enough that Osferth would be well to go and fight alongside Uhtred, and she would remain in Coccham, braiding daisies into a crown for Stiorra to wear.

And she laid down with the heavy acceptance of this fate that Gisela spoke of, though her last thought was his touch: how right it felt when he held her hand, how gentle his touch was when he tilted her chin upwards to meet with his gaze…

+ + + +

The first four years of his life was spent in the shadow of the family his father had, separate from the mother he never knew and who died bringing him into the world. His brother was too young, but his sister Æthelflæd always regarded him with a curiosity, a kindness that he did not receive anywhere else in the court.

Osferth only had one memory of his father, remembering how large his hands felt holding his own, and the hereditary severity that lined his features. Dusk was settling over Wintanceaster and the king walked brisk strides across the cobblestone, pulling Osferth to keep with his pace.

He recalled when they passed the queen, how her dark eyes glared at him in an unsettling way, in a way that pierced into his chest. Her gaze never faltered, holding his siblings tight at her side; Edward seemed sleepy, and Æthelflæd seemed confused with what was happening.

The queen’s heated gaze followed him, as he looked over his shoulder to see her, leaving Wintanceaster for what he thought would be forever.

Osferth was quick to understand that this haunted look would follow him throughout his life, something that would accompany the title bastard. Sometimes it did not hold the heat, the hatred of the queen’s eyes, but cruelty all the same with smirks and scoffs, always some visceral reaction.

This was, of course, until he met Keavy.

His first morning in Coccham, he laid in his bed and listened for the soft tap on his door; he groaned quietly as he sat up, the wound across his chest felt as if it was tearing open with his movement, with a bruising that bore down into his bones.

Despite the early hours, her smile was bright and she held a tray with fresh bread, cold cuts, cheese and some sliced fruit. He chewed quietly as she then fretted over his injury, unabashed with his shirtless state, her fingers flitting over the gash and a soft hum or tsk that rolled off her tongue.

He enjoyed how Keavy was open and honest with him, how easy it was to speak with her. There was no judgment that clouded her green eyes when he finally admitted that he was a bastard, how she did not even flinch at the word. “So, you have the blood of a king in your veins,” she stated, as if it was the simplest thing.

Until then, the taste of the word was bitter, something he had to learn to not react when it was spoken with venom. Though he was grateful that Uhtred housed both him and Keavy, there was the fluttered anxiety that rippled in his chest when his lady wife admitted to the real reason her husband allowed him to stay.

The short time with Leofric had him imposing the thought that a man’s worth was carried in his sword and Osferth was determined to be just that; he wished to create a name outside that bastard smog that followed his steps.

But for now, he did not mind the reprieve for his recovery, nor the company of Keavy.

His chest healed without infection, thank God or the gods–he was no longer certain. When Keavy came that morning, he watched how her pink lips pursed as she looked him over; the rose color that bloomed on her cheeks was lovely and his skin prickled from her soft touch as her fingers trailed his scar.

Osferth was silent, unmoving. He watched the sudden crimson to her cheeks when she realized, but he had been too slow to catch her hand as she pulled away, all by sprinting to leave his room.

It left him flustered, his mind cluttered from her touch, something that felt so intimate in the moment. But her reaction left his stomach curdling with a misplaced feeling. Guilt? His anxiety returned?

He dressed quickly with the intention to follow, instead running into the Irishman and the Dane. They saw the shades of red that plumed on his features. “What’s going on, lover boy?” Finan spoke up, his voice loud as always.

Osferth was aware that they did not consider Keavy the conventional beauty that they would lust over; any time alone with them involved them crowing about his crush, saying it would dissipate the moment his cock was wet. He ignored their words; Keavy was a kind of beauty that resonated from within, something so uniquely her own, with her fine figure, her fair skin, her eyes as green as the meadows that lead to Coccham…

He disregarded their unsolicited advice–”Go and just kiss her already!”–instead he sought her out, shadowing her task to watch the children that day. He knew that the evening would be their own, and that they would be able to speak freely, boldly, without prying ears.

This was when she opened about the horrors of Lunden, before they had arrived, and it awoke something within him that he had not felt before.

A bloodlust, a want for vengeance, and the need to gut the one-armed Dane, Sigefrid Thurgilson.

Uhtred denied him joining to go to Lunden, but took to heart his words spoken–to gather his strength. He found Finan and Sihtric, and they agreed to show him pell stances, ways to train and prepare to be a swordsman.

Osferth felt weak at first, a soreness that touched every muscle within his body, but it soon dissipated as he pushed through. Then the men returned and he saw a darkness that accompanied them, along with the news that his sister had been taken by the Danes.

It was a white heat of anger that flitted across his brow before his stoic nature settled again.

He had only regained his sister, remembering how he watched with Keavy from the shore as Æthelflæd climbed onto the docks, walking the shadow of her husband, her mouth a tight line.

Osferth saw her again later that night when she left the church the nun Hild brought up, hearing her soft steps and seeing her cheeks were wet with tears. He had been making his way towards the barracks, but held still at the sight and she stopped, spotting him, her hands wiping her face.

“Lady,” he was quick with a formal greeting, bowing his head.

“Osferth,” her voice was sad and he met with her eyes, glassy from her tears. “I… I have not expected to ever see you again,” and a soft smile came to her lips. “Did you come to Coccham to spite our father?”

Her words warmed his chest with how she openly admitted to the relationship that so many skirted around, or would openly jest–other than Keavy, of course. Osferth watched her for a moment, seeing how their father reflected in her posture, with the same severity of her gentle features.

“Yes I did,” and his own lips curled upwards in response.

He offered to escort her back to the great hall, where they would expect her husband. But with the mention of Lord Æthelred, he saw how his sister darkened, in the same way Keavy flinched with the mention of Dane Sigefrid. And he knew that he was not a good man.

It curdled in his stomach that night, the news of her capture rekindling that burning vengeance and he felt its grip on his heart.

“Lord,” he called when he saw Uhtred. “I will come with you.”

Uhtred noticed how his jaw ticked with his words. “You will come when we have reason to go,” he placed a hand on his shoulder. “When Sihtric and Rypere come back with news.”

Rypere returned and soon enough they were called by the king for negotiations, the similar echo to the time in Lunden–all ego, and without a satisfying conclusion. As they returned homeward, Osferth saw the worry that lined Uhtred’s face, though he did not learn its cause until a private moment with Finan, when Uhtred shared the truth of his sister, and what she was asking of them.

“She loves him,” Finan almost laughed at the idea, his tone incredulous. “Did we just not attend her wedding to another man?”

“He is not a good man,” Osferth cut through, and he did not expand. Instead, he looked to Uhtred. “What must we do?”

They returned to Coccham, to rest, to plan, to wait until Sihtric came; Osferth felt the anxiety knitting into his lower abdomen again, and his steps brought him to Keavy’s door, rapping his knuckles against the wood.

She opened it, pulling a shawl over her simple cotton dress, its burgundy tones bringing out the emerald of her eyes. “Osferth?” Her tone was a mixture of her pleasure, of her surprise. Keavy stepped aside, opening the door to allow him inside. “What is the matter?” And he was a dam broken, reliving the prior days and its events: from the debt of Wessex to his sister’s true-heart desire. Keavy held a quiet contemplation, allowing the spate of his words that broke down the concern he felt for his kin. “You only want the best for your sister,” and her simple words were a balm, a warmth that soothed the knot in his chest. “What do you need from me?”

He had not thought of that when he knocked, balking a moment before he said, “...I thought I would come for that promised haircut.”

The returned rose color that flushed her cheeks, her smile that tugged at his heart in a way he could not describe. “Very well, allow me to get the scissors from Gisela and we can do that later this evening, once Stiorra and Oswald are asleep.” Her eyes met with his own and he swallowed thickly when she added, “I will come to your room.”

Ofserth was waiting for her when she came that evening, the same soft tap to his door. Inside, he moved to seat himself on a stool, his legs long and his knees jutted up with his feet on the floor. He closed his eyes as she combed through his hair, humming when she replaced it with her fingers.

Keavy was methodical and he listened to the clipping sounds of the silver edges, his dirty blonde locks falling to the floor around him as she trimmed away the last remnants of his days at the monastery.

It was quiet and she set the scissors down; he felt her hands rubbing over his scalp, brushing away the stray hairs and it tickled his ears as it fell to the growing pile. She stopped, her hands paused to cradle his cheeks and he opened his eyes to see the green of her eyes watching him.

He reached to cup one of her hands against his cheek and her eyes met with his, with the slight quirk of her brow. Osferth took a breath, turning his face and pressing his lips against her palm, before releasing his hold and letting her hand fall back to her side.

Keavy watched him still, her pink lips parted and wet from her tongue, and he pushed to stand, daring to close the space between them, his large palms settling on the small of her waist. “Keavy,” his timbre low and he saw the flush of color deepen on her features. “May I kiss you?”

She nodded mutely and his palms knitted behind, cradling her lower back and pulling her against his chest; Keavy pressed to her toes, the sweetest sigh that spilled from her lips–

“Baby monk,” the unwelcome bark of the Irishman jolted them apart, accompanied with the hammered sound against the door. Finan pushed it open, his dark brows lifted at the sight of Keavy, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes as he looked Osferth over with a wry smile that spread across his jaw. “I see you have a new era about ya,” he teased, his hand running over his own low cut. “Looks good on ya.”

“Thank you, Finan,” Osferth was flushed, his eyes glancing at Keavy before returning to the Irishman and his smug expression.

“Sihtric arrived,” he finished. “It’s time to go.”

He then dipped through the door, leaving them behind with their broken moment. Osferth moved to grab his scabbard, though he wished to grab Keavy, to pull her close once more; instead he knotted the leather around his slender waist.

When he finished, he paused for a moment, his hands balled then his fingers flexed before he looked up to see Keavy. She was standing still, her hands folded in front, her eyes still watchful. Osferth nodded his head and as he left, something caught his sleeve and he looked back to see her fingers pinching the fabric of his albe.

“Return to me, Osferth,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

There was the subtle curl of his lips and he reached for her hold, bringing the back of her hand to lips for a kiss, savoring her smell of lavender and thyme. “I will, Keavy. I swear it.”

That moment replayed in his mind as he met with the men, the hurried relay of the note Sihtric brought and a quick departure from Coccham. They rowed eastward, easing the boat to dock a ways up and away the main docks of Beamfleot. The followed the shadows of the woods that lead towards the fort; Osferth felt the flutter of his nerves, as well as the gaze of Uhtred. “Are you afraid?”

“Am I even allowed to admit that?” Osferth asked back.

Uhtred shrugged. “Osferth, at times we’re all afraid. Courage is just finding the will to overcome that fear. Nothing more,” he reached and placed his palm on his shoulder. “But you must find that courage.”

Ahead, they spotted the Danes that lined the dock, more than was initially thought and a hazard to their escape; with Uhtred’s command, there was a frenzied onslaught and they left the bodies to litter the Temes.

They pressed until they reached the walls that surrounded the burh, a ruction echoing the stones. Osferth was offered to be hoisted upwards, and even with his lean length there was still a struggle to climb over the battlement, but he managed to land on the cobblestone curtain wall.

He followed this pathway, finding it unguarded, but remained low, unseen; once he understood he was truly alone, he dared look over at the clamor of Danes that drank and bellowed below in the fortress. From his spot, he also saw the smoke that began to pour from the Great Hall, accompanied with yells.

He was quick to return and called down. “Lord,” his chest heaving. “Fire!”

“Jump down, baby monk,” Finan called back. The gates creaked open and Danes poured through, spilling and coughing through the mouth of Beamfleot.

Osferth instead returned, ignoring the yell of the Irishman; he moved quickly, his eyes burning in the smoke that rose, but did not stop until he spotted Æthelflæd, the stream of her dark hair as she followed behind a blonde Dane; he pulled her with urgency, and the roar of his name echoed over the chaos.

“Erik.”

And Osferth saw him, the same Dane from Lunden, his eyes black and his knifed hand glinted from the growing flames. He moved, peering over the stone wall at the gate’s top, watching how the Dane escort paused, how Æthelflæd now pulled at him, begging him to run.

“You dare betray me, brother?” Sigefrid roared.

“I will pay your share of the ransom,” Erik pulled away from her, both covered in soot and she was stanced with the desperation to run still. But instead, Æthelflæd watched.

There was the disarray of Danes that fled the fire, paying no mind to the ruined fortress or the ruined kinship. Sigefrid laughed, dark and boisterous. “And how will you pay?” His voice was cruel. “In what? Piss?”

“I will pay the ransom,” he insisted, almost pleading.

Sigefrid moved towards him, swelled with fury, and only then did Erik unsheathe his own blade, both hands curled around the grip. “You couldn’t pay a goat to lick the sweat off your balls,” and with those words, Sigefrid lunged at his brother.

There was a clash of steel that rang out and Osferth saw the astonishment that played on his face as his brother parried, gutting him with the knife embedded on his arm. Æthelflæd screamed her heartbreak, watching the blood pour from this man she swore she loved, and she screamed again when Sigefrid turned his attention to her, pulling back his bloodied hand and stalking towards her.

“Æthelflæd!” Uhtred ran to the outside of the wall, Finan and men in tow. The distraction halted Sigefrid at the entrance and without a thought, Osferth drew his sword and leapt over, crushing down on top of Sigefrid, his sword piercing through his chest and lungs.

The Dane did not cry out, only the wet hissing sound of his life leaving his body as they both crumpled to the ground. His shins burned, but Osferth stood upright, looking to his sister, then to Uhtred.

He saw how his eyes shone with a new admiration of the bold behavior of the bastard; Uhtred then looked to Æthelflæd, taking her hand and he called for his men to follow.

Osferth pulled his sword from the dead man and then cut through his forearm, then reaching to grab the blade, the blood nub thumping to the dirt. He then slipped it around his waist and followed after, leaving Beamfleot to burn.

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#the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fanfiction #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #osferth fanfic #osferth fanfiction #osferth x oc #osferth x ofc #osferth x keavy #we need more osferth fanfic #slow burn #farewell wanderlust

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aph-america · 3 months

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Inevitable Temptation - Chapter 1: A Deal

After years of bullying due to a disorder that leaves him infertile, Ivan swears to never marry an Alpha. But living in a society that leaves him with few freedoms, his father marries him off. His Alpha fiancé, Alfred F. Jones, is a charming fellow who seems to not have a reason to marry an omega like Ivan- or does he?

“I won’t, I won’t have of it!”

“Yes, you will! Now shut it!”

Cries echoed through the room, as two men had a passionate yelling match. One much younger, had a red face with watering eyes. Another older, with a wrinkled harsh frown. Graying hair, and taller, he spoke down to the younger man. His voice lacked patience and empathy. His scent overpowered the room, asserting his presence.

“We let you go to school, get an education… Give you a few more years to… mature … and now, it is time to get married. The Jones are a respectable family, and the omega price they have offered is undeniable. We need the money, you need an alpha-”

“But father-”

“I WILL NOT HEAR OF IT!”

The younger man gasped, taking a step back as his vision blurred. Innocent eyes terrified.

“It is done. You will be marrying Jones.”

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

“This is going to be good for you Ivan, I swear!”

A thick blonde with a bob haircut smiled, fixing the hair of the omega in front of her. Said omega was her younger brother, who wore a deep scowl on his face. Earlier that day, he found out that his father had betrothed him to an alpha he’s never met. After a crying session, he was ordered to pack his bags and prepare a move to the Jones estate. Evidently his fiancé had requested they move in together as soon as possible.

Ivan snorted, ignoring his sister’s attempts to cheer him up. “Good for me. Ha. Yes, to be some alpha’s house omega. What a life!” He spat out in a sarcastic voice. His tone dripped with despair, as this fate was one he despised. He clenched and unclenched his hands, fighting the urge to break an object. A headache began to form, making the side of his head throb.

“Who says you can’t work? Not all omega’s stay at home.” His sister Natalia corrected, raising a brow as she helped him pack his things. “My omega works.”

“If he comes from such wealth as father says, I doubt it…” Ivan whined, his voice defeated. He looked at the ground, staring at his dress shoes. He put on his Sunday best to meet his new fiancé. His father insisted on it. Slumping in his chair, he pulled his scarf over his face. He felt his older sister poke him on the side.

“Sit up straight! Posture!” Sofia scolded then straightened Ivan’s tie. “Listen, I know you are… Rebellious… and have a free spirit, but marrying an alpha isn’t the death sentence that you seem to believe it is.” She continued her lecture, ignoring Ivan’s eye rolling and head shaking. “You will have a husband and alpha to take care of you and provide… It is not such a bad thing-”

“I don’t want to be provided for!” Ivan interrupted, his voice cracking. “I don’t want to be taken care of! I can take care of myself! Why must I need an alpha to function in this world?!” He cried out, getting emotional. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to calm himself down. His scent started to become more noticeable, as the rush of emotions were pushing the aromas out. The three siblings all kept their scents at bay when around each other. Natalia and Sofia were the only alphas who’s smell didn’t make Ivan feel overpowered. His sensitive nose added another reason to his disdain for alphas.

“This is all so easy for you two to say. You both are alphas. Perfect ones at that…” Ivan glanced down, a crestfallen look in his eyes. “You will never understand having your fate and life in the hands of someone else… Omegas are seen as mere baby makers… And I can’t even do that !” He closed his eyes, his hands balled into fist out of frustration. “And I don’t want to hear it anymore! Let’s just go!” Heart racing, he rose and rushed to grab his belongings. His sisters didn’t respond to the outburst. The pair weren’t accustomed to their brother being this emotional. Ivan was known to be quiet, calm, never the one to yell or shout. Smiles on his pretty face. Nevertheless, today had brought out a side of Ivan the sisters hadn’t witnessed before.

“Our father is so happy to pawn me off to another alpha! I am such a burden to this entire family! I see it now!” Ivan ranted, sniffling as his vision went haywire. He snatched one of the handles of the suitcase and dragged it out the room, the sounds of heavy breathing echoing in the room. Sofia chased after him, heart broken to hear such words slip from her brother's lips.

“You are not a burden to this family!” Sofia pleaded, shaking her head. Eyes wide, she was frantic to calm her brother down before their father overheard his tantrum. Her voice lowered as she attempted to reason with him. Tears fell down her cheeks, disheartened by the entire situation. “Our father just… He knows what is best for you, even if you disagree-”

“Best for me or what is best for our family image?” Ivan interrupted, shaking his head. His eyes narrowed, lips trembling. His voice matched his expression. “Don’t act like this is for me. It never has been.” A lump grew in his throat with him desperate to push it down. He couldn’t bear to look at his older sister’s face. Such a beautiful alpha, both of his sisters were the pride and joy of their parents. Ivan was nothing short of a pure disappointment; an omega who couldn’t bear children.

“I miss mother. She’d never let this happen…” Ivan's voice cracked again, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Red and stained, he rushed away to their car. His fate was awaiting him, and the emotional exhaustion of arguing with his family had drained him.

The car ride to the Jones’ estate was silent. The tension in the air was thick, no one dared to utter a single word. With Ivan on edge, they required him to be calm and collected when meeting his fiancé. Ivan’s heart raced, pumping blood faster the closer they drove to the house. His hand went to his neck, rubbing the skin raw out of anxiety. In his mind, this car ride was it. His last ride forever, before he was shackled to the chains of marriage. Any ideas of sabotage were thrown out the window. His father made it clear earlier if he didn’t see the engagement through, he wasn't welcomed back.

Ivan couldn’t fathom trying to guess what his fiancé looked like. No one had offered to show Ivan a photo of what the man looked like. Or even describe him, he only kept hearing how respectable of a family he came from as if that meant anything to Ivan. It meant something to his father, who viewed status as most important. But to Ivan, he couldn’t care less. What about his personality? Interest? Passions? Hobbies? Do they have anything in common? Knowing his father, he could answer that question: none. It meant nothing to his father to match him with a man he’d get along with.

Once pulled into a driveway, Ivan’s eyes scanned the house. Big and beautiful, it was a house perfect for a family, but that gave Ivan a sting to the chest as he couldn’t provide such a blessing. ‘It’s so big for just two people…’ Ivan thought. The car parked and outside stood a man. Ivan's eyes averted, avoiding any contact for the moment. The rest of his family got out of the car, with himself last. At a slow pace, he opened the door, eyes still glued to the ground. It wasn't until he heard someone address him that he finally had the courage to look up.

“Ivan! It’s so nice to see you again!”

Ivan's eyes met the man speaking to him. Tall, slight tan, bright blue eyes, blond, with a radiant smile, he’s… handsome. Ivan blinked, wondering if perhaps this was an assistant or family member to his fiancé.

“Ah, uh, yes?” Ivan hesitated. He’s never seen this man in his life, but he had zero idea if his father had lied that Ivan knew and remembered him. Not prepared to deal with the backlash of being truthful, he attempted to verbally agree to whatever this man said.

The man walked up and took his hand. With gentle care, he lifted it and brought it to his lips. A simple kiss before he slowly placed it back down. He flashed his perfect smile again, bright white teeth that were straight. This brought a burn to Ivan’s face. He despised it.

His scent kept Ivan’s face red as well. This alpha smelled good . Sage and citrus, with a hint of musk. Masculine but not overpowering. Ivan hadn’t come across an alpha with intriguing pheromones before.

“What a gentleman. Alfred, I know you are going to take great care of my son.” Father said, using a kinder tone than the one Ivan experienced earlier that day.

‘This… This is him?’ Ivan thought. This is Alfred Jones? This is the man who paid money to marry him? But why on earth would a handsome alpha, with higher social status want him, an omega who’s infertile? There had to be an ulterior motive, but Ivan didn’t have the time to ponder on his new fiancé's plans. A forced smile appeared on his face out of habit.

Ivan had been raised to continuously form a smile on his face. When he was younger, he did it to appear friendly since he had been bullied relentlessly. As an adult, others pressured him to come across as ‘approachable’ . No one wanted to see an omega with a sullen look.

“Of course I will! Let me help you guys with his stuff!” Alfred offered, immediately aiding Natalia with taking out Ivan’s suitcases. His father joined in on gathering his belongings, with Ivan zoning out for a moment. He was snapped back to reality when Sofia grabbed his hand and led him to the door.

“What a lovely house! I can not wait to see what’s inside!” Sofia said, her smile beaming. She hoped her positive energy would rub off on her younger brother.

“ Actually- We are going to head home. Let us give the new couple some privacy.” Their father stated, his voice clear. There was a command to it, hinting to the sisters not to argue.

Ivan blinked, stunned that his sisters couldn't even stay to help him settle in. His father without a doubt couldn’t wait to get rid of him it appears. His chest tingled with hurt from the reminder that he was simply a burden to his whole family.

“Well, you guys are always welcomed over!” Alfred said with cheer in his voice. He opened the door and carried Ivan’s belongings in while he said his goodbyes to his family.

Said goodbyes were awkward, Ivan hugged everyone, even his father. This entire situation was rushed and appeared on a whim, he struggled to process it for a proper farewell. Although, it wasn't goodbye forever; his family only lived an hour away. This goodbye symbolized him leaving his pack. Even so, he had a feeling that his father planned to keep him away from his sisters for as long as he could. The quick hugs didn’t give Ivan the chance to be scented by them.

Suddenly, everything became a blur. Dissociating, he couldn’t recall what happened between his goodbyes and coming inside Alfred’s house. Out of body, he was snapped back to reality by his new fiancé.

“Ivan- Ivan? You okay?”

Ivan flinched, his eyes wide and his heart racing. His eyes went to Alfred's, who wore a worried expression. Moving his lips, no words came out. After a few deep breaths, he fought to compose himself. The scent hit him again, the sage and citrus made Ivan clueless for a second.

“I- Yes, I, I am alright. I am, just, um, this is just a lot.” He spat out, eyes wide, another weak smile. Looking down, he was embarrassed by how odd he was acting. Then again, he began to question why he cared. Who cares about how he appears in front of an alpha!

“Oh, yeah, it is, ha. But, how about I show you the house? I want you to feel at home.” Alfred said, a soft smile taking over his face. He took Ivan’s hand, which made the man stiffen. Ivan ripped it away, he didn’t want to be touched by any alpha, especially one whose scent was so intriguing. Not at this moment at least. He needed to keep a distance.

“You can… lead the way.” Ivan was frigid. He refused to turn into a shy, stuttering omega. He desired to compose himself, as he wouldn’t be won over. ‘I don’t need him thinking he bought me and now I’ll do whatever he pleases…’ Ivan thought, critical. ‘I need to get it together.’ His forced smile had returned to a neutral expression.

Alfred raised a brow, but saved face by continuing to smile. A smirk plastered on his face was his iconic look, the man always appeared positive and put together. Fixing the collar of his dress shirt, he began his tour of the house. Said home had five bedrooms, and three bathrooms. The master bedroom, that Alfred saved for last, was the most luxurious. A large bed, velvet sheets, beautiful hardwood furniture, decorated by someone with taste. The entire house was picture perfect out of a magazine, but this room topped it off like a cherry.

“And this is our room. Nice, ain’t it?” Alfred bragged, turning around to catch Ivan’s expression. He took wide eyes to mean Ivan was captivated. His goal was to relentlessly impress his new omega.

Alfred had a habit of flaunting money with regards to lovers. Since childhood, it was engraved into his head that a good alpha provides for his omega. And that he could do, plus more. An omega could never be too spoiled in his eyes.

Alfred subconsciously put out his scent, as the flexing of his house encouraged it. Especially in reaction to Ivan’s - the man smelt delicious. Fresh flowers with vanilla, Alfred tried not to pay attention to it at this moment. If he focused on that sweet scent too much, he would struggle to control himself.

‘Stop staring as if you've never seen a nice home before…’ Ivan thought, neutralizing his expression. Violet eyes lazed upon Alfred. “Yes. I like it.” An understatement coming from Ivan. He’d love nothing more than to throw his body on that bed and hide his face in the fluffy pillows. He was in desperate need of a nap, but he had to get away from Alfred’s overpowering smell.

Placing his pale hands on his waist, he decided to use this as a chance to discuss sleeping arrangements. “So. Will we be sharing a bed so soon…?” Ivan presented the question as if it had to do with social etiquette, and not with the fact that Ivan had zero interest in sleeping next to Alfred right now. Maybe even, at all.

Alfred’s expression stayed unfazed. “If you think it’s too soon, then that’s fine! I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom until you’re more comfortable. Nothin’ to rush.” He shrugged, his demeanor unbothered. In reality, he was a bit disappointed, but not surprised. It would be cocky of him to think he had a chance to nuzzle his nose into Ivan’s neck anytime soon. He turned on his heels to walk out, extending his arms. “So, yeah, that’s the house! Uh, any questions?”

Ivan shook his head, his hands staying on his hips. “No… Other than if it would be alright if I took a nap? I am feeling exhausted, yes?” He asked. Hooded violet eyes did appear tired to Alfred. The poor omega’s face was red, with his heart still racing. Lips twitching as his natural urge to smile fought against his inner despair.

“Yeah, yeah, of course! I bet all the packing was a lot of work…” Alfred’s eyes went to the floor, then came back to meet Ivan’s. He pointed to his bedroom, “You can take the master, I don’t mind.” He offered his attempt to swoon his fiancé with politeness.

Ivan shook his head with haste, walking away from the room in a hurry. “No, no, it is fine. It is your room. I will take the spare. Do not worry…” He waved his hand as he took the chance to hide away. “I will… see you later…” The Russian said, tone awkward as he closed the door.

Taking a deep inhale, he was relieved that the room didn’t reak of Alfred. He was stressed, sad, tired, and emotionally exhausted. A condition where commonly, an attractive alpha’s presence brings peace. Nevertheless, to the proud Ivan, it’s a stress beyond belief. He hated alphas, they were selfish, awful, rude, and only viewed omegas as a sex object or baby maker. The oppressor to his kind, and he refused to have his knees buckle to one. Not now, not ever.

Ivan threw himself on the bed, shoving his face into the pillows.

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mathiwrites · 2 months

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the justice league's moms' book club's guide to vampire slaying, a martha kent, alfred pennyworth, atlanna & hippolyta fanfic

Chapter 5 - The Book Club

In hindsight, Clark has always made learning about new cultures, traditions and personalities easy. It is her own fault for assuming that she could replicate the delicate balance that the League has achieved with a handful of letters, a book and some food.

Martha blinks between Hippolyta and Alfred—one built of fire and passion, and the other eternal cool. They stand on opposite sides of the room with contrasting temperaments. Unlike Atlanna and Hippolyta, she and Alfred were not raised in the ways of a warrior. They have lived gentler lives; their conflicts are solved with words, not challenges. She moves to intervene, but Atlanna touches her elbow, stopping her.

“If you intervene, she will not respect him. Alfred must stand on his own.” And there is not a shred of worry in her friend’s eyes. Atlanna has full confidence in the gentleman.

“It is a pleasure—,” Alfred begins. He extends a hand to her.

“I have yet to decide that,” Hippolyta snarls. Her blue eyes flicker down towards the extended hand, and she debates smacking it away. “Filth.” She spits, and the insult draws a sharp gasp from Martha.

“Hippolyta!” She reprimands, regardless of Atlanna’s warning. Alfred has been nothing but a good friend—an excellent friend, to be exact. Out of everyone in this room, Alfred has been there for her from Clark's exceptional childhood to the difficult loss of Jonathan. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t say something. “What is wrong with you? We’ve been corresponding for months!”

The change of pace is so strange, especially for Martha who has grown too used to the simplicities of a small town. If the tides change towards something or someone, she could always count on the local gossip to warn her. Martha had no time to brace herself against the anger here.

“I am simply defending my daughter’s honour against a man who found use for her.”

Martha and Atlanna’s gazes whip to Alfred, and both their heads tilt in confusion—in curiosity. Of all the reasons Hippolyta could hate Alfred for, that was not what any of them were expecting.

“But… Diana is fond of Alfred.” Atlanna proposes, blonde brows furrowing. “You are friends, are you not?”

“I think she means more than friends,” Martha adds, unhelpful.

“My daughter has a soft heart! She gives room to those who do not deserve it. To men who do not deserve it.”

Though the accusations soar, Alfred simply clears his throat. He knots his hands behind his back, an unmoved and proper Englishman in the face of a terrifyingly intimidating warrior. What he did, he must feel no shame or guilt in the face of it.

“Diana is very much like her mother in that way,” he quips, casual as ever.

Oh no. Oh no. This is how wars begin, isn’t it? Martha has the mind to call Barry and ask for advice to face a warrior Queen. He’d married one, after all. The four of them had agreed to keep their children out of it; Martha is confident that she can break through the tension with a little patience. She’s been through a hell of a lot more than this.

Lord, grant me the strength, she prays, silently looking up at the ceiling beams, as if she can see God above.

“You dare,” Hippolyta snarls and reaches for a nearby vase to launch at his head. Only then does Atlanna interfere, snatching it out of her hands with an apologetic smile. No matter, Hippolyta is more than happy to put her hands on the man’s neck. She swerves out of Atlanna’s grasp and closes the distance between herself and Alfred. “You have no right to speak of my decisions.”

“Oh, my apologies. I thought we were digging up the past by way of greetings.” Alfred steps aside, parrying or dodging her attacks, but never retaliating. He moves with enough swift confidence that Martha realizes that maybe she is the only one that has lived a peaceful life.

Just because Martha has never been to war, it does not mean that she is any less brave.

“Enough!” She slips between the two of them, trying to pry them apart. “You are guests in my house, and you will behave like mature adults. The kind that uses their words.” Martha pushes against Hippolyta and wedges herself between them. “You couldn’t have done this over letters? Now, sit or I’ll put you both to work in the barn until you get along.”

“My boys have a ‘get along’ shirt they wear when I am sick of their arguing. It has a crab on it. It would be fitting for you Lyta for you are acting very crabby.” Atlanna smiles.

“You mock me,” Hippolyta accuses her false friends.

Alfred tilts his head, peering over Martha. “No, we are reacting with equal and measured ridiculousness. Diana is a strong and intelligent woman. She is capable of making her own decisions, and she is accountable for them as well. Our separation was mutual.” He informs the group.

Oh. Oooooh. It all makes sense. Only a parent can understand the protectiveness that comes with having a child, even when they are fully grown. Martha laughs, a shaky sound of relief. She turns to smack Alfred on the chest and that seems to appease Hippolyta. “Alfred, she is too young,” Martha pauses, realizing what she’s said.

“I’m afraid I was the younger one in the relationship,” he laughs.

“This is no laughing matter. Diana is the princess of Themyscira, a gift from the gods and no man—”

Martha smacks Hippolyta in the shoulder too. She sings a song she’d used in Clark’s childhood. “Ears are for listening, mouths are for talking, but they cannot do both at once.” As as she hums, she touches her ears and her lips, in demonstration for Hippolyta. “Sit,” she repeats motioning at the couch.

Hippolyta is confused, but the other three seem far too amused, like an inside joke she is missing. “Fine,” she snaps, but only because she holds Martha in high regard and this is her home. Next time, if there is a next time, Themyscira will host this silly club and Alfred can simply drown in the sea for his trespasses.

“Now, with our words, very calmly, let’s talk about what happened and how that makes us feel.”

The only reason Alfred isn’t insulted is because he knows these guidelines are directed to ones who punch first and talk later. He finds an armchair at a reasonable distance from the Amazon.

“Yes, what is this about you and Diana? Give me all the tea,” Atlanna buzzes on the couch next to Hippolyta. It’s not often that she can engage in gossip, not since her departure from Atlantis. Oh, she missed the drama, especially when it did not involve her.

Alfred crosses a leg, leaning back in his seat. “I am a former Special Operations Executive. Diana and I met when I was in my twenties and we had a joint mission together. I was young and we had a fling. It was good fun.”

“Fun,” Hippolyta repeats with disdain.

“Oh, Lyta. Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what he means.” Was she not propositioning Atlanna as her very first words to her in decades? “You are a terrible tease.”

Martha looks from Alfred to Hippolyta, and then Atlanna. Well, this is one way to get to know everyone. A very quick and personal way. She always figured that emotions are better out than in, so they can move on with better and less angry things.

The comment from Atlanna seems to slow Hippolyta’s murderous momentum. The Queen simply folds her arms and refuses to look at Alfred. Her silence only encourages Atlanna.

“Now, let us go back to the comment about Lyta being similar to Diana.” Atlanna beams.

“You’d make a mighty fine reporter, Lana. Have you considered it? Clarkie has contacts.” Martha means it. She’d completely forgotten about that well-placed slip of information from Alfred.

Hippolyta remains silent, and Alfred is unwilling to stoop to her level.

“I cherish your daughter, truly. She is one of my greatest friends. The time she deigned to spend with me, I am honoured.” He leans forward to reach out to her. Her hands are out of reach, so he dares to touch her knee lightly and platonically. “I have always known she was out of my league, but she has a way of making those around her better. Myself included. You have raised a fine woman. She is a wonder.”

The compliment mollifies Hippolyta, and she shares a look with Alfred. There is a secret between them that Atlanna and Martha are simply not privy to, but neither woman seems willing to pry further than they already have.

The Queen ticks her jaw, before glancing away. “My anger is… misplaced. I apologize, Alfred.”

Like an exhale, the apology brings ease to everyone . Alfred chooses not to push his luck, withdrawing his hand, and offers everyone tea. Martha hushes him, imploring him to sit and enjoy, but he cannot—he will not. To serve is not a duty, but a pleasure. He enjoys hosting, or assisting the host. While he joins Martha in the kitchen, Atlanna immediately leans into Hippolyta to question her on everything .

***

An abundance of food has been laid out across the kitchen table, half of it Martha’s and the other half Alfred’s.

“I see you made pie,” Martha says, evenly, as the kettle rests behind her. “Many pies, actually.”

The children would never dare to challenge her, but Alfred is another beast entirely. Their rivalry goes years back. It had started when Alfred’s car had broken down at the edge of the long dirt road leading up to the farm. Jonathan had helped repair it, and in the meantime, Martha had fed the children. Alfred insisted on repaying them, also with food. They taught each other new recipes—a beautiful back-and-forth with the same precision and determination of warriors. Martha’s food had been homey and filling; she managed to capture warmth in a single dish. In turn, Alfred educated her in striking each segment of the palate with a single bite, or three bites and a sip of perfectly paired wine.

Of course, Alfred would bring pie to the pie master’s home.

Martha circles the island, selecting not a pie, but a small fruit tart. (It counts as part of the pie family, she accepts no other verdict.) Her eyes narrow, watching her old friend with suspicion. She bites into it, and the crust crumbles with just the right amount of butter and airyness. My god, it was kneaded to perfection . Flavours burst across her tongue, both subtle and impactful. The sweetness level feels almost catered to her.

“Alfred, oh, Alfred,” she moans, unashamed. “This is Heaven.”

“Salted honey custard tart with a lavender syrup.”

“How do you even come up with these flavour combinations?”

“I thought of you. Of all the teas we’ve tried, your favourite is the honey lavender.”

“Green is my favourite,” Martha argues, but there is a slight hesitation in her voice.

“Green is your comfort, and it is accessible, but you light up when you have honey and lavender.”

And to think, some would dare to say that Alfred Pennyworth is just a man.

***

Treats are transferred to the coffee table, including trays of decadent cookies, tarts, slices of pie, cakes and mousses, along with finger sandwiches. Martha and Alfred return with two different teapots, and with laughter on their lips. This is what she had hoped for when she suggested they all meet.

“You sounded like you were having fun,” Atlanna smiles at Martha.

“Try Alfred’s desserts and you will know exactly what kind of fun I was having.” Martha serves her a warning look. Don’t start. There is nothing between her and Alfred. There never has been, and she doesn’t think there can be. He is family, and she cannot see him in any other way.

Atlanna reaches out and chooses a slice of mousse. She cuts into it with a grace and elegance that betrays her casualwear. “By the grace of Atlan.” It is so good! “Lyta. You must try something.”

Hippolyta has yet to unfold her arms, watching everyone carefully. She may have forgiven Alfred for his escapades with her daughter, but she is unwilling to break her firm composure. She is better than anything man’s world can offer.

“No,” she starts, but Atlanna is faster, popping a cream puff in her mouth. Forced to chew instead of choke, her nostrils flare as she swallows. Her face twists into a sneer, a deep frown of disdain on her beautiful unaging features. She hates this man and his stupid desserts; nothing he makes can compare to the delicacies of paradise. Anger bubbles within her, and then she exhales with a long sigh. It is the sound of defeat . “I see why… Diana,” she looks up at the ceiling, praying for the forgiveness of the goddesses. “I understand.”

Nobody moves. Nobody says anything. Did… Did Hippolyta admit she was wrong not once but twice?

Cackling shatters the silence. Atlanna laughs freely, a kind of yowl that is reminiscent of her eldest son and self-proclaimed wild child. Her mouth is full of chocolate, but there is no room for decorum when an ancient and mythical queen is being humbled by sweets. Martha joins in, her laughter a lot softer and muted. Alfred is content with looking smug from his chair, sipping tea with one leg over the over.

“The way to a warrior’s heart is through her stomach,” Atlanna snorts.

“I know,” Alfred agrees coolly. “Diana taught me that.”

“Enough!” Hippolyta complains, grabbing Atlanna’s copy of the book and tossing it on the free corner of the coffee table (carefully, so as not to disturb the desserts). “Let us discuss Evelyn and her seven husbands.” Her disgust is palpable. In the car, Atlanna had done nothing to prepare her for this meeting. “One would think after one man, Evelyn would change her tactics and have a taste of the feminine.”

“Erm,” Martha starts. “Who’s going to tell her?”

#my fics #dc comics #dc fanfic #ao3feed #aquafam #atlanna #superfam #martha kent #ma kent #batfam #batfamily #alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth x wonder woman #alfred pennyworth x diana prince #wonder woman #hippolyta #older characters #parental figures

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fantomette22 · 2 years

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Bloodborne characters names meaning & signification

A few weeks ago, I looked at the meanings/origins of some of the characters names. Some were quite interesting! So, I’ve wanted to do a big post with ALL the names we know to share with everyone.

There are already some great posts about the translations of the original Japanese names and winch countries these names originated from (so I won’t go in details on that).

I won’t detailed either how the dev might have chosen this or this name because it’s also the name of an important history/religious figure either. And I won’t be talking about the great ones names, the locations names or the item/weapon names (except a few). But this post on reddit explained it well.

A lot of names have European roots. Latin (central& west), but also Slavic (north & east) and there’s a lot of old French names too. I hope this post could provide some insight or just be a reference if someone is looking for something. If you know something else let me know !

Let’s begin then! (I classified them by alphabetical order):

Adeline: Meaning noble, nobility, noble one.

Adella: Meaning noble too, kind…

Alfred: “elf/magical counsel”, wise counsellor, wise, sage…

Amelia: work, hard work / (Emilia (it might be the original intended name: rival, laborious, eager).

Annalise: Grace of/by God & similar sentences, or even graceful light.

Antal: break of day, inestimable worth/priceless one/beyond price.

Archibald: genuine, bold, brave.

Arianna: most holy, silver.

Brador is not a name that exist so the closet thing that exist is “Bardot/Bardeau”, it seems to be a location name to a family coming from Perigord (west France, actual department/county of Dordogne).

Caryll means “man” and seems to come from the name Carroll (man) or Charles (free man).

Damian: to tame, subdue. In Greek Damianos means master, overcome, conquer; Saint Damien was the patron of the physicians (another Christian martyr).

Djura is not a name that exist. It would be a variant of Georges/Jorge apparently (farmer).

Dores: Came from “doré”, golden in French. It was given to people with blonde hair apparently. But it seems to mean pain, suffering, (lady of) sorrows. Came from Dolores meaning “pain”. That same latin word give “douleur” (pain) in French as well.

Edgar (/Edgard): means rich/ prosperous and spear.

Eileen: (little) bird, strength, desired, bright one, shining light in Greek, (derived from Evelyn it seems it could come from Irene/Helen… too)

Evelyn: desired, whished for (fit with the description of weapon?), beauty, water, island (fit with Cainhurst) and “whished for child” too… (it’s not the only one like you will see a bit later…it’s a bit weird that it’s another person of Cainhurst who share this meaning too).

Gascoigne: Like the origin of “Brador” it’s a French surname, meaning someone who came from Gascony/pays de Gascogne, actual department/county of “des Landes” & “Hauts Pyrénées”, southwest of France.

Gehrman:

Russian/Slavic origin and means spear, spear bearer/user or something related to it. And he indeed does have a scythe so… It’s also the alternative name of a Caloian/Bulgarian ritual. In it, a “clay doll/effigy” is broken or buried (funeral?) to fertilize the earth (circle of life & death too etc…) So, it’s really interesting and intriguing. And “German” means Warrior.

Gilbert: bright promise, pledge, hostage, bright/famous (the feels T_T)

Gratia: favor, blessing, grace

Gremia: doesn’t exist too; the closet is Geremia who means “god is high/the lord exalts (Jeremiah, Jeremy…)

Henriett/(Henriette): home leader/ruler, keeper of the hearth

Henryk: home leader too

Iosefka: “god will provide”? it’s not really a real name. Jozefka/Jozefina see Jozef

Izzy: god’s promise, (gift of Isis/god). Could be another variant of Georges/ Isidore/ Isabel-Isaac…even Elizabeth perhaps…

Jozef: “Jehovah (he should)increases” (Joseph)

Laurence: boy & girl name meaning “from Laurentum” (city in Italy). That came from Laurel (Laurier) too (the crown wear by the Roman emperor).

Saint Laurence is also a christian martyr figure during the end of the roman empire who was burned alive. When asked where he hid the treasures of the church, he says the true treasures where the people, the poors.

Leo (cut Vileblood hunter): in latin it means lion, so “lion hearted, brave” as well

Logarius: it doesn’t’ exist. This one is really complicated but from what I found the first half could be “reason, judgment…”+ Christians figure. From a retranslation we can find something close to “Roger” meaning “famous spearman”.

Ludwig: it means “famous fighter/warrior/in battle” it fit well indeed.

Madaras: Is a surname, it seems to mean “impure, bald, humid, wet, spots…” it depends on the language too.

Maria:

I saw a lot of different meaning for this one. I tried to put everything I could here but there’s a lot. What’s sure is that I personally think that all this meaning perfectly describes our dear lady of the Astral Clocktower! It’s actually crazy how some of these seems to characterize her so well. (Well done fromsoftware)

So, we got: star/drop/lady of the sea, (sea of) bitter, “” sorrow (sometimes these meanings are mixed), rebellious, beloved/loved and “wished for child”.

A common 18-19th century name. (A lot of important figures had that name. The more known is Saint Maria/Mary the mother of Jesus.

Micolash: monkey/primate it seems but “Nicholas” means “victory of the people/people of victory”. St Nicholas is the patron of children, scholars, sailors…

Norbert (cut content, originally the name of the cleric beast: “northern brightness”. It was the name of a saint too.

Olek: “defender of men/humankind/people, protector of – “

Paarl: not really a name (or an African one at least) and means pearl & perhaps the Japanese name is closer to “Paul” that means small or humble. Name of a saint too.

Patches: Well, our dear spider… comes from “Peter” means rock/stone, fight, patch (Patch seems to signify “noble” too?). under this form it’s more a female name as well?

Rom (Roma in Japanese): Our other dear spider. Reference Roma/Rome the city and Roman (empire). It’s also another name of the goddess Lakshmi (Hindu)…

Simon: to (be) hear/listen, reputation

Valtr: easily upset, unstable, unsteady but also to rule, army, warrior

Viola: purple; violet (the flower)

Vitus: “lively, life giving, life”; came from the latin “vitae” who give “vie” in French, who means life. Could come from Vitu/widu which signifies woods, forest.

Wallar: wallfahrer, pilmgrim (family name) it’s in the theme or the chalice dungeon enemies. And Waller means “wall maker, powerful one”

Willem: means “resolute/determined protector”, defender, guardian, helmet

(The Defender of knowledge/ eldritch truth? The protector of humans from it? It’s quite interesting as well).

Yamamura: “mountain village” a Japanese name of course

Yurie (Julie): grace of the lily (Japanese) Depends of the 3 kanji used but could signified: reason, logic, blessing, friend, lily, branch… Julie would be a more appropriate translation, it means “youthful”

Bonus:

Mergo: related to water and hide, “flood, swallow, hide, conceal, bury »; the latin name gives submerged & immerged…

Flora: What a surprise, flowers

Lucen: it’s the name I give to my hunter; I wanted to named him “Lucien” but I needed something unique too, so I come up with this. It means “light”.

Byrgenwerth or the college of the grave, surround by water

Byrgen: burial place, grave, tomb,

Werth : surrounded by water

Cainhurst -> Cain. Son of Adam & Eve, killed his brother Able, sins etc… but I saw something relating it to some woods too?

Rakuyo: fallen leaf

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derangedrhythms · 2 years

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This might he an invasive question, you don't have to answer just ignore if you don't feel like sharing so much of yourself!

But I just love the darkness and intensity of what you post, it's what I am drawn to most in this world and so I was wondering what are your inspirations? Your favorite artworks? Music/songs? Are there any particular artists from the past long go or present that you like in terms of what they have to say, saying something new!!!

I just have to mention that I have fallen inlove with Marilyn Monroe recently and I love her poetry 'fragments' I especially love her thoughts she gives in interviews, she had a remarkable intellect.

First of all, I want to apologise for how long it’s taken me to answer this. Summer really took it out of me this year and I haven’t been active on here. I hope that you still see this. I love this ask and I don't find it invasive at all. Thank you for asking!

Some of my favourite artists: Edvard Munch, Vincent van Gogh, Gustave Doré, John Bauer, Edmund Dulac, Odilon Redon, Franz von Stuck, Kay Nielsen, Alfred Kubin, Aubrey Beardsley, John William Waterhouse, Arthur Rackham.

Edmund Dulac’s ‘The Ice- Maiden’ from The Dreamer of Dreams is probably my favourite piece of art. It shows the Ice Maiden with two polar bears and broken hearts in her hand.

As for contemporary art, most of my favourites are photographers. I particularly love post-mortem photography — Victorian and modern. Photographers such as Andres Serrano, Jeffrey Silverthorne, Sally Mann, Joel-Peter Witkin, Walter Schels, Patrik Budenz.

Some favourite music: Goth and post-punk, various 80’s, various synth, Nick Cave, early Tori Amos, The Cure, Nine Inch Nails, PJ Harvey, Aphex Twin, Chelsea Wolfe, Kate Bush, Joy Division, Wardruna, Rammstein, Type O Negative, The Sisters of Mercy, Talking Heads, Cocteau Twins, Tool, The Smiths, Fiona Apple, Björk...

I have so many favourite songs by the above artists and others⁠ — some of them are on my blog here. My favourite piece of music since I was a very young child has been Tchaikovsky's theme from Swan Lake. Another random song that I'll mention is Goodbye Horses by Q Lazzarus. I've been obsessed with it in one way or another since I first heard it as a child in Silence of the Lambs (one of my favourite films).

Have you read Blonde by Joyce Carol Oates? It's a fictionalised take on Marilyn Monroe's life. I’ve never had an interest in Marilyn Monroe but I enjoyed that book. I will look up some of her poetry!

#asks

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headingalaxys-spicy · 1 year

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I have arisen from my deep slumber 😌

Could I request a part 2 for the Yandere Bully America ask? I like these kind of dynamics, which I also have discovered in another tumblr blog a few months ago, where America is being a total douche to the new country. I think their name was llamacup or something like that.

Anyway, have a nice day or night, thank you~

🥹😘

Hello there it’s 2023 and I’m filled with DETERMINATION ahahaha.

I want to answer all my story posts this year! 🌟

Tw: Death-of minor characters and torture.

✨⭐️Happy First Friday of the year⭐️✨

“You’ll never see the light of day again,” was a promise that hasn’t been broken.

Darkness became your new muse for crafting your mindset in captivity. Fear was on the loudspeaker having your mind teeter on the edge. When would you hear the dreaded clicks of his oxford loafers on the marble floor? Anxiety permeated your nervous system causing you to tremble like a neverending earthquake. How did things get this bad? Why, you? Why did it have to be you?

You felt hollow and sullen like a decaying tree succumbing to an infestation of black turpentine beetles. This is already after America stormed into your life like a hurricane and damaged you and your nation permanently with his supreme act of violence against you and Britain at the world meeting.

However while you may have been in captivity your love was not.

“Mr. Kirkland, how would you like us to give you some added assistance? We don’t have our duties at the palace today.” Some of his loyal long-time palace guards wanted to join in on Operation: Silent Alarm.

The messy golden haired blonde ceased his hurried pace towards the black Audi A1 car headed to the airport.

“It’s quite alright, gentlemen. I already have some of my best men with a solid plan to rescue Y/N.”

“Oh come on lad. You know that brute will definitely try to kill ye again. We can be a great backup after all we are trained and well equipped with weapons.”

Arthur couldn’t help but allow a small smile to form on his normally grumpy face. He loved how dedicated some of his people were to him and his royals. He still had to be as discreet as possible in order to get under that crafty American’s nose. It took him a few months in order to finally locate (Country Name). The bastard had her imprisoned in the New Hampshire wilderness underground in an elaborate labyrinth Alfred created back in the 60’s. He also had his pesky guards and security system to break through. Thankfully MI6 was more than ready to deal with this.

He again turned their offer down but requested that they be ready for him and his return with you. He would not be leaving without you. They relented and allowed him to leave so that the mission could begin. Arthur pressed the small button on his discreet earpiece.

“Testing operatives lavender and thyme do you read me? Have the both of you successfully landed in D.C. to carry on negotiations?”

A few moments drifted by while the diver started the car while Artheur continued to make sure all the pieces were in place for his rescue operation.

He waited tensely as he waited for a reply.

“Yes, operative Bluebell. We’ll let you know if we’ve located the Burger Man.”

“Copy that. Tally ho. To save y/n here we go.” Like a soldier getting ready to lead the charge on horseback Arthur sprints to his private jet that would take him just outside of Pittsberg, NH.

*******

After laying down in your own tears and mucus for what felt like a few minutes you lift your head up to look at the somewhat barren room you were confined to. It had the basics of what America thought you’d like to keep you entertained while you’re in captivity. A TV that had basic cable, Youtube, and Netflix. A plain (favorite color) journal, a stack of comic books and manga, art supplies, and a few old books that he clearly pulled from his attic in an attempt to try to find more things to entertain you since he plans on living the rest of your existence out in that tiny room.

You were beginning to go Stir-crazy from being confined for so long. Your only comfort was a man that you considered to be a monster that was crafted from a Stephen King novel. Your life became to that of a drawn out horror movie except the only difference is that the monster had taken a liking to you and fucked your brains out on numerous occasions.

“Damn it.” You spat in frustration. You growl under your breath, you wish the mental anguish would simply fade away. You begin to pace back and forth in your room. You listened carefully to the soft crunch of the marshmallow-like carpet given away under your feet. As you continued to do this for hours you eventually heard a few peculiar sounds that piqued your interest. At first you ignored it considering that what you were hearing was nothing more than maybe America or one of his staff milling about through the… where ever the fuck you were. Not that it mattered. No one could hear you nor could anyone-

The flatscreen TV that's mounted to your wall suddenly sparked to life. It startled you and you quickly jumped up in the air like a cat that’s seen a cucumber and flung yourself onto your plush bed and shielded yourself with your (favorite color) duvet.

“OH SHIT!”

“Y/N, Y/N do you can you hear me?” A familiar British accent called out from the screen.

With heavy drawn in breaths that filled your lungs it took you a few moments for your brain to recognize that it wasn’t the monster….

“Y/N?” He says much more gently this time. As if calling out to a severely injured dog. The tone was heavy with sadness. “Y/N… please …I hope you can hear me.”

A few tears pricked your eyes. His voice was the only thing that sounded like a daydream after being in this watered down version of hell.

“A…Arthur?” You say in a weak hoarse voice. There was still a voice in your mind screaming that it was a trick, a facade, a cruel prank that America was playing. All of the alarms in your brain were going off in a blaring symphony of panic. You were too afraid to remove your cover still and your shaking had begun again.

Silence hung over the room. You dared not to speak again.

Arthur stared at his screen that allowed him to see where you’d been imprisoned. He knew he had seen your slightly battered form run for the covers. He knew full well that you were not in the best headspace for any human nor country to be in. But he still had to try, because being left to America he'll surely turn you into a completely different country. You’d be unrecognizable. He tried not to think about all the ways that you’d change and did his best to put the images of you being America’s wife out of his mind.

Arthur called out once more with his voice cracking, this time you finally decide to take a peak from your massive duvet and look at the screen to see those dazzling emerald eyes. They were coated over with salt water that already began to spill onto his somewhat reddened cheeks.

“Oh my god it really is you. But…”

“Listen , Y/N we’ll save the heartfelt conversations for later. Let’s concentrate on getting you out of here. Within the next 30 seconds I need you to push your nightstand aside. One of my agents has constructed a tunnel that will lead you to the East and into the forest where I’ll be. I just need you to stay calm and….. It’s going to be okay.” He reassures you. Judging by the tension that you had in your face and the terror pouring from your eyes he knew he had to be more verbally accommodating to you in your fragile state.

‘Definitely going to ask France to make us a nice meal and I’ll actually have to be nice to get him to do it. Y/N is in some desperate need of pampering and escapism after this.’ He mused to himself.

You were still shaking tremendously. You hadn’t even registered his words in order to take action. However the agent Rosemary had reached you and effortlessly moved the nightstand from the hidden entrance that crumbled.

“(Country name)?” The agent calls out from the hidden tunnel. “Hurry, we have to get out of here. The guards are distracted but some of the other personnel will come to check on you and we have to allow the decoy take over for you before-”

Numerous footsteps pounding against the marble floor swarmed through the labyrinth. They began to draw nearer to your room.

“Y/N I promise it will be okay just listen to agent Rosemary. She’ll get you out of there safe and sound.”

“What are you guys going to use as a decoy?” Curious as to what your British love interest was scheming.

“This love.” A realistic hologram of you sprung to life from the screen. It was realistic. “Now tally ho. Get the hell out of there!” His transmission ends while your hologram continues to be projected through the screen. It wouldn’t be long before America’s guards figured out that it wasn’t you.

“My lady.” Rosemary pushed you into the escape route and you began to crawl for your life. With the agent right behind you couldn’t help but feel the tension that was in the pit of your stomach and made you somewhat nauseous. You had to cling to the fresher memory of Arthur in your mind to continue your escape and not be caught.

You had to get back to him you were determined to.

*******

In Washington, D.C. Burger Man I mean America was in a deadlock debate with Lavender and Thyme over trade deals. Agent Thyme’s golden hair swished violently as he pounded his fist against the table in heated debate with America.

“You can’t just harbor a personification and then begin a hostile takeover of their government and start spreading your propaganda like some twisted infestation! It’s illegal first and foremost. And second it VIOLATES THE ENTIRE BLOODY UNITED NATIONS CHARTER! And you’re supposed to be a LEADER?! You act like such a petulant child!”

“Funny that comes from a man that had more than half the world in the palm of his hand. How dare you insult me in my own senate.” He hissed back at England in pure defiance.

(they die at the end.)

“You’re acting like a super villain in one of your stupid comic books that you melt your already stupid brain with.”

The verdant versus aqua eyes collided with one another. Neither was the type to let their pride down. The air was tense with a thousand needles and no one wanted to be caught in the crosshairs. Teeth biting, nervous shifting, and over hundreds of eyes witnessing the showdown between two sworn enemies since the betrayal. Some cracked their knuckles to at least relieve some tension that was broiling within the room. America had reached the point where negotiations were at a stalemate and….

America’s earpiece beeped in his ear and although his facial expression stayed neutral and as distant as the moon. His eyes bled out with rage and stared out at ‘England’ with a look that was meant to obliterate one within mere milliseconds. He stood up suddenly as if a giant had been awoken from a peaceful slumber and was in a terrible mood.

He snapped his fingers.

Secret service surrounded Thyme and Lavender. The ruse was up.

“Kill them. Right here. Right now. They’re fakes.” America ordered.

“It was a pleasure working with you, Lavender.” The spell that Arthur originally put onto him wore off and their true identities were revealed. They raised their hands high into the air.

“We did our duty.” Lavender uttered her last words she’d ever speak in this world.

A few hundred rounds were fired off within seconds filling the air with deathly gunpowder. Two less souls came out of the senate that day. The monster raged through the White House all night. It was a scene straight out of hell. Glass broke, things set ablaze, people injured, and some even parished. The only thing that most who were in earshot of the White House could hear

Y/N HOW DARE YOU!

UK I WILL KILL YOU!

Y/N IS MINE!

Then just more hellish shrieks would follow. No one really wanted to question what was going on for fear they would be caught up in the chaos. They stayed away and allowed it to happen.

*******

For the first time in a while Y/N could rest peacefully without having a horrid lucid nightmare that would only bring her down deeper into depression. She finally felt okay for a moment between England’s athletic arms. She actually got to sleep and recharge her broken soul.

“Is everything going to be alright Arthur?” Your anxieties are still nibbling at the back of your ears. It was nice that you could talk to him but you still feared that he’d leave you because you’re damaged and neurotic. A ball of untamable wild energy that no one would want to deal with.

“Y/N it’s okay. I want you to relax. I won’t leave you. I won’t harm you like America. I promise.” He kissed the back of your collarbone. You felt a million bright butterflies fly from that area and through your entire being you felt relieved and could live in the moment. You felt relaxed and safe. Nothing could ruin this for you. You melted like hot butter in Arthur’s arms. You didn’t want to think, just feel. Nothing else mattered.

Except for the brewing storm that was brewing from across the pond.

#hetalia #hetalia fandom #hws #hws america #headingalaxys writes stuff #headingalaxys #yandere hetalia #alfred f jones #headingalaxys spicy #arthur kirkland #alfred jones #hetalia america #hetalia fanfiction writer #hetalia x reader #x reader

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chronicwhorebatman · 1 year

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uhhhh could u pls pls tell me ur hcs (if u have them) about the batfamilys hairstyles thru the years. do u believe in long hair discowing?? whats jasons hair like as robin vs red hood? give me a whole timeline if u want

you know what? hell yeah.

long post so here’s a cut

bruce. bruce, in his childhood, had the same haircut the whole time!! then his mother died and she cut it for him so for about a year and a half (nearing 10 years old) he had this steadily growing mop of hair that was not cleaned or brushed. occasionally alfred would attempt to get it clean but bruce would hiss like a feral cat so it didn’t get very far

THEN he shaved most of his hair off because it was unsalvageable to a nearly ten year old

then he had a FUCK TON of teenage mistakes. including bleached slightly long hair, although he kept it short at the back because bruce in my head never wants to revisit his Grief Hair phase <33 there were a lot more mistakes but i don’t have those pinpointed but i haven’t decided on them yet! know that he had frosted tips at one point though. it’s important to me.

as an adult he has the regular ass haircut he has in every comic lmao. as bruce it’s just neatly combed, as brucie it’s always sleep-mussed or sex-mussed, and as matches malone his hair is slicked back with so much gel it fucking drips. as matches malone he is a slimy little disgusting rat by design. in his secret drag persona he wears a wig like a coward.

dick. as a kid, dick has the same haircut as his father, whatever that might be!! he’s a baby mimicry and it’s adorable. he also briefly copied his mother’s hair only to discover it took way too much work

the father part also applies to bruce! although i don’t believe dick saw bruce as his father until he was well on his way into adulthood i do believe that he copied his haircut. i will not explain this clash with anything other than imagining dick as a tiny bruce clone is hilarious

discowing era dick had a mullet and bruce hated every second of it.

after that i think dick had short hair but quite floppy round the front? like lotta fringe <33

baby jason is continually fascinated w dick’s hair <33333

jason. jason had relatively short hair when bruce found him but it was growing longer (did not have money for a haircut) but he got it cut when he got adopted. unfortunately he now also has bruce hair because he didn’t care what his hair looked like because he was busy being excited about robin

after he died his hair grew out a bit because when he was comatose nobody was looking after him :(

w the league they shaved his hair because it was kinda gross tbh. he had shaved hair for a while

he grew it back out to what he generally looks like in comic panels, fuck if i know what that’s called. unfortunately the fucker shaved it again at the beginning of being red hood. jason your hair is pretty stop doing this

he then did a whole lot of things to get rid of his white streak from shaving to dying to threatening to colouring it in with sharpie. jokes on him it takes less than 12h to come off <333

tim. tim has had one haircut his entire life! it’s your average white boy haircut.

damian. damian is baby and has only had one haircut. he vaguely resembles a spiky hedgehog.

steph. not batfamily (unless by marriage <3) but including here because my hcs for cass and duke are also “they have had one haircut their whole life” mainly because my brain broke when i tried to picture anything else :/ i’ll leave my brain to marinate on cass and duke and get back to you because i also love them and this feels so bland

ANYWAY steph has long blonde hair then she cuts it into a bob then grows it out again. the cycle continues unless she cuts her hair a lot shorter! which she keeps for longer because she doesn’t like the half grown in half grown out look! then it’s back to the cycle <333

alfred has never had different hair ever. my brain also broke trying to picture it

#batfamily #bruce wayne #dc #dcu #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #i didn’t attach enough to everyone else to tag them #trixie’s headcanons #trixie’s character headcanons #trixie’s dick headcanons #trixie’s batman hcs #trixie’s jason hcs #trixie’s steph hcs #trixie’s batfam hcs #i didn’t want to make that tag damn

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theoperativeif · 1 year

Text

The Governor’s War

Alfred Burdin stood on the empty observation deck of the ISFN Lilith, his fathers inherited battle cruiser, her interior resembled more of a pleasure liner then a hardened navy cruiser. But his father was a man of high taste. He ran his hand over the redwood table sitting next to the long front window, a fine meal still steaming on his plate.

He wasn't hungry, not yet, anyway. He stared out the windows, down on the burning city below, small sparks of light would shoot up as his soldiers fought below him. It was a strange feeling to be so close yet so far from the dance of life and death happening below his feet.

"You should eat your food brother," Vance, his brother said from behind him, his voice a strange raspy sound that roused an unease in all that listened to him.

Alfred turned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. He was a well-built man with cold dull blue eyes and a sharp mustache with a triangle goatee below his lip. He grinned, lightly bouncing the escort on his lap.

"I can't eat until our men have taken the town," Alfred growled, casting a disapproving look at his brother, "meanwhile, I see you aren't having a single bit of trouble distracting yourself."

"Aww, don't be like that Al, the finer the distraction the better you would feel too! Angel here was such a delight, took all my worries away!"

"I'm Lola," the girl said shyly, her raven black hair hiding half her face.

"Oh shit, oh that's right she was blonde, well lets not dwell on that, off you go, I think my younger brother has a scolding for me," Vance let out a long laugh before gently lifting the woman off his lap and dismissing her, "you know Al, I think if you relaxed and enjoyed some of the local offerings, you wouldn’t be so high strung."

"I'm married Vance," Alfred replied with a disapproving look, "besides, Mal will be here soon and will be helping out with our efforts," Alfred took a long breath, there was no use in delaying, "I've been told you burned down the Blair estate, with them in it."

"A fine roast," Vance cooed with a fake smile that his eyes betrayed, "you don't supply weapons to religious fanatics and get to stay on house arrest."

"I can't keep giving excuses to our supporters in the Admiralty of your conduct, that was a noble family with ties to very powerful people!" Alfred ran his hands through his hair while pacing back and forth, silently cursing the tightrope he had to walk.

"You don't have to worry, there are no witnesses to what happened, it was a misplaced artillery barrage from an allied militia."

Alfred whirled on his brother, the smug look thrown back at him filling him with rage "what about the soldiers?"

"Dead," Vance replied calmly, taking a messy sip of red wine, the crimson dripping down his chin, "thats the upside to the kind of people I hire, they were rapers, the looters and the ones that just love killing, and when the deed is done I get to kill them and bury them in ash of the very house they just burned."

Vance began laughing; the lack of emotion in it always sent shivers down Alfred's spine, he needed his brother to win this private war, but he always wondered if one day his brother's bloodthirst would turn on him day.

"Commander Burdin," a gruff voice spoke as a military supervisor walked in, giving a clumsy salute to the brothers, "our forces have secured the town center, several of the religious leaders were captured, Captain Jarris requests instructions on what to do with them."

Vance cast a cautious look at Albert who ignored him, staring at the supervisor before turning back to gaze down at the burning city.

"Are any of them of the nobility or civic leadership?"

"No sir."

"Then there were no prisoners taken, unidentifiable casualties."

"Understood sir."

The supervisor left, leaving the two brothers in silence, they shared a knowing look. They would retake their father's planet, and no one would get in their way.

#lore #short fiction #The Operative

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marsrize · 1 year

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How to be a successful vigilante and a dad, By Bruce Wayne [Part 3]

Ao3 : Here | Part 1: Here | Part 2: Here.

Summary : Bruce is sure it was a bad idea to give him a child.

Bruce had just returned from his night of patrol. He had finished setting up in the cave the night before. It would soon be daylight, and he needed some rest before his other challenge of the day began: parenthood.

He dropped onto his bed. Bruce was sure he would not be able to fall asleep. Alfred's words were running through his head. He had managed to put his thoughts aside to concentrate on his mission during the night, but now that he was alone in his bed, with nothing else to do, his thoughts were focused solely on the little blonde head he had started seeing for three days now.

Let's be honest: Bruce didn't have a clue what to do.

But he did come to several conclusions.

The first was that although he was not thrilled with Alfred's idea, he had to admit that the man was right. Adrien was not a little kitten found in the street; he was a child. A small and vulnerable being.

He had to be honest. No one had forced him to have an affair with the boy's mother, much less unprotected sex. Nor had anyone forced him to pick up a cape and uniform to chase criminals at night. Life is about choices. What he was going through was the consequence of his own actions.

He was a rational man. He had all this information in his head. So many questions flowed through his mind: How did his parents raise him? Even though he was very young, he didn't remember much about his beloved parents. Would they be proud of him? What would they think if they saw him now with a little boy?

Bruce sighed and turned in his bed. There was a second conclusion he had come to after only three days with the little one.

What was that second conclusion?

He wasn't father material.

Adrien was ......................................How to describe him?

Several memories began to emerge in his mind.

He was too young to have white hair. But that's what was going to happen to him if he continued this path. This kid definitely had a problem.

He was too much. JUST TOO MUCH.

Too energetic

Adrien was running around the house barefoot with Bruce chasing him. The child refused to take a bath and a game of hide and seek had begun. Bruce was supposed to return to Wayne Enterprise, he was already late. But that didn't matter to Adrien. What he wanted to do was play.

"Adrien, get back here right now!"

" NOOOO!"

"Adrien!"

"NEVER!"

"Adrien, I'm warning you right now, if you don't get back here right now, you'll be denied dessert!"

The boy stopped dead in his tracks. Then slowly he turned his little head towards him and looked him intensely in the eyes.

"Me don't care! Buce don't even know…to…Hummm…make food, Nah!"

"For starters we say, 'I don’t care' and not 'Me don’t care', and-..."

"Don't care!"

He started to run again. However, Bruce had time to catch him and take him by force into the bathroom.

Then began a second battle: getting Adrien out of the tub.

He had refused to get in, but now that he was in the tub with toys, he didn't want to get out.

"Adrien, there is no more time. Stop being childish and get out of the tub."

“I’M BABY!”

“……….It's not wrong in a way….”

“Not wrong!”

“Well, stop repeating everything I say. We need to leave Adrien, we're already late.”

"NO. I’m in, I’m stay!"

" ......... You're not making any sense... "

Bruce looked at his watch, which was now wet from the water in the tub that the kid had splashed all over.

9:40 am.

He still had the whole day ahead of him.

Bruce sighed.

Too chaotic

"ADRIEN, NO!"

Bruce rushed forward to catch Adrien before he could climb even higher on the bookshelf.

"Adrien, don't climb the bookshelf, it's dangerous."

"Want to play. Bored."

"Climbing on the furniture is not a game."

Adrien began to gesticulate in his arms. Bruce held him tightly so he wouldn't fall.

"Want to play! Let me go! Bad! BAD! BAD! BAD!"

Bruce sighed.

Too talkative

"Hey Buce.... What's your job?"

"I work in an office."

"In an office? Why do you go out then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well... There's an office there *points to the door leading to the office*, why go outside? You don’t like the one you have?"

"......Hmm... What I mean is that my job is in a big building with other people. It's a very special office."

"What do you do in it?"

"I sign papers... I talk to people..."

"You need to go outside for that? Can't you just pick up the phone?"

"...................................."

*One and a half hours of explanation later*

"Can I come? I want to sign papers too.”

“You must be an adult to sign the papers…”

"But... You're not an adult…”

"Of course I'm an adult."

Adrien looked him straight in the eye with an expression of confusion clearly visible on his face.

"No, you’re not. You live with your daddy. Grandpa Alfred do everything for you. Adults people do everything by themselves!"

“*speechless*”

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

Bruce could have sworn at that very moment that he heard someone chuckle. Alfred must have been close by.

Looking up at the roof of his room, Bruce sighed. He couldn't count the number of times he had done it.

Bruce was really trying to rationalize. Adrien was only 3 years old. He was basically a baby.

A little baby that Alfred had probably spoiled a little too much. Who didn't listen when he was spoken to and who only did what he wanted to do with his little baby head.

Was this child normal?!

Bruce had now developed a tremendous respect for his own parents. Was he this insufferable as a child? Why do regular people put themselves through this pain?!

He was deep in thought when a noise caught his attention. He got up from his bed. The door to his room had just opened. A small blonde head protruded from the door. Adrien was supposed to be sleeping. He was sure he had respected the bedtime curfew Alfred had given him. The blond boy moved closer to his bed. Bruce noticed that his eyes were wet. He had a stuffed animal in his hands.

Adrien moved closer to his bed. Then, without asking, he climbed onto the bed and sat down on the bed next to him.

There was only one possible explanation for Bruce at that moment.

"You had a nightmare."

It wasn't a question, but a clear statement. Adrien nodded slowly.

Bruce hesitated for a moment. However, he could clearly see that the boy was not well. The way Adrien rubbed his eyes told him that he had probably been crying. He couldn't let a child cry like that without doing anything, could he?

"You...want to talk about it?"

"The butterfly."

"What?"

"The bad butterfly said I was a bad boy. He wanted to eat me!"

"The butterfly.... Hmmm.... Is there a butterfly in your room?"

"No. The man's name was Butterfly. He was a bad man."

"I see. So, you had a dream about a naughty man called Butterfly who wanted to eat you. Did I understand correctly?"

Adrien nodded.

That was a very strange dream.

"Me scared. He was really...mean."

Bruce patted him gently on the head.

"It's okay. It was just a bad dream. There's no villain named Butterfly. You're safe in the manor."

Adrien remained silent and hugged his stuffed animal. Then he raised his head to face him.

"Can me stay with you? Please?"

Bruce hesitated. He was supposed to go on patrol in a little while. He was resting a bit before leaving the manor. His mouth fell open before his brain could properly register his train of thought.

"All right. Just this once."

The little boy's eyes lit up. He wasted no time in settling down on the bed. Bruce then had no choice but to lie down next to the little boy.

It looked like he would be late for his patrol tonight.

Several hours later, when he returned from a restless night, he found a little blond boy still asleep on the bed. A small smile formed at the corner of his lips.

Adrien was now asleep in the middle of the bed, arms and legs spread like a starfish. Bruce could hear his steady breathing.

It was like watching a kitten take a nap.

Cute.

#maribat bio dad #adribat bio dad #mlb x batman #mlb x dc #miraculous x dc #miraculous x batman #dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #ml x dc

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cardcaptorsakura96 · 5 months

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Taxes, Taxes, Taxes- Chapter 14

Fandom: Supergirl

Characters: Kara Danvers, Clark Kent, Samantha Arias, Lena Luthor, Lillian Luthor, Ruby Arias, Oliver Queen, John Stewart, Diana Prince, Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen, J'onn J'onnz, Alfred Pennyworth, Lois Lane, Cat Grant, Lucy Lane, Damian Wayne, Felicity Smoak

Summary: What if superheroes had to pay a property damage tax every time they had a fight in the city?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

Lena looked up from her desk in her office at the hospital while rubbing the back of her neck. She felt a little foolish right now. She was currently looking at 20 different outfits ranging from casual to professional. Ever since she talked to Supergirl the night before, she wasn’t sure how she should present herself. She sighed while twiddling with her thumbs. She vehemently denied accidentally saying it was a date last night, but that has been all she has been thinking about. However, she would never tell Supergirl that now at this point. She kept wondering if this was Supergirl’s way of easing into the topic. She was bringing her in on something very personal to her. Lena sighed and started banging her head on the desk.

“Knowing myself, this is all in my head,” Lena muttered.

Suddenly, Lena heard a knock at her office door.

“Come in,” muttered Lena while laying her head on the desk.

Sam entered the room yawning and said, “You owe me for coming in this early at 8 a.m. What is the big emergency?”

Just as Sam got closer to Lena’s desk, she noticed the row of clothes over to the side and came to a full stop.

Sam turned back to Lena while narrowing her eyes.

“There better be a good reason you had me come in early on a Saturday morning.”

Lena looked up hesitantly and said, “I don’t know what to do. You are my best friend and you give the best advice.”

Sam sighed while sitting on the chair in front of Lena’s desk.

She yawned and said, “Please tell me you at least have coffee and food.”

Lena smirked and said, “You know I always come prepared.”

She pointed to the left of her desk and Sam was startled to realize that there was a tray of food next to it. It was filled to the brim with croissants, donuts, and various fruits. There were two coffee cups. She noticed on the cups it said, Cafe Basil.

Sam turned to Lena with a raised eyebrow and said, “You must be desperate if you are throwing around Cafe Basil. I thought that they were closed for a couple of weeks for remodeling.”

Lena smirked and said, “I knew this was a last-minute inconvenience having you come in so early. Plus, I know they are your absolute favorite. It really didn’t take all that convincing. I just promised them the next several events we host, they can cater.”

Sam smiled and said, “I really appreciate it.” She took a sip of her coffee and felt an instant pick me up. She looked back up at Lena and said, “So, you are going through a lot of trouble to impress someone. It must be for something big. Did we get a new investor in the hospital?”

Lena shook her head and said, “No, nothing like that.”

Sam took a bit out of a pink frosted donut while looking up thoughtfully.

“Well, if it isn’t an investor, then what got you all nervous?”

Lena looked down while twiddling her thumbs.

“You have to promise not to judge.”

Sam frowned and asked, “Why would I jud…” Sam stopped in mid-sentence and started smirking.

“Does this happen to have to do with a certain blonde Kryptonian you have been obsessing over?”

Lena started blushing and said, “I wouldn’t say that I was obsessing.”

Sam chuckled and said, “You clung to that device she gave you as if your life depended on it after she left suddenly yesterday.”

“Well, you saw how scared she looked as she flew off the last time we saw her,” muttered Lena.

Sam chuckled and said, “Yes, I remember. I also remember seeing you type out and rewrite a message to her hundreds of times before you left to go home that day.”

Lena rolled her eyes and said, “Well, excuse me for being concerned.”

Sam smirked while sipping her coffee.

“You should just ask her out already. You want to. You obviously think she wants to if you are putting this much effort into dressing up for her. By the way, how did that come about?”

Lena blushed and said, “Well, she messaged for help on a personal project she has going on.”

Sam leaned forward with intrigue.

“That’s amazing! What is it that she wants you to work on?”

Lena frowned and said, “I am not sure if I can say what it is. I might have said too much by saying she wants to work together.”

Sam nodded and said, “Fair enough.” Sam looked over at the outfits with a thoughtful look on her face.

Sam pointed and said, “Without knowing what you guys are working on, I would go with the red dress with the black belt. It is sexy in the sense that it draws attention to your breasts, but not so sexy that it is inappropriate for the workplace. This way you can play it safe in case this is just really help that she is asking for instead of the sexual healing that you are craving.”

Lena rolled her eyes and said, “Sam….”

“What? You know you fantasized about this woman numerous times. Why hide it now?”

Lena just gave her a disapproving glare. Sam chuckled and went on to grab a croissant. Lena looked up at the dress that Sam suggested. It was pretty and would look good on her without making her look too desperate for attention in case this was all in her head. Lena smirked.

Hopefully, this outfit will make her flustered for a change.

Suddenly, two pings ranged out. Sam looked up startled to see Lena’s face light up like a kid in a candy store. Lena quickly went into her purse and pulled out the messaging device. She stared at the message for a minute before groaning and hitting her head against the desk.

Read the rest on AO3

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