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maybeijustwanttobeme · 2 years

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Fear of the Knight: Chapter 7.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Female!Reader

Warning: swearing, spoilers, violence and mention of rape

Summary: After a childhood and youth together, Bruce and [Y/N] live separate lives full of secrets. A new serial killer in Gotham unmasked the truth of the city, but the lies of Bruce and [Y/N] also were unmasked. What is the cost of the lies?

Notes: English is not my first language.

Masterlist: Fear of the Knight

Sorry for the delay, between my elbow surgery and the end of the semester I wasn't able to write, but I'm back (again)! I hope you enjoy it. Leave a comment if you want to be tag ⭐️

-[Y/N], are you sure? I don't think it's a good idea to look for the vigilante.- Neera was worried.

-Of course, I'm sure. I already convinced Gordon to let me call him. I need to do this. He's the only one who can finish them off. I need to be free, and even if I have to go to jail, at least no one will be able to control me.

-You're one of the few good people I know in Gotham, but you're still a person, and you're going to make mistakes. You helped me! A stripper with no future! How many women from the Iceberg Lounge have you gotten out of that miserable place?

-32… but Annika…

-You're not going to be able to save us all. Just keep trying to change lives. I got your back, little bird.- both smiled at each other.

-How do I look? -[Y/N] asked as she showed her uncoordinated outfit to avoid being recognized.

-Horrible- answered Neera sincerely.

-Perfect!

-Now, we're going to get you out of this hospital.

-[Y/N], we can still go. What if he sees you as a threat?

-I don't think so -[Y/N] chuckled and showed her cast.

-What if I stay with you?

-No, I need you to go to the Wayne Foundation and give Annika's case- she said while tapping the envelope with evidence that they had worked in the hospital.

-I can do it tomorrow…

-No, I need Bella and Harvey to commit. I need to put the killer behind bars.

-How do you know the Wayne Foundation is going to cooperate?

-I'm going to speak directly with Bruce.

-[Y/N] - Neera gave her a worried look. Neera knew part of her history with Bruce. Neera was her best friend. Although [Y/N] wanted to tell her everything, she knew that she would put her in danger if she knew the whole truth of her life.

-I know he'll help.

-How?

-His parents. Martha and Thomas would have helped.

-If you insist. Call me when you get home.

-Sure.

[Y/N] got out of the car while trying to catch her breath. What floor had Gordon said?

Women liked him. He liked them, too, but he never stayed in one place long enough to form a lasting relationship. His relationships after [Y/N] had been just a fling and were just for pleasure. He was not sure he wanted one; he could only fantasize about a future with [Y/N]. Oh! But Selina was a beautiful woman, dangerously beautiful. She also understood his nocturnal world.

-I told you, baby. I can take care of myself-Selina said sensually before leaving, but he realized that she stopped when she saw a person. He turned around, thinking it was Gordon, but his heart skipped a beat when he saw [Y/N] standing there.

She had her hair fluffy, and no makeup and her bruises stand out more. She had an old Gotham University sweatshirt and shorts too big for her. She finally combined it with tall purple rain boots and a yellow raincoat. Bruce wanted to smile seeing her like that. He could almost hear her laugh looking for puddles like when they were children.

-You knew?- Selina asked her as she walked towards her like a cat hunting her prey.

-What are you talking about?

-Don't pretend to be stupid. It doesn't fit you. Since when did you know about Annika? - Selina's anger against [Y/N] was clear.

-I found out the last night we met - [Y/N]'s body language was defensive. She definitely wasn't looking to have that conversation with Selina.

-And you weren't going to tell me?

-It's not that I have your phone, and these days I've tried…-she was interrupted.

-I don't see you moving a finger.- [Y/N] changed her body language to an offensive one. She wasn't going to let Selina make her feel any more guilty.

-I'm not going to go looking for the killer. I'm going to have Harvey look him up as PR. I already told you that I don't have a death wish, and looking for the killer would be looking for the same destiny. Do not take justice into your own hand, Selina. The consequences can be high.

-I don't see anyone looking for justice for Annika

-And what do you think I'm doing here? - Bruce witnessed a battle of women who wanted to be right that was basically a battle of titans in front of him.

-You are not different from them. Taking dirty money and living off it.

-I have no choice. My fate may be the same as Annika's. I'm still a valuable little bird but replaceable. If you want to hunt down the killer, do it. I'm going to do it my way- [Y/N] with her look and tone, she left no option for Selina to say anything else. Selina followed her path as if she had never bumped into [Y/N].

Bruce watched [Y/N] take a deep breath as if she was taking courage.

-Stop judging me with your gaze.- she told him while trying to fix her hair in a ponytail, but she couldn't because of the cast. Bruce's fingers itched to help her. Since the day he'd seen her at Mitchell's house, he'd dreamed about her soft hair.

-Why could I judge you? Because of your friendship with Penguin? Or with Falcone?

-You don't know a thing, Bat.- the two stared at each other. Bruce didn't know what to say. He didn't want to talk much either. She could somehow recognize his voice. [Y/N] didn't know where to start.

-The cat got your tongue? - [Y/N] tried to joke around to break the tension. She didn't know where she had gotten the confidence to joke around with the Bat. Maybe it was the pain meds. Bruce still didn't say anything.- Uhm… I'm here to tell you a theory I have about the rat and answer any questions you may have about the mob.

-I thought you worked with them. - Bruce's tone was harsh.

-The most appropriate thing to say is that I work for them, although that would be to say that I have a choice.

-I saw you very comfortable with Penguin- he replied.

-Oz has saved me on several occasions. He is a friend.

-And Falcone? - The tone of both began to be increasingly hostile.

-He is more like my captor.

-I don't see you locked up.

-If I wasn't locked up, I wouldn't have come to you.

-Why are you locked up?

-Because of a bad deal I made a few years ago.- Both remained silent for a few seconds.- Could I tell you my theory? I'm not here to talk about my personal life.- the Bat nodded.- You remember Reed 'Piggy' Porcello, right? It was your first case with Lieutenant Janice Dure.

-How do you know that?

-I worked with Mitchell. We've heard about you since the first case. You remember it, right? - he just nodded again. The vigilante was a man of few words.

-Porcello was one of the few people who started working for Oz and Falcone, who worked for Marroni and my dad. And not only that, but since they were arrested, Porcello has had positions within the government. Why do you think Falcone paid to get him out of jail?

-Do you think he is the rat?

-Don't know. I just think it's a bit suspicious. Porcello betrayed Falcone, and he's still alive and working for him and the government.

-Like you.-he told her as recrimination. Bruce was trying to stay calm, but he wanted to know why [Y/N] was involved with them.

-I'm not the rat-her tone and gaze were strong. He knew she wasn't the rat, but he needed to confirm that information.

-I saw Penguin giving you money.

-It was for Colson. I'm a perfect disguise to move papers and money around, but I've never done anything else

-And being the key witness in the trial of Marroni and your dad? -[Y/N] felt that question was an offence.

-That is my worst mistake.- she needed to undo the lump in her throat.- I'm not the rat because I would have let your cowl be taken from you at the funeral - she argued.

-One theory is that you're using Porcello for us to investigate him, so you can go free.

-I am not the rat!-she almost cried.

-Why not? Your theory is that Porcello is a suspect because he is working for the government and Falcone. Also, he worked for Marroni and your father. But you are in the same position. Why him and not you?

-Because I lost everything, and he won.- her face had changed to one of rage. [Y/N] had gone through endless emotions during this confrontation.

-What did you lose? You own your father's company, the family house…

-Just on paper!-she interrupted him.- My family's company is dedicated to money laundering and their operations. My family home is destroyed. Until a few days ago, they decided where I lived. They choose my car, and my job and control some of my money. As Colson said, I'm their favourite doll.

-How did you end up like this?

-A bad deal. I want all of them in jail, and even if I have to go with them; I will be free from their control. I'm going to jail on my own terms.

-Why don't you tell me everything?

-No, it's my story. It's personal.- she returned to a more neutral tone but determined to prove her point.

-Do you really believe that Porcello is the rat?

-I don't know.- another silence.- Only when I think about it, who is the one who has won the most? Only Porcello comes to mind. Also, they don't call him Piggy just because he's fat, but because of the carnage, he commits when they ask him for a job. Since he started working with Falcone and Mitchell, he was no longer just a criminal, but a politician. Mitchell paid him well for his jobs outside the office. The rat is someone we can't imagine.

-Can you talk to Porcello?

-No

-Get some proof?

-No. I can't be near Porcello.- her tone did not give rise to discussion, although Bruce preferred to insist.

-Why?

-It's personal.

-It's hard to work without some proof.

-Kenzie is close to him. You could ask about Porcello; he's always in the Iceberg Lounge.- Bruce kept thinking that it couldn't be Porcello. He had watched him after the GCPD didn't put him in jail, and nothing indicated that he was the rat- You still don't trust me, do you?

-It can't be Porcello

-Why?

-It's personal - Bruce wanted to play with her too.

-I'm not the rat.

-What was that deal, [Y/N]? - he changed the subject. He hoped he could convince her to tell him the truth about her involvement.

-It's my life! I haven't told anyone. Why would I tell you?

-If we solve this case, it could help you set free.

-I can't… I can't. I don't trust you.

-Do you have any documents from them? or something that can serve as a clue?

-No, they are clever. They use paper so it can be destroyed and not tracked. I told you that Porcello is very close to Kenzie, look for him, he will talk.

-How do you know he would talk?

-Just tell him that you have the audio of [Y/N]. It's not proof, but he will sing if you ask him.-

-What is the audio from?

-It's personal.

-They'll know you talked to me. If you tell me the whole story, I can pretend I found it somewhere else, but with the half of the story, they'll know it's you. I'm not going to put you at risk.- That was true. There was no universe where Bruce would put [Y/N] at risk.

-Nobody knows the whole story.- she confessed.

-You protected my secret, and I'm going to protect yours.- [Y/N] thought that maybe she would never have a similar opportunity that someone could know her story to help her be free. What could an outlaw do? She looked into his eyes and saw absolute sincerity. Alos, I kind of familiarity like when you listen to someone you love.

With a sigh, she began her story with her.

-After college, I went to Metropolis to work for Lex Luthor on his PR team. At first, my dad didn't care until my work began to stand out, and my dad asked me to return to work in the PR of the family company. I told him no, the company was at Marroni's disposal, and because of that and… for… nothing, I didn't want to return to Gotham.

-The whole story, without gaps. - The Bat said with a certain sweetness.

-Because of Bruce Wayne, everything reminded me of him. During those two years in Metropolis, I was happy. I was starting a new life.- [Y/N] smiled as she remembered her life in the quiet city of Metropolis.- My dad wanted me so much in Gotham that he sent people to destroy my car, my aparment and follow me everywhere I went. I felt so insecure that I had to go back. My dad told me that it was temporary job, and I accepted.- There was a brief pause accompanied by a sigh.-After almost two years of work, I managed to raise the image of the company and my family. When I wanted to move out, my dad told me no. He was desperate because the GCPD had already started the whole investigation. He needed the family image, and I couldn't leave because he controlled my money, my car, my apartment, everything. I was going to sneak out after a night out with some friends at the Iceberg Lounge, but he found out. That's when I met some of Piggy's fury. Oz's men stopped Porcello. Falcone found out about my situation, and some of his men came looking for me to talk to the Boss. Falcone and Mitchell told me that if I was a key witness for the trial, they would take me out of my dad's control and give me their protection. They were going to give me control of life again. I accepted, and that was the worst mistake. My dad found out about that, and he sent Porcello again. He was goint to give me something worse than death.- she couldn't hold his gaze for a second and breathed again to gather courage for the next thing. Bruce felt his body burn with rage. - I knew my dad would do something, although I never imagined that he would send someone to rape his own daughter. From previous experiences, my apartment had cameras and microphones. When Porcello arrived, he destroyed the cameras, but not the microphones. Those are the audios I mentioned you before. Kenzie was with him, and he wanted to participate. Oz's men got there in time. Porcello only managed to break my wrist. Porcello and Kenzie spoke with Falcone, and they came out alive and with new jobs. Porcello stayed longer and left with his political job. -the melancholy in her voice turned to rage.- I was furious, and I went to talk to Colson, he ignored me. That's when I met Harvey. He told me that I should keep those audios for some future blackmail. The two of them were protected by Mitchell. To compensate me for that, Mitchell gave me a job with him and promised that Porcello and Kenzie would never come near me again.- her voice calmed down to a neutral one.- After the trial, I wanted to leave, but Falcone wouldn't let me. He told me that my company would be managed by them, and I would receive my monery as "owner". I told them no, and Porcello took me to the dock. That night Falcone told me I was replaceable, but they wanted to help me for helping them get Marroni out. I could being their little bird, or I could easily end up at the bottom of the pier. Nobody would do anything, I had no family, and if society replaced the Waynes, of course, they could replace me. - she smiled reluctantly at the end of that part of the story. - That's how I came to work for them. In these 3 years, I have been with them, Oz has protected me, and Mitchell gave me a job, but everything was conditional on what Falcone wanted. Porcello's betrayal made me think that he was going to go to jail or they were going to kill him, but they just gave him a little slpa in his hand, and he went on with his life; that's why I believe he is the rat.

-You never saw another escape window?

-Yes.- [Y/N] didn't want to tell the Bat, but she needed to get everything out, and he seemed to be a good listener.- When Bruce Wayne settled in Gotham after his constant travels, I thought he could buy my freedom - [Y/N]'s head was starting to hurt, and she felt dizzy.

Bruce felt a tightness in his chest. He had never hated himself so much in his life. He pushed [Y/N] out of his life to protect her, but he never realized she was already living in hell. Despite that, she was always looking to help people with a smile.

-I'm sorry for everything. I'm going to resolve this and give you your freedom as it seems you have done with the women of the Iceberg Lounge.- he promised her. Bruce would died rather than let her Falcone's hands again.

-I want justice for Annika, for everyone who suffers because of them.

-I will keep your secret it as if it were mine.

-Thanks. Do you think it's Porcello?

-No, when he made his deal with Falcone, the GCPD should already have a rat for the trial. But I need to talk to both of them because Porcello might know the rat to make a deal with Falcone, especially after the bombs incident. You're right. The rat is someone who won too much and was close to the circle of Marroni and your dad. - he told her sincerely.

The phone of [Y/N] interrupted the conversation. It was Neera.

-Hi, what's going on?

-You're good?

-Yeah, what happened?

-It's about the Waynes. I don't know how much support the Wayne Foundation can give. Just watch the news when you can and call me

-Okay. I'll call you- she didn't understand anything Neera was saying, but she sounded anxious. The Waynes?

-All good?- he asked when he saw her confused

-Yeah .. just something about the Waynes.- she wanted to move, but her dizzines made her fell. The Bat was faster and took her into his arms like a side hug. [Y/N] was on his left side. So close, she was able to look at a tiny mole just like Bruce's. She saw his lips, and they were just as delicate. She looked into his eyes as blue as Bruce's. She needed to touch him to know if he felt the same way. Bruce saw how [Y/N] looked at his lips, and he desperantly wanted to kiss her. He had kissed Selina a few minutes ago, and he had liked it, but [Y/N]'s lips were like a drug. Of the things he missed the most on his trips were her kisses. Wherever [Y/N] wanted t kiss him, from the most simple and tender on the cheek to the most seductive on the lips. When he looked into her eyes, he knew she had found out his secret.

-Bruce….- she whispered.- I need to call him… something about the Waynes.

-I'll look for you when I hear from them .- he was still holding her in one of his arms. It was almost inhuman to let her go.

-Take care… I… I should go.- [Y/N] now needed to find out if it was Bruce the vigilante. Bruce released [Y/N] little by little, and she just as slowly walked away from him.

-[Y/N]. Be careful. I'll be watching you

-No, as you can see, I can take care of myself. Solve the riddle and stay alive.- [Y/N] needed the vigilante to live. Was it Bruce? That question would eat her until she discovered the truth.

Bruce watched her go. Now more than before, he needed to discover the rat to free [Y/N], but what about his parents?

Tag list: @she-wintersoldat @angeliken @t-stark35@cc13723things@aniya7 @xingqiusliegee @frozenhuntress67 @y-napotat @uncle-eggy @lwtmonster91 @bookloverfilmoholic

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guesst · 1 year

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❔❔❔❔❔❔

ask game ❔choose a random wip and talk about it (x6)

well if you insist on 6 whole wips heeheehee

okay first off

because we both like dc i have one (1) single dc wip which is a fairytale au and i cooked it up it quite a while ago with [redacted] in eeby deeby. i started writing it somewhere *rummages in folder* well it’s been quite a while, but i like it a lot still because it ended up fusing a bunch of fairytales together. for example, bruce is the beast from beauty and the beast, dick is snow white — although obviously with no romance: instead it’s his arriving at the ‘beast’s’ house for shelter from the evil huntsman (that guy who killed his parents) and i was planning on some sort of sleeping beauty-goldilocks fusion for jason where he joins bruce and co. just by breaking in and finding the perfect lunch n bed and later falls under a sleeping curse. with jason it also ties in a lot with tim because tim plays a rapunzel in this au — guarded by the same witch that puts the sleeping curse on jason for breaking into his tower. as you can see there is a trend of jason breaking into places and witches putting curses on people. incidentally talia is also a witch and damian is red riding hood. if i did decide to put duke in — though i dont know about him much, so it might be hard — i’d say maybe he’s the goose girl? (because of the ‘we are robin’ thing) or maybe cinderella? it would be interesting either way. anyway thats about the extent of my plan, though ive written a lot less (its just bruces origin story and dick arriving at bruce’s house :p)

here’s a snippet to get you through the rest of this rant

secondly

PURSON FIC PURSON FIC PURSON FIC

im not going to spend a lot of time talking about this one. im pretty sure it’s a character fic. i just spend a lot of time trying to figure out how purson thinks and acts and feels especially in the earlier arcs of iruma. somehow i feel like there’s not enough knowledge in my brain of him and so it feels like he’s too serious and its fun trying to balance his snark and aversion to attention. this wip’s meant to span the manga up until the music festival arc (so, until probably season 4 of iruma?) and yet i havent figured out what im going to write about the harvest festival. on the other hand i started this fic purely because i wanted a reason to write purson making friends with a caretaker that lets him onto the roof so he can become pixie. caretaker has become an oc with a whole backstory, which will probably mever show up in canon, but im still attached to her. yeah

and THIRDLY

iruma again! it’s an amnesia fic!

this one is for panda’s prompt for an ask game which they sent in last year. as you can tell, it is taking a long time. however, i love it a lot because i get to write iruma pre-canon-development (considering he hasnt got any of his memories!!) interacting with azz and clara who are simultaneously attempting to seem like normal humans, and have become his coworkers somehow, and who keep making ‘secretive’ comments about iruma which seem really suspicious to iruma because he keeps hearing them out of context. i have absolutely no clue how to end it, but it’s a lot of fun :D

FOURTH

these speeches are getting shorter and shorter arent they. hm.

OK WHATEVER this one’s iruma again (promise its the last one) nd this time it’s a rarepair that afaik nobody has written! although it’s platomci and not romantic. anyway it’s a childhood friends au with kiriwo amy and urara valac and kiriwo gets to become friends with urara valac because they run into each other a lot — i havent written much for it, again, but i did try outlining and formatting the outline slightly differently and it’s worked pretty well so far, actually! i think the part im most looking forward to writing is the part where kiriwo realises he’s properly stuck with the valacs, and that he doesnt actually care, nor does he really want to see them despair properly. so he grows pretty differently to canon, because canonically, afaik kiriwo’s only proper friend was the one childhood friend whise bracelet he destroys and after that its just demons who dont give a shit because hes too weak. so it’s fun exploring how that would change if he had people like the valacs who are strange and different, and also really caring.

hhhh next is number 5

number five isnt a fic it’s the choose your own adventure ive rambled about a few times. im terms of the routes the mc could take ive changed up the dragons route and also added one called the bakery route, which ive also been thinking of taking back out. let me backtrack a little in case you forgot. the premise is that mc is a kid and has been prophesised to defeat the great dragon. however when the great dragon rises mc is still a little Kid. now the player can make one of two choices: choose to escape this situation (which lends itself to human and orc found families) or choose to fight the dragon (high risk of death but there is a chance you can make friends woth the dragon) . so i added two new characters that might be p important in the dragon route: bel and caelan! bel short for belesis. he’s mc’s village friend and caelan is his sister and they’re both a bit older and more streetwise than mc. and also! i changed up the setting a little bit so it’s hotter and more deserty. when mc discovers the Forest where the great dragon lives they are going to be very shocked at the Wet

FINALLY NUMBER 6 LAST ONE

league theatre troupe au. this is an imaginary wip but its so stupid funny i want to write it so bad. i am planning to when i get the time also do not fear. if u didnt read the conversation it’s that shigaraki talks like shakespeare because afo lived longer than everyone thought (like, since the middle ages) and when he got his face pumched in his brain reverted to shakespeare talk. now when shigaraki got kidnapped by afo at a young age he also started speaking liek afo. this spreads to the league of villaims. everyone now thinks the lov is a theatre troupe and applauds them whenever they appear. they are legally licensed to use quirks in public because everyome thinks they are performing. stain is a big fan and so is present mic. all might asks for shiggy’s autograph at one point. shiggy calls him a knave.

#ask game #a wild blou has appeared #i had sm fun ty blou #yellow writes #m!ik #bnha

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chickensarentcheap · 1 year

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3, 8, 15, 16, 28, 29, 35, 38, 45, 46, 53, 55, 61, 67, 77, 79, 82, 86, 90, 91 for OTP Questions

3. Who kissed who first?

Tyler kissed her first. After he wrapped his hand around her throat and pinned her against a wall. He finally gave into his lust. Atta boy, Tyler.

8. Who tends to worry the most?

Esme. She is a huge worrier.

15. Who pays for the food the most, when they go out?

Tyler. Mind you, the money comes out of a joint account. They don't keep separate accounts.

16. Do they enjoy dancing?

Esme does. He does not. lol. but they have slow danced in the kitchen and out on the back deck.

28. How often are roadtrips?

At least two or three times a week :)

29. What do they do after a hard day at work?

They'll relax on the back deck together or on the hammock. Maybe sit by a fire on the beach. It's their chance to communicate and really talk with no interruptions.

35. How do they spend time if the other is gone?

They have so many kids that their time is filled with taking care of them and making sure their needs and wants are met. If the kids are at school, Esme will garden or craft or go to Target lol. Tyler always has projects. Always. He builds things. A lot. He'll surf, work out.

45. How are birthdays spent?

Esme loves to throw a party! Tyler never celebrated his birthday since his mother died. Esme found that unacceptable. So the kids will decorate and make him cards and gifts to go with the ones mumma bought, she'll bake him a cake, they'll order in. The next day they'll have a gathering with their closest friends. A BBQ, time on the beach, relaxing around a fire.

Tyler always helps the kids make Esme a cake or cupcakes. Always. She gets breakfast in bed and he takes her out to lunch. He'll cook down on the beach for dinner. And they usually go away for the weekend.

46. What do they like the least about each other?

Esme can't stand his stubbornness. Tyler can't stand her lack of self confidence and the way she brings herself down.

53. Who is the better dancer?

Definitely Esme. Tyler is too long and lanky and has two left feet.

55. Are they a super sappy couple?

They have their moments lol For example: Esme once told him (they didn't have a lot of money when they first got married) that she would have married him if he asked with a ring pop. Well when he re-asked years later and gave her a beautiful diamond ring, he also gave her a ring pop. He also (for their tenth wedding anniversary) purchased an empty store in town to help make her childhood dream of owning a bookstore come true

61. What songs do they sing together in the vehicle?

You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC and anything Skynrd and CCR

67. Who is the forgetful one?

Tyler. but not on purpose. He suffered a traumatic brain injury and it has affected his short memory unfortunately.

77. Do either of them have secrets even the other doesn’t know?

No. There's nothing they don't know about each other at this point.

79. What movie did they see together?

They watch a lot of netflix together, but don't really go to the movies.

82. What is an inside joke they have?

Tyler once called masturbating 'studying' and now that's their code language when people are around. LOL.

86. Who’s concert would they go to?

IDK. That's a tough one lol. Maybe Bruce Springsteen. Bon Iver. Hozier.

90. Who is the one that would bring the puppy home?

Tyler. He is a massive animal lover, but dogs are a major soft spot for him.

91. What is their song?

So from a creative standpoint, their song is I Found by Amber Run. But the song they danced to when they got married and that their on caught them dancing to on the back deck is "Crazy Love" by Van Morrison.

@munstysmind, @tragiclyhip, @youflickedtooharddamnit, @secretaryunpaid

#Tyler and Esme series

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telltalebatman · 9 months

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34 for pinnguin maybe?

34. "Tell me about your childhood?"

"Hey, Oswald?"

"Hmm?" he muttered, his eyes still glued to the device he was tinkering with. "I'm all ears."

"What was your childhood like?"

After a long pause, he sighed, put the device down and looked up at her.

"It was good," he said finally; Charlie nodded silently. "Dare I say... Perfect, even. Loving parents, endless fun, good friends... Doesn't make for a particularly good story, really. Happiness never does," he added with another sigh; Charlie nodded again. In a way, he was right; it wasn't as simple as happiness is boring - but he was right. "Misery, on the other hand... Oh, misery makes for the best bloody stories."

"Right, but all I really know about your childhood starts with when things started to go sour," she pressed gently. "Not every story has to be groundbreaking, you know. Sometimes people just want to hear about the good old times."

"I've put my good old times behind me," he said, shaking his head; and Charlie raised her eyebrows skeptically. That was a new one; clearly it was a lie - and not very convincing either. Had he shed less blood in the name of vengeance, she'd be more inclined to believe him - but Oswald killed a man who ruined his life. Directly contributed to the murder of another. Tried to kill Bruce too, all because his father destroyed Oswald's childhood. "What about you, hm?"

ah, whataboutism.

"It was good," she said with a shrug; but the words felt heavy on her tongue, heavy and sour. "Mostly."

"Mostly?" he asked, resting his cheek against his fist.

"Well, for starters, mom and dad both worked a lot," she said reluctantly. "You know what it's like. Spent a lot of time hanging out with babysitters while my mom was saving lives at the hospital and dad was yelling at Rudy Giuliani."

"I had my fair share of babysitters," he said with a chuckle. "Ended up driving all of them insane... Except for one."

"That person being..?"

"Wayne family's butler," Oswald said with a grimace; Charlie let out a giggle at the dismay in his voice. "Never quite got under his skin. Still hadn't figured him out, to be honest."

"I think it's too late for that now. Isn't he like... Seventy?"

"His exact age is a closely guarded secret. Even Wayne doesn't know how old his butler is."

"Did your family have a butler too?"

"No," he said with a shrug. "Mum insisted against it, and dad... Dad only wanted to keep her happy," he added with a sigh. "But sometimes I wonder, if maybe... If maybe this is what could've prevented all that shit from happening. Maybe if we also had an Alfred Pennyworth... My folks would still be there, and I'd be rolling around in money."

or maybe he'd backstab you. or die as well. sorry, "disappear".

"I doubt that," she said instead; he sighed and looked away. "Uhm... Sorry. Didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"No, no, it's fine," he said with a wave of his hand; but in his eyes she could see things were anything but fine. "You were curious. I get that."

In response, she silently reached out to him; and he got up, sat at the edge of the couch she was laying on and sank in her arms.

He did end up showing her some old photos; of his parents. His pudgy, younger self. His friends. His home. In return, she showed him her album; and perhaps, in a way, he was right. Maybe happiness truly doesn't make for a good story - but she didn't really care. What does it matter if a story is good or bad? For a short while, all that mattered was the happiness that was once there.

#4.txt

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eumenidaes · 1 year

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3, 10, 25

3) Favorite musical artist / group you started listening to this year?

So the thing about me is no matter what, I barely listen to all the songs of a single artist. But I did listen to more than just the 3 songs I already did by Olivia Rodrigo, and I liked all of them a lot. Other candidates are Reckless Love and Breezy Supreme

10) Something that made you cry this year?

The ending of The Batman (2022), specifically the “people need hope” monologue. It really hit hard to finally see a Batman adaptation really understand the importance of hope to Bruce and his character. Also then I checked my email during the credits and found out I was accepted into grad school lol

25) Did you create any characters (in games, art, or writing) this year? Describe one

god, so many. I’ll talk about Rohan tho bcs he’s my special guy

So, Rohan Khan is for my fps concept, Elysium. He’s the child of immigrants to the US, and turned 18 just around when the US was joining World War II. He enlisted as soon as he was able to, knowing that joining the military and the benefits that come from being a veteran were the most likely way he’d be able to make something of himself and because he wanted to take a stand against the Nazis. He ended up being a flying ace, but got shot down and severely burned in the wreckage of his plane. While he should have died, his life was saved by Oswald Ambrose, a doctor from an island called Elysium, and he was outfitted with ridiculously advanced prosthetics that were also from Elysium. The two of them became closer, and Ambrose invited Rohan to come to Elysium and join the island’s council, as well as be closer to the technologies that keep him alive. Rohan accepted on the condition that his childhood friend (also secret girlfriend) Cynthia Morandi-Hyun get ti come as well. The members of the council are granted immortality, so he’s technically a hundred but only looks like he’s in his 40s

Personality wise, Rohan’s a person that’s very loyal and determined, but also very stubborn. He definitely has some undiagnosed PTSD, and he has a tendency to push away others in part from that and some of his hypervigilance. He is very close and affectionate with Cynthia, though. He’s a little bit of a complicated case in a lot of ways because while he is very loyal to Ambrose, he’s having some doubts about him too, especially because he’s been failed in a lot of ways by Ambrose and the whole system that Elysium has. I want to touch with his storyline on how veterans are often heralded as heroes in the US, but they rarely get the institutional support they need and often get kind of cast aside by society. Because while Rohan does have a nice title and all the benefits that come with that, he gets no help in addressing his mental health issues and he doesn’t get to actually do anything, and that drives him nuts

#asks #gxldandpurple #rohan #thank you!#elysium

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bushidraw · 2 years

Text

I was scrolling through my dash when I stumbled on @frostbittenbucky. She was talking about a story in which Bruce met one of his alternate counterpart who never lost his parents, and thus, never became The Dark Knight. I chuckled as I was reading through the many replies, until I had an epiphany.

Bruce doesn’t need to lose his parents to become a vigilante. Back in the days, during the golden age of comics, the Waynes were introduced as a family of adventurers. One of his last relative, Silas Wayne, couldn’t rest at peace knowing his grandnephew never accomplished anything in his life.

In the modern age of comics, it’s ridiculous how many influence he had growing up to push him in the life of a vigilante. Gotham has always been under the protection of a vigilante, but even without taking the first Green Lantern or Black Canary, he grew up with people from the superhero community. His childhood friend, Zatanna, was a magician. His butler, Alfred, a super spy. In multiple origins story, he even befriended Clark when he was Superboy !

Let’s face it, Bruce was always going to become a vigilante, one way or another. The question being… What kind of Batman would he be ?

More importantly, how would it affect his kids ?!

I think it would go something like this.

Young Bruce Wayne is easily overstimulated and needs a new hyper fixation. He’s already been going to multiple class, like escrima and jockeys. The lad even shows his first deduction skills. After all, he was named after one of his relative who is a detective himself. Alfred decides to take him to self defense class after yet another death threat Thomas and Martha received. Bruce faces his first challenge, and it only motivates him further to keep going. He doesn’t know it yet, but it’ll save his parents life.

When he stopped Joe Chill from murdering his parents, he found his life purpose : stopping bullets before they hit their victims. Inspired by Zorro, The Phantom Mask or real life super heroes like the Justice Society, he decides to become a super hero of his own. Once adult, he does what a lot of young rich people do and starts to travel around the world.

In his mind, if Alfred was Agent A, he would become Agent B. It’s not as flashy as The Bat-Man, but when he comes back to Gotham, it works. His secret operations are making ways in the underworld and they don’t know who to blame for it. Thomas and Martha are both clueless to their son’s secret identity.

Until a circus comes in time, and Bruce, despite is effort, isn’t Superman. He’s not fast enough to stop this bullet and he feels guilt. Robin is soon born after, and it’s when talking about the meaning behind his name and costume that Bruce takes on the mantle of Batman.

Because the Bat had always been the symbol of Gotham. The miagani, the bat-people who were before them, were the righteous owners of these lands, and Bruce’s ancestors. His father, Thomas, used to wear a Bat costume, so his son would be less afraid of them and because of what it meant.

Alfred talked him down, and told him he wouldn’t be prouder to see him become what he was always meant to be. He, himself, stopped being agent A a long time ago to wear a different kind of costume.

Thus was born the dynamic duo of Batman & Robin in an universe where Thomas and Martha survived.

Thomas and Martha didn’t really known how to react to Bruce becoming Dick’s legal guardian, but they did know their son needed a serious sit down. Bruce couldn’t expect his own parents to not recognize him once he was wearing a suit similar to his father, after all. But, in the end, they let it go. Bruce had already saved the city from a Napoleon wannabe and Monster Men and it wasn’t something he could come back from.

How do you think Thomas and Martha being alive would affect Batman & Robin ?

#batman #batman & robin #robin #nightwing #bruce wayne #thomas wayne #martha wayne #alfred pennyworth #wayne family #superman #agent a #fic ideas #dc comics #the miagani #autistic bruce wayne #dick grayson is robin #I wanted to do all the batkids but I don’t think I’ll come back to it later

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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Graveyard

summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence

As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.

It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.

They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.

Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.

“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.

You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.

For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.

Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.

“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.

“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.

You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.

“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”

Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.

Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.

He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.

“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.

“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.

He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.

You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.

A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.

Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.

You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.

Not that you’d let them know.

“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.

“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.

“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”

Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”

It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.

“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.

You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.

A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.

“What about you, Sergeant?”

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.

You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.

“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”

Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.

“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.

It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.

“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.

“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”

***

The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.

The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.

The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.

And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.

You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.

It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.

You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.

It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.

You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.

“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.

“Bucky?”

You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.

A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.

“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”

You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.

“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.

“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.

You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.

He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.

“Will you let me heal your hand?”

Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”

“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”

“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”

A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.

He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.

You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.

The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.

“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”

A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”

Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.

***

“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.

“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”

You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”

“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”

“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”

There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”

A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.

“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”

“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.

“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”

“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”

You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.

“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”

“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.

His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.

“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”

He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.

“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.

You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.

“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”

Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.

“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.

Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.

It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.

“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.

You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.

As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.

You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.

You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.

You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.

Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.

“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”

You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.

“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.

“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.

“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.

***

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.

He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.

He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.

“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”

“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.

Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”

“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.

He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.

“Y/n! Thank God.”

It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.

“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.

Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”

Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.

“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”

“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.

By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.

Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.

Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.

“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.

“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”

“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”

Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.

But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.

You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.

Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?

“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.

You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.

The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.

As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.

The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.

A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.

Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.

But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.

Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.

Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.

Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.

Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.

None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.

You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.

The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.

Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.

“Y/n? Are you—”

Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.

Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.

It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.

Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.

Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.

The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.

You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.

The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.

“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.

But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.

“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.

Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.

Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.

You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.

It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.

***

A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.

Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.

You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.

The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.

You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.

Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.

A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.

A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.

“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”

He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.

He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”

You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”

Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.

Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”

“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”

Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”

“Oh.”

A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.

“Were you ever going to tell us?”

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”

“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”

He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.

You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.

So, you told him as much.

“I’d do it again.”

Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.

“You almost died—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”

You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”

“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”

You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.

No one until Bucky.

You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”

Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.

Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.

Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.

“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”

Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.

“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”

Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.

“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.

Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.

“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”

He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.

“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.

You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”

You didn’t know.

You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.

Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.

“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.

“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.

Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.

“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”

“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.

“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”

“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.

“Okay.”

“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.

“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”

You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.

They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.

read the sequel here!

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader

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the-atlas-sister · 3 years

Text

The First Date (Damian Wayne X Reader)

So in this, you are the daughter of Green Arrow, Oliver Queen (NOT THE ARROW VERSION!! THE ANIMATED AND COMIC VERSION), and Black Canary, Dinah Lance. Also in this Dinah is dead and you have taken on the role of Black Canary

"Done!" Abby (moi!!!) exclaimed, tying the hair tie in my hair. "Aw, you look so good!" She backed up, admiring her work.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, smiling slightly. "I mean, I usually look beautiful but now I look even more beautiful," I joked.

"I know," Abby said, making me chuckle.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "What time is it?" I asked.

"Six on the dot," Abby said, looking impressed. "Wow."

"It is Damian," I shrugged before my eyes widened. "I'm going on a date with Damian Wayne."

"Chill," y/b/f said, noticing my panic. "You asked him out, remember?"

"But-"

"Hey Damian," y/b/f said from the living room.

I looked at Abby, a panicked expression on my face. "You're okay," she whispered before leading me out of the bathroom.

Damian looked at me before mumbling something in Arabic. I was rusty when it came to other languages but I thought I caught "Beautiful..." which was enough to make my entire face turn red.

"Hey," I said, putting on a confident face. "You look good." My eyes scanned him. He wore a pair of nice black jeans and a matching skin-tight turtle-neck.

"You look..." His eyes scanned me.

"Gorgeous? Beautiful? Sexy?" I guessed, smirking at Damian blushed.

"Yes," Damian said, making me blush.

"Okay... well," Abby said, pushing me forward. "You two have fun," she said as I slipped on my shoes. "But not too much fun." She eyeballed Damian in a very best friend way. "And have her back by 10."

"And be safe!" Myloh added.

"Bye guys," I said, quickly ushering Damian out the door before closing it. "Sorry."

"I had a similar conversation with my brothers before I left," Damian said before cringing slightly. "Although it was a bit more-"

"I don't want to know," I said, shaking my head. "So, what do you have planned, Mr. Wayne?" I asked, walking down the apartment hallway.

"That's a surprise," Damian said with a stoic face.

"Not a huge fan of surprises," I said as we reached the elevator.

"You'll like this one," Damian stated matter-of-factly, pressing the button to the last level.

"Is that a fact?" I challenged as the elevator lowered.

"Yes," Damian stated, making me tilt my head. "I did some research and I'm sure you'll enjoy this."

"I don't know if that was meant to be sweet but it came off as creepy," I chuckled, leaning on the elevator wall.

"I just meant- I asked Abby what you're interested in," Damian explained, slowly going pink.

"What'd she say?" I asked, both worried and curious.

"She explained your love of movies, books, the stars, and food," Damian stated as the doors slid open.

"So, which did you choose?" I questioned, walking backward out of the elevator.

"Still a surprise," Damian smirked, following me.

"Mhm, game on Mr. Wayne," I said, turning around and walking out the apartment building's front doors. My eyes widened a bit as I saw Damian's motorcycle parked in front of the building. "Seriously?" I asked, looking at him as he stood next to me.

"Complaining?" he asked, looking at me sideways.

"Not as long as I get to drive," I chuckled, approaching the motorcycle.

"No," Damian said, standing next to me. He grabbed one of the helmets before handing me the second one.

"I know how," I frowned.

"No," Damian repeated before blinking. "Strange, that felt familiar." He then shook his head before getting on the bike. "Come on," he said looking at me. I rolled my eyes but climbed on the bike behind him. "Hold on," he said before putting on his helmet.

"You sure you don't want to drive as a way to get me to hold on to you?" I teased, resting my head on Damian's shoulder. Damian tensed up, making me chuckle. "I was kidding," I reassured him, putting on the helmet and grabbing his shoulders.

Damian cleared his throat. "I-I respect you, but for your own safety, I suggest you put your arms around my waist."

I blushed, wrapping my arms around his waist. Damian started the bike and drove out of his parking spot. My grip tightened as Damian sped up and we reached the highway. I grinned under the helmet as the adrenaline rushed through me due to the speed.

***

"You have to take me on your motorcycle more often," I said, letting out a breathy laugh and taking off my helmet.

"It's not really mine," Damian corrected, taking off his helmet and getting off the bike.

"But with Promythous-" I furrowed my brows, placing the helmet on the bike's seat.

"That was Robin's bike," Damian explained, leading me to the secret destination. He had parked a block away from the surprise place, just to keep the secrecy. "Damian Wayne does not have a motorcycle."

"Who's-" I continued, getting into pace next to Damian.

"My brother's," he shrugged with a small smug smile.

"You stole your brother's motorcycle?" I asked, laughing slightly.

"He told me, women love men with motorcycles," Damian said. "So I took that as an invitation for me to 'borrow' his." He smirked to himself at the thought. "Also, my other brother said I should. I'm not one to listen to him but, I did enjoy the idea of stealing Jason's bike." I smiled at his mini-rant. He seemed to notice. "I'm sorry for oversharing," he said, his face returning to it's neutral state.

"No, it's fine," I reassured him as we turned a corner. "It's nice hearing you talk more."

Damian blinked, obviously surprised by my answer. "What... would you like to talk about?" he asked slowly.

"You," I said. "I don't know much about you."

"O-oh," Damian stuttered, which was a rare sound. "I grew up with the League of Assassins."

"The group your father trained with?" I asked, interested to learn more. "Lead by Ra AlGugl?"

"My grandfather," Damian confirmed. "When my father was training, he met my mother. She- she tricked him into having... intercourse with her. That's how I was created. My father left before I was born and I was raised by my grandfather and mother. I was trained from birth to be the master assassin. I was supposed to be the best. There was no room for error."

"That doesn't sound like a fun childhood," I said.

"I suppose not," Damian hummed. "I loved my grandfather very much, or more admired him. He told me we would destroy the world and rebuild it in our own image." He scanned our surroundings, almost as if he was imagining how he could make each detail superior.

"That's still partly your mindset isn't it?" I asked, making Damian's gaze turn to me. "You see the world and people and just imagine how you can make them better." Damian blinked. "You even yourself believe you're better than everyone. You think you'll be a better Batman, a better hero."

"I don't-"

"I'm not critiquing, just observing," I stated. I blushed under Damian's intense stare. "I-I interrupted, I'm sorry. What about your mother?"

"She's dead," Damian said.

"Oh," I said.

"She wasn't a mother anyway," Damian continued. "Last I saw her she tried to create an adult 'perfect' clone of me and killed him."

"And I thought my dad was hardcore," I mumbled. "How did she...?"

"Helicopter crashed after trying to kill me, my father, and Grayson," Damian said almost casually.

My eyes widened. "You didn't deserve it," I said as we turned yet another corner. Damian turned to me. "You deserved a loving childhood. Not one with a group of assassins and Batman."

Damian's eyes softened. "I did get, what you call, a loving childhood with my father," he said. "He would set up movie nights. And my brothers are... overly loving, at least Grayson."

"He's Nightwing, right?" I asked, grinning a bit. Damian nodded. "I've met him. He has a bit of an older brother feel. And I'm sure he understands how hard it is to grow up with someone like Bruce."

"He has made it very clear he does," Damian scoffed. "As had Todd." I gave him a questioning look. "Red Hood."

"Oh, never met him," I mumbled.

We walked in comfortable silence for a minute.

"Here," Damian said, stopping in front of a small and quaint ice cream shop.

"Ice cream?" I asked, giving him a lopsided grin. "On Friday."

"You said you and your mother used to always had ice cream on Fridays," Damian said shyly.

I let out a small laugh. "You- this is really sweet," I said, a bit surprised. I remembered when I told him that detail about my childhood.

***Flashback***

"Tell me more about your mother," Damian said after a while of silence. "I assume she's where you got your power?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. "She was- awesome. She was the first Black Canary. Trained in thousands of martial art styles."

"You're telling me things I already know," Damian stated, making me look at him.

"She was a pretty cool mom," I chuckled, crossing my legs on the bed. "She couldn't cook though. That was something she wasn't taught. She'd always make time for us to have an ice cream night. Every Friday." I smiled at the memory. "Sometimes she'd come back from patrol at midnight then wake me up, just so we could still eat ice cream."

"Do you still do it?" Damian questioned, turning to face me fully. "With your father?"

"Not usually," I stated, trying not to sound bitter. "He's usually busy with the Justice League and his company."

"How did she die?" Damian asked softly, making me go stiff.

"I was thirteen," I recited. "She and my dad went to face Prometheus. It was just in the early stages of my training-at least for the Canary cry, so I wasn't allowed to go. I- I remember my dad calling the house. He told me he'd be home soon, but something happened to Mom. Apparently, Prometheus slit her throat. She didn't want anyone to find out her identity so she insisted that only Martian Manhunter or Batman operated on her."

"But it was too late," Damian assumed. I nodded.

"Dad and I hardly even spoke after that," I sighed. "It hit us both- hard, but after a year, we got through it. He's still protective though."

"What about your powers?"

"I don't use them," I stated. "My mom died before we got far in training."

"Why don't you continue?" Damian asked. "I assume the league would be open to help or your friends."

"I can't," I sighed. "My vocal cords are too old."

"That sounds like an excuse," Damian stated. "I was unaware you were a quitter, Queen."

***End of flashback***

"I just figured you'd enjoy it," Damian shrugged, turning his head to the side to hide his smile.

"I do," I chuckled. "Although this is very cliche."

"I have seen as such in many of the movies Grayson forced me to watch," Damian admitted.

"Thank you, Damian," I smiled before rushing towards the outside counter, Damian following. "Hello!" I said to the person at the counter.

"Hello," the person said. She was a pretty girl, seemingly teen age with flawless makeup. She looked like she belonged at Dutch Brothers.

"I would like two scoops of y/f/i.c (your favirote ice cream) in a cup, please," I said before turning to Damian.

"Awesome," the girl said. "And you?"

Damian glanced at me. "None for me," he answered.

"You're not going to get anything?" I asked.

"I've never had ice cream," Damian admitted.

"Never?" I asked in shock.

"No," Damian said, his face showing me he didn't understand the problem. I scanned his face before turning to the girl.

"He'll have one scoop of almond in a cup," I stated.

"Alright," the girl smiled. "Be right with you."

"I said I didn't want any," Damian said, looking at me.

"You've never had it and you can't just sit there watching me eat," I protested. "Plus, I think you'll like it."

"Why is that?" Damian challenged.

"I'm an observer of people and you seem like an almond guy," I summarized.

"Explain your thinking Miss Queen," Damian said.

"Well, almond is more of a traditional Arabic ice cream flavor (please correct me if I'm wrong, I got this off the internet), and knowing you, you prefer salty and savory over sweet," I explained before leaning back and spreading my hands like I was presenting an amazing discovery.

"We shall see," Damian just said.

"Here," the girl chimed in, interrupting our discussion. She handed us our ice cream.

"Thank you," I said. I placed my ice cream on the counter before pulling out my wallet, but Damian had already paid. "I was going to pay," I said as he handed me my ice cream.

"It's proper etiquette for the man to pay," Damian said, leading me away from the ice cream shop.

"But it's not required," I chuckled. "Besides, we're both the children of billionaires." Damian didn't answer as he led me to a small park beside the shop. "I'll just pay next time."

"Next time?" Damian asked, stopping in front of a blanket with a projector on it.

"Yeah," I smirked. "If I haven't scared you away."

"Not at all," Damian said, sitting on the blanket. He motioned for me to sit down and I obliged.

"Try the ice cream," I said excitedly. Damian glanced at the tan-colored ice cream before taking a scoop and eating it. I stared at him, waiting for some type of reaction. His eyes widened before he took another scoop. "I told you!" I smirked.

"Coincidence," Damian scoffed but took more bites.

"Mhm," I hummed, leaning back on my free hand. I looked around, noticing a screen across from the projector. "You set this up?"

"Pennyworth did," Damian corrected. "Although I choose the film."

"Oh really?" I asked. "What'd you choose?"

"y/f/a/m (your favirote animated movie)," Damian stated. My face lit up. "Abby told me it was your favorite. Although I don't understand how or why a film made for children would be your favorite."

"You've never seen it have you?" I asked. Damian shook his head. "Then you'll figure out that it's not really a children's film. And you'll discover the superior soundtrack."

#damian #damian wayne #damian x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #batman #first date #robin #dc #green arrow #black canary #dinah lance #oliver queen #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #author #alfred pennyworth

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

Secret’s Out

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Bruce was looking at his emails when Y/N arrived at the table.

She was breathing heavily and her hair was a bit messy, just further proving she had rushed to get there.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she huffed embarrassingly. “My shoot ran over and every one was moving so slowly.”

Bruce smiled. “Y/N. Relax.”

Then he stood up to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

The two of them hadn’t seen each other in over a month. Y/N had been traveling for work constantly. And between the vigilante life and Wayne Enterprises, Bruce was running on 2 hours of sleep on the daily.

“I need a drink,” Y/N finally sighed after she got situated.

As if on cue, their waitress dropped Y/N’s favorite drink in front of her.

Y/N eyed Bruce with surprise.

He just shrugged.

Sometimes Y/N forgot how much her father noticed literally everything.

“Thank you,” she told the waitress.

“You’re overworking yourself,” Bruce said with a disapproving look.

She rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re not one to talk, Bruce.”

“You deserve a vacation. I’ll pay for it. Pick wherever you want. Bring Jason. Or some friends.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Bruce…”

It was a warning.

From the very start of their unconventional father-daughter relationship, Y/N had made it clear that she could not be bought. And Bruce spoiling her made her extremely uncomfortable. Even now, she still tried to at least split restaurant checks with him. Bruce always won those battles though.

“I’ll take a vacation when you do,” she finally countered.

That sure shut him up.

“Hey, I actually brought you something,” Y/N changed the subject as she reached for her bag.

A moment later, she lightly placed a manila folder onto the table.

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he reached for it.

As soon as he opened it, he froze.

“I had to clean out some stuff and put things into storage,” Y/N explained. “I found all my mom’s photos. I figured I could make copies of some childhood photos for you.”

Bruce’s silence made Y/N nervous.

“If you don’t want them, that’s totally fine.” She started to reach for the folder out of Bruce’s grip with awkward embarrassment. “It was stupid–”

But Bruce quickly pulled the folder closer to him and stopped her from taking the photos from him.

“Thank you,” he announced.

It made Y/N quickly sit back in her chair, caught off guard by his sincere reaction and how he’d immediately become protective of the photos.

Bruce awkwardly cleared his throat. “Thank you, Y/N.”

He repeated to make sure she understood how thankful he truly was. And Y/N suspected the throat clearing was to hide his emotions.

Now she watched as Bruce slowly went through every picture. He took in every detail with a soft smile.

These weren’t just photos. These were all of Y/N’s memories that Bruce missed, that he could never get back. And he was savoring all of them.

Then Bruce paused and was fully smiling now.

“What?” Y/N asked.

She didn’t know why all of this made her so nervous.

Bruce didn’t say anything as he lifted a photo and flipped it to show her.

It wasn’t from her childhood.

It was a black and white photo of Jason. A candid from when he had escorted her around the slums of Gotham for her most recent gallery show.

After months of thinking about it, Y/N finally had decided she wanted to frame it and hang it somewhere in her apartment.

Y/N’s jaw dropped with embarrassment and she ripped it from his hands.

“I was developing some photos at the same time as I was making the copies. Must’ve gotten mixed up in those,” Y/N explained too quickly, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze.

It made Bruce happy to know that Y/N didn’t have the same inability to love someone and let people in like he did. It was a relief that she didn’t isolate herself from it like he had. If her mother was still alive, Bruce would thank her for it. But if Y/N’s mother were alive, he would’ve never known about Y/N in the first place.

Their entire dinner was spent with Bruce looking at the old photos. He had at least two questions for each one. Some of them Y/N didn’t remember being taken. But most of them came with stories or a loving memory.

Y/N talked for most of the meal. But that’s exactly what Bruce wanted.

Furthermore, Bruce had nothing of value to update her on. Batman business had consumed his life as of lately, and he had made a promise to never involve Y/N in any of it. And Jason seemed to be on the same page when it came to his other life as Red Hood.

Both men seemed determined to keep her safe and away from it all.

Two hours later, Bruce was paying the check and helping Y/N into her coat.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he muttered as they started walking out.

Y/N had learned by now to give up on those small battles. Jason was the same way when it came to making sure she got home safely.

As they made their way to the exit, Y/N caught a few stares from other patrons who were still eating.

“Do you ever get used to it?” She asked her father in a low voice.

“Get used to what?” He asked, genuinely unaware of what she was getting at.

“People gawking at you.”

Bruce glanced around and unintentionally glared at anyone who was staring at Y/N.

“It’s good that I’m seen in public…for obvious reason,” he hinted in a quiet voice, obviously talking about needing the cover to continue his life as a masked vigilante.

Once they were outside, Alfred was already waiting at the curb with the Rolls-Royce. He greeted Y/N with a hug and a kiss to her cheek before opening the door for her and Bruce.

When they got to Y/N’s apartment building, she said her goodbyes to Alfred. And Bruce walked Y/N all the way up to her door.

Even though Y/N insisted it was overkill and she could get up the stairs on her own just fine, Bruce had seen too many terrible things in this forsaken city. He could think of thousands of things that could happen to Y/N between the car and her front door.

Once Y/N realized that Bruce’s paranoia came from experience, she stopped trying to stop his chivalry and overprotective ways. She finally understood that Bruce had seen things that would prevent her from ever sleeping again. So if walking Y/N to her door gave him a little peace of mind, she wasn’t going to take that away from him.

Y/N turned to Bruce when they reached her door. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“Of course. I’m glad we could spend some time together. Thank you again for the photos.”

Y/N didn’t realize that Bruce was about to hang every single one around Wayne Manor.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug. “Get home safe.”

——————

Y/N woke up wrapped strong arms, her body overheating slightly.

When she had come home from dinner last night, Jason had already left for patrol.

He hadn’t woken her up when he got back home, just proving how exhausted Y/N had been these past few weeks.

But it was the continuous buzzing vibrations of her phone that woke her up. When she brightened the screen, she saw that she had dozens of text messages and three missed called from Bruce.

“What the fuck,” Y/N whispered as she started opening them.

But they were all about the same thing.

Everyone had sent her similar articles from various gossip websites or news outlets.

BRUCE WAYNE’S NEW GIRLFRIEND IS FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHER Y/F/N Y/L/N

BRUCE WAYNE’S FLAVOR OF THE WEEK

IS Y/F/N Y/L/N USING THE PRINCE OF GOTHAM TO FURTHER HER CAREER?

All of the headlines were joined with photos of Bruce and Y/N having dinner last night. Apparently other customers at the restaurant had snuck photos of Bruce greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Y/N could see how it would be misinterpreted as romantic and not familial or platonic. But it still made her sick to see the photos twisted in such a way.

Then there were paparazzi photos of them getting in a car together. Of course there were none of Bruce dropping her off and them going their separate ways. That would be just too convenient for the two of them.

Y/N’s stomach dropped with panic.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she gasped without realizing it.

Jason immediately woke up. “What is it?”

Y/N ignored him and called Bruce.

“I’m handling it,” was how Bruce answered her call.

“Handling it? How exactly?” She challenged. “We can deny the rumors all we want. But everyone is going to keep tabs on us now, and they’re going to see us together again.”

Jason grabbed his own phone.

One of his brothers must’ve sent him a similar article because he rubbed his face in annoyance, finally understanding the situation.

Nothing like your girlfriend being rumored to have a relationship with her father, who was also your mentor and adoptive father.

“Y/N, it will blow over. It always does,” Bruce tried to calm her down.

“So what happens when I get photographed with Jason? Huh? They’re going to just say I’m cheating on both of you with each other or some fucked up shit like that.”

Bruce was silent, because they both knew she was right.

Y/N glanced at Jason, who was already waiting for her gaze.

She took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe we should…Maybe we should just tell the truth.”

“You’ve never wanted that, Y/N.” Bruce tried to argue.

And he was right.

Y/N was terrified of being associated with the Wayne family. People would start believing she secretly built her career off of nepotism that no one was aware of. She also didn’t want that type of attention from the media and the upperclass of Gotham.

“I don’t think we have any other choice,” Y/N finally answered.

Jason reached for thigh and gripped it, trying to offer her some sort of comfort.

“Y/N, are you sure about this?” Bruce asked slowly.

“No. Not at all. But I’d rather not have the public think I’m dating my biological father.”

“OK,” Bruce sighed. “I’ll talk to my publicist today.”

“OK.” She bit her lip before adding. “Just…tell them the whole story.”

“Y/N, if you’re worried how it will make me look, don’t.”

“But I am worried about it, Bruce. They’re going to drag you for being an absent father. And none of that is true. They’re not gonna understand.”

“I’ll call you later with an update,” he told her softly before hanging up.

Y/N tossed her phone to the foot of the bed in frustration.

Jason watched as she buried her face in her hands.

“You OK?” He asked as he rubbed her back.

“No,” she answered honestly.

“Come here.” Jason pulled her into his chest.

There was no fight from her as he cuddled her tightly.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” she groaned into his shoulder.

“I know. But maybe it’s for the best,” he tried to reason with her.

“And what happens when they catch wind that I’m dating my father’s adoptive son? Huh?”

“We’re not actually related, Y/N.”

She pulled her face back so she could glare at him. “Yeah! We know that! But you do understand that people are going to see it that way, right? Like we’re gonna look like some fucked up incestual couple to them.”

“I don’t really care,” Jason finally told her.

“You don’t care?” She scoffed.

“No,” his answer and confidence didn’t waver. “I don’t give a fuck what people say about us, Y/N. If exposing the truth means we don’t have to think twice about going to events or even just going out to dinner, then I’m all for it. I’m sick of hiding our relationship.”

Y/N blinked. She never considered that their subtle relationship bothered him in any way. She was always a strangely private person, so it felt normal to her. But clearly Jason had been wanting to be a bit more public with their relationship.

“What if this changes everything?” Y/N whispered, not meeting his eyes.

Jason smirked at that and gripped her chin, lifting it up so she would look at him. “Some paparazzi and trash tabloids aren’t going to change how I feel about you, Y/N.”

Y/N laughed lightly at that.

“Maybe we should leave Gotham for a bit,” she offered. “Bruce won’t shut up about paying for a vacation for us.”

Jason nodded. “I think that sounds like a good idea. You’ve needed a break for awhile now.”

“Well…where do you wanna go?” Y/N asked.

“Doesn’t matter to me. As long as you’re there.”

She rolled her eyes and hit Jason in the face with a pillow. “God, you really are a sap.”

Y/N appreciated Jason always being able to make her feel better and feel supported.

But even he couldn’t stop her from wondering...

What would life be like as a Wayne?

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

Father of Mine – Bonus Content

#father of mine bonus content #father of mine #bruce wayne x daughter #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #father!bruce wayne #dad!bruce wayne #dad!batman #batdad #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #red hood reader insert #red hood x reader #batfam #batboys

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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

Text

Graveyard Siblings (3)

Some for revenge and some sibling bonding.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 2)

-------

Adrien was next to be visited. Plagg woke him up from his sleep.

-------

“Kit, wake up. I want camembert.”

“Plagg, silence. You are not getting any cheese if you do that.”

“Sorry, Adrien but you are not my ‘master’ anymore.”

“Plagg? Why are you here? Where’s the ring?”

“The ring is as far away as possible and kept safely away. I am here because someone wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

A cloaked, hooded figure stepped out of the shadows to his room.

“Kitty. My Chaton. Did you miss me?” A sweet, familiar but yet so terrifying voice came from the figure.

She pulled down the hood to reveal Ladybug with a wicked-looking black mask with white lenses.

“What am I talking about? You do miss me. Your Bugaboo. Too bad I don’t feel the same, Adrien.”

Lightning flashed and it started to rain. The mask was gone, revealing his dead classmate, Marinette with chilling red eyes. The pigtails grew longer and curved upwards, giving the illusion of her having horns. Twin blades flashed and she leaped towards him. (Damian gave them to her with some lessons in exchange for spending time with, babysitting, the kwamis.)

Adrien scrambled away from the bed in the nick of time. A sword impaling the spot where he just was.

“Plagg, help. Where is the ring? I need to transform.”

“Sorry, kitten. I am not telling you. Even if you did have the ring, it’s not going to be much help.”

“Kitty, stay still. Then, we can be together. Just like you wanted.”

Adrien continued to dodge.

“What do you mean?” He all but screamed at Plagg.

“Pigtails, here, is a vengeful spirit. She’s not going to stop until she is satisfied. How about asking her what she wants?”

“Ladybug, what do you want?”

“What I wanted was a partner I could rely on, someone I can trust with my life, someone who wouldn’t stab me in the back for his own selfish gain. I wanted a friend who would have my back and not tell me to keep quiet at the price of my mental health and my relationships with people I care about. WAS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!”

She managed to get a cut on his left cheek.

Soon, he was on the ground, bleeding out on the round.

“Tell Hawkmoth that he better watch out. Because-” lightning struck and Plagg and Ladybug had disappeared, “his downfall is coming.” Her voice echoed through his room.

Adrien laid bleeding until Natalie opened the door after hearing a crash from the room and came to check on him. As she called an ambulance for Adrien, she wondered if it wasn’t too late to ask for redemption and be spared from Ladybug’s wrath for her part in her murder.

Adrien had the word ‘TRAITOR’ carved into his back. Forever reminding him of his crimes.

--------

He wasn’t in school for a week after the incident. They all were told that Adrien had an accident while fencing.

Gabriel was a little panicking now.

He hired an exorcist, (John Constantine got a hefty amount and did a few flashy magic tricks to appease Gabriel but he didn’t lift the curse Maria put on the place. She is not someone to be on the bad side of and he thinks that he can’t lift it even if he wanted to.)

Emilie gets a little sus at Gabriel when he brought this strange man with a British accent into their home after their son got attacked in his own room with security tighter than Fort Knox.

She doesn’t buy that ‘accident’ bullshit that her husband, son and even Natalie tries to sell her. She thinks it is connected to what happened while she was in a coma.

-----

Adrien has a curse too.

(Credit to @raeuberprinzessin for giving me an idea)

He couldn’t act like the ‘Perfect Adrien’ in public anymore. Acting more like Chat Noir at first then, later a spoiled brat. His friends thought that he was finally rebelling against his father and encouraged it a lot.

Adrien started criticizing other people, strangers at first then to the people working on the photoshoots to his fans to his other school mates, people in his class and his friends. (The curse planted ideas into his head about what he should say and he said them all without thinking about the effect it has on other people)

People started avoiding him not liking his attitude and his comments about how they should behave and change something about them because he doesn’t like it that way and guilt-tripping them when he doesn’t get his way. Even Nino started to distance himself after he saw how Adrien talked to a fan.

The public thought it was a phase but as he got progressively worse, people started despising him. Adrien doesn’t realize this of course so far, happy that his father let him get away with ‘ruining the Agreste image.’ (Gabriel was worried about a potential vengeful ghost and making sure his wife didn't know about his stint as a supervillain. There was also the fact that the Afterlife made more sales than him again and managed to get on the cover of Vogue when he should have, dammit.) He was finally able to say what he wanted to without repercussions. Until he realized when Nino and everyone else cancelled for a hangout for the third time that week that he was slowly losing his friends.

He panics and tries to fix the situation. He didn’t want to be alone again.

He talks to Nino about it and to his horror, he couldn’t stop himself from saying many things that were a little hurtful. (Second part. The moment he realizes he is going to be alone. He is going to find out that yes, lies can hurt people. He is going to see it happen firsthand.)

Nino moved seats and told Adrien that their friendship was on hold until he apologized.

Soon, nearly every time his mouth opened, lies and insults about his friends or their embarrassing secrets came spilling out. Everyone hated him now and Mme. Bustier tried to give him a reprimand about his behaviour, which when he tried to defend himself, he found himself unable to speak.

He managed to explain to his father what caused his unpopularity by writing what happened to him. Unfortunately due to his poor behaviour before the second part of the curse was activated, his fan base was dwindling and people didn’t like him anymore so there was a hit on the Gabriel brand.

He no longer has to do modeling, clearing his schedule. But no one would spend time with him.

The best solution he could do with his predicament was to keep quiet and endure the loneliness and the glares of his classmates at school. Adrien was relegated to the back and nearly everyone avoided him. He was now a social pariah.

Even Lila avoided him because of her own curse which made Adrien turn into one of her previous victims. (She also didn’t ponder why Marinette rarely appears compared to the others.)

If Adrien felt a tiny bit remorseful or guilty for making Marinette keep quiet or betraying Ladybug, he can gain a little control over what he says.

The curse can be broken if he apologizes to Maria herself or to her grave.

------

The first few months, while Marinette adapted to living with the Waynes, Jason stayed over at Wayne Manor because having Maria living with him at his apartment wasn’t a good idea and he had no clue how to take care of a teenage girl.

On paper she is adopted by Bruce because Jason can’t. (Some CPS reasons.)

Making Jason a little more salty towards Bruce. “I found her first. I called dibs.”

Brought Maria to meet the other Outlaws and they adopted her too. “Hey, guys. She’s my sister first.”

Jason was the one to teach her how to shoot a gun because he was ‘the most capable’ of teaching her.

The first few months were a little tense with Marinette not fully trusting them and the same with the rest of the Batfam.

Jason warmed her up a bit to him by telling a little of why he took her here.

He was also the one to book them flight to Paris with Bruce’s credit card so she can tell her friends that she wasn’t dead in person.

They bonded more after stopping some nefarious plot in Paris while they were there. Let’s say Gentleman Ghost and something involving the catacombs in Paris. (I watched some Batman: Brave and the Bold for childhood nostalgia.)

Kwamis were animal-shaped and they were interesting creatures to be around. And very very curious.

There was a stressful day for Maria when all the Kwamis decided to play hide and seek. Damian somehow got roped into helping her as the only available person in the Manor and he will deny that he enjoyed it.

Damian is the little brother she always wanted and she is more tolerable compared to his brothers. There is also the fact that she trusts him with the kwamis and deep down, he feels super-honoured. (I just love older sister!Mari)

Tim and her being insomniac/coffee buddies. There has been many many interventions to stop this.

I get that Marinette is this selfless person and loves making people happy but she has siblings now and them eating the stuff she made for herself to enjoy, should get on her nerves after a while.

She makes a box with booby-traps in which she puts in her cookies and food.

There are many different layers of traps because this is the Batfam and each of them is non-lethal and more ridiculous.

Okay, I once read a fic about Marinette making a bear-trap style box to hide the Miracle Box so this box is also like that but kept for food. (Traps and Sneaks by quicksilversquared)

Someone (I vote a hungry Dick or Jason, maybe a suspicious Bruce) made a mistake of putting their hand into the box and the first trap activated.

Screams filled the house.

Everyone came down including Marinette.

Bruce asked, “Who did this?”

“It was me.”

“Why?”

“They kept eating the cookies.”

“There are other ways to stop them from doing that you know like a ‘Do Not Touch’ sign not a death trap box.”

“They are non-lethal.”

Bruce locked it away but Tim later stole it to tweak it and store his coffee. ------ (Part 4)

#graveyard siblings #maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #adrien salt #adrien bashing #platonic jasonette #platonic daminette

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tadpole-san · 3 years

Text

poison ; j.t.

pairing: titans!jason todd x reader, pre-established relationship, best friends

warnings: mentions/allusions to (attempted) suicide, jason just needing someone in his corner, spoilers for titans s2e12

a/n: 1000/10 this is meant for @cipheress-to-k-pop, kudos to her for inspiring this and simping over jason peter todd with me - so here’s an exploration of what happened between jason leaving rose and showing up to donna’s funeral

Gotham is, by no means, a small city. And it's easy to come back to, after everything.

After the Titans disband - again, and you’re honestly left with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

After your best friend gets kidnapped, tortured, and thrown off a roof.

After you find him driven to another roof, ready to step off with nothing to catch him, because he’s ready to go somewhere you know you can’t follow.

And after Jason Todd leaves on a motorcycle with Rose Wilson, because he is going somewhere you think you can’t follow. Except can’t isn’t the right word - you shouldn’t follow him, you think. Because Dick was the one to talk him off the roof, like a brother is supposed to, and all you can remember is the wind roaring in your ears and blocking everything out except that Jason wants to jump, Jason wants to die, I don’t know how to help him. The words die in the back of your throat, and if Dick hadn’t been there-

You don’t want to think about if Dick didn’t make it up there when he did. So you’re avoiding Jason - which is all too easy to do when he’s supposed to be on the other side of the country. Until he calls you and you realize he’s here. In Gotham. The two of you are still connected by the same city.

He doesn’t say where the two of you need to meet, but you know exactly where to find him in the vastness of Gotham’s skyscrapers and abandoned warehouses.

By the time you make it to the top of - surprise, a skyscraper - your legs and lungs are burning. It makes it all the more apparent that you haven’t gotten the same level of Batman-training, and that a busted elevator forcing you to take the stairs is already a sign of bad luck. When you’re able to push the door leading to the rooftop open, you spot the gargoyle first, and it somehow manages to make you smile. All the years you’ve known Jason, the guy who’s become your best friend, and you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve been able to find him hunched up next to the stone monster. Even now, the shades of yellow on his hoodie stand out like muted sunlight.

“Hey.” The sound of your voice and the opening door gets him to turn around. His legs are dangling over the edge of the roof. You know he’s just sitting there - just sitting, nothing else - but it’s suddenly harder for you to take another breath, and when you move towards him, it’s in a sprint. There’s a spot left for you between him and the gargoyle, one that you take without hesitation as your hand grabs at his jacket. He’s taken aback, you can tell - his eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth to say something, only to close it a second later. This close, and you can see how his eyes are rimmed with red. Like he’d been crying.

There’s a stinging sensation at your eyes that makes you think you must look the same. Your fingers tighten around worn fabric, and it grounds you. Jason wasn’t wearing the hoodie that day. This isn’t the same as that.

“Are you okay?” you finally ask, pulling your knees up towards your chest instead of dangling them over the edge. You’re too close to the edge already. “Where’s Rose?”

When Jason finally speaks, his voice is rough in the way that it gets when he’s had a few beers. You know this voice well, the same way he knows his way arounds brews, and this takes you back to the first time you'd met him when you were kids, at the bars that your dad and his uncle would get together at.

“I don’t know,” he says. Then he laughs. “I don’t care, you know? Fuck Rose-”

“Could you scoot back?” The question almost rips itself out of your throat, despite your efforts to keep it in until he’s finished telling you what happened. But all you can see are his shoes dangling over the edge, stories above the street, and when you look at the street, you’re imagining his body leaving its impact on it. You can feel Jason’s eyes on you, and you wait for him to tell you to stop being a pussy.

Instead, he mirrors your position and pulls his feet up, tucking them in as he pulls himself away from the edge.

You can breathe again.

“Sorry,” you mutter, finally making eye contact with him again. “I just - I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I wasn’t there.

I’m sorry I’m such a coward.

I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.

I’m sorry I’m such a bad friend.

“Why the hell are you sorry?” Jason asks, brows furrowing. Now he’s really looking at you, and it’s so heartfelt that you need to drag a hand down your face so you can hide. At the same time, it makes you so angry, because all you can remember is a room full of broken and awful heroes, painting him a villain who would drag out their darkest secrets, their deepest pains, to taunt and jab them with.

How could people do that to a kid? How could they do that to Jason, who - sure, he was rough around the edges, and cocky, and he went out of his way to be a little unlikable sometimes, but he was good. He was one of the best goddamn people you knew, even if you were saying that with bias.

You’re pulled out of the daze you’re in when he calls your name, and you try to speak around the words that are lodged in your throat, clogging it up. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, and the Vice around your throat tightens. “I wasn’t there when it mattered. With you. At the Tower. When they - and you-“ At this point, you have to suck in a deep, shuddering breath. One that has you keeling forward, head falling between your knees.

“Woah. Woah, woah, hold on-“ Jason wrestles his arm out of the sleeve you’re holding onto, and then you feel him pulling you back from the edge. It’s his turn, and he does it with ease, like you’re nothing but air. There’s that training again. “Jesus fuck, you - come on.” Just like that, the two of you are collapsing and folding in on each other.

Jason has gone so incredibly still, like he doesn’t know what he should be doing, and it makes you want to cry - except you don’t. You don’t know if you can feel anything else besides being scared or pissed off - at the Titans, at him - that couldn’t possibly be fair - at yourself. He’s so still it’s like he’s a corpse. “You get hurt somewhere?” he asks, and you shake your head, even as he’s awkwardly patting you over. “Someone pull some shit on you when you ditched the Tower?” You shake your head again, and you register that you're holding onto his hand. You squeeze, tight. It’s warm. He’s warm. There’s blood flowing through his veins.

He’s okay. He’s alive.

Jason’s hand is squeezing yours just as tight, and it grounds you - he’s keeping you grounded - long enough that you can start to breathe again. Enough that you can keep talking.

“I fell asleep.” The words are eerily similar to Gar’s own sentiments when the two of you wandered into the kitchen to find an already-fractured team. “I didn’t - I didn’t sleep for two days, you know that? You don’t really get any of that when there’s a psychopath torturing your friend and it’s your fault.”

“It ain’t your fucking fault,” Jason’s quick to say, words frosted with the kind of accent that’s married to a childhood down in Crime Alley. You haven’t grown out of yours, but his has gone sparse since Bruce Wayne picked him out. “Don’t fucking say-”

“Gar and I were supposed to have your back down there.” You press your lips in a thin line, eyes meeting his. “I’m supposed to have your back.”

“I was being a stupid little shit. Hank was right.” Fucking Hank. You think you could attack him, probably. Pick a stupid fight.

“We always think it’s our fault.” Now your words are deliberate. “And we always think we’re the fucking poison. ‘Cept we’re not.” Jason groans, and you can feel him start to pull away. You don’t let your grip loosen, so he uses his other hand to push his hair back roughly and pull the hood over his head, yanking the fabric down so you can’t make out his expression.

“I wasn’t gonna jump.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“I mean just now. I saw your face. I know what you’re thinking.”

“I thought you were gonna fall.” His lips twist into a grimace, and you let go of his hand to shove your own into your pockets. Your fingertips are cold.

“I would’ve caught myself.” Finally, the traces of Robin Jason - cocky, uncaring, cool - are coming back. “Could teach you how, if you want.”

“Do you want to catch yourself?” you ask, not quite ready to fall back into lopsided and carefree with him. “‘Cuz if you don’t, I gotta be the one doing the catching, Jason. Even when you’ve got some kind of - I don’t fucking know, a Superboy doing it.”

“Why?” The little shit has the audacity to smirk. “You jealous?” Incredulous, you stare at him. And then you take your bag and you swing it at his shoulder, only for him to smack it away.

“I’m being serious.” It amazes you how Jason does that - switches at the flip of a coin so as to replace the real shit he’s going through with throwaway comments like that. Sometimes, he’s a real asshole. Even as he’s staring at you with an entirely different expression now, one that makes you wonder just how much he knows about how he makes you feel.

“You need me to catch you?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, turning your head as he shifts closer to you, enough that your knees bump against one another. You push against him, and it turns into an exchange that lasts until your knee is sore. By the end of it, you can feel Jason laughing in your ear. His eyes aren’t red anymore. You take the sleeve he’d shrugged out of and get your arm through it, leaving the two of you awkwardly cramped against one another, and he laughs even more.

“Why can’t we do this shit at the tower?”

“Because you get - you’re all moody, you ass. It’s weird.” You can feel the weight of him on your shoulder and it makes you sigh. “You - look, we gotta talk. For real, you know that?”

“We did,” he mutters, a bit more sullen now. But there’s another elbow to your side, so you think that maybe it’s a bit better. For all that Gotham is home to the world’s evils, you can still love it if it can bring this out in Jason. “You know I say shit to you that I’m not saying to anyone else.” That elicits a half-hearted grin out of you, and you knock your fist against his. His eyes rake over bruised knuckles.

“You asked me if I was okay,” he says, thumb brushing over them. “Are you-”

“Someday,” you interrupt, because it’s a fruitless question. There’s no being okay, and you realize how your own question from earlier is naive. “I’ll get past the fact that we’re gonna keep almost dying. Like the shitshow with Deathstroke. And the fact that the assholes that are supposed to be heroes are full of shit.” Jason’s expression is all-too knowing, and you wonder if he’s figured out that the reason you went to San Francisco had nothing to do with wanting to be a hero and everything to do with not being able to handle Gotham alone. Maybe it’s better to just have yourself - to not have to lean on anyone else to keep on living, but then you look at the boy in front of you. And you know that if Jason only had himself, you wouldn’t be sitting with him right now.

He’s probably figured you out already. He’s Robin. For all that you poke at him for being boneheaded, you know that Batman’s taught him all the ways to see through a person. Even without x-ray vision.

Then he gives you a lopsided smirk, and you know he’s chosen not to say anything. Instead, he hauls himself to his feet - and you with him - with graceful ease, letting you link your arm with his in a way that has your hands brushing together.

“You still haven’t told me what happened with Rose,” you say. At that, he makes a face. One that draws another laugh out of you, because it has his features scrunched up in a scowl that departs from the betrayal you’d found him drowning in when you’d first gotten here.

“You wouldn’t fucking believe - come on.” He uses his foot to toss his bag in the air, catching it with one hand and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m not doing this unless we’re getting a burger or some shit.”

“What, she break your heart, big boy?” You manage to catch the elbow that’s headed for you, even as Jason kicks you in the back of the knee for that comment. It’s quips and banters that are coming back, a routine the two of you fall into even after weeks apart. Jason’s shouldered the door to the stairwell open - losers first - and you find yourself casting one final look to the lone gargoyle before you step inside.

Gotham is, by no means, a small city. She’s unforgiving and cruel, and her metal arches and stone beams are interwoven with a history of poison. Some days, you wonder if it’s too late - if you’ve already got it in your veins, running through your blood and killing you from the inside. Leaving a city like her was easy.

And it’s easy to come back to, despite everything. Because if Jason isn’t poison, then maybe you’re not, either.

DC Taglist:

@cipheress-to-k-pop

#🌙#📰.dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd imagines #jason todd #titans imagines #titans #dc imagines #dcu #jason todd fic #angst #one shot #reader imagines #gender neutral reader

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jessilynallendilla · 2 years

Text

So since The Batman 2022 came out today I decided to rewatch one of the Batman cartoons from my childhood The Batman 2004 the other being Batman Beyond but it’s too sad now here’s my notes

SEASON 1

Well they got the insane Joker voice ok but the design idk

That's supposed to be Bane?

Oh crying little Bruce now I’m sad

Sees Batman tells dispatch to cancel backup and just send an ambulance

In pain just says he needs to watch sudden moves proceeds to jump off a ledge

Alfred hears Cobblepot and instantly is salty

Batman surprised there’s bats in Wayne Tower

They straight up change Freeze’s backstory

Catwoman first date with a man and stole his belt Queen

Oh hey that’s Adman West

Woah Stephanie’s dad really let himself go

Bruce “Probably not a good idea to advertise I'm a billionaire” Wayne

Joker isn't playing with a full deck if you know what I mean

Bruce flirting with Oswald Cobblepot

So one of two POC in this show gets turned into a monster

SEASON 2

Couples should always have a spare key when playing with handcuffs

Riddler that’s ...a look

All police in Gotham decided to be at one party in Gotham that’s just asking for trouble

So he’s the Batman...who laughs

So this Killer Croc is an actual crocodile man

Man Bat returns

Strange how can anyone look at him and not think evil

Joker if you want people to laugh try being funny

Oh hey it’s Patrick Warburton

I don’t care how triple jointed you are bones don’t work like that

Isn’t this an episode of BTAS

So is Grundy real or not

Oh laughing fish good reference

Oh Gordon is finally here

Sidekick clever foreshadowing

And we never see the other POC again

So these two seasons was just introducing his rouges gallery

SEASON 3

Toxic =glitter

Batgirl is here before Robin

The Panda Redd was right Gordon does notice Batgirl is the only other red head in Gotham

Barbara literally figured out Batman’s identity by his jawline good thing for convenient amnesia

Poor Mr. Snoots the world didn’t deserve him

Barbara is sixteen but she looks around 12-14 and described her friend who looked older than her as a teenybopper

Oh great the Joker is on steroids

Selina even if you took those leopards where were you going to keep them

Plant people was a BTAS episode too

How did any of these toys get past regulations and testing

Kronk is back

Oh no Joker wants a Joker Jr

Really how old is Barbara this class looks like Jr high kids

This Zeus isn't crazy just an egomaniac

Leaves two elderly men on a frozen lake to be safe

Putting a bunch of criminal minds in an AI will have the same effect as Robocop

All of the cities critical data is on one computer real smart

So he basically did the Tim Test to figure out Batman’s identity

SEASON 4

Finally season 4/5 we get Dick Grayson

Oh no this is a Robin origin

Oh hey that’s Mark Hamill

So Bruce put the giant portrait of Dick’s parents in the same room as the passage clock and expected it to stay a secret

He’s a child with a pole but at least he has pants

Sibling rivalry

Bad publicity is still publicity he’s on tv got what he wanted

Bruce can exit change and make a dramatic entrance in under 15 seconds

So does he always listen in on their conversations

He's been awake for days fighting a zombie apocalypse let the man have a nap

The implications just hurt

Like how is Batman a myth did no one else take up the mantle

And Barbara is in a wheelchair so Killing Joke happened in this universe

Why is in the future the manor was destroyed/abandoned but Barbara’s chair is still there what happened

Alfred just refuses to die

If you can only travel back twenty seconds why not keep traveling back twenty seconds after another might take a while but you’d make it eventually

Batman and Riddler have a heart to heart at the bottom of the ocean while waiting to drown

Riddler’s backstory episode

You decided you need a new look so you chose goth twink

So what’s the answer to the riddle

So Harley is an internet diploma tv love fauxchologist she has a PHD give her some respect

Wow she just massacred Bruce Wayne on live tv

Penguin begs to be arrested and almost says Batman isn’t scary

Why is Wesker/Scarface in there they are reformed/destroyed

What's with this guy’s obsession with his boss Strange has a point

Harley straight up kicked a child

Lucius just Lucius

Dick comments how they throw around words with bat in it

Oh this is going to be a Batman learns he can play with others episode

Hi Martian Manhunter

When Dick’s joke is 100% right

Alfred’s sass

Bruce just so casual saying there’s an alien invasion and there being an alien in the cave

Alfred’s sass

Police Commissioner's best plan is to call for someone else

Bruce has a contingency for everything

Alfred tells children to disobey orders

So Lucius and Alfred huh

Villains to the rescue

Of course Batman already knew about the Watchtower and hacked it

SEASON 5

Dick isn’t an uncle Clark fan

Clark is such a dork

Now Superman has to learn to play with others

Batman v Superman

Ollie finally can figure out 2+2=4

Kinda feel sorry for Firefly

So this is why Batman doesn’t want other supers in his city all of their rouges start coming to bother him

This was the opening plot of Lego Batman

Alfred’s sass

Oh no it’s worse Dick is a Green Lantern fan

Nightwing in his disco outfit

Joker v Joker

They rehashed this BTAS episode too

Seriously how old is Barbara supposed to be she’s in college but she looks around Dicks age and he’s in middle school

Wesker what are you doing here

Did Croc just eat that dude

So they lost their parents to prison around the same time Bruce lost his so this is an other side of the coin thing

Never piss off the Joker Batman is his

Curious if he can’t take off his mask how can he eat

So the nth element give you the ability to fly and not the 12 foot wings you have

He just floated out a guy for asking a question why does anyone work for him

Superhero carpool

They’re just rehashing the previous season finale for the series finale

Who has evil robot clones on their bingo card

Batman shows them all the contingency plans to take them out

Lady they’re obviously not THE Justice League

Strange has finally shut up

And they hint at a future Teen Titans team

The End

#batman #the batman 2004

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themaribatpit · 3 years

Text

Jasonette July Day 19: Mistakes

Written by: The Maribat Pit Prompt: Mistakes Rating: T

Soulmate AU - red string of fate around the ankles, references to other versions of the myth

A/N: This might become a mult-chap, we’re not entirely sure. Comment on this post if you want to see this story continue. There will be some Adrien/Chat Noir salt.

Marinette often heard stories about the ‘red string of fate’, the idea that there was a soulmate out there who was chosen just for her. No one believed her when she told them she could see a red thread looped around her ankle. No one really explained what it meant, they would just tell her that she would grow out of that silly superstition. She would look down at the floor, towards her ankle, where she could clearly see the red string tied around it. Maybe they couldn’t see it, but she could, clear as day. When she became Ladybug and fought alongside Chat Noir, he would go on and on about how they were soulmates and destined for each other. When she became Master Fu’s pupil, she asked him if he knew anything about it. “What brought this on?” he asked curiously. “I see this red string around my ankle, I’ve known about it ever since I was little. Everyone says it’s just a legend or a silly superstition.” she explained. “Around the ankle is a new one, but it’s also the oldest version of the legend,” Master Fu explained, “most prefer the version where it’s around the little finger, or a woman’s little finger and a man’s thumb.” “What does it mean?” she asked, “no one will tell me.” “It means the string will lead you to the person you are destined to be with,” he explained, “it may stretch and tangle, but it will never break.” For many years, she brushed aside other boys and their advances, much to the chagrin of anyone who knew the real reason why. Whenever Chat Noir rambled on about them being soulmates, she knew it wasn’t true. It was infuriating, really, as she would look down at the red string leading away from him. She would tell him that she was in love with someone else, because someone else was out there waiting for her. Not that he would listen to her, but still she always kept him at arm’s length. Some might say that her standards were too high, never mind that some boys just could not take “no” for an answer. She thought about using Kaalki to find her soulmate, opening a portal directly to them. The only problem was she only knew which direction the string was pointing, and not having a clear idea of where she was going could lead to complications. Marinette kept her head held high through Lila and Chloe bullying her, and the teachers doing very little to stop them. She didn’t hate Adrien as much as she did on that first day of school, but he had done very little to stop his childhood friend from bullying people. Marinette had been humiliated, insulted, and almost kicked out of school on multiple occasions. Chat Noir, on the other hand, was only in love with the idea of her. He had absolutely no clue who she was under the mask, and vice versa. There were times when Marinette felt like she couldn’t step one toe out of line without someone breathing down her neck about being the bigger person. She felt like she was the only one bearing the heavy burden of carrying the Ladybug mantle. She took being a heroine seriously, but she knew that she couldn’t do everything perfectly. Sometimes Chat Noir was more of a hindrance than a help, and this continued for many years. When days felt tough for Marinette, she only needed to look down at the string around her ankle and remind herself of what it meant. It meant that someone out there was waiting for her, destined to love her with all their heart and she would love them in turn. So Marinette kept her head down by day, and as Ladybug she would fight to bring an end to Hawk Moth’s reign of terror. Whoever her soulmate was, they would know the truth about her, they would love and accept her. Sometimes she would wonder if Master Fu had chosen wrong when he decided that she should be the next Guardian of the Miraculous. The red string on the other hand would stretch or tangle, but never break. She could be certain that her soulmate was one choice that couldn’t be a mistake. Most of Jason’s earliest living memories were spent in hiding. He would hide under the table with the family dog in his arms, while the adults around him argued. When he got older, he would scurry back to the crevices in Gotham’s streets, hiding from whoever he just stole from. All the time he’d worry they could see the glowing red thread wrapped around his ankle. He could never understand what it meant, he assumed everyone had one at the time. When his questions were met with mockery or indifference, he stopped sharing his curiosity about it. It would always be glowing in the corner of his eye, like a bright light on a summer’s day. One day he wandered into a bakery inside Gotham’s Chinatown. He was waiting for the shopkeeper to look away so that he could grab a pastry without them noticing. Their topic of conversation turned to a ‘red string of fate’ and Jason was intrigued. Supposedly, the thread around his ankle bound him to someone. That someone was the person he was destined to be with forever, his soulmate. He left the shop empty handed, hoping to try his luck finding food elsewhere. If his soulmate was out there, whoever they were, they were going to be sorely disappointed. He remembered thinking, whoever decided to pair him up with someone had made a terrible mistake. If his soulmate could see him now, they would probably think so too. When he encountered Batman that fateful night in Crime Alley, his whole world had drastically changed from that night forth. As Bruce Wayne took him under his wing and as he took on the Robin mantle, a secret part of him had hoped that he was becoming someone his soulmate could be proud of. Still he kept it to himself, Alfred would occasionally find him staring off into space whenever he was alone. If Jason asked Bruce about it, he would probably tell him that he needed to focus on other things. The glowing red string was the last thing he would see at night before letting sleep take him, this time, he wasn’t afraid. When she was 15, Marinette woke up one morning to find the string no longer glowed bright red. Instead it was grey and limp, and she was desperate to know what this meant. At the first opportunity, she ran to Master Fu, he was the only one she could confide in about this. He lowered his head, almost unwilling to tell Marinette what it meant for fear of how she would react. He told her solemnly, it meant that her soulmate had died… Elsewhere, a bomb was counting down the seconds until it could go off. Jason had been battered, bruised and broken, but as long as his heart was still beating he still had a chance. Ten… He pushed against the locked door. That damned clown had locked him in, probably for the sheer delight of it. Nine… He had only just noticed the bomb, he had to find a way out of the building and fast. Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, Dick and...he looked down at his ankle, his soulmate...they were all waiting for him. Eight… This was all a mistake, he had been led into a trap. He hoped that Batman would arrive just in time to save him. He would probably slap him upside the head after he had recovered, and lecture him about being far too reckless, but at least he’d be alive. Seven… Strength was leaving his body, most of which was probably beaten out of him moments earlier. The fighting spirit that always burned like a raging inferno inside of him was dimming. Six… In those last few seconds, all he had left in him was a silent apology. Wherever his soulmate was, he wished them nothing but happiness. He was sorry that he couldn’t meet them for the first time. He wanted to tell them that the mere idea of them gave him hope. Hope that quite literally hung by a very thin thread, but it was what kept him going all these years. It kept him going through living on the street, through pushing himself to meet Bruce’s expectations, even through the ordeal he had just endured. All he needed to do was look down and remind himself that whoever chose him to be someone’s soulmate hadn’t made a mistake. The reason he wouldn’t get to meet them was because of his mistake. Five...four...three..two...one. Marinette didn’t know how to mourn someone she had never seen, met, or even spoken to. All she knew was that for the next three years, the string around her ankle was limp and grey. The legend said that it would tangle, it would stretch, but it would never break. Sometimes she would lay awake at night and wonder what could have possibly happened to her soulmate. Had they even noticed the red string around their ankle? Did they even care about what it meant? How did they die? Was it an accident or did someone kill them? These were questions that kept Marinette up at night as she gazed up at her bedroom ceiling. She didn’t notice that the string was slowly starting to regain it’s glow, though it remained very dim. She barely paid any attention to it anymore, and thought the faint red glow was just a trick of the eye. It was a cruel reminder of what that thread meant and what she looked forward to. By the time she was 18, Marinette decided she needed to get out of Paris. She wanted to be a designer, but she also thought a change of scenery would be good for her. She kept the Miracle Box with her when she moved to Gotham City, to keep the rest of the Miraculous from falling into the wrong hands. Around this time, the thread around her ankle began to glow bright red, just as it had done a few years ago. She was honestly curious to follow the thread and see where it led, but Plagg and Tikki were unsure about it. They could sense that something was amiss with the thread reignighting, and they had a bad feeling that the forces of creation and destruction were involved. That’s how Marinette found herself pacing around her dorm room, trying to think of an explanation. “How can you tell?” she asked them, “Maybe whoever did this chose someone else to be my soulmate? Someone who wasn’t dead.” “That’s not really how this works, Marinette.” Tikki told her. “Well, not according to Master Fu anyway,” said Plagg, “if the string is turning red again, that means whoever it is was brought back to life.” “But that’s impossible...is it?” Marinette looked at them, not that long ago she had fought a man who wanted to use them to bring his comatose wife back. Was it really so impossible? “Long ago, we were forced to grant such a wish.” Plagg confessed. “Plagg!” Tikki hissed, “you’re not suggesting that maybe…” “I am,” Plagg told her, “and she needs to know if she’s going to go herring off looking for someone who might be dead.” Plagg turned his attention back to Marinette, “long ago, someone did acquire the Miraculous and they did use it to grant one wish…to make them young and strong forever.” “How did they do it?” Marinette asked, a little afraid of their answer. “We created what humans call ‘The Lazarus Pits’. Anyone who bathed in its waters would be healed, rejuvenated, even snatched from the jaws of death.” he explained “Tikki’s healing magic is infused in the waters, that’s the healing part.” Marinette looked over at Tikki, “So what’s the catch? It can’t be that easy, can it?” “Well, the more they bathe in them, the more it destroys their mind,” she explains before giving Plagg a pointed look. “It heals them on the outside, while their mind is slowly destroyed.” Marinette is slightly horrified by the thought. “Can it bring someone back to life?” She asked, they exchanged worried glances. “Yes, but...Marinette, the person they were could have easily eroded away.” Tikki explained, but Marinette was growing tired of imagining and daydreaming. She had to see for herself the person that her soulmate had become, so that’s how Ladybug set off to see where the red string led.

#jasonettejuly2021 #jasonette #adrien salt #maribat #maribat adrien salt #ml x dc

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