#alfred rouse

[clockwayswrites]

Uncle John Part 2

masterpost

Even though Bruce knew what he was opening the door to, it was still almost startling to see John Constantine shielding two teenagers on the other side. The oldest was a redhead, though Bruce could only tell that from the fierce eyebrows. The hair of both teens had been shaved so close to the scalp that it was basically nonexistent. From what little Bruce could see of the second, behind the protective forms of John and the red head, the second teen’s head was also bandaged from what little Bruce could see under the hood of the thick sweater.

Whatever they had been through was clearly no small matter.

“Who’s all here?” John asked as he entered, looking around the foyer as he slunk into the room.

The kids stayed close to his back.

“Just Alfred and Tim. Alfred is in the kitchen and Tim is up in his room, though he was excited to know that there would be other teens visiting,” Bruce said, keeping his personage open and calm.

Excited was at least an honest enough word for Tim’s curiosity that Bruce had tone his bet to tamper. It didn’t seem the time to pry and Bruce was sure to learn far more as he set up the new identities.

John’s frown said he knew exactly what excited meant for Tim.

“He can help us instead if you’d rather,” Bruce offered to keep the peace, “but I thought that the kids might enough just playing some video games and enjoying Alfred’s snacks while we worked.”

“Stop that,” John said.

“Stop what?” Bruce said, blinking guilelessly.”

“Making fuck’n sense.”

The kid in the hood muffled a laugh into the thick fabric. The sound made Bruce smile. It wasn’t so very bad if they could still laugh. It meant that there was still hope.

“Tim is my current foster,” Bruce said, as that was the easiest way to explain things. “I would guess he’s around your ages. And I’m Bruce, a friend of John’s.”

John snorted. “He comes off as a rich playboy, but he’s one of the good ones, if you’ll believe that.”

“Thanks for that rousing endorsement,” Bruce said dryly.

John just grinned back, his smile a little more teeth than normal.

“I’m Danny,” the one in the hood said, still mostly hidden behind the redhead. The voice was scratchy, like it have been overused recently. The fingers that clung to the too large flannel shirt the redhead wore were covered in bandages. “This is my sister Jazz.”

Jazz regarded him with frozen blue eyes. “If you do anything to hurt him, I will find some way to hurt you worse.”

“That’s fair,” Bruce said calmly. “All I want to do is what John asked me to: which is to make you new identities so that you will be safe. Well, I would also hope that you both could relax some and enjoy some of Alfred’s cooking. His cookies especially are something amazing.”

Jazz searched his gaze for a moment longer before almost reluctantly nodding.

“Would you be alright with Tim joining you two?” Bruce asked.

Jazz glanced back at Danny before nodding again.

“Let me show you to the media room then,” Bruce said and started leading the group that way. He kept up idle chatter about some of the games he knew that Tim had been playing just to fill the silence and make everything seem less threatening.

It was still hard to speak of Tim like a son, but easier than it had been when Bruce had been the very broken and irrational man Tim had first come to. If Gotham’s spirit hadn’t thrown a fit, if Constantine hadn’t gotten involved… Bruce hated to think how things might have continued. Bruce hated to think what sort of mentor and guardian he might have been to the boy.

It was hard, but it was better like this.

Bruce opened the door to the media room with a smile. “Make yourself a home. I’ll send Tim down and either he’ll bring snacks with him or Alfred, a demure British man who isn’t a serous as he seems, will bring them in.”

“Right, thanks,” Jazz said and pulled her brother inside with her. She closed the door on them.

Bruce looked at Constantine who rubbed calloused hands over his face.

“Yeah, mate, it’s… it’s rough.”

Bruce reached out and clasped his shoulder in commiseration.

---

AN: This was still stuck in my head so have some more! I'm thinking end game Danny/Jason, because it's me, and Jazz/Steph because Steph deserves to be a disaster bi with her own fierce, magic user redhead.

Obvious canon divergence due to the added ghostliness.

[varpusvaras]

When Dick started to spend more time with his team, and started to talk about Wally just as much as he talked about Starfire, Bruce knew that they needed to have a talk.

"I don't care if you like boys or girls", Bruce had said. "Just promise me that you won't date Oliver Queen's son."

Not that he had anything against Roy, Bruce just really did not want to deal with Oliver any more than he already had to.

"Sure", Dick had said, in a way that very clearly implicated that if Bruce ever annoyed him too much, he would do exactly that simply to spite him.

Jason was a lot easier in regards to relationships. No teams or teammates or relationship problems that roused from having several teenagers spending a lot of time together in close quarters. Compared to Dick, Jason always looked younger and smaller, and Bruce didn't even think about talking to him about it. Not yet. They still had time to do it.

They didn't.

Jason was gone, and then he was back, and Bruce really, really did not have the time or even thought to talk to him about dating girls or boys.

And maybe that wasn't even the part that they should've talked about. No, the part they should've talked about was not dating Oliver Queen's son.

Not that Bruce had anything against Roy. He smart and resourceful and respectful (he always volunteered to help Alfred every time he came to the Manor), and he was a good father. That was especially a quality that Bruce could respect. Roy was good to Jason, in seemingly every way that mattered.

It was just that now Bruce had to deal with Oliver. Well, not in a way that he had to see Oliver more often, but he certainly had to deal with him more. Especially since every single time Bruce and Jason had an argument, Jason would spend more time at Oliver and Dinah's place, and Oliver would every single time without fail rub it in to Bruce's face.

After one of said arguments that hit a bit too close to the Holidays, Bruce knew that he had to do something. He couldn't take Oliver's smug face from having all of his kids and one of Bruce's over at their place. Bruce needed to invite them over first. Jason would understand the invitation as the olive branch that it was.

He had called Jason, but it was Roy who picked up. That was good, actually. Roy was many times easier to talk to than Jason. At least he greeted Bruce normally instead of calling him an asshole right from the get-go.

"We could come visit", Roy said, and Bruce took it was the win it was. "I'm just pretty sure that you have something to say to Jason, first."

Bruce had many things to say to Jason all the time.

"Hn", he said.

"That last argument sounded pretty bad", Roy continued, calmly and sweetly. "I'm sure that both of you said things you didn't mean to, but just because you didn't mean them doesn't mean it's okay. So, is there something you would like to say to Jason?"

"Hn." Was Bruce on speaker? Jason hadn't said anything to indicate that he could hear Bruce.

"What's the word?" For a split second, it was like Alfred was on the other side of the line, and Bruce found himself speaking before he could think about it properly.

"I'm sorry", he said.

"Thank you!" Roy sounded like he was smiling widely. "We'll be there, then!"

Roy hung up. Bruce put his phone down, his head spinning slightly.

"I assume that Master Jason and Master Roy will be over, then?" Alfred asked.

"Yes", Bruce said.

"That is splendid to hear." Alfred patted Bruce on his arm. "Good man, that Master Roy. He has certainly read his books on parenting, it seems."

Bruce leaned on his desk, his mind reeling with the realisation that he had just been out-dadded by his son's boyfriend.

A good man, Alfred had said. Bruce couldn't do anything else but agree.

[bomber-grl]

Hi, can I get something w the prompt 30? Maybe w Damian.

If it's friends to lovers-

Idk, I just want some inocent fluff and jokes.

I‼️ Need‼️ Sweetness‼️

Prompt #30: laying their head on the other’s shoulder

Today was an exhausting day, both at school and doing your vigilante work. Luckily, before you left back to your place Damian had invited you over, and how could you refuse?

Your bags were taken upon entrance by Alfred and then you were led deeper into Wayne Manor. Damian led you to the living room, or in other words- one of them.

It was a place to just relax and it’s not like any of the other residents were going to intrude so you and Damian whipped out snacks that you both bought on the way and some that were already here.

Not to mention how he had prepared a blanket and sat on the couch next to you…

The plan? It was to watch of movie of course! I mean it was already deep into the night and as much tired as you were- you just couldn’t sleep.

The same could be said about Damian, he was up right alongside you. It was kind of him to.

I mean, it had hardly been a few weeks that you were only friends now turned lovers. Things were bound to get awkward or lovey- or both, eventually.

Well a voice brought you out of your thoughts and back to reality. “So, you know what you want to watch or am I gonna choose?” Damian was standing by you on the couch facing the tv as he scrolled through Netflix.

“Um no I don’t know, how about you decide?” Best to cover up the fact you weren’t paying attention by forcing the question back at him.

“Alright then…” his tone was obviously suspicious but he went along without a fuss and chose a random movie that you weren’t familiar with but knew he enjoyed.

After, he snuck under the covers and sat by your side as the movie began. Throughout the movie you could tell from your peripheral vision that Damian was looking at you to gauge your reaction at certain scenes but you pretended to be none the wiser.

Since the movie was 2 hours long you got a bit lost in keeping track of time. You searched for your phone under the covers and once you found and read the screen you made a mental note of it being 12:00

One more hour to go… which you miserably failed. You were struggling to stay awake and the only thing that snapped you back to reality was a sudden weight on your shoulder.

You turned to face whatever it was, I mean were you really so off guard that this snuck pass your defenses?

Well much to your not so much surprise, it was Damian. His head was rested against your right shoulder and his eyes were closed and you took note of the gentle rising and falling of his chest.

He was so cute and looked peaceful as he slept. You sort of felt an ego boost at the thought of Damian feeling so safe around you that he could not only fall asleep but also let you touch him without rousing him awake.

Which is something you found out when you glided your fingers through his soft hair and gently pushed aside any stray ones from his face.

Maybe it was because of how late it was, maybe because of the lack of light, or maybe just the urge to cuddle with Damian but you let out a breath and let your head go limp and rest on top of Damian’s.

What’s the worse that could happen?

Well not anything particularly bad in your opinion. Luckily it was the weekend so you didn’t worry as much once you awoke but what really bothered you was the snickering sounds surrounding you.

Once you opened your eyes and saw Damian, his usual cool demeanor was gone. His face was flushed to the nines and you soon found out why.

Three of his siblings Dick, Todd, and Tim had found you sleeping there and thought I’d be cute to take a picture.

That wasn’t so bad but you knew Damian so him reacting this way wasn’t so bad.

Until Tim revealed that although he found you all that way, he left and returned with the other two to find Damian planting a kiss to your cheek.

You were shocked and turned to Damian as your cheeks filled with red. “Is that true?!?”

Your question fell on deaf ears and despite that you knew your answer when Damian turned away and refused to make eye contact.

Let’s just say it was an awkward family breakfast, leaving Damian with everything but his honor and dignity.

[hailsatanacab]

Happy Ghouls and Gangs DPxDC Bang event posting week!! Here's what I've been working on for the @dpxdcbigbang 🥰

Summary:

It’s a normal day for Alfred Pennyworth. He spends it taking care of the manor and watching over its inhabitants, just as he does every other day. It’s an exhausting, never-ending task, that he wouldn’t change for the world. But that night, he is confronted by a stranger in his rooms with a copy of every single soul-binding contract he’s signed for the protection of his family. The new Ghost King wants to update his terms and conditions.

Alfred POV, Ghost King Danny, with some Post-Vivisection goodness and only a little (a lot) of blood and gore and medical fun, but that's for later. Not for the squeamish, please check the tags!!

Snippet under the cut!

It’s a normal day for Alfred Pennyworth.

He wakes up early enough to be ready to greet Master Duke with breakfast when he shambles into the kitchen, he cleans, he greets the rest of the manor’s residents when they finally make it downstairs, he cleans, he goes down to the cave to rouse Master Tim from another sleepless night, he cleans.

It’s a quiet day, or as much as one can be when the place he calls home is filled with vigilantes.

He drops off Masters Damian, Tim, and Duke at school and uses the rest of the trip to pick up some groceries for dinner. Coq au vin tonight, he thinks, it’ll be perfect for the changing of the seasons. A mushroom and lentil substitute for Master Damian will do lovely.

The rest of the day is spent preparing the meal and doing a spot of gardening before it’s time for the school run again. He can’t help but smile fondly as he listens to them needle and tease each other, only stepping in when it starts to become too pointed.

Yes, it’s a normal day for Alfred Pennyworth. It’s at night when it all changes.

There’s a ghost waiting for him in his room. 

A soft glow emanates from the creature’s vaguely transparent body and a crisp frost creeps slowly across the floor, sparkling in the darkness like diamonds.

“Mr. Pennyworth?” it says, the voice bouncing off the walls so that it sounds like hundreds of beings instead of one.

Fear squeezes at his heart and the air in the room turns dark and heavy, so that Alfred struggles to breathe. His mouth is dry, his head is swimming, and he’s not entirely sure if he’s going to survive the night.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Unhealthy Dependence

This is part 3 of my demon twins au. part one part two

Unedited so if you see any errors feel free to let me know!

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

Danyal slept better then he had in a long time, and till passed dawn at that! He didn’t quite know what time it was when there was a knock at the door, he woke up and Damian was still next to him. It took Damian a moment to process and then he went rigid as a board, Danyal understood, if they had been caught sleeping in the same bed like this back in the league they would have been punished for such a sign of weakness and dependency. Danyal wasn’t as worried, with how affectionate Dick was he didn’t think that anyone was shamed for affection here.

“Master Danyal, will you be coming down for brunch?” Alfred asked, and Danny smiled a little, Alfred was kind and polite, he could already tell they were going to like him

“Yes, sure, me and Damian will be there in a minute,” He said, making a soft oof sound when Damian hissed and yanked him back, covering his mouth. What? There was no point in hiding it. Alfred would be going to Damian’s room next and it would be clear he wasn’t in there after a moment.

“Very good, the meal will be in 15 minutes,” Alfred said without missing a beat and they listened to his footsteps echo softly down the hall.

“Danyal! What are you thinking?!” Damian demanded. Danyal rolled his eyes and pushed Damian’s hand away from his mouth.

“Don’t worry Ahki, I have good reason to believe such things aren’t against the rules, or even disapproved of here. Besides, how would you have gotten back into your room in time for him to rouse you? If you’re worried about being in trouble for sleeping together no doubt you would be for sleeping through the morning call. Now go on back to your room, we have 15 minutes to make ourselves presentable for the day, and I know you fuss about your hair,” Danny said, beginning to shoo his brother out of his bedroom.

Damian scowled and glared at Danny but he left silently, they’d see if Danyal’s little gamble bore any fruit, if no one mentioned them sharing a room at all then he was sure it would be fine. He was pretty sure that it would be fine, and if not he’d take the blame. He watched Damian go and then closed the door going to see what clothes Alfred had gotten for him, it was pretty plain, just a pair of jeans and a polo shirt that would match his eyes. It was nice enough, and they fit so he got dressed quickly, and combed his fingers through his hair. He didn’t care if it was a little messy.

He was looking forward to getting to choose his own clothes though! That wasn’t something he’d ever gotten to do, with the league having a uniform and then coming here. What was his style like? Maybe he could ask Tim to help him get on the internet so he could search for inspiration, and he should ask Bruce what his expectations were as well. The others seemed to have pretty well defined sense of style, each different from the others, he was sure he would be allowed to cultivate his own sense of style as well.

Once he was dressed he left his room, waiting in the hall for Damian to join him, he always took longer to get ready because of his hair. Danny didn’t mind, Damian’s slicked back and spikey hair was the easiest way to tell them apart, especially from the back, so it was worth the wait to not constantly be confused. When Damian came out and they went down to breakfast together, silent but side by side.

It seemed like they were the last ones to the table this morning. Bruce was there, reading the paper at the head of the table, Tim was there too, clutching a big mug of coffee like a lifeline. Judging by the bags under his eyes it was probably the only thing keeping him upright, maybe he needed a twin to sneak into his bedroom at night to make sure that he was sleeping. Cass was there too, looking a little more awake then the other two, sipping a cup of tea with a bowl of cut up fruit in front of her. This was not a family of morning people, clearly.

Apparently Cass preferred a lighter breakfast then the pancakes with fruit and bacon that Alfred was bringing out for the rest of them. It was different fare then Danny and Damian were used to as well, but it smelled good and it would be very rude to turn down the food. Danny murmured his thanks and Damian nodded in acknowledgment when Alfred placed plates in front of both of them. “Would you like some tea as well young masters?” Alfred asked them politely.

“Yes please,” the two of them said in sync with each other, and then made faces at each other in lock-step as well. Alfred kept a straight face, Cass smiled at them, and Bruce suppressed a snort behind his newspaper, betraying that he was paying more attention to them then it first seemed.

Bruce folded his newspaper and set it aside, pulling his plate towards himself. That seemed to clue Tim in to the presence of food, prompting him to down the rest of his coffee and pull his plate towards him as well. Taking the queue from them Danny started eating, humming softly in enjoyment, the pancakes were warm and fluffy, the fruit was nice and sweet, and the savoury bacon was a nice compliment.

“Thank you, it’s very good,” He praised Alfred softly when the older man returned with cups of tea for both the brothers.

“You’re welcome master Danny,” Alfred said with a soft, approving smile.

Under the table Danny kicked Damian’s ankle before he could scoff at the interaction. Instead his brother hissed and glared at him, being met by a passive and innocent smile. Damian huffed and shoved another bite of pancake in his mouth. Good, he could keep his opinions to himself, especially about someone who was clearly very important to the family despite being a ‘servant’, Damian just didn’t have the emotional intelligence to see that yet.

“So, I was thinking it would be a good idea for me to spend some one on one time with both of you to get to know each of you,” Bruce said looking between the two twins. They nodded, that made sense, they were quite different after all! “So I was thinking I’d take Danny out today to shop for clothes, decorations for your room, do an activity while we’re out, make a day of it. And I’ll do the same with Damian tomorrow?”

Danny looked up sharply, giving Bruce a suspicious look, why did he want to take Danny first? Didn’t he say last night that Bruce should focus on Damian? This was the opposite!

It was Damian’s turn to kick Danny under the table before he could object, causing him to bite his tongue and look at his brother, who was glaring at Danny. He frowned and flicked his eyes towards their father in a subtle ‘go on’ gesture. Danny took a deep breath, right, he shouldn’t alienate their father too badly, and going first wasn’t a bad thing. He could tell Damian about what was expected and give his brother a little more time to settle in and get comfortable before he had to face wider society.

“Sure, sounds like fun,” Danny said putting on a smile and forcing down his annoyance.

Bruce was giving them an odd calculating look, and Danny subtly took another deep breath to settle and brace himself. “Alright, we’ll leave in a couple of hours so you can get ready.” Bruce said after a moment of unnecessarily tense silence, at least in Danny’s opinion! Unless they knew about something he hadn’t clued in to yet.

“Right, well there are a few routines that I think are worth keeping. So is there anywhere we can spar after breakfast,” Damian spoke up glancing around the table.

Cass hummed to draw their attention and when their eyes were on her she smiled and nodded, gesturing that they could come with her.

“Now?” Danny asked, looking ruefully at his half finished breakfast. She laughed and shook her head, gesturing back to his plate. “When we’re done?” She nodded. “You’ll spar with us?” He asked hopefully.

“Don’t be silly,” Damian scoffed, “Surely we have nothing to learn from so- ouch, stop that!” He snapped, loosing his temper when Danyal kicked him under the table again, harder then before.

“Get me back for it when we spar,” Danny said, turning his nose up at his brother’s anger. “And we have plenty left to learn, pretending we don’t is just the worst sort of arrogance. The sort that gets you killed,” Danny told his brother who huffed and looked down, giving up the argument for now. Though Danny fully expected to fight for his life during their sparring because Damian would feel like he had to prove himself now. He would have to remind Dami not to leave any visible bruises if he was going to be out with father today.

They finished breakfast quickly and then stacked their dishes together out of habit to make them easier to bring to the kitchen and then stood together. Cass had finished her breakfast already so she pushed her dishes over to Danny who took them and added them to the sack easily, while Damian glared at him.

“That’s not a bad idea stacking them like that,” Bruce commented, looking up at Alfred who had just come out to whisk the dishes away. “Might make things easier for you?”

Alfred hummed as he took the stack. “As long as you don’t forget we don’t all have vigilante strength master Bruce,” He said with understated amusement as he headed back to the kitchen.

Cass got up from the table and walked around, tapping Danny on the shoulder and catching Damian’s eye, jerking her head to follow. They both got up and followed a few steps after her, Danny glanced back and gave Bruce and Tim a little wave and a smile. Not that Tim seemed to notice anything past his second cup of coffee, Danny had a feeling he saw and knew more then he let on but it was hard to tell. Bruce gave him a nod and waved in return. Danny had a feeling that once they were gone Tim, Bruce, and Alfred would be talking about them.

Cass lead them to a studio that looked like it could be used for fighting and for dance, stopping by their rooms on the way to grab their preferred weapons, because they knew what they’d be using it for today. They broke off, each finding their own space to stretch and warm up, Damien with his Katana, Danyal with his Kusarigama, and Cass with a twin pair of daggers she’d drawn from somewhere hidden. It was good to know she probably had those on her at all time, not really surprising though given that she had also been raised an assassin.

It was muscle memory more then anything that had Damien and Danyal facing off against each other first. As long as Danyal didn’t use his new abilities they were pretty evenly matched to it worked well as an extension of a warm up. “Don’t forget, no visible bruises, we’re going to be going out with father soon,” Danyal reminded Damien, who scowled and attacked first rather the responding. Ah, it was going to be one of those days.

It was a hard fight, barely a spar anymore, because Damien was furious and, if Danny knew his brother, afraid. He was in a new situation he didn’t know the rules of, he felt dis-empowered and was more reliant on Danny then he was comfortable being since Danyal better knew the rules out here. And now Danny was going out for the day and they were going to be separated, leaving Damien without the bare comfort he found in his twin. Danny understood, and maybe he didn’t fight back as hard as he could have to let Damien feel strong without obviously throwing the match, letting Damien work out the angst. Damien won, and Cass, who Danny had almost forgotten was there watching, applauded.

When they separated and looked over at her she smiled at them and then walked towards the center of the room, beckoning for Danny to come join her. “Alright, good idea, once we finish I’ll have to leave to shower and get ready to go out with father.” He would have asked Damien if he’d be okay, but he would only take such a question as an insult and insist that he was fine. Danny settled in to a fighting stance against her, and after a long moment he realized she wouldn’t attack first, so he did and she came to meet him in graceful conflict.

She was a good fighter, a mirror rather then overwhelming him, he knew she was testing, not bringing her full strength to bear here. That was fine with him, it was good exercise more then anything and he didn’t exactly want any bruises from her either. By the time she called an end to the match they were both breathing hard, he was a bit surprised she didn’t fight to a win but he accepted it when she stood down. They bowed to each other in familiar respect and stepped away, she went to get a bottle of water and Danny went over to Damien.

“You’ll be alright?” He asked, softly and with his head angled away from Cass so she wouldn’t be able to read his lips. Hopefully without a witness Damien wouldn’t bristle to badly at the question.

“Of course I will be,” Damien sniffed at him.

“Alright, good, I’ll be back this afternoon, try not to cause to much trouble while I’m away,” He said with a chuckle. “Tire him out, he’ll behave better,” He called over to Cass who laughed and nodded, laughing harder when Danny had to duck away to avoid Damien’s retaliatory strike. Running out of the studio to escape his brother’s revenge.

He slowed to a walk one he was out of range and found his way easily back to the family wing, he accidentally opened the door to Tim’s room first, finding it empty he closed it again quickly and finding his room next. He didn’t mean to intrude, he was still learning his way around the mansion. He let himself back into his own room and noticed right away that the bags he had brought with him from the league had been gone through. He checked them and grimaced when he found the secret pockets in them had been discovered as well, that was going to be an interesting conversation.

He showered and dressed again, stashing a few knives on his person just in case, the sheaths hidden expertly under his clothes where no one would notice them. At least no one had tried to take their weapons away from them, that would have ended badly, for everyone involved probably. Satisfied he went downstairs, finding that Bruce was already waiting for him in the front hall. “Hello Father, I hope I’m not late,” Danyal said, knowing that he wasn’t.

“No, I’m just early. But since we’re both here why don’t we head out?” Bruce suggested with an odd smile, gesturing towards the door.

“Sounds good,” Danny said with a shrug, “lead the way.”

There was a car parked out front already, Danny watched Bruce walk to the drivers side before taking his queue to get in the passenger side, since there wouldn’t be a driver today. Bruce started the car and pulled out. “So, Alfred tells me while he was unpacking your bags he found what looks like bottles of Lazarus water?” He asked, his tone was casual but Danny could see his shoulders were tense.

“I should have mentioned that last night,” Danny agreed with a little sigh, looking out the window, he had been hoping they wouldn’t be found and he wouldn’t have to. “It was, but it wasn’t for any sinister purpose. Since I was resurrected I’ve been dependent on it, not bathing in it the way grandfather has to, but I’ve found that if I don’t… drink a little bit from time to time I start becoming very weak and sickly. I don’t like having such a weakness, a tie to the league like that, but it’s necessary for now. I think I can tell mother that, so far away from the pits themselves I’m needing more and convince her to send me enough I can stalk pile it in case I need to cut contact entirely.

“It will give me some to study as well. I’ve always been very good at science, and I think that I could synthesize something that would have the same affect on me, hopefully,” He grimaced, he didn’t want to rely on the Laague for anything. He looked over at Bruce, considering his reaction, the adult was giving him considering glances as well.

“You should have mentioned it,” Bruce agreed with a little sigh. “But it’s good to know now. Since Lazarus water isn’t exactly a harmless substance I’ll be keeping the excess secure and only one bottle in a place you can access it.”

Danny bit back any annoyance, reminding himself that the trust and privilege he and Damian been granted as heirs to the Demon Head didn’t apply here. Of course Bruce wouldn’t trust him to keep something that could make people easier to control or manipulate, it would be very foolish to just let Danyal keep it. “And if I want to study it?” He asked, a little guardedly.

“Tim and I will want to as well, we’d be happy to have you join us,” Bruce suggested and Danny nodded.

“Sure, what better way to bond then study unknown and unstable compounds huh?” He joked, slouching in his seat in a way that would have had mother hissing disapprovingly through her teeth. Bruce didn’t seem to mind, he was laughing at Danny’s comment. Once he knew where the rest was stored he could always get some to study on his own, or contact mother and better hide some of what she sent.

“In this family definitely,” Bruce agreed.

part 4

[rhaenyrathecruell]

“Yet neither Waters nor any of the other knights and lords present in the yard spoke a word of protest as King Aegon II delivered his half-sister to his dragon. Sunfyre, it is said, did not seem at first to take any interest in the offering, until Broome pricked the queen’s breast with his dagger. The smell of blood roused the dragon, who sniffed at Her Grace, then bathed her in a blast of flame, so suddenly that Ser Alfred’s cloak caught fire as he leapt away. Rhaenyra Targaryen had time to raise her head toward the sky and shriek out one last curse upon her half-brother before Sunfyre’s jaws closed round her, tearing off her arm and shoulder. Septon Eustace tells us that the golden dragon devoured the queen in six bites, leaving only her left leg below the shin “for the Stranger.” Elinda Massey, youngest and gentlest of Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting, supposedly gouged out her own eyes at the sight, whilst the queen’s son Aegon the Younger watched in horror, unable to move.”

[jasonsknight3]

Love your writing! My birthday is coming up and I would love it if you could write an AK Jason x reader piece about it! If not, no worries! Again, love your writing! Xoxo

Thank you! I don’t know when your special day is but I would like to wish you a happy one anyway! Here is a Jason x birthday reader

Jason had some interesting birthday traditions he’s picked up. When he moved in with Bruce and Alfred they certainly made him feel special. Almost every birthday Jason, Bruce and Alfred were up at midnight. Alfred would always have a cake and candles ready. By 12:03 everyone had a slice of cake with party hats on. What if….Jason shared this tradition with you? You and Jason had discussed the birthday pal. And how to go about it. Little did you know he had a little plan of his own. He always is good at color matching. *You’ll need to know that ;) *

🎂Birthday Traditions🎂

“Hey…babydoll, wake up.” A soft voice started to rouse you from your deep slumber. The voice persisted, “Come on…open your eyes.” Jason’s voice was a soft sing-song melody. Opening your eyes, there was a soft glow. When your eyes adjusted fully awake you see Jason holding a cheese cake with candles of your age lit and wearing a big grin. “Jason? What are you doing?” You asked your voice groggy from being pulled out of sleep. Normally you were pretty grouchy but I guess this time was different. Jason chuckled, “well, it's 12:00, your birthday has officially started. I wanted to be the first to tell you happy birthday.” You could help the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. “So then you know that it is quite literally the middle of the night. Why couldn't this wait till the morning? I mean you could still be the first later.” Jason responded “You don’t have work today and I just wanted to share my little birthday tradition with you.” A warmth spreads in your chest. “You are too sweet.” You say “only for you, now, if you could be a doll and put the party hats on for me.” Jason nodded his head over to the night stand where two party hats sat waiting to be worn. It felt silly but nice as well. The hats were decorated with different patterns and colors.

Once the hats were strapped on each other's head Jason softly sang the birthday song to you. A beautiful serenade to you and just you. As the song ends you lean forward and blow out the candles making the room dark again with just the light source coming from the moonlight through your window. Reaching over to the nightstand and flicking on the light you smile at Jason. Who was cutting you a slice and putting it on the plate that he probably had sitting in the bed already. After giving you your piece and him fishing his own you ask “So, this is your tradition huh?” Swallowing a bite he nodded. “Yea, when I was younger or uh…lived with Bruce, Alfred would always make a cheesecake for me. As soon as the clock hit midnight they’d put party hats on and sing to me. Midnight is the start of the day so that means it’s your birthday.” You had never heard of such a tradition but it was…heartwarming. Cute. “Mmmm, well thank you for sharing it with me.” You say eating your last bite. “Of course, they also had a gift for me at midnight. I happen to have one for you too.” Jason pulled the night stand drawer open and pulled out a small box. “Oh Jason, you didn’t have to do that.” You say to which he shuts down “let me spoil you today princess. Starting now. Go on, open it.”

An undeniable bubbly feeling flooded your senses. Taking the small box and opening it there was a pretty necklace. It was simple but it had a lovely red stone in it. You didn’t care too much for extravagant things. Jason knew you loved simple things. You were easy to please. “Oh Jason, it’s so lovely! Thank you, love! Help me put it on?” You request to which he happily obliged. Turning your back to him he slid the necklace around your neck and clipped it with a kiss on the nape of your neck. “Let me see.” Jason softly commanded with excitement. Over you turned around. He smiled upon seeing the necklace. He traced the jewelry as it rested against your skin. “Looked good on you baby. Even better than I imagined. Red is definitely your color.” You laugh. “Pft, no red is your color but you just like seeing your color on me.” Jason shrugged “can’t deny that.” With a kiss of thanks to Jason both of you settle back down for the night as you cuddle excited for what the day would bring.

Simple n’ sweet

[bats-and-birds-24]

Chapter 3:

Two weeks had passed since the incident with the Joker Gang, and Tim was still not allowed to leave the manor.

He protested to Bruce, but he was firm in not letting him back into the field until he had fully healed.

Seeing Tim's frustration, Alfred explained that Bruce was only doing this for his own wellbeing.

Tim doubted that, but a part of him wondered if Bruce was genuinely just concerned for his safety.

There were times where Tim had caught Bruce staring at him with a mixture of worry and relief on his face.

The cynical side of him quickly dashed that hope as he realized that Bruce probably just didn't want to ruin Batman's reputation by losing another Robin.

Tim knew the importance of reputation, his parents had made that very clear to him.

His mind drifted back to when he was six years old. He remembered saying something a bit too bluntly to an important looking man in a business suit.

He'd forgotten what he said, but he remembered the punishment he got because of it.

He was isolated in his room for three days, with meals being sent up to him via staff, who were ordered not to talk to him.

He remembered that his parents' reasoning was that he should learn that there will be consequences for ruining their relationship with an important benefactor of their archaeological digs.

Tim felt a pang of anger at the memory. At least they were on a dig in Peru at the moment, he doesn't have to worry about dealing with them for now.

Alfred noticed him stiffening and suggested that he take a walk around the Wayne estate to clear his mind.

Tim just nodded and went up to get his camera. He might as well do something productive.

A few hours of blissfully ignoring his problems did wonders for his mood, until he was rudely brought back down to earth as he came across Jason's grave.

He had loved Jason. Even if they had never met, Jason had left a huge impact on Tim's life.

Tim may have figured out Dick's identity as Robin at the tender age of three, but he didn't actually join Batman and Robin in their nightly jaunts until he was nine.

By that time, Jason had already established himself as the next Robin.

Jason was his Robin.

His heart shattered when he realized that Jason had died.

He didn't want to disrespect Jason's passing, but someone had to rein Batman in.

Tim paused his train of thought and stepped closer to the grave. Something felt off, the dirt on the grave felt too fresh. To the untrained eye, it seemed normal, but Tim's detective senses were roused.

Has someone disturbed it? That couldn't have been possible. Bruce kept a close eye on the estate to ensure no one breaks in.

Tim took a few steps back, and snapped a picture of the grave. His emotions took a back seat as the gears in his mind began to turn.

If anyone had somehow managed to disturb Jason's grave, they must have been very skilled, which leaves out any petty grave robbers.

Tim ran back to the manor to retrieve a DNA analysis kit. He only met Alfred in the hallways who's only remark was to slow down, lest he hurt himself.

All Tim needed was confirmation that nothing had happened to Jason's grave, that's all.

"Sorry about this Jay." Tim muttered under his breath as he quickly chipped off a few pieces of the gravestone. He could use them to run a DNA test when he was back at the batcave.

Tim hurried back into the manor to run his tests.

The DNA analysis came back as positive for Talia Al Ghul.

Tim stared at the bat computer screen blankly.

'Talia Al Ghul'

Tim took a moment to process that fact.

Maybe Talia was just visiting, Bruce had mentioned that Jason and Talia has met before.

He didn't have time to mull over that thought, as the soil analysis came back. The determining factor on whether this was just a visit, or something more.

The soil in the grave had a markedly different chemical composition when compared to what was usually found in Gotham.

For one, it lacked the pollutants from Gotham's chemical and pharmaceutical companies. The analysis also revealed that there were trace amounts of a chemical that matched the league of assassin's Lazarus pits'.

This clinched it. The league was after Jason, or more accurately, Jason's body. Tim thought of the reasons behind that move, they must have known that it would eventually be found out by Bruce. They must know that Batman is a dangerous enemy to have.

Suddenly, a spark of hope bubbled up in him.

What if they wanted to revive Jason using the Lazarus Pits?

Tim tried to shake the thought from his brain. It was much more likely that the LOA just wanted an unlimited source of Jason's DNA.

But by now, the spark had nestled deep in his heart. If there was even a chance that Jason was alive, then he had to investigate.

The question now was whether or not he should involve Bruce in the mission.

Bruce was and still is, in a terrible place. Jason's death had destroyed Bruce's soul so thoroughly that he avoided visiting Jason's grave after the funeral.

Tim taking on the Robin mantle relieved some of his burdens, but he was still by no means stable.

He didn't know how Bruce would react if he found out about the grave robbing.

He came to a decision.

Under no circumstances should Bruce know of this mission. He'll figure out how to break the news to him after the mission is complete. But as of now, Bruce was too much of a liability.

Tim's mind began to formulate a plan to retrieve Jason from the league.

If Talia was involved, then it was likely that Jason will be found high up in the league hierarchy. This removed most common league training grounds and only left the highly defended sacred city of 'Eth Alth'eban, and the main base of Nanda Parbat.

There was also the league of shadows, which contrary to popular belief, was not actually a splinter faction of the league of assassins, and instead acted as a specialized arm. Acting as though the two were separate entities was a tactic by Talia to throw off anyone trying to bring the league down.

Tim mulled over his options.

The league of shadows had a base at Sullivan island in the South of Gotham, which would be his easiest point of entry.

However, he's 90% sure that the base is there exclusively to keep an eye on Batman and his associates. Tim was certain that he would be captured if he ever so much as set foot on the island.

Unless, that was what he wanted.

He could get caught voluntarily. He knew from working on cases related to the League of Assassins with Bruce that Ra's Al Ghul' had taken a special interest in the Bat and would likely be thrilled if the little birdie waltzed right into his cage.

Tim was 90% sure that he won't die from attempting this, but even if he did die, Ra's is likely to just dunk him in the Lazarus Pits, so he should be fine.

Now all he needed to do was throw Batman off his scent.

He could tell Bruce that he was going back to Drake manor for a month to work through some Drake industries work. Bruce wouldn't question it too much and Alfred would just be happy that he's taking a break from being a vigilante.

If everything works out according to plan, Bruce would never even notice that he was missing.

He hacked into the cameras at Drake manor to make it seem as though Tim was just doing Tim things. This way, if Bruce bothered to check the cameras, he wouldn't come across anything incriminating.

Tim packed some crucial gear and prepared to get kidnapped. If it all goes smoothly, he should be sent directly to Talia's doorstep.

He got on Redbird and began his journey south.

[nerdanel01]

All Things Grow, All Things Go - Pt. II

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook (*Emmrich POV) 3k+ | SFW EXCERPT: Mindful of the fact that Wilfred had needed to rouse him—that Agnes herself might still be asleep—he knocked on her door, softly at first.

“Agnes?”

Emmrich waited… and waited. Listening for the rustle of bedsheets or the pad of her footsteps. When only silence greeted him, he knocked again, a bit more loudly this time. 

“Agnes, it’s Emmrich. You needn’t speak to me if you don’t want to, I understand if you are still upset. But you missed breakfast—I did not want you to go hungry. Will you please open the door?”

9:50 Dragon

Flinching at the urgent touch of someone’s hand on his shoulder, Emmrich awoke. 

He blinked blearily, taking in his surroundings—cold hearth, cold tea on the tray beside him, Wilfred’s bony hand on his shoulder—and recognized at last he had fallen asleep in his study, slumped into his armchair. Well, that certainly explained the sore ache in his back, and the awful crick in his neck. After his disastrous conversation with Agnes the night before, Emmrich had lingered in the study, hoping she might return after she had a chance to calm down and think things over. In truth he had wanted instead to chase after her, to beg her to listen to him, to try to make her understand… but he loved her, and it was all too plain he had hurt her. The kinder thing, he thought—the less selfish thing—was to give her some space. 

Emmrich sat up, stretching his arms above his head and sighing in satisfaction as something in his back popped into its proper place, realigning. Glancing up at Wilfred at last, he asked, “What is it?”

Wilfred lifted a skeletal arm to point at the water clock in the corner, the only veritable indication of time passing in the windowless Necropolis. By the water level Emmrich saw he had slept through the night; the breakfast hour was just beginning in the dining hall. 

Energized by the thought of seeing Agnes there, Emmrich stood, stretching once more for good measure. It relieved the ache in his back, but did nothing to calm the gymnastics of his stomach. How angry would she be with him, now that the night had passed? More resentful? Less? Would she spare a word for him—or even a glance? That would hurt, if she could not look at or speak to him, but it did not matter. Likely he deserved it, after how upset he had made her. At least if he could see her, though—even just catch a glimpse at her from across the room—he would be reassured: that things would turn out for the best, in time. That he had made the right choice. 

“I’d better join the other Watchers for breakfast,” Emmrich told Wilfred, combing a hand through his hair, trying to tame his bedhead back into a pleasing shape. It was unlike him to wander around so disheveled and ungroomed—unshaven, even!—but today, that could wait until after he saw Agnes. Certainly she could not think less of him after last night, and any errant whiskers on his jaw would not lower her opinion of him any farther than it had already sunk. “If Agnes comes by, will you please send her down to the dining hall?”

Wilfred made a short, baying sort of sound—more articulate than the feeble moans Alfred had been exclusively capable of producing, but still less than language—and nodded his head in acknowledgement of the request. Satisfied with Wilfred’s answer, Emmrich left the study, fighting the urge to quicken the pace of his steps the whole way to the dining hall. 

But Agnes was not there when he arrived. The hall was already nearly full, the bulk of the Mourn Watch gathered around the two twin banquet tables, chatting animatedly over their coffee and eggs. Emmrich scanned the room for Agnes’ face a second time, just to be sure he had not missed her at first glance—but she was nowhere to be seen. 

There was an open spot at the table beside Myrna; Emmrich thought it prudent not to sit there, at least not today. Instead he consigned himself to the far end of the banquet table nearest to the door, where he could easily keep an eye on the latecomers as they trickled in for breakfast. He dropped a few slices of fruit onto his plate, pear and melon, but it was mostly for show, a prop to occupy his hands and to excuse his presence in the dining hall as he waited for Agnes to arrive. Emmrich was not accustomed to being this nervous; he found the anxious clenching of his stomach had quite spoiled his appetite. 

Every time he detected any hint of movement from the entryway, he looked up from the kaleidoscopic arrangement of fruit he was pushing around on his plate—but none of the latecomers turned out to be Agnes. By the time the breakfast hour was waning and the dining hall was beginning to empty, she still was nowhere to be seen. 

That was troubling. No matter how angry with him she may have been, it wasn’t like Agnes to sleep in late, or to miss a meal. It would be best, Emmrich knew, to give her space—the whole point of this, of ending their professional partnership, had been to give her more space from him—but he could not resist the impulse to check on her, as paternal and unwelcome as it may have been. Before all the food was cleared away, Emmrich filled a cup with hot tea, put two almond croissants on a plate—Agnes’ favorite—and carried both to her room. 

Mindful of the fact that Wilfred had needed to rouse him—that Agnes herself might still be asleep—he knocked on her door, softly at first.

“Agnes?”

Emmrich waited… and waited. Listening for the rustle of bedsheets or the pad of her footsteps. When only silence greeted him, he knocked again, a bit more loudly this time. 

“Agnes, it’s Emmrich. You needn’t speak to me if you don’t want to, I understand if you are still upset. But you missed breakfast—I did not want you to go hungry. Will you please open the door?”

Was she sleeping? Or was she sulking, punishing him with her silence, her refusal to answer—just as she had pulled away from him when he had tried last night to take her hand? Again, probably deserved and Emmrich wouldn’t blame her, but her failure to answer now was putting grand, paranoid imaginings in his head, and the anxious knot in his stomach was tightening, mounting into a dull panic. 

He knocked on the door a third time, with force. “Agnes—”

But before Emmrich could finish, the door popped open, revealing darkness within. Had she kept the door unlocked while she slept…?

Then the smell hit him. Lye and lavender oil, her cleaning agents of choice. Emmrich’s dull panic rose to full alarm, his breathing quick and shallow, adrenaline stiffening the muscles in his legs. His hands shook as he summoned a mage light to illuminate the darkness within, but his heart was already pounding violently, heavy in his chest; it knew what he was about to find without needing to see it: 

The hearth, cold and empty. The sterile gleam of the floor, shining in the mage light. The bed made—sheets and blankets tucked straight and tight around the mattress—empty. 

Teacup and plate smashed against the floor before Emmrich even realized he’d dropped them, scattering shattered porcelain and pastry crumbs across the room, the splash of tea spraying the hem of his trousers and puddling across the too-clean floor. 

‘No. No, no, please, Maker, no—’

He crossed into the room, stepping directly into the tea puddle as he sped to the desk, pulling each of the knobs, peering into each of the drawers, his breath growing a little more shallow as every drawer turned up empty. His heart was sinking through him, heavier than a ship’s anchor. He raced to the wardrobe, elated at first to see that it was not wholly bereft, only for his hopes to crash all over again when he saw that it was only Agnes’ set of ceremonial Watcher robes that hung within it, none of her blouses or dresses. His heart was breaking. The nightstand beside the bed—those drawers, too, were empty. 

But the bed, he realized—to his complete and utter horror—was not empty. Not as empty as he had thought at first glance. 

His hands trembled as he picked the program off the bed, shaking so violently that when he held it, the program fluttered, as though it was billowing in a breeze. The Elixir of Love. The first opera they had seen together summers ago, when he had waltzed with Agnes after in the gardens… when he had first felt the conscious desire to kiss her, when at last his true feelings for her had become woefully and unavoidably plain to him. 

He felt lightheaded; his knees felt weak. He turned his body around and lowered himself, slowly and unsteadily, to perch on the very edge of the bed, feeling utterly wretched as he stared at the program in his hands. It was creased and wrinkled, worn and much loved, as though she had often held it, caressed it, treasured it in the years that she’d kept it. And though she had penned no note, it was clear to him the program had been set out this way for him to find, no other.  

‘She loves me!’ Nemorino had sung at last in his final aria, full of pathos as much as exultation. ‘She loves me; I know it, I know it.’ But of course, what Nemorino did not know—what was plain, at that point, for the audience to see—was that this recent turn of events had nothing to do with the sham “elixir” at all; that Adina, the woman he desired, had loved him in return all along. 

Impulsively he balled his hand into a fist, crumpling the program into a ball within it, unable to bear the sight of it. But then his eyes caught on the lazurite ring on his hand, and his guilt and his shame doubled. 

What a fool he had been! What a hopeless idiot! How long had he denied his desire, his deep longing for her, telling himself he could not possibly have her? When all along she had been at his side, waiting to be noticed. Waiting to be loved back. Myrna had been right about them, or right enough, and instead of listening to her and wondering if Myrna might have seen something between them that even Emmrich himself was blind to, he had done everything in his power to push Agnes away. 

An aim in which he had succeeded spectacularly: she was gone. 

‘So go find her!’

A fool’s hope, maybe, but the only one he had. How much time had passed? How far could she have gone? It would have taken her time, Emmrich imagined, to pack, to clean. There was no way of telling from her room how long ago she had left. Maybe, maybe…!

He leapt to his feet, shoving the fisted program into his pocket, and tore into the hallway. The study was closest; he headed there first. Opened the door with such volume and force that Wilfred startled, all his bones jostling in shock at the sudden entrance. 

“Wilfred, has Agnes come by…?”

But the thrall only shook his head; no. 

Leaving the study door ajar in his haste, Emmrich headed further down the hall to the Mourn Watch library. Trying not to think of all the terrible things he had said to Agnes yesterday. ‘Do you ever think perhaps we are too close?’ Trying not to retrace every word she had said to him in return, each of them burying more sharply and more painfully into his heart, now that he understood. 

‘You are that eager to be rid of me?’

‘What did I do wrong to deserve this?’

‘It would have been better for me to never have come here!’

He raced into the library, footsteps pounding, chest heaving, fighting for breath. There was barely anyone there at this hour of the day, but one of the ancient thralls that helped keep the shelves organized was already at work, standing high up on one of the ladders, reshelving books. 

“Gunther, have you seen Agnes?”

“Not since last week,” Gunther replied, somewhat tartly. “When you see her, do remind her that she has several volumes in her possession that are overdue for return…”

But Emmrich was already back in the hall, taking it at a flat out run, having fully abandoned any sense of decorum. Back to the dining hall; perhaps he had just missed her. Hoping beyond hope to find her there. Drowning in all the memories that were washing over him, all that had transpired between them, all that he had so woefully misunderstood. 

‘I have cherished every hour I have worked with you,’ Agnes had said, when she had presented him with the ring. With a ring. Had he really not perceived the symbolism of that gift, the circle around his finger like a lover’s endless promise? Or had he simply refused to believe it, to accept what the ring had really meant? ‘Who else in my life would I give such a gift to, if not you?’

Commander Johanna was the only one left in the dining hall, pouring herself one last cup of coffee from the carafe on the tabletop. She looked up at Emmrich as he rushed in, her features creasing into a frown. 

Breathlessly, he asked, “Have you seen Agnes?”

“Why are you asking?” No small amount of suspicion in her voice.

“She’s gone,” Emmrich answered, too panicked and heartbroken to be mortified by the way his voice cracked over the last word. 

“Gone?” Johanna pressed him, an edge to her voice. “What do you mean, ‘she’s gone’? Gone where?”

“I don’t know,” Emmrich told her, close to tears. “Her room is empty, there’s no sign of her—I have to—!”

He raced past Johanna, down the stairs at the far end of the dining hall to the kitchens as Johanna called after him:

“Oh, well done, Emmrich! I told you to let me talk to her first! What did you say to that poor woman?!”

But Emmrich was not paying attention. Nothing Johanna said to him now could wound him more deeply than he was already doing himself, bruising and bleeding himself on all the terrible things he’d said and done, all of the ways he had been completely blind. But it could not be too late. He would not give in, not yet—would not let himself think he had lost the chance to make things right. 

And yet, the kitchens—empty. The sparring room, the apothecary—both empty, Agnes nowhere to be found. 

How far could she have gotten? Where, really, could she have gone? It could only have been a few hours since she had left the Necropolis—Emmrich could not fathom, refused to believe she had already left Nevarra City. 

He had not changed his clothes nor so much as washed his face, looking (he was sure) entirely unpresentable as he dashed down the Necropolis steps and into the city streets. At this hour few businesses were open, save for the cafes, already setting out freshly baked pastry and brewing fine Antivan coffee. These, Emmrich checked first, beginning at the ones he knew to be Agnes’ favorites. But she was nowhere to be found, and none of the proprietors had seen a woman fitting her description. Where was she? Sweat trickled down his brow, made his shirt stick to his back as he raced next to the druffalo cart station on the eastern edge of the city, where passenger carts, for a small fee, would transport people north and south along the Imperial Highway.. No Agnes. Finally he headed north, to the docks; had she, perhaps, booked passage on a boat? Where would she go, out in the world, all by herself? On the way he stopped at all the horse traders, but none of them had sold a steed yet that morning, or the night before. No luck at the docks, either, though he had pushed through the crowds of people eager to book passage on the Minanter, peering into each of the faces of the people gathered there… wondering, in the depths of his self-loathing, if it were possible that Agnes hated him so deeply after all those things he had said to her, that she might glamor herself, disguise her face from him just to avoid the onerous task of having to speak to him. 

He had run circles around the city. He could not remember the last time he had run anywhere without Agnes at his side, fleeing from some mystery of the Necropolis, Agnes throwing arcane darts over her shoulder at whatever was pursuing them. His heart was pounding; he had sweat through his shirt. It was in this state—disheveled, unkempt, exhausted—that he had at last made his way to the theater district, to the opera house. 

The square outside of the theater was silent, empty, an eerie contrast to the space as he had otherwise known it: thronging with people, well fed and well dressed and well drunk, merrily proceeding through the tall arches into the lobby beyond. Now, it was sleepy, the box office not yet open for ticket sales. The loudest sound was the patter of the fountain, splashing gaily in the center of the square, sparkling in the morning sun. A flock of pigeons cooed around its base, the whole flock taking off in a panic as Emmrich trudged through their ranks, dropping at last to sit at the fountain’s edge… staring up at the opera house, its travertine facade shining blindingly white, like a holy accusation. 

Emmrich balanced his elbows on his knees, and took his head into his hands. 

He had hoped against hope he would find Agnes here, but there was no sign of her. And yet though he did not see her, he could not get the image of her out of his head: Agnes, clutching their tickets with her hands covered in little lace gloves, flashing him breathlessly delighted smiles as they queued to get into the theater. Agnes, throwing a silver coin into the very fountain on which she sat, refusing to confide in him her wish. Agnes, barefoot and uninhibited, humming in the jasmine-scented moonlight. 

…Agnes, looking up into his face under that same silver moonlight, waiting for him to kiss her. To finally see her. 

‘She loves me, she loves me! I know it, I know it…’

His body curled in on itself, as though he was protecting himself from an oncoming blow; there was a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the distance he’d run. The despair, the sheer weight of the mistakes he had made threatened to crush him. 

That impossible, enduring affection—the kind of love strong enough to conquer even death, the kind of love he had perhaps wanted but never truly believed he’d have himself—he had almost had it. 

Or worse, he had it exactly, and he had not merely let it slip through his fingers, he had chased it away. 

For Agnes was gone—utterly lost to him, that much was clear. She had disappeared so neatly, without a trace. Oh, Johanna would send trackers after her, bounty hunters, surely, (it would have been professional neglect not to do so—the Mourn Watch kept too many secrets that they could not risk getting loose) but Emmrich did not believe for a moment they would be successful in finding her. 

“Please,” he spoke under his breath, to no one in particular. To Andraste and the Maker, perhaps, though he had never strongly believed in either. “Please, let her be safe.” 

But no, not just safe. As the sweat cooled on his body, as the fountain sprayed at his back and his heart rate slowed and he felt himself growing uncomfortably cold, Emmrich knew it was more than that. Safety, yes, at the very least. But after all the years she had devoted herself to him—all the years he had been determined to see her affection as daughterly and nothing more—she was owed far more than just safety. 

With as much conviction and faith as he could muster, he spoke his last wish for her to the quiet morning:

“Please, let her be happy. Let her be loved.”

— This piece is Part X in a series of XI.  [ Start from beginning ] [ Read Part XI]  [ Nerdanel’s Fic Masterpost ]

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Kidnapped Part 2

Sihtric x reader

Authors note: it is the second part of the requested fic about Sihtric’s wife being kidnapped by Heasten while expecting a child. It is obvious that another part will have to follow. I am sorry, I got side-tracked and I still have no clue how Sihtric will get his family back. I hope you will enjoy this interlude.

Warnings: nothing serious, some fluff, mention of slitting someone's throat, childbirth, without going into detail

Word Count: 2,566

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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

“He said what?” Uhtred’s voice resonated with anger and anxiety as he paced around the room. "Are you absolutely certain this is your wife's necklace?" he inquired.

“It is, Lord. What should we do, Lord?" Sihtric stood near the doors, his arms awkwardly hanging at his sides as if uncertain of what to do with them, his gaze fixed on Uhtred. Finan and Osferth sat opposite each other at the table in the middle of the room, exchanging worried glances.

Sihtric had roused them in the dead of night, practically shaking them out of their slumber, and recounted his encounter with the messenger from Heasten. Once he had informed his friends, they promptly awakened Uhtred.

"Lord, if we join Edward’s army, I will never see my wife and child again. That's what he said," Sihtric's voice trembled as he repeated the dreadful message. An unspoken plea filled his eyes as he looked at his Lord and friend.

"Sihtric," Uhtred approached him and placed his hands on his shoulders, "we will find a way to rescue them. You have my word. Do you hear me? I promise you, I will not let any harm come to your family.”

"But we are still going into battle!" Sihtric's voice was hoarse, laced with despair. How could it be that Uhtred did not understand how impossible this was? Uhtred had lost Gisela; he was supposed to know the agony of having one's heart torn from the chest, the entire world shattered at ones feet. There was a simple solution to prevent the same fate for Sihtric – to let Edward fight his damn battle alone. Alfred was dead, and there was no oath binding Uhtred to the new king.

Uhtred had heard the agony in Sihtric’s voice and gazed into the mismatched eyes of his friend, his brother in arms, as he kept his hands on his shoulders. He still remembered how he felt when Hild had told him about Gisela. In that moment, he would have done anything, everything to make it unhappen. He understood Sihtric's feelings all too well. Leaving Edward to his fate and avoiding the battle would be the easy way out, but what would happen afterward? The chances of Edward winning the battle alone were slim. Cnut would likely win, and Wessex would fall to the Danes. Would that ensure Heasten returned Sihtric's wife safely and unharmed? Or would it turn her into an unnecessary burden, making her vulnerable to being sold into slavery, if it hadn't happened already?

Uhtred withdrew his hands from Sihtric’s shoulders and unsheathed his short sword, the Wasp-Sting. Sihtric, Finan and Osferth gazed at him, their eyes wide with surprise.

“Sihtric, my friend, you know I trust you with my life,” Uhtred continued, pressing the hilt of the Wasp-Sting in Sihtric’s slightly trembling hand, “If you doubt for a moment that your family is as dear to me as it is to you, if you question my commitment that I will do everything in my power to help you rescue them and bring them back home unharmed, you can cut my throat here and now, and I will not resist.”

Bafflement filled Sihtric's eyes as he looked at the sword in his hand and then back at his Lord. The tension between them was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Without uttering a single word, Sihtric shook his head and returned the sword to Uhtred's grasp. He didn't doubt Uhtred's words. How could he? They were brothers bound until death and beyond. He would die for his Lord, and he knew Uhtred would do the same for him, for each and every one of his men, without hesitation. It was their unwavering trust, loyalty, and friendship that made them a formidable force—the wolf pack of Bebbanburg.  

“We will find them, and we will do it together. And, yes, we will go into battle, but only after your family will be safe,” Uhtred’s voice exuded firmness and confidence, without the slightest hint of doubt.  

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

Life in Heasten's camp was not as harsh as you had imagined. You were left to your own devices, as it was evident that you were not in a state of daring an escape. The camp housed numerous women, as many Danes who joined Cnut and Heasten had brought their wives and children, hoping to settle in the newly conquered lands. To your great surprise, you discovered that it was not uncommon for Danish women to fight alongside their men. The legendary tales of fierce warrior women, known as shieldmaidens, had been mere stories to you, but now you witnessed them firsthand. These women wore armour and carried weapons, training and sparring on equal footing with the men. At times, you found yourself envious of their freedom, unburdened by the strict rules and prohibitions that governed the lives of Christian women. Over the course of two months spent in the camp, you even forged friendships with some of these women, as you spoke a bit Danish, having learned it from Sihtric and Gisela.

The Danes proved to be a cheerful folk. They loved good food and ale, revelling in singing and feasting. Even if some of their customs seemed strange to you, they were far from the cruel beasts eating their new-born children as some Saxon priests were portraying them. Of course, there were some cruel and ruthless specimen among them and Heasten was a good example of those, but you knew all too well that this was not a characteristic of all Danes or heathens. You had encountered enough vicious and ruthless Christian men in your life. In general, the Danes appeared to relish life with an unseen passion, living with a profound intensity and attentiveness to their surroundings that you had rarely experienced before. Slowly, you began to understand why Uhtred liked them so much, and you couldn't deny that you, too, had grown fond of them. Perhaps that was also why, despite being a Christian yourself, you had fallen in love with a Dane. Memories of the first time you met your husband remained vividly etched in your mind.

Sihtric had always been different—distinct from the men you had known in your life. He was the first not to judge you for your past, the first to truly see you as a person and not merely as a toy or object meant to please and obey. It was not a secret that you had been a whore when you first met. Uhtred and his men had arrived in Winchester straight after a victorious battle and while Uhtred was bringing the good news to the king, his men, filled with adrenaline and elation to have survived the battle, celebrated their triumph in the tavern.  They boasted with silver and demanded ale to drink on their victory and the ladies of the house instantly sensing the opportunity, crowded them trying to catch their attention. However, you were not into it, not this evening. You had been so tired and disgusted by this life, that you had finally tried to break free and secured a kitchen job in Lady Elthwith’s household. Happiness seemed within your grasp until you discovered that Lady Elthwith's husband was a regular guest of the back chambers in the tavern, believing he now had his own personal whore at home without paying for it. In your foolish determination to start a new life there you refused him, but the consequence was swift—you were fired and cast out onto the streets.

Today, you had returned to the tavern and begged the mistress to take you back, which she agreed to willingly, considering how popular you were among her clients. As you sat at the counter, tears welling in your eyes, you hoped nobody would notice you. You longed for this to be the last day of your dreamed-of different life; tomorrow, you would be a whore once again, but today, you still wanted to be a kitchen maid. Amidst your emotions, someone approached and took the seat next to you. Turning your head, you saw a young Dane, one of the warriors who always traveled with Uhtred. You had noticed him before—youthful, handsome, somewhat shy, silent, and thoughtful.

“The young man has paid good silver for your company the whole night,” your mistresses whispered in your ear, startling you as you hadn’t noticed her approaching from behind, “He is such a sweetheart, don’t disappoint him.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your gaze and, without looking at the young man, took his hand. You rose from your seat, leading him to your room with him following closely behind. Once inside, you closed the door and turned to see the young warrior sitting on your bed. You approached him, lifted your skirt, and straddled him as you sat on his lap.

“Tell me what you want me to do first?” you asked finally looking in his big, expressive eyes that were intensively watching you. “You have paid for the whole night, so we have plenty of time to fulfil all your wishes.”

His arms wrapped around your waist, and his hand began to gently caress your back, his fingertips tracing up your spine and back down to your waist. The touch was surprisingly gentle and soft. If this had been another day, you might have even found some enjoyment in it. It was a rarity for the men paying for their pleasure to show such tenderness.

"You looked so sad, tears in your eyes, as fragile as if you were about to break," the warrior whispered, his gaze locked with yours. It was the last thing you expected to hear, and your eyes widened in surprise. "You don't want to be here, do you?" he asked in his soft, husky voice, his thumb gently stroking your cheekbone as he continued to look at you with tenderness. Your remaining composure crumbled under the weight of his genuine concern. Despite not wanting to disappoint this gentle young man, who had surely spent a significant amount of silver for the whole night with you, you could no longer hold back. Tears started rolling down your cheeks, and your shoulders trembled as you hid your face in your hands, overwhelmed by uncontrollable sobs. To your utmost surprise, you felt his strong arms enveloping your shoulders, pulling you closer, and cradling you carefully against his chest, his hand tenderly stroking your hair.

“You can demand your money back, or the mistress will find you another girl. I am so sorry I am disappointing you,” you whispered through your sobs.

“Don’t, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” he hushed you, still holding you tightly in his embrace. “You are safe here with me. I don’t want my money back.”

“But I can’t. I am sorry, I just can’t, not today,” you begged as tears continued to roll down your cheeks.

“Oh, no, no. I did not mean that. I will not touch you; I promise,” the young warrior interjected hastily, “You just reminded me of someone, someone very dear to me. The look in your eyes, the way you tried to stay unnoticed, the sorrow emanating from you. I’ve seen this all too often, unfortunately, and haven’t been able to do anything about it. I couldn’t bear the thought of some drunken fool having you for the night and making you do something you so obviously did not want to.”

You couldn’t believe your own ears as you raised your tearful face and looked in astonishment at the young Dane, who still held you in his embrace.

“I don’t understand you,” you whispered.

He raised his hand, and you flinched involuntary at the motion, but he just gently tucked the strand of hair falling into your eyes behind your ear.

“I am sorry,” his eyes flared with compassion, “Please believe me, I will not hurt you, never.”

You were brought back from your sweet memories by a sudden wave of pain in your belly. You staggered and moaned loudly, clutching your tummy with both hands. A woman passing by saw it and instantly came to support you.

“Calm down, sweetheart, breathe slowly, your baby is coming,” she told you with a warming smile, holding you by your shoulders. Other women came running at her call, and supported by dozen gentle hands, you were brought to the tent of the old midwife and healer and lowered onto the heap of furs.

You had no idea how much time had passed. The waves of pain mixing with short moments of relief, the old midwife burning brunches of juniper berries, the other women placing a cold compress to your forehead and humming their prayers to Freyja  – everything was blurred and vague in your memories. The only thing you remembered clearly was the thrilling sound of your new born child’s first cry, a sound that filled you with complete happiness and relief. All you wanted was to hold this small miracle, so you stretched your arms out, but before the midwife could place the child in them, you twitched in another wave of pain. The midwife gave you a worried look and passed the babe to the woman standing next to her. Your eyes were wide with awe and fear. What was happening?

“Freyja stay with us! You are blessed with another child,” the midwife told you. Another child? You thought your Danish was too poor to fully grasp her words, but another wave of pain brushed over you, and you understood that it was not over yet.

“You were great, Freyja be praised for staying with you,” you heard the midwife’s soft voice. “Look at them! What a blessing! A boy and a girl! Healthy and strong! Just look at them!”

The overwhelming feeling that engulfed you when you took hold of the two tiny bundles was beyond words to describe, and the bliss that overtook you when you gazed upon the small, sleepy faces of your children surpassed any other feeling you had experienced in your whole life.

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

“We have found their camp, Lord. Sihtric’s wife is there, unharmed,” Rypere’s voice resonated with pride as he delivered the news to Uhtred, “And there is some other good news for you,” he continued turning to Sihtric, who sat in the back of the room, sharpening his axe.

Sihtric raised his brow and looked at Rypere with questioning eyes.

“You are a father, my dear friend!” Rypere’s answer caught Sihtric off guard, causing him to jump to his feet, his gaze filled with surprise and disbelief.

“I think you should sit down, before I tell you the rest.” Rypere grinned, wearing his sweetest smile.

“What? What do you mean? Is she all right? What else have you found out?” Sihtric rushed towards Rypere, gripping his shoulders, and looking bewildered in his eyes.

“You have a son, my friend.” Rypere replied, “And you have a daughter.”

“What?” Sihtric exclaimed in astonishment, the world spinning around him as he slowly grasped what Rypere had just said, “A son and a daughter?”

Sihtric’s legs gave in, shaking, and he would have surely collapsed if Finan and Osferth hadn’t caught him, wrapping him in a tight embrace laughing from the depths of their souls.

“You have twins, Sihtric! You lucky bastard!” they were cheering at him.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @namelesslosers

[thedemonofcat]

Misconceptions abound regarding witchers and their supposed lack of soulmates. The truth is, witchers view every individual as a potential soulmate. However, due to safety concerns, witchers rarely actively pursue these connections. In cases where such unions do form, the couples tend to conceal their relationships.

The norm was upended when Geralt, against all odds, ascended to become the warlord of the northern lands. Under his leadership, Kaer Morhen transformed into a sanctuary for witchers and their soulmates. Curiously, Geralt found himself an exception to the prevalent belief, seemingly devoid of a soulmate. Unlike the majority, he had never experienced the shared dreams that signified such connections.

But fate took an unexpected turn when Geralt was finally visited by a soulmate's dream. In this ethereal reverie, he gazed upon a crib cradling an infant with the most striking blue eyes. Even within the dream, the child reached out to him. It dawned on Geralt that his soulmate had just entered the world.

Yet, Geralt resolved not to wield any influence that might orchestrate affection between them. Hence, he refrained from directly whisking the young heir to Kaer Morhen. Instead, he covertly dispatched agents to monitor the child's well-being.

As time unraveled, Geralt learned the identity of his soulmate – Julian Alfred Pankratz, the fledgling viscount of Letthenhove, a coastal town near Kerack. Julian's affinity for music gradually surfaced, prompting Geralt to gather an array of instruments in preparation for the day Julian would be of age to journey to Kaer Morhen.

However, the tides shifted when one of Geralt's informants relayed news of Julian's flight from his ancestral home. Unable to maintain a watchful eye, Geralt found himself sinking into a despondent state.

In an attempt to rouse him from his melancholy, Vesemir, the seasoned witcher who had long served as Geralt's mentor, suggested that he revisit the path of a monster slayer. By reconnecting with his origins and embracing his role as a witcher, Geralt might find solace and redirect his thoughts away from Julian.

During one of his journeys, Geralt crossed paths with a bard named Jaskier. Strikingly, Jaskier's eyes held the same vivid hue as those of Geralt's long-awaited soulmate.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Bateman Begins Part 41

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Notes: We haven't had Nathan's perspective in a while, so. Enjoy! 🦇🖤 Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader Rating: M Warnings: Angst?

It isn't the first time that Nathan has disappeared, but that doesn't make the experience any more pleasant.

He glances over, doing a double-take as Alfred rouses on his charging pad.

"Good, you're up," Nathan mutters.

"Where are we?"

"The facility where I created you."

"Why are we here?"

Nathan grits his teeth, gaze set on the computer screen in front of him as he fights off a wave of irritation.

"Did something go wrong?" Alfred prods, and damnit—what hadn't gone wrong?

The last year and a half has been hell.

You had left, Vicki Vale had gotten a little too close to his secret, and a clown gang had begun to wreak havoc in Gotham City.

Whatever intel Vale had was somehow passed to the clowns and to whoever they were working for, which had sent them right to Bateman Manor

The only way Nathan could get out of there in time had been to suit up and ditch, but the police had been alerted to the situation

Nathan knew he was screwed when he was seen leaping out of the window

It had all been downhill from there

Nathan wasn't sure how he was going to spin this one to the press. He hadn't returned as himself or as Batman—not for two weeks.

To make matters worse, the facility's power had been winking on and off since they had arrived.

There was a faulty switch that he couldn't identify that was constantly sending them on lock down.

Alfred needed a significant amount of power to charge, and he had only just managed to flip back on after losing power during the drive.

Nathan had spent six solitary days trying to track down the faulty spoke in the system, and failing to log in to the Manor's security system.

He had no way of seeing what was happening. The cops were surely picking over everything.

What if they found their way into the cave? What if they found his gear?

What if they found your scrapped designs? There was still a wastebasket full of them in the blue room.

Alfred had tried to throw them out over and over again, but Nathan wouldn't let him.

He didn't know why he was holding on to them, anyway.

You were clearly never coming back, and it wasn't as if you'd need them.

Still, you had some great ideas in there.

He hadn't been surprised by that. You always had great ideas.

"Approximately how long have we been here, sir?"

The question shakes Nathan from his thoughts. He keeps his gaze trained on the screens in front of him as he hears Alfred shifting to stand behind him.

"Few days."

"And how long shall we be here for?"

"Look, just—Cut it with the fucking questions, alright?" Nathan pulls his glasses off, dropping them onto the desk before scrubbing his tired eyes with his palms. "I'm trying to think."

Alfred falls silent obediently, and Nathan feels a pang of regret for his tone.

"Keep charging," Nathan orders as he stands, putting his glasses back on. "I need you full power if I decide to go back."

"What's the alternative?"

"I'm working on it."

--

"FUCK!"

The yell leaves him roughly as the power on the stove switches off, plunging the kitchen into red light.

Nathan slams his fist roughly on the counter, drawing in a deep breath as he fought to steady himself.

Calm down, you big baby.

He can't help but hear your admonishment in his head.

He sighs softly, straightening up and reaching for the kettle. It's just hot enough for a mug's worth.

He pours some into his mug, watching the steam rise.

Where are you right now?

Nathan has spent the last year and a half wondering.

His mind has drifted to you over and over, whether he wanted it to or not:

At Giselle's parties—

At the office—

Driving the tumbler—

Sliding out of bed, careful not to rouse Vicki as he removed his arm from beneath her shoulders—

And now, alone in a locked-down kitchen, he tries to picture where you could possibly be.

Probably in some run-down, cruddy little shack in Metropolis, hunched over your laptop with some grass-green avocados waiting to go ripe in your basket on the counter.

Did you still have the avocado pendant? Did you still wear it?

The thought stabs at a tender part of his chest, and he forces it away.

You may not have ended things amicably, but Nathan is certain that you had at least kept the necklace, even if you don't wear it anymore.

You're too sentimental to pawn your memories.

Nathan reaches into his pocket, drawing his phone out and eyeing the lack of cell reception before unlocking his phone.

He opens the photos, scrolling through them until he finally finds what he's looking for.

He smiles. He can't help it.

You would probably be mortified if you knew that he'd taken a photo of you while you were sleeping.

But you'd just looked so damn peaceful.

He remembers taking the photo: snapping it quickly for fear of rousing you.

And then he'd watched your face twist in fear as you slept, saw your face twist into a mask of fear as you'd awoken from a nightmare.

Nathan's stomach churns at the memory of your eyes opening, then widening as you'd scrambled back at the sight of him.

He'd wanted a memento. He'd given you a panic.

Nathan's eyes skate over your face again before he tucks his phone away.

Wherever you are, he can only hope that you're alright, and keeping out of trouble.

That you're healthy, and comfortable...And goddamn, he hopes you're happy.

When you'd left, he'd been certain that you'd be back fin a month, two, tops

But you hadn't crawled back like he'd expected, and he couldn't bring himself to chase you down.

He'd hated you for a few months, but over time, that anger had melted to resignation.

Fat lot of good letting you go had done him.

He's in the middle of nowhere, struggling to hide his identity, and the media has perpetrated a rumor that he's been kidnapped—by himself.

Nathan glances up as the lights flicker back to normal.

He tucks his phone away, picking up the mug of tea.

He has to figure out a cover story, plan his covert return, send Vicki Vale on a wild goose chase, and work out who's been behind the deadly clown attacks—in that order.

Nathan makes it as far as the hallway before the lights flicker to red again.

He pitches the mug, letting out a frustrated yell loud enough to staunch the sound of it shattering against the wall.

Tag list: @blueeyesatnight ; @revolution-starter ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @foxilayde @danniburgh ; @brandyllyn ; @missredherring ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @ew-erin ; @xocalliexo ; @youngkenobilove ; @chattychell ; @lorecraft  ; @thembosapphicclown ; @emotionalsupportbatfamily ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

The Neighborhood Watch

by AlexaAffect A knock on his door roused him from his vigilance, strong and steady. Jason tucked a crutch beneath his arm, pushing himself up off the couch. In his other hand he carried the gun; his finger poised on the trigger. Bruce’s gun safety rules bounced around in his head, mingling with his father’s from years earlier. Keep your finger off the trigger unless you intend to shoot. Jason didn’t intend to miss. Another knock; more frantic this time than before. He had half a mind to yell. The curses died in his throat. The list of people who knew his safe house was short. He was leaving nothing up to chance. He leaned forward, pressing the gun against the door, and checked the peephole. Dick. Immediate relief. Or alternatively; The Joker escapes Arkham and due to a broken leg, Jason can do nothing about it. Luckily, he doesn't have to wait alone. Words: 8571, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), DC Extended Universe, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Batman: Wayne Family Adventures (Webcomic) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon & Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Duke Thomas & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd-centric, Scared Jason Todd, Anxious Jason Todd, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd is a Batfamily Member, Jason Todd is Not Okay, Jason Todd is Bad at Feelings, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Batfamily Shenanigans (DCU), Domestic Batfamily (DCU), Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Barbara Gordon, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Good Sibling Stephanie Brown, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Good Sibling Duke Thomas, Good Sibling Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Bruce Wayne, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Mentioned Joker (DCU), Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, no beta we die like jason via https://ift.tt/2rS9lZ8

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Part Seven: Findings

First Installment: Here.

Last Installment: Here.

Current Installment: You are here!

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson.

Red Sail Hall, 2 days Later

Gravel began the conversation. Tires crunching over the drive appeared just before his brother’s old green Renault Clio sedan turned onto the drive, headlights low but visible between the plants currently in their roost on the windowsill above the sink. Fucking hell. He poured whiskey into two mugs of tea. The vehicle would likely contain the balance of both his siblings and his children not currently missing or half passed out on the old table.

“Matthew,” He turned away from the window and pressed the steaming mug of tea into his boy’s fingers, handle first. He was slumped over the table, too stubborn to sleep in a bed despite the blanched cast his face and the ever deepening hollows of his eyesockets. He rested on his arm and half on the pile of documentation in front of him. Every sheet of paper had come from what felt like a thousand government departments, a thousand places that didn’t know Alfred existed, or at least not officially. Matching and rematching data, looking for any number, any letter or any word out of place. It was more something to keep him busy than it was useful. He had fought leaving D.C. like a shuttle to Dulles was the same as serving as pallbearer.

Matthew roused with a start.

“Wha—?” He’d been properly asleep. Arthur felt guilty, but shuffled papers out of the way and gestured to the mug.

“I need to tell you something.”

The grogginess disappeared. He pushed his glasses up and sat straight, eyes wide, sparking with hope. “What is it? Alfred?”

“Maybe.” Arthur said. It was, but he didn’t know how it could be. Not yet. “There... there was the suggestion of a slight anamoly.”

Matt stared at him, the flat look that spoke of annoyance he rarely verbalized. “Yeah. He magically disappeared out of his space suit. We knew that.”

“Beyond that.” Arthur shut his eyes. “It was reported to me your brother may have… been a part of a slight breaking of— well it may have involved certain—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Rhys didn’t knock, he never did. Privacy hadn’t been much of a concept when they were young. He had archival boxes in his arms and they exchanged a look as the other two removed coats and boots. It was awkward when they stood, hesitant. Jack at his sister’s shoulder, Zee’s brow furrowed, doing the calculus of what she would find acceptable. He offered tea, giving himself a way out. He needs the scotch anyway, his mug almost empty. The world had long been spinning with Alfred as the axis, but a glance left, beyond him to Matthew and she let decades collapse and he suddenly had both of them in arm.

He squeezes them. Jack is so tall, warm and bundled into a sweater and unusually solemn. He’s too bloody big to hold properly but Arthur tries anyway, suddenly desperate for the certainty of the physical. But Zee he could still hold, if only barely. It was awkward, how long he held on. He didn’t want to let go. Three children in his sight, two in his arms. Three. That'd been normal once. No longer. Zee hugged him harder than she normally did, usually giving one quick and then slipping away. She knew what was in that box.

When he let go of her, he took up the whiskey decanter and poured and drank two glasses before turning around again. A surgical sheet had been laid on the table, Matthew watching, bewildered as his days work was brushed aside.

“Is that a skull?” Matthew asked, but only looked mildly surprised.

“There is…” Arthur filled his mug for the tenth time in two hours and stood to turn. He jolted, seeing his second son, tall and sharp where his mother had been— His fist went down by his side. “There was some evidence—” He couldn’t quite say it.

Zee took over, laying ribs out as anatomically as was possible on a flat surface.

“He finally let them open up the back garden for a testpit hoping they’d find some old knickknacks and they found two corpses. And one’s him.” Rhys said.

Matthew went pale. Arthur drank. “Ones— what?”

“The chalkies went around back and dug up the old man’s extra meatsack from another dimension.” Jack clarified. Arthur polished off the rest of his whiskey.

“It— it’s dad?” Matthew collapsed into a chair, looking pale. “How is that possible? How the hell do you even know?”

“Well, seeing as our genetic material can’t be tested.” Zee pointed to a slice along the small jaw line. “We removed a tooth, and a bit of the ossified cartilage.” She pointed to the sternum and Arthur put the tip of his tongue at his back molar and shut his eyes, bidding his chest to stop hurting. He couldn’t quite remember losing that tooth, it was probably before Rome had pulled away.

"The radiation confirms the date to about the 9th century but more importantly.... Solar flare radiation is very distinct."

"That doesn't imply— how do you know it's—" Matthew's voice trailed off. Several pairs of eyes aimed at him.

“We ested for oxygen isotopes and radio carbon dating and had a discrepancy between the first century and the 10th I couldn't explain with marine carbon circulation. It's him."

He needed more whiskey.

"How did it die?" He bluntly stated.

“The cut went right through the ribs.” Arthur watched, but did not allow himself recoil as Zee’s hand came down at a violent angle. Her palm and fingers flattened into the approximation of a blade and landed on the table between two pieces of bone, human ribs worn smooth by time. Supposedly his ribs. He forced his hands to stay at his side.

Zee said more, arching her hand over his spine. He couldn't hear her words but he remembered that blow. It had only been a day and change since Washington DC and nearly 5 days since the void of his missing firstborn had opened up wounds that had not existed since before Alfred did annd he wasn’t sure if he had slept more than an hour since. He crossed his arms to hide the tremor. From exhaustion or horror he did not know.

When he shut his eyes, he didn’t see his daughter’s hand but the head of an axe. He would not remember that blow, the bite of steel into his body, slicing his ribs and opening his entire body. Shoulder to the other hip.

Someone cleared their throat.

He had understood just why Magnus had named his axe undvargr. Wound-wolf. Someone cleared their throat again. He snapped back to reality. It had sheered the skull. His fucking skull. It did not have a jaw and the empty eyesockets stared at him, over the landscape of bones.

“What?” He demanded. “What are you looking at? Is it me or not!”

Rhys looked at him, concerned in that hard way of theirs, the one that equally said ‘get a bloody grip’ as much as it did ‘I’m sorry you have to see this.’ Jack was staring, his hand hovering over Zee���s shoulder, as if he was… not afraid but uncertain.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Arthur’s head turned sharply. Matthew was suddenly there, from nowehere. At his sister’s elbow, opposite Rhys. He’d put himself where he always been once upon a time. Between his father and his siblings. Mortar between the bricks.

“Don’t be stupid.” His hand went to his back and he conceded to gravity, falling into a chair. “I’ve dug up the back garden at thousand times since ten-eighty-something. My corpse hasn’t been rotting under the bloody tudor rose for a thousand years. Your brother slid out of reality and whatever that is,” He pointed to the bones. “Slid into it.”

“And that brings me to my original point.” Zee cleared her throat. “The radiation signatures match a solar flare. Not 9th century."

"What does that even mean?"

"Alfred popped off out of our reality and the old man's body popped in."

[amyriadfthings]

So, this post happened, and then this, so then I thought okay why not, then I went out to vote, and then this little thing happened @brindlelogs

The candle on his desk went out unceremoniously after rousing him with its violent flickering.

Alfred Hillinghead adjusted his glasses and got up to stretch his aching joints and find another stump in Charlotte´s dwindling supply in the kitchen. He groaned from limbs that had gone stiff and realization that age was happening to him whether he agreed to it or not.

It´s not that he had dozed off exactly; his eyes had just gone unfocused after staring at latin terms and intricate illustrations for too long, and the flame not only jolted him back to reality, but also returned with it a helpful, neverending loop of „H e n r y“ riding a merry-go-round in his head.

Whenever he stopped to think at any point in the last 48 hours they were the only letters his brain seemed to want to string together, so he did what he could to populate it instead with any information he could find on South American butterflies exhibited in private or public collections in London over the last six years.

Back by his chair, he lit the new candle and shuffled the leaflets of various entomological associations that were strewn across his desk. He hoped one of them would hold a clue that could save his partner before he could get himself into a situation he could not get out of (because Alfred wasn´t there with him, and Henry was always so damn reckless).

He never knew London had so many passionate butterfly collectors.

But then again, teaming up with Henry was inevitably going to deliver surprises and revelations of all kinds. It´s what made him feel alive more than anything these days. That and Henry´s hands on his skin. (No, he chided himself. He must not think of that now. Nor his hands on Henry´s strong body willingly, eagerly arching up to him, fond eyes never leaving him, soft lips inviting him in, always ready to receive him… no.)

Alfred jumped up again this time, so vivid was the image in his mind. So warm Henry´s skin in his memory as if it were life and not mere thoughts he was conjuring up. He was suddenly enveloped by a need so mighty that it took his breath away and made him clutch at his waistcoat. His whole body seemed to miss Henry, after only two days. And no contact for another one at least.

Another issue was the steady stream of Henry´s voice that was gone from his ear, but not his mind.

He could hear Henry tease him, how unable to keep his focus Mr. Detective Inspector appeared to be. He´d probably even ruffle his hair, Alfred thought, which would earn him his best glare (his own hand going up to the side of his head without thinking, to imitate Henry´s touch), but that would only widen Henry´s grin and he might ask what could possibly be distracting him from his oh-so important work. He might even sit on Alfred´s armrest or...

Alfred´s cheeks began to burn when he looked down at his desk and thought back to how they had said a last urgent goodbye right on this very surface two and a half days ago, even though they had already done that and more extensively the night before.

A knock on the front door rushed him back to the present. It sounded hurried, but before Alfred could even leave the study, or wonder why the mysterious caller did not use the door bell, he heard the door open and close hastily, key turning, locking them in. The only one with a key besides Charlotte and Polly would be…

„Henry! What in the-,“ Alfred took two fast strides forward as a sodden Henry Ashe (his Henry) stumbled into the room (when had it started raining?), a cut along one eyebrow bleeding profusely down his face and staining his shirt (how long has he been bleeding??)

„Change of plans,“ Henry announced with a weak, self-deprecating smile, and winced as Alfred´s worried hands fluttered over him.

Finally, Alfred held Henry in place in front of him and closed his eyes for a second. „Alright. Sit down. Tell me everything. I´ll get the bandages.“

[smittywing]

Ficbit 9: Jason Todd/Tim Drake

Previous parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

So I hear the fandom chatter is on discord these days. Is there a Jay/Tim channel I should look into?

In the meantime:

Tim turned 18 on a Wednesday. Jason sent him a text message and did not stalk the marina. 

The party was scheduled the following Saturday and Jason tried one last-ditch effort to convince Roy that they needed to go off-planet. When that failed, he put on the jeans with the least blood and his nicest black t-shirt, and delivered himself to the Manor. 

He was exactly on time for Tim’s party but he entered through the kitchen and lingered there, secure in Alfred’s quiet presence.

“Your own birthday is in less than a month,” Alfred observed, spacing candles on Tim’s cake. Alfred remembered everyone’s birthday but Jason always remembered Alfred’s because it was the same date as his own. “Have you thought about how you would like to mark the occasion?”

He had not, but he did now, because it was a delay to thinking about the current day and the birthday celebration that he would have to bear. “I think I would like to go to high tea at the Intercontinental Hotel,” he suggested. “With my birthday twin.”

“Birthday twin.” The corners of Alfred’s eyes crinkled. “I quite like the term. And appreciate the company even more.”

Jason smiled. He watched Alfred set the candles aflame on the chocolate-frosted mocha cake, and lift the tray. His respite in the kitchen was fast coming to an end. “Shall we?” Alfred suggested, and Jason had no recourse but to stand and follow him into the sitting room where the party was underway.

The balloons were black and silver and everything looked extra polished. Tim was wearing black skinny jeans and a band t-shirt and had a ridiculous cone-shaped hat on his head, pink and purple, with a silver pom-pom on the top. He was wedged between Bernard and Stephanie and Jason wasn't entirely sure which of them was responsible for his condition. 

Duke and Cass were arm-wrestling, but instantly called a truce when they saw the cake. Dick struck up a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” that everyone save Damian joined to some degree, and Jason peeled out of Alfed’s shadow and lurked at the edge of the room with Barbara. 

“Two social events in six weeks,” she commented while Tim was blowing his candles out. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Bruce said pretty please,” Jason said, which wasn't actually a lie. Barbara snorted anyway. “Doubting my veracity?”

“Doubting your auditory comprehension,” Barbara said. Which was probably fair. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Same,” Jason said, suddenly awkward. He accepted a slice of cake from Alfred to cover. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“Time for gifts!” Steph announced to the room. 

Jason was glad he’d had Tim’s gift sent to the mansion. It was big and bulky and there was no way he’d have been able to take the motorcycle to Wayne Manor with that on the back. Of course, because he did not come over early, it wasn’t wrapped, but someone - Alfred, of course it was Alfred - had pinned a large red bow on it and placed it with the other packages and gift bags.

“I gave Tim his gift on Wednesday,” Bernard piped up. “It was personal.”

“Thanks, dude,” Steph shot back. “We didn’t need to know you got Tim a dildo.”

Jason felt the back of his neck go hot and itchy. He wasn’t a prude for fuck’s sake, but the thought of - yeah, no. Tim’s sex life with anyone else was definitely off-limits. He glanced anywhere in the room but Tim, and saw Bruce close his eyes and shake his head slightly. At least *someone* was in more mental pain than Jason.

“Well, clearly I didn’t need to tell you,” Bernard returned, which was a somewhat decent comeback if you knew Steph well enough, but it wasn’t an emphatic denial, which was the only thing Jason was willing to process.

“Perhaps this package from Master Damian,” Alfred suggested, ignoring the inappropriate conversation around him, and handing Tim said package. Tim handled it gingerly, like it might start leaking poison or explode. Jason didn’t judge him.

Tim ripped off the paper and frowned at the box in his hands. “You got me an ant farm?”

“Now that you have reached the age of majority, you may be required to care for less capable beings,” Damian explained. “Ants are very persistent creatures. You would find it very difficult to fail in your caretaking duties.” 

“Ants,” Tim said.

“There is a certificate enclosed which authorizes you to order the ants online,” Damian said helpfully.

“I’m not going to *order ants*,” Tim said. Bernard reached over and squeezed his knee. He tucked his head against Tim’s shoulder and said something in his ear.

Jason looked away.

“Thank you, Damian,” Tim said awkwardly. “I will make sure their habitat is appropriately set up before I send for them.”

Jason ate another piece of cake while Tim worked through his prodigious stack of gifts. Finally, he hit the sizable box on the bottom with its red bow.

“I love it,” Tim said, staring at the pile of metal inside the cardboard box. “What is it?”

“It’s a Webasto FCF unit. It’s AC for your boat,” Jason said, when Tim and Bernard both looked at him blankly. “So you don’t die in the humidity.”

“Oh, sweet,” Tim said immediately. “Thanks, Jay. Will you help me install it?”

Bernard cleared his throat.

“I mean,” Tim said with a glance back at his boyfriend. “Of course you’re going to help, too. But neither of us has done this before.”

Jason hadn’t actually done that before either and he wasn’t entirely sure Tim thought he did, but he was smart enough not to say anything this time. Bernard looked like he was going to ask, but changed his mind at the last minute and shrugged.

“It’ll be nice to be able to go below without boiling,” he admitted.

“Mine next!” Cass insisted with timing that made her Jason’s favorite sister. (It was a short list and Stephanie was no longer on it.) She’d gotten Tim a scarf, which, did Tim actually *need* any more scarves?

Jason skulked around the edges of the room as Tim unwrapped some video games from Duke and a new tablet from Barbara. Was it late enough? Had he been here long enough? Could he leave?

“Hey.” It was the birthday boy himself, released from the pile of gifts and nudging his way into Jason’s space. “Thanks for the AC. That was really cool of you. Ugh.” Tim rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. “The puns are totally Dick’s thing.”

“Nice try,” Jason said. “Being Robin means punning against your will.” He turned his drink in his hand. “So listen, I don’t actually know how to install that thing so I think you and Cannon Fodder are on your own there.”

“Really?” Tim asked, his face falling. “You don’t even want to help?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” Jason said. “Your boyfriend does not want me within a hundred feet of that boat. Or you.”

“Oh,” Tim said. He looked awkward. “Okay. So, um. Been to any new clubs lately?”

“Ha!” Jason barked out the laugh before he could stop himself. “Yeah, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Haven’t really been back.”

Tim nodded. “Does that mean you, um, you know. You found what you were…looking for?” he asks, and suddenly Jason’s patience, already threadbare, wore through.

“I think I’m going to go,” he said stiffly. “Happy Birthday, Tim.”

Tim looked like Jason had slapped him, but Stephanie, who had been in earshot, was right there, pulling him away. “Tim,” she snapped. “A <i>word</i>?”

“Hey, it’s been a great party,” Jason said, generally to the room, but really to Alfred. “I just, I have to go.”

And he goes, as fast as meets the minimums for decorum. Maybe faster.

He’s on the motorcycle with his helmet on when the door opens and Dick comes jogging toward him with one hand raised. Jason twists the key, hoping to peel away before Dick gets in shouting distance, but the engine turns over and doesn’t catch - today of all days? - and claps a hand on Jason’s shoulder.  Jason shrugs it off but then Dick says,

“Hey. Tim was out of line.”

Jason pauses. Everything is always his fault, he’s the one who does everything wrong, and he can’t help but be tempted by the idea that Tim has fucked something up. “He’s just trying to - “ To what? See if Jason’s gotten laid? If Jason’s found someone else? If Jason’s done his experimenting and is over it now? If Jason’s over Tim? “How many of you are going to ambush me today?” he asked instead.

“Just me,” Dick said. “Be grateful, I told Bruce not to come out, and Tim is getting an earful from Steph right now.”

An earful from Steph is no one’s idea of a good time and Jason actually wonders if Tim’s going to be okay before he scolds himself for caring. “He’s always been a nosy fucker.”

“Yeah, and it’s always been a problem,” Dick admitted. “He doesn’t do this shit on purpose but his parents taught him even fewer emotional skills than B. He doesn’t always focus on things in the healthiest way.

“Yeah,” Jason blurted out, pulling off his helmet. Guess he was staying a while. “What was that? Like a test to make sure I’m over it? I’m fucking trying. But it’s not like I feel like this…ever.” To his horror, the lawn blurred in front of him and he looked away. “It’s gonna take a while. And I tried backing off! But I keep running into him. I don’t fucking know.”

Dick took his helmet and set it on the ground. Goddammit, how was he going to roar off in a fit of rage now? At least his eyes had cleared. “I think it’s maybe the opposite,” Dick suggested gently. “Tim has hang-ups about being wanted by anyone at all. He doesn’t know what to do with multiple cute guys wanting to kiss him. You didn’t see him with that other girl and Steph back in the day. He’s a mess. That said,” Dick continued, “it’s okay for you to enforce whatever boundaries you need. Your heart matters just as much. To all of us. Tim, too. And you did a good job with that today. I just wanted to let you know.”

Jason scrubbed a hand over his face. “Thank you for the gold star,” he said sarcastically. 

“Yeah, well.” Dick shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his hair out of his face. “You should come out to Bludhaven some time. We can punch bad guys. I’ve got enough to share. It’ll be fun.”

Jason huffed out a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “I could do that.” In fact. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah, I would, too,” Dick said. The next few beats were awkward and then Dick scooped up Jason’s helmet and handed it to him. “Thanks for sticking around for that. I know I’m a pain in your ass.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, taking the helmet and looking down at it. “You are. But that’s what big brothers do, right?”

Dick smiled and Jason fitted the helmet back onto his head. “I’ll text you,” he said.

Jason revved the bike again and the engine turned over and caught. “Do that,” he said, barely audible over the roar of the engine. He pulled out onto the road and didn’t let himself look back.