#at it's core lmao

[killyourrdarlingss]

Character Interview - Dennis Dustin Monroe

tysm to @henbased for tagging me in this !! did it take forever ? absolutely! but, it was so, so worth it. and of course I chose Jacob because he can actually get info out of Dennis lol.

This is written in a much simpler style, very just one line, action, etc, or else this would have been 10k and honestly i just dont have the energy-- so script style ? kinda.  

(formatting broke please look at this work on my actual blog/desktop site for proper format, no idea how to fix this but it looks BAD on mobile, if anyone does lmk) 

TW for extremely negative views, past mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, blood.

Dennis is called in by Jacob for a chat and definitely isn’t an intimidation technique of any kind since Joseph's taken a liking to Dennis.

 Nah, definitely not. 

-

-

“State your name.” 

He falters, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, looks anywhere but Jacob’s eyes. 

  “It’s Dennis.”

  “Full name.” 

“Dennis Dustin Monroe.” a pause,

 “I really hate it though, if i’m honest… and seems like if I’m staying down here, I should be.” 

A scoff, or a laugh, a chuckle? Dennis doesn’t think too much into it. 

“Relationship status.” not asked like a question, Dennis observes.

  “Single..? I…” 

  “Really?” 

  Dennis has to bite back a comment. 

“And you're happy with that, I’m guessing?” he doesn't look amused, he just leans back a bit, exhales like Dennis is boring him.

“Being single or just in general? because it’s complicated.” 

  a pause, “for both.”

“Do you have a smoke, or something–” 

  He feels like he’s choking. 

“Are you happy?”

  Dennis bites at a hangnail, 

  “I don’t think so.” 

Jacob nods, the chair creaks under him.

  “You’re angry?” 

  “Yeah.” 

  “At what, what are you mad at?” 

He rips the hangnail from his finger, spits it away from Jacob on the floor and sucks at the blood forming.

  “Who knows.” 

Jacob’s foot taps on the floor, Dennis’ eyes shoot up, 

  “Myself–” Dennis doesn’t feel like talking but he does, his eyes are watering and Jacob’s unmoving like a stone, 

He blinks once,

  “I wish it was me.” 

Jacob doesn't prod, hums under his breath.

  “Let's move on.”

Dennis looks away.

“Your family, parents, are they married?”

  “Technically? No.” 

  “Explain.”

  “N-” Dennis chokes, coughs, his eyes water more, tears down his cheeks– he feels vulnerable. 

  More than before.

“No.” he picks at the bloody nail and moves his eyes down to the floor, 

  “I don't want to do this.”

“You will.”

  “You scare me.” 

  Jacob laughs.

“Where were you born?”

Dennis wipes the now cold tear from his face.

  “I was born in Montana actually.” 

“Are you lying?” 

  “Yeah.” 

Dennis smiles, emotionless.

  “Next.”

“I’m assuming your hair isn’t naturally green.”

  “You’re pretty smart.” 

Jacob clears his throat, Dennis jolts,

  “Brown.” 

“Your eyes are…” Jacob leans in, Dennis swallows, 

  “Hm,” there’s a smirk on his face, 

“Weird I know, I get it a lot”

  Jacob stares, grabs his chin and looks closer. 

Dennis stays stiff as a board, 

  “Brown on the left, blue on the right.”

  Dennis pulls his face away, it's his turn to clear his throat, 

“Next.”

  “You can't be older than John.” 

  “I think I know what the next question is,” 

“When you were born.”

  Dennis nods, 

  “September twenty-fourth, nineteen eighty four.” 

  “Hm.” Jacob relaxes only a bit, “You're turning forty soon.”

  “Don't remind  me.”

“Current mood?”

  “Worse now that you’ve reminded me.”

“Nothing wrong with it.”

  “I think I wasted my life.”

  “You still have time.”

“Next.”

  “You're a man, I’m assuming.”

  Dennis laughs.

“John wrote these.” Jacob looks over at a paper on a small table beside them, 

“Summer or winter, morning or afternoon.”

  “Summer, and night.” 

  They both nod. 

A laugh, it should break the tension, it doesn’t. 

  “Are you in love, Mr. Monroe?”

  “Hah–” 

Dennis feels the air break up a little bit, he still wishes he had a smoke,

  “Would it make it all easier if I was?”  

Jacob looks like he’s actually thinking but says nothing.

  “So, single, not in love, angry at the world?” 

  “Just your type then?”

  Jacob laughs a bit louder, 

“Did you end your last relationship?”

  “I've ended all of them.” 

“Don't feel bad- breaking their hearts like that?”

  Dennis sounds proud, 

  “Nah.”

“Nobody good enough?”

  “Could say that.” Dennis smirks, “only ever liked this one guy so I thought about it.”

  “Thought about?” 

  “Something longer, love maybe. Maybe I just liked his face.”

It’s Jacob’s turn to say it, 

  “Alright, next.” 

Dennis nods,

   “Can I smoke now?” 

  “Bad habit.” but Jacob hands one to him regardless, 

  “A light?”

  “Not yet.”

  Dennis puts it between his lips regardless.

“Big on physical contact?” Jacob leans his head in his hand, “Don’t seem like the type.”

  “Depends.”

  “Hugged anyone recently?”

  Dennis goes quiet, 

“Maybe.” he smiles.

  “John has stupid questions.” Jacob bites as he reads the paper, throwing the blame.

“‘Do you have a secret admirer–’ really.” 

  “Yeah you–” Dennis looks up and sees the annoyance burning in his eyes and shuts his mouth, 

  “Next question.”

  The tension is back, 

“Broke many hearts, how about your own?” 

  Dennis has to think about it, bites around the filter, 

  “Next question.” 

“You need to answer,”

  “Light this if I answer?” 

  Jacob nods, “Go on.”

  Dennis holds out the cig, 

  “The answer’s no.”

Jacob flashes his teeth as the tip of the smoke begins to burn.

  They both settle.

“The next questions are quick.”

  “Good.”

  “Lemonade or iced tea?”

  “Really?”

  Jacobs foot taps, Dennis breathes smoke in, 

  “Okay, lemonade.”

“Cats or dogs.”

  “Dogs” 

Exhales the smoke, 

  “That makes sense.”

  “Really- What if I lied?” 

  Takes another drag, Jacob digs in his pocket for his own smoke,

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Dennis grins, all teeth, 

  “You’re right.”

“Many friends or just one good one?”

  “Neither.”

  He hears a lighter click, 

  “I agree.” 

The tensions replaced by nicotine, Dennis feels looser, 

  Jacob scoffs, 

  “A Romantic night doesn't suit you.”

  “And, you know me so well, what's the question?” he can't help but laugh, 

  “-Or a wild night out.” 

  “Ah.”

  Jacob hums. 

  “Maybe I just need to try it– romance.” 

  Jacob breathes out, takes another drag, 

  “Maybe.” 

  Dennis doesn’t pursue the thought. 

“Day or night?”

  “For romance?”

  “No.” Jacob’s over the subject, Dennis can't help but tease. 

  “Night.” 

Jacob exhales slow, right at Dennis before asking the next question, 

  “Love or Lust.” 

  “Oh.” it slips out, Dennis feels heat on his cheeks. 

  Jacob stands from his chair and boxes Dennis into his own chair, hands on each armrest, leans in, 

  “ I know, Dennis.” his eyes don't move, he gasps out and tries to move his head away, suffocated, tar in his lungs. 

“You’re scaring me again.” easy to default to, Dennis braces.

Jacob brings a hand to his face,  tilting his head back to look at him, 

“If you know, why do I need to answer?

  Jacob smiles, 

“-Love.” he shuts his eyes as he says it, voice raised, Jacobs fingers press firm into his cheek, 

  “fuck– You– how do you…” 

  He lets him go, sated. 

Dennis immediately takes a drag and pulls himself together, 

  “He seemed happier, last I saw him.” 

  Dennis shakes his head, “You don’t–” 

  “I know my own brother.” 

  He doesn't say it loud, but the small change in tone makes his blood freeze and he backs down, 

  “Right. Sorry.” 

“Next question.”

  Dennis nods.

  “Have you ever?” Jacob walks closer to the table and nods, 

  “Got caught sneaking out?” 

  Dennis looks to his surroundings, bleak, gray, hospital room,

  “Could say that.” 

“Fell up or down the stairs.” 

  “Sure.”

Dennis stubs his cigarette out, 

  “About Joseph, how did you know, we were uh– I mean, I just- I don't believe you entirely either.”

He watches Jacob, eyes sharpening as he shakes his head, 

  “Have you ever wanted something so bad it hurt?”

  Dennis nods, 

  “Yeah, you?” 

  Another nod. 

“Ever wanted to disappear?”

  Dennis leans his arm against the rest, 

  “That would be nice.”

“Tell me what happened, and I’ll tell you how I know.” 

  Dennis wagers, looks at Jacob’s expression, unreadable.

  “Any more questions?”

“Preferences.” 

  “Could use a smoke.”

Jacob lights one with the tip of his own, hands it over, 

“Smile or eyes.”

  “Eyes.”

  “Taller?”

  “Mhm.”  

  “Intelligence or attraction?”

Dennis breathes in, 

  “A bit of both, I prefer smart men though.” 

  Jacob raises an eyebrow, 

  “Why?” 

  Dennis smiles, shrugs, “I think it's cute.”

  “Relationship or one night stand?”

  “You know the answer.”

  A chuckle.

A beat passes, a silence, Dennis wonders what’s coming next. 

  Jacob reads the stack of papers, lights a new cigarette,

“Your Family.”

  “No–.”

  “How was your relationship with them?”

  Dennis looks away, shuts his eyes, takes in a long breath, 

  “Standard.” he smiles, albeit shadowed by something more. “My sister Becky, Mom an’ Dad… big happy family.” 

  “Have a messed up life?” 

  “Hah–!” Dennis picks the smoke from his lips, 

  “My Mom and Sister are dead, so, yeah.” 

  “How?” 

  Dennis just looks away.

“Run away from home?” 

  Dennis nods, “I’m here, so yeah, I did. Ran away from everything.”

The recorder clicks, Jacob flips the tape inside it. 

  “After your mom died?”

  “After my sister did.” 

    Jacob looks perplexed, Dennis feels he has an edge over him with it. He goes back to smoking and the next question is asked,

  “Gotten kicked out?”

  “Technically. Dad said to make something of myself or leave. I left.” 

“So, your Mom and Sister die, and he,” Jacob pauses, exhales, “proposes that?”

  “Yep. ‘Big happy family’.” Dennis mocks.

  “Or, well, it was just us. Not much of a family at that point.” 

  Jacob grimaces,

   “Consider yourself pessimistic?”

Dennis shrugs, 

  “Next question.”

Jacob flips the page, sits back in his chair and looks at Dennis, then the page, Reminds him of his old therapist – 

  “Friends?”

  “Didn’t you already ask this?”

  “No, do you have a friend you hate?”

  “No.” 

“Do you have any friends?”

  Dennis flicks the ash of his cigarette, 

  “Are we friends?” 

  Jacob doesn't respond, 

  “Then no.”

 He flips to the next section, prematurely.

  “Best friends?” He looks tired.

  “Well,”

  Jacob looks up, goes to flip the page back over, 

  “It was Becky.” 

A pause, Jacob flips the page.

  “So, no friends then.” 

  Dennis laughs. What else is there to do besides laugh.

He can see through the page in Jacob’s hand, there's one line written stark on the paper and it has Dennis eager. Unsure how long they’d both been asking mindless questions, he clears his throat. 

  “So?” He taps the ash once more, to the damp floor, “Are we done?” 

“Who knows everything about you?” Jacob looks expectantly at him, says nothing besides the question.

  Dennis opens his mouth, scoffs, “What am I supposed to say–”

  Jacob doesn't budge.

   “Am I supposed to say me?” 

  Jacob seems amused by it all, Dennis’ slight confusion growing as he tries to stare him down.

   “It's just,” Dennis deescalates, 

   “You're acting like I should know?”

Dennis, after minutes, gives up. The other doesn’t prod. 

“Don’t worry, you will.”

The interview, or conversation, is finished. 

  The recorder is clicked  off.

Dennis stands up. 

  Jacob mirrors, speaks, 

  “Wait.”

  He does, as Jacob walks over to a white cabinet and opens the doors.

“You left your sweater on Joseph's couch.” 

The color drains from his face, and he almost drops his cigarette to the floor, 

  “I–.” it's the only word he can say as he tries to stutter out an excuse. 

The shirt is pressed to his chest and Dennis grabs it with his free hand. It seems cleaner than it had been originally. He tries not to think too much into it. 

 Jacob brings a hand down firm to Dennis’ shoulder. 

“Now, let’s try this again.” 

Pressed down into his chair once more, 

  Dennis simply nods.

[ocxmaul]

my text post collection vol. 1

[acid-ixx]

ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

[sparrowlucero]

Little alien "birds", about the size of button quails. They speak with a very melodic cantor, the holes along their "neck" forming a sort of biological flute that can produce a wide range of sounds. Human speech tends to sound confusing and garbled to them unless it's musical; they're big fans of sensible human media like Andrew Lloyd Webber's Cats and Hamilton, though the really avant garde among them might even be into deep cuts like Glee and Phineas and Ferb

[runraerun]

Eddie when Steve tries to get out of the van:

[jellyaibo]

closed species are so funny like what if i just make a design . will you fucking stop me? ooooOOoooo ill make a primagen oooOOoO THE PENCIL IS ON MY PAAAAPER OOOOoooOoOOo

[libraryofgage]

so i wrote this yesterday and now it's become a whole thing

basically: Steve is actually smart but nobody realized it until he just fixes their various STEM related problems

anyway this is Eddie's very first experience with how smart Steve Harrington actually is

also please don't call me out if my physics explanations are wrong. just suspend your disbelief, i'm begging you lmao

also also, if you see any typos, no you didn't

---

"You're going to fail my class, Munson."

"Gee, no need to sugarcoat it," Eddie mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and avoiding Miss Chester's gaze. His eyes land on one of the posters behind her desk, a cat hanging off a tree branch. Maybe it would like to trade places.

Miss Chester sighs, looking pointedly at the desk closest to hers. She waits until Eddie sits on it, legs hanging over the edge. "I'm serious," she says. "You're going to fail, Eddie. I don't want you to, but there's just some...disconnect happening here."

He appreciates that she's not totally blaming him. Most of Eddie's other teachers would've been berating him for his laziness by now. This, among other things, is why Eddie likes her class even if he can't wrap his head around physics at all. "I don't know, Miss. It just doesn't make sense."

"So I'm noticing." Miss Chester leans back in her chair, her finger tapping against her desk. Eddie immediately recognizes it as the drum beat from a KISS song. "You know you'll probably be held back if you fail, right?"

"Not the first time."

Miss Chester waves off his words, looking deep in thought. "What do you think about tutoring? I think you'll do better in a one-on-one setting. If you understand the concepts better, I can start grading you based on the work you do with the tutor."

"It wouldn't be you?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly. He's not sure he wants some random geek tutoring him. Not that he has anything against geeks, of course, but he's never known one to talk in a way he can understand. They get all...technical and Eddie's eyes glaze over whenever he overhears their conversations.

"No, I don't have the time. But don't worry," Miss Chester says, smiling reassuringly before pulling her roster close and looking down the list. "The student I have in mind probably knows more than me, if I'm being honest. He should be able to answer any question you have."

"What student?"

"His name is Steve."

Of course, Eddie immediately thinks of that Steve. King Steve. Steve "The Hair" Harrington with his blinding smile that's always looked a little strained in Eddie's opinion.

He then dismisses Steve Harrington as a possibility and reviews the other kids named Steve at Hawkins High. There's Steve Paulson, Steve Meyers, and Steve Barns. Maybe it's Barns? He's the only one that Eddie could imagine being somewhat good at physics.

"Are you open to tutoring?" Miss Chester asks. "For one session, at least?"

"Yeah, sure, one session. Won't help, though."

Miss Chester smiles like she knows something Eddie doesn't. Which, to be fair, she does. She knows a lot more than Eddie in terms of physics, at least. "I'll set it up. Just come by tomorrow after school."

--------

On his first day at Hawkins High, Steve realized two things.

One, his parents weren't kidding when they'd said public school would be vastly different from the private group tutoring he'd received up to that point.

Two, if he wanted to have a good high school experience, he needed to be cool. And being cool, it seemed, meant not being smart. He didn't need to be dumb, but he couldn't breeze through his classes, either.

He's done a good job of it so far. He's bored beyond reason in most of his classes, sure, but he's also popular. Nobody bothers him or tries to copy off of him, and it's great. He can even swallow down the weird surge of frustration and annoyance and guilt whenever his classmates assume he's too dumb to be a good project partner, or when his parents ask why he isn't enrolled in AP classes, or when his teachers give him confused looks after he aces tests for a unit he seemingly didn't pay attention to.

Anyway, he almost rejected Miss Chester's request to tutor a student from a different class period. He was just about to say he didn't have the time when she leveled him with a look so profoundly hopeful that he just couldn't. So, Steve said yes and now he's hesitating outside the physics classroom.

What if the student inside uses this against him? Steve thinks he could play it off, maybe convince his friends that the kid is lying, but he's not sure. Nothing dire would happen, but Steve would have to reorient himself to a new place on the social ladder, and that sounds exhausting.

"Just get it over with," he mumbles. Then, before he can chicken out and just leave the other student hanging, he opens the door and steps into the classroom.

Miss Chester isn't there. Steve knew she wouldn't be. She'd said something about a department meeting that would take her time but leave them with the classroom to themselves.

The only other person in the room is Eddie Munson, bent over a notebook and furiously scribbling on the page. He looks up when the door opens and freezes at the sight of Steve. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Eddie breaks the silence by asking, "What, get lost on your way to the locker room, Harrington?"

Steve blinks, frowns slightly, and takes a deep breath. Okay. Fine. Eddie Munson it is. "Nope. Miss Chester asked me to tutor you," he says, because that's the only reason another student would be in this room after school has let out.

Eddie laughs. He nearly falls out of his chair with how hard he laughs. He's wheezing and clutching the edges of the desk by the time Steve moves another desk to face him and sits down across from him. "Are you done, Munson?" he asks.

"Holy shit, you're serious," Eddie says, his voice slightly strained and his face red from laughing. "No fucking way Steve Harrington is here to tutor me in physics. You probably don't even know what two plus two is!"

"It's four. Do you know what 12 times 40 is?" Steve asks, watching as Eddie blinks.

"I'm not a fucking calculator, man."

"No, you're not. It's 480, by the way."

"You could've just memorized that."

Steve sighs and reaches into his bag, digging around some before pulling a calculator out. He places it on Eddie's desk and says, "Ask me something."

Eddie looks at him like he's grown a second head but still pulls the calculator closer. "1,239 plus 378."

"1,617."

He watches Eddie use the calculator, feeling smug when his face twists into confused disbelief. He then puts the calculator down and frowns at Steve. "So you can add, big whoop. Doesn't mean you can teach me shit about physics."

"Won't know until we try," Steve says, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin in his palm. "So, what don't you get?"

"...All of it. Just assume I don't know shit."

"You don't know Newton's laws?"

Eddie snorts, looking back down at his notebook. "There's that motion one and the reaction one," he says.

"Right. Newton's first law and his third. What about the second?"

"It's just...some equation or some shit."

Okay, Steve is starting to get an idea of where things stand. He thinks for a moment before asking, "What kind of stuff do you like?"

"What?"

"What do you like?"

Eddie looks so shocked by the question that he doesn't really think before answering, "Heavy metal. And, uh, D&D, too."

Steve knows heavy metal is music, and he could work with that but the D&D Eddie mentioned might be better. "What does it involve? The D&D?"

"It's a fantasy role playing game. Like, using your imagination to go on adventures with friends and stuff. Needs dice to work."

Oh. Perfect. "Do you have dice with you?" Steve asks. After another brief pause, Eddie nods and pulls one out of his pocket. He passes it over and watches as Steve turns it between his fingers. "Oh, an icosahedron. Cool."

"A what?"

"Icosahedron," Steve says, looking at Eddie. "It just means a twenty-sided polyhedron."

Eddie still looks confused, and Steve is about to explain it again when Eddie says, "Just call it a D20, dude."

"Oh. Sure. Anyway, let's use this," Steve says, rolling it between his fingers before letting it clatter to the desk. It bounces a few times before settling, a 17 facing up. "Do you know what made it stop moving?"

"The desk. I'm not an idiot, Harrington."

"I didn't say you were, Munson," Steve replies, leaning back slightly. "Just...yes, the desk stopped it. This is Newton's first law. If the desk wasn't there, it would have kept falling until it hit the floor. It stopped bouncing because it lost power each time it hit the desk. An object, the D20, will stay in motion, falling, unless acted upon by another force, the desk."

"That...kinda made sense," Eddie says, blinking a few times.

"Great!" Steve says, unable to help the bright smile at knowing Eddie understood him. "Okay, for the second law, the equation is mass times acceleration equals force. Basically, the movement of an object depends on how much it weighs and how much force you apply."

"Aaaand ya lost me," Eddie says.

"Okay, uh, you fight things in that game, right?"

"Yeah, kind of the whole point."

"Right, yeah, and the stuff you fight comes in different sizes, right?"

"Well, an orc isn't gonna be as big as a dragon, is it?"

Steve isn't really sure what an orc is, but he nods anyway. "Right. So if you want to move a dragon, you need to land a stronger hit than you would need for an orc."

"Duh. You're not gonna fell a dragon with a basic cantrip."

"Not sure what that is, but yeah. For this example, moving, or defeating, an object, or a dragon that weighs more than an orc, relies on how much force you apply, which is the strength you use."

"Oh. So, because an orc weighs less, I don't need as much force to defeat it," Eddie says, grinning as he fidgets with his pencil. "This doesn't really sound like math, though."

Steve shrugs. "We'll get to the math part later. Right now is basics. You need to understand those to do more complicated stuff. So, the third law, this is the action-reaction law. Music might be better for it. What happens when you strum a guitar?"

"It...makes a sound. Because it's an instrument."

"Well, yeah, but do you understand how the sound is being made."

"By...strumming it?"

"Yeah, that's part of it. Sounds are vibrations in the air that we can understand. If you touch your throat while talking, you'll feel your voice box, your larynx, vibrate to make the sound of you talking."

He waits as Eddie does exactly that. While holding his fingers to his throat, Eddie says, "Didn't know it was called a larynx. Oh, fuck, yeah, there are vibrations."

Steve nods, waiting patiently as Eddie hums for a few minutes before looking back at him. "So, vibrations. Instruments make sound because playing them causes vibrations. When you strum a guitar, the strings rapidly move back and forth, and that movement is translated into notes."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but yeah, I'm following you."

"So, the action of strumming a guitar creates the reaction of the strings vibrating. That action of the strings vibrating creates the reaction of air rippling, and those ripples create the reaction of audible noise. Did that make sense?"

"Yeah. It did," Eddie says, his voice soft as he stares at Steve like he's really seeing him for the first time.

Steve shifts uncomfortably, unused to this aspect of himself being known so well by someone at school. He's almost tempted to end things now and apologize to Miss Chester for walking out halfway through a tutoring session. Steve is practicing the apology in his head when Eddie says, "Hey, by the way, sorry for earlier."

"What?" Steve asks, trying to blink away his confusion and failing.

"You know, earlier, when I laughed at you? Pretty shitty of me to do. So, yeah, I'm sorry."

"Oh." Steve stares at Eddie for a few seconds before his shoulders relax. "It's fine. I'm not exactly known for being smart."

"Why not?"

"It's just...easier to let people think I'm dumb. Most of our classmates look at me and think I'm just, you know, a typical jock. They don't expect more from me than that, and I don't expect them to look any deeper."

"Does anyone else know, though?"

"My parents and the teachers. And you."

"Well, don't worry, big boy. Your secret's safe with me."

"Big boy?"

"Don't like it? Would you prefer Stevie?" Eddie asks, grinning as he leans in and exaggeratedly waggles his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve can't help snorting at the sight. "Whatever. Just call me what you want, Eddie," he says.

He tries to ignore the weird swooping in his stomach when Eddie's smile gets wider and he says, "You better not regret it, Stevie."

[morticia-707]

Just escaped from prison thx to my ex husband and his new bf from the future xoxo 💋

#CharlesplstakemebackImsorryforthebullet-

[spinatch]

girls <3

[carpbait]

got shadowbanned for posting too much starscream 😔

[aiiwa]

[starry-bi-sky]

Stillborn danyal al ghul au incorrect quotes - dpxdc au

Vlad and Danny, fighting for the nth time this month: Danyal, exhausted: hey if i call you dad will you like. Stop. I have a test tomorrow. Vlad, has a parental bone in EVERY part of his body: *immediately stopping* Vlad: What do you mEAN YOU HAVE A TEST. WHY DIDN'T YOU LEAD WITH THAT-- Danny: BECAUSE YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL DR. FENTON AGAIN, VLADIMIR.

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

Danny, flopping into bed facefirst: i need sleep or rehab. again Tucker (maybe?? I haven't decided yet who he's friends with): i thought you were clean Danny, into a pillow: not if this keeps up.

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

Tucker: favorite superhero go Sam: Wonder Woman Danny: the Flash Tucker: Okay Sam's is obvious but, Danny I would've thought you'd say like, Martian Manhunter or Superman or Starfire. But Flash?? Danny: i had a foster in Central City for a few years and met him, he's a really nice guy. He made me promise to invite him to my high school graduation and is part of the reason I made it to rehab and ended up getting rehomed and picked up by the Fentons. Danny: I have a hoodie with his logo on it in my closet, i saved up to buy it and its the first thing I got with the allowance the Fentons got me

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

Danny wearing three layers and a scarf in the middle of summer: *shivering* Sam: how are you cold you're literally made of lava Danny, hissing: lava cools at contact with the air and I'm trying to keep my body temperature at a reasonable level, SAM. Tucker, touching Danny: you feel warm to me Danny: to YOU

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

Danny:...i could eat lava Tucker: Sam: Danny: Tucker: do it. no balls Danny, getting up: bET--

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

Danny: Dash: The Both Of Them: *under the bleachers to smoke/vape* Danny, smokes: I wont tell if you won't tell Dash, vapes: ....deal

-----------

Danny, breaking into Vlad's lab: YOU FUCKER QUIT-- what the hell is that Vlad, working on his newest invention: Language. ....And it's something I'm working on, go away Danny: what? no, fuck you. You're trying to kill Jack again and this looks interesting. I was gonna come beat you but now I'm curious what the hell this is (Vlad spends a good hour explaining what he's doing before they start arguing and Danny starts a fight)

------

Danny laying on the ground staring the ceiling, feeling like shit: Jazz, popping by his room: ,,,what'cha doing, Danny? Danny: Danny, internally: 'Jazz says i should be more open' Danny: considering the benefits of relapsing Jazz, immediately stepping into the room: oh okay so lets talk.

-----------

Danny, meeting Robin as Phantom for the first time unaware of his identity and his own birthright: Robin: Phantom: Phantom: fuck you Robin, a 12 year old: fUCK YOU

-----------

Vlad: Jack Fenton iced me out of my early adulthood and got you, his foster son, killed by his own invention. He is a danger to society and I personally want him dead. Danny: okay, cool motive still murder. Danny, louder: I DONT NEED YOU TO TAKE REVENGE ON MY BEHALF

-----------

Vlad, grabbing Danny's shoulders: aren't you tired of being nice Danny: Vlad: don't you want to go apeshit Danny, in the american foster system since infancy, was in rehab at 11 years old, has been fucked over metaphorically, emotionally, physically, ten times over: Danny: i feel like we need to have a talk

----------

DP/Regular DPDC Vlad: *gripping by the shoulders* DPDC Vlad: how Stillborn Vlad: what DP/DC Vlad: how are you getting him to like you. Stillborn Vlad:,,, well first off i don't torture him so jot that down Stillborn Vlad: second of all, like is a strong word. Stillborn Vlad: Daniel only likes me on tuesdays and when i show him how to make fireballs

[wizardwomenwisdom]

steve and eddie pre-season 4 doing divorced parent swaps of dustin after hellfire meetings.

at first, when steve hears dustin’s becoming friends with eddie, he doesn’t really care. it’s not his business, honestly, and if his friendship with robin’s taught him anything it’s that cliques in high school mean so little.

it’s only when dustin’s mom pulls him aside one day, when he drops dustin off, that he begins to worry. because dustin’s the last on the list of hellfire members to get dropped off in eddie’s van, and there aren’t seats back there, and honestly eddie’s driving is bad on a good day.

so at first, steve offers to start driving dustin home from the high school. and the way dustin acts, well, steve feels like he just offered to take out an armed russian guard again. after a bit of arguing, he gets to the bottom of it: dustin likes hanging out with everyone on the ride. and since the way to his place passes the closest micky-d’s, eddie and garath always take him to get dinner.

so they make a deal: steve’ll meet them at mcdonald’s, pick dustin up, and take him home so his mom stops stressing. it’ll be a quick weekly hand off.

only every friday, when he pulls into the lot, eddie’s standing outside waiting with a few sarcastic quips. steve and he almost always argue about dustin while dustin finishes eating (“if it were a sports car you wouldn’t give a shit about seatbelts” “that’s why i don’t drive a fucking sports car to pick him up, dick.”) (“you’re late.” “i had a date.” “and he has a bed time.”) (“i get that your campaign is important, but he has a c in latin right now.” “i can’t make him do homework if he doesn’t want to.” “you most certainly can.”)

the first time robin comes with him, she spends the whole ride to the hendersons giggling. when dustin’s finally out of the car, steve turns in the driver’s seat and crosses his arms.

“out with it, buckley. what’s so funny?”

she blinks twice, and then starts laughing again. “what’s the custody agreement look like between the two of you?” she manages.

“what?”

“do you not realize it?”

“realize what?”

“you and eddie ‘the freak’ munson have spent the last three months doing a quintessential divorced parent drop.”

“wait, wait-“

“the arguing? the mcdonald’s parking lot? the weird pseudo-flirting?”

“i do not flirt with eddie.”

“does that make me dustin’s shitty step-mom?”

“robin!”

“oh my god.” she’s laughing so hard at this point that she can’t breathe.

steve shifts back into the driver’s seat. he doesn’t say anything until they’re back on the road, and robin calms down, and his face is sufficiently red. finally, he manages a “fuck you, buckley.” which starts robin into another laughing fit.

steve’s extra aware of how eddie calls him sweetheart next time they meet up.

edit: wrote a fic of this lowkey.

[hood-ex]

Batman #149

[dustykneed]

oh.....old married spones...... the old men yaoi ever

[rosy-crow]

This is so funny