#the older heroes are horrified

[moonlightcycle571]

Lmao I just had a fantastic vision.

The JL fighting a multiversal threat, and the for keeps disappearing into different universes/worlds. While everyone is coming up with ways to travel to apprehend the foe, Captain Marvel has an idea.

Batman: so far, our current multiversal technology is subpar and unable to go at the rate the villain is going.

Flash: while I can travel through universes, it’s going to take a while to l’acte which one they’re on, and even then, they can leave before I even do anything.

Superman: we need a reliable tracker and transport system. Both being crucial elements we don’t have

Captain Marvel: I have an idea.

Cue to the JL all on a random sidewalk, with the clear instructions to ‘wait until they arrive’ and to ‘not move or interfere in any way shape of form’.

Random Truck: *appears out of nowhere, hitting a random pigeon*

JL: huh

Marvel: well that’s going to be an interesting story. Anyways, there you are! Guys, meet Truck-kun!

JL: excuse me???

Truck-kun:

Marvel: Their a bit shy ☺️

JL: …

Truck-kun: *blushes*

JL: how is that even possible??!??!?

They proceed to go in and go through some weird interdimensional car chase, passing by random worlds, spawning through random streets (for some reason, most of them are in Japan), and more importantly, hitting A LOT of people. Old, young, middle aged, animals, even a vending machine at some point. It’s just a slaughter.

The JL is horrified, and Cap is just sitting in his seat, all chill.

Green Lantern: DID WE JUST HIT SOMEONE

Marvel: yup

Superman: AND YOURE DOING NOTHING TO STOP IT

Marvel: nope

Batman: Captain that kills people

Marvel: it’s not killing, more like transporting them into a different universe that is more suited for them. Had we not hit them, they would have died either ways within the hour. Now they get a second chance of life.

JL: *existential crisis*

Even after the villain is apprehended, they found out they only managed to get this far is because they had a magic car*

Hawkwoman: *stares at the car* how does one come across thee vehicles

Marvel: well I met Truck-kun cause he’s besties with my magic Train. Train-chan told me that Truck-kuns little brother Car-kun got abducted, which is why Truck-kun was so willing to help.

JL:…

Flash: I’m going to go lie down.

Batman: *mentally adding magic vehicle community to his conspiracy board*

Bonus:

Green Arrow: *retelling what happened* -and then some random Truck pulls up

Conner Hawke: lmao you met Truck-kun

Green Arrow:

Conner:

Black Canary: … how do you know that name?

Conner: w h a t

Bonus 2:

Naturally Conner tells Damian, who tells Jon, who tells Kon, who tells the Titans and basically the whole thing spreads.

Red Robin: YOU MET TRUCK KUN! THE GREAT ONE HIMSELF

Spoiler: THE ALL MIGHTY WHEELS OF STEEL

Cyborg: WHY WASNT I INVITED! CAP YOU LBOW HOW MUCH I LIKE MY ISEKAI

Blue Beetle: JUST CAUSE YOU GASLIGHT DOES NOT MEAN YOURE A GIRL BOSS

Superboy: SHARING IS CARING

Arsenal, lying on the road: TAKE ME

Bonus 3:

Static Shock: next you’ll be telling us you know Archie’s magic bus

Marvel: well I’m not sure I know who this ‘Archie’ is, but Train-chan does have a cousin called Bus-san.

Titans: *explode*

[kwamiwayzz]

rewatching naruto as an adult is realizing that the uchiha genocide written as a good thing gives extremely questionable implications

[lovesour]

musings below

[wonderjanga]

The Justice League has been around for nearly twenty five years. Its original members have grown old, and if they haven’t grown old, they’ve grown tired of heroics. Except Marvel. Yeah… for some reason, he’s still here. He’s still a hero too even though he should be like 60 something. They think this because Billy just adds thirty years to his age whenever they ask. So, when they first asked his age:

Flash: “Hey, Cap, how old are you?”

Marvel: *pauses to think and do the mental math* “Forty.” (He’s ten)

Flash: “Forty!? You’re older than me!? Also, why’d you have to take some time to remember how old you were?”

Marvel: *shrugs*

Flash: “Dude, that’s actually a little concerning.”

So yes. Twenty-five years later and Marvel should be sixty-five. (Billy’s thirty-five) This all left the JL slightly concerned as to why he hasn’t retired yet.

Marvel: “Settle down?” *thinks their talking about getting in a relationship with someone* “I don’t want that.”

Supes: “But can we ask why? Marvel, there are people who can take on your role. Junior or Mary are plenty capable.”

Ah right, Junior and Mary’s Marvel forms don’t look like kids anymore. As they grew into adults, their Marvel forms grew with them.

Marvel: *frowns* “I still don’t want that. They’re already their own heroes, they don’t need to take over for me.”

Flash: “We know that… but aren’t you a little too old to still be doing this?”

Marvel: “Old? I’m not that old.”

He really isn’t. He also doesn’t look it either. He still looks like the same thirty year old guy from when they first joined. He hasn’t really aged a day.

Marvel: “I don’t want to retire. Not yet.” *thinks they’re being preposterous*

And they were to Billy, but that’s because he wasn’t thinking with the “add thirty years” mentality, he was thinking with the “I’m only thirty-five” mentality.

Flash: “You kinda are, bud.”

At first they had assumed he was like Wildcat. Not wanting to retire because he still liked being a hero. They were right, but Billy didn’t actually need to retire. Not yet at least. He still has another thirty years. He even said that to them.

Marvel: “I still have at least another thirty years in me!”

Supes: *sounds horrified* “You’re going to be doing this until you’re ninety?!”

Marvel: “Maybe?” *confused at the sudden horrification* “No? Probably? All I know it’s that I still have to become a Wizard since the current one is dead.”

Flash: “What???”

[evilminji]

Ya'll remember Ace? Bat-hound?

No WAY Cujo became a Ghost and He did not.

Is he a little lost? Maybe. This is not his beautiful home. This is not his beautiful, maladjusted, Bat Family. Who are you people!? Where IS he!? This place is FAR to cheerful and green to be Gotham!

But he is Bat-Hound. A PROFESSIONAL. A HERO. He can handle this. He just has to track his humans down... through... whatever this is. If Krypto can fly, bless his mostly empty, hyperactive head, then so could he! It can't be THAT har-*Thwonk!*

.....no one saw that.

But what's this? A helpful young pup? Cujo you say. Ah, he too, was once a gaurd dog. Cujo, lad, he seems to be lost. Could you...? You WILL! Fantastic. But wait? You're worried about your Young Human?

*Bat Concern Rising* *Doggy eye squint*

WHY?

*cujo spills the frankly horrifying beans about Danny's home life*

.........ha ha, NOPE! We can be having THAT! He's coming too! Bruce LOVES young humans! Especially sassy ones. He'll adopt him in no time! You grab the older one's, I'll grab the baby. Then we can head home, yes? You'll love gotham! Plenty of scoundrels to chase!

Cut to the Bat family. Damian is training Titus in the yard. Rare sun-ish day. It's a cook out. The Kent's are over. When?

Titus and the Supers both perk up. You hear that? Somethings about to-

*reality RIPS* *Ace the Bat Hound, dead for over a decade, jumps through... THE SIZE OF A HORSE. He is holding a struggling small preteen girl in his mouth* *Splat*

He dropped her. Eeeeeeew! She is loudly protesting. There is a SECOND dog. Green. Two more teens, clearly related to the first. Dumped on Bruce's lawn.

Ace looks proud of himself. Shrinks to normal size and pads over. Plops down in front of Bruce like he'd never left, tail wagging. Still in costume. He's glowing.

The burgers burn on the grill. No one can bring themselves to notice or care. Damian is elated. Krypto is fly wrestling is bestest buddy. Bruce is having a nervous breakdown over his dead dog.

Clark is calling their co-workers and trying to STOP the nervous break down.

Lois is just feeding the strage kids the dogs brought. Asking some casual "I'm totally not an investigative reporter" type questions. Who wants chips? Have a towel.

Ace? Is a Good Boy. 🐶

@hypewinter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @ailithnight

[bogleech]

I can't count how much media, from adult to little kid's media, has had some scene where someone plans to drop a weapon in a populated area, potentially killing civilians because they think that's worth killing the Bad Guy, and the entire world agrees that in this narrative that character has become as evil or more evil than whatever they thought they were fighting. That choice is presented as a horrifying thing absolutely everywhere, except when it finally happens in real life and is going to kill real people, and suddenly half the world wants to argue that no, that's exactly what Heroes do apparently.

The most recent movie I saw with this exact moment in it was Nimona but when I was a little dumb baby I was learning this lesson from even the fucking Ghostbusters and Ninja Turtles. When we were little spongy minded infants we could comprehend that it was objectively something only a cruel and terrible person ever even considers. And guess what???? The real life adult world actually isn't more complicated. Not at all. This isn't something you find out is more nuanced as you get older. There's nothing to debate about. There's no "well, actually" to be stated. Someone who kills bystanders is exactly as one-dimensionally evil to the fucking core as a cartoon bad guy, and any good person should want to do absolutely anything in their power to stop them at any and all cost.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 4: Foxes and Sailfish]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), awkward interactions on a boat, making friends in the Vale, references to war-related violence, Aemond flashbacks haunt the narrative, Red and Jace share an exciting new experience!

Word count: 5.8k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

The fireplace crackles, there’s smoke in the air. The shards of seashells take shape on the board as you affix them with paste made of boiled bones, unloved bodies you’ve scavenged: rabbits, foxes, deer, weasels, squirrels, snakes, turtles, birds. Sometimes Criston will find you searching for carcasses in the garden or the Godswood—a basket full of skulls and ribs, hands covered with dirt—and beg you to go back to Maegor’s Holdfast where you belong. He says: Please, princess, let me do that for you. I’ll bring you all the bones you need. This is too grisly a task for young ladies. And then, when you try to refuse him: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. And so you accept his offer and surrender your basket, knowing that being the daughter Mother wishes you were will always require pretending.

Aemond is in bed, freshly rid of his left eye and floating in a silent, pearlescent lake of milk of the poppy. He is unconscious for now, but he can only have a dose every six hours, and when it begins to wear off he becomes feverish and fearful. You can’t leave him. Aemond is a year older than you, always just a little bit wiser, always quicker and steadier on his feet; you have never known a world without him in it. But now he is the one who needs you. This is a strange feeling.

Mother, Criston, Helaena, and Maester Orwyle are always gliding in and out of the room—whispering, grim-faced ghosts—but at the moment you are alone with Aemond. A shadow appears in the doorway. It’s Aegon, and his face is marred too: there’s a bruise on his cheekbone from where someone hit him, Grandsire or Mother. He is slumped against the doorframe with a goblet of wine in his hand. He takes a slurp and uses his cup to gesture to where Aemond is sleeping. It’s a question.

“He’s alright, Aegon,” you say. “He’s resting. He’s healing.”

He licks his lips and skims his fingerprint around the rim of the goblet, pensive. “I wasn’t there.”

“None of us were.”

“Does he blame me for what happened?”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“But you would know if he felt it.”

Would I? Sometimes you don’t believe you know Aemond as well as they imagine you do. There have always been things he doesn’t tell you. You didn’t know he was planning to claim Vhagar. He is unpredictable, he is a deep reservoir of secrets; he taunts you, he guards you, he ignores you, he comes rushing back. You say to Aegon: “I don’t think he blames you.”

Aegon exhales, drunken exhausted relief. “Good.”

Beneath blankets that Helaena has embroidered with legends from the Age of Heroes, Aemond stirs. His remaining eye—glazed, drugged, an empty anemic blue—flutters opens and drifts to you. “Now we know why you don’t have a dragon,” he says, weak and raspy. “The price has gone up. They cost an eye each.”

You paint a sliver of a cerulean-colored shell with glue. “I’d pay that if I knew it would work.”

Aemond asks, as if it has been weighing on him: “Do I horrify you?”

You smile softly. “No more than you did before.”

From where he still loiters in the doorway nursing his wine, Aegon snickers. Aemond grins, then winces from the pain it causes him. “What are you making?”

“It’s Symeon Star-Eyes,” you say, tilting up the mosaic so he can see it better. “You read us that story, remember? He was a knight who used a staff with blades at both ends to cut down his enemies. He was blinded in combat, so he replaced his eyes with sapphires.”

“Sapphires,” Aemond mumbles drowsily.

“Yes.”

“Blue.”

“Like you,” you say, thinking of his game piece: the blue wolf, a mournful color, a beast that kills.

“Hm,” he murmurs to himself as he sinks back into sleep; and it’s not until Aemond’s wound has healed that you learn of the idea you’ve given him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Vermax is not an especially imposing dragon, a drab sort of green and smaller than Sunfyre, but he is frightening enough when he bares his teeth. He snarls and snaps at you, unloosed fire roiling up in his throat. You stand perhaps ten paces away from him, flinching away from the heat that refracts the air and puts ripples in it like disturbed water. Jace is attempting to soothe Vermax, a palm pressed to the beast’s scales. Rhaenyra and Daemon are watching, confounded.

“Mother wasn’t exaggerating,” you tell them. You are crestfallen; this is a humiliation. You have silver hair and undisputed parentage, and yet Jace is the one whose egg hatched. So who is the true Targaryen?

“Very, very peculiar,” Daemon muses, scratching his chin. He turns to Rhaenyra. “Make her get closer, let’s see what happens.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra says impatiently. In the light of day, you can observe her face more clearly. There are dark semicircles under her eyes, and lines that didn’t exist before Luke was killed. She is ten years closer to the grave than she was the night her father died.

You cannot see the riots from where you’re standing in the castle courtyard, but you can hear them, the ambient rumbling of people rejecting Rhaenyra’s rule. They decry the slaughter of Jaehaerys. They shout demands of proof that the imprisoned Greens are alive and well: Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor, you. Fear of Rhaenyra’s soldiers and her dragons may delay their wrath, but you don’t believe she can quell it. High overhead, Sheepstealer sails past the Red Keep, casting a massive shadow. Rhaenyra’s frown deepens. Daemon pretends not to notice.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra sighs, summoning Jace to return to her and abandon his attempts to quiet Vermax. Dutifully—though perhaps not without resentment—he acquiesces. Vermax is still growling at you. You glower back, wishing that Vhagar was here to eat him. “There are other ways to get to Heart’s Home. A ship will take longer, ten days or two weeks depending on the wind. The journey should be safe. The Sea Snake’s blockade controls Blackwater Bay, and the Greens have no navy.” Rhaenyra looks to you. “That’s still correct, isn’t it? The usurper was refused by the Greyjoys?”

“I don’t know,” you lie.

She gives you a disapproving glare and then turns her attention back to Jace. “Alyn of Hull can take you to the Vale in his ship. I’m sure Corlys can manage without him for a matter as important as this. I’ve sent a raven ahead to the Corbrays. They’ll be expecting you, and you’ll be married upon your arrival, with Lord and Lady Corbray serving as witnesses. You have until then to get accustomed to each other.”

Jace begins to mutter a protest, low enough that you can’t hear. Rhaenyra shushes him. Vermax takes flight and soars out towards the ocean. You step closer to the castle wall and listen to the clamor of the crowds, willing them to rise up and free your family, to destroy Rhaenyra’s. Daemon stalks you around the courtyard, unsheathing Dark Sister and whistling so you know how near he is. You refuse to acknowledge him.

Rhaenyra is telling Jace: “When the war is won, the Greens’ surviving loyalists will accept you as my heir if you are married to her and father her children.”

“What about Aegon? What if Aemond and Criston manage to smuggle him into hiding somewhere, and then one day he reappears and—?”

“Aegon won’t live,” Rhaenyra says confidently. “From what we’ve heard, his burns must be dreadful. He will succumb to them, hopefully slowly and with great pain, and in the meantime Aemond and Vhagar will be pinned down in the eastern Crownlands tending to him. And even once Aemond is unincumbered, he will not want to fly into battle against Caraxes and Sheepstealer together. Vhagar is fearsome, but she is old and slow. Aemond is cunning. He knows this.”

“You told Alicent we’d pardon him,” Jace says, and his tone is accusatory. How could you? How dare you?

“I said I’d spare him if he’s still alive when the war is over,” Rhaenyra replies with a sharp glance. “So let’s make sure he isn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner is sailfish, which you’ve never eaten before. All afternoon you saw them zipping through the water as Alyn of Hull’s ship cruised out of King’s Landing and towards the Gullet, their sapphire dorsal fins cutting up through the surf. Then the crew caught some and hauled them up onto the deck—large bulging eyes, toothless mouths agape as they suffocated in open air—and you watched as the fish were gutted and their scales and organs scrubbed from the planks with seawater that turned rosy with blood. Refuse washed back into the ocean: bones, fins, disembodied eyeballs dragging tails of optic nerves.

Alyn is a bastard of Corlys Velaryon, you’ve gathered; he is young to have been entrusted with his own vessel, and the resemblance is undeniable. He is chivalrous but very strict. You are not permitted in the room where several caged ravens are kept in case Alyn has to send a message back to the capital. You are not permitted to stand too close to the ship’s railing. You are not permitted to handle anything that could be used as a weapon. You are not permitted to converse with the crew. In truth, you are allowed to do almost nothing.

Now you are below deck, you and Jace seated at opposite ends of a long wooden table and alone except for two guards posted by the door. Tall white candles flicker, wobbling in their brass stands as the ship rocks. You drink too much wine and pick at your sailfish, pinkish lumps of meat seasoned with garlic and lemon juice. Jace pushes roasted parsnips and green beans around aimlessly on his plate. You can’t stop thinking of the family you’ve left behind: Mother and Helaena in a dungeon, Jaehaera and Maelor taken hostage by Rhaenyra, Daeron at war in the Reach, Aegon horrifically burned, Aemond and Criston battling to save him.

I shouldn’t be safe while they’re suffering. It’s wrong, it’s treasonous. I’m the least worthy of us. I’ve done nothing to help us win this war. I haven’t saved anyone.

You keep hoping for a vision of what Aemond is doing, what he is feeling, but you’ve never had any control over the glimpses you get into his mind. They are random, and brief, and fragmented. You don’t know if Aegon is still alive. You don’t know if Aemond is thinking of you.

“So that’s why you don’t have a dragon,” Jace says suddenly, and you look up at him, startled. He’s staring at you from beneath the dark curls that have fallen over his face, the mark of House Strong. He’s not entirely unappealing, if you don’t judge him as a Valyrian, an enemy combatant, a traitor. You can’t tell if Jace is being smug or sincere; you barely know him. “Because they hate you.”

Mother’s words resurface in your skull like sailfish dredged up from the waves: If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.

You aren’t sure how to earn anybody’s affection. With everyone you’ve known before you either had it or you didn’t, and that never seemed like something you could change.

“It’s not for lack of trying,” you say, fidgeting uneasily with your wine cup. “I tried to claim Vermithor when I was a child. He nearly killed me.”

Jace’s dark eyebrows go up. “Did he? On Dragonstone?”

You nod. “Grandsire arranged for us to visit the island while your family was travelling elsewhere. Driftmark, maybe, I don’t remember. I had always wanted Vermithor, and I felt…I knew that if I found him he would bond to me and let me ride him. I followed him all over Dragonstone for days, but he kept moving, and then…when I finally got close enough…” You’d outrun Criston and the other guards, but Aemond had been there to pull you out of the path of Vermithor’s flames; yet you don’t think Jace will want to hear this. It feels impossible to extricate Aemond from your memories. You’ve never known a life he was not intrinsically entwined with. “The Bronze Fury made his discontentment clear.”

Jace narrows his eyes and gives you an ironic smile, as if he’s thinking: Too bad you lived. “So you gave up.”

“Oh no, I tormented the others too. Silverwing, Grey Ghost, Seasmoke, none of them were very welcoming. I don’t recall Sheepstealer being there at the time…maybe he was feeding elsewhere in the Crownlands. I’d know if I’d seen him before, I think.”

“Sheepstealer is very…unique in appearance.”

You smile at the memory of Grandsire calling him hideous, then go somber when you remember he’s dead. “Grey Ghost was sweet, though. He didn’t attempt to burn me, he just flew away.”

“You’ve tried all of those dragons?” Now Jace seems genuinely intrigued. “Just…one after the other?”

You shrug and swig your wine. Jace gives you a disapproving glance; you put the cup down and begin eating instead. “I wanted a beast for myself. Everyone else had theirs, it seemed inevitable that I would find mine if I searched long enough. I even approached the Cannibal.”

“The Cannibal.” Jace shakes his head and forks sailfish into his mouth; it’s the first bite he’s taken tonight. “You were desperate. Or stupid.”

You smirk. “Or both.”

“What color are his flames? Green, like his eyes?”

“No,” you say softly, remembering the massive black dragon covered in spines like the stalagmites of a cave. “No, the Cannibal’s dragonfire is red.”

“Do you think yourself to be…” Jace gestures vaguely with his fork. “Lacking in some way? Less capable than Helaena or your brothers?”

This is a rude question. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I must be inadequate, or I would have a dragon.”

Jace seems to contemplate this as he eats.

“Why do you ask?” you provoke him, before recalling you’re supposed to be winning his affection, if such a thing is possible, and you very much doubt it. “Are you concerned I’ll pass this fault on to my children?”

“Well, it’s an interest of mine,” Jace says. “Locating dragonriders. What makes someone alluring to the beasts, as well as what doesn’t. This war will be won by dragons, I’m sure each side aspires to have more of them.”

You study him, taking nibbles of your sailfish. Recruiting dragonriders outside of the immediate family is not something Aemond would ever consider; he would not trust them, he would view them as supplanters of the natural order. But a bastard himself… “Was it your idea to find someone to ride Sheepstealer?”

Jace grins, cagey and teasing. He spears green beans with his fork. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

Because I can’t be trusted with the Blacks’ strategies. Just with birthing their heirs. “I didn’t know you had ideas.”

“Yes, well, Mother and Daemon try very hard not to notice them.” He points to your braid with his knife. “Do you wear your hair like that because of Visenya?”

You touch it self-consciously. You’re surprised he noticed. “Yes.”

“She married her brother,” Jace says, and this sounds like an accusation.

“She was also fearless, and dangerous, and she had a dragon.”

“Unlike you.”

“Right.”

Jace chuckles to himself. Now he is certainly being smug. Somewhere out in the night, Vermax is trailing the ship and will reunite with Jace once you’ve docked at Heart’s Home. You keep listening for Vhagar, imagining that Aemond will sense it as you sail near where he and Criston are tending to Aegon at Rook’s Rest, and he will fly to you and torch this ship and bring you home like he’s always promised. But perhaps Aemond is forgetting you. Perhaps he resents that you cannot help him win the war; perhaps he is beginning to hate you. Oblivious, Jace eats his sailfish.

“I had a bat named Sailfish,” you say.

Jace is puzzled. “A bat? Like…?” He makes flapping motions with his hands.

You smile and nod. “I kept bats.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoyed them,” you say, and again you must stop yourself from mentioning Aemond. He cared for them because I did. “They horrified most people, but the children thought they were adorable. I’d teach them how to hold the bats and feed them bugs and fruit, and Jaehaerys couldn’t stop laughing when they licked honey off his fingers…” Then you shudder and go quiet, because you cannot think of Jaehaerys without seeing his hemorrhaging, headless body in Aegon’s arms.

Jace frowns down at the table. The wooden beams of the ship groan; the candlelight flickers. “Just as Mother and Daemon do not often heed my suggestions,” he says carefully after a while. “They do not share many of their plans with me. I knew nothing of what my stepfather arranged to happen that night. And if I had known, I would not have allowed it.”

I don’t believe you can control Daemon at all, you think. But instead you reply hoarsely: “I’m glad you recognize it for the atrocity that it was.”

“I know I’ve spoken harshly in the past. But if you are truly to be my wife, I wish for us to be in harmony as much as possible. I hope you feel the same way.”

“I do.” You don’t have much of a choice. How can you sleep with a man who hates you, who you hate in equal measure? “And Jace…I didn’t know what was going to happen to Luke or Baela. I had no part in either of their deaths.”

“I can’t…” His voice breaks; he swipes at his dark glistening eyes, like flecks of onyx. “I can’t talk about them.”

You are alarmed. “Jace—”

“Goodnight,” he says as he leaves, already halfway across the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first time you’re together—at your vanity, late for dinner—Aemond doesn’t try to put his fingers inside you, and he doesn’t the second time either, or the third, or even the fourth. And this is just fine as far as you’re concerned, because the way Mother has mentioned the duty of a wife implies that there is a great deal of sacrifice involved for the woman, discomfort, pain, even harm, and what you have with Aemond—despite its many peculiarities—has never been painful, and you don’t want to ruin it. You don’t want to find out what other women mean when they talk about boredom and dread and blood.

Then one day you are in the garden, and you and Helaena are trying to teach the children how to play the game with the animal pieces, but they must not be quite old enough because they won’t listen. Jaehaera pokes Jaehaerys with Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Maelor chomps indifferently on Daeron’s purple shadowcat. You and Helaena laugh and give up the attempt as maids swoop in to corral the children.

“We’ll try again in a few months,” you say. “Perhaps they’ll be more tame by then.”

Helaena begins to gather up the game pieces. “We should ask Aegon to carve new animals for the children. Jaehaerys likes seals…” Then her hands go still and she stares at someone who’s standing behind you.

Before you can turn, Aemond leans down to where you’re kneeling on the cobblestones, grabs your braid, and wraps it around his fist. “Follow me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Why? Where?”

“Follow me,” he says again, more forcefully now. “I’m not asking.” Then he releases you with a rough shove and walks away.

You rise from the cobblestones and go after him, weaving through the paths of the garden, fountains trickling and flowers blooming and bees droning in the air. Aemond glances back to make sure you’re in pursuit, then disappears into an arbor grown over with roses, a tunnel of red blossoms and snagging thorns. Aemond sits on a stone bench that is draped in shadows and hidden from view; no one will see you unless they enter the tunnel. You can hear the distant sound of the ocean waves, and gulls and bluejays and the red-tailed hawks the noblemen hunt with. You take a seat beside Aemond, and immediately he lifts your legs so they rest across his lap, reaches beneath the hem of your maroon gown with his right hand, skims his way up the inside of your thigh as you pretend to fight him, all the while smiling and needing him closer, all your blood and muscles screaming for him, your bones aching like fractures that must be set.

“Look at me,” Aemond commands, catching your jaw in his left hand and holding you still, the transparent blue of his eye fixed on your face, where he reads every line and movement like a dead language, like the High Valyrian almost no one left can understand. “I want to know if I’m hurting you.”

Beneath your gown, his fingers are stroking you, waiting for you to be wet and relaxed enough, parting your lips.

“Are you afraid?” Aemond asks.

“No.” Maybe you should be, but you aren’t.

There is an unfamiliar fullness, strange but not unpleasant, and then when Aemond’s fingers begin to move inside you, you moan softly and close your eyes, breaking the spell. He lets go of your jaw and his palm shifts to cradle the side of your face, to bring you in closer, to hold you against him. And now you know that when he finally takes you, as a husband does a wife, it will be painless; and it will never be something you warn your silver-haired children about with dark resignation in your voice.

“What if they won’t let us marry?” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, dreading this more than anything. You don’t know that Targaryens and their dragons will soon be dying. “What if they send me away to wed some lord in the Reach or the Westerlands or the Vale?”

“Then I’ll find you,” Aemond says. “And I’ll burn down his castle, and I’ll bring you home.”

“You’re a monster,” you purr; but there’s a grin on your lips as he kisses you, something scalding and primordial like magma flowing beneath the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

Heart’s Home is a small grey castle in a vast grey world, the shadows of mountains filling the horizon, the sky overcast and bleak and the air tasting like metal. The last time you were in the Vale was as a girl, when Aemond pushed you into a frigid stream and you caught a chill that almost killed you, and he never apologized but he slept on your floor like a dog so he could be there to climb into bed and hold you when you shivered, and surely that is a greater sort of repentance than two vanishingly small words that anyone could say and perhaps not even mean.

You and Jace disembark from Alyn of Hull’s ship on the banks of where an inland river meets the saltwater of the Narrow Sea. Outside the castle walls, Heart’s Home has a stable and a sizable field, surely green and fertile in the summer, that is surrounded on three sides by a thick forest of coniferous trees. Cawing ravens perch on the branches; a hunting party emerges from the pines accompanied by braying hounds and carrying corpses of foxes to be skinned. You are greeted warmly by Lord Leowyn Corbray—who is tall and ancient, over seventy years old—and his wife Lady Carolei, around fifty and very round, with dark hair and pale skin that the harsh mountain wind rubs pink. While her husband fawns over Jace—“We were so honored by the queen’s request,” “We will ensure that your every need is attended to, Prince Jacaerys”—Lady Carolei Corbray watches you with an amused little smile, as if there are many questions she is impatient to ask you. Then you and your betrothed are ushered into the castle and served mutton pie full of gravy and vegetables, dark bread slathered with butter, blackberry oatcakes for dessert. You drink too much wine, because you know what will happen next. Jace does not reprove you this time; he’s drinking a good amount of ale himself.

The people of the Vale worship the Seven, and for all you know Jace does too, because there is no mention of a Valyrian wedding with fire and blood. Instead you exchange your vows in a tiny sept with plain glass windows and cold slate stones. A weathered, bony septon presides over the ceremony, and Lord Corbray stands in for your dead father. Even if Viserys was still alive, he wouldn’t feel like much less of a stranger. You are covered with a maiden’s cloak of your house—Lady Corbray announces proudly that it was sewn especially for this occasion—but it’s wrong, because they’ve used the old black and red sigil of House Targaryen rather than Aegon’s banner, a golden dragon on a green background. But you suppose it’s fitting because Jace’s cloak isn’t right either, as it depicts the seahorse of House Velaryon rather than the tri-colored flag of House Strong.

At the septon’s direction, Lord Corbray removes your cloak from your shoulders and Jace covers you with his own. And once you’ve exchanged the requisite words and Jace kisses you—him swift and uneasy, you trying not to flinch away—you realize that this is the first time you can remember him touching you. On the journey northward, Jace would sometimes find you pacing the ship’s deck and ask you silted, shallow questions: What kind of weather do you like best? What are your favorite desserts? Do you prefer swimming or horseback riding? What colors do you favor? Your nightly ritual was trying not to discuss your murdered relatives over dinner.

You are put to bed in a grand chamber at the top of one of the castle’s towers. There is a fireplace where logs snap and hiss, and a rug made of a shadowcat’s pelt; a chandelier of lit candles hangs from the ceiling. Through the window, you can see a silvery full moon obscured by clouds. You and Jace—freshly bathed and wearing loose, cotton nightclothes—wait in the quiet once your hosts have left, the blankets pulled up to your waists. All the bedlinens are white, you realize; you don’t think this is by accident.

They want to know if I’m truly a maiden. They want to know if I bleed.

You have no idea if you will or not. Nothing that Aemond has ever done to you has resulted in blood.

I don’t want it to hurt, you think with abrupt panic. You look around for a jar of oil, olive or rose or peppermint, something to help him enter you. You open the drawers of your nightstand and are disappointed to find them empty.

“What are you doing?” Jace asks.

“Nothing.” You can’t explain without revealing you know more than a virgin should.

Jace turns to you. “You really haven’t done this before?”

Your nervousness must be evident. Surely no whore who had already been defiled by her monstrous brother would be sitting here wringing her trembling hands. “No.”

“Okay.” Jace takes a deep breath. He seems resolved to be brave for both of you; that is a husband’s burden, after all. “I haven’t either.”

“But you’ve…I mean, you’re a man, it’s different for you. You have experience of some sort, I assume…?” With Baela? With anyone?

Jace blushes and can’t meet your eyes. “I’m not above temptation. We kissed a few times.”

This is not reassuring. “Do you think you’ll be able to…? With me?” The daughter and sister of enemies?

He nods and smiles faintly. “Oh yeah, I think it’ll all work as it should.” Then he looks at you, dark eyes, dark curls, not ugly but not who you’ve ever imagined you would give yourself to. His gaze settles on your braid. “Here,” he says, and then he gently begins to unravel it.

You aren’t sure what to do. You’re not going to hit Jace, or fight him, or shove him or grab him or scratch him, and so you don’t know where you should put your hands. Once your hair is loose, you sink down to the soft feather mattress until you are lying flat on your back. Jace yanks off his shirt and tosses it to the floor, then he leans towards you, gesturing to your nightgown.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“Sure,” you say, and help him pull it off you. Even beneath the blankets, your bare skin feels the chill of the night air, and with the apprehension and fear there is something else too, a longing, a craving that has gone unsatiated. It’s crude to think, but it’s true: you’re used to being fed, and you haven’t been since Aemond went away.

Unexpectedly, Jace’s eyes don’t go to your breasts or lower; instead, they catch on the scar that cuts down from your left collarbone. He touches it with careful, weightless fingerprints. His voice is tender. “What happened here?”

“An assassin’s blade,” you say. “The night Jaehaerys died.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Here—in bed, in the firelight—he is not Rhaenyra’s eldest son and someone you are supposed to hate, someone who is a threat to your life, someone who once played a part in Aemond losing his eye. Here Jace is just a man, and you are naked, and beneath the blankets he is taking off his cotton trousers and then positioning himself between your legs. You are a little wet already, you can feel it, but you know you need more, you know he needs to make you ready with his fingers and his mouth, but Jace isn’t aware of this and you can’t tell him.

You gasp as he starts to push himself inside you, overwhelming burning pressure. “Jace, I’m afraid.”

He stops and looks down at you with seeking, sympathetic eyes. His skin is flushed, his breathing quick. If you could read his face, you’d think it says: What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything. “We can stop.”

“No, just…just please go slowly, okay? Please don’t hurt me.” No more than you have to.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, and then—perhaps because he doesn’t know what else to do—he kisses you, and at first it is formal and unnatural like it was in the sept, but then Jace’s lips begin to move with yours and the kiss glows warm like embers. Your fingers go to his hair—not a Targaryen’s, a Strong’s—and tangle in his curls. His hands explore your breasts, grazing and circling your nipples with his fingertips. You wrap your legs around Jace as his tongue darts into your mouth, wanting this, maybe even wanting him.

Jace thrusts into you, and there is a moment of blinding pain that makes you cry out; and for everything that has been said about Aemond—a monster, a murderer, violent and arrogant and wicked—nothing he has ever done to you has hurt like this. Immediately, Jace moves to pull away, but you stop him. “Don’t.”

He shakes his head. “But you’re hurt—”

You hold his face in your hands to make him listen. “I’m alright, I promise. Just wait here, just give me a moment.”

“Okay,” Jace sighs into your throat that’s damp with perspiration. He kisses you there, tasting your salt, fear that has turned to lust. “Okay, okay…”

Already the pain is fading, and your muscles are relaxing, and you are slick with wetness to ease the razored friction. And it’s nothing like the way Aemond knew how to touch you—you are nowhere near a climax—but still, there is something pleasurable about it, there is something nice about being tangled up with a man this way again.

“Go on,” you tell Jace; and he rests his forehead against yours as he thrusts into you, very slowly, and he’s shaking all over, and between breathless kisses he is moaning, in shock that a feeling this good exists, in mindless ecstasy, and then he spills himself inside you and collapses onto your chest, still kissing you, thanking you, asking if you’re alright. Before you can answer, he throws back the blankets and examines the sheets. When you look down, you can see that between your legs is a stain of pale pink, a miniscule amount of blood.

Is that all? you think, relieved. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so good either, but it was tolerable. And it will get better.

“No, no, no,” Jace murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. He is distressed, he is repentant. “I wounded you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be alright, Jace,” you say, rather amused.

He crawls back to you and lies down beside you on the bed. He is struggling to keep his eyes open. “You weren’t lying. You’ve never done that before.”

“No.”

“I won’t hurt you again.” He kisses your cheek. “My wife. My princess.” And then he rests his head on his pillow and within a minute he is snoring softly.

“My prince,” you whisper, trying it out. It doesn’t feel right yet, but maybe one day it will. You have to clean yourself off; Jace doesn’t know this about women, but you do. You climb out of bed, and Jace stirs as you leave.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s a reflex he’s repeated a thousand times, like it takes no thought at all. You stare bewildered at him. Jace’s eyes are still closed. And you think of Aemond—suddenly, with great clarity, as Jace sleeps in your shared bed—and you will yourself to be able to see where is and what he’s thinking. But there is nothing: only silence and firelight and the full moon hovering in the overcast, indigo sky outside.

Is he thinking of me? Does he feel lost too?

You have the maids draw a hot bath and you wash it all away, the sweat and the blood and the wetness and Jace’s seed that might give you a child with the unruly dark hair of the Strongs, and still you cannot stop thinking of Aemond.

Did he love me then? Does he love me now?

Back in your bedchamber, you gaze into the flames of the fireplace and try to remember the sound of Aemond’s voice, but you can’t. It keeps bleeding into the words of other people: Aegon, Daeron, Maelor, Jace.

[monster-disaster]

Me again from the male monster and human woman ask about the monster thinking he’s going to be eaten after sex.

I had a few follow up thoughts…

Scenario #1-

Male monster is worried about his human wife not having enough nourishment during pregnancy because she did not eat him. So monster brings home tons of food to try to get her to eat more. Some foods are quite “questionable.”

Scenario #2-

Male monster’s female relatives try to kill him *comedically* because they think he’s being a horrible father/spouse for not dying for his future children/wife. The female monsters then proceed to ask the human woman how’d she’d like him prepared to eat. (Baked, boiled, roasted, fried, etc.)

The female monster relatives had yet to be informed that humans don’t kill/eat their spouses. So it’s tragically funny when the male monster introduces human woman to his large female family, as you’ve added on to.

Gods, I still love this!

Scenario #1 And imagine the poor monster's guilt every time his wife has morning sickness during pregnancy. He thinks she has a difficult pregnancy because she didn't eat him. Just one look at his husband, and she knows what's going on in his mind. Even the thought makes him nauseous. "I won't eat you!" "What about an arm?" The monster asks. He could definitely live with minus one arm. It wouldn't be a problem. Every time he says things like this his wife feels like she is in a weird horror movie. "Just stop it!" And the next second, she is bending over the toilet again.

Scenario #2 His female relatives are a bit disappointed when they see that he is still alive, but his young male cousins! He becomes a hero in their eyes! They look at him with hope shining in their eyes. "You are still alive." The monster grins, proud. "I am!" His older female cousin just grimaces. "But why?"

Scenario #3 Imagine our monster boasting about not being eaten after sex! And he tells it to anyone who listens! It's definitely a horrifying and weird experience for everyone but hey, he doesn't care, he is still alive!

And one more scenario When he meets Reader's family for the first time and sees her male relatives with their family and kids. So it's true! She really won't eat him! He grew up with females, and watching her girlfriend's male relatives fitting in the family opens a whole new world for him.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

I just got the best idea! Vampire villain with a strong moral code who refuses to feed on blood, making themselves weak with hunger. Hero notices and purposefully cuts their finger on villain's fang to get them to eat🤍

The villain had never thought they could be overpowered by a human. It was terrifying to say the least.

Once the blood was in their mouth and the hero's hand off their throat, the villain started to suck on the hero's finger involuntarily. The instinct was ancient, something older than the vampire themselves. They had forgotten how good fresh blood tasted.

However, they could collect themselves pretty quickly.

"You're stupid," the vampire whispered. "You had a perfect physical advantage. You could have killed me..."

"Take more," the hero said, pushing their finger into the villain's mouth quick enough to make them gag. This time, the villain grabbed their enemy's wrist and nearly pushed them off their hips.

"I'm good," they said through gritted teeth. The vampire didn't really enjoy it when the hero was so adamant about absolutely everything they did. The hero always found a way to get what they wanted. They were a pain in their ass. Annoying and heroic.

"You're still pale," the hero said. "Interesting..."

They pushed the villain's chin up and managed to slip one finger under the villain's upper lip, lifting it to examine the villain's fangs as if they were a doctor.

"I am a vampire," the villain reminded them. "Sunlight doesn't turn me to ashes but the sunburns are out of this world."

"And you are sure you are fine?" the hero asked. They turned the villain's head to the right and then to the left, continuing their examination. Christ, they even put their hand on the villain's chest to search for a heartbeat.

"I'm great, just - get off, will you?" The hero stood up but the villain still needed a moment. They feared they would pass out again if they stood up.

They looked around the room but there was nothing. No furniture. Just a door that looked like it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

What a joke.

"You know," the hero said, hands on their hips, "this is actually quite interesting. I certainly didn't expect my dear nemesis to end up in the same cell as me. I guess they wanted you to eat me. A little grotesque if you ask me."

"But not too far-fetched," the villain said. They pushed themselves up but ended up leaning against the wall. "Hunger turns everyone into an animal."

"You still don't look too good," the hero said. Once again, they kneeled beside the villain. Their hand raked through the villain's hair and stopped on their forehead.

The villain didn't know why the hero was always so touchy. They never crossed any boundaries and the villain actually welcomed those soft hands on them, but still...it was strange. Strange to feel someone's warm skin on theirs like this.

"How much blood do you usually drink?"

"God, I don't know...I'm trying to quit." The hero stared at them. The silence was uncomfortable and the villain didn't know if they had said something wrong.

Then the hero huffed.

"And you say I'm the stupid one." They rolled their eyes. "So, severe undernourishment, I guess. That's why you're so weak."

"Ey, I am alright-"

"Which makes this even more baffling. What is an undernourished vampire doing in a supervillain facility?"

"What is an annoying hero doing here?"

"Saving a dumb vampire, apparently."

"Ugh. I was experimented on," the villain said. The hero had probably saved their life. That was something the villain certainly did not want to think about. Gosh, the hero was so annoying with their caring nature and their stupid curiousness. When they looked at the hero, though, they looked horrified. "No, all of it was voluntary. I got some money for it in return. Nothing bad, really."

"I got caught when I tried to steal some documents. They weren't that nice to me." The hero lifted their shirt and the villain saw two giant fresh bruises. The hero's ribs were definitely damaged.

"Shit..." the villain mumbled. "Scoot over. Are you okay?"

They let their fingers ghost over the hero's skin. Unsurprisingly, the hero flinched and threw their head back, cursing quietly.

"Looks broken. We need to get you out of here," the villain said.

"Wait, the experiments...they knew you were trying to quit with the blood?" the hero asked. They let their shirt fall down again but the villain couldn't help but think about the bruises.

Their own injuries healed pretty quickly. But they had totally forgotten that this would take days, maybe even weeks for the hero to get better. Humans were so fragile. They feared the hero could fall apart any second.

"...yeah, they encouraged it even."

"Great," the hero said. "This is the next phase of their experiments, then."

The villain stared at them. They thought they were on rather good terms with the company.

"Wait, you don't mean..."

"Yup. They really want to see if you'll eat me," the hero said. "Which also means we are definitely under surveillance."

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 24 - "Is it over? Is it really over?"

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Implied menstions of experimentation, and torture

A/N: My brain came up with two options… I went with the sorta angsty one…

They had raided the facility. It had been a plan they had carefully prepared for months now. Batman had gone over all possible scenarios. But it was a needed preparation. They had discovered it too late. Being prepared for ever eventuality was the least they could have done.

The entire Justice League had been horrified when they had discovered this governmental organisation what was committing sanctioned mass genocide of an entire interdimensional race. An Organisation called the GIW, Ghost Investigation Ward or more commonly called Guy's in White. If Doctor Fate, Zatanna and Constantine hadn't found out about them they probably would have never discovered the atrocities their government was committing.

But this had led to a large-scale operation. They started locating any and all locations the GIW possessed and was working on. Tracking any and all Agents that were working for or with them. Every company that was supplying them was looked into deeper until they had every little bit of information they could find.

With all the locations found they then split into teams. Planning a simultaneous strike to all facilities so that one could not warn the other. They would not let a single Agent of this organization escape. They all would be brought to justice.

Batman had not been surprised that the moment his children were clued into the operation, that some of them were ready to go off on their own to do something. Luckily they all were aware enough of the high risks and how many lives would be at risked if even only one of them messed up.

Four months. It had taken four months of thorough planning, of meticulously strategising, and careful preparation. But now everything was ready. Finally after so long the night to strike came. Originally the other heroes wanted to strike at daylight, a tactic to make it as public as possible to also gain the public opinion in their favor.

Batman had disagreed. It was better to strike at dusk or night. When their guard was down to easily overwhelm them. They could make a clear and evidence based statement to the public the next morning throughout all news channels and news times. Superman, as Clark, had already published several papers throughout the months of preparation that would play into their favor.

They had prepared for everything, arresting every Agent, every Scientist, every Guard. Everyone they encountered was knocked out, bound and prepared for transport into arrestment. He did not scowl any of his children when they used more force than necessary, quite frankly if Batman didn't have his own moral code and self control he might not have held back after what he was seeing.

Thad did not mean that he might have hit one or two of these so-called Scientists harder than necessary if they resisted. There were so many cages, so many 'ecto-entities' bound, branded and caged. Batman felt visibly sick when he came across labs with tables stained in green, knowing exactly what that meant after having listened to Doctor Fate's explanations.

They had gone through nearly the entire facility they were in charge of when Superman reported back first. "There was a boy in the deepest part of the facility, bound and hocked up to what appeared to be the facility's energy source. See if you find anyone with similar treatment in your locations. The Boy is rescued, he appears delirious and is pretty much snarling and growling at me but he is in safe hands now."

"Can confirm! A girl was found in my location in the deepest part underground. Same situation as you described. She didn't appear to be conscious, we took her off their system and transferred her to immediate treatment." Wonder Woman chimed in a moment later and Batman lips formed a straight line.

"Same here. It's an older man, face is familiar. He was shortly lucid enough to talk but all he asked about was where the children were. He might be connected to the kids you two found." Flash also reported after a while. Now Batman was more than sure, there were only four big locations aside from several small ones. His was the last one and his stomach sunk even more at the possibility of what he would find in the deepest part of this place.

His prediction was confirmed when he kicked open the door of the last room they hadn't checked yet. Nightwing was by his side, while Red Robin, Red Hood, Black Bat and Robin had hung back to take care of the evacuation of victims as well as arrest of the last GIW workers.

Nightwing let out a string of actual curses.

There in this room was a white haired teen in a ripped NASA shirt and green stained jeans, hooked up to several tubes, bound with silver shining and heavy looking chains to a wall. There was a green strain on the flooring directly below the boy and the green pipes appeared to be pumping more of it from as well as into the teen.

"Get him off the wall!" He instructed hurriedly, checking for the best way to safely unhook the teen. They appeared to be unconscious but with the report from his hero colleagues he wouldn't bet on that too much. The teen might just be too exhausted to actually react to what was happening around him.

"He can't be any older than Red…" He heard his son mutter as he broke the silver metal bindings and Batman couldn't help but agree. He didn't want to even know how long the teen had been here like this. They had been too late, they should have known about this entire things sooner. But at least they weren't too late to save them in particular.

Suddenly the teen stirred, head snapping up. Blazing Lazarus green eyes stared at them and Batman froze, feeling reminded of his second son. The boy didn't say anything, he was just staring at them before, eyes going from his broken bindings to Nightwing, to the unhooked tube in Batman's hand. He saw how the teens eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"You are not with them…" The teens voice cracked from obvious disuse or maybe overuse? He couldn't know for sure. Still he made a sound of agreement before continuing to unhook the last of the tubes.

"We already freed the others, you're the last one." Nightwing was forcing his voice to sound light and friendly. Batman knew this, he could sense the internal rage his son was suppressing. In a way he was glad it was Nightwing with him, his other sons might not have had the same control over themselves in this situation.

"What about Ellie, Dan and the fruitloop?" It took him only a short moment to connect this question to the possible three reported by the other.

"Rescued and in treatment." He answered curtly, removing the last tube while his son broke the last chain and binding. The teen fell forward like a ragdoll, Nightwing instinctively catching him.

"I can't believe it… this isn't a dream…" The white haired kid muttered, eyes going unfocused and Batman worried that the teens system was going into shook. Did he unhook the boy from the tubes too fast?

"Is it over? Is it really over?" The teens started to sound delirious and Batman shared a look with Nightwing. His son nodded as he moved to get a better hold of the teen.

"It is." His son told him voice was going soft. "Rest for now, the next time you wake up you will be free and with Ellie and Dan."

"Don't forget Vlad, he is still a fruitloop but a good one…" the Teen mumbled before finally passing out. Batman gave Nightwing a nod before the other hurried out of this place with the now passed out teen while he reported his similar finding to Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash.

He stood in the now empty room letting his eyes wander over it one last time, checking for any evidence he should keep before deciding to leave too. There was a lot to prepare for, the news, the public statement, the aftercare and treatment of the victims. Batman ignored the fleeting thought of who was going to take in their four main victims, especially the children and teen. Surely his kids wouldn't mind if he provided them a temporary home, right?

[strawberryshortcake1495]

Lil Stanley AU…☹️

Instead of being 15 minutes older than Stan, Ford is 5 years older. Because of Filbrick’s abuse and Caryn being busy with her “job”, Ford had to raise Stan on his own while working hard to impress his parents. Now, Stan was 12 and Ford was 17. Stan had grown dependent on his big brother, often clinging onto him and begging him to help him build the Stan-o-War. Ford didn’t have a lot of time for his little brother but he always tried to make ends meet. He often sang lullabies to his little free spirit whenever he’d have a nightmare, and the six-fingered boy would be the first to defend Stan against Filbrick, despite his weak stature. The whole college and perpetual motion machine goes the same as canon, but it feels even more heartbreaking since Stan is a little kid here. He’s just a baby boy who’s desperate not to lose his big brother and be left alone with his father. Once Ford finds out Stan broke his perpetual motion machine, he can’t control himself. They argue in front of the TV and the fight ends with Ford punching Stan, and grabbing his face aggressively just like Filbrick does. This causes poor little Stan to have a horrific panic attack and crawl upstairs. Ford stares down at his six fingers and is horrified when he sees blood on it. He’s a monster. A monster who hurt his little free spirit because of some stupid school and some stupid metal. When Filbrick and Caryn enter the room, Ford just stands there frozen. He can’t tell his father because he doesn’t want Stan to get into more trouble than he already has. That night, Ford goes upstairs to apologize to Stan for lashing out but when he enters his room, he finds Stan’s room empty with the window open. Fear shoots through the teenager when he realizes Stan had run away. He spent 3 days looking for his little brother. His free spirit, his baby Stanley who’s seen him as nothing but a hero. All he did was hit the poor kid and yell at him, and that would be the last interaction they ever had. For no matter how hard Ford looked, he was never able to find Stan.

What happened to Stan? Maybe he’s out there somewhere, having somehow become rich and famous and having the time of his life without his awful family. Or perhaps he was hit by oncoming traffic as he scrambled away from the family pawnshop. We’ll never know. What we do know is that Stanley Pines, the baby of the family, Ford’s little free spirit, will always be haunting him wherever he goes.

Until the end of time.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #3 Oh Brother,

Imagine dis…

 We all read and heard about the lost son of Bruce Wayne and also the Lost twin of Damian Al Ghul Wayne. 

 But what about the lost brother of Bruce Wayne?

 On the night of the 26th of June, The young Bruce Wayne didn’t just lose his parents but also his brother. After murdering both of their parents the gunman, Joe Chill turned his attention to the boys, one young teen who could not be older than 16 keeping his young 8-year-old from seeing the corpse of their parents. Thinking that it is better to leave the scene with no witness fired two more rounds in the direction of the children and quickly turned tail.

 Daniel Wayne covered his little brother’s body from the bullets catching the two rounds with his own body. Catching the horrified look of his younger brother, feeling the blood in his mouth as well the fact that his own body is shaking from what had just happened in a matter of minutes. Grabbed his brother’s shoulders, smiled, and hugged him so tight as he knows that his brother is not allowed to follow him or his parents to the afterlife for a long time.

 As his consciousness fades he catches the teary-eyed brother of his, trying to catch him before he hits the pavement.

 …

 Clockwork frowns at the timelines between the two realms, one who is not supposed to exist, exists while the other who is supposed to be born is not to be born thus collapsing the timeline of both realms but with the recent development to the other realm made him have a difficult choice. Guiding the young Daniel’s soul to the other realm to replace what was lost.

 …

 Danny grew up feeling missing something, with absentee parents and a parent sibling it's no wonder what he would have missed. 

 Maybe he missed the times when his parents were actual parents to them instead of focusing their attention on their machines.

 Maybe it is the life he had before the tragic accident that changed him.

 Maybe it is the normality between him being a ghost hero and being a normal teen.

 But…

 Every time he saw two brothers playing near Casper High, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing.

 His ghostly core and human heartache for the familiar setting to the point he kept seeing a younger “double” of himself.

 Don’t get him wrong he can create clones of himself to help him during fights but this “double” is different from him he looked like someone he missed so dearly while he looked like someone who has the same delicate face as him.

 Which would be impossible if it was always been him and Jazz alone in the house full of things that could potentially end his existence.

 The phantom pain he would feel from bullets on a specific month, day, and time, instead of electricity made him quickly go to Frostbite and Clockwork.

 Frostbite explained that it is quite normal for a newly formed ghost to feel the phantom pains of its reason for death.

 But he died from electrocution, not from bullets.

He went to Clockwork but the moment he saw the figure of his grandfather mentor he couldn’t help but sense a feeling of dread.

 …

 Clockwork knew that in each timeline there would be a day and time for his grandson apprentice to ask about such ire that had been bothering him ever since he became a halfa. Each time he tried to prolong the inevitable but it seems that he was caught off guard for today. 

 …

 Clockwork explained to Danny his crimes to him and his soul. How the Master of time itself forced him to live a life just after he had ended his first one.

 Danny’s mind may have had a million thoughts at the time but at that moment he only cared about two things.

 Who has he been before and what happened to his brother?

 Clockwork explained He was Daniel Thomas Wayne the firstborn son in the union of Martha and Thomas Wayne. He used to live in a manor with his family grandfather/butler, he gained a little brother that was named Bruce Wayne. On the day of his former death day, his brother kept pestering their parents to go to the movies as they have been busy and Bruce felt that he was alone, being loving parents they indulged Bruce in his pestering as they too noticed them being too busy. On the night they went to Crime Alley for a shortcut to Wayne manor, they were ambushed and killed, and his parents were.

 Shakingly, Danny begged to see Bruce, his core ached for his missing family, his brother. Bruce his little brother, hoped that he didn’t follow, he hoped that he is doing fine.

 Clockwork didn’t respond but showed him a one-way mirror-view of his former dimension. There the mirror shows a familiar dining room, with a grown man who has black hair and striking blue eyes talking to a younger boy named Jason as Alfred serves Bruce’s morning coffee.

 Danny could not help but smile, his little brother is all grown-up. Starting a little family of his own, Danny’s only request is to be able to visit Clockwork’s haunt to observe his little brother.

 Each visit made him learn more about the man his little brother turned into.

 He turned into a vigilante protecting the people in Gotham, his favorite soup stayed the same despite the fact he used to eat that soup with someone else, he has an adoption issue (He could not blame him though, not when he adopted both Dan and Dani), then his little brother went and adopted a sentiment starfish from outer space, that he owes his nephews and nieces a ton of gifts from missing their milestones, and many more…

 But he wished that he was there as well…

 When Jason died at the hands of Joker, when he was lost in the time stream, when he learned that he missed a decade's worth of his “blood” son’s life, the death of Damian, not protecting Barbara from being shot by the Joker, letting his demons run his life…

 He just wished he was there to hold his little brother in his arms as he protect him from the dangers of the world just like he had done when he was Daniel protecting Bruce from his nightmares as well the monsters under his bed.

 After a reveal went wrong he gathered up his human friends and flee toward the zone after destroying everything related to ghosts and the realms.

 Taking up the mantle of Ghost king he made sure that he still have time to observe his family on the other dimension.

 …

 Meanwhile, in the DC universe, Ra Al Ghul and Lex Luther had created a bioweapon that turns ordinary people into some sort of zombie slaves of the Lazarus pit minus the death part of being a zombie. Things got out of hand both villains and heroes are scrambling to contain the bioweapon virus as well as looking for a cure as it has spread from Gotham, Metropolis, Star City, and more big-name cities. They could not merely kill the infected just like in a movie from a zombie apocalypse as they are still alive.

 Symptoms include glowing green veins that are seen as well pupil-less eyes in addition to an extra boost in strength, as the infected multiply by having an open wound be infected by the green veins that produce some sort of green murky blood aka the Lazarus pits.

 Danny saw the predicament of his home dimension and decided to intervene, with the approval of his court. He entered the dimension, and as he turned into his human half he noticed that his age was regressed to the time he was murdered.

 The infected ignored and followed his commands as per his position, avoiding any confrontation with his brother or any supers that might demand him why the infected are ignoring him, he pretended to be infected that can think and speak as well that was raised from the dead.

 It was quite easy for him to pretend on the glowing veins as pure ectoplasm flowed through his veins. He just made sure that he is always a glowing green glowstick.

 Walking around in a zombie apocalypse is less fun than he thought it would be, grabbing a backpack that was discarded he filled it up with weapons and started his journey at the foot to look for the cure.

 (Thoughts of seeing his brother made him fill his head full of possibilities)

 On his way to Gotham, he saw his nephew (Tim) surrounded by infected and about to wound him when he immediately snatched him to safety. Seeing the deep eye bags of his nephew he let him rest at his makeshift safe house as he guarded Tim he can't help but wonder why on earth he was out in the open.

 …

 Tim groaned awake as he remembered what had just happened in a few months. Ra’s and Lex made a bio-hazard weapon that was made from the Lazarus pits (Which made him wonder which of the two thought that was a good idea as the Lazarus pits are still a mystery to the Batclan as well to the world) and went out of hand thus ended up having the Justice League cleaning up their mess.

 He remembered being surrounded by the infected after his usual recon, he was pretty sure he broke a rib and his arm as running away from the horde or getting them with tranquilizer darts were the only options, he was sure that it was his end.

 When he woke up he didn’t expect to be still infected free nor the infected teen, who is a blue-eyed black-haired teen, definitely a Wayne bait, in front of him trying to bandage him.

 After the initial confusion and panic and the conversation, he concluded that the bio weapon had evolved to the point of reviving dead teens.

 (Seeing what the Lazarus pit had done to Jason and Ra was not far fetch)

 The teen who introduced himself as Danny woke up somewhere which was near Metropolis and stated that he was nowhere near his hometown nor where he was buried initially and was walking around to find more humans as he was pretty sure when he died zombie apocalypse are nothing more than fantasy as well the supers are but fictions as he kept reading the latest yet tossed out newspapers, which explains the newspapers in the corner and had concluded that it has been more than 2 decades since he died.

 He made an offer to Tim that he couldn’t possibly refuse, he could help him return where he was as the infected tend to ignore him thus having a guide and bodyguard in his injured state as well a specimen that can talk and walk around cities without having the risk of being infected, in return he just needs help in finding his brother.

 After a long tenacious walk to Gotham, both bond over small talks, jokes, and camping as well as filling up Danny with what he had missed in the decade while he was 6 feet under.

 Tim learned that Danny adored his little brother and wished to see him one last time before going back to the dead.

 …

 Bruce was worried, Tim was supposed to time in a few hours back. He along with the rest of the bats and the Justice League members were lucky enough to escape and regroup at a later date. Sitting in one of the fortified safe houses with a few infected being wandered.

 When he was about to check the communication for the umpteenth time the cameras caught something. Immediately all went to the monitor to have a better look at what had just tripped their alarm. There is Tim wounded and bandaged but still infected free, which gave relief to the Batclan behind him on the other hand caused worries.

 An Infected teen behind Tim follows him while looking around him, upon closer inspection they can see the boy’s eyes despite being infected. Some of the Justice League thought that Tim may have found someone who has at least some sort of immunity to the Infected.

 The Batclan on the other hand caught sight of Bruce stiffening along with Alfred. Both seemed to look at the infected teen with familiarity. Luckily that the cameras had audio and played the live feed.

 Tim was talking to the mystery teen about meta-human rights while the mystery teen kept nodding along. Tim asked about the mystery teen’s little brother which the teen brighten up and talked about his little brother’s pranks towards their father every time he left them on their own devices like melting crayons on top of his shoes to adding color according to his little brother. As well as the fact he made a special lullaby just for him.

 The mystery teen began to hum an unfamiliar tune to those who are watching except Alfred and Bruce, Alfred was ready to cry while Bruce made a face that both his co-workers and children never saw him make.

 Bruce’s mind immediately supplied the missing lyrics while the mystery teen kept humming along.

 If I was dying on my knees

You would be the one to rescue me

And if you were drowned at sea

I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe

I've got you brother-er-er-er

I've got you brother-er-er-er

I've got you brother-er-er-er

I've got you brother-er-er-er

 As they were nearing the armed gate of the safe house, Tim asked what is his little brother’s name was as once this was over he was willing to pass the message. 

 The mystery teen smiled sadly and said fondly… oh brother,

[jackoshadows]

One reason for why I find shipping Jonsa as a canon ship hilarious is that book Sansa would be so horrified if anyone suggested she marry Jon Snow!

And I think it's because Jonsa shippers themselves think differently to book Sansa. They know that Jon is a central character in the series, that he is a decent guy, has some secret parentage issues going on with the possibility of legitimacy, is loyal and forward thinking etc.

However, these matters don't concern book Sansa. She is a Stark - one of the last remaining Starks in Westeros. She is the eldest daughter of house Stark. The eldest daughter of the former Warden of the North and one of the formerly strongest houses of Westeros which still has a lot of loyalty from other Northern houses. She grew up with high expectations for her marriage.

She was formerly destined to be Queen of Westeros by marriage to Joffrey. She was considered for marriage to the Tyrell heir and would have been Lady of Highgarden. She married Tyrion Lannister who is heir to Casterly Rock. She is currently plotting to marry Harry the Heir - future heir to the Vale upon SweetRobin's death.

So as is seen by her as her right, Sansa expects a marriage to a very high born noble. So far all her prospects have been heirs to big houses and kingdoms.

In AGoT she thinks that the Stark Steward's daughter Jeyne Poole - The Pooles possibly being minor lords with a holdfast near Winterfell - was far beneath Lord Beric Dondarrion.

"Lord Beric is as much a hero as Ser Loras. He's ever so brave and gallant." "I suppose," Sansa said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrion was handsome enough, but he was awfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knight of Flowers would have been much better. Of course, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward's daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn't been half his age.

For the same reason, Sansa would think that the bastard Jon Snow was beneath someone like Jeyne Poole.

In fact in her most recent sample TWoW chapter we see she doesn't think much of bastards. Five books in, with the very last published chapter, we see her matchmaking for the 19 year old Mya Stone with the much older, very low born, not good looking Lothor Brune because according to her that would be a good match for a bastard...

Alayne wondered what Mya made of Ser Lothor. With his squashed nose, square jaw, and nap of woolly grey hair, Brune could not be called comely, but he was not ugly either. Though he had risen to knighthood, Ser Lothor's birth had been very low. Brune would be a good match for a bastard girl like Mya Stone, she thought. It might be different if her father had acknowledged her, but he never did. And Maddy says that she's no maid either.

Sansa would be utterly shocked if someone suggested she marry loyal, honest, good Lothor Brune. He would be very low born for her. And if Lothor Brune is not good enough for Sansa how would she feel about marrying a baseborn bastard?

As much as Sansa would be joyful to reunite with her last living relative Jon Snow, she would rather match-make Jon Snow with some low born girl, some hedge knight's or freerider's daughter than marry him. And she would still think that a baseborn like Jon Snow would be lucky to marry someone higher up the chain like lowborn girls - the same way she thinks of Mya Stone and Lothor Brune.

Remember, bastards don't have any lands and are stigmatized as less than, being treacherous and lustful by nature of birth. Ned Stark gave Jon Snow no lands, instead packed him off to the Night's Watch.

Remember Alys Karstark dancing with Robb Stark and not Jon Snow because her father took her there to meet with the heir and not the bastard?

Look at Jaime's thoughts about Sybell Spicer:

"Your lord father promised me worthy marriages for Jeyne and her younger sister. Lords or heirs, he swore to me, not younger sons nor household knights." Lords or heirs. To be sure. The Westerlings were an old House, and proud, but Lady Sybell herself had been born a Spicer, from a line of upjumped merchants.

Or Lady Sybell's reaction to betrothing her son to Joy Hill. And this is only house Westerling.

"I have two sons as well," Lady Westerling reminded him. "Rollam is with me, but Raynald was a knight and went with the rebels to the Twins. If I had known what was to happen there, I would never have allowed that." Even from the grave, Lord Tywin's dead hand moves us all. "Joy is my late uncle Gerion's natural daughter. A betrothal can be arranged, if that is your wish, but any marriage will need to wait. Joy was nine or ten when last I saw her." "His natural daughter?" Lady Sybell looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. "You want a Westerling to wed a bastard?"

Also recall that the original arrangement was for two bastards to marry - Joy Hill, Gerion Lannister's bastard, to marry a Frey bastard.

So imagine Sansa's reaction to a suggestion that she marry the bastard Jon Snow... She would think it's a joke and laugh. She would be aghast and horrified. She would be repulsed and see it as punishment.

That's just how the high born Westerosi society thinks. Bastards are seen as the lowest strata. This is how feudal classism works in Westeros.

So unless Sansa gets suddenly and magically enlightened on classist prejudice, then Jonsa is something that is never, ever, ever going to happen. This is not even getting into what Jon Snow thinks and feels about the high born traditional ladies upholding Westerosi patriarchal ideals of femininity.

[magnoliasandarson]

birds and shutterbugs

Tim Drake was cutting it close, and he knew it, but this was the coolest night of his whole life. Perched on the other end of the roof, ranting at one of the frankly horrifying stone gargoyles, was Robin.

Not just any Robin, but the one he had seen make Batman laugh. Sure, the flips were cool when Dick wore the suit, but Jason was just so cool. He unscrewed the cover on his camera, cautiously adjusting his crouch so he could get a better angle. He knew Jason had freckles from going to classes with him, but he had never managed to catch a clear enough picture of Robin where he could see the freckles.

"-nother thing, he just expects me to want to rotate the tires on the Batmobile. Just 'cuz I tried to steal them doesn't mean I want to touch the fuckin' things ever again. And don't get me started on Dickface, always bitchin' an moanin' bout how unfair it is that soo many people wanna date 'im," Jason was waving his hands at the gargoyle, and Tim was distinctly reminded of watching the older boy perform as Mark Antony in Caesar.

It was almost too easy to snap pictures during the tirade, but when the boy wonder paused to take a swig from a Bat Burger cup, Tim realized he forgot to silence the shutter. It was comical, and in any other situation (preferably several rooftops away), Tim might've laughed, but seeing the narrowed eyes of a domino mask zero in on him- made his blood run cold.

Tim watched the empty Bat Burger cup drop onto the roof in what could only be described as abject horror, "Who, and I can't stress this enough, the fuck are you?"

Any moisture in Tim's mouth dried in half a heartbeat when his hero started towards him. "Uh—um," he fumbled to stash his camera back in his bag. "I'm uh—no one?"

Robin smiled in a way that was somehow still terrifying, "No one? Is that a family name?"

"No?" Tim was so screwed. Jason- Robin wouldn't hurt him, Robins never hurt kids, but if his parents found out about his nightly activities...

"You sure about that?" Robin was within reach now, his arms crossed around his middle, "You don't sound sure, no one. What're you doin' out here anyways?"

Tim inched backwards towards the fire escape as subtly as he could muster, "I'm a tourist?"

Robin's smile got even wider, "You're what- tourin' darkened rooftops?"

"And shady alleys!" Tim tried to joke, but it came out more as a squeak. Puberty sucks.

Robin laughed, and internally Tim screamed with accomplishment. He, Timothy Drake, the world's dorkiest shadow, had just made Jason Todd, ROBIN, laugh. Best night of his whole life, by miles. Life could not get better. Robin straightened, still smiling with his hands perched on his hips, "So no one, can this tour include a stop at the diner down the block? Dunno 'bout you, but I'm feelin' a waffle."

Tim wasn't opposed to being wrong.

[weepingtalecowboy]

Four meets the colors

I decided to be absolutely evil so here you go fanfic prompt :

What if four was never capable to combine into link but they didn’t even get the opportunity to take turns because everyone controls different body parts and they have to coordinate absolutely everything together and pulling the four sword back just to be four people again isn’t something they can just do

They learned to live with it but no matter how hard they try to make it look naturally

they still move in a way that feels wrong even when they are trying hard to cooperate

Their feet have slight delay

their hands have trouble gripping stuff in a way that looks naturally and one hand might grip the wrong side of a box ending with nearly dropping it

Their face can show different and several emotions at once and they can sometimes be heard mumbling to themself

And because of that they are perceived as unsettling or unstable by their own village

Their father couldn’t truly understand or accept them because link his child essentially died and they know it no matter how hard he tries to hide it

Their grandpa is getting older and even though he grieved his grandson he still wanted to accept them and when he is gone they would only have Zelda left

And she spends most her time in the castle ruling Hyrule

Shadow is not coming back ever again

And because of that spend as much time as they can on blacksmithing to not have to worry about things

But when linked universe happens they meet a version of them that has everything they could possibly want

Like their own bodies and lives

Shadow is still alive

The village doesn’t fear them

Vio,Blue , Red and Green all get to go by their own names

And four has to go by link

It’s genuinely paining them because it just doesn’t seem fair

Main while the colors hate how four is looking at him

Because they used to think that link would understand and support their decision to stay apart

But obviously link feels to good about himself as the perfect and superior hero of the four sword

And they all start hating him for it because it means that their decision wasn’t approved by the one person it mattered from the most

The chain feels the tension but doesn’t really know how to fix it so they separate both

And when they all get to four’s Hyrule they feel ashamed of how bad they are viewed by their own village

Because the colors are loved but they are not

So they tell them that when they put the sword back they never became one

The colors feel absolutely horrified when they realize the implications

Because four's existence sounds like their worst nightmare

And it makes them feel sick

That a version of them could be so screwed over by their own existence

And shadow isn’t even with them

And their dad doesn’t even want them to exist

Man and they thought they had it rough

Four gets to meet shadow and has a mental breakdown over it

Shadow is also very disturbed by the situation

Also they keep four there is no way hylia can stop them (it still is extremely weird when they interact with their counterparts because they like don’t always have the same expressions )

but also four is all fucked up like red is delusional (he was doing his own thing the entire adventure in the manga), blue has an obsession with keeping things under control(getting frozen and swallowed by a ghost is not fun) (which is why he is so obsessed with cleaning because it gives him a way to control the environment ) , Vio is depressed about shadow,green has a hero complex (he is link if you delete all personality traits except hero)

That combines into a mess of having their own personality but not enough to be their own people (just how they can’t even live without coordinating link's every step)

Yeah that won’t be fun

The colors have it easy in comparison

[dairy-farmer]

First time doing an ask like this but here it goes.

I was thinking about that one a while back where Bruce was horrified after finding out that Dick and Jason were working together to groom Tim. So hear me out, that but instead of being horrified Bruce has a “fuck that’s hot” reaction.

He’s also admittedly a little embarrassed for his older boys because really?? All those detective skills and you didn’t realize that Tim’s been ready to bend over a desk for the bats since he was 10?

I mean, Bruce has never acted on Tim’s affections before, mostly because he didn’t want to upset any of his other boys. But if his other sons are going to be even worse perverts than he is then hey, why hold back?

Of course, Dick and Jason should probably still be punished for this. Fucking their little brother would have been one thing but an elaborate plan to groom a child is another thing altogether. But he doesn’t know how he should go about doing it, so he asks Tim.

Tim is furious when he finds out. You mean to tell him that he’s spent years thinking there was something wrong with him for getting wet and horny around his older brothers and this whole time they’ve been doing it on purpose? How many nights has he spent wallowing in shame and desperation because those two wanted to toy with him? It’s time for revenge.

Dick and Jason end up called into the Batcave for a meeting with Bruce and Tim. The later treat this seriously, like Bruce is about to get them arrested kind of seriously. It’s just an hour worth of dread and nausea until Tim pipes up with their actual punishment.

They’re not getting arrested, in fact Tim is totally down to fuck. No, they’re getting punished for the years of teasing they put him through. They started this when he was 13 and he’s 16 now, do you even understand what that did to him? So now, instead of being allowed their little brother’s pussy like they wanted they have to wait until Tim is 18. It’s their turn to be blue balled.

Dick and Jason nearly lose it at the idea of having to wait two years but the worst part of the punishment is yet to come because Tim has taken this incident as blanket permission to be the whore he’s always wanted to be.

It’s one thing to have to wait, it’s another to come home and find Bruce discussing which toys he’s going to train Tim’s virgin pussy with. To try and get some energy out by sparring with each other in the cave only to come in and find Tim fucked out and drooling as he cockwarms for Bruce at the batcomputer. Daddy won the virginity race.

It doesn’t just stop at Bruce either. Tim starts being pretty open with his body and sexuality, both at home and in places like Titans Tower. He stops wearing clothes when he doesn’t feel like it and doesn’t hide when he’s horny. He share’s his exploits with other heroes too (Jason nearly breaks when he finds out Roy had his little brother first.)

Within the family though it’s even worse. Bruce was bad enough but Dick and Jason are the ONLY ones getting frozen out. They have to listen as Steph and Cass giggle back and forth at the dinner table, each taking turns playing with a vibe they shoved up Tim right before. Damian gets a first hand sex ed experience as Bruce uses Tim like a dummy to teach him how to please a partner. Tim becomes the willing testing ground for all the bats kinks (he’ll try anything once) and the less said about the passionate warm welcome Duke got the better.

Tim is super smug about all of this the whole time, enjoying both all the sex he’s having and just how badly he’s teasing his older brothers. It’s only when the final month of the punishment hits that he starts to have some regrets because now, Dick and Jason can see the finish line in sight. Now they can be open about just how they’re going to punish their baby brother for all this. They’ve got plans to really put him back in his place once the metaphorical cock cages come off, some of the most shocking, pussy soaking dirty talk Tim’s ever heard. He feels like prey in his own home over night and this is before he hears Jason and Dick talking about turning Tim into a sex pet.

It seems extreme but well… he’s been patrolling a lot less recently anyway due to needing to recover from just how often he’s pulled away to be fucked. And his big brothers haven’t exactly been shy about their plans for him either, yet no one seems particularly willing to stick up for Tim. If anything it seems like Bruce might be on board with the idea of carving out a new permanent role for him.

Not that Tim really minds either if he’s being totally honest.

the dick and jason grooming tim au

bruce being more on board and it turning out that tim's not the sweet and innocent naive little lamb he pretends to be, that the whole time he's made passes at bruce and tried to see what he could get away with and bruce having the realization that not only were dick and jason in the same boat with their desire but that they were trying to cultivate a situation where they could potentialy fuck tim and get away with it by putting the blame on tim.

bruce seeing them and understanding them because he'd the same but drawing the lline at them trying to groom their brother- couldn't the have just been normal and tried to fuck him like reasonable people? instead they were using the tactics of the enemies they faced on the street in gotham and that, well that earns them punishment.

tim would be SO mad that he'd been suffering and feeling bad about his stupid cunt getting wet and twitchy around his brothers when they'd been doing things to make him like that all along! tim turning into a slut and giving into the slightest desire as payback for dick and jason is hysterical- he's so mad and this is the lesson he decides to teach them.