#what went through m head today as i got attached to ANOTHER stuffed animal in the store

[a-whispering-echo]

need a fic where autistic dust is on a mission with the guys, and he ends up in like, a store with soft toys and stuff, and he locks eyes onto one and gets that IMMEDIET attachment to it. (some) other autistic folks will get what im saying, but you know how you form a BOND with an item? like, you try not to, but suddenly youve named it, and you imagine them sitting alone without you in the store, and oh shit now yo NEED them. but Dust CANT have them. hes a full grown monster.

One: hes on a mission, his teammates are around, and if they SEE him with a KIDS TOY theyll make fun of him, and that SUCKS

two: its so fucking WEAK of him to want something like that. its a toy. grow up

Three: he doesnt DESERVE comfort. he doesnt DESERVE nice things. he murdered everyone. he murdered his own brother. he doesnt GET comfort.

so he just stares, and tries to force himself away. he could steal it maybe... put it in his inventory when theyre not looking- but Killers right behind him, covered in blood, talking about the mission and hes lost his chance-

so he leaves.

and maybe, later that day, and he heads to his room, wanting to break down over that STUPID fucking SOFT TOY with its fucking EYES and soft fluff- he opens his door and its just sitting there. one his bed...mattress of the floor... sitting, waiting for him. those eyes looking up at him with so much emotion and none at all, and FUCK-

who got it for him? maybe Cross or Horror noticed how he was looking at it. maybe Nightmare who was watching their mission saw it and wanted to be nice. (or maybe exceptionally cruel) . who knows. Dust doesnt LIKE not knowing. they could hold this over his head...

but for now, with his brothers voice screaming about how hes the SCUM of the EARTH for Manipulating his boss or his teammates into GETTING something for him that the fucking FILTY MURDERED doesnt DESERVE- he curls up with it in a ball and Shutdowns.

[cdelphiki]

Was re-reading ‘In for a Penny’ when I read this sentence “if we do not rescue Damian today, “Clark said, finally speaking up, “I have a feeling we will one day face him in battle”and thought what if Bruce wasn’t able to find Damian, instead meets him again when he’s ten, how would he feel?What would happen? Damian holding a sword to the father he doesn’t remembers throat, dick finally seeing his brother again. Memories, baby things left untouched in the manor. Would love to hear your thoughts-M

The years since Damian’s kidnapping had not been kind to Bruce.

Dick left him. When he was barely eighteen. Packed up and moved to Bludhaven, where he still lived some six years later.  

Bruce couldn’t blame him. Not really. He’d not been much of a father, once Damian went missing.  

Then Jason came along, and Bruce had tried really hard for that boy. He’d worked on himself, worked on his availability. Adopted him, right from the start.

It hadn’t mattered.

Because in the end, Jason had left him, too. In the most painful way possible.

At least Damian was out there.

Somewhere.

Growing up, living his life.

Jason’s had been cut short.

After that, Bruce had sworn off kids. He wanted nothing to do with children ever again, because brining a child in his life just meant he’d love that child, and life didn’t let him keep the things he loved.  

He wasn’t sure how many more times he could go through that.

Those he loved suffered in the worst ways possible, and how could he do that to another child?

Then Tim came around. Kind of forced his way into Bruce’s life. Reluctantly, and completely against his will, Bruce had come to love Tim, as well. Had adopted him, when the opportunity arose, as tragic as it was.  

Talia had made herself scarce in the years since stealing Damian away from him. He’d tried to find them. Many times. But they always evaded him. Were always too well hidden.

He hadn’t… given up.

Per se.

But as Damian grew older, Bruce’s hope dwindled. He’d not even been two yet, when Talia took him away. There was no chance he’d even remember Bruce at five.

Or eight.

Or the ten he was now.

What right would Bruce have to swoop in and steal him away? Rip him away from the only family he remembered?

To him, Bruce was the absent father, living on the opposite side of the planet, and as much as he wanted to see his son, as badly as he wanted to hold his baby in his arms, he was a stranger to Damian.

He had no right over him any more.  

All he had left of his little boy were pictures and a stuffed cow.

He’d given away everything else. To Clark, when Lois was expecting Jon.

To Selina. When she was expecting Helena.

Damian was too old for baby things, anyway. And walking past a nursery was painful.

They’d turned that room into Jason’s.

It wasn’t any less painful, now.  

Bruce tried not to think about any of it. Tried not to think about Damian.

But it was hard, when Talia al Ghul kidnapped him while he was on mission in England.

Strung him up and got right in his face.

Hers was not a face he wanted to see.

“Talia,” he snarled, flexing his hands, testing his strength against the bat-thing that held him tight.

It would take a remarkable show of strength to free himself. He wasn’t sure he could. Even if he did, there were half a dozen more of the bat-things all around him. He knew himself outnumbered when he saw it.

He was just thankful Tim had taken the weekend off, rather than accompanying him on this trip.  

“What do you want, Talia,” he spat, when she came too close, running her fingers across his chest. He had no interest in her. And she should know that by now.

She had killed any chance of there being anything between them eleven years prior.

And then burned it to the ground when she stole their son away from him.  

“It’s nice to see you, too, Beloved,” she drawled, pulling away from Bruce and drawing her sword.  She toyed with it, staring at the blade in her hand, without saying anything further.

“What. Do. You. Want,” he ground out. Games were also not something he was interested in.  

“Hm,” she hummed, still toying with her blade for a moment before finally asking, “You remember our son?”

“How could I forget,” he growled. If she had merely kidnapped him to taunt him…

He might need to call in Clark to hold him back. He pulled at his arms again, and could feel the give in his captors’ hold. Knew, if he pulled his arms in just the right way, kicked his legs back at just the right moment, he’d be able to free himself easily.

“Hm. Yes, well,” she said, waving a hand at him, as if dismissing his anger, “He has grown wild. I can no longer control him.”

His sweet little baby?

Unlikely.

“What did you do to him?” he shouted, seriously contemplating calling in Clark. Because he was not sure he’d be able to control himself if he found out Damian had been mistreated in any way.

And he couldn’t think of a single other explanation for his Damian turning ‘wild.’ Not his sweet little baby who loved animals and was so gentle. So empathetic. So kind.

“Do not be so dramatic,” Talia snapped, “I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy about what.”

“He needs… taming,” she said, twirling her sword around, a little, before she sheathed it again, “He lacks discipline. I had hoped some time with his father would straighten him out.”

“Time with,” he started, only to fumble over his words.

Was she…

Introducing him to Damian?

Why… why would she… after all these years…?

What was her game?

“You’ll hear from me soon, Beloved, though I’ll imagine you’ll be busy. I intend to hold the whole world hostage.”

Bruce tried to look back up at her, to ask her what the fuck that meant, but his head was pushed forward by one of the man-bats, and the entire world seemed to freeze.

Because a small child had materialized before him.

A… boy.

His boy.

In the eight years since he’d seen Damian, he had changed so much, but at the same time, not at all.

He had the same nose. The same… little button nose he’d had, as a baby. The same bright green eyes.

The same scowl.

“Damian,” he whispered, looking Damian up and down, trying to commit every little detail to memory.

“Father,” Damian responded, pushing his sword forward, almost touching Bruce’s neck, “I imagined you taller.”  

“You-“ Bruce started, but had to stop. Because he was overcome with laughter.

The man-bats let go of him, and Bruce slumped to the ground, right to his knees, only keeping himself upright with his hands as his laughter turned a tad hysteric.

His little boy.

His little boy, was standing right in front of him. Was… Was within reach.

Was coming home with him.

“You are the great warrior Mother has told me about?” Damian asked skeptically, his sword now sheathed.

That was enough to pull Bruce back to the moment.  He sniffed, and sat back so he could get a good look at his little boy.  

“Hi, Damian,” he said, smiling a little, to force the overwhelming urge to weep to go away.

Damian scowled, a little, and shot Bruce as critical look. “How do you know my name?”

“What?”

Out of all the things Damian could ask…

“My name. Mother said you did not know of me. She did not tell you my name just now. How do you know it?”

“I- What?” Bruce repeated.

“You are not as intelligent as Mother claimed. Shame.”

“Damian,” he said, slowly, “You- you lived with me.  For almost a year, as an infant.”  

“Tt,” he huffed, rolling his eyes dramatically, “Now you are suggesting my mother is a liar. She has done a lot of things, but she has never lied to me.”

“Just, come here,” Bruce said, looping an arm around Damian’s shoulders and tugging him close, “I have missed you so much.”

Damian tensed in Bruce’s arms, but didn’t push him away. That is, not until Bruce started crying.  

Bruce didn’t blame him. He’d be uncomfortable, too, if a stranger claiming to know and love him started crying into his hair.  

They had so much ground to recover.  

- - -

Damian was a massive brat.

Bruce felt like a terrible parent for thinking such a thing about his own son, but Damian was downright horrible.

He did nothing but yell and scream and throw things around. He fought with Alfred. Fought with Bruce.

Hated Tim.

Considering the boy had attempted to push Tim off the top level of the cave, that first night Bruce brought him home, he couldn’t trust Damian anywhere near Tim.

And Tim hated Damian in return.

Or, at least, considered him to be the ‘son of satan’ and avoided him at all costs.

Bruce wasn’t sure how to make his family all mesh together. Wasn’t sure how to get Damian to calm down and give them all a shot.

All those years Bruce had imagined, fantasized with it would be like to get Damian back, never once had he considered he might not like the boy.  

He still loved him, of course. Loved him so much it hurt.

His son was finally home, and his home had been thrown into pure chaos.

Handing Damian the cow had been a difficult decision.

For eight years, that cow had been all Bruce had. The only physical reminder he had of the little boy he’d lost.

Damian and Cow had been inseparable, when he was an infant. Bruce had bought three more, the very second he realized how attached to the dumb toy Damian had become. He had four of those cows, and when Talia’s men took Damian, they’d taken none of them.

It’d been a stab in his heart, every time he looked at cow. Knowing how scared Damian would be without it. How upset.

Knowing Damian likely cried for weeks, if not months, for that stupid cow.  

And in the eight years since Damian’s kidnapping, Bruce had become a little attached to the cow, himself. It sat on his bed stand. Right next to his favorite photo of Damian. He pat cow’s head every night, as if doing so would be telling his own little boy ‘good night, I love you.’  

Just like he’d done every single night Damian lived with him.  

Handing Damian that cow was difficult.  Because Damian destroyed everything he was given. He was violent. He threw tantrums.

And he was, above all, not a child.  

But Cow belonged to Damian, and Bruce was unable to put it off any longer.

“Damian,” he said, knocking on his boy’s door, allowing it to creak open as he did, “I wanted to give you something.”

“What is it now,” Damian started, but paused when he got a look at the toy in Bruce’s hand.  Bruce walked over to the bed where Damian was reading and held it out, for Damian to take.

But instead, Damian just said, “That’s… Mr. Cow.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, laughing a little to cover up the desire to cry.

Because Damian remembered.

“I—“ Bruce started, “He was yours. When you lived here. I’ve— I’ve kept him in my room, ever since you left. To remind me of you. But, he was yours, so I thought I should give him back.”

“Why,” Damian said, slowly, in the least snotty tone Bruce had heard yet, “Why do I remember a stupid toy but I do not remember you?”

Bruce sighed, and sat down on the bed next to his son. He placed Cow down in Damian’s lap, even though Damian made not move to take it.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. He’d been a little distraught when none of the photos had jogged anything.

He hadn’t specifically expected Damian to remember things from when he was 20-months-old, but to have his own boy accuse him of doctoring the photos, just to “get into his head” and “paint his mother as the liar” had hurt.

“You were young. Most people don’t remember much from before the age of three, and you weren’t even two when you left.”  

“But I remember the cow.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, placing his arm behind Damian as he leaned back, “You couldn’t sleep without the damn thing. My guess is you cried for it every night for months, after you left. It probably stuck with you because of that.”  

“Oh.” Damian placed his hand on cow’s head and stroked. Just once. Before his cheeks flushed and he yanked his hand away sharply.

“I’m really happy you’re back,” Bruce said, moving his hand so it was sitting on Damian’s shoulder. Damian still didn’t let him hug him, but at least he didn’t shrug his hand away.  “I hope you know that. I want nothing more than to get to know you.”  

“Thank you, Father,” Damian said crisply, then faltered before adding, much less confidently, “I have always wished to… know you.”  

Bruce couldn’t help it. He pulled Damian in by the hand on his shoulder, and wrapped his arms around. “Well, I’m glad we have this chance, then.”

For once, Damian didn’t fight him. He did fidget, a little, with Cow started to fall, but he caught the little toy and held it a little more securely while Bruce rested his head down on Damian’s hair.  

And when Damian didn’t push him away for several minutes, Bruce started to think… maybe Damian wasn’t a hopeless case, after all.  

[writingwitchly]

The perfect gift

Valentine’s Specials - 3 - Sirius Black

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader Word count: 1,8k  Warning: fluff A/N: no author’s note, please, don’t make me write anymore today, my chuckles hurt (this looks so shallow next to @obsessionsandothersandmore’s last work) Check out my other Valentine’s Specials!

A week. You have been bearing with Sirius’ insistent pestering for an entire week. What you get in return are a couple of reprimands, an awful Potions mark, and a burning sensation in your chest.

   Wednesday 8th of February 1978

“What would the perfect Valentine’s gift be?”

You lift your head up from your Transfiguration essay and look at the boy who asked the question.

He dangerously tilted his chair backwards, crossed his arms, and stretched his legs to rest his enormous black boots, covered in mud, on the table.

Mrs. Pince will be delighted.

“Why do you ask?”

He frowns at you. “Well, because I want to offer a gift to my Valentine.”

You knowingly smile. Sirius has never managed to go out with somebody for more than three days. His current crush will probably never resist a week.

“And do you have one?”

“Not yet,” he grumbles. “Stop laughing! I need your help.”

You sight and lower your quill, the corner of your eyes still wet because of the hard laugh.

“Okay, then. For who is it?”

Your friend bites his inferior lip, frustrated. “I can’t tell you.”

You chuckle. Why so much mystery?

“At least give me a hint about the personality of your not-yet-Valentine.” He winces, so you repeat, “A hint, not their biography. Their gender maybe.”

“I can’t,” he repeats.

“Why?”

“You’d guess who it is.”

You giggle harder. “Sirius, there are at least a thousand of us around here, I will never guess someone by their gender!”

“I prefer to avoid taking the risk. So, the gift?”

Merlin, how stubborn he can be.

“I guess a book always works fine as a present.”

He smiles, as if he hadn’t thought about it, and raises.

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re the best.”

Under your amused look, he runs out of the library, making Mrs. Pince, who was in his way, drop some books and imprecate.

Whomever that person is, they must be very important to make Sirius run like this.

And also very lucky.

   Thursday 9th of February 1978

“Are you sure a book is the best gift?”

Sirius’ improvised question makes you jump. As a result, you drop three leaves of Eucalyptus instead of two in your cauldron.

“Merlin’s night robes,” you mutter, witnessing how your perfectly apple green liquid is turning a fade red.

You glance sideways at where James is consciously gathering ingredients. At his left, Sirius is looking at you.

“Is it really the best moment to discuss this kind of things?” you ask, irritated.

He shrugs, an amused smirk on his lips, as what was supposed to be your Troll bite cure turns blue with pink bubbles.

You roll your eyes. “A rose is great,” you say. “Give them a rose.”

His smirk turns into a gratitude smile and he blows you a magical kiss that reaches your cheek with a loud ‘smack’.

You blush.

   Friday 10th of February 1978

“Isn’t there anything more special than a rose?”

You choke with the mouthful of potatoes you were chewing.

Sirius hands you a goblet of pumpkin juice and sits next to you.   

"Hello to you too, Sirius," you manage to say after recovering your voice.

He lets out a bark of a laugh and apologizes.

"Hello," he finally says. "How was your day?"

For a few minutes, your conversation jumps from random topics to more random topics. When you raise to go back to classes, he grabs your arm, and makes you sit again.

"What?"

"The gift," he simply says.

"Why don't you like the rose?" you ask, a bit surprised by his insistence and the dedication he puts into finding the perfect gift.

"I like it. I just want another idea, in case something goes wrong with this one.”

Sirius Orion Black is definitely the most peculiar boy you’ve ever met.

“You can offer them a jewel. A necklace maybe.”

He seems to think it a bit and then, with a jolt of excitement, he hugs you.

After a quick ‘thank you’, he sprints off toward the exit of the Great Hall.

   Saturday 11th of February 1978

Your Quidditch captain insisted on having an additional practice with the team today.

The seven of you walked on the field at 6 a.m., terribly missing your woolen blankets and warm pajamas. But now, the Sun is at its zenith, and you’d pay ten galleons to have a bit of the early coolness back.

“Let’s try some bludger skipping,” cries the captain, “And then we’ll be done for today.”

Comforted by the thought of giving a last effort, the group parts in two: the beaters on one side and other players facing them.

It’s your turn. You have to fly straight to the opposite side of the field without getting hit by a bludger.

You are already halfway when a voice from down below rings in your ears,

“Y/N! I’m not convinced by the necklace!”

What?

A zooming sound alarms you, and you dodge a ball at the last moment, avoiding a ten-feet-high fall.

You ask permission to your captain to land.

As soon as you touch the ground, you shout at Sirius, “Do you want me to die? That bludger was going to hit me right in the face!”

“You look nice like this,” he says cheerfully instead of answering. “All sweaty, very attractive.”

“Oh, spare me your sarcasm, Black. ‘m not in the mood.”

For a few seconds, you simply look at each other: you, too tired to talk, and him, giving you a break.

“A teddy bear,” you finally mutter. “But-”

You prevent him from running away by holding your palm to his chest.

“Promise me that you won’t come closer than 10 feet to me tomorrow. It’s Sunday and I’d like to spend it peacefully.”

“I promise,” he articulates exaggeratedly.

Before racing away, he does the most unexpected thing in the world: he leaves a kiss on the side of your face.

“See you on Monday then.”

   Sunday 12th of February, 1978

The day went by as calmly as it could. Sirius kept his promise.

As you read a book, comfortably seated in an armchair of the common room, you find yourself wondering what kind of gift you could have advised him today.

A faint ‘squeak’ causes you to look to the ground, from where a mousy-haired rat patiently observes you. It drops a folded paper from its mouth and hurriedly darts away to hide behind a tall shelf.

Curious about the animal’s behavior, you lean forward and pick up the piece of paper. Inside, a messy handwriting forms the words:

Isn’t there anything more original than a teddy bear?

You look at the scrap of paper in disbelief, wondering if Sirius will ever run out of questions. Or if he’ll find the gift that suits his expectations before.

You grab a pencil from the table next to you and hastily write:

Chocolates and sweets

Then, you put the paper where it was on the floor and get back to your reading. A series of tiny steps and weak shuffling confirm you that the rat picked the message up.

As the rodent leaves the room, it doesn’t notice the huge grin plastered on your face.

   Monday 13th of February 1978

“Good morning, sunshine!”

This time, you were ready. There are no Potions cauldrons, nor angry librarians, nor potatoes, nor bludgers around you, threatening your life.

However, you’re a bit disappointed to see James, and not his dark-haired best friend, looking at you.

“Hello, James,” you greet him, lowering your gaze to your backpack. The Charms book doesn’t want to fit in today.

“Is there something you need?” you ask, swinging one of the straps over your shoulder. The boy with glasses is still looking at you expectantly.

“Well, I was wondering, tomorrow is the fourteenth.”

“Yes?”

“Is there something special I could offer to Lily?”

Must be a new trend -- to ask you about Valentine’s gifts. Maybe you should start charging for it.

“I gave Sirius a few ideas these past days,” you answer. “I’m sure that if you ask him, he’ll tell you one. He’s got more than he could need now.”

With a brief, but genuine, smile, you get around the young man and direct your steps toward the Astrology tower.

But if you believed to have convinced him, you were wrong. In two seconds, he catches up on you.

“I don’t trust Sirius. What would you like personally?”

“I’d love to receive a letter. Maybe with a few puns or pick up lines,” you decide after a short pause. “A letter is the best gift you can have. It doesn’t cost money, but time and dedication. And it allows you to understand perfectly how the person that wrote it feels about you.”

You turn to observe his reaction, and he grins at you.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Y/N, thanks.”

And, without further words, he walks back toward the class where you come from.

   Tuesday 14th of February 1978

A book, a rose, a necklace, a teddy bear, a box of chocolates and sweets… It’s all there, at the bottom of your four-poster bed.

You can’t believe it. The whole list of gifts you’ve advised Sirius to offer his Valentine is displayed in front of you.

You take your time unwrapping them, attaching the pendant around your neck, hugging the stuffed bear, eating a few of the candies, reading the summary on the back of the book, inhaling the rose’s perfume. All this with the goofiest and the most silly smile on your face.

As the time to have breakfast approaches, you get ready as carefully as you could.

You count the steps to the Great Hall to prevent your heart from skipping too many beats.

Once there, you cross the entrance and scan the crowd of students present.

Finally, you spot him, and a burning sensation, like a ball of fire, invades your chest.

He acknowledges you with a wink and comes toward you. Every one of his moves looks wonderful to you. An aura follows him, making his face glow like the one of a god.

You don’t see him normally anymore. You see him through the eyes of somebody that has been in love for so long and is finally confirmed that the feeling is reciprocal.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Hey,” you whisper, unable to say more.

“Did you like the surprises?”

“I- I loved them,” you stutter, your heart dangerously racing.

“Didn’t you notice that something was missing?”

“Really?”

You dig as far as you can in your memory, but you can’t find what is the missing gift.

“I don’t think so,” you reply.

Meanwhile, your eyes fall upon a huge teddy bear, the size of a house-elf, and the girl to whom it has been offered. Lily Evans looks radiant.

But James wasn’t supposed to…

“A letter?” you ask eagerly.

“You know that I am not talented with words,” he admits. “But I received a message this morning. It was from Cupid... He says to tell you that he needs my heart back.”

You laugh, and it’s the most beautiful sound Sirius has ever heard. He grabs your chin and force you to look at him in the eyes.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my Valentine?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my Valentine.”

Take a peek at my other Valentine’s Specials!

1- Fred Weasley: For a good cause Fred and you are going to be late to Molly’s beloved Valentine’s Day Party! And as if it was not enough, he keeps chatting with the seller of the jewelry shop! This is not a good set-up for the day of love, but what if it was for a good cause?

2- Draco Malfoy: Missing you This year, for sure, you won’t spend Valentine’s day with the boy you love. But you miss him, so you decide to meet him anyway. Your reward? A bump -- and a few thousands of kisses.

4- Regulus Black: A love letter  It’s Valentine’s Day. You didn’t expect any letter. But you got one.

5- Remus Lupin: My last minute Valentine  Dumbledore’s Valentine’s Day Party means watching the happy couples dance together while you sit on a golden chair. Could anything save the day? This unexpected dance partner isn’t what you were thinking about!

Whole masterlist