#Alt prompt

[whumpypepsigal]

@whumpgifathon | Day 19 (alt. prompt): “Protective”

Tyler Owens in Twisters (2024)

[lostwhump]

@whumpril | Day #18: (Alt. Prompt) Hazing Gladiator (2000)

[screengifs]

@whumpril Day 8: (Alt prompt #1) X-RAYS. Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022)

[jasmines-library]

It's A Trap

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

WHUMPTOBER DAY THIRTEEN : ALT Prompt: Used As Bait

Summary: In order to capture one of Gotham's infamous criminals, you are used as bait.

Warnings: Kinda creepy man, fake kidnapping.

Word count: 812

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

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“This is a terrible idea” Jason repeated for the umpteenth time as he finished fastening the ropes around your wrists, binding you to the chair. The binds were loose enough that you could slip out of them easily but tight enough that they looked real and effective enough. 

“Well, it's the only option we’ve got.” You retorted back, giving the ropes an experimental tug. 

You were currently trying to hunt down one of Gotham’s most troublesome criminals. He was a rather unusual guy, who was rather fixated on you. But he was sly and there seemed to be only one way to catch him. Under an alias, Tim began to befriend your target. He claimed that he knew you; that he could kidnap you and leave you at a rendezvous spot for him. For a price, of course. It had to seem realistic. So now, you were setting up your own trap for him. They had tied you up in the middle of the room, where they would hide in the shadows waiting for him to arrive before surrounding him and finally taking him to jail. It seemed to be a fail-proof plan, but none of your team were particularly keen on the idea of leaving you out as bait. 

“Still. Doesn't mean we like it.”

“Well tough.” You retorted. “Because this is what we’re going with. Any news?”

Tim glanced down at his burner phone that he had been using to message the target.  “He’s about 10 minutes out.”

“Alright.” You nodded as everyone took their place. Tim and Jason took their spots in the rafters above, and Dick and Damian took their places in the dark corners of the room as they waited anxiously for him to arrive.

When you heard the sound of the metal doors clanging shut a few minutes later, you took that as your que to lay on the tears. To begin the distressed civilian facade. Because right now you weren’t a vigilante. You were the daughter of Bruce Wayne who had just been kidnapped. You faked the tears, thrashing around as you pretended to try and break free from the binds. It was quite distressing for your brothers to watch; seeing you tied up and struggling, even if they knew it was all just an act. And then the figure stepped into the room.

He was a tall, lanky figure who wore a crooked smile on his face that only seemed to grow when he saw you struggling in fear at the sight of him. He stepped closer, pinching your chin between his fingers.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing….” He cooed, studding your body closely. 

You pretended to cower, trying to pull away from you. 

“I knew you would be even prettier in person….” he said turning your head to the side “and to think…..someone else did all the dirty work for me. How does that feel, Princess?”

“Please don’t hurt me–”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Hurt you? On no, Princess. You are going to make me a lot of money…how much do you think Daddy will pay to get you back unharmed…..” 

“Please—“ you begged, screaming for help. 

The man just laughed. “No one’s here to save you, princess. No Batman or any of his little birdies. It’s just me and you~” 

“Are you sure about that?” Jason asked, dropping down from the roof, his gun cocked in an intimidating matter. 

The man wasn’t scared however. He just scoffed. “Red hood. How nice of you to join us. Did the Batman send you?” 

“No.” Tim stepped out from the shadows, tossing the man the burner phone and revealing his identity. This time the criminal's face dropped. “I did.” 

“You—“ the man seethed. 

As the conversation unfurled, you began to work on the ropes, making quick work out of the loose knots. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble.” Tim took another step forwards. “And we have all of the evidence against you.” 

“It seems you’re not going to get your money after all.” You said. 

The man tried to flee, but Dick took a step towards to block the exit. He was trapped. 

“No. No—“ the criminal cursed, trying to find a way out. 

“There is no escape.”  Damian said. “The GCPD are already on their way. You’re going to jail for a long time.” 

“I’ll get you for this.” He spat. 

“I’m sure.” Dick said and he placed the cuffs around him. 

Jason had moved over to you. He place an anxious hand on your arm. “Are you alright.” 

“Yeah. Fine”

“You sure?” He frowned. Jason was a worrier. 

“I promise.” 

“Good……I’m never letting you do that again. Just so you know.”

“Why not? It worked didn’t it? And I’m fine. Really.” 

“I know. But I don’t like seeing you like that.” 

“I know, jay. I’m sorry. But I’m fine. I promise.” 

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY TWELVE ⛧DAY FOURTEEN ->

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumptober Day 19

Blood Trail - Abandoned Cabin - One way Out - "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

Alternative: Shivering

Whumper could smell breakfast cooking as they made their way into the kitchen.

Whumpee huddled close to the gas stove as they flipped the eggs.

Whumper studied them for a few seconds before Whumpee looked at them.

"Please tell me you're not sick", Whumper sighed, knowing they had just gotten over a cold last week.

"I don't think so... just really cold", Whumper held their hand close to the flame, "I hope you're okay with a hot breakfast."

"Sounds good to me", Whumper nodded.

Whumper was handed a cup of coffee.

"Let me feel your hands again", Whumper frowned when they felt Whumpee's knuckle brush against them.

"You're ice cold", Whumper squeezed Whumpee's hand.

Whumpee shivered a little, "yes Master, I know."

"Go ahead and get some warmer clothes on" Whumper looked over them, "no wonder your cold, walking around in a short sleeve shirt and shorts. You're not even wearing socks."

Whumpee nodded. They didn't want to tell Whumper that they had already checked earlier. They didn't have anything.

After breakfast was served, Whumpee went up to the closet that Whumper set aside for them to stay in. The house was a one bedroom, so that was the best Whumper could do.

"It's a walk-in, so you should have plenty of space, and a mattress fits in here", Whumper sighed when they explained the situation to their newly kidnapped slave, "I figure you would like a little privacy."

Whumpee thought back to those early days. They didn't fight to get away from their kidnapper. They were a little too scared to be defiant. Whumper was fairly kind to them. The rules were easy to follow, and punishments were possible but rarely came.

"Taking a long time to find warmer clothing", Whumper leaned into the closet and saw Whumpee pulling things out of the tote their clothes were stored in.

"I uhm, don't have any.... warmer... clothes", Whumpee looked up at them nervously.

Whumper frowned, "you don't?"

"No Master, I think they were thrown away.", Whumpee looked longingly at their blanket, "I have a hoodie", Whumpee held up the item.

"That will not keep you warm though", Whumper looked at it and saw the holes, "I think I remember throwing away some things this past summer because of how old they were. I guess you are getting some new clothes."

"Wait really?", Whumpee looked at them questioningly.

Whumper nodded, "after breakfast we'll go through and see what else you need. Do you at least have socks?"

"I do, but a lot of them have holes", Whumpee lifted their feet to show.

"I have a feeling this will be an expensive trip", Whumper frowned at the holes on the bottom of Whumpee's feet, "I guess that's what I get for keeping you here. You deserve some new clothes though."

"Thankyou Master", Whumpee smiled weakly.

Whumpee followed Whumper around the clothing section.

Whumper read through their list.

"You needed everything.... even underwear", Whumper frowned, "I can't believe I've been so neglectful of you while you've done so good to take care of me."

Whumpee felt a little overwhelmed at the selections. They held on tightly to the cart.

"We will, of course, get the essentials. If you see something you like, we can get a few pieces you pick", Whumper continued without noticing Whumpee.

Whumpee took a deep breath before nodding.

"You doing alright?", Whumper noticed the silence finally.

"There is a lot here. Lots of colors and people", Whumpee whispered.

"I'm sorry, you haven't been out for a while. It's probably a bit overwhelming", Whumper led them to a corner, "let's start here. You can get acclimated in a smaller space. When you feel comfortable we can move on."

Whumpee nodded again.

A few things were now in the cart... all picked by Whumper.

"Are you going to pick anything out", Whumper eyed Whumpee as they went to another part of the clothing department.

"I picked out the pants" Whumpee whispered.

"You picked the color. I already knew you wanted the black pair, but I was trying to get you to answer", Whumper looked at a sweater for themself.

"I'm sorry, I forgot how busy stores were", Whumpee fidgetted with their fingers.

Whumper nodded, "I guess you need to get out more."

Whumper led Whumpee to a section of the store for groceries. They wanted to give Whumpee a little break from the clothes.

Whumpee stumbled a little beside the cart when they stared at something for too long.

"Careful Whumpee", Whumper grinned at some passer bys.

"Sorry", Whumpee sighed.

Whumpee glanced back a few times before they rounded a corner.

Whumpee was a little more helpful in the groceries. Dinners were planned so Whumpee could grab the ingredients needed.

Whumper led them back to the clothes after a few snacks were grabbed.

They walked past the spot Whumpee had been staring at earlier.

Whumper saw it this time. Whumpee had a small grin on their face.

"You see something you like", Whumper chuckled, "finally."

"No Master", Whumpee shook their head nervously.

Whumper looked around, "Shh, don't call me that here", they whispered. "I know that face. You made the same one when I said you could get your chips. What did you see?"

Whumpee blushed.

"Come on, show me", Whumper pressed.

Whumpee turned and awkwardly shuffled back to what they were looking at.

Whumper followed curiously.

Whumpee looked down and pointed at a rack full of slippers.

"Oh, you want some slippers. That's fine. Which ones?", Whumper smiled.

"Uhm, these ones... mas... uh", Whumpee looked at them nervously.

Whumper took a closer look at what Whumpee was embarrassed about. A giant smirk now on their face.

"Oh, I see", Whumper chuckled.

Whumpee had chosen slippers that looked like bear paws. Complete with leathery claws.

"Yes, those will be cute. This is the only thing you've actually picked out today for clothes, so that tells me that you really like them", Whumper took one from the hook, "you can get them."

"Really?", Whumpee looked at them questioningly.

"Yes", Whumper nodded, "let's find your size."

Whumper laughed when they glanced over at Whumpee as they drove home.

Whumpee sat in the passenger seat and cuddled the bag that held the slippers.

Whumpee looked at Whumper nervously.

"You're okay, just being adorable", Whumper grinned.

"Thankyou for the slippers master... I'm really excited to wear them", Whumpee smiled.

Whumper nodded, "we're almost home, so you won't have to wait much longer."

Whumper had a few tasks to do before dinner, so Whumpee went through the clothes on their own and was in the middle of washing the laundry.

Whumper peaked into the laundry room and watched Whumpee as they clicked their slippers together excitedly.

They turned and nervously backed away when they saw Whumper.

"Sorry Master, just doing my chores. I got a little sidetracked", Whumpee whispered, "I really like these."

"I'm glad you are enjoying them. You are washing everything now?", Whumper looked past Whumpee at a pile.

"Yes Master, I decided to do all of the laundry so it would get done", Whumpee sighed, "you shouldn't have bought all of these things for me though. I didn't deserve it all. Even... even these slippers master. I shouldn't have shown a want like that."

"Whumpee", Whumper straightened, "you do a lot around here. You put up with a lot around here too. Since when have I said anything against you having wants and desires", Whumper stepped closer to Whumpee, "you wanted the slippers right? They make you happy?"

"Y-yes master", Whumpee nodded.

"Are they keeping you warm? This morning I found huddled against the stove to get warm. You did indeed need these warmer clothes. You might be my slave, but I do want to take care of you."

Whumpee quickly wiped away a tear, "thankyou master."

"You're welcome", Whumper grinned, "alright I'm in my bedroom if you need me", Whumper started to leave, "I want to see you wearing your new clothes once they're washed as well."

"Yes master", Whumpee smiled and looked down at their slippers again.

They giggled as they wiggled their toes, causing the slippers to wiggle.

"So comfy", Whumpee whispered.

P.s. I do actually have a pair of these slippers. Best things I've bought.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

[crimsonwolf715]

Used as Bait

Jason and Tim, who have been goofing off since getting out of the Batcave, finally arrived at the GCPD building thirty minutes after they were supposed to be there. 

“Got anything for us, Gordon?” Jason asks. 

Gordon looks up from his file, then looks back down. 

“What is he doing?” Jason asks. 

“Ignoring us for the mandatory five minutes because we wasted his time,” Tim answers. “He put it in place when B got into the habit of making a meeting and then being late for it.” 

“And B hates having his time wasted.” 

“Yup. And to be fair, we’re like thirty minutes late. Gordon does usually have some grace if we’re not too late.” 

Jason takes his helmet off and starts messing with his hair. 

“Is something wrong?” Tim asks. 

“Nope,” Jason answers. “We’re just gonna be seeing Maria before patrol’s over.” 

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

“No, of course not. You’re the only one that will let me.” 

“You have to do something for me.” 

“Fine.” 

Gordon offers the file to Tim, so he takes it. 

“Maria your girlfriend?” Gordon asks. 

“Nah, she’s just a friend of mine. But she lives and works in a bad part of town, so I like to try to walk her home,” Jason answers. “She can handle herself, but I literally take out bad guys at least twice a week.” 

“That didn’t work with Barbara,” Gordon says. 

“Yeah, your fiercely independent daughter didn’t want your protection. Maria isn’t a fan of me feeling obligated to walk her home, but she likes that I like to walk her home. We get to talk.” 

“Huh.” 

“We’ve got a possible meeting of gangs?” Tim asks. 

“That’s the thought. We have two officers over there you can meet,” Gordon says. “I want this dealt with tonight if you two can.” 

“Will do, boss. I’ve got something to do at midnight,” Jason replies, “and Red’s got a date with Spoiler.” 

“I already said that I’m not dating Spoiler,” Tim says. “You’re just telling people to get a rise out of me.” 

“Maybe. We’ll come back when we’ve got something for you.” 

“Just call,” Gordon replies. “I’m gonna be in a meeting and then two briefings for the rest of the night. If you really need anything from me, just call.” 

“We will,” Tim says, then the two of them head towards the location in the file. 

They get to the location and there’s an undercover cop car there, just like Gordon said there would be. Tim’s phone rings, so he looks at it. 

“I need to take this. Can you get the info from the officers?” Tim asks. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jason answers, “but it’ll cost you five dollars.” 

“Shut up and go over there.” 

“Whatever.” 

Jason walks over and knocks on the window. He looks inside and nobody’s in the car. 

“Weird,” Jason mutters. “Where did they go?” 

“Red Hood?” 

Jason turns and there’s an officer standing with two cups of coffee. 

“Gordon sent me and Red Robin to help you guys with the incident,” Jason says. “Where’s the other officer?” 

“He’s not in there?” 

Jason shakes his head. 

The officer quickly strides over and looks in the window. “Oh shit, where could he have gone?” 

Jason shrugs, then turns in the direction to check on Tim. Tim’s not standing where he was a minute ago. Jason goes to look around when he feels a needle in the back of his neck. 

“Nighty night.” 

Jason swings his elbow and manages to hit the guy in the face with it before he passes out. 

Tim wakes up to complete blackness. 

“You’ve failed me,” Batman’s voice says.

“What?” Tim asks. 

The scene around him turns from black to a full color image of the city in flames. 

“What happened?” Tim asks. 

“You failed, and we all paid for it.” 

He sees his entire family, bleeding out while the villains are close by celebrating. 

“No, no,” Tim says, shaking his head. “This can’t be real. I… we hold each other up. I can’t be the reason they’re dead.” 

“The most pressure on you to succeed,” Cass says. 

“The most pressure to get everything right,” Dick adds. 

“It’s your fault we failed. Your plan went south and we paid the price for it,” Damian says. 

Tim tries to calm himself down so he doesn’t hyperventilate, but the scene changes to the manor and Tim sees Jason sitting on the couch, reading a book. His blood is still pumping from the stress and anxiety, but he feels a small amount of comfort in the sight of his brother. Tim runs over. 

“Jason!” 

Jason doesn’t look up or acknowledge him. 

“Jason?” 

“I don’t want to be around you,” Jason says. 

“Why?” 

“Because who would want to? You’re annoying, uninteresting, and unable to hold a conversation.” Tim opens his mouth to argue, but Jason continues. “The only reason that Bruce took pity on you was because he was a basket case. If I hadn’t died, you wouldn’t be around. Not even Dick likes being around you, and he likes being around everyone.” 

Tim can’t help the rage that floods him at that moment, especially hearing it from Jason. He was the only one around to help when everything was going up in flames, and any of them feel like they have the right to complain? 

“You’re utterly useless, Drake,” Damian says, appearing out of thin air before Tim can get any farther in his thought process. 

The world goes back to black as Tim tries to figure out what’s going on. 

“Time for you to sleep now.” 

Tim recognizes the voice and he searches for Mad Hatter. He feels himself starting to lose consciousness, but starts thrashing around when he feels something with a similar feeling to a mask being pulled over his face. He passes out without succeeding in getting the mask off. 

Jason wakes up to complete darkness. He hears a familiar laugh that sends a chill up his spine. Jason struggles against the restraints, starting to hyperventilate. Joker comes into view with a bloody crowbar. 

“Ready for round two, little bird?” 

Jason breaks the restraints and throws a punch at Joker. It goes right through him and he starts laughing again. 

“Batman’s favorite toy, how does it feel? You almost caused the downfall of Batman with your death. It must feel fantastic to know that you almost succeeded in your goal solely by getting your head bashed in and then inhaling a little smoke,” Joker says. 

Jason throws another punch at him and it goes through him again. Jason gets his feet untied in enough time for the scene to disappear. Something knocks Jason off balance and he lands on his back. He blinks and when he opens his eyes, he’s lying down in a wooden box. Jason starts trying to bust the box but no matter how much force he uses, it doesn’t break. 

He can feel the oxygen getting thinner. He’s panicking too much and while he knows it, he can’t seem to get his breathing to slow down. He can’t seem to stop panicking. No matter how hard he tries, he’s stuck in this coffin of dread. He squeezes his eyes closed. 

“Dad!” he cries out, hoping that Bruce is right outside to save him. 

“No father to save you. There never was,” Joker’s voice says. “You really think that Batsy ever loved a little screw-up like you? No, he only pretended to. His savior complex made him take pity on you.” 

Jason shakes his head, refusing to believe it again. 

“My dad loves me!” 

Joker laughs, taunting and mocking Jason. 

“Time for you to sleep now.” 

Jason doesn’t recognize the voice and he searches for the person attached to it. He passes out as it feels something go over his face, like a mask. 

Dick’s watching TV, waiting for Damian to call him to discuss the details of Damian spending the weekend with him. Currently he’s watching a rerun of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but he’s only half-watching it. The screen goes black, drawing Dick’s full attention back to it. The screen glitches, then shows a close-up of Scarecrow’s face. Dick sits up. The camera backs away from Scarecrow’s face enough that you can see more of him. 

“Hello, Gotham,” Scarecrow says. “This isn’t for many of you, so feel free to ignore. Batman, on the other hand, we have your little birds.” 

The camera moves to show Jason and Tim in full uniform, clearly in distress. They’re fighting hard against the restraints, but in a wild and restless way that Tim would never normally attempt to get out in. Dick gets and starts searching his coffee table for his phone. Right on cue, it rings. 

He answers. “Hey, Dami. Are you watching right now?” 

“I’m watching,” Damian answers. “Barbara’s trying to figure out where the signal’s coming from and Father’s getting suited up. I’m already suited up before you ask.” 

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.” 

“Thank you. Father’s panicking.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” 

Dick grabs his keys and rushes out of his apartment. He heads to his safehouse to change into costume then gets on his bike and makes a beeline for Wayne Manor. Once he hits city limits, his comm crackles. 

“Grayson will be here when he gets here,” Damian says. “Nothing we’re going to say is gonna make him get here faster.” 

“Hey, I’m at city limits,” Dick says. 

“Hey, Nightwing,” Barbara replies. “I’m sending the location to your bike now.” 

“Thanks, Oracle. How’s Batman?” 

“I’m fine,” Bruce says gruffly. “I’m heading to the warehouse now. How long will it take for you to get there?” 

Dick checks the location. “Five minutes. It’s closer to the city limit than I thought it would be.” 

“We’ll meet you there. I’m here with Orphan and Robin. Spoiler’s out of town.” 

“Alright.” 

He gets there at the same time they do and runs over. 

“Hey, what did the scan of the building indicate?” Dick asks. 

“Four heat signatures and their trackers are still transmitting from inside,” Bruce answers. “Alright, remember that our top priority is getting them out. If one of them gets away, we can deal with it at a later point.” 

Cass and Damian both nod. Dick notices Mad Hatter and Scarecrow leaving the building. Cass notices them too and looks towards Bruce for instructions. Tim and Jason jump down onto the roof and ready their weapons. Bruce nods at Cass, and she goes after Scarecrow and Mad Hatter while Jason and Tim attack the rest of the Bats. Tim viciously attacks Damian with his bo staff and Damian barely dodges. 

“What the hell?” Damian asks. 

“The masks belong to Mad Hatter,” Dick says, trying to grab Tim so he can get the mask off. “He’s probably controlling both Hood and Red.” 

Tim grabs Dick’s wrist and flips him onto his back. Tim jams a batarang into Dick’s arm, pinning him to the roof in the process. Dick hisses and tries to figure out how to take it out without hurting himself worse. After watching Jason beating Bruce and Tim beating Damian for several minutes while trying to think, he finally just pulls it out as fast as he can and runs at Tim. Bruce can hold his own a little longer. Tim drives a hard kick to Dick’s shoulder, which was slightly injured in a battle earlier that week. 

“Shit,” Dick mutters, grabbing his shoulder. “That hurt, bud.” 

Tim swings his staff at him again and Dick grabs the other end. He uses the momentum to throw Tim on his back. Damian grabs the mask and rips it off. 

Damian checks his pulse. “He’s alive. You should probably go help Father with Hood before he makes him cry.” 

Dick looks up and the two are sparring. 

“I knew that Hood could reasonably fight Batman but seeing it is something else,” Dick mutters, “but I’m gonna go help Batman.” 

Damian nods and starts checking for injuries on Tim. Dick flips over to Jason and kicks him hard in the side of the head. Bruce rips the mask off and stomps on it repeatedly. Dick checks Jason’s pulse while Bruce finishes destroying the mask. 

“His pulse is there. Little weak, but steady.” 

“Good,” Bruce says. “Let’s get them home.” 

Bruce watches his kids as they rest and recuperate. Cass is patching up Damian’s injuries while Dick is patching himself up. Bruce notices that Tim starts shaking. Before he has a chance to get up and get him another blanket, Tim wakes up and sits up, looking concerned. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re home,” Bruce says. 

Tim’s facial expression is flat and hard to read. Bruce notices that he seems concerned, but can’t tell about what exactly. He sees everybody and seems to ease a little, but still gets up. 

“You should be resting,” Cass says. 

“I’m gonna go rest in my room. I don’t… I don’t want to be here right now.” 

“Hey, Tim,” Bruce says. 

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Dad,” Tim says, rushing through the words, then hurriedly heads up back to the manor. 

Jason wakes up not long after. He looks around but his fear and anger are completely visible to Bruce. He gets up to walk over and Jason seems to calm down a little, the anger seeming to disappear. 

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks. 

Jason opens his mouth, then closes it again. He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. 

“I don’t want to talk about it… right now. I’ll talk to you when I feel up to it,” Jason says. “Does that work, Dad?” 

Bruce puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder and nods. “Of course it does.” 

Jason nods. “I’m gonna head upstairs and try to sleep off this migraine that’s hitting me.” 

“Make sure to take something.” 

“I will.” 

Jason heads upstairs as Damian walks over to Bruce. 

“How are you feeling, Damian?” Bruce asks. 

“I’m fine,” Damian answers. “Cassandra stitched up my injury. I’m going to speak to Timothy if you don’t need anything else.” 

“Go ahead.” Damian heads upstairs. 

At least someone can get Tim to talk. If Damian can’t, I think I’ll talk Dick into trying.  

Dick walks up. “Hey, you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Bruce says. “You?” 

Dick sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t like fighting my siblings in such a setting. It hits the edge of that line I swore I’d never cross again. I’m physically fine, but they could have not been. Mad Hatter had them pushing us full strength. The strain that would have put on their brains…” 

“I know. Don’t worry about that right now. Full brain scans show no signs of damage and we’re gonna keep up with scans until we’re completely in the clear. I won’t let anything happen to them without doing everything that I can to stop it,” Bruce promises. 

Dick nods, then hugs Bruce. Bruce hugs him back and they stay like that until Dick’s phone starts ringing. Dick looks at it, then smiles. 

“Hey, babe. What can I do for ya?” A pause. “I’m gonna take this outside, then probably head home.” 

“Goodnight, Dick,” Bruce says. 

“ ‘Night, Dad,” Dick replies, waving as he walks upstairs with his jacket. 

Bruce heads upstairs after a little while and goes to his room. He leaves his door open a crack, a sign that the kids can come in if they need something, then gets in bed to get some much needed sleep.

[khoirkid]

Heavyweight Heartbreaker - IsArt Sketches in collaboration with @Amethystfairy1

Go check out the fic over on her blog!

[cosmictyto]

Nimona Week - Day 4 - Rage + AU

~ THIS IS WHAT YOU ASKED FOR ~

90% of my creative process involves music, so when I wound up listening to Linkin Park's "Heavy is the Crown" my brain went wild. And, really, I just wanted an excuse to draw Nims as like a half-dragon-feral-monster-thing, lol

She deserves a liiittle bit of murder.

~ As a treat ~

Also, becasue I can't help myself, wound up thinking of a sort of AU/context scenario where, basically, before Ballister confronts Nimona with the scroll, he's killed by Todd. And since he's the only friend she’s had in forever + he’s kiiiiinda the only one keeping her from just going full "murder everyone" mode, I can see her basically just going: “They really want a monster so badly? Fine, I’ll give them one.”

@nimona-week

(Also, why tf is this so dark when I check it on my phone but not on my desktop?? 😭)

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 17-18

Prompt: Headache (alt)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

You had not been home long when Daryl came shuffling through the door. He had gone on a run, leaving at the ass-crack of dawn but they were back by early afternoon with two boxes of medical supplies as fruits of their labor. Then he had been helping to move the solar panels and work on the battery hookup with Eugene. You were certain he was thrilled about that. 

You knew he hadn’t stopped; hadn’t told anyone he needed a break. It’s just who he was. Help until the job was done. It was a given that he’d be exhausted. You’d let him relax, maybe shower, while you made a quick dinner. 

Except… he stumbled after closing the door, the tips of the fingers on his left hand pressed against his temple. He didn’t so much as wave before depositing himself face first onto the couch, long legs hanging over the edge of the cushions. If it wasn’t so out of character for him, you’d find it comical. 

“Uh, hi.” You leaned into the room before actually entering. “Rough day?” There was a muffled mhm. “Hungry?” Another muted answer, but this one was mm-mm. God, you wanted to laugh, but that would need to wait until you found out a little more about why your boyfriend came home and immediately attempted to suffocate himself on the living room furniture. 

You knelt slowly, rubbing your hand over the warm leather on his back. You were pretty sure the next noise was a sigh. 

“Are you okay?” You ventured, probing a little more while leaving space in between questions so as not to irritate the archer. You thought he might have said super and was a bit dry, but it was hard to tell with the thick fabric pressed against his face. 

You shifted to properly sit on the floor, moving your hand in random patterns over his back. Maybe if you were patient, he would decide air was a good thing and sit up to enjoy it. You didn’t have anywhere else to be. It took about five minutes for him to very slowly roll his head toward you, expression drawn and eyes squinted. Uh oh. Your Dixon sense was tingling. 

“What’s wrong?”

He visibly attempted a scowl but gave up after only a brief effort. “Head.”

Oh, the jokes you could make. Not the time, Y/N. 

“Headache.” It wasn’t a question. It was blatantly obvious after he’d given you a clue. Judging from his flushed skin and the tension nearly vibrating over his form, it was a bad one. ���Okay, just a second.” Daryl didn’t normally get headaches, so you were unsure how to treat one in a man that never complained and despised feeling weak or vulnerable. As you pulled the shades and closed the curtains, you glanced back at him. 

Weak was a fitting word. If a herd plowed through right now, he’d probably thank them when they started to eat him. 

With the room sufficiently darkened, you crouched in front of him, brushing his hair away from his eyes with a barely there swipe of your fingertips. “I’m going to go get a few things for you. Just relax here until I get back.”

“S’okay.” He mumbled, his arm falling away from where it had been tucked at his side. He let his hand hit the floor with little care. “Don’ need ta go outta yer way. M’good.”

A tilt of your head and tender smile should have been enough of a response, but just in case it wasn’t. “You know better than that. Sit tight.” You backed away from him in case he was about to offer any other objections but he surrendered and turned his hand with a thumbs up. 

You made a list in your head as you shuffled around the house. Pain killers. Tylenol would be okay but you were hoping for one of the stronger ones he’d been given when he’d broken his ribs. He was just as stubborn then so there were probably at least a couple left. 

While on your search, you were passing by other things you needed. Washcloths. The small basin that you reserved for cleaning him up when he came home bloody. And eureka! Pills! 

You contemplated getting him some comfortable clothes but the less he moved right then, the better. As an afterthought, you toed off your boots, quieting your steps significantly when you descended the stairs. If he noticed you bypassing him to disappear into the kitchen, he didn’t voice it. He’d need a glass of water to take the pills though you were certain he wasn’t beyond swallowing them dry. You filled the basin with cool water as well and strategically balanced your burden while padding back into the living room. 

Placing the items on the end table, you leaned down to press the most gentle kiss to the crown of his head. His eyes were closed but you were almost certain he wasn’t asleep.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to move around for just a minute and then you can stay still as long as you want. Deal?” 

“Don’ wanna.” He groaned, reminding you very much of a grumpy toddler. Your hands drifted to his shoulders, pulling up as gingerly as you could to motivate him. 

“Come on.” His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched against the throbbing in his skull. Those things were counterproductive when dealing with a headache but if you could get him to take the pills and lie down more comfortably, maybe he’d relax a little. “I got the leftover strong ones so this should start helping pretty quickly.”

“Okay.” He was so quiet and looked so small at that moment. You wanted to wrap him up and hold onto him forever. He held out his palm and you handed over the medication, barely getting the glass in front of him in time for him to swallow with the water. 

“Okay, now you get pampered.” You crawled to the far end of the couch next to your supplies and sat, patting your thighs. “Your pillow awaits, handsome.” You were barely able to stifle the giggle when he rolled his eyes before promptly pressing his palm against his forehead with a drawn out whine of ow. 

He stayed silent while stretching out on his back, his head resting on your lap. You smiled down at him while one hand dipped cloth into the water and squeezed out the excess. 

“You don’t have to do anything. I’ve got you.” You were gentle and careful when lifting his head slightly to place the cool cloth over the back of his neck. He winced at the movement regardless, making you frown. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” He murmured, but you still felt a pang of guilt. 

The second cloth now wrung out, you folded it and placed it over his eyes. When he melted deeper into the couch with a sigh, you grinned triumphantly. That part out of the way, you pressed two fingers, gently but firmly, against each of his temples and began massaging the area. You could feel the pulsing there, so too much would not be beneficial. You began to alternate between that and carefully scratching your fingernails over his scalp to stimulate blood flow. 

After no more than five minutes, before you even needed to rewet the cloths, he was softly snoring on your lap. Still, you continued, determined to make sure the headache was gone before stopping. 

An hour later, you had removed the cloths and stopped massaging. Your fingers carded idly through his hair as he slept. He had turned onto his side and pressed his face into your stomach, not a single line of pain left showing. 

Daryl so seldom got to relax that seeing him like that and just being able to take it all in was something you found you wanted to do over and over again. Maybe you’d start being more appreciative of the time you could spend watching him sleep in the moonlight from the bedroom window. You knew that was going to be your new favorite bedtime ritual. 

A deep breath drew you from your thoughts and back to him, his eyes fluttering but barely opening. 

“Thanks, sunshine.” He whispered against your shirt, back asleep before you could reply. 

“Anytime, love. Anytime.”

[whumpypepsigal]

@whumpgifathon | Day 29 (alt. prompt): “Bedside Vigil”

Fox Mulder in The X Files 2x25

[lostwhump]

@whumpril | Day #17: (Alt. Prompt) Clammy Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)

[screengifs]

@whumpril Day 15: (Alt prompt #8) SILENT TEARS. Matilda (1996)

[jasmines-library]

Survivors Guilt

WHUMPTOBER DAY 9: ALT prompt: Survivors Guilt

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Summary: When jason dies after taking your place, you experience survivor's guilt.

Word count: 1k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

You should have died that day. His screams will forever be ingrained in your consciousness; whispering away in the back of your mind. Weaving their way through the cracks like a stubborn weed. You should have died that day, but Jason’s pleading to take your place was enough to satisfy the sadistic man before you. The way his eyes twinkled with a sadistic gleam made you feel sick. You have tried. Tried impossibly hard to get the Joker to leave Jason alone. Tried to tell them that you would take the torture as you were supposed to. But Jay was far too caring for his own good and his pleas to spare you amused the Joker more than you did. Your shreeks of terror and your desperate cries; the ones that ricocheted off of the walls satisfied the Joker. But they would never bring more of a grin to his face than watching the light leave Jason’s eyes. 

By the time Bruce arrived it was already too late. Jason’s heart had long stopped beating. But once they had untied you, they had to drag you away from his body to tend to your injuries. 

You didn’t sleep for weeks after that. You would often wake up in the night screaming for him. You couldn't so much as close your eyes without seeing him. It was like he was haunting you. A ghostly reminder that he died to save you. Because of you. That it should have been you. The guilt hung heavily over your head, weighing you down. And you began to change. It eventually got to the point where you practically refused to sleep. Or rather couldn’t. It was much easier to force yourself to stay awake than to Soon you became more withdrawn. You stopped making appearances at breakfast and dinner and it grew increasingly harder for anyone to find you anywhere other than inside your bedroom. Slowly, you began to lose interest in the things you were so interested in before. You didn’t have the energy to even think about doing them.

The other members of the family noticed of course. At first they had decided to give you some space, offering support when they thought you needed it. They knew they were grieving. They were grieving too. But as the weeks passed they slowly began to notice your withdrawn nature. They missed your lively presence and just seeing your face. 

Late one afternoon, there was a knock on your bedroom door. You tried to ignore it first. Hoping that you could pretend to be asleep and that whoever it was would go away. But then the knock came again followed by your name. 

You could tell that it was Dick on the other side of the door and from his tone of voice you knew he was worried. Of course he was worried. And there was just something about the way he said your name that forced you to get up out of bed and crack open the door. 

Dick seemed rather startled when you opened the door. Truthfully, he hadn't expected you to. But he wasn’t alone. Tim and Damian were with him. 

“Hey….” he said gently. “Do you mind if we come in?”

You hesitated for a moment but let them in reluctantly before shuffling onto your bed.

“Where you been, princess?” Tim asked you “We’ve not seen you. You doing okay?”

“Yeah…” you responded quietly. “Just been…….busy.”

It was a complete lie. You hadn’t been doing much of anything, you couldn’t bring yourself to. Tim frowned a little, but didn’t comment on the matter, instead he placed a hand on your knee, rubbing over the skin gently with the pad of his thumb. 

“You've been sleeping okay?” Damian asked you. The bags under your eyes were far from subtle. 

“...better.” You just answered shortly. That guilt still hung heavy above your head. 

“Good.” a sliver of a smile appeared on Dick’s face before it morphed into a sad look. “We’re worried about you, kid.”

“I’m fine.” You tried to dismiss them. 

Tim tilted his head at you. “You don’t have to keep it bottled up, sweetheart. Talk to us.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but your words failed you. You were scared to open up.

Dick squeezed your hand. “It's alright. Tell us how you’re feeling. We’re listening.”

“I…..it should have been me.” Your words cut through the silence. Honest. And brutal. Raw and real. “He begged him to leave me alone. And he–”

“Shh…” Dick tried to soothe you. “It’s alright. You're okay.”

“Its not okay! he died because of me!”

Damian shook his head. “No. Don’t think like that. Jason died because the Joker is sick.”

“He took my place!” You said. You were on the verge of crying. You could feel the tears prickling at the back of your eyes. They could see the guilt you were experiencing. 

“What happened was not your fault. You hear me?”

“I should have tried harder.”

“No. No sweetheart….” Dick shushed you. “You couldn’t have done anything. The Joker had his mind made up. No one could have done anything to have stopped him. But Jay did what he did because he loved you. Not because you didn’t try hard enough to stop him.”

That was what pushed you over the edge. The tears began to flow. Dick pulled you close to his chest, wrapping you up tightly in his arms as you wept. Tim ran his fingers gently through your hair as Damian laced your fingers with his and traced gentle, soft circles on the back of your hand. 

“Shh…we’ve got you…. It's okay ....”

The three boys held you close, reassuring you and letting you cry. 

“We’re here for you sweetheart.” Tim said. “We’re always gonna be here for you.

“We’re gonna work through this together, okay? It might take us a little while but that’s okay.” Dick explained to you gently. “We’re here for you, kid. Always and forever”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY EIGHT ⛤ DAY TEN ->

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #24

A/N: This contains (fairly vague?) spoilers for season 4

xxx alternate prompt: no-holds-barred beatdown

River doesn't enjoy grocery shopping, especially not at the big chains. There are too many options and too many people, and they always play the same shit songs over the tinny speakers. He's recently gotten the urge to cook a proper meal, though – something he hasn't felt the desire to do since he made the decision to move the OB to the nursing home. Cooking was something he usually did at his granddad's house, for the two of them, and it feels weird to go through the trouble of shopping for and cooking a meal that only he's going to eat. But the last few weeks have been...difficult, and he thinks maybe this'll be good for him. And if it isn't, he can go back to eating takeaway.

He's browsing the pasta aisle when he hears someone shout, "Bertrand!" He glances up from the box of pappardelle he's holding and catches a glimpse of a man stalking down the same aisle he's in. He's huge and he looks pissed. Whoever Bertrand is, River feels bad for the poor bastard. And then he glances up again and realizes that the giant angry man is coming toward him.

"Oh, shit," River says, shoving the pappardelle back onto the shelf right as a fist flies into his face. It connects with his nose with a loud crunch and stars burst across his vision as the back of his head smacks against the shelf behind him. Blood gushes from his nose and his eyes are watering like crazy and he blinks rapidly, raising his hands as the man winds up again.

"Wait-" he begins, but it's like asking a tornado to stop and expecting it to listen.

The next blow is right to the solar plexus. It forces the air out of his lungs and paralyzes his diaphragm. Knowing what's happening, and that it's temporary, doesn't help the panic that comes with being unable to breathe. River's too focused on trying to inhale to offer any resistance when the man grabs him by the arms hard enough to bruise and throws him to the ground. People are starting to take notice, if the noises around him (gasps and murmurs and a loud shriek) are anything to go by.

The man doesn't seem to give a flying fuck.

He's on River in a second, straddling him, so that even when River's body remembers how to breathe again he can't draw a proper breath because of the weight on his torso. He throws his arms up in an attempt to protect his face, but the man grabs River's left arm and shoves it down, pinning it to the ground with his knee. There's a constant stream of angry words coming from the man's mouth, and it takes River a moment to recognize it as profanity-laden French.

French.

Bertrand.

His mind flashes back to the angry mob in Lavande. The men had wanted to kill him – or, had wanted to kill Bertrand, anyway. And now one of those men is here, in a Tesco in London, because of course he is.

Fuck.

River's been punched before, a lot. His balls still ache at the memory of the beating he'd taken at the hands of Duffy and Hobbs. But even in that instance, they'd practiced some restraint.

This man doesn't.

Blow after blow comes. He feels a gash open across his cheekbone, and immediate swelling. His teeth cut the inside of his cheek, filling his mouth with blood. He doesn't want to swallow it so he chokes on it instead, coughs and lets it spill from the corners of his mouth. I'm not him he wants to shout, but he can't. The man won't give him the chance. There's shouting now, and he hears words like stop and police and you're killing him repeated over and over by different voices.

Oh, god.

This man, whoever he is, is killing him.

River going to be beat to death by a Frenchman in the rice and pasta aisle of a Tesco.

And then, a familiar voice.

"What on earth are you doing?!"

The man stops, panting, and looks up at Catherine Standish. No one else has been brave enough to do anything but shout at him from afar, but now here she is, this older woman standing right in front of them in simple floral dress and sensible shoes and looking for all the world like a guardian angel.

"Pardon me, madam," the man says, breathing heavily, "but you do not know what this salaud has done to me. To my family."

"Who, River?"

The man frowns. He blinks. "Who is River?"

"Well, he is!" Catherine says, gesturing at River with the shopping basket in her hand. The man looks down at River, the frown deepening.

"I did try to tell you." The words are garbled by blood, and River forces his head to turn to one side so he can spit some of it out. Even that small movement is dizzying and he closes his eyes with a groan.

"But--" the Frenchman sputters.

"Bertrand is dead," River rasps. "You're welcome."

"Merde," the man swears. He runs his bloody-knuckled hands through his hair and climbs off of River, sitting back heavily. "I thought you were – I'm so sorry. Je suis désolée. I-I can help."

He reaches toward River and River can't help but flinch, wincing as the action sends little bursts of agony stabbing through his head.

"I think it'd be best if you left him alone," Catherine says, kneeling next to River, who has never felt more grateful and more embarrassed to see someone in his life. "There's an ambulance on the way, River."

River doesn't want to attempt a nod, so he lets out a small grunt of acknowledgment. "What're you doing here?" His words are starting to run together, and they come out slow and clumsy.

"I was buying some coffee for the office."

All River can think to say is, "Oh."

The office. God, Lamb is going to have a field day with this when he finds out. Roddy, too, and maybe even Shirley as well. Getting his arse kicked was bad enough, but having it saved by Catherine...He sighs, forcing his eyes (eye – the left one is swollen shut) open.

"Thank you, Catherine."

"Hm? Oh, that's alright. No need to thank me, River."

"I mean it," he slurs, and he feels a hand on his own.

"Don't try and speak," Catherine says, patting the back of his hand gently. "Just rest until the paramedics get here. It'll be alright."

The tenderness is almost enough to bring tears to River's eyes.

xxx

[khoirkid]

Not Gruesome, Just Human: IsArt Sketches in collaboration with @amethystfairy1

[cosmictyto]

Nimona Week - Day 6/7 - Alt prompt: 1,000 Years - Headcanons

(Was kept away yesterday and most of today so I didn’t really have the time to write down my headcanons, whoopsies. @nimona-week)

Really these are just various thoughts I have about Nimona in relation to her basically being immortal.

If my calculations are correct, over the course of 1,000 years, that’d mean about 38 human generations have come and gone.

There have been plenty of decades where Nims has been masculine-presenting just to get out of some of the ridiculous fashion trends women would have. I can see Nimona wearing a period-typical peasant dress, but corsets? Bonnets? Hoopskirts? Nah.

There are plenty of foods she knows how to cook that everyone else has forgotten. Along with ingredients that she can’t find anymore. In a similar vein, there are plenty of fruits or vegetables that she doesn’t like anymore because the cultivars she liked died out after a plant-plague.

Likes to fuck with the guys by saying, “Oh, look! There I am!” While pointing to any old picture they happen to come across. Especially images with historical impact. At one point Bal and Rose catch on… until she ACTUALLY points herself out in one of the kingdom’s most famous historical events. Then the game’s back on.

She hates watching/reading historical dramas because she knows what things were really like during those time periods, and most of those are horribly inaccurate. It’s just irritating especially with the context of it being historical.

Same thing with accents in TV shows. “Ugh! Why are they using that noble accent?! People didn’t talk like that until 300 years ago!!”

Sometimes she’ll use some really old slang or phrase that’ll catch Ballister and Ambrosius off guard. Like, if Bal’s smiling about something she’ll just blurt out, “What’s with the gigglemug, Boss?” Or when talking about something like a fight she got into, she might say, “Yeah, I knocked him arsy-varsy!~” It’s usually not until she sees the looks of complete confusion she gets when she realizes what she did.

Has “I remember when they first invented chocolate.~” moments CONSTANTLY. Because, yeah, she was there for the invention of a lot of things. And I 100% see her as an early adopter.

Ambrosius constantly teases her for moments like this. Saying, “You sound like my grandmother” or calling her things like “Meemaw” or “Nana Nims.”

She gets REALLY irritated whenever someone tries to gatekeep “punk” as a concept. She was there when punk was born. Went to those little gigs by nobody bands who would shape the genre, lived through the times that created the lifestyle, saw all the different interpretations people had when everyone was figuring it out. The only real parameters include being an outsider, giving a big “fuck you” to authority, and being kind/defending the weak. That’s it. The very act of someone dictating what is/is not punk DEFINITELY isn’t punk. She knows that, and she’s not at all afraid to call someone out for their authoritative, gatekeeping nonsense.

Even before punk as a concept was formed, she found herself drawn to music and social pariahs. For a while, she’d even lived as a bard, playing music for money.

She knows ALL the bawdy tavern songs. All of them. And she can’t help but laugh when anyone tries to paint the past as more wholesome than it was, because it absolutely wasn’t.

Most of the time she’s humming more modern music to herself. But, there are times where she’s singing some really old folk song she’s heard before.

She also listens to the music from a generation or two before Bal and Amb. Thus earning her more “old lady” comments.