"STANLEY WITH BABY FORD ON THE OTHER HAND" (from tags)
Noodles? What are you planning to do to us? Should I get a dust pan to sweep my heart off the floor now?
It’s goING GOOD NO PROBLEMS HERE NOTHING CAN GO WRONG!!!
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"You fight against a god!" Said the eldritch, nearly undecipherable being that's body twinkled with stars that the JL/YJ (Your choice) had found themselves fighting against after having been sucked into a world not their own. "Do you truly believe yourselves capable of-"
A green sticky note appeared in front of the figure's... Face? They honestly didn't know, seeing as they couldn't tell where exactly this being began and ended.
"Oh- Oh uh." The figure said as its voice lost that booming, echoing quality as it started to shrink. "I gotta, like. Uh." Said the boy that took the being's place, sticky note in hand as he rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. "Sorry, can we, uh. Continue this later? I gotta walk my dog-"
A moment later, a loud bark broke the new atmosphere, and the child beamed. "Cujo!" He said, holding out his arms as the dog barreled into him. "Okay so I'll just, uh. I'll be right back, okay? Just stay there!" He said, before falling through a portal and leaving.
"So does this mean we technically won-"
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Alfred: Who is this?
Seven year old Bruce: His name is Danny. He's my older brother
Alfred: You're an only child. You don't have a brother.
Bruce: Mom? Dad? Do I have a brother?
Thomas: I only ever loved your mother, and I find baby-making repulsive—no offense, Brucie—so biologically, no, you don't have a brother. Emotionally, on the other hand, if you feel like he is your brother, I don't mind calling him my son. It's not like I can't afford it, nor can this lad outrun me.
Alfred: That's... kidnaping, sir.
Martha: Oh don't be so uptight Alfred. You Brits worrry about the sillist of things.
Alfred: Silly thing? You mean the law!?
Martha: Yes, that's a pesky thing. Besides, he has my eyes and Thomas' nose! That's obviously our son.
Bruce considering Danny: He does have your nose, dad.
Thomas proud: A chip off the old block that one. Good job catching your brother Brucie.
Bruce: Thank you! I used my innocent face like you said, Mom!
Martha beaming: A pretty face is a valuable weapon, darling!
Alfred whispering to Danny: Blink four times if you want me to get you out of here. The Waynes are not entirely sane.
Danny:..... The kid just said he needed someone to walk him home cause he was lost.
Alfred: That's how they get you. I once offered Master Thomas my coat during a suprise downpour. That was four years ago, and now I'm a butler. He gave me an embroidered apron with the words, "You're mine now, Brit"
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Price, who runs most of the businesses in the city you live in, but everyone local knows it's all to hide his ... shadier dealings.
(part 2)
You, who only know him by his reputation and not to see, have no idea who the nice man you meet in a club one night really is.
And he's so charming at first, with just the right edge of rough that you like.
By the end of the night, you've had enough to drink that you don't question why he has a back-office in the club. You just let him lay you out on his couch and settle between your legs.
Only come to your senses when you wake up a few hours later, snuggled close to a bare chest. Slip back into your dress and grab your dress before sneaking out. And as you turn to quietly click the door shut, you see the tiny placard on the door.
J. Price.
"John," he'd rasped into your ear, buried inside you. "Call me John, darlin'. Say my fuckin' name, there's a good girl."
You vow never to see him again, are sure he won't mind - it's just a one-night-stand, after all.
Until, a few months later, when, after a job, him and his boys stop at a diner for some food and you happen to be his waitress.
You beg your colleagues to take the table for you but they all take one look at the men and pointblank refuse.
When you finally dredge up the courage to approach the table, John looks up and immediately smiles at you.
It's only when his eyes drop to the small, but prominent, bump under your shirt that his smile fades and you know you're in trouble.
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