#snippet time!!

[notjoshdun]

“Your lightsaber,” Jayce pointed out, inspecting the flickering of the Kyber inside, the dying crystal already bled and visible through the shattered hilt. There was a faint buzz, the staccato of electricity that signalled the weapon was meant to be on. “It's not supposed to do that.” Viktor turned it over in his hand, and with a shrug and a ghost of a smile — both things Jayce hadn't seen from him in long enough to feel nostalgic over it, and if he let himself dwell long enough he could almost picture the both of them back at the Temple again — and placed it down on Jayce's workbench. “You state the obvious.”

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #9

"This portal will bring you back to your time safely."

The young teen, well kid in Dick's eyes said before them, pointing towards a green vortex. Dick felt relieved but also a twist in his gut. Time travel adventures always had their pro and cons. He was sure that they hadn't messed up anything, Damian wouldn't end up with a new hair cut this time, nor any of his brother. Hell Jason was even apparently cleaned out from some bad ectoplasm.

Yet...

They had spend some time here, fixing Ra's newest dumb idea to get Damian back on his side. They had bonded with this kid from the past. A young hero at the age of 14, barely older than Damian himself.

The kid had gotten tricked by Ra at first then they ended up in his time resolving the mess and bonding with this kid. Like really bonded with this kid. Like B starting to mentor the kid like he did all of them. Tim tinkering and engineering with him. Jason bantering and joking with the kid, even Damian bonded with him, thanks to one size changing ghost dog. Not to mention Dick bonded with the kid a lot too.

And it sucked in Dick's opinion. He glanced at his family, even if they all were in gear and wearing masks, he could see the small signs in the way they where holding themselves. The small indications, movements barely noticeable to anyone else.

Hell he could even see it in Bruce, the way the man tensed just a little bit. The small twitch of the man's lip, the little minuscule tilt. It was all there and only for the Batfamily to see.

Dick put on a smile, burying that twisted feeling in his gut.

Like they all did.

Like they all were forced to do.

He watched Tim make one last souvenir selfie. Well they all had one with the kid. Made at various points during their stay in this time. Even Damian sneaked making one using the excuse of wanting a selfie with that big green ghost dog.

"We will be on our way then kid." He tried sounding cheerful and by the smile the kid gave him, he was sure he hit the right tone of voice. "Don't be a stranger when we meet again."

He smiled still, knowing his family caught on to the fact that he said 'when' not 'if'.

Because it was obvious.

In their short time here, they all but officially, had adopted the kid into the family. Dick would joke that he kid would fit right in with them while they were here. Jason lamenting how Bruce had a type with kids. Bruce had had that minuscule uplift to his lip whenever they had joked around with the kid.

But again, this wasn't their time.

And that's why time travel sucked.

You make bonds, maybe even new family.

But they wouldn't be there when you are back in the time you belong.

But Dick was determined. When they stepped through that vortex, when he looked back at the kid waving to them. He knew what he had to do the moment they were back in their time.

He just hoped the kid would remember them, remember his words of not being a stranger.

[xitsensunmoon]

Guys I love hands so much... But why they be so difficult to animate 😭

[fandelacatalogue-reboot]

Snippet of “To Heaven, Hell, and Back”!!

“Mark, can you hear me?” The soft spoken voice was the first thing Mark was greeted by, his brain lagging to wake up. His eyes fluttered open, hazel and green eyes adjusting to the bright light and the face of a little girl with blonde hair. 

The girl looked about seven, yet had the same features as Mark, such as the freckles that spotted here and there, the thin hair that easily blew with the wind, and the soft hazel eyes that expressed a load of emotion. 

“I’m up, Sarah,” Mark softly spoke, getting up from the soft patch of grass that was now flattened, creating a mold-like structure. 

Sarah giggled as she grabbed his hand, her soft and tiny fingers intertwining with his large and bulky hand. 

“Mark, can we go in the flowers?” Sarah asked. Mark chuckled and nodded before speaking again. 

“Let me check for any snakes. I know you’re scared of them..”

The brunette sucked in a breath and walked over the the field of flowers, rows and rows of leafy beauty going for acres… He parted a lavender bush to step through, each flower seeming overgrown.

Mark took note of that and continued inward, eyes squinted as the sun shone harshly onto his body.

He slipped out of his grey hoodie and adjusted his black T-shirt, which seemed to have crawled up his chest when he took off his hoodie.

The flowers seemed to have began to wilt by the thirty first row or more, but who was counting?

“Sarah-“ Mark turned around to let his little sister know, but what he saw wasn’t the end of the field he entered, but now an endless view of flowers wilting, petals falling slowly. Panic rose within Mark as his brain told him ‘Run. Run while you still have the energy. Run as far and as fast as you can.’

He decided to try to go back, hoping the exit was close, yet the more he ran, the more the flowers were wilting, the discolored, crisp petals falling onto Mark’s feet.

Mark had to hurdle over a few bushes and duck over overgrown weeds, yet there was no exit. It went on forever. More thorns began to appear with each row, slicing Mark’s sun kissed skin, each scratch making him cry out in pain as blood trailed down.

”SHIT-!!” Mark hissed. His foot caught onto a root the size of a man’s arm and he fumbled down, feeling the thorns begin to latch into his pierced skin and tangled hair.

He felt the crimson liquid drip from his nostrils and he slowly got up, whimpering at each tug the thorned vines made. He needed to keep going. He pulled of the thorns and kept running, his body sweating bullets. 

A lavender bush sat in the center of dead plants, its sweet smell drawing Mark in. It felt oddly calming to say the least, which made his brain all fuzzy. He parted the lavender bush to step through, but he was suddenly met with a pit of snakes.

”You gotta be kidding me…”

Mark heard the hissed and rattles from snakes of all kinds, which was more than enough motivation to get his feet moving.

Thorns reached for his flesh and tried to trip him, snakes and serpents slithered faster with each sickening hiss, but Mark kept going. He didn’t dare look back until he felt his foot get caught under a thick, thorny vine, making him cry out in pain as he hit the ground.

”FUCK!” Mark yelled as he got back up, more thorns clawing into his skin. Blood pooled under his feet as he slowly advanced, yet the urge to look back was getting so hard to ignore…

He felt a pair of teeth sink into his left leg.

As Mark cried out, more snakes gathered until his vision blurred, seeming to make the hundreds of snakes into one massive serpent.

The creature lunged at Mark and he closed his eyes tight, using his weakened arms to shield his wounded body, yet he didn’t feel the torturous pain.

Was it a dream..?

Mark opened his eyes and shot up in bed, sweat running down his shivering body. Right by his bed, a clock read 3:33, with an alarm set for 6:30. 

Right. 

It was a Monday, meaning school was soon.

Mark groaned as he shuffled downstairs into the kitchen, flicking the lights on and grabbing a quick snack before he returned to bed. 

A headache began to form and he grabbed some Ibuprofen, popping the two pills into his mouth and swallowing them dry. Mark shuddered in response.

A couple pictures that hung from the walls caught Mark’s attention and he slowly walked over. One picture was of Mark and his best friend, Cesar Torres, in a water park. The two were 10 and 11, both grinning from ear to ear with a sunburn where their skin was exposed. Mark was a little shorter than Cesar at the time, which was ironic. 

The picture right by it was Mark and his German Shepard he named Moss. God, he missed that dog… Miss was such a clingy and protective boy, but it was the little things Mark truly missed.

Mark quickly snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a stray tear slowly roll down his cheeks. 

He shuffled back into the kitchen and grabbed some cheddar cheese sticks and chocolate mint ice cream, then placed them onto the white marble counter, deciding what to do with either snack. He decided to eat the mint chocolate ice cream and shoved the cheese sticks back into the fridge. He didn’t like cheddar anyway.

[scriblesandbits]

So god created us in his image, right? And that’s cool and all but what if it turns out god, like, hates his own image??? What then????

[villain-enthusiast]

TOUCH-STARVED HERO RAHH.

.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, actually,” the hero muttered from their sloppy position on the ground, though the oozing gash slicing across their torso and the fresh bruises circling their throat said otherwise.

The villain arched a brow, crouching down so they were eye level with the hero. “Do you think I’m dumb?”

The hero glowered at them. “Seems like you're deaf, actually. I said I’m fine,” they snapped, even as pain shuddered through their battered body. “Now if you could just get out of my way—,”

“Darling, please. You couldn’t stand up even if you tried, let alone walk yourself halfway across the city to your apartment.” The villain smirked at the hero’s deepening scowl, but the teasing flair didn't quite reach their eyes. “Let me do you a small favor while I’m here, at least.”

The hero bared their teeth. “Fuck off. I don’t need your stupid healing powers. You'll probably turn this into one of your idiotic bargains—," A harsh coughing fit cut them off, rattling their chest.

They tasted blood on their tongue. Fuck.

“Gosh, so prideful." The villain sighed, tilting their head. "Oh look at that, you're bleeding." They lifted a hand and ran a thumb over their hero's lips, wiping away a smattering of blood that had spilled from their mouth.

The hero's breath hitched at the villain's touch, the smallest, most delicate of noises escaping them before they could stop themselves.

The villain paused, their brow furrowing as their gaze took in every little movement and detail of the hero's involuntary response.

The hero's jaw tightened. Every muscle in their body screamed at them to get away, but they couldn't move. Or was it that they didn't want to move? "Villain, I swear—,"

Then the villain’s hand was cupping their cheek, and the hero melted.

A desperate whimper tore from their throat, their head lolling into the cool touch of the villain's palm as all the pain and exhaustion radiating through their body suddenly evaporated.

They closed their eyes, feeling their face begin to burn with shame.

"Oh, sweetheart," the villain murmured. Their other hand swept through the matted strands of the hero's hair, working through the tangles.

The hero had to bite down on their lip so that they didn't make another embarrassing noise. So gentle. The villain's touch was so, so gentle. So at odds to their earlier opponent's strangling grip and blinding punches, so contrasting to gaping loneliness and helplessness of coming home to no one, of having to painfully stitch themselves up day after day after day...

The villain brushed away a tear that the hero didn't realize had fallen.

"Hey, look at me," the villain said softly, nudging their chin up. The hero blinked at them, fighting back a sob. "You need to let me heal you, okay? You're losing a lot of blood."

The hero swallowed, barely processing the villain's words, their brain entirely occupied by the hand still on their face—or maybe it was just the blood loss. "Yeah," they managed, voice hoarse. It felt like their vocal chords were coated in tar.

"I'm going to do your stomach first," the villain noted. "I need both my hands for this, alright?"

The hero nodded, ignoring the inevitable panic that shot through them at the sudden absence of the villain's touch, which returned almost immediately on the deep laceration on their lower torso.

The hero cringed, bracing for some kind of torturous, painful mending, but the villain's powers were warm, soft, like honey in a cup of hot tea or a crackling fireplace during a winter storm. God, how many years had it been since they'd felt so comforted?

A whimper escaped the hero once more. They tensed. Jesus fucking christ.

The villain cracked a smile as they worked. "Don't worry, love. You're not the first person I've healed that enjoys the feeling." They brushed a palm over the wound, weaving the hero's flesh and skin back together. "This is gonna scar, but at least you'll live to see another day, hm?"

The hero scoffed weakly, still drunk on the villain's magic.

The villain swept their hands over the hero's body, feeling for more damage. "Gosh, Hero," they hummed, "you get yourself into so much trouble, do so much for this pitiful city, and for what?" They placed their hands on the hero's battered neck, soothing the inflammation. "When's the last time someone took care of you?" they asked quietly, but the question seemed more for themselves than for the hero.

Several heartbeats passed before the villain pulled away, finished with their work. The hero couldn't stop themselves from chasing their touch, nearly toppling over.

The villain caught them before they hit the ground, chuckling. "Oh, what am I gonna do with you?"

The hero felt a lump form in their throat at the thought of the villain leaving. I'm not gonna make it home. Not without Villain. They squeezed their eyes shut, swallowing their pride. "Please," they whispered. "Take me home. All I ask."

"Don't need to ask me twice." The villain swept the hero up into their arms, smirking at their indignant (and exhausted) glare. "You're not walking, sorry. You're getting all my love and special treatment today." They winked, as if they were joking.

But as the villain paced their way to the hero's apartment, and as the hero began to fall asleep in their arms, they both knew it wasn't a joke.

[cubedmango]

「安達が魔法使いにならなかった世界線の話」 + 「もしもの話」 — english translation

[emryses]

i've decided not to share my full cameo because they responded to some personal stuff i'd rather not be spread around, but the boys were so, so sweet and kind and i cried a lot lol. i still wanted to share some of it with everyone. so i've transcribed what they said!

i asked them: if prompted, what would the boys say their favourite thing is about the other?

J: I think Charles' favourite thing about Edwin would be his organization, and his knowledge for the work. [George nodded and agreed with this] Because that is kind of what the boys are doing together, you know? They're detectives and they're solving theses cases and if Charles was left to his own devices [he laughs] to kind of sort out cases and everything there would be no organization and no body would have a clue what the hell is going on. G: Yeah and I would say off the back of that, Edwin's favourite thing is that he knows that Charles is--well I think he's very moved by how protective he is of him, even though he wouldn't admit it. But I think he appreciates how Charles is really happy to get his hands dirty. Charles is the one who throws the grenade. Edwin builds it, Charles does the dirty work. I don't think Edwin physically likes to get his hands dirty, so I would say that. But I also would say, you know, we've talked about it a lot in our interviews and it's commented on how they kind of complete each other. And I also think it's worth saying, I think the boys know that. I think they know that their favourite thing about the other is that the other is like their other half. J: It really is like the ying to the yang, isn't it? G: Yeah, and I think they're aware of it, I don't think it's just something that you see from the outside in. So I would say that is ultimately, for sure, Edwin's favourite thing about Charles.

the only other thing i'll add is jayden signed off the cameo by saying "love from your dead boys" because in my message i said i hoped it was okay that i referred to them as "my dead boys" to which they BOTH were like "we ARE your dead boys" which was well and truly the end for me.😭

i love them so very much. our dead boys. ❤️💙

[laddertek]

etho said actually you _don't_ understand the intricacies of how tango is my boyfriend and bdubs is my ex

(and how tango and bdubs kiss too)

Scar: We went on that little adventure, you know! Etho: Yeah, yeah, we had our adventure, that's true, that's true. Scar: You disparaged your teammates. That's it, all right, no more spoilers. Etho: (laughs) Our team has -- our team has some weird dynamics this -- this season. Cleo: (overlapping) Really, Etho? Is there trouble in paradise? (pause) Who's third-wheeling with you, again? I can't remember. Etho: (laughs) Uhh. The -- Cleo: Genuinely can't remember. I know it's you and Bdubs. And...Tango? Tango. Tango. Etho: (loudly) Why -- Why is Tango the third wheel? Why -- why isn't Bdubs the third wheel? Cleo: Because it's you and Bdubs. I'm sorry. I understand how that relationship goes. Etho: (dissatisfied) Hmm.

[kenchann]

uh oh

also change my yuus outfit www

[yellowwwcrayon]

There's just something so oddly special about this Deadpool and this Wolverine together. I don't think the Logan in any of the other prior films would have liked Wade this much (well, maybe old man him from that Logan movie) or would have bothered to stay and meet Wade's little dysfunctional family. They're both worn down, exhausted outcasts when they meet here. But the thing I love the most about their dynamic in the movie is that there's no judgment coming from Wade. He just accepts how messed up Logan is and finds this hairy murderous man with anger issues and sexy abs super neat, and I think there's a huge comfort in that. Logan doesn't have to pretend to be some great hero and no one is there to express disappointment when he fails or starts chugging rubbing alcohol because he's a raging alcoholic. He doesn’t need a savior, he just needs a fugly guy in a red suit that can’t die cheering him on from the sidelines and inappropriately groping him at inconvenient times. Some of my mutuals ship Spideypool, but I never got into it (no offense). Peter is too moral to ever make things between them work in my head. The constant judgment from everyone probably doesn't help, either. Don’t get me wrong, Logan has morals, obviously, but he's not above killing and doing bad shit. And I personally prefer older bottoms.

tldr - THEY MATCH EACH OTHER'S FREAK and I find that incredibly sexy ;)

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #6

(A/N: Vote winner so I did my best to finish this)

"Screw it, i am done..." Danny grumbled as he stepped onto the watchtower through a portal, ignoring the startled heroes around him, or his own rather disheveled state. His green glowing eyes surveyed the room he was in for a brief moment before his eyes zeroed in on the one hero that caused to much work for him.

"YOU!" He pointed an accusing finger at the red clad hero before floating over and grabbing the hero by the front of his hero suit. "Do you have any idea how much work you cause me!"

Danny got one confused blink before he launched into a rather thorough explanation of what he just went through fixing 20 different timelines that got created because of one flashpoint while shaking the Flash like he was a ragdoll, ignoring the other heroes around him.

Clark, who arrived a little late to the meeting, looked around the meeting room confused. He glanced to the side to one of his hero colleagues. "Is there....?"

"A white haired floating teen boy giving Barry the lecture of a lifetime?" Oliver cut in arms crossed as he watched on. "Yes, there is."

Clark blinked, looking back at the scene and then back at Oliver. "And..."

"And Bruce is actually taking notes and enjoying Barry getting lectured to an inch of his speedster life while also getting information on time itself? Yes he is." Oliver added an, his tone slightly frustrated but also happy that he wasn't at the receiving end of the teen boy's rant. The kid had been going on about different time lines and the multiverse theory as well as how Barry apparently created several different timelines any time a new flashpoint happened or the past gets seemingly changed. Oliver wasn't even sure the kid was breathing with the way he had been talking non stop.

"And for the record! Changing the past does not automatically fix your present! You just created an entirely new timeline! Do you know how many times I had to fix these? You left so many unattended timelines! I would be rich now if I had gotten a dollar for every time I or my siblings had to fix the stuff you did! Did you ever hear about the multiverse theory?! Hell you are heroes! Didn't you deal with other universes already!?"

The kid rambled on and Clark was pretty sure he wasn't hearing the kid breath in once, which was worrying in so many different levels. But a little traitor part of his mind was actually finding the situation quiet funny.

"Oh and don't get me started on your spawns!" Clark winced a little as he heard the floating boy breath in for the first time in his entire rant before launching into another rant about how it wasn't just Barry but his entire family. Next to him Oliver chucked finding the moment simply funny end enjoying the show of Barry, aka the Flash getting lectured by a floating teen boy.

Though they partially wondered why Bruce wasn't stepping in but then again, the kids rant was... rather informative if he wasn't cursing at Barry's entire family.

A little earlier that day...

Danny groaned as a green note fluttered onto his desk in the middle of his English exam. His head hit the desk and he was sure he was creating some sort of misunderstanding and appearing like he didn't study enough for this exam. Which for once he did, he actually had managed to get time to study for this exam for once. And that despite all the work that had been piling up lately.

The fun fact was that work didn't pile up because of some ghost king title or something, or his rogues dogpiling on him. No it piled up because of a hero organisation outside of Amity. Now don't get him wrong, he admires these heroes. The ones from outer space are his favorites even. But unknown to them they caused im a lot of work ever since clockwork started to mentor him.

Danny glanced at his English exam and then at the note before his head hit the desk again.

Just one day... was one day to much to ask?

He blames whatever hero was at fault this time as he couldn't concentrate on is exam anymore. He barely remembers finishing it as he hurried out of the classroom, forgetting to give Sam and Tucker an explanation as he went ghost and hurried of to the ghost zone. Danny's eye twitch a little when he noticed Clockworks amused expression.

"What is it this time?" Danny groaned already knowing he wouldn't like what he was going to hear.

"Another flashpoint was created. You know what this means." Clockwork chucked handing him a time medallion and Danny groaned even more.

"Can't Dan or Dani..." He started but Clockwork cut him off with an amused headshake. "No, they are currently busy with another job I gave them."

Reluctantly Danny nodded and stepped through the time portal. While he knew, he would actually only be gone for a minute at most in the present, it still annoyed him that he had to constantly fix time. And most of the time it was because of one specific hero at that. He was not looking forward on how many different timelines he had to fix right now now. this was going to take a while too. Even if only maybe a minute will pass in his timeline.

He still had bruises from the last 20 timelines he fixed. And in all honesty he was getting tired of this kid of work, he was partially sure Clockwork was him now, so he wouldn't have to do this himself. Or the ancient of time was getting a kick out of watching Danny fumble while fixing other timelines.

He yelped as he dodged velocraptors right after coming out of the time portal. "SERIOUSLY?! THE MESOZOIC ERA THIS TIME TOO?! WHAT AM I EVEN SUPOSED TO FIX HERE?!" He yelled at nothing in particular. That was it, this time, this time he decided he would finally go and pay these heroes a visit and make them aware how much work they had been causing him...

[cappycodeart]

he’s infiltrated my sketchbook too i’m not safe here anymore

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[rosaacicularis]

“you want a mending book, right?” scar asked, head peeking barely above the water, the gills on his neck still submerged in the water.

“if i were to want anything, it would be a mending book, yes.” grian cast his fishing rod back out into the water, his voice was careful and hesitant.

“what if i told you i had one?” scar swam closer to grian, still keeping his distance but grian could feel the water shift from the movement.

“you’re not a mermaid,” grian said, eyes closing into a squint at scar. “you’re a siren, aren’t you?”

“i’ve been called many things,” scar dodged the question. he brought his hand out of the water, brushing shapes into the surface with his fingers. “siren has been one of them.”

“you’re trying to lure me,” grian phrased it like a question, a rising intonation at the end. he reeled his fishing rod back in, another salmon.

“that depends,” scar smirked, his eyes followed the movement of grian unhooking the fish and throwing back into the sea. “is it working?”

[seleneprince]

Snippet of my Neglected! Family x Yandere! Batfam au (I really need to find a name for this au already)

Wife! Darling has known of the Batcave's existence for years already, and so do her children.

She found out by pure accident. Her oldest daughter was doing her usual computer stuff she didn't understand, and said she found a weird signal coming from under the manor, in the underground...only they didn't know there was anything down there, not even a basement. Alfred never mentioned it.

The girl went to check, tracing the mysterious signal with her phone, and found a hidden compartment behind the pendulum clock. Before her mother could tell her to stop, she went down there.

Cue to Wife! Darling following her daughter to make sure she didn't get in trouble or hurt herself, because who knew if Batman even bothered with basic security measures for his vigilante stuff. From what she's seen of him as Bruce Wayne, she doubted it.

And that's how they found the Batcave. By the time Alfred found out and met them there, the daughter had already tinkered with half the equipment and replicated part of the Batcomputer's code in her tablet for fun, while her mother explored the whole place with a critical eye. Alfred expected them to be angry, to ask a lot of questions, but instead:

Wife! Darling!: "Who takes care of this place?"

Alfred: "Mostly me, Mistress (Name)."

Wife! Darling squinted her eyes, gaze darkening: "Just you? Does no one help you?"

Alfred: "It's part of my job, Mistress (Name). Don't worry, I can handle it perfectly well on my own."

She scoffed. "Well, this has to change. You're just one man, Alfred, and you're not getting younger with the years. The fact that they let you do so much already by yourself is infuriating, and you also have to clean after their crime-fighting bullshit? The nerve. I'll take care of this from now on"

Alfred blinked: "Mistress (Name), I can't possibly ask you that. You already help me more than enough around the house-"

Wife! Darling: "Nonsense, Alfred. You do way too much already. At this rate, it'll only affect your health for worse. I live here too now, so technically it's also my responsibility."

And that's how she ends up handling the maintenance of the Batcave along with Alfred, even taking over his tasks entirely. She starts off with the excuse of helping him, which it's true, but eventually she always takes care everything so the man has no option but rest.

And because she's such a perfectionist, she doesn't spare any efforts in the task. Cleans all the surfaces, fixes the suits, rearranges the weapons after cleaning them and creates a system to organize their gadgets so they're much easier to find. Even the Batmobile is left spotless, inside and outside. She goes as far to feed some of the bats casually roaming around the edges of the cave.

(And if her kids had naps inside the batmobile sometimes when they were down there, only she and Alfred are witnesses. Well, the bats too, but they're not snitching)

This way she takes some work off Alfred's shoulders. She finds it enraging that a man his age has such a heavy load of work with little to no help, so she takes over some of the house chores for him so he can have breaks. Plus, it helps her unwind and relax a bit from her usually stress-fuelled life.

She also begins to leave snarky notes about the shameful state of their gear when she finds it in particularly bad shape. And feels even worse that Alfred has had to take care of all of this at his age until she came.

"This blade is duller than your sense of self-awareness. Fix it"

"Blood is not a fashion statement. Grow up"

"If you die in this crusty suit, I’m not cleaning your corpse"

"Are you fighting villains or rolling in garbage?"

Seriously, the richest man in Gotham can't even afford a bit more of staff? But of course, she reminds herself he's the same man who forgot to use protection when fucking a random woman, so she shouldn't expect too much from him.

To avoid uncomfortable encounters, she specifically schedules her cleaning times for when the whole team is out, so she can work peacefully without being having to be in the same room as them. So far, it goes well. Alfred even warns her when they're coming back, and the Batcave is actually a pretty nice place to enjoy time for yourself when it's empty. Just the beeping of the computers as background noise, or her children messing around when they go down there to do their things.

It becomes part of her routine, one she even looks forward too during the day. Until one day.

The Batcave has been left spotless, as usual. Weapons polished. Suits lined up by height and damage level. Even the Batmobile has that new-car shimmer. It smells faintly of citrus-scented cleaning spray and frustration. There are also four sticky notes scattered across the table already, complaining about the state of their things again.

She is crouched near the weapon rack, holding the Batman suit with one gloved hand and a lint roller in the other, glaring at it like it personally offended her.

She mutters under her breath in Spanish, something about how "ni siquiera una máquina de coser podría salvar este desastre de traje, Dios mío." (Not even a sewing machine could save this disaster of a suit, my godness)

She’s in sweats, hair tied back in a messy bun. An apron over her tank top that says "KISS THE COOK (or don’t, I’ll stab you)". She's so deep in the cleaning zone she doesn’t hear the footsteps.

"Well, this is a surprise. I could get used to this."

Her entire body freezes. It feels like her blood turned ice in her veins instantly with the voice. That irritating, familiar voice.

Her head turns slowly, and there he is. Bruce Wayne in the flesh. Her husband in paper, father of her first child, owner of this cave, and responsible for half of the stress she deals with.

She could be annoyed or even embarrassed that he caught her like this, handling his suit no less. But instead, her mind is focused on what he said, and the tone in which he said it.

She arches a brow at him.

"Excuse me?"

He steps closer, clearly taking note of her work there. His eyes drifting to the Batmobile, the weapons, all she's taken care of already.

Bruce: "Me, coming back from work to find you cleaning my stuff. It’s so… domestic. It’s almost like we’re a married couple."

There’s a beat. A dangerous silence.

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. Processing the fact that he really said that. Out loud. To her. And in a completely serious tone.

Then he looks at her, and she notices the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Oh, that filthy little-

Her eye twitches.

Wife! Darling: "...........Oh, absolutely."

WHACK.

She chucks a batarang at his head with a speed and accuracy that would’ve made Deadshot whistle. He barely ducks, and it slams into the metal behind him with a THUNK so loud the Batcomputer flinches and some bats burst out from their spots.

Bruce: "That could’ve taken my eye out."

Wife! Darling:"I was hoping so."

He stares at her, and then shakes his head, letting out a low chuckle. A chuckle. Since when is this man capable of that? Before she gets her answer, he pulls out the batarang with ease and places it back on the rack (Good, she would've murdered him for real if he left it anywhere else).

Bruce: "I meant it. I think I like this sight of you. Suits you well. You look like the ideal housewife."

Without looking, she reaches for another batarang and throws it at him. This time, he catches it mid-air, cool as ever, before setting it down on the table like he isn’t one second away from getting stabbed.

Bruce: "Was that really necessary?"

Wife! Darling: "It was either that or shoot you. You're lucky I'm generous today."

He watches her, barely concealing his amusement now, but there’s something else in his expression too, something he's never had when looking at her: Curiosity.

She doesn't like it.

Unbothered, as if he didn't just activate her kill switch, he starts to walk to the table and peels off one of the sticky notes, reading it aloud with a deadpan tone.

"Blood is not a fashion statement. Grow up."

Bruce: "You know I beat the shit out of people in this suit, right?"

She replies without sparing him a glance, wiping down a grappling gun with unholy aggression: "Yeah? Well, do it without staining it with their blood. You look like Gotham’s dirtiest raccoon."

He leans against the Batcomputer, arms folded. "How long have you been doing this, exactly?"

She scoffs, going back to adjusting the suit like she isn’t being interrogated. "Long enough to know that you leave your weapons in a shameful state. Honestly, it’s a miracle your stupid gadgets still function. Do you ever bother to maintain your own things, or do you just throw them around and hope Alfred fixes it?"

He watches her for a moment longer before finally speaking.

"And you’re doing this because...?"

"Because unlike some people in this godforsaken house, I actually care when an old man is running himself ragged taking care of things that none of you seem to appreciate."

Bruce pauses. He glances at the Batmobile, cleaner than it’s ever been. At his weapons, neatly arranged, polished, functional.

At the post-it notes stuck to the Batcomputer, scrawled in Rosa’s angry handwriting.

He actually huffs a quiet laugh. Again. It's unsettling her.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she mutters, "Besides, if you die because your equipment fails, it’s only a matter of time before you try to drag me into this circus. And I refuse to wear spandex."

He raises an eyebrow. "You’d look good in spandex."

Silence.

She throws the batarang at him again. This time, it actually clips his shoulder.

"Go get that treated before you stain anything, or I'll wipe the floors next with your face."

.......................

...........

Suddenly, Bruce starts to "casually" come to the cave early more often.

Now she has to adjust her schedule AGAIN to avoid him. And in the meantime, her children start betting on how many batarangs it takes before Bruce gets critically injured. Or dead.