#three vigilantes and a pile of parenting books

[nerdpoe]

Three Vigilantes and a Pile of Parenting Books Part 3

Part 1, Part 2, Ao3

Tim had a first row seat to watch Dick’s mental crisis.

He could hardly blame the man; not only did he have a kid, but one of his brothers had shot said kid.

Now the kid was sleeping on a cot in the medbay, drugged up to his eyeballs, and it looked like Dick couldn’t bring himself to let go of the kid’s hand.

Jason was still ah…talking to Alfred. Tim wasn’t going to interfere with that at all.

Barbara’s kid was on Dick’s kid’s other side, and absolutely refused to move.

The other two kids had fallen asleep from all the stress, and Jason had had just enough time to set them up on the cot opposite their friend’s before he’d been whisked away by Alfred.

Tim made his way over to Bruce, who was pouring over his own DNA tests.

“Is this a bad time to congratulate you on being a grandfather?”

“Yes.”

Tim casually not-casually leaned over Bruce’s shoulder to look at the screen.

“Can I ask why-holy shit. Really? And we’re sure it didn’t like, misread anything?” Tim asked quietly, glancing back at Dick.

Dick only had eyes for his kid, though, and apparently was too lost in his own head to pay attention.

“Positive, I’ve run it thirty-two times,” Bruce muttered, covering his mouth with one hand while the other ordered the computer to run the kid’s DNA again.

“...B, I don’t think it’s gonna change,” Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair, “What about the girl? What’s her’s sa-oh. Uh. I don’t know if that’s worse or better than Dick’s co-parent.”

Bruce took off his cowl and scrubbed at his face with his hands.

“I suppose I will have to let them know.”

“And the other two?”

Bruce tapped at something and brought up their files, motioning listlessly at the screen.

There were absolutely no DNA matches anywhere, at all. Most likely they were either bought from a Human Trafficker or sold off by their parents, then. Definitely human, though; no hero DNA in them anywhere.

Which was honestly a bit of a surprise; given the girl’s viciousness Tim had been assuming she was Jason’s kid.

Bruce let out a muffled sigh and started drafting letters to send out to Barbara and Dick’s co-parents.

~~~~~~

John Constantine pulled himself from sleep, lulled by the incessant ringing of his alarm.

It was his noon alarm, so he knew he’d already slept well into the afternoon.

Refusing to leave the comfort of his blankets, he tugged the phone over and checked his notifications.

And fuck him, there was one from the Batman himself, marked as urgent.

John put the phone down, intent on ignoring it.

The phone pinged.

It was a text.

Broody McFuckFace         Constantine, I know you’re up.         Read the email.

John whined and opened the email.

And sat up.

Dropped his phone.

Scrambled on all fours to the liquor cabinet. 

Turned back to get the phone to reread the email and tripped over his own feet.

And once he’d confirmed that he hadn’t misread or hallucinated any of the contents, he ordered the House of Mysteries to the most remote location it could possibly go.

He wasn’t getting another kid killed just for being related to him, he refused. He’d be the bad guy, he’d be the deadbeat dad, but he refused to be the reason his son….

Bloody buggering…his son. His son. He had a son.

He could never, ever see the kid. 

Fuck.

Constantine took a swig of whatever he’d picked up and curled between his bed and his wall.

~~~~~~

Constantine. A child was found in an experimental facility that could not nail down Cloning, and instead resorted to just making children from heroes. They were utilizing the technology to age them quicker. Your DNA was used alongside Nightwing’s to create a boy.  You have a son, he appears to be around six years old.  Please respond with how you intend to proceed, as Nightwing has already accepted full parental responsibilities in your absence.  Batman.

~~~~~~

Baatman I wnt nothin to do wit th kid fuck off Constannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

~~~~~~

Diana was rather enjoying her quiet afternoon, sitting at a cafe in France and sipping on coffee while reading the news on her phone.

It was nice to catch a break between hero-ing and being a Princess, and it happened so rarely, too.

Then a notification popped up on her phone.

Oh, it was from Bruce!

Diana opened it eagerly, reading the contents as quickly as she could.

Diana read them again.

Diana dropped her coffee.

Diana stood up in awe as the French Patrons around her looked dismayed at the waste of coffee.

“I…” Diana whispered, and the patrons winced, anticipating bad news from the woman acting so strangely, “I have a daughter!”

The patrons who could speak English gasped in polite surprise and started applauding.

Diana paid them no mind and slapped money on the table before darting out of the cafe; she was going to Gotham whether Bruce invited her or not.

She had a daughter!

She!

A daughter!

She would work out custody with Oracle, but first!

She had a daughter to see!

~~~~~~

Wonder Woman. A child was found in an experimental facility that could not nail down Cloning, and instead resorted to just making children from heroes. They were utilizing the technology to age them quicker. Your DNA was used alongside Oracle’s to create a girl.  You have a daughter, she appears to be around ten years old.  Please respond with how you intend to proceed, as Oracle has already accepted full parental responsibilities in your absence.  Batman.

~~~~~~

Batman. I am six hours out, and am utilizing the jet for maximum speed. I trust you will be ready for my arrival. I look forward to co-parenting with Oracle! Wonder Woman

~~~~~

Dick watched the rise and fall of his son’s tiny chest, and held his tiny hand, and reached out to brush his fluffy hair out of his tiny, scrunched up face. He’d almost forgotten how small kids could be.

Well, he’d always known, but it was different seeing some random kid on the street and then holding his own kid’s hand.

He was so small!

Dick could not, would not, let anything happen to him.

He knew Bruce was doing something in the background, that he was trying to find who his co-parent was, but he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to it.

“His name is Danny,” Barbara’s kid said suddenly, glaring at him.

Dick really, really hoped that the scientists hadn’t been the ones to name him. But if that was what he responded to, if he had no problems with it, then that was his name until he said otherwise.

Dick just smiled at her instead of saying any of that, however.

“Okay. And what’s yours?”

“Jazz. Why d’you keep touching him?”

The little girl-Jazz-looked like she was three seconds away from trying to break Dick’s hands herself.

“Because…I’m just happy he’s alive, I guess,” Dick hummed, smoothing back the unruly hair again.

“Why? You don’ know him, an’ he doesn’ know you, he woulda tol’ me if he did.”

Dick felt his smile fade a bit.

“I know. But when he wakes up, I’m hoping he’ll like me enough to stick around and learn who I am.”

Jazz opened her mouth, presumably to argue that he still hadn’t explained why he cared about a kid he didn’t know, when Tim let out one of the most vicious swear-streaks he’d ever heard his little brother go off on.

Dick turned slightly to look at what was going on, and was surprised to see Bruce’s body language transcend rage as the man stalked off to the gym.

Tim had taken over the computer and was practically stabbing at the keyboard with his fingers.

“Fuck him, then! Who needs him! We’ll be fine without him! I can babysit, B can babysit, I bet Diana would be fucking thrilled to have the chance to watch him! I bet he’s a goddamn treasure to be around! Unlike you, you rancid useless piece of shit-!” Tim cut himself off and slammed his butt into the chair, working furiously on the computer.

Dick flinched and turned back to Danny.

Apparently, the co-parent wanted nothing to do with the situation as a whole.

He could understand, he could. 

They hadn’t asked for a kid, and suddenly there was one with no prior warning whatsoever.

And yeah, Dick got that. He knew that the response wasn’t out of the ordinary, and that he should probably call off Tim. 

However, he kinda felt…offended.

Whoever his co-parent was, they hadn’t even seen Danny. They were just throwing away the opportunity without even looking at him.

So Dick held his tongue and let Tim loose.

~~~~~~

Barbara wheeled in, and paused to take in the situation.

Tim was doing something with the computer, and from his expression someone was about to have a very bad life.

Bruce was punching things to deal with his emotions.

Jason was standing in front of Alfred, head bowed and what looked like tears in his eyes as the older man spoke to him in hushed tones.

Damian left her side and wandered to Tim, presumably to find out what he was doing.

Barbara made her way to her own kid.

And stopped once she was in full view of the tyke.

That…was definitely her kid. The hair, the nose…although, the eyes were a little too blue to come from her.

But that was a little, tiny kid.

That was her daughter, old enough to have meant that as far as the papers Barbara was going to doctor were going to be concerned, she had been a teen mom. 

Barbara really, really hoped that her co-parent would be willing to step in. 

The little girl was watching her, wary.

Good.

Suspicion would keep her alive in a city like Gotham.

Barbara finished the journey to Dick’s side and held out her hand to her daughter.

“My name is Barbara, and according to DNA, I’m your mom,” she heard Dick start to protest her rather blunt approach, but her daughter nodded and took the hand offered.

“I’m Jazz, that’s Danny,” she said quietly, blinking rapidly.

Barbara nodded, leaning back in her chair. Jazz rubbed furiously at her eyes and blinked away what looked like tears, chubby cheeks turning red with frustration, and her expression just got more furious with each tear that managed to get past her hands.

Oh yeah. She knew what that meant.

Jazz needed a nap.

“Alright Jazz,” Barbara started, wheeling closer to her, “I need someone with good ears. You got those?”

Jazz glared at her and nodded suspiciously.

“Good. You’re gonna have to sit in my lap for it, but I think one of the servos in my chair is starting to grind against its surroundings, so there’s really not another spot for you to listen for that.”

Jazz cautiously stood from her chair and made her way over.

Good, even if the kid didn’t trust her, kids always wanted to feel like they were helping. Well, Barbara had when she’d been that age.

Once Jazz was in her lap and had settled down to focus on listening to the mechanics of Barbara’s chair, it took a grand total of two minutes for the kid to knock out.

Dick was staring at her in awe.

“Moving on,” Barbara said quietly, running a hand up and down Jazz’s back, “What’s the news regarding our co-parents?”

Dick shrugged.

“Mine apparently sent a reply that pissed everyone off too much to tell me who it even is, which meant that they may not have read the response from yours.”

Barbara frowned and pulled out her phone to see for herself.

She paused long enough to feel slightly amazed at Constantine’s vitriolic response, before shoving it aside and just reporting her findings.

“So my co-parent is Diana, who is on her way to meet Jazz. Looks like we’ll have to come to a parenting agreement, since she wants in. Your co-parent is Constantine, and he uh…he has waived any parental rights.”

Dick looked surprised at the mention of Constantine and looked back at his kid.

“Oh yeah, I can kinda see it…”

Barbara pocketed her phone and reached over to place a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“We’re here to help you, Dick. Just remember that.”

~~~~~~

Across the world, multiple law enforcement agencies were suddenly alerted to the existence of John Constantine as a wanted international man for fraud across country borders. 

Alongside the evidence backing that, there was a generous gift of a facial recognition program with a sophistication the likes of which they hadn’t seen before.

[batty-pham]

Daily BatPham Fic Rec

Oct 22

Three Vigilantes and a Pile of Parenting Books.

By nerdpoe

Tags: Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent,Dick Grayson Has Issues, Jason accidentally pulls a Bruce, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Damian Wayne Has a Heart, Tim Drake is So Done, Tim Drake's Missing Spleen, Bruce Wayne is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, Duke Thomas Being a Little Shit, Barbara Gordon Appreciation, Bad Parents Jack and Maddie Fenton

Wordcount: 6,131

Summary: Dick knows in his teenage years that he'd been an absolute terror. He knows that being a Hero is something he Needs To Do. He doesn't have time to pull a Bruce and adopt a million kids; Bludhaven is a big enough task without needing to worry about a kid on top of that. Jason knows that staying with the League did him no favors in terms of mental stability. He knows that before his death he was filled with far less hatred, and is deeply aware that if his younger self met his current self, he'd only see a different version of Willis. He tries to make up for it by being nice to the kids, but he can't ever have one. Barbara knows she has a tendency to be abrasive, crass, and filled with a simmering rage. She can't help it; she spends all day working, and then pretty much all night staring at screens and working some more. She doesn't have the leisure to take a break; information never stops, so neither does she. How unfortunate for them that Clockwork has Plans, and those Plans include four de-aged kids with nowhere else to go.

Complete: no

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Three Vigilantes and a Pile of Parenting Books.

by nerdpoe

Dick knows in his teenage years that he'd been an absolute terror. He knows that being a Hero is something he Needs To Do. He doesn't have time to pull a Bruce and adopt a million kids; Bludhaven is a big enough task without needing to worry about a kid on top of that.

Jason knows that staying with the League did him no favors in terms of mental stability. He knows that before his death he was filled with far less hatred, and is deeply aware that if his younger self met his current self, he'd only see a different version of Willis. He tries to make up for it by being nice to the kids, but he can't ever have one.

Barbara knows she has a tendency to be abrasive, crass, and filled with a simmering rage. She can't help it; she spends all day working, and then pretty much all night staring at screens and working some more. She doesn't have the leisure to take a break; information never stops, so neither does she.

How unfortunate for them that Clockwork has Plans, and those Plans include four de-aged kids with nowhere else to go.

Words: 1842, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Alfred Pennyworth, Roy Harper, Duke Thomas, Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton, Tucker Foley, Samantha Manson, Barbara Gordon

Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Jazz Fenton, Dick Grayson & Parenthood, Jason Todd & Parenthood, Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson, Duke Thomas & Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne Tries, Dick Grayson Has Issues, You know that saying about if u were a terror as a child, then ur kids will also be terrors?, Dick's about to experience this firsthand, Jason accidentally pulls a Bruce, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Damian Wayne Has a Heart, Tim Drake is So Done, Tim Drake's Missing Spleen, Bruce Wayne is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, because I love that shit, Duke Thomas Being a Little Shit, Barbara Gordon Appreciation, Bad Parents Jack and Maddie Fenton, for as much as i write bad parents jack and maddie i actually like them as good parents, but there's just so much tasty angst this way

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/47837476

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas : Your blessings are your curses.

Also on AO3

TL;DR:

Dead All Might acts as a guardian angel to this heroic quirkless kid he runs into. Izuku gets put into a dangerous situation and turns out – DNA wasn’t needed to pass OFA. Just intent. Izuku gains the ability to see All Might along with the ability to use his quirk.

Sadly, AFO notices.

Now Izuku is on the run with a ghost for a guardian after AFO’s goons kill his mother.

Your blessings are your curses:

TL;DR: Dead all might, acts as a guardian angel to this quirkless kid he runs into. Izuku gets put into a dangerous situation and turns out – DNA wasn’t needed to pass OFA. Just intent. Izuku gains the ability to see All Might along with the ability to use his quirk.

Sadly, AFO notices.

Now Izuku is on the run with a ghost for a guardian after AFO’s goons kill his mother.

So – In the fight between All for One and All Might six years before canon, All Might loses.

Not horribly. All for One is still left almost dead and retreats into hiding, but All Might falls unconscious never to open his eyes again, later dying of sepsis in the hospital. His eyes may never physically reopen, but he does awaken – translucent and noncorporeal.

For a while he doesn’t know if it’s a latent quirk, or maybe something All for One did as a final blow, but no – it’s One for All. One for All has a mind of its own and refuses to disappear until Yagi has found a successor. Not that Yagi knows that.

His old haunts are too painful to hang around, the whole nation is grieving for him and seeing that pain on his old friend's faces burns something fierce. So he does what he’s always done. He helps.

Midoriya Izuku is nine when his favourite hero dies. He sees how the nation is grieving and his desire to be a hero only burns brighter. The bullying he suffers worsens, hate crimes against the quirkless and those with ‘villainous’ quirks uptick. Japan isn’t a pillar of safety and security anymore – crime rates have risen to match or overtake worldwide averages.

Still, he feels almost, safer? He gets luckier – the book his classmate stole shows up in his bag by the next period, bullies trip more often, and sometimes as he runs from villain attacks or classmates with their quirks popping against the nape of his neck, he feels a broad hand push him forwards, giving him an extra burst of speed.

He decides it must be the All Might charm he bought the day before the news of All Might’s death broke. A small solid plastic charm meant for a phone with a bright yellow bell attached, along with a tag reading “I AM HERE”. He fills the bell with scraps of paper so no one can hear it ring as he holds it tight in his hand when he gets nervous.

Midoriya Izuku is nine when he is almost killed.

With All Might gone, organized crime spikes. Quirk trafficking rings spring up – very rare, but no less real. It’s one of these such rings that kidnaps Izuku on his way home from school. He awakens, sore and blurry-eyed in a warehouse with a half dozen other crying children. One by one they are forced to show off their quirks, to gauge their value.

Izuku has no quirk to show. He has no value to these people. They growl at him to stop playing around, to stop pretending to be a hero (his All Might charm is almost cutting into his hand from how hard he holds it. He needs his luck more than ever please all might save me one more time - ). He can't bring himself to shut his eyes as a flaming hand reaches towards his face.

For a moment it feels like he's being held. He feels safe.

A shockwave levels the warehouse, leaving he and the other children untouched, the villains buried in the rubble. Green sparks sink into his skin, dancing over the rapidly purpling bruises decorating his arm. He runs.

He comes back to himself in a park, sobbing and shaking, arms wrapped around his shaking form and an oddly familiar voice murmuring apologies and praise as a broad hand runs gently through his hair.

It seems One for All never needed DNA, only intent, to pass itself along. With the passing of the quirk, Yagi should have dissipated, but he refused, clinging to the child he’d accidentally burdened with his legacy, the same quirkless child he’d been playing guardian angel for all this time.

When Izuku sees All Might he freezes. It’s not All Might as he knew him, rather – this is the All Might that died. He’s translucent, faded around the edges, with a tattered and bloodstained costume, thick padded bandaging over his stomach hiding stiches staining to close infected wounds, doing little to stop the blood oozing through. Still – All Might’s eyes are bright blue and kind and his smile is as it always was. Izuku throws himself onto his hero and sobs.

All Might – Yagi, as he insisted Izuku call him – led him to the nearest police station, as he tried to explain what had occurred. It wasn’t easy considering Yagi didn’t seem to be sure himself, but Izuku was pretty sure the quirk he’d been accidentally gifted was sentient.

Izuku held his arms up to the sky, stretching his fingers to the pinpricks of light in the night sky. Sparks of glittering gold, green, white, blue and red jumped across his skin, like the static shocks he’d get when he wore his wool socks in bed, but less painful. They almost felt playful.

“What are they called?” Yagi looked at him, confusion clear on his face. One of his spikes of hair drooped, and if Izuku could ignore the dust and blood that ran through it it would almost be funny.

“They? My boy, do you mean the sparks? If so, they don’t have a name.”

Izuku frowned, letting his hand drop. He could feel the sparks gently brushing his injuries, almost soothingly. “No, I mean your quirk. They should have a name, they’re so nice to me.”

Yagi coughed, dark blood spilling from his mouth, never to hit the ground. “One for All. It’s called One for All.”

Izuku’s frown deepened.

“All Might, mama says it’s rude to call someone an it.”

Inko is reunited with her only mildly injured son, now excitedly gushing about a quirk he’d somehow manifested. She privately thanks whatever spirit finally decided to smile upon her son, even if it took so long.

Their happiness doesn’t last long. Days later Izuku receives a summons to the head office. He freezes when he sees the police officer, Yagi’s comforting hand on his shoulder the only thing that keeps him from running.

It was a villain attack, the officer says with kindness so forced Izuku wants to cry. Yagi looks angry. If you’ll just come with us so we can get you to the safehouse with your mother –

Yagi almost growls with rage. “She’s lying.” He whispers, habit enforced despite the fact Izuku is the only person alive that can hear him. “Follow her out of the school then run” Izuku does exactly that, quirk sparking up his legs and pushing him forwards, down the familiar path to home. He takes the stairs six at a time, quirk chipping the edges of the concrete as he hurls himself forward.

Their apartment is in shambles, bookshelves tipped, small objects laying scattered on the floor, a pale arm laying limply from a half-open bathroom door.

Yagi pushes him out of the apartment and confirms the identity himself. He urges a sobbing Izuku to say his goodbyes to his mother’s corpse as they quickly gather all the money in the house, a few spare clothes and whatever food and water Yagi could knock down from the pantry shelves for him. Izuku crams it into his backpack as he sobs, Yagi guarding the entrance as he boils with rage and guilt.

He didn’t think All for One would find Izuku. He didn’t think he would even be looking. He was wrong and now his boy was paying the price.

So starts his time on the run.

He meets Shinsou first, saving him from some rubble in a villain attack. He meets him again later, battered and bruised – not from a villain, but from his foster parents. Shinsou joins him, no matter how Izuku explains hes in danger. Shinsou wants to be a hero, and if the only way he gets to be a hero is stubbornly keeping Izuku out of trouble? That’s not a bad trade-off, considering izuku was the first person to save him.

A little while later the two run into Shouto feverish and badly burnt and try to nurse him back to health as best they can. A few days in Touya and Toga run into their little camp guns blazing, expecting them to have kidnapped Shouto only to see Izuku patiently trying to feed him rice porridge with a veritable pile of ‘liberated’ fever reducers on the floor beside them.

They apologise but Shinsou and a still feverish Shouto refuse to talk to Touya or Toga for like three days bc they made Izuku cry.

They refuse to leave no matter how Izuku explains he has a centuries old villain after him. These kids are ride or die. So Hitoshi, Shouto and Izuku are like 9 and trying to learn what they can from libraries and newspapers, never settling down for too long. Toga (12) and Touya/Dabi (14) try and keep them all alive by working or stealing what they need to live. It doesn’t take long for them to evolve into a mini vigilante group.

Aizawa becomes familiar with the messy group of short vigilantes that seem to bounce from prefecture to prefecture every second day, to the point that the force is pretty sure one of them has a teleportation quirk because they don’t seem to have any kind of home base. He’s completely uninterested in trying to arrest them in the beginning – they aren’t hurting anyone and are not half bad at what they do.

That changes when he meets them.

Battered and bleeding out in a rainy alley with a villain looming over him with a knife, Aizawa is pretty sure this is the night he dies. The knife swings back, glinting in the streetlights as he tries in vain to scramble backwards with heavy limbs. It never connects. The villain jerks back as a brilliant blue plume of flame cuts him off, burning the tips of his hair. Not expecting backup the villain bolts. Aizawa feels small hands helping him into a sitting position – his stomach starts to sink. When the short masked figure with curly hair speaks he feels his heart turn to ice. The figure couldn’t be older than 11, probably closer to 10.

He wakes up in the hospital and he makes it his mission to save these kids.

Ghost All Might is having a rough time. His boy is in danger and the best he can do is rattle windows and trip sprinting villains. He can’t help them enough.

He has a plan though.

He warns Izuku that he’ll be gone for a while and to keep safe without him and he goes out scouting. Being invisible and impermeable is normally a curse but when trying to find a paranoid 200-year-old super villain? It’s pretty damn useful. It takes months but eventually he’s not only tracked down All for One’s main hideout he’s also memorised his schedule. It’s nothing impressive considering the man is still mostly bedbound after what All Might did to him, but he won't be a pushover. It’s a start, though.

Izuku cries tears of joy when he sees All Might again and cries even more when he shares what he found. It’s do or die time. He offers every one of his friends the chance to split now because there is a good chance they’ll die, but none of them wants to leave him. With that, he starts planning.

They’ll need Eraserhead, no bones about it. Without him, there would be no way to strike the final blow. They spend a few weeks refining their stealth then they seek Aizawa out.

They knew he’d have a price for helping them, but they never expected it would be so high, but simultaneously so kind. In exchange for his help and a vow of silence he wants each child to let him help them, to find them a safe place to live, a school to go to – a future. Izuku has spent his whole life being told he doesn’t have a future, from when he was diagnosed quirkless to the almost 2 years spent on the run from Japan’s most dangerous villain. He’s still not sure he’ll have one, even with All for One dead, but he knows he wants his friends to grow up happy and safe.

He accepts.

With Aizawa’s help, with Dabi and Toga clearing the way and Shinsou standing in the wings as the last resort, Izuku kills All for One as he sleeps. Nothing flashy, nothing fancy, just quiet footsteps, a sharp knife and shaking hands.

Aizawa is horrified this child just killed someone in front of him, but Izuku is sobbing and All for One is notorious in underground circles so he keeps his quirk up until the blood stops flowing from his neck. He takes the children and flees.

[quillsareswords]

Could you do something with Damian and a really cuddly, clingy, touchy-feely reader? I feel like his brothers would be v confused about the whole situation bc Damian's just chillin and always seems neutral to what's happening while reader is just like, koala bear hugging him and stuff all the time.

Firstly. I love this concept with every fiber of my being because, oh good god, it's me. Thank you so much for bringing this to inbox, because I've been lacking on inspiration lately, and this is just what I need right now. Thanks doll!!

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

Tim stops dead in his tracks, cereal bowl nearly slipping from his hand as he halts in the doorway to the huge living room. He pauses, before cautiously asking, "What is this? What am I looking at?"

Damian's arm twitches against your back, the only give away that he's been caught off guard. You seem just as relaxed, sprawled on top of him like you've been there your whole life.

You don't even look at him, eyes still glued to the phone screen shining up at you from the floor, which you're facing with your face pressed against Damian's shoulder. "You've known me for five years and you still haven't learned my name? Rude."

He blinks. "Sure, sure. Right. Because it's absolutely normal for anyone to successfully get within a foot of Damian and not get knocked out."

You snort, but it still isn't enough to pry your attention away from your phone. Damian either, as he reads a book over your shoulder, which is settled under his chin. He must be tired or in a terrifyingly good mood, if he hasn't shoved you off in hopes of hiding emotions from his family. That's what he usually does when he gets caught with you, anyway.

He's been tiptoeing around the subject of you for a solid year and half now. It wasn't exactly easy, seeing as you're also a family friend, what with being a vigilante and all. You're Damian's partner, have been for three years, and you're in the manor often enough that you have your own room, right next to Damian's.

Still, even with no clear answers from either of you, the whole family has suspected a relationship for a long time.

But Damian isn't very touch oriented. In fact, he's been known to go to nearly astonishing lengths to avoid being touched at all.

And now here he is, you laying on top of him, out in the open, absolutely unbothered by Tim catching it.

Tim decides quickly not to risk Damian's mood spoiling while he's around, so he backpedals and heads for his room.

• • •

Jason doesn't come to the manor often, but when he does, there's usually a decently concerning reason for it. This time, he's waiting out a possible kidnapping by one king pin or another. You haven't been paying as much attention as you probably should.

Now, he's trotting down the steps from Bruce's office to fix a suspicious rattling noise his motorcycle has been making for a shameful period of time.

However, he stops beside the super computer, looking a little aghast and far too dramatic for the sight.

Damian side-eyes him, still typing away, but his head doesn't move. It really can't, because you're resting your head on top of it.

You're resting your full weight on the back of the chair, which Jason now realizes isn't the tall backed chair that usual sits there, with your cheek buried in the soft looking bush that is Damian's hair. Your eyes are closed, and your arms and draped over his shoulders, hands laying on his chest.

Jason catches himself staring when Damian's side-eyeing turns into a curious glare. Tentatively, Jason points to you, and raises an eyebrow.

Lowly, Damian somewhat patiently answers, "She's half asleep."

Your eyebrows slant together. "Hmm?"

Jason's expression becomes more confused. "She sleeps standing up?"

"Apparently," Damian mumbles.

Jason, more than a little perturbed but Damian's oddly placid demeanor and your absurd sleeping habits, shuffles the rest if the way to his bike, grabbing the toolbox on his way.

• • •

Dick sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket—correction, three blankets, facing the rest of the living room, where Damian sits on one couch, and Duke occupies the other.

"No no, I'm not saying Bella wasn't smokin, I'm just saying that those facial expressions and life decisions were questionable enough to make a guy think twice," Dick tries to reason.

Duke makes a face. "Bro, are you kidding? If a chick stares at you from across a lunch room and you've never spoke to her, you don't even try."

Damian scoffs. Duke raises an eyebrow, and just when he's about to beg for the story of who tied him to a steel chair and forced him to watch Twilight, you shoulder the double door open.

Damian doesn't look up from his newest book, which could be deemed rude if you weren't so close and comfortable with one another. "Evening, Beloved, how was your drive?"

You say nothing. You drop your bag by his feet, crawl the rest of the way onto the couch, and collapse. Your head in on a pillow between Damian's thighs and the arm of the couch, the rest of you divided unevenly between his lap and the rest of the couch.

He glances away from the pages briefly. "Traffic?" His hand slips under your shirt to gently run blunt nails up and down your spine.

For a moment, you're quiet, and neither of the two older men know how to react.

Then, without warning, you wail into the pillow. "Who the everloving fuck drives a Winnebago through central Gotham at six o'clock going fourteen miles an hour?"

Duke barks a loud laugh, before he claps a hand over his mouth in fear of a punishment. But a man can only do so much, so he sits with his hand over his mouth, giggling like a fifteen year old listening to a dirty joke with his parents in the room.

Damian chuckles lightly, white teeth peeking through a little smile that he's trying to suppress, much for the same reason Duke is doing his best not to let you hear him laugh.

Dick is more focused on the two of you, and the fact that his baby brother has grown up and changed for the better so much—

• • •

Cassandra climbs the stairs with some difficulty, thanks to two new sets of stitches and a few too many fresh bruises.

It's nothing a few days of relaxation won't fix. It was worth it, to see Poison Ivy put back behind bars—even if it did take four of you.

Shortly after arriving back, you and Damian had disappeared up to his room, after you'd both been checked over by Alfred. Aside from some intense bruising and a fee cuts and scrapes, you'd both been spared.

She knocks on his door a few times. With no answer, she loudly turns the handle and pushes the door open slowly, giving you enough time to correct her if need be. She knows at least one of you are in here, because the light is on. "Alfred sent me to tell you that there's dinner, if you want–"

She stops. You are, in fact, both in the room. However, neither of you are conscious.

Damian is sprawled haphazardly across his bed, face half squished into a pillow.

You're flopped across his back, horizontal across his bed, likely also with a pillow, but she can't see your face to be sure.

For a moment that feels a little intrusive, she stares, eyes wide. Not because he's in only boxers and you're in shorts and a sports bra (neither are necessarily a new sight, with one makeshift locker room in the Cave and a city with way too many privacy-surpassing emergencies), but because she's never witnessed Damian allowing another person to be so close to him while asleep.

Even on week long stakeouts that confine them to one room, he claims one corner for himself and doesn't tolerate that invisible boundary to be broken, especially when he's asleep.

She wouldn't even be so surprised if you were passed out in his reading chair, or even on a pile of blankets in the floor, or hell, even if you were on opposite sides of the bed. But you're literally as close to him as you could possibly be. And he's still sound asleep.

She closes the door and backs away slowly, a little smile on her face, even though she was too tired to laugh at the joke Bruce tried to crack a few minutes ago.

• • •

Bruce sits, almost impatiently, on a stone bench by the fountain the middle of Gotham City Gardens. The whole family had come here for the day, on invitation of the organization's owners. Of course, not everyone was officially recognized as family by anyone outside the Manor, so there were quite a few plus ones—you being one of them.

Of course you were. You're always invited. Over the years, it's become a running joke. A trip to the grocery store? (Y/N) must be invited. Walking from the W.I. building to an ice cream parlor and back? I bet (Y/N) is invited. At one point, Damian became so simultaneously annoyed and amused by it that for a week, you really did join him on every single outing. No one knows how exactly you made it across Gotham in six minutes flat to help him pick up cereal but by golly you managed it.

Bruce is currently waiting on you and Damian, who swore to meet him here for a few pictures (at Alfred's request). The pair of you had gone off on your own after about an hour of meandering around with his family, and no one has heard from either of you since. He would be worried, but you were both too excited about this to get into any trouble that would risk being sent home early.

Your laughter finds him before you do. It comes from around a corner of tall hedges, and shortly after, so do you.

You're smiling ear to ear, giggling like a school girl, elbows balanced on Damian's shoulders, about as precariously as you are on his back. That is to say, quite stable. Damian is grinning as well, his arms linked around you're knees at his sides to keep you as stable as you are. You've got an ice cream cone in each hand, one obviously having had more attention than the other.

Bruce's heart swells in his chest at the absolute joy on his son's face.

Damian stops not too far, shifting your weight to free one hand. You help, carefully resituating yourself to hold yourself up easily. You hand him the neglected ice cream, resting your now free hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, Father," Damian sounds a little winded, and Bruce wonders if the running he heard earlier had been you two. "Somebody found an ice cream bar and insisted we stop before meeting you." He doesn't sound apologetic in the least.

"Hey!" You laugh, flicking the back of his ear as payback.

As payback for payback, he takes the edge of his cone between his teeth, and uses his free hand to give the back of your knee a quick pinch, before he occupies his hand again to tilt the odds in his favor.

You squeal and jerk. "Damian! You're gonna make me fall, and if I go down, you're coming with me!"

Bruce laughs loudly.

• • •

Alfred is on his way to the library to finish the afternoon chores. All he needs to do is straighten up in there, and he can call it an evening. Just in time, too, as one of the local channels is running a Downton Abbey marathon tonight that he doesn't particularly want to miss.

He pushes open the doors to get a little extra fresh air, but pauses just inside the doorway.

Damian is stretched out in one of the plush leather chairs, his long legs propped up by his ankles on the coffee table, head resting limply on the back of the chair. You're curled up in his lap, head on his shoulder, legs folded up on either side of his thighs, arms wound around his back. His hands are folded together on your back. You're both fast asleep.

The elder man is suddenly flooded with memories of the boy's first few months in this manor. In this room, even. He was politely feral, as Bruce had once put it. He was so uncomfortable all the time, though he fought not to show it. It was so new to him, to be openly cared for the way his family tried to care for him. Most people he met back then treated him as the cold, rude, trained assassin that he presented himself as.

So many overlooked the terrified ten year old boy that shook beneath the armor and the weight of the mantels he was expected to take up in so few years.

Of course Alfred had been paying attention to him all this time, all the growing he's done and the man he's becoming. He's always been proud.

But it's here, in this exact moment, that Alfred really takes in how different he is now, compared to then.

Not only did he find the strength and the trust to forge a close bond with you, one that would arguably outlast just about anything it was forced to endure, but he'd fostered such a sweet affection for you. He's found the space within himself to make room for a great love for you, and his family, and his friends.

And you're so good for him. You remind him of the things he could be, if he wanted, and not of what he should be or could have been. You provide him a sense of normalcy when he needs it, and battle ready companion when he needs that.

You look past the blazing armor of controlled aggression and lessons learned to reach the beautiful soul he is. And most importantly, you love him for all of it. You manage to dig so far beyond what he's been taught and the walls he's put up, that you look at what was meant to be the perfect soldier and you see a pillow to sleep on. You trust him with everything, including your vulnerability, just as he trusts you.

Alfred marks the page of the open book on the floor, closes it, and leaves it in the table for you later. He leaves as quietly as he came, in hopes of leaving the two of you undisturbed.

[incorrectbatfam]

What would being a high schooler in Gotham be like?

You wake up to the sound of a limo driving past your house, an old man taking a small Middle Eastern boy to school. You brush your teeth and put on your vintage Gotham Knights jersey in hopes of impressing your crush in math class. You make yourself a bowl of cereal as your parents and siblings rush to get ready for work and school. You refill the dog’s bowl and feed the fish before you leave.

As you wait at the bus stop, you casually kick aside a batarang that someone left behind. And you curse the bus for being late again because the city can fund a bat signal but can’t fix a couple damn potholes. When the bus does arrive, the seats are almost all filled, so you’re stuck with the cracked leather one that has old gum stuck to it. Again. You put on your headphones and listen to your favorite song as the Wayne Enterprises building passes by in a haze, like most things on an unremarkable Tuesday. You daydream of what it’d be like to run somewhere else—Metropolis, Central City, perhaps Khandaq. 

The bus jerks to a stop in front of your school and kids shove and shuffle to get out. The bus driver grumbles under his breath about hating his job. You don’t blame him. Some kid accidentally steps on the back of your heel as you enter Gotham High’s front doors. 

You put your things in your locker. Your best friend frantically asks you for homework answers. They couldn’t concentrate last night because Nightwing and Killer Croc were duking it out on their block. You hand your friend the worksheet; they’d do the same for you too. “Just give it back before fourth period,” you say.

Your eyes lock with your crush’s in class as neither of you two listened to your science teacher’s monotonous lecture on the molecular composition of fear gas. You wish your crush was your lab partner, but instead you’re stuck with this girl named Stephanie, who ditches you halfway through the lab to call her boyfriend in the bathroom.

You take a nap in second period, because who even cares about classic literature anyway? Plus, you missed out on valuable sleep last night when your kid sister came to your room after having another Joker nightmare. The teacher bangs a book on your desk to wake you up. You keep your head ducked down while your classmates laugh at you. One of your friends shoots you a sympathetic smile from behind his copy of Hamlet.

You get your homework back during lunch, along with an “I owe you one” from your bestie. You push your maggot-infested school lunch away as you and the three or four other people at your table engage in typical conversation. Though, you have to admit, things got rather heated when asked to choose between a date with Red Robin or Spoiler. You don’t notice Stephanie Brown overhearing and looking offended when you chose Red Robin.

Third period after lunch is interrupted by a villain emergency drill. The teachers boredly go over what to do in case of the Riddler, Penguin, etc. Half the kids aren’t paying attention. You find these Gothamite maniacs more of a nuisance than objects of fear—they’re making you miss time on your favorite class to go over procedures.

You suppose the drill earlier is a good thing, because an actual villain crashes your fourth period class. The procedure tells you to leave all bags behind and head to the predetermined safe location, but like hell are you leaving your $1,200 laptop and your favorite Harry Potter book. So you take your stuff to the safe place and wait it out. You can hear the Batman’s gruff interactions with whoever the clown of this week is. But the person you like is visibly shaking from fear. You don’t blame them; they moved here from Coast City under a month ago.

So you awkwardly scoot across the hard floor and lay a comforting hand over theirs. You can’t speak, for the bad guy might hear and find you. But you swipe the tears away from their cheek with your thumb and look them in the eye. It’s a silent reassurance. They give you a soft smile. And boy, do you get lost in every feature. The way their hair perfectly frames their face, and irises swirling with color and quirks like tiny freckles or scars. For a moment, you forget about the battle raging outside. 

The GCPD gives the all clear for people to come out. One wall off the school is missing, reduced to a pile of brick. Holes poke through the ceiling, letting that East Coast rain pour in. (The school district won’t be happy.) You notice you’re still holding your classmate’s hand. You awkwardly let go and blush nervously. Did the place suddenly get hot? And why are you so sweaty? You’re not even a hundred percent sure if you’re wearing deodorant. What if they find you gross and never want to see you again?

But your worries are quelled when they open up an umbrella and offer to share it with you. In the background, your friends give you encouraging smiles all around. You text your mom, telling her that you’re okay. Your dad leaves his job at the Gotham Gazette to pick you up. You and your crush trade numbers before you leave.

Your mom’s working late again on a Wayne Enterprises marketing project, so your dad whips up some chili to eat. When the rain lets up, you take your dog for a walk. Past Crime Alley, take a left at the graveyard, and stop by to say hi to your older brother working part-time at the arcade. It’s routine. Nothing spectacular. 

At dinner, your sister talks on and on about her day at Gotham Academy. Her eyes sparkle with pride when she talks about the baking soda volcano she made, but dulls when she talks about this Damian boy who called her a “simpleminded imbecile” for it. You’re rightfully ticked off. No one can harass your sister but you. You actively remind yourself that, no, you can’t throw hands with a ten-year-old. But that spark is back when she talks about this Jon kid a little too much. Again, you can’t throw hands with children.

As you brush your teeth that night, your phone goes off. You almost choke on your toothpaste when you check the text. Your crush asks if you wanna go for ice cream sometime this week. You respond with a “yes” almost too quickly. Immediately after, you text your friends in a group chat with messages in all caps. The conversation quickly devolves into memes.

Your brother knocks on the bathroom door and tells you to get out. You quickly finish and let him use it—anyone who smells like nacho cheese needs it more than you do. You alternate between homework and texting until it’s time for bed. You crawl under the covers and turn off the lights, ignoring what sounds like the Red Hood’s gunshots. You fall asleep with a small smile on your face as pleasant dreams dance through your head.

Vigilantes and villains be damned. You have better things to do with your life.

[qrbie]

The Masterlist

Hey. I know it’s been ages since my last fic rec, but my motivation is slowly building again and I think I’m going to have a big one coming up soon. Meanwhile, I tossed a ton onto @0nceuponafanfic, so she might have something brewing for y’all. Anyways, I’ve been updating this thing, so if you ever need a pile to fall back on when I’m MIA, here you go!

Please tell me if I’m missing something, like a trigger warning or a link to someone’s Tumblr. Also don’t be afraid to rec me your favorite fics or even your own fics! I wanna see them. If you want to request fic recs, I’m open for those too! Even if you don’t have fics or even a specific purpose, come to my inbox and mess around. I’m bored and want human interaction.

‘allo people! yeah yeah yeah It’s been AGES since the last update so I’mma dump some new fics into here soon. I’m also gonna fix up the organization a bit. so sayonara and see ya later!

As always, stay hydrated!

Happy pride, everyone!

Last updated 6/23

1-Chapter bits of fluff or angst or something else

one hell of a hook | A TodoBaku fic... but don’t let that drive you away! This is an amazing fic, so please give it a try before you judge.

Mafia Au | What if Present Mic was a yakuza boss and Aizawa was a spy? (There’s a lot more to this, including a lot more art, over at @nartothelar‘s blog)

UA Music Conservatory | a series of one-shots in an AU where UA is actually a music school.

Silent Shadow | has the potential to evolve into something bigger. Nomu!Midoriya is Kurogiri’s protege. So cool.

Present Mic’s Awesome Mixtape 2.0 | Aizawa doesn’t like any kind of music. Shocking, right? After discovering this, Yamada has a new goal. Find a type of music Aizawa likes.

cultivating something so divine | Vet!Kiribaku, with so much fluff and animals and mutual pining that even the hardest of hearts can be softened.

The story of how Midoriya Izuku won the Sport Festival | I love a good dose of Crack Treated Seriously, and here’s some.

Trash Goblin Finds Love | “Bakugou. This is the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

president of the krbk club | Whenever something exciting happens, what does Midoriya do? Whip out his notebooks, of course. So what happens when Bakugou isn’t pushing Kirishima away?

It's Hard to Get Past Some Things | Whenever Midoriya’s drunk, Todoroki’s his designated caretaker. What happens when drunk Midoriya decides to talk about kids (or pups, whatever)? (A/B/O)

it's just the little things | Bakugou’s interactions over the years (stealing from the official summary here)

The Knock-On Effect | There’s only a couple types of knocks that Bakugou likes. Kirishima’s knocks in the middle of the night are one of them.

Smile for me, would you? | Unlike the rest of us, Present Mics has goals, and actually follows through with them. This goal? Make his neighbor, Shouta Aizawa, smile.

Shadowed Soul, Electric Eyes (We'll Be Okay) | What if Tokoyami and Kaminari, people with completely different quirks, got quirk-swapped?

A Matter of Pride | How everyone in BNHA came out. That’s it. It’s so fluffy, though.

firedancer | Unlike the rest of these, this one has the tiniest bit of angst. So little you’d need a microscope, though. Whenever someone falls in love, romantically, platonically, or any other way, a flower appears on their skin. Kirishima has a ton of flowers, but where are Bakugou’s?

A Mile in New Shoes (and A Mile Too Far) | Artist!Bakugou is invited to his first house party... Luckily he has three guys showing him around.

Boy things | Ashido loves her friends, but sometimes it gets lonely being the only girl in the Bakusquad. Good thing they understand!

come home to me | Kiribaku might’ve gotten a telepathic connection... There’s so much fluff in this one!

one to ten | Kirishima wants to date Bakugou, but he’s gotta climb the ladder of friendship first!

Get Mad! | Bakugou teaches Eri how to cope, and Eri returns the favor.

bakugatsu | Yeah, I know this is 20 chapters long, but it’s basically 20 drabbles compiled together by the amazing wonhaebunny!

a mix of six | Probably my favorite series of all time, no matter the fandom. What happens when Aizawa and Hizashi adopt Bakugou, Todoroki, Shinsou and Eri?

KiriBaku Week 2020 | A series by PoorUnfortunateSoul - full of fluff!

Safety In Numbers | A little bit of fluff and a lot of parental Erasermic.

Multi-chapter Stories

How To Get Adopted Without Letting Your Dad Know He's Adopting You, A Guide By Class 1-A | Good old fashioned school fluff. (WIP)

Dandelion | No masterlist is complete without at least one fic from the legendary Broken Realities, right? So here’s @owlf45‘s fic... (there’s a lot more! Check out the Broken Realities Collection on Ao3 for at least some of them... I bet there’s a lot more floating around.) (WIP)

Phosphenes | A Naruto/BNHA crossover, Mina is reborn from Naruto, and learns to navigate life even with such a big burden on her shoulders. (WIP)

Flour Power | Kirishima and Bakugou are supposed to take care of a sack of flour for a school project. What could go wrong?

Not really a villain, but close enough | “Aizawa didn't expect the raid to go so well. he didn't expect the informant to be so useful and well-mannered. who was hi kidding? Aizawa didn't expect the informant to be a kid. but the green-eyed boy cuffed to the interrogation table was wiling to help, and Aizawa wasn't one to look the gift horse in the mouth“ (WIP)

green haze | Vigilante!Midoriya is known as the Green Haze, a vigilante, Eraserhead’s supposed to capture. Shenanigans happen.

2am Knows All Secrets | One of those classic Kiribaku fics that trickle through the ranks. Lots of fluff, with good ol’ tropes like sharing a bed and mutual pining and Good Friends, and-it’s great.

The life of a hero | Such a good series. It’s so amazing. It gives angst and pain but then soothes it over with fluff, but then it tears you apart... and then it gives you life... a great read.

The Last Resort | This is basically pure angst. It’s so painful, but it’s such a good story... Shinsou was sold as a young child to a yakuza. This yakuza would rent out people for their quirks... This is an amazing read, but don’t expect any fluff from this. (Check the tags! WIP)

¥300 Shampoo | When Aizawa’s working on a book at the cafe, he certainly doesn’t expect someone pulling his hair. He definitely doesn’t expect getting a free haircut out of it, either.

quote love unquote | Take the official summary “When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.”

lovin is easy | Blasty doesn’t get “feelings,” so here’s five times Bakugou doesn’t get love and one time he does. (WIP)

The Empath & The Mind Reader | Bakugou is a mind reader, and Kirishima is a empath. If both of them can literally know what the other person’s feeling/thinking, why are they still dancing around each other? (WIP, Contains smut, Anxiety attacks)

and finally I see the world in color (the violet stands out, thanks to you) | This fic deserves a LOT more than just 76 kudos. Sometimes people miss out on amazing fics just because it’s a femslash. Momojirou, where Yaoyaorozu is a businesslady who is bored with her life and everything else, until she happens upon the rambunctious band Dark Shadow. Seriously, please read this! (WIP)

Behind The Scenes | A KiriBaku actor AU. What happens when you start falling for your co-star - and your on-screen love interest? (WIP, It’s rated E for smut, but there isn’t any yet)

We Didn't Start the Fire | What if Touya decided to make something out of himself instead of becoming a villain? This is amazing, by the way. (WIP)

it seems i'm never letting go | Here’s how I summarized it to myself... “Koi no yokan... will Blasty experience it? (His sister left)” By the way, koi no yokan is basically love at first sight, Japanese-style. (WIP)

Lips Like Blood | What happens when Bakugou, a mage, falls in love with the one person who can’t love him back? (WIP)

Charm Me, Loser | A Hogwarts AU that has no right being that ingenius and amazing. My only problem with it is sorta small... There’s already a wizarding school in Japan... Why aren’t they going there? (WIP)

Gotta Get Away | Tsuyu and Bakugou are out getting some new hero merch together because of the new buddy system at UA. What happens when they’re mistaken for a couple? (WIP)

Opposed to the Typical | A fashion AU. This is ridiculously good. It feels like the author was actually in the Japanese fashion industry! (WIP, smut, past child abuse, mental health issues)

One Day at a Time | Pretty genius idea, actually. Bakugou and Uraraka are trapped in what is essentially a time-speeder-upper. What’s going to be a day for their classmates is going to be a year for them. What will they do in that year together? (WIP, it’s rated Mature but it’s pretty innocent so far)

The UA Quarantine Collection | Basically, a bunch of authors got together and made a ton of one-shots of what Class 1A is doing in quarentine. Technically it isn’t a coherent story, but I’m counting it as one. There’s two versions, a clean version and a version with all the smutty bits. The smutty one’s the second story in the series. This one’s linked to the clean one. (WIP)

Midoriya Fuckin' Izuku | This is an amazing fic! It has a ton of TWs, though. Make sure to read the tags before starting it! (WIP)

Seeing Double | A very good, and very long, fantasy AU. (WIP, smut)

Broken, but Still Good | Bakugou was rescued, after four years, from an illegal alpha fighting ring. Can Kirishima, a beta, help him back to society? Pay attention to the tags. (WIP, A/B/O)

Broken Wings | Kirishima’s a dragon who was rescued from the dragon slave trade by the mysterious Bakugou Katsuki, I don’t know what else to say. (WIP)

The Roast of Class 2-A | Have a crackfic. (WIP)

The Space Between | Midoriya’s a photojournalist who is just starting out. One fateful night, he goes to photograph the Antiheros in concert. (WIP, mild smut)

A Fissile Family | Bakugou’s been kidnapped by the League of Villains again. They’re actually sorta a weird family. (WIP)

Mochi Mochi | Just take the official summary. “Ochako never saw a problem with DM-ing an internationally known actor her grocery lists, absolutely certain that he'd never see them. That is—until he replies. And who the hell does he think he is to tell her mochi isn't real food?”

Green as the Leaves, and Red as a Rose | A TodoDeku flower shop AU. (WIP)

remember my name | Post-UA, Bakugou realizes that some things are for forever.

Blinding Shapes | What happens when soulmates, a blind abstract artist and a burnt out barista meet?

a heart swelled to bursting | Mind the tags, here. Training camp part 2 for Class 2A. (WIP)

manly man falls for manliest man | What happens when businessman!Kirishima meets his idol, and maybe biggest celebrity crush ever, actor!Bakugou? (Smut)

Miscellaneous Stuff From Other Fandoms

I have some Harry Potter fics lying around somewhere, so I’m going to add those later.

Stucco Hearts | One of my absolute favorite soulmate fics ever, from Percy Jackson.

Christmas and Chill | A old series I sorta just came across again from PJO.

The Florist and the Punk | Maybe another old series from PJO.

Hearts Need Love | Keep an eye on the tags! This is my favorite PJO fic of all time.

Our Songs | It’s good if I spent half an hour trying to find it again. It’s a Solangelo songfic.

Some random writers I recommend (A lot more coming along-I’m in the middle of a ton of different fics right now)

aloneintherain | @captainkirkk

wonhaebunny | @wonhaebunny

rosedvst

Sif (Rosae) | @intothedarknessigo

kiritime

sinderellaa

aloera | @aloera

Argentina | @junepixel

KuriKuri | @letaizawarest

[nokomiss]

deadtedkord replied to your post “taking prompts!”

more excellent jaysteph bonding please you're stuff for them is amazing!!

Even in Gotham, it’s hard to get takeout at 4am.  

So after a particularly grueling night fighting crime -- not Arkham-escape bad, but involving the Condiment King teaming up with Mad Hatter for easily one of the grossest in every imaginable way nights Steph could remember -- the troops all ended up at the Cave, fighting over who got into the showers first. The troops in question being Bruce, Damian, Tim, Jason and herself. Steph saw the writing on the wall immediately and booked it up stairs to shower in luxury before Bruce could complain about ketchup in his fancypants rich people showers.

After convincing herself that she couldn’t, actually, just live in the bathroom at Wayne Manor for the rest of her life, Steph reluctantly got out, wondering if she could convince Bruce that installing the same shower at her decidedly less luxurious home was actually a necessary crime fighting expense. The water pressure alone had relieved a few lingering muscle aches she’d been nursing a few days.  

She ransacked various rooms for a new, mustard-free outfit -- she had clothes stashed away somewhere, but everyone knew other people’s clothes are far superior, especially when they were Selina’s yoga pants, which she was never returning because damn they were amazing, Cass’ fuzzy socks and Tim’s softest hoodie.

By the time she returned to the cave, smelling like coconut and feeling like a champ, the boys had managed to clean themselves up and were bickering about food.

“I got Stromboli’s to deliver at 3 last week,” Damian was insisting, even though the Batcomputer clearly showed that they were closed.

“Maybe we could bribe someone at Batburger? They’re open all night,” Tim suggested, sounding doubtful about the prospect.

“There’s food here,” Steph suggested, because she, too, was starving.

Silence for a moment, then Bruce said, in a voice that almost sounded sheepish, “Alfred isn’t here.”

Steph felt a little bad about the smears of ketchup she’d undoubtedly left in the bathroom. “Did he… did he take the kitchen with him?”

“Pennyworth is the only one permitted to use the kitchen,” Damian said loftily while also not looking at anyone directly.

“Yeah, but… we’re hungry,” Steph pointed out.

“They don’t know how to cook,” Tim said, gesturing towards Bruce and Damian. “They’re really bad at it.”

“Like you’re any better,” Damian snapped. “Remember when you set the microwave on fire?”

“I didn’t realize there was still a spoon in the bowl!” The tops of Tim’s ears were turning bright red.

Steph looked at the only person in the room not howling about their own ineptitude in the kitchen. “Please tell me you’re not as useless as they are.”

“I’m insulted that you would think I am,” Jason replied. “I certainly didn’t grow up with a butler.”

Steph sighed, and said, “Wanna go make some food?”

Jason looked at the other three, who were suddenly very focused on writing the night’s mission report. “If it means we’re done with the paperwork, yeah.”

So she climbed the steps to up to the manor for the second time that night, and when she entered the kitchen she suddenly understood the silence and sheepish looks.

“I have seen active crime scenes less disastrous than this kitchen,” Jason said with an awed tone.

“How long has Alfred been gone? A year?” Steph said, staring. “And the question is, is he ever gonna return if he knows this is waiting on him?”

 “Probably he will, but he’ll finally snap and murder them all in a dishes-fueled rage,” Jason said, poking at the mountain of dirty china piled haphazardly in and around the sink.  He poked at a dish. “I’m pretty sure someone ate Spaghetti-Os out of fine china. Is this a real silver spoon?”

The spoon in question had curdled milk clinging to it.

“Okay so ten minutes ago, I would have told you there was no way anything could be grosser than Mad Hatter flopping around in a pool of mayonnaise,” Steph said, “but oh, how I have been proven wrong.”

“How do they even function as human beings?” Jason wondered. “Was it always this bad? I mean, I lived here. I know Bruce is an absolute moron in the kitchen. But…”  He looked around. “Wow.”

“Do you suddenly feel so much better about yourself as a person?” Steph said. “Because I gotta say. Really feeling good about myself right now.”

Jason offered a hand to high five, and Steph did, happily. They rummaged through the pantry side-by-side and found that the staples were still intact, though anything ready-made had been ransacked.  The fridge offered up similar bounty -- takeout leftovers of questionable providence, some wilting produce, and basics.  

“Pancakes?” Steph suggested once she saw the state of the waffle iron -- had someone tried to make a grilled cheese on it? -- and pulled out the dry ingredients. “I’m not willing to eat anything that requires a condiment right now.”  Thankfully maple syrup had not been one of Condiment King’s weapons of choice.

“I’ll make eggs,” Jason said, pulling out a carton. “And there’s some fake bacon of Damian’s.”

“We are a breakfast-making machine,” Steph said. It was true, too -- away from the chaos of crime fighting, she found that working alongside Jason in the kitchen was surprisingly easy. Steph stared at the sink again, and said, “I think that it’s time that certain vigilantes learned the domestic arts.”

“Yeah, we can’t let Alfred come back to this,” Jason said. “He’s too valuable. If he quit--”

“We’d never have his cookies ever again,” Steph said in horror. 

“Maybe we could steal Alfred,” Jason said after a pause. “Like, let nature take its course, then swoop in and take Alfred for our own.”

“Share custody of him,” Steph said, nodding. “We could put him on a rotating schedule, and give him days off, and… I don’t know. Let him join a book club, instead of spending all his time with these disasters.”

They spent a few moments in quiet contemplation of a life where Alfred showed up and made creme brulee at any hour of the day.  Then Steph sighed, giving the pancake batter one last stir before letting it sit and moving to the stove, clearing off several crystal goblets with what looked like coffee dregs in them before finding a griddle.  “There’s only one flaw with our plan.”

“The thing where Alfred loves Bruce like a son and would never abandon him to die alone and hungry in his filthy mansion?” Jason flipped the fake bacon.

“That’s the one,” Steph said, deciding the griddle was hot enough and spooning pancake batter onto it in cute little shapes. She thought that Damian’s should be hearts, and she experimented with bat-shapes for Bruce. 

Jason peered over and saw what she was doing. “I want stars.”

“Of course you do,” Steph said, though she tried to make one as soon as Damian’s hearts were done. It turned out a little wonky, but still recognizable. She was awesome. “Gotta be difficult, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason replied, cracking eggs into a bowl.  He glanced at the kitchen door. “Are they hiding in the cave in shame?”

“Like, it’s wrong, but the fact that I think they are makes me really happy,” Steph said. “Like, kind of makes up for all those times they acted like I was a moron for not knowing something.”

“Right?” Jason said. 

“I mean, how do you master dozens of different kinds of kung fu, but never once master the grilled cheese? I was making my own grilled cheese in kindergarten!”

“There are only three ingredients,” Jason agreed. “It’s a true embarrassment.”

“We should nominate him for Worst Cooks In America,” Steph said. “I really want to see Bruce on reality television, and that would be comedy gold.”

“Just seeing him get an invitation to be one of the worst of anything would be fucking amazing,” Jason said. “Like, congratulations, sir, you suck at this.”

“You suck so hard we want to feature you on television,” Steph snickered.  She flipped the last of Bruce’s pancakes onto a plate before they burned, and began making Tim’s. She tried to make a coffee mug shape, but it turned out looking like a blob, so she made teddy bears instead.  

“I mean, I kind of get why they’re so terrible at it,” Steph said, “given their upbringings. But I would have literally starved if I hadn’t figured out how to cook early on. Takeout was not an option.”

“Right? Only for special occasions,” Jason said. “The rest of the time, you had to make shit yourself.”

“Exactly,” Steph nodded. They didn’t really talk much about how they were the ones in the family who’d grown up poor, who’d spent a lot of time raising themselves because their parents hadn’t been capable of it. She knew it was why Bruce had compared them so much -- there was a startling amount of similarities between their childhoods, from their mothers’ drug problems to their fathers’ criminal inclinations -- and for once, it felt nice to be the ones with the necessary skills while everyone else floundered. 

They grinned at each other, then put the last of the food onto the plates.  Steph grabbed the maple syrup, and stopped short, staring at the calendar on the fridge. “Four days!”

“What?” Jason said through a mouthful of fake bacon.

“Alfred has only been gone four days,” Steph said, pointing to the note on the fridge, “and he left prepared meals.”  

They gazed in wonder at the chaos around them. 

“He’s going to be back tomorrow,” Jason said suddenly, pointing.  

“Okay, so we feed the troops, then we start Mission: Learn to Do the Damn Dishes,” Steph said. Sleep was for the weak. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason said, and followed her to the breakfast nook, setting down Tim and Damian’s plates and going back for the rest. “Wanna tell them now?”

“Let them have a final meal first,” Steph said. “Then we’ll light a fire under them.”

Jason grinned. By the time Bruce, Tim and Damian came out of the Cave, she and Jason had polished off half of their meal, and Steph had to admit that delivering a lecture to Batman about chores was one of the highlights of her week.  Possibly the entire month.

It took until dawn, but Alfred came home to a kitchen that no longer looked like it had witnessed the collapse of civilization.

[elisaphoenix13]

Enter Harley Keener

Stephen actually froze for a minute in the doorway to Tony's lab when he saw a teenager at the workbench with the engineer, and realized it wasn't Peter. He wasn't aware of any others that Tony might have taken on as a personal intern since Peter kind of completely took over that position, and he didn't recall his husband mentioning any visitors either. Which begged the question.

Who the hell was this kid?

Was he the reason Peter came up to the family floor instead of directly to the lab after school, looking despondent? He had asked his cub what was wrong, but Peter didn't answer and slunk off to his room with his shoulders slumped, causing alarm bells to go off in the sorcerer's head. Stephen then decided he would try and investigate what might have been the cause of Peter's depression. He would talk to Tony first, and if that came up empty then he would have to ask Peter about school. Calling the school would be a waste of time since they couldn't tell him if Peter was being bullied again. They had too many students to focus on one.

This kid may very well be the answer though. Someone else was allowed into the lab that wasn't Bruce or Stephen, and lab time was Peter's sanctuary.

"Anthony. Edward. Stark." Stephen hisses out between clenched teeth, finally getting his husband's shocked attention.

"Uh oh. What did I do now?"

The teen beside Tony regards the doctor with a raised eyebrow. "Who's he?"

The embers in Stephen's eyes turns into full blown flames at the question and his husband cringes at the expression. "That's Stephen. I told you I'm married now."

"Oh, right."

Tony recovers from the sorcerer's fiery gaze and gives him his best shit-eating grin. "Anyway! Mama Bear, this is Harley. Harley Keener. I invited him here for a few days. I told you--"

"No you didn't." The sorcerer interrupts.

"I didn't? Shit, that must have been a dream then."

"I'm assuming he's staying in the guest room."

"Yup." Tony wipes his hands on a soiled towel. "I'm waiting for Underoos to come home so I can introduce them."

"He's home. In his room, looking like someone kicked him." Stephen says coolly.

Tony curses, probably coming to the same conclusion that Stephen did, and mutters that he'll be right back to Harley before slipping past Stephen and out of the lab. Harley silently nudges a pencil around on the workbench in front of him as Stephen studies him, and then finally snaps after a few minutes of scrutinizing from the elder man.

"Take a picture. It will last longer."

Stephen blinks at the snide remark. This kid was the complete opposite of Peter. "I might have to with how forgetful Tony can get." The sorcerer returns.

"I can see why he married you. You're a sarcastic asshole too. Is Peter one?"

"Hardly."

They stand there staring each other down until Tony finally comes back with Peter, who stops just a bit behind the sorcerer when the engineer returns to the unoccupied side of the workbench. God, Stephen could practically feel the jealousy and hurt rolling off of Peter in waves. His cub wasn't used to even the thought of having to share his parents attention with another kid, let alone the fact that lab time apparently wasn't strictly for Peter and Tony anymore. Now there was suddenly this stranger that just walked in and got all of his father's attention.

"Peter, Harley. Harley, Peter." Tony says as he motions between the two. "This kid helped me out a long time ago after I raided his garage."

"Hey, nice to meet you."

Harley holds out his hand and Peter shakes it without a word, tightening his grip just enough so that the other teen's lip twitched to keep back a grimace. Oh, his cub was sizing Harley up and trying to decide if he was a threat to his relationship with Tony. Harley may have a smart mouth but he was only going to be here for a few days, so even if he got most of Tony's attention during his visit, it wouldn't be permanent. Stephen would just watch from the background for now. If Peter needed an escape, he would provide it.

"I'll leave you three alone. Please don't blow up the lab." Stephen eventually says after Peter drops Harley's hand.

Tony grins. "No promises babe."

The sorcerer sighs and looks at Harley. "Do you have any bags?"

"Just a couple." He points toward the bags piled on the couch across the lab. When the bags drop through a portal, his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "Uh..."

"They're in the guest room." Stephen reassures him.

"Thanks I guess."

The doctor gently nudges Peter forward by his lower back before leaving the lab, and the vigilante makes his way over to a separate workbench where a new prototype for his web shooters were laying. Thankfully, Tony didn't say anything and let him distance himself for now, but he knew it wouldn't last very long. His father always asked for his help or his opinion with something and would doubtlessly use it as an excuse to get him included.

He never did though. He actually asked Harley for his opinion and it made Peter's stomach drop. He was being ignored. Tony and Harley were talking and laughing amongst themselves and the vigilante had the sudden feeling that he was invisible. It made him put down his unfinished web shooters. He lost all motivation to work and so decided that he would go back up to his room.

Peter turns and walks out of the lab without a word, and even though he expected it, it still hurt when Tony didn't notice. Maybe he would just wait out Harley's visitation. The other teen obviously meant something to his father, and he wasn't about to ruin anything because he was a little jealous. Peter got to see him every day. Harley apparently hasn't seen him for years, so it was only fair that he got all of Tony's attention.

At least he still had Stephen...right? The sorcerer was being hospitable but didn't seem inclined to spend time with the new teenager. He could really use Mama Bear cuddles right about now anyway. So when he took the elevator back up to the family floor for the second time and found Stephen reading a book in the living room on the couch, he silently padded over and laid next to him, resting his head in the doctor's lap. Stephen hums in acknowledgement as Levi floats over and settles over the curled up teen, and Peter sighs when a hand brushes through his hair.

"Let the excitement blow over." He mutters gently.

"I know. I get to see Dad every day."

"Want to watch a movie?"

Peter shakes his head. "Just wanna lay here. Is that okay?"

"Of course."

The two spend the next couple of hours in quiet, only broken by the periodic turn of a page in Stephen's book. It was also the only time the sorcerer pulled his hand from Peter's hair, but he always returned it with a gentle scratch before turning it back into a massage. After a few more minutes of that, Stephen checks the time, asks FRIDAY to order some pizza, and then closes his book to place on the  small table next to the couch. Peter had his eyes closed, but Stephen knew he wasn't asleep based on his breathing. He was just enjoying the doctor's ministrations.

"Feeling better?"

"A little...thanks Mom." The teen mumbles.

"I know it's hard seeing him with another kid."

"It's not that...just never expected to see someone else allowed in the lab. I thought that was our thing." Peter huffs out.

"I gathered as much. Just remember that Harley may take some lab time from you, but he can't take Spiderman away."

"...what about Mama Bear?" Peter whispers.

Stephen snorts. "I only need one cub...and from the little bit Tony has said about Harley, he still has his mom. He doesn't need another."

"He doesn't seem like someone who wants one anyway."

Their conversation is interrupted by the elevator opening around the corner, and Tony and Harley's chatter fills the floor, causing Peter to shrink more against Stephen's thigh. The engineer and teenager soon appear in the living room and Tony takes a seat on an adjacent couch once he realizes the one Stephen is on is completely occupied.

"You feeling okay Pete?"

"Tired." Peter half lies.

"So he does talk. I thought he might have been mute or something." Harley says with a bit of surprise.

"Usually the trick is getting him to shut up." Tony says jokingly. "Did you order something for dinner Stephanie?"

"Pizza."

"Look at that Keener! You get to try authentic New York pizza!"

"It's the real reason I came here. Seeing you was just a coincidence old man."

Peter actually sniggered into Stephen's ribs at the comment.

_____________________

Tony and Stephen jolt into a sitting position when a loud explosion disturbs their sleep, and they look at each other through the last hazes of their sleep before realization dawns on them and they scramble out of bed. They both tear out of their room and check both Peter's room and the guest room, and when they find both rooms empty, they make their way down to the lab. It was about halfway to the door of the lab from the elevator when the thought of using a portal crossed Stephen's mind, but it didn't matter at that point. Tony was already yelling for FRIDAY to open the door to the lab and it slid open half a second later, letting the couple in to assess the damage.

There wasn't any. There was some smoke, but nothing was broken.

Harley and Peter were giggling like maniacs on the other side of the room though, and Tony's worry turned into exasperated annoyance. Stephen was just glad that Peter seemed to be bonding with Harley over something...even if that something was lab explosions.

"You little shits! What are you doing down here at ass o'clock in the morning?!"

"Causing explosions and possibly waking the whole tower." Stephen adds.

"Oh! Harley told me about his potato gun so I said we should make a marshmallow version!" Peter rambles.

Harley grins. "We might have gotten distracted by some wires and one of your gauntlets."

Tony rubs his eyes. "Okay. New lab rule. Peter and Harley are not allowed to be in the lab alone together without adult supervision."

"Come on! It was a controlled explosion!" Peter complains loudly.

"Controlled my ass!"

"It was Boss. I made sure of it." FRIDAY says.

"You stay out of this Fri. You two!" Tony points at the cackling teens. "Back upstairs! No lab today!"

Both boys grumble and push past the older men and quickly get excited about a potential junk for breakfast meal as they disappear onto the elevator. Tony inhales deeply as he surveys what's left of the explosion, and then turns to Stephen with a raised eyebrow.

"You're on birth control right?"

"Seriously, Tony?"

"Hey, I have no idea what your magic is capable of!"

Stephen pauses to ponder his words. "I actually have no idea if magic can make that possible."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Some Sorcerer Supreme."

"There may very well be a spell."

"Burn it. We can't take any chances."

Stephen chuckles. "Regretting introducing two teenage boys?"

"That both like science? It's in the top ten."

"Well now those two teenage boys are upstairs raiding our cabinets."

"Fuck! My poptarts!"

Tony dashes for the elevator and Stephen laughs as he opens a portal.

[serpentupemotions-blog]

Guilt - Reader x Sweet Pea 

(The gif isn’t mine, credit to the creator!)

This is based on the incredible request from @babbbiegirl : “Could you do another sweet pea × reader fan fic. Im not good at writing or anything but basically shes Archies baby sister and she sees the fight go down. She goes to the wyrm to apologize for her brothers actions and sees sweet pea and falls for him. Idk if thats good or not but it popped in my head.”

A/N: A couple things about this one. First, stuff that is in italics is dialogue directly from the show, I didn’t write that myself, those are quotes from Riverdale. Secondly, there will be a second part to this. Unfortunately, I have no freaking idea where I want to go with this. I have about six different starting points to a part two and I’ve been fretting over it for so long, so I decided to just put out part one since it’s done already. 

Word Count: 3,897

You had been doing your very best to ignore Veronica and Archie yelling in the living room downstairs. At least someone else was there to do it this time. Maybe a different voice yelling at him about his idiotic plans of taking out the Black Hood would get it through to him that he was just a teenager with a vendetta, not a detective with police training. But the knocking on the door was enough to draw your attention from your book. Crawling off your bed you press pause on your speaker, so you could listen to what was going on downstairs. Archie wasn’t the only one who was shaken up by the Black Hood, living in a constant state of fear. But he was the one completely unravelling at the seams.

The lack of commotion both comforts you and sets off warning signals in your brain. Probability versus possibility. The counsellor you had been seeing since this Black Hood stuff started told you to always consider what’s probable versus what’s possible when something was making you anxious. Probability says it was a friend or a neighbor coming by to say hi. Possibility says it was an intruder and they attacked so fast Archie and Veronica didn’t even have an opportunity to fight back. But sometimes the possible was so pressing there was no way you could just settle on believing the probable had happened.

You push open your bedroom door, carefully moving through the hallway to the top of the stairs. When you glance around the corner you feel the tension in your body dissipate at the sight of the football team piling in through the door. They weren’t an immediate threat. But you still didn’t want them here, they had done enough in helping your brother form his crazy Red Circle vigilante group.

“What are they doing here?” you ask Veronica as she shuts the door, glancing over her shoulder to watch you walk down the stairs.

Rolling her eyes, she glances into the living room where Archie had gone with the team, “no idea.”

“Great,” you mutter, turning around and ascending the staircase again. You would hear about it later. You just didn’t want to be involved in it. At least if you weren’t involved you could plead ignorance.

Not long after you had settled back onto your bed with a novel, getting lost in a world full of other people with different problems to get your mind off of your own, you hear the sound of motorcycles. Not just a couple, the noise is loud enough to draw your mind out of a fantasy world and straight into a panicky reality. Tossing the book to the side you hurry to your window, watching a group of people parking their bikes in your driveway before heading towards your front door. Probability versus possibility might have been able to help your worries if you weren’t living in a town where the probable seemed barely possible and the possible was incredibly probable.

This time you had a reason to sneak through the hallway quietly, stopping at the top of the stairs and standing with your back pressed against the wall around the corner, listening intently.

“How stupid are you Northsiders? You really think you can come to my house, stick a gun in my face in front of my boys and there wouldn’t be any payback?” The voice is unfamiliar, and it sends waves of panic through your body like fire. Your legs feel shaky and your palms become clammy. Was he talking to Archie? Archie had been acting like an idiot lately, sure. But you couldn’t believe he had figured out how to get a gun and was using it to threaten people.

“You have crap timing, bro. Bulldogs eat Serpents for lunch,” Reggie’s voice is familiar to you and if you weren’t so terrified you may have rolled your eyes at how stupid he sounded. But his presence down there with Archie was oddly reassuring now. When had Archie gone to the Southside and threatened the Serpents with a gun? Sometimes you were sure your parents had mixed up your birthdates, that Archie had to have been the younger sibling. There was no way your older brother was dumb enough to be running around threatening gang members with firearms.

The conversation becomes a little more hushed and you try to make sense of what was happening without coming around the corner, exposing that you were there, that you were listening. It sounded like they were negotiating ground rules for a fight. Something about guns and knives, weapons. You wanted to run down there, yell at them that they were all being stupid. That everyone should just slow down and talk things through. But you couldn’t move, frozen with anxiety. You feel the nausea building in your stomach, pressure in your chest, your fingers were cold. You knew it was anxiety, knew it was a fight of flight reaction. You did neither though, you froze. Fight, flight, or freeze. Of the three, freeze had to be the most useless, to just let the threat get you without any defense.

The next thing you know you hear the door closing and it’s enough to break you from the spell of immobility that the fear had put on you.

“Veronica,” you call, turning around the corner and running down the stairs. Archie wouldn’t have let her go anywhere he thought might be dangerous, wouldn’t let her get hurt. “Is this really happening?”

She turns to you when you practically fly down the stairs, your hand clutching the railing the whole way. “How much did you hear?” she asks, pacing the length of the living room, ringing her hands anxiously.

“All of it,” you admit, leaning against the pillar of the railing at the bottom of the stairs, not trusting your shaking legs to not give out at any second. “Did Archie really…?”

“Have a gun?” Veronica finishes your question before nodding hesitantly as if she’s not sure she should be telling you.

“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself, sinking down and sitting on the stairs, running your hands over your face.

Veronica walks over and joins you, sitting next to you on the stairs. What feels like forever passes, the two of you sitting on the stairs. There was a silent acknowledgment between you two, that you both knew what Archie was doing was stupid and dangerous. You both cared so much about him, didn’t want him to get hurt because he felt like he needed to put his life in danger to make up for your dad getting shot.

“I have to do something.” Veronica suddenly stands up and walks towards the door. You watch in shock as she pulls her jacket on.

“You can’t,” you tell her, shaking your head. What did she think she was going to do? Single-handedly take out a group of Southside Serpents?

“Yes, I can. I have to.” She opens her purse and slowly pulls a gun out, your eyes widening in fear.

“Have you all lost your minds?” You pull yourself up off the stairs, still using the railing for support. “Where did you even get that? Why do you have it?”

“It’s Archie’s,” she tells you, hand already on the front door handle.

“That doesn’t make it better, what are you going to do with that?”

“I’m not going to shoot anyone, Y/N, calm down. Just stay here, okay?”

You reluctantly nod in response, sitting back on the stairs as she takes off into the stormy night. Sitting in the house all alone you suddenly felt so small, so unable to do anything. You hated it, hated feeling so insignificant. Archie was out risking his life because of his—admittedly misguided—attempts at helping the people he cared about. You wished you could be like that, so selflessly caring for the people you loved. Only, a version that wasn’t putting many people’s lives at risk in the process.

The sound of a gun firing makes you fly from where you were sitting, no longer feeling the need to hold onto the railing. Your body was now filled with adrenaline, raging through your veins and turning you into that person who you were wishing you could be only moments before. When all you can think about it the possibility that someone you cared about might be bleeding out in the streets the fear that made you freeze moments before had now vanished.

You place your hand on the door handle of the front door just moments before it’s shoved open, making you stumble backwards. Archie steps through the door, soaking wet, hand clutching his torso in pain but otherwise seemingly fine.

“Everyone is going to be fine,” Veronica assures you, reading the terror in your face clearly.

Within seconds your concern is transformed into anger, realizing that Archie was nothing more than a little bruised. “What the fuck? I can’t fucking believe you, Archie. You’re such a fucking idiot, when did you get a gun? Why did you think that was a good fucking idea?” your words were shocking even to yourself. You were normally fairly quiet, rarely swore, people perceived you as sweet and innocent. But anyone hearing you for the first time now would never believe any of that.

Archie is stunned, staring at you blankly. “I’m going to take him upstairs, Y/N,” Veronica says protectively. She was still in concerned mode, wanting to care for him. You wanted to take a swing at him yourself, for putting himself in danger the way he had, for bringing a gun into the house, for threatening to kill someone. But you weren’t a fighter, you ran, or you froze or sometimes, when you were feeling brave, you tried to talk things out.

You nod and wait until they had disappeared up the stairs before turning to the closet in the hallway, yanking your rain jacket free from its hanger and pulling on a pair of shoes. Now was your chance, to selflessly protect your brother. You needed to use the bravery your adrenaline had afforded you to apologize for your stupid brother and hope the Serpents might leave him alone. It was a long shot, but you couldn’t sit around and do nothing anymore.

The walk to the only place you knew to find Serpents was longer than you had expected, especially with the rain pouring down on you in heavy sheets. But eventually you find yourself standing in front of the Whyte Wyrm, eyes wide in fear, legs frozen once again. You couldn’t let it do this to you, the fear. You couldn’t let it stop you again. So, you muster every ounce of courage left in your trembling body and march up to the door with a fake confidence, pushing it open and stepping inside before you could stop again.

Swallowing hard you realize the Wyrm was not as busy as you had anticipated, and it seemed almost everyone in the bar was now staring at you. Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed the door open with quite as much fake courage, but at least this meant you didn’t have to ask for attention.

“What are you doing here?” a man calls from where he was sitting a few feet away from you at the bar, a half-empty beer sitting in front of him. He was eyeing you up suspiciously before rising from his seat. There was nothing about you that fit into this bar, you screamed outsider and that was clearly putting this man on edge. “Get out,” he commands.  

“I just-,”

“I said, get out,” he barks. Every last bit of confidence you had disappears as you jump at the sound of his loud, deep voice, recoiling till your back hits the door.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak out, “I just wanted to come and say I’m sorry for what my brother did,” you add, your hand already on the door, ready to flee.

“Are you Archie Andrews’ sister?”

The voice is familiar to you this time, not a reassuring familiarity, but familiar, nonetheless. Forcing yourself to look in the direction of the sound your eyes meet those of a tall teenager, hair wet with rain and a dark bruise forming around his left eye. All you can manage to do is nod.

“He know you’re here?”

This time you shake your head, immediately wishing you hadn’t done that. Of course, you should have said yes. Like how you never tell someone you don’t know that you’re home alone, it makes you vulnerable.

“You should go,” the guy tells you and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. He wasn’t going to get mad at you? Yell or lash out? You had prepared yourself for the worst, expecting that perhaps you would be leaving with a black eye of your own.

“I really am sorry, for what he did,” you tell him, turning towards the door and opening it a bit, the sound of rain pouring on the concrete filling your ears.

“You walked all the way here just to say that?”

Turning back around the door falls shut behind you. “I guess so,” you shrug.

“Why?” His stare feels piercing and you wished he would look away from you, the intensity making you incredibly nervous.  

“Because what my brother did was wrong,” you tell him, nervously yanking on your sleeves to cover your freezing, rain dampened hand. “Unless you did shoot my dad, which I’m pretty sure you didn’t, he shouldn’t have threatened you, especially not with a gun. He’s not handling what happened to our dad well, but that’s not an excuse. This never should have happened.” You gesture towards his eye, surrounded by a painful looking bruise, “you shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

He eventually looks away from you, seeming to process what you had said. But the lack of attention from him only makes you realize that the rest of the bar was still watching you closely, including the man who had yelled at you to leave.

“I’m gonna go,” you mutter, turning to look back at the boy with the bruised eye. “I’m sorry, I hope that heals quickly.”

When you’re back outside you feel warmth on your cold cheeks, tears rolling down from your eyes. You knew that this was beyond messed up and it felt like everything was just catching up to you now. You didn’t know what more you could do. You had forced your apologies onto a group of people who didn’t look like they wanted it.  The walk back to your house feels surprisingly short. It seemed like you didn’t have enough time to think, to try and figure out what you were going to do from here.

“Jughead, hey,” you say into your phone, standing in front of Southside High the very next day.

“Hey, Y/N. What’s going on?” Jughead questions and you can make out the sounds of a high school hallway through the phone, chatter, laughter, slamming lockers.

“I’m at your school.” Growing up as Archie’s younger sister you had also hung out with Jughead a lot, him being around the house so much it was inevitable. Even when Archie was going through the typical ‘I’m too cool for my younger sister’ phase, Jughead was always still nice, always still willing to talk to you. It’s not like you were much younger than him or Archie, less than a full year. Just enough to be in different grades.

“What? Why?”

“I’m not totally sure,” you admit. You had looked up the Southside schedule and got on a bus to get you there for lunch. “I want to talk to you about what happened last night,” you tell him, as an excuse for being there.

“Last night? You mean when Dilton was jumped?” there’s a pause before he continues, “where are you? I’m coming to meet you.”

“Dilton was what?” Probability says that Dilton was not jumped after also partaking in a fight last night. Possibility says this town was messed up enough that maybe that actually did happen. “Out front.”

“Dilton was jumped by a bunch of Serpents, stabbed in the leg or something, I didn’t get all the details. Sounds like he’s going to be fine though.”

“That doesn’t make sense-,” you hang up the phone when you see Jughead approaching. “That doesn’t make sense, Jug.”

“I don’t think you should be here,” Jughead says worriedly.

“Well I am, so whatever,” you state. “Are you friends with any of the Serpents?”

“Acquaintances might be more fitting. Why are you here? What’s going on?”

“Can you just show me around or something?” you ask, glancing around the parking lot. You couldn’t believe you had gone this far out of your way in hopes of seeing the guy from the bar again. You had managed to convince yourself it was to check on him. As if a black eye could suddenly get so much worse overnight.  

“Thinking of transferring?” Jughead jokes before reluctantly agreeing to show you around. The tour is short, the school rather unexciting and severely lacking in a certain tall, injured boy you had wanted to see so badly. Eventually Jughead pushes a door open, letting you step outside ahead of him. “So, you know I’m in a relationship, right? This older brother’s best friend thing is cute, but it’s not going to happen,” Jughead teases.

“Shut up,” you laugh, shoving him. “I would never want to date you.”

“Way to bruise a guy’s ego. But I’m just going to believe you have a crush on me until you tell me why you’re here,” Jughead says with a chuckle.

“Like I said, to talk about last night,” you lie, walking out of the school beside him. “Wait,” you comment, placing your arm in front of Jughead to stop him from going any further. Your eyes were locked on the picnic table across the outdoor yard, the now familiar guy was leaning over it with a friend, looking down at some papers. “Do you know him?”

“Who?” Jughead asks in confusion, scanning the yard.

“Him,” you nod towards the table and Jughead follows your stare.

“Fangs or Sweet Pea? Yeah, I know them,” Jughead tells you and continues walking towards the table. “Why?”

You hesitate, “well last night-,”

“No!” Jughead suddenly grabs your arm and turns you to face him, “please don’t tell me you slept with one of them, Y/N,” his voice is hushed as he stares down at you, and thankfully so, since you two would be close enough for them to hear you talking at a regular volume, if they were paying attention.

“What?” you exclaim, “no, after the fight.”

“What fight?”

“He doesn’t know about it,” the familiar voice calls and you look over before glancing back at Jughead.

“What don’t I know? That Dilton Doiley said he was stabbed and that a bunch of you guys jumped him?” Jughead asks, walking up to the picnic table with you trailing along behind him.  

“The idiot stabbed himself with his own knife,” the shorter guy chimes in, but you can barely peel your eyes off the taller one.

“And we didn’t jump him. There was a fight. Bulldogs versus Serpents. And you see this?” his voice is very evidently angry. You watch him gesture towards his eye, which did look much worse than it had the night before. “Your boy Andrews gave it to me just before his girlfriend shot a gun into the air.”

You zone out a little when you hear him say that is was Archie who gave him the black eye. All of it on the grand scheme was caused by Archie, the whole fight. But knowing he was actually the one who gave him the black eye, that made it so much worse.

You feel his eyes on you and you have an overwhelming desire to say something, do something, anything to make him like you. You could feel the residual hate for Archie rubbing off on you and you wanted to distance yourself from Archie.

“Come on,” he mutters to the guy beside him, nudging his arm before turning and starting to walk away.

“Wait,” you barely croak out and to your surprise he seemed to hear you, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“What?” he asks, not angrily, but not gently either.

You shake your head, not knowing what to say to him. Because, ‘I just don’t want you to go’ was not an adequate answer. “I didn’t know Archie was the one who hit you,” you comment, taking a couple steps towards him.

“Y/N,” Jughead’s voice is low from behind you, warning you not to get involved. He didn’t realize you already had done just that.  

“You don’t have to apologize for him again, he’s old enough to pick his fights, he’s old enough to apologize for them if he feels sorry.”

You glance back at Jughead who’s watching you with curiosity and concern. The boy with the black eye follows your lapse in attention, noticing Jughead’s staring as well.

“I know I don’t have to apologize for him,” you say, looking up at him nervously. Him simply staring at you was enough to make your heart race with nerves. “I know he won’t say it, he won’t say sorry to you, I don’t think he ever will. Archie’s too proud too apologize. But that doesn’t mean I can’t say sorry. I should have realized sooner how far Archie had spiraled, I should have done something to stop him, before everything got so bad.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing over at his friend and leaving you staring at him in silence. “Look, nothing that has happened is your fault. Don’t take the blame for this. Your brother may be out of control, but you went through the exact same shit as he did and you’re not running around waving guns at people. You don’t have anything to apologize for so just let this go, let your brother feel guilty about this, not you,” he leans closer to you as he talks, like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he’s saying. His words are rushed, reassuring in meaning, casual tone. “See you around, Northsider,” he comments, his eyes lingering a moment longer before turning around and continuing away with his friend.

After watching him leave you return to Jughead, spending a fair amount of time convincing him that everything was fine and normal. You manage to get away without admitting you had gone to the Wyrm the night before.

“Well I should go then, the bus leaves in ten minutes.” You begin to turn around before suddenly turning back to Jughead. “What, um, what was his name?”

Jughead looks at you curiously, realizing what you were asking but not knowing why exactly. “Sweet Pea.”

You simply nod in response, turning around and leaving this time. Sweet Pea. You look down at the ground as you walk, a smile plastered on your lips. This was dangerous. Even being on the Southside after what went down the night before held a certain level of physical threat. But it wasn’t that kind of danger you were worried about. It was the emotional mess you were getting yourself in that worried you.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If anyone reads this and wants to discuss what I should do for part two please message me, I’m in desperate need of opinions about it. 

Tags: @gruffle1 @sweetpeasbabydoll

[nerdpoe]

Three Vigilantes and a Pile of Parenting Books Part 1

Part 2, Part 3, Ao3

Dick knows in his teenage years that he'd been an absolute terror. He knows that being a Hero is something he Needs To Do. He doesn't have time to pull a Bruce and adopt a million kids; Bludhaven is a big enough task without needing to worry about a kid on top of that. Jason knows that staying with the League did him no favors in terms of mental stability. He knows that before his death he was filled with far less hatred, and is deeply aware that if his younger self met his current self, he'd only see a different version of Willis. He tries to make up for it by being nice to the kids, but he can't ever have one. Barbara knows she has a tendency to be abrasive, crass, and filled with a simmering rage. She can't help it; she spends all day working, and then pretty much all night staring at screens and working some more. She doesn't have the leisure to take a break; information never stops, so neither does she. How unfortunate for them that Clockwork has Plans, and those Plans include four de-aged kids with nowhere else to go.

���Again.”

Project RD-013 stifled his sob and reached out for the puzzle again. 

He didn’t want to do it again; he was bored, the puzzle was hard, he wanted a snack, and he wanted to run and flip and-

“Dr. Hovell, mark Project RD-013’s fifty-fourth attempt as a failure.”

-and he had failed. Again.

The puzzle was picked up and another was set down in its place.

“Again.”

But this puzzle was different. This puzzle was an amalgamation of gears and clocks, with no clear goal like ‘open this box’ or ‘get this color on one side’. It made lots of noises and tiny flashes of light, and it was actually fun to try to solve.

The people in the white coats called failure again, but RD-013 didn’t stop playing with it.

“Project RD-013, cease your attempt.”

He did not.

“Project RD-”

There was a click, a flash of light, and-

“Look Honeybunches, the Ghosts gave us another toddler!”

The puzzle was gently pried from RD-013’s hands and set aside, making way for a pair of very enthusiastic mad-scientist parents and their very concerned daughter.

~~~~~~

Danny woke up.

That had felt more like a memory than a dream, and he’d been having the same dream on repeat for awhile. When he could get any sleep, that was.

Between hiding the ghosts unfortunate enough to have not gotten the memo that, perhaps, it was not a good idea to come through the portal, and running from the GIW, and hiding from his parents, Danny hadn’t been getting a lot of chances to sleep.

He was pretty sure that the only reason he’d gotten any just then was due to the gunshot wound in his side. 

Jazz was still standing over him, arms outstretched as she shielded him from their parents. Sam was applying pressure, and from what he could see of Tucker he was probably trying to get past the new lock codes to open the portal to the Zone.

There was shouting, but he couldn’t be assed to understand what was being said.

What he focused on instead was the strange puzzle he’d just dreamed about, not even three inches from his right hand.

As a halfa, with a well-developed space core, he could recognize a portal when he saw one. Unlike before, which he could only barely remember, this time he knew what he was doing.

Sam tried to get him to stop moving, but Danny ignored her efforts and grabbed the puzzle. He felt around its edges with shaking fingers, gently pushing the final piece back into place.

The world stopped.

~~~~~~

Clockwork hovered above the distraught teens, frowning. 

He had rather hoped it wouldn’t have come to this. But it’d had to, he knew.

The Drs. Fenton were frozen in time, their gun in the process of being turned on their daughter.

Jasmine herself was frozen in time, actively stepping into said gun's path.

Daniel was frozen on the ground, laying in a puddle of his own blood as he kept trying to save his friends and family.

And his friends were frozen in the process of trying to save him.

Well. He’d intended to send Daniel and Jasmine back to their own Universe, but he couldn’t very well leave two such devoted friends behind. It would do no one any good; he could see the multitudes of futures where they tore the timeline apart to find him.

Better for them to come with, then.

Besides, Valerie was more than capable of handling aggressive ghosts. He’d just leave a hint or two that perhaps she should involve her father, get some backup.

With a wave of his hand, Clockwork aligned the children's time with that of their original (or new) Universe. Now instead of teens, it was a gaggle of five, six, and 10 year olds that were the appropriate ages for their intended Universe.

Time differed depending on the universe’s placement within the Infinite Realms, and their original was running a bit slower than this current one. To ensure they were not rejected by said Universe, it was best to adhere to that Universe’s rules.

A few more tweaks and they were all wearing the same white, shapeless smock; one of which also had a small hole. They would match their intended physical location within their universe perfectly now; all the better to ensure a successful integration. Or re-integration, rather.

With a flick of his wrist; their surroundings changed to the soot-blackened walls shattered glass of a recently destroyed lab, smoke hiding them just out of sight from a certain red-helmeted vigilante. A red-helmeted vigilante who may have been spooked enough to fire his weapon in that vicinity not even two seconds before Clockwork dropped off his charges.

This Revenant was a good one, he knew. A heart of Gold, one that would never harm children, and an eventual Ancient in many, many eons.

He would help, no question or doubt.

And with a snap of his fingers, time restarted-and Clockwork was nowhere to be seen.

~~~~~~

Red Hood was not having a fun time.

The Traffickers he’d been tailing had lead to some sort of lab, and the kids he and the Outlaws had pulled from it so far had all been mute with terror and so fucking small. 

Naturally, he’d lost his shit a little.

So after setting off multiple alarms and some idiot in the building deciding it was better to just blow it all up, which was a great way to have a flashback-induced panic attack, thanks, he was sweeping the building for any remaining Traffickers.

Still jittery from the panic attack and flashback, of course. No rest for the wicked, and all that.

Arsenal had griped about how he should hang back, blah blah blah, but Red Hood knew what he was doing, okay?

The smoke kept blocking his sights and making him jump at shadows, tricking him into taking aim at random shit that he could have sworn looked like an enemy until it was just a broom. Or chair.

One time it had been a fucking oxygen tank, and his broken tail-bone would thank him for that fuckup for a few weeks.

A flicker in the corner of his eye, a flash of white cloth; the gun was up and leveled and the bullet was already out of the barrel by the time he realized that he should have probably waited to confirm.

A child’s terrified scream of “No!” tore through the air, and Red Hood’s heart dropped.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

“Fuck!” 

The gun was unceremoniously shoved into its holster and Red Hood bolted forward, almost running into the red-headed little girl that was shielding a group of smaller children.

From him.

One of them was whimpering and blood was starting to pool-

Arsenal had been right, and Red Hood was a moron.

“It’s gonna be okay!” Both hands in the air, moron, show them there’s no weapons- “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there were still kids here, but I have some supplies and we…can…”

As he walked closer he slowed to an involuntary stop.

That was Barbara.

That was definitely a tiny, child version of Barbara.

And he would recognize that scrunched up face on the ground anywhere.It was younger than he’d ever seen, but that was definitely his older brother.

Who was younger.

Dick?

What-

Something rammed into his stomach, startling him back a few steps; the tiny Barbara had just rammed him in the stomach with her shoulder.

“Stay away from him!”

Fuck, right, more important things to deal with.

“Kid, we have to stop the bleeding,” he started, pulling her away and leaning down so he could speak to her on her level, “and I have the supplies and the backup.”

Barara’s tiny, furious face glared up at him, chin wobbling as she fought back tears.

Then she moved out of the way.

Red Hood shoved down his own emotions on accidentally shooting his fucking brother who was a goddamn toddler and activated his Comm as he knelt down.

“Red Hood requesting medical assistance; four more children found, and one of them has a GSW, lower left abdominal region. Arsenal, I don’t want to hear it.”

The Comm was silent for a moment. He could almost feel them judging him through it.

“On the way, bringing a board for the injured party. Evac standing by.”

Red Hood nodded, entirely focused on wrapping the compression bandages around the wound and gently batting away little fingers determined to help.

He hadn’t been in contact with Gotham for awhile, and when it came to their own individual cases they rarely asked each other for assistance.

Was Dick missing? Was Barbara? Had he just found them?

Fuck.

He…was going to have to call Bruce, wasn’t he?

~~~~~~

Bruce was fighting back a migraine.

He’d done...something, he didn’t know what, to offend Dick.

Dick, in retaliation, was in his office and shouting himself hoarse.

But every time Bruce tried to get a word in, to defend himself or explain himself, Dick just got even angrier and somehow found more energy to go on for even longer. Then Bruce had made a fatal error. 

Dick had paused for breath, and Bruce had taken advantage of that to ask what he’d even done.

That had been thirty minutes ago.

The phone ringing was not helping.

He was already getting yelled at by Dick, Jason could wait his turn.

He rejected the call.

It came through again.

He rejected it again.

It came through again.

He-

“-And just answer your damn phone, Bruce!”

-Fine.

He answered the phone as Dick slammed himself into the chair opposite him, glaring.

“Yes Jason-”

“Bruce, I think I shot Dick.”

Bruce stared in confusion at the very much not injured Dick sitting across from him, who in turn raised an eyebrow.

“Like, recently or…?”

“Like twenty minutes ago. I think these scientists kidnapped him and turned him into a kid? I swear I didn’t realize he was in my sights, Bruce, I never-”

The migraine was no longer the main concern.

“Wait, you shot a kid?” “Little Wing did what?”

A tea cup was aggressively, yet politely, set down on the desk with a firm clink.

“Master Jason did what?”

Everyone stopped talking.

Alfred towered over Bruce and held out his hand.

Bruce wordlessly handed the phone over.

Bruce hadn’t been the one to vet Jason’s gun safety or handling, after all. 

When things had settled down and Jason had allowed a test of his handling, that had been all Alfred.

Alfred gently placed the phone against his ear, disappointment dripping from his every move. 

There was muffled talking from Jason, Bruce couldn’t make out what, but every word just seemed to add to the stiffness already in Alfred’s posture.

Then Bruce’s Godfather turned on his heel and walked out of the room with rigid, precise steps.

Dick and Bruce stared after him

“...Little Wing shot a kid?”

Oh, look; the migraine was back.

[batty-pham]

Daily fic rec master post!

BatPham/DPxDC

October

Oct 1 - But I Want to Be Let In, Not Out

Oct 2 - Robin's Egg

Oct 3 - Shadow of a Bat

Oct 4 - Life, Death, and In Between

Oct 5 - One Fall, Two Rise

Oct 6 - Barely Surviving in a World Antithetical to My Existence

Oct 7 - Stalking Astronauts: Gotham's Latest Social Media Craze!

Oct 8 - There! That's the Ghost Who's Been Stealing My Shit

Oct 9 - I'm King Boo

Oct 10 - A Second Life

Oct 11 - Phantom Children: Redux

Oct 12 - Have you heard of Danny Wayne

Oct 13 - Hollow

Oct 14 - Danny's New Batty Family

Oct 15 - The Curious Case of D. Grayson

Oct 16 - Breaking news!

Oct 17 - The Kings Coffin

Oct 18 - Ah, Sunflower

Oct 19 - Contractual Obligations

Oct 20 - Close enough to be whole again

Oct 21 - Raise Hell

Oct 22 - Three Vigilantes and a Pile of Parenting Books

Oct 23 - Adoption Runs in the Family

Oct 24 - thirty-odd days of chasing an enigma

Oct 25 - Ghost Kings and Gotham Bats

Oct 26 - A King in Arkham

Oct 27 - TWINcognito mode

Oct 28 - A Little overshadowing never hurt anyone

Oct 29 - Vertical Limit

Oct 30 - Deja Vu

Oct 31 - Rigor Mortis

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Three Vigilantes and a Pile of Parenting Books.

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/peOvj4q

by nerdpoe

Dick knows in his teenage years that he'd been an absolute terror. He knows that being a Hero is something he Needs To Do. He doesn't have time to pull a Bruce and adopt a million kids; Bludhaven is a big enough task without needing to worry about a kid on top of that.

Jason knows that staying with the League did him no favors in terms of mental stability. He knows that before his death he was filled with far less hatred, and is deeply aware that if his younger self met his current self, he'd only see a different version of Willis. He tries to make up for it by being nice to the kids, but he can't ever have one.

Barbara knows she has a tendency to be abrasive, crass, and filled with a simmering rage. She can't help it; she spends all day working, and then pretty much all night staring at screens and working some more. She doesn't have the leisure to take a break; information never stops, so neither does she.

How unfortunate for them that Clockwork has Plans, and those Plans include four de-aged kids with nowhere else to go.

Words: 1842, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Alfred Pennyworth, Roy Harper, Duke Thomas, Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton, Tucker Foley, Samantha Manson, Barbara Gordon

Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Jazz Fenton, Dick Grayson & Parenthood, Jason Todd & Parenthood, Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson, Duke Thomas & Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne Tries, Dick Grayson Has Issues, You know that saying about if u were a terror as a child, then ur kids will also be terrors?, Dick's about to experience this firsthand, Jason accidentally pulls a Bruce, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Damian Wayne Has a Heart, Tim Drake is So Done, Tim Drake's Missing Spleen, Bruce Wayne is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, because I love that shit, Duke Thomas Being a Little Shit, Barbara Gordon Appreciation, Bad Parents Jack and Maddie Fenton, for as much as i write bad parents jack and maddie i actually like them as good parents, but there's just so much tasty angst this way

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/peOvj4q

[unavenged-robin]

I wish you would write a fic where Damian is upset about Dick having his own kid (he's married to Kory) but tries to be mature about not being the only baby (bro/son) in Dick's life by helping Dick and Kori with Mari one day.

I just wanted to say that I loved this prompt since the moment I saw it and I really hope to have done it justice. Also a warning: this is cheesy as hell.

It’s not like he wasn’t prepared to be a dad, okay?

As a matter of fact he’s started reading books about parenting as soon as they found out Kory was pregnant, and by the time of Mar’i’s birth they had at least two library shelves overflowing with preparatory material. It’s just that all those books didn’t help one bit, okay? Or so it feels right now, while Dick paces through the room on his tiptoes, rocking his beautiful, precious, screaming baby daughter in the vain attempt to make her sleep.

He tried singing, and talking, and reading, and he tried giving her a bath, and warm milk before that, and every other trick he’s read about, plus some more he googled on the spot out of exhaustion, but it’s just useless. It’s all useless, and he’s running on two hours of sleep and two cookies, and that’s not even the real problem. The real problem is that Mar’i won’t stop crying and he doesn’t know what the hell to do about it except keep rocking her back and forth from the bedroom to the living room and humming lullabies and random pieces of old songs.

If Kory were here it would be easier, but she’s on League business tonight and Dick feels like he should be able to handle their three months old baby on his own anyway. It’s just that some help would be nice, that’s all, but the only other person in the apartment really doesn’t want to be helpful right now (or in general, to be honest).

“Damian, can you turn down the volume of that thing?”, he asks through his teeth, trying to whisper and at the same time to be heard above the screaming . “I’m trying to put Mar’i to sleep.”

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, Damian doesn’t even spare him a glance, too focussed on destroying his virtual opponent on the screen.

“You’re failing.”

“Yes, I know”, Dick hisses, shifting Mar’i into his arms. “Maybe if there was a little silence it would be easier for her to sleep, don’t you think?”

“I thought you invited me here to play video games, not to contemplate your failure at taming your bothersome offspring”, Damian answers without looking at him, and he doesn’t even pretend to turn down the volume like he usually does with Bruce. “I see I was wrong.”

And yeah, there’s that too. Dick has another pile of book on his nightstand about that. For a brief moment he’d even considered to ask Bruce about siblings rivalry and how to try and reassure a child that he was not being replaced by the newest addiction to the family, then he’d regained full possession of his mental faculties.

Bruce. Handling siblings rivalry. Ha.

He would be as clueless as Dick is. Which is a lot. He just doesn’t know what to do to convince Damian that Mar’i is not a threat to him, that there’s no blood child here and that Dick loves him just the same, that nothing’s changed between them. It frustrates him, because Damian should already know all of that, and yet he’s always cold to Mar’i, and sometimes even to Dick and Kory, and that’s downright infuriating. Especially in situation like this one.

The sound from the console intensifies as Damian hits a combo, and Mar’i cries even harder right into Dick’s left ear.

“Damian! Shut that damn thing down right NOW”, he yells, spinning on his feet to face his little brother.

There’s a moment of stunned, blessed silence, just enough for Dick to realize that he yelled so loudly to startle both Mar’i and Damian and feel bad about it. Then Mar’i starts crying again, even more desperately than before, and he’s at loss again.

“No no no, I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry, sshh, don’t cry”, he pleads, rubbing the baby’s back and bouncing her into his arms. It takes five minutes and four trips to various room of the apartment before Mar’i’s crying tunes down into a soft whimper, and by then Dick realizes that there’s only silence coming from the living room.

He swears under his breath and races there as smoothly as he can, already convinced that he’ll find nothing else than an open window and Damian gone and fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s not how he wanted tonight to go at all.

The TV’s off and the ps4 controller lies abandoned on the carpet, but to his surprise Damian’s still there, perched on the couch armrest, phone in his hands. Dick sighs in relief, scoops Mar’i up onto his shoulder and carefully approaches the kid.

“Hey, kiddo…”, he starts, an apology ready on his lips as he reaches out to ruffle Damian’s hair, but his brother dodges him and swats his hand away.

“Come on, don’t be like that, I’m sorry I yelled at you okay?”, Dick continues anyway. “I’m just… Mar’i is very tired and the sooner I can put her to bed the sooner we can spend some time together, yeah?”

Damian doesn’t answer, which is… expected, to say the least. Dick sighs, reaches out again only to earn himself another swat for his trouble and then just gives up because Mar’i is finally sleeping and he doesn’t want to wake her up. Win some, lose some. Besides, he can always make it up to Damian in a few minutes. Bribe him with pizza or something.

“Alright, I’m taking her to bed. Back in five minutes, okay?”

Still no answer. Dick sighs again, then marches towards the bedroom. Silence is weird to his ears right now, almost like a spell waiting to be broken. Which is exactly what it’s going to happen in a few hours, but hey, that’s a problem for future Dick.

He lies down on the mattress, careful to support Mar’i’s head with his hand while lowering her down next to him. He takes a moment to admire his daughter, the perfection of her beautiful little face, from the long, dark lashes brushing her cheeks down to the tiny nose, so similar to Dick’s, and the sweet line of the little chin, which Kory claims to be exactly as her own. Everything’s been so frenetic these last months, and yet the amazement of these little moments is still there, perfectly intact. It’s like magic, and all the crying and the sleepless night are nothing compared to it.

Dick wants Damian to know this, to feel this. Because this baby belongs to him too, she’s his family too. Dick only needs to find the right words to make him understand that, to make the jealousy and all the bad feelings go away. He knows he can do it.

He falls asleep without even realizing it.

*

He wakes up an hour later, in a panic. He doesn’t know at first what exactly he’s panicking about, but it becomes clear the moment he opens his eyes and finds an empty, cold spot where Mar’i should be.

I dropped her, he thinks, and the horror freezes him for a long, terrifying moment. Then he bolts out of the bed on shaky legs and he tries to call his daughter’s name, but his throat’s so tight that the only sound capable of escaping his lips is a feeble whisper.

He walks around the bed with his heart pumping hard into his chest and he feels the sweat freezing on his neck. Years of life as a Gotham vigilante and he can’t remember ever being so scared. The fear only intensifies when he reaches the other side of the bed and still can’t find Mar’i. His three months old daughter, who was sleeping just next to him, gone. Gone.

A soft sound from the living room catches his attention, and his heart stills before his brain starts to work again. Damian. Damian was still there.

He walks out of the bedroom like a zombie, and sure enough there he is. Slouched down on the couch, playing his video game with the volume to a minimum and a very awake and very quiet Mar’i cuddled up against his chest.

“She woke up half an hour ago”, Damian informs him, still pressing button after button with his usual efficiency. “You looked like you needed the rest more than she did, so I picked her up.”

Dick’s first, instinctive reaction would’ve made him ashamed of himself, hadn’t he caught it in time.

But he’s never hit Damian, and he’s not going to do it now. Fear and exhaustion are not an excuse, and even if his hands itch to grab the kid by the shoulders and shake him hard, Dick realizes that his intentions were good, that he was only trying to help him out.

So he closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose with cold fingertips.

“I- well, thank you, kiddo”, he exhales, and there must be something weird left in his voice because Damian actually pauses the game to look at him.

“Something wrong?”, he asks with a frown.

“No. No, I just- had a moment of… confusion, when I woke up and didn’t find Mar’i there”, Dick admits, careful to keep his voice as casual as possible. “Thought someone took her.”

Damian’s frown only deepens at that.

“I was here”, he remembers him. “I would’ve never let anyone take your daughter.”

Your daughter, Dick repeats in his mind.

“Thank you”, he says again.

Damian shrugs, and Dick walks around the couch to sit next to him. Mar’i looks up at him with big, green eyes, and she seems content to be where she is, lying on Damian’s chest, her little head on his shoulder, little fists tighten around his shirt.

It’s the first time Damian holds her of his own volition, Dick realizes. Sure, he’s held her before, mostly because Dick and Kory had insisted on it, but he’d never gone and picked her up on his own before. Dick supposes it’s a big step forward.

“Do you mind if I take a photo?”, he asks then, unable to help himself.

“Yes”, Damian scoffs.

“Too bad”, Dick grins, reaching out to take his phone from the table in front of the couch. “Because I’m gonna do it anyway.”

Damian ignores him and resumes his game, only to stop it again when Mar’i starts to fuss on him. From behind the camera phone’s lens Dick watches him shushing and bouncing the baby into his arms, and he smiles as the same feeling of amazement hits him right into the chest, fear and anger now completely forgotten.

He takes a dozen photos from various angles, and Damian huffs when a minute later he shows him his favorite.

“Happy now?”

“Ecstatic”, Dick confirms. “It’s the first picture of the two of you together that I can put on my desk.”

“You don’t have a desk.”

“Not the point.”

That earns him another scoff, but Dick doesn’t mind. He rests his elbow against the back of the couch, leans his head into his hand, and watches them. It’s weird, he knows that. Damian is Bruce’s son, not his, and yet he can’t help himself now more than he could back then, when for the first time he seriously started thinking about keeping Damian as his own. He still wonders about it, sometimes. Would’ve Damian accepted to go with him? Would’ve Bruce allowed it? Would’ve it worked?

This time Damian doesn’t swat him away when he reaches out to pet his hair, nor he tries to squirm away from him when Dick leans over to kiss the side of his head.

“I missed you”, Dick admits. It should be the easiest thing for him to say, but more often than not those words remain stuck in his throat, weighed down by the guilt and the fear of breaking the delicate balance of their lives.

“You’re the one who’s always otherwise occupied”, Damian reminds him bitterly, and Dick sighs.

“Babies need a lot of attention”, he answers. “You know that. We talked about it.”

“I know.”

“I don’t love you any less because of it”, Dick continues. “You know that too. But I’m sorry that we spent so little time together lately. I thought tonight could be our boys night, you know? Just us, pizza and video games. Like it used to be.”

Damian nods, then he bites his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t be. There are going to be other boys night, I promise”, Dick quickly reassures him, swinging an arm around the boy’s shoulder and leaning down again to kiss Mar’i’s forehead. “We only need a little time to adjust, that’s all.”

“No, not that”, Damian snaps, and Dick blinks down at him. “What I mean is that I know I have contributed to our… falling out. And I apologize for being a menace, and not helpful at all with this new situation of yours.”

“This new situation of mine is your niece”, Dick retorts. “Your sister, if you prefer.”

Damian hums noncommittally at the idea of adding a sibling to the list, then glances at him.

“So you’re not angry at me?”

“Kid, I promise you I never was”, Dick sighs. “I’m just very tired. But believe me when I say this: despite what it may look like, this is the happiest I’ve ever been. Especially with you here. You and Mar’i are the two things I love the most, okay? You two and Kory are my family.”

“Cheesy”, Damian comments, but by the light blush on his cheeks Dick knows his message came through. So he laughs, and Mar’i gurgles happily along with him, drooling a little on Damian’s shirt.

“The important things in life always are”, Dick states, then he leans down again, this time to steal the controller from Damian’s hands. “But now it’s my turn to kick some bad guy’s ass while you get to play the babysiter. And pray that she doesn’t need a diaper change before I finish this level, because believe me, that’s not going to be cheesy at all.”

Send me an anonymous ask completing the sentence “I wish you would write a fic where…” (REQUESTS CLOSED, SORRY!)

[thiswitching-blog]

BIOGRAPHY: THE STORY; DUMBLEDORE’S DEATH; 1979 - 1984

( 1979 - 1984 is tbw )

THE STORY:

Childhood began in a home that wasn't meant to fit so many, three boys circling a crib in a room they would all share. Bilius Weasley was the youngest among his brothers, born into a cramped home his father helped to build, each room and clothes shared in some way, each thread never something to waste, and all began with the burning of a portrait upon a family tree. The ashes of Cedrella Black’s painted form became the beginning of her own rebellion that she would share with each of her children, an act she would have accomplished even if she didn’t begin a family with another who was claimed to be a blood traitor, a couple exiled from home and inheritance, and found themselves far happier and all the more proud. All that was kept from the noble ways of Mr. and Ms. Weasley’s birth was an ancient ideal of their class: that those with privilege will aid in those without. While the privilege of wealth and elitism disappeared, the duty did not, and Bilius Weasley never forgot his mother’s teachings of a duty of fairness, that humanity didn’t deserve the boundaries people created, humanity deserved a world that wasn’t broken, and Bilius didn’t care how to reach such a point.

Even beyond their rebel of a birth, the Weasley brothers were already seen as an odd kind. Each treated as a miracle by their parents, all were encouraged to pursue any and all curiosities, to discover and be outspoken. This was accompanied as each brother was far too intelligent for their own good, talent laced in their fingers, the world a wonder to them, creation something their minds continually focused on without hesitation. Arthur, Charlus, Percival, and Bilius were all of the same mold, though the directions their minds would take them all differed greatly.  Bilius’ first encounter with talent was when he was still a toddler and playing with the toys Arthur, the eldest, would create for them. Charlus, the second, held his own ideas about creation, a fascination of mathematics, the world held in equations. Percival, the third, would find wonder in stories, how words strung together and language flowed through the mind, forever asking their father to come home from work with F. Scott Fitzgerald hardbacks and Peter Pan tales. They were restless boys that lived off wonder, always asking their parents more questions than they could answer. Summer nights were spent on two pairs of bunk beds, books piled among shared clothes on the floor, a toy plane Arthur created flying above them as Charlus worked out the details of flight, how long it would take to fly to the moon, Percival pacing the room, reading a short story he’d written, and Bilius, the youngest among them, watching, laughing as the loudest among them.

It would take some time for Bilius to understand his own talents beyond finding new ways to tell a joke or simply enjoying watching his brothers, asking everything he could about how something made, how words created a spell, how everything was done with magic, waiting for the explainable, accepting nothing else. Like his brothers, he was a boy who found wonder in all people, wanted to learn everything he could about the world, and this was first found in how he would emulate his brothers, or try to, however, in imitating them, it would take years to discover he wasn’t as interested in their creations, but how they did so, the spells they used, the wizard itself. His talent would turn out to be just this, talent in magic itself and its deconstruction, in the ways he worked to make magic his own invention. Bilius, as his brothers, had a mind built for creation, in forming magic, how to make it more, wanting to know each way a spell was created, how to make something new. He wished to create a world out of magic alone, and spells that would be his own. The issue with this, however, was that the talent of Bilius was an explosive matter: he would take magic books and try to combine spells and potions, giving more free reign as well as each of his brothers was in school during his childhood, their bedroom bursting into flames at times and he would have to sleep on the couch for a week.

By the time Bilius was sorted into Hufflepuff, he was wearing Charlus’ old robes and carrying his father’s repaired childhood wand. Hufflepuff came as no surprise, except for those who only saw the Weasley brothers in the form of a group, and while Bilius would posses Gryffindor ideals, willing to go for daring lengths to accomplish his goals, his care and drive was to fight for the same fairness his mother taught him, fighting for a world where he believed someone who forced and manipulated for power. In the years before Bilius, Charlus and Percival would be directed toward Slytherin, their ambitious nature a defining quality.

The experimentations he began in his bedroom, would only grow in size and sophistication with the education he received. With the Hufflepuff common room toward the bottom of the Hogwarts castle, secret experimentations in abandoned rooms was something he was able to accomplish for some time. It was a reckless matter, impracticality laced into the very being of his goals towards discovery of a different form of magic, and yet, these rational beliefs never made its way into his thoughts, even if it would end in explosion. In his nature, he wouldn’t end until a task was done, his restless mind unwilling him to finish if he didn’t know an answer to an impossible question. This was made easier as Bilius flew through his coursework, almost sleeping through his classes and still understanding the work, older brothers and all his questions as a child did aid in his ability to find a lack of focus on classwork.

Among Hogwarts, Bilius would find himself a large group of acquaintances due to a calm way of communication and the nature of wonder he held for others and their achievements.. Easily excitable, his mind running miles in a moment, and yet, this was displayed in quieter ways, in the questions he would ask, in how all he would speak of his what the other focused on or on his own projects.

Despite his own personality, however, Bilius was expelled from Hogwarts due to one of his greatest experiments that would end in disaster. It was an ambition to apparate from Hogwarts and back home to visit his brothers, trying to create his own form of doing as the Hogwarts grounds would reject the proper spell. The issue however, was that it worked, and brought the whole room with him and some of the House Elves from the kitchen into his family’s front yard. Through the commotion and the tales of the House Elves, the experimentations of Bilius Weasley were discovered in mere hours, and seeing the danger placed upon the elves, himself, and other students, Bilius was expelled during fourth year in a matter of days.

Being a boy who never sat for one moment in his life and never accepting an injustice or to be silent, Bilius would find himself busy after being cooped in his room at home. Later that year, with the war in full swing, Bilius went to battle, silently and without hesitation. News of his magical experiments were known in some rumors for those who cared to hear it, and this became his form of an income. It began with a criminal record, bringing in rebels into places they would never be able to enter, enchanting them with his own crude form of magic so they would be invisible against guards and Death Eaters. It was his brothers that recruited him: Charlus and Percival. It was their operation that began gradually. Bilius was a background man, and with his age, his brothers placed him there on purpose, a safety precaution, even if Bilius work prefer more effect in his works. However, he was able to tie to group together a bit further, a bit safer and did join into the rebellion by outing people who were Death Eaters or committing crimes to the Ministry anonymously, the criminals oddly ending up in the Auror’s department, claiming shadows and ghosts brought them there. A thief he became with his brothers, taking power away to create the battlefield to be a bit fairer.

The Weasley brothers had to years to train themselves, to hone abilities, Bilius living with them as he experimented with magic to a further degree, the fear of explosions and unanswerable questions never a matter he considered any longer, thinking himself invincible, and invisible, the world something amazing, and he would make sure it would be as such for others, no matter the way or cost, even if such confrontational ways would almost ended with him outing himself and putting him in Azkaban.

Dumbledore’s Death:

It would be believed that the end of the war would cease the Weasley's vigilante ways, noting the escalated danger of their ways, the implications that went beyond Azkaban, however, boys who decided the ways of their life, years spent working for something justice in their own way. The Gallows was something the wouldn’t dare not fight, simply boys who wouldn’t tolerate the effects of war, of their cousins who claimed the fate of humanity be placed in those who didn’t deserve power. In a few weeks after the fall of Hogwarts however, such dangerous thoughts would end in fatal matters.

The plan went as it was did with the announcement of a public execution of rebels. Charlus planning the motions, the angle of the Gallows and how to save the innocent in swift actions. Percival was the distraction, the one who made his way into the operation, learned the executioners names, the way they killed, the way they would react to a fight so the brothers could be prepared. Bilius would be held on a nearby rooftop, casting the spells that would place a cloaking spell over the elder two, shields around them. The issue, the execution was told to the public a day prior to the event and the boys were too reckless and desperate and wanting to fight to know when a battle was already won. Charlus and Percival were already dead the moment they stepped near the Gallows, where the prototype of a spell failed from Bilius’ wand, and the brothers were spotted and the moment would turn into a blur, one of those upon the Gallows killed the moment Bilius’ spell turned faulty and his wand fell. A boy of twenty and the first execution he would ever witness. The elder brothers would take out two executioners in their fight, but would end up dying themselves, Bilius unable to not do anything, shouted from rooftops, trying to create a distraction for the brothers to escape. All was futile. Bilius was tackled by the werewolf pack, his photo taken by the Daily Prophet, and his brothers dead on a cobblestone street. The only reason Bilius would get away was due to the fact that he would find his wand again, and would cast the same spell, enough for him to disappear for a moment.

1979 - 1984

tbw

[dothewrite]

Ringleaders - Chapter Two.

Here is the original ask for this prompt. Here is the announcement for this project!

Prologue. Chapter One. Chapter Three. 

He’s been called many things in his short years of life- Kuroo is very tempted to start a list of the aliases and accusations that have been leveled at him for the past few years because they’ve definitely piled up along with an extensive bullet-pointed page of all his issues.

‘Vigilante’ made him laugh, ‘thug’ made him shrug, and ‘troublemaker’ made him grin. Tonight’s one of the thug nights, the streets seem to be teeming more and more with misguided youths and corrupt gangs, clashing in the atmospheric district of the water sewage system.

It’s their regular feeding grounds, but the term ‘turf’ caught on faster than intended. They have several in their keeping, thanks to the meticulous efforts of Kenma’s infallible surveillance, and it’s Kuroo’s job to pick them out by hand, plucking them from a spreadsheet like eggs. The area, and the feed. The water sewage is one of the roughest ones- a humid, harsh contrast between antiseptic and an honest stink of fermenting shit, it functions as a satisfactory lair for kids who can take the most from life- an interesting form of the crème de la crème. They’re found without much difficulty, hovering around in their small boy scout-sized campfire meetings, waiting for unsuspecting prey to come by. It frustrates Kuroo significantly to see such faulty planning, but he’s thankful for at least being better at something than the average population- and well, if they were all his caliber, they wouldn’t need him anymore.

He approaches, lies in wait, and pounces at the opportune moment.

“Kids,” he calls out to them in his usual slick, unassuming voice, and it doesn’t surprise him in the least when at least three of them jump to their feet at the insult, “is this really the place to be on a Wednesday night? What would your mothers say?”

“She doesn’t give a fuck ‘cus she’s six feet under,” one of the shorter ones snap at him, patting his baseball bat  against his twitching forearm, “and I don’t think yours will mind after I finish in her.”

“Damn, is that the way to talk to a stranger?”

“Get the fuck off our land if you know what’s good for you,” and Kuroo stays exactly where he is. “The fuck are you anyway?”

He owes Oikawa a hearty thanks for forcing him to put up signs in this shithole too. Kuroo jerks his head over at one of the large vinyl sheets hanging from a railing. It’s smeared with crap, messed over with amateur graffiti, but it’s their ad nonetheless. Kuroo thinks it’s a small mercy that it hasn’t been torn off the banister and used as either a toilet or a sleeping mat yet. Such are the troubles of advertising in waste recycling.

“Are you boys angry about something? Making a point, maybe? Or is just this, y’know,” Kuroo waves a hand at them ambiguously, drawing large flippant circles in the air, “a really exclusive book club meeting? I’ve got suggestions.”

The boy with the baseball bat starts forward with a repulsive scowl on his face, hands gritty from too little washing and Kuroo can catch the dim, maroon patches staining the bat- not a beginner then, but a veteran of sorts. He watches carefully as the boy advances, the way his foot is placed solidly in front of the other at a good spread roughly the width of his shoulders, and he knows that if it comes down to it, it isn’t going to be such an easy fight. Kuroo flips part of his long, black trench coat to one side, and readies his fists for a difficult lesson.

A second boy suddenly steps in and Kuroo recognizes him as one of the kids in the back who’d said not a word the entire time. His eyes are wide, yet narrowed, but his lip is bruised enough to show that he’d recently been beat up, and he hadn’t gone easy with the lip chewing either. The boy with the bat almost swings it right into the kid’s face out of surprise when a small hand suddenly grips his arm and holds him back.

“What- the shit d’you think you’re-“

“I’ve seen you around,” the kid speaks quickly, eyes darting to and from Kuroo’s face, “they talked about you a lot- the old group I was with, but then they got swallowed up and I ‘aint heard from them since.”

Kuroo watches impassively. His organization doesn’t run a boarding school for misunderstood children, gathering letters to their parents to mail off every Sunday night. If teenagers are shit with communication, then they’re shit with communication. He clicks his tongue, and tells him so.

“Just sounds like he’s not that into you, kid.”

The kid bristles, looks like he’s about to spit something, but holds himself back. Good, Kuroo ticks a box in his head, self-control is always a good sign of potential. The kid turns to stare at their banner again, still vaguely legible underneath the layers of grime and filth.

“You’re with them, aren’t you?”

Kuroo nods. “That’s right.”

The eyes turn back on him again, and Kuroo keeps himself still, expecting the examination to come. Almost greedily, the kid swallows up the look of his face, tattooing it into his memory, and then the gaze travels lower, to his clothes, still cleaner than the rest of them combined despite the holes and tears, and finally they rest on the watch he wears. It’s the only thing relatively expensive on him- watches are such a pain to buy duplicates of- and for a second, the kid’s face turns hungry.

“We don’t hand out membership watches, sorry,” Kuroo drawls, his eyes not leaving the teen for a moment, “but you do get a goodie bag. Maybe a few more bonuses if you’re…” he pauses, roving his gaze over their makeshift campfire and sleeping bags, “living here permanently for the foreseeable future.”

“So you bribe your kids, huh?” The baseball bat guy speaks up from his frozen position, eyes blazing as if he’s finally caught something he can sell. “What difference are you from thugs then?”

“Pot, kettle,” Kuroo says, an eyebrow raised, “and you don’t get cash. You get to live somewhere else other than the fucking sewers, and maybe a nice, new, shiny bat for you. I’d say that’s an improvement from the whole lot of nothing you’ve got.” He pauses to let them gaze around morosely at their meagre belongings, torn between pride and disappointment, and soon the gazes drape themselves back over him like a leech to skin. “Look, I’m not going to waste my time here. It stinks, and it’s getting way past my bedtime, so.” This time he’s the one who takes a step forwards, and all the kids take one back. Eyes wide, to his enraptured audience Kuroo Tetsurou cuts an intimidating figure of a savior in this mess of reality. “You can all read. Banner. I’m just here to deliver. If you want something better, if you’re angry at the world like all teens should be, we can show you what it really looks like; lemme warn you, it’s going to be uglier than your little field trip here, so you decide if it’s worth it. You get a trial period of one week, then you make your choice. If you lot want to sleep here for the next six months until some gang picks you up and buys your virgin asses for a few twenties and a line of crack, then go ahead. I’ll pretend I spent my evening at home with some popcorn and lotion. If not,” he leans forward to close the height gap between him and the group of misfits. “If not, then you pack up your shit, and you come with me. Ride’s arriving in ten, so you better hurry the fuck up.”

They fucking scram. Baseball boy is the first one to jump into action, his face as bitter and sour as it had been ten minutes ago, but his feet are scrambling for purchase against the slippery tarp of a makeshift flooring, and the kid that had spoken up first follows in a close second. They don’t have much to begin with, scraps of what they had brought with them from a long abandoned-home; they were the ones that meant it, the ones who weren’t afraid of a little suffering. Kuroo knew better than most that most kids nowadays ran away for the shits and giggles, the romanticism of modern day movies and TV shows making it sound like the Sound of Music in the fields, but it wasn’t. Reality was sewage, dirt, weeks of not showering and a never-ending burn of rage for something inexplicable that kept them alive, kept them burning from the inside. These kids knew what shit was like, and they were exactly the type of people Kuroo needed.

He hadn’t moved from his position at all, spine still ramrod straight and he waits patiently as the kids line up one by one, tossing filled packs into each other’s arms like a well-oiled factory line, and he can’t quite hide his grin.

“Nothing quite like some youthful vigour,” he murmurs under his breath as he counts the total number of heads that are in a somewhat organized bundle in front of him. There’s nothing left behind, only the strips of ripped cloth and the embers of a once searing fire from abandoned wooden planks torn from buildings. There’s no eagerness in anyone’s eyes. Just a grim determination, a threat that if Kuroo didn’t deliver, there’d be hell to pay. It was a good look, and he was more than willing to take that risk.

“Let’s go,” one of the rougher looking kids barks, head twisting around carefully to see if there were any threats nearby. Kuroo wonders if their movement would possibly offend someone. “Where’s your ride?”

“Here in three,” Kuroo grins, and with a slow turn of his heel, he spins around and starts to head back out onto the open street, “let’s not get our panties in a twist, ladies.”

The wave of irritation almost bowls him over from behind, but Kuroo takes no heed, braving the onslaught of muttered profanities and the scuffing of feet in stride. He feels rather like a mother duckling, leading all her shitty litter into the world of scary monsters and nightmares. However, dealing with anyone younger than 20 would be someone else’s job, Kuroo thanks the lord for it every day, because he’s patient, and then there’s saintly. There’s only one person he knows that could be capable of such righteousness in the face of the inscrutable evil of children- and ‘lo and behold! Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

A great, hulking van not too different from those kept by kidnappers in movies, rolls up with astounding quiet in front of their odd huddle by the pavement. Kuroo’s the closest, so he gets a face full of a grim, fatherly smile that doesn’t quite reach the edges of a weary mouth, but there’s no mistaking the complicated joy in those eyes at the sight of more younglings. The door slams wide open, banging so hard against its hinges that even Kuroo flinches.

“Dude,” Kuroo groans, and Sawamura Daichi pops his head out from the darkness, grinning.

“It’s the highlight of my day,” comes the smooth reply, “don’t spoil it for me.”

“Take them and leave.” Kuroo huffs, and Daichi laughs like Santa Claus, beckoning for the group of budding troublemakers into the creepy endlessness of the black van.

“Right. C’mon, up and in. There’s enough room for everyone, so don’t step on each other like animals. Yes, I know it’s dark, shut up and bear it.”

All in all, Kuroo thinks that for a group of rebellious youths and broken people, it’s not too terrible of a welcoming ceremony. The kids look rather horrified at what looks like Nietzsche’s abyss in the depths of the vehicle from hell, but they file in one after the other, their bags gripped tightly in whitened fists, and all the while Daichi watches them like a hawk, ready to bark at any misdemeanor.

There isn’t, and the van door closes shut with a much softer click and a twinkle of brown eyes. Kuroo’s almost tempted to wave a handkerchief just for theatrics, but he manages to keep his hands in his pockets and part with a solemn looking nod before heading back the way he’d come.

Now for the truly terrible part.

Considering that they have hundreds of people at their disposal, some who’d find this task a reprieve, even, there’s something especially sadistic of Oikawa to make him take down the banners by hand. The catch was that it wasn’t all of them, just the ones that need replacing- the ones with the most actual shit on them and Kuroo won’t feel clean for days after touching them. He supposes that if anyone’s to blame, it’d be himself for putting an actual demon in charge of delegation. Nobody was safe from Oikawa’s displeasure or whims, not even the leader himself.

Pulling on supermarket-bought latex gloves that does absolutely nothing for his peace of mind, Kuroo starts to peel off the parts where shit’s crusted and has stuck the banner to the metal banisters.

Kuroo believes he deserves a break after such a commotion, but coincidence shakes her head.

He meets her again, despite all odds.

She’s in one piece this time, but the grime has rubbed off on her and Kuroo is forcibly reminded of a sewage rat, scrabbling to reach the surface. The place is empty for the two of them; the last of the chatter faded along with the view of Sawamura’s van, and he can hear the echo of his footsteps several seconds prior still ringing against the large metal tins of water waste.

“Hey,” he says.

It comes out louder than he expects, but too fascinated with her response, the feeling barely registers to him. He also deserves the disbelieving look on her- it really was a rather lame greeting.

Her responding nod is slow but contemplative, and Kuroo vaguely realizes that it’s reminiscent of two predators outlining their boundaries before agreeing to mutual existence. Funny, because the way she walks, she’s too comfortable, and if he had to put an animal to it, it would be a garden mouse, unaware of its short life.

Why does he always have to be the one to speak first? “You’re not mute, are you?” Kuroo snorts, but shrugs at the lack of response. She hasn’t even tensed up, and it shoots a spark up his spine, not in a good way. “Better for you that you aren’t. At least someone might hear you if you scream here.”

“Will you?” Her voice is a tumultuous wave in the dead of winter, and it crashes against Kuroo’s solid steel, leaving him winded. He watches with rapt attention as her lips morph to form further words and he realizes that he doesn’t want to hear one more word in that terrible timbre. “Will you do something to make me scream?”

“That’s what she said,” he grins, but it’s weak and her face so unmoving that it cracks at his core- he is laid bare before a sea of words and none of them he can choose. A small smile creeps its way onto her impassive cheeks and it is a decision between beauty and calamity in the first intake of breath.

Kuroo hates himself in that moment for being so fucking melodramatic.

“You picked up a group of kids here earlier, right?” She’s asking him and he feels stupid for feeling as if she lorded something over him, even for a few moments. She couldn’t know anything. He’d barely seen her around.

“That depends on who’s asking,” he answers, a hand sliding back into his pocket.

She shrugs, and it seems oddly casual for someone who looks so stern, who stands so painfully straight. Her figure droops down to something more human as she moves along to the remains of the kid’s miniature bonfire earlier and traces unintelligible patterns with the ashy remains. “I know someone in that rag-tag band.” Her head rises and he’s stuck; she might as well have wrapped him in chains and he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. “I’ve heard of your group.”

Kuroo gives the banner in his hands a little wiggle. Her smile grows.

“Tell me about it, please.”

“We have a website, you know,” he raises an eyebrow. “FAQ page and all.”

She laughs! Kuroo never wants to live through another one of those, and his jaw unclenches like a wounded animal when it stops. “There’s no reception here,” she comments.

“There isn’t,” he agrees.

Another sound agrees too, a violent holler not too far off that fills the air with purpose and even though Kuroo’s not too imaginative of a guy, he can see the police dogs ripping into his flesh right next to the sewage treatment. He shoots her a sharp glance, and although it takes her a few more seconds to realize than he does, her nod is serious and urgent. Although they’re two people with their own purposes, it won’t make the slightest difference to the cops. Handcuffs don’t just phase through your skin because you don’t think you’ve done anything wrong.

“There’s no reception,” Kuroo grits through his teeth and moves to weave his way through the maze of shit water. He can hear her footsteps right behind him, and he can’t be fucked to suppress the spike of irritation at that. He can feel the wind against his palm as he reaches behind for her arm and misses. Twice.

“I’m not going to fucking break you,” he snaps, and he reaches for her again. When he finally feels her wrist against his fingers, he pulls, hard, and tugs her beside him; their steps match each other in a twisted pattern. “Run behind people and you’re going to get hit one day.”

“That must come from a lifetime of looking over your shoulder.” She sounds utterly flippant, and he considers tripping her over and leaving.

“Says the one who beats thugs up in alleys in her spare time- seriously, what the fuck’s up with that? I can tell you don’t do it for fun.”

“I’m used to looking after my younger brother, he gets into all sorts of trouble.”

Kuroo notices that although he’s doing perfectly fine vaulting over railings and hurtling down unknown paths like a man on fire, she barely has a hitch to her breath as she speaks too.

“That must be some ‘looking after’,” he says, “from what it looked like, you were more of a guard dog than a sis.”

She shrugs- they’re at full sprint and she’s fucking shrugging- and Kuroo holds back a spiteful ‘are you for real?’ between terse lips. What the hell is she doing, floating? And he’s definitely not looking at her chest to see her rate of breathing. Not at all. “He gets pissed off when I show up around him. So I do what I can.”

“You’re damn insane,” he laughs, remembering how each time he’d come by her, there had never been fewer than three other fully grown men around. “You should just lock your brother up if he can’t keep his big boy pants on.”

“Funny,” she grins, “that’s what I tell him, but it doesn’t seem to sit well.”

He’s seen kids like her little brother all over town, they’re a dime a dozen with a special buy one get one free edition. It’s not really their fault when the whole city’s lost its mind, who were the lost young things supposed to look up to? If anything they’re like rodents, attracted by large, flashing lights and shiny things, and boom, you get several dead kids each night on the streets. Kuroo’s had his fair share of delinquents. Her, however- he turns his head just a fraction to catch her out of the corner of his eye- she’s as freakish as she is a mystery, but it soothes him to find that she’s human enough to stumble over a stray pipe as she runs.

The barking and the shouting seems to be fading with each strain of his muscles, and for once, he’s grateful for the pure amount of crap the city generates that warrants such a forest of pipes and containers. It’s an eyesore that’s out of the way of the main city system, and its isolation helps the smell diffuse into the suffering trees around it. Kuroo taps furiously at his phone, refreshing his message every three seconds until even just a single bar of connection pops up, and by the time it does, they’re at the edge of the system and he throws a hunted look behind him before shoving his phone back into his pocket.

He props himself up with his palms against his knees to grab more than a mouthful of oxygen and she’s pressing a hand firmly against her ribs to make sure they’re still rising at a normal speed.

“Got a ride home?” He asks before he can stop himself, and his face pinches when she glances at him with growing amusement.

“I’ll be alright, thank you,” she grins again, and this time Kuroo catches it in full underneath the caustic orange of lamplight. It’s better on his nerves than her laugh, at least, but it settles something uncomfortable underneath his skin regardless.

He fingers his phone awkwardly in his pants and pulls it out abruptly when he realizes how odd it must look. A blush doesn’t quite make it to his face, but undoubtedly there’s a frustrated pinch to his brows that he hasn’t felt since high school. “You can uh, go back, or whatever. We should be good for now.”

She mimics his usual stance, cool, confident and all to masculine and cocks her head to one side. Kuroo feels like he’s underneath a surgery light, scrutinized and picked apart into organs, all until she smiles. That one’s all her.

“I’ll wait for your ride to show,” she inclines her head towards his phone with odd grace and an even odder twitch to her lips, “it’s dangerous out here alone at night.”

“Right, fuck you.”

She laughs, and Kuroo shivers again. He’s going to hear that in his dreams at night with how rippling and bottomless it sounds, and it doesn’t stop even when Sawamura’s van shows up again and shocks him out of his socks with that infernal slam of the door.

There’s not a word exchanged between the two grown men except for a very blank look, and a very accusing one. Kuroo listens for Sawamura sliding back into the driver’s seat, but hesitates for a second too long before closing the door behind him. It is, however, long enough to catch the last of her words before they both take off in opposite directions.

“I’ll see you at school, Kuroo.”

The ride back to headquarters is silent, and if Sawamura notices the bitter expression on Kuroo’s face, he doesn’t ask. And Kuroo doesn’t offer.