And it's gone this time too!! May is gone, it's now June and as everything in the world also domaystic 2026 has officially ended. Wow. I'm always amazed by how something so small can be enjoyed in so many different ways, so I hope it was fun and congratulations for every word and art that was created, thank you for joining and sharing it!! 👏
A big big thank you to @staticmothhell that took care of the prompts, the main posts, the reblogging, etc. stepping in and making it possible for the event to run this year as well <333
...and staticmothhell here, very glad to have helped this event happen again this year! Thank you everyone who had all the tags we needed for reblogging right up top for me, especially when I didn't always know the fandom. Continue to create fun domestic works, everyone, with these prompts and more!
Lastly:
- all domaystic ao3 collections are always open if somebody wants to add their work;
- this blog doesn't shut down so late tags or mentions even in the next months will always be reblogged, just keep in mind that for the rest of the year the blog runs on a much slower speed.
Late but... always cute to throw in some WinterFrost content. Short and Sweet 💚💙
@domaystic Day 24 - Hair Brushing
Title: High Amidst the Stars
Fandom: Marvel
Rated: M
Ship: Bucky Barnes/Loki
Warnings: None
Summary: These days Bucky will try just about anything to relax. Maybe not the really crazy shit stupid people fall for, but he can handle what got him contemplating a future beyond the Winter Soldier and Steve. A Norse god brushing his hair and a little grass.
He didn't even need to look to know that she held a hairbrush. She only trusted him to brush her hair. "Of course, White Lily."
She sat down on the bed that the Sanctum had provided with a smile, pulling off her new diadem and untying her hair. Like everyone else, her hair had grown out, and the length was ridiculous when you considered her already long hair.
Pure Vanilla, like usual, started at the bottom.
Her hair had changed, in more than length. There was an ombre effect that led to a deep red at the ends that seemed to glint, as if a fire was hidden there. There was dark streaks across the white, as if sections of her hair had carefully been burned.
He swallowed back the urge to ask if it hurt. He had been barely been paying attention to her and Dark Enchantress nor her awakening, more focused on Shadow Milk and Starry Almond Milk, but he had seen her burning.
"…it didn't hurt."
"Hm?"
“Don't give me that look," White Lily glanced over her shoulder, and her hair was so long that it barely moved in his hands. Her eyes burned. "I can tell when you look at me like that. You're so worried about me that it blocks out anything else about me in your head."
…Ah.
"I'm sorry. I don't…I'm sorry." He had promised to do better. She was an adult who could take care of herself. "I just…"
"You worry, because that is the kind of person you are," White Lily's tone softened. "It didn't hurt, Pure Vanilla. And, even if I did, I would do it again and again."
He nodded. "I know."
White Lily, if she had been in her right mind, would know what would happen, would have jumped into the Ultimate Dough. She would burn, had already burned, for Cookiekind. He needed to understand.
"I know you know. But, don't borrow grief for me," White Lily turned back. "Borrow joy, for a new beginning."
"A new beginning," he repeated, and brushed her hair.
...But this… You really believe you’re telling the truth...
Bad Reality | A Krennic x Kleya story available on AO3
Summary: The Death Star is operational. Luthen dies because of this piece of information. And Kleya wakes up in a new reality in which none of it matters, because neither of these things has happened. She’s married to the architect of destruction: Orson Krennic. Actually, it’s much worse: they have a son together and she’s never been part of the Rebellion. Tethered to a reality that makes absolutely no sense, Kleya has no option except to use what she knows and her abilities to bring down the man who now shares her bed. The question is: can she? Will she?
[Krennic x Kleya | Domaystic 2026 | Alternate Reality | Told in Prompts]
Chapter VI - Bad Report is already posted! READ HERE.
Prompt: On the Windowsill
Here is chapter 6 of Bad Reality, an Alternate Reality fic based on @domaystic prompts. This chapter is more focused on Kleya and Luthen.
PS: Gif for the baby was taken from this Brazilian Ad here. Go watch it. You're not gonna regret it.
@domaystic drabbles day 25 - laughter ft. jūshirō ukitake
based on this ... couldn't find the sub version, but I've seen both dub and sub of bleach and i actually like both ^.^
Jūshirō places a stack of photographs in front of you wordlessly, flustered and rose-pink all over. You lift a brow, interest piqued by whatever has your husband — usually so composed — in such a bashful state.
His flush deepens as you start to giggle, eyes raking over his lithe form pinned to a tree by kunai scattered all throughout his haori. The first picture is of him fully clothed … and the succeeding ones are of him in various states of undress.
"I did not ask for those to be taken," he explains, but as your giggles turn into something stronger, he can't fight the smile that creeps onto his own face. "Soifon … ambushed me! I had to beg to get them back … or else they would have printed them in The Seireitei Communication!"
You suddenly become very serious, holding the pictures close to your chest. "No one can see you like this … I'll have to fight women off in droves! Good thing they didn't publish these…"
His eyes, creased by years of your shared laughter, squint in amusement. "I highly doubt that, my love. No one would dare think they'd have a chance against you in a battle for my affection."
You bat your lashes, taking one final peek at the images before tucking them into your Shihakushō. "Hm, I suppose you're right … but just in case, I'll be holding onto these."
@domaystic drabbles day 24 - new pajamas ft. shane (sdv)
also ft. my OC, Adrianna, and her son, Nico, from my longfic The Best We Can.
Shane never, ever thought he'd be in a situation that called for matching pajamas. To him, matching pajamas were for those obnoxious, picture-perfect families that had six kids, two dogs, and three cars (despite only having two drivers in the household).
But here he was, against all odds, huddled together with his family as Marnie fussed over the best angle to take their Christmas photo. This year's theme was 'gridball': Nico's decision, and way better (in Shane's opinion) than last year's 'unicorn' theme.
Shane and Adrianna settled on a blue set with little gridballs stitched into the sleeves and pants, whereas Jas and Nico insisted on their own colors. Jas refused to wear anything other than pink, forcing Shane to hunt all over the internet for something applicable: a cheap night dress that would surely fall apart in the washing machine, but it would do for this little tradition Adrianna started two years ago. Nico, on the other hand — entering the dreaded phase of 'rebellious teenager' — insisted on a highlighter-yellow monstrosity that gave Shane temporary blindness if he stared at it for too long.
The pajamas weren't perfect, but neither were they: a blended family glued together by love, consistency, hard work, and tacky sleepware.
It had been a week since Qi Xiaotian had moved out, and Pigsy still wasn't used to it.
The room over the shop was still empty, as if just in case. He couldn't even think of transforming it back into the storage room it had been before Xiaotian had started talking about getting his own place.
He stirred the pot of noodles, staring at the soup.
He missed his son.
He knew that Red Son and Long Xiaojiao would take care of him, just like how Xiaotian took care of them, but feelings had no logic. What if Xiaotian needed him and he wasn't there? He had finally admitted that Xiaotian was his son, and then Xiaotian moved out. What if-
His phone dinged.
He pulled it out, half expecting a text from his partner. He had been staying at the shop longer, so Tang had started to check in every now and then. He had even roped Wukong into it.
It wasn't from Tang, or from Sandy, or from Wukong.
It was a text from Xiaotian.
Hey! I know you're probably busy, but I just wanted your advice with these noodles. Can I video call you? There was a picture underneath of a pot of noodles, simmering happily.
hiiii @domaystic! this is my scene for day [21]: hairbrushing ✨
fandom/pairing: jjk; satosugu
satoru forces suguru to sit through a hair combing session (and bribes him with a massage).
word count: 1.4K
ao3 / masterlist
—
“Suguru~?” Satoru sung sign-song like—the syllables stretched out, poking his head from the door way cheekily. On the couch sat his husband, who didn’t look up at the sudden interruption he called ‘the love of his life’, only lazily turning the page of his novel he was previously buried in.
“What now, Satoru?”, he asked exasperatedly, tired narrow purple eyes flickering towards him away from his page, bothered by the disruption of his much needed and highly valued peace and quiet.
“I got you something new~”, he continued, creeping closer to the couch with a hand behind his back, probably hiding an object from Suguru’s view. He tried to guess it as Satoru sat himself next to him, getting unnecessarily close into his personal space—so close their legs brushed, the romantic notion doing nothing to ease Suguru’s grumpy mood.
“Oh god, please don’t tell me”—he grimaced immediately, thinking and fearing about all the possibilities of what Satoru could’ve have gotten him—but his eyes lit up in surprise as Satoru retrieved the object from behind his back.
“A…hairbrush?”
The white-haired nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah I noticed how crusty your old one is.”, he smirked, animatedly talking and moving his hands around, comb almost flying. “So I got you a new one!”, he winked, pushing the object into Suguru’s already full hands. “Now try it!”, he demanded, glimmer in his eyes in await.
“Sure?” Suguru sighed in agreement, both eyebrows raised in annoyance, finally placing his novel down, the metal bookmark clattering onto the coffee table.
Satoru watched as Suguru took out his scrunchie, how his messy and tousled long dark hair fell into a waterfall of black behind him—still silky after having not thoroughly combed it through and tossed it into a messy low bun.
After short preparation, and some heavy sighs, he reached out for the brush his childish (but that was part of his charm) husband was seemingly handing to him—but Satoru suddenly pulled it back, thoughtful, his face docile, probably thinking about a entirely different thing. “Better idea, let me brush it for you.”, he suggested, his hands clapping enthusiastically, despite the brush trapped between his palms.
Suguru frowned slightly, his tired purple eyes narrowing. “You don’t even brush your hair.”, he exposed him, running a tired hand over his face, rubbing the corner of his eye for some secretion. He hadn’t slept well that night. “What do you know about brushing”—
Satoru smiled, pressing a finger onto Suguru’s soft pinkish lips, interrupting him with a small shush. “I’ll give you a massage.”, he negotiated, a smirk already forming on his face, knowing the answer that he was going to receive already.
“…deal.”, Suguru gave in, hardly hesitant, trying to sound vary of Satoru’s eagerness but his answer came out too impulsive. Satoru’s head massages were just one of the many talents Satoru’s hands could do.
Satoru grinned in triumph, shifting himself on the couch. Suguru sunk onto the floor, his butt meeting the cold hardwood floor under them. His head was between Satoru’s knees—correction—his thighs now that his head was tilted back slightly, sinking into the cushions of their new couch. Satoru ran his fingers through the thick black strands, collecting them from the nape of his husband’s neck. He took a part in his hand, running the new comb onto beloved soft hair, careful and gentle—with all the time in the world.
After a while, the brushing sound made Suguru partially relaxed, yet a soft yank pulled him back out into discomfort. “Satoru—you’re pulling.”, he sounded grumpy as he held the back of his head where Satoru ‘yanked’ it.
“Your hair is tangled.”, Satoru stated the obvious, face all innocent as if he didn’t just pull out a few (damaged) strands.
Suguru frowned at him with a pout. “Then stop brushing”—
—“No.”, he persistently relented, continuing to brush his hair in slow consisted movements. And after a while Suguru found himself relaxing again, tension easing out of him ever so slightly, until Satoru spoke up.
“Why do you have so much hair?”, he complained slightly, parting hair segments again, treating his husband’s hair combing like a special grade mission.
“Genetics.”, he mumbled. He had closed his eyes, finally calm and soothed enough to relax fully, not having been able to all day from some of the housework he still needed to tend to.
“I swear they’re multiplying by the second.”, Satoru’s muttered under his breath, taking in the thick black strands. If he had such long hair he would be struggling to comb them as well. Hell, he’d tie it up and not even bother.
But it was Suguru. And Suguru deserves all his care. Even if he’s not good at it.
“There’s some hair already on the hairbrush.”, he reported what he was seeing, picking a few strands from the bamboo comb, rubbing them between his fingers.
Suguru didn’t see a reason to open his eye. “That’s normal.”, he commented.
Satoru exhaled sharply, running his fingers around Suguru’s ears to brush the hair behind them. Then he threaded his fingers in the hair, carefully running through them to check for knots in case he missed any. “I think you’re stressing yourself out too much.”, he murmured, setting the brush aside as he played around with the hair, throwing it over Suguru’s shoulder. “I read it can lead to hair loss.”
“Wow thank you, didn’t know I married an asshole.”, Suguru sarcastically replied to the indirect insult. He opened his eyes, rolling them now. His voice sounded annoyed but he knew Satoru meant well with that. He knew the man very well to know where his intentions were.
“I’m just worried okay?”, he whined as he pressed his lips at Suguru’s hairline, the movement having forced the ravenett’s head to lean on his lap. Then he parted, head suspended over Suguru still, as they locked eye contact for a second. “Now for the massage I promised.”, he winked and Suguru couldn’t help a small smile escape onto his lips.
“You give the best ones.”, he breathed out, remembering a few sessions they had over the years they have known each other.
“I know!” Starting with the head, ge ran his fingers on Suguru’s scalp, rubbing and Suguru leaned back, eyes closed, groaning softly.
“You like it, don’t you.”, Satoru teased, bending his head over to look at Suguru’s relaxed face, almost studying his facial features while admiring his beauty.
Suguru hummed delayed, tension easing his muscles as Satoru moved slightly to the back of his head. Satoru’s soft fingertips rubbed slightly against the smooth skin, breaking up whatever pent-up stress Suguru was keeping to himself.
“You’re like a cat right now.”, he spoke after a while, a pleased grin still on his face.
“…I’m not.”, Suguru slowly replied, sighing in relief as Satoru.
—“You’re literally purring.”, he laughed to himself, the sound fresh in the room.
“…I am not.”, Suguru opened his eyes just to roll them at him.
He was definitely though…much to his denial.
Silence settled in between them as Satoru kneaded harder into the tense muscles at this shoulders, repetitive movements. To Suguru they were just as painful as it was relief and it made him sharply inhale or exhale based on the spots he massaged. He let out a sound almost like a groan as Satoru moved closer to the nape of his neck., warm fingers grazing the area.
“Oh that’s the spot.” Suguru moaned as he finally pressed the tense area, tensing up slightly from the pressure.
And they sat there, fingers digging into smooth skin, loosening up tense muscles from months of work stress. Between his hands Suguru was nothing but relaxed, leaning into the warm hands at his upper back.
“Don’t stop.”, he mumbled after a while, half-asleep, finally relaxing enough. As if they could just sit there forever in their domestic bubble not having to worry about work, society for once.
Satoru exhaled, satisfied with what he did. He brushed hair out of Suguru’s face as he leaned over, pressing a soft kiss into his hairline, whispering against his skin.
Domaystic | Day 25 | Laughter Headcanons (OC Edition)
Talia - Laughs with her head thrown back and her full chest. If its not funny enough for that, it doesn't deserve her laugh. Luckily, she's got a great sense of humor.
Hali - Hali laughs behind her hand. It's not even audible. Just the shaking of her shoulders and a soft breath sound. Her eyes squint nearly closed. She laughs at most things. Nerin calls it the most beautiful sound in the world.
Nerin - Nerin doesn't laugh often. It hurts, the way her throat tries to produce a noise she doesn't have access to anymore. If her voice hadn't been sold to the witch who granted her legs, she would laugh just as loud as the werewolf across the courtyard. Underwater she laughed loud and long, laughter bubbling up like hydrothermal vents on the ocean floor.
Sami - Sami had a laugh like a dolphin in life. High and shrieking. It cascaded everyone around her into more laughter. It was one of the reasons she was the life of every party. Until she wasn't. Now she laughs the same way. Only no one else can hear.
Cupiditas - Cupiditas has perfectly curated their laugh. As a shapeshifter, their laugh matches whatever their summoner desires. Deep and sultry, like velvet wrapped around your heart. Or soft and shy, like silk. Falling flower petals of giggles. All sorts of laughs that create desire and want and adoration.
Sorin - Sorin, unfortunately, laughs like a fratbro. It's loud and deep and a little bit obnoxious. He laughs stupidly often and has the lowest bar for humor ever.
Vetle - Laughs like someone is holding a gun to his head. Like he doesn't want to be laughing. Like the wry chuckle will cause him physical harm. He always shakes his head while he laughs, as if to indicate he doesn't like it and wants it to stop.
Angelo Noble - laughs soft and under his breath. Like his laughter is another inside joke. It draws you in. It makes you want to create the sound again. To make him laugh again. To make him laugh louder.
The Cursed Princess - She used to laugh like the peel of bells. It twinkled like starlight. Now her laugh is harsh. A bark of derision. A self deprecating sound.
Her Father's Knight - He laughs loud and open, like it's opening his ribs to get a clearer view of the warmth at his core. It bubbles back up again after he finishes, aftershocks of bubbling giggles long after the original laugh has gone.
The Brigand Bodyguard - One short bark of a laugh. A chortle. Not long enough to feel warm and good. But nice anyways.
The Youngest Prince - Laughs long and bright and to the point of tears in his eyes. His laugh makes people want to tell him stories. Makes people want to tell him jokes. Makes people want to entertain him and be near him and listen to him laugh for hours and hours.
DoMayStic Day 31: Coming Home Early (by @astrobookwormsinger)
"Theron, pass me that banner," Lana instructed. "I'll put it up before the Commander gets home."
"Fetch it yourself," Theron replied. "You have the Force, I'll have to walk all the way across the room to hand it over."
Lana rolled her eyes. "At least hold it up so I can get it from there." Theron glared at her as he did so.
Senya looked from one side of the room to the other. Koth was arranging the drinks and food on the table, deep in thought. On the other end, Kira was trying to put up more banners across the room, arguing with Scourge about how they should be put up and the intricacies of luxurious decoration. Her dearest Arcann was making sure the jukebox was all set up.
The banner in the middle read 'Happy Birthday!' with a second banner with 'Commander' under it. Clearly a sign of some haphazard planning.
Suddenly, the doors flew open, and T7-O1 rolled into the room, beeping with urgency.
Ship = just landed // Commander = back from mission too early // T7 = advises speeding up the process
"They're back? Already?" Koth asked, in disbelief. "We're not ready yet!"
"Well, someone, go distract them, or something," Kira suggested. "Who's the best at telling long, drawn out stories here?"
"Undoubtedly, you," Scourge shot back. "It's too late. Face it, we're unprepared."
"Ever the pessimist, aren't you, Wrath?" Lana observed, jumping down from her ladder and landing smoothly. "Kira's plan is sound as always. I'll go and greet the Commander. You all have about 5 minutes to get everything set."
"I'll come too, I actually do have something to tell the Commander," Arcann added. Senya shot him a questioning look. Later, Arcann mouthed back.
"I'm not hanging up the remaining banners, I'm still tracking the delayed gifts," Theron protested. "Besides, it's easier done with you Force-sensitives on the job."
"I'll get to that," Kira offered.
"I'll help," Koth added.
T7 rolled up to Senya. T7 = can help?
"You can help me with the food and music," Senya offered, smiling at the little droid. "Hurry now, we don't have time."
"I need… advise," Pierrot's voice whispered over your ear as he leaned over the counter of your coffee shop.
It wasn't your coffee shop, you just worked at it. But as far as Pierrot cared, it was yours. You and the milkshakes were the only reason to set foot inside. And the milkshakes were really only a bonus added on to your existence. He said daily that you were the sweetest thing he needed. The only sweet thing he needed.
"What do you need help with, Pierrot?" You asked, craning your neck to look at his face.
He was smiling, his eyes narrowed into arches. His eyes reminded you of cats stretching when he smiled like that, black curves arching over his cheeks. It was just a little too cute. You wanted to keep looking. But he leaned in so he was whispering in your ear again, even though it was just the two of you in the shop.
"If someone I… liked… was having a birthday," he began with just a little too much hesitancy around the word "liked" and a little too much breath in his whisper, "but hasn't told me about it, should I make a plan to celebrate?"
You rolled it over in your mind, trying to stretch over the awkwardness of his breath tickling your ear and your heart racing in your veins.
"I mean… why haven't they told you? And how did you find out?" You continued before he could answer the rhetorical question. "If they haven't told you because they're busy and it's slipped their mind, they'd probably appreciate it. If they didn't tell you because they don't like celebrating then probably no."
He nodded, the bells on his hat jingling in a way that you knew only happened when he wanted it to.
"What about you?" His voice crooned. "Do you like celebrating your birthday?"
You hadn't thought about it in ages. Everything had been so… busy. Distracting. You weren't even sure how far it was to your birthday. Was it coming up?
"Only if I have time. Usually I just get a cupcake or maybe a good meal."
You shrugged, ignoring the way his own shoulders mirrored your movement. He did that sometimes. When he thought you weren't paying attention, he mirrored your movements. You wondered if it was to feel closer to you, or if it was to feel more human.
"That sounds lonely," his eyes were full of something not quite as objectionable as pity. "Do you ever have a party? With friends?"
You tilted your head in a noncommittal shrug of a nod.
"Not since I was young. I've been too busy ever since I had to start paying rent, really. And it feels like it's a lot of work to plan. Sometimes, the boss will do a small thing like bring out a small cake when it's just workers and regulars. And then they'll do the whole song, I'll blow out the candle, and then we'll get back to work. But not so much a party."
He nodded solemnly. Thoughtfully.
"What if someone else planned the party?"
You laughed.
"No one's going to plan a party for me, that's way too much work."
He looked a little angry at that. Angry you would think that. Angry people had convinced you of that.
"Someone should plan you a party. And presents. What do you get for presents?"
You listed off the usual things: flowers, chocolates, things they needed, things they wanted but wouldn't get for themself, jewelry. You mentioned that your favorite gift was a signed book with a note from your favorite author. That it'd been lost in one of the many moves.
"Thank you for the advise," Pierrot whispered, drawing you into a hug.
He squeezed a little too tight for a little too long, just like always.
"I will make sure my… friend… has a good birthday," he whispered the announcement against your skin.
And then he was gone.
You shouldn't have been surprised three days later when you walked into the circus and there was a banner declaring your birthday. You shouldn't have been surprised at the massive cake (nearly your size) or the mountain of presents. You really felt valid for being surprised at the party hats that Pierrot had convinced the rest of the circus (even Ticket Taker and Jester) to wear. And that they all sang the birthday song to you.
And you certainly shouldn't have felt surprised when he followed your advice again the next year. And the next. And the next.
DoMayStic Day 30: Put on Hold (by @astrobookwormsinger)
"Hmm… Yes, tell the other candidates to send me their profiles, and I'll take a look," Kristoph said into the landline phone. "I'd ask for your résumés, but you're fresh law school graduates, so I'm assuming the lot of you have absolutely no work experience."
"Being your understudy is how we're meant to gain experience—" started the student, but Kristoph cut him off when he felt his phone vibrate.
"Just send me your profiles, I'm getting another call," he said, hoping the student could hear the smile in his voice as he abruptly cut the call.
Even the process of getting an understudy was infuriating. Kristoph exhaled sharply as he pulled out his phone. The contact name only worsened his mood and made his eyebrows scrunch up in disgust.
Klavier.
Gritting his teeth, he pressed to answer the call.
"Hallo! Kris, can you hear me?" Klavier asked, loudly, over the sound of drums in the background. "Guys, cut the music, I'm on a call! Daryan, cut the rhythm! Anyway, how have you been? Still defending criminals?"
Kristoph tried to keep himself from grinding his teeth even more in case he landed himself in the dentist's chair. He forced his tone to be calm. "Klavier. Is there a reason you're calling and interrupting my work? I have a very complicated case file on my desk as we speak."
"I'll keep it short, our tour is coming to an end and we're taking the summer off before returning to the next album, so I thought I could crash at your place for a few months," Klavier said, with a tone of infuriating joy. "I bet you missed your kleiner Bruder, eh? Oh, wait— Scheiße, I'm getting another call, stay on hold, Kris—"
And almost immediately, Guilty Love started playing.
Kristoph had to keep himself from slamming his phone down in rage. The Coolest Defence Attorney in the West never slammed his phone, he had to tell himself.
The sheer audacity. Klavier had assumed that Kristoph would not mind if he lived with him for months, and then, in the middle of demanding his favour, had put his call on hold for someone else. His knuckles were pale as he gripped his phone tightly. Klavier's very existence was a nuisance, and now, as he heard that Godforsaken song for the millionth time, he wished he'd never had a brother.
"Sorry, that was our record label, anyway, what was I saying?" Klavier's voice returned. "Oh yeah, I bet you missed me! I'll be coming by the end of the week. Tschüss!"
And the call cut.
Kristoph looked at the case file, realising he was not going to be in a mood to work for at least an hour. But if Klavier was coming next week, that meant that he had to reschedule a very important dinner date plan.
He scrolled through his contact list and called one Phoenix Wright.
DoMayStic Day 29: The Next Step (by @astrobookwormsinger)
Alfred had positively walked all over Wayne Manor, and the absence of young Master Bruce could only mean one thing. He had gone to the gravesite yet again.
Alfred sighed, and looked outside the window. The amount of thick, fluffy grey clouds outside probably meant that it would rain, so he quickly grabbed an umbrella and swiftly walked to the gardens near the mansion that had several tombstones with Wayne family names, and to the two newest burials.
The sight of the names of Thomas and Martha Wayne engraved on freshly-dug soil made Alfred pause for a moment to consider his own emotions. Butlers were, in theory and in principle, not supposed to have any emotional attachment to the families they served. But Alfred could not help but feel his own share of grief for the two young nobles, their lives taken so unfairly.
And worse, they had left behind a broken, traumatised child.
Said child was sitting behind the grave of his mother, leaning on the headstone. And talking.
"I miss your meatballs," he sniffled. "You used to make them the best way. Alfred tries his best but they're not the same, Mom."
Alfred cleared his throat to make sure Bruce knew he was there, just as he felt the first droplets of water begin falling from the skies. Bruce must have noticed the rain begin too, because when Alfred opened the umbrella, he reluctantly walked under it.
"We don't want you to catch more colds, Master Bruce, your education mustn't suffer," Alfred advised.
"I don't care about my education," Bruce said quietly, distantly. "I miss them so much, Alfred." The child looked up, his voice shaking as he spoke. "What… what am I supposed to do? How can I just move on with my life like nothing happened? Why does it feel so unfair that the world is moving on when I've lost everything?"
Alfred knelt down, and allowed Bruce to cling to him for some time, making sure the rain wasn't touching him. After some silence, he slowly said, "It is not fair, young Master. But you can merely keep doing the next step. One single step, at a time, with pauses in between if you want them. That is all you can do, and it is what you must. Come, let's go inside."
And Alfred carried Bruce inside and put him to bed, wiping a single tear once the child was asleep.
Alfred would think back to this memory several times as he watched Bruce snort to Cass's dark humour, help with Damien's pets, and laugh warmly at Clark's farm memories.
Domaystic | Day 25 | Laughter Headcanons (KoM Edition!)
Butler - Like all good butlers, Butler does not show his emotions very readily. He has to be caught really unawares to smirk while on duty. Off duty though, his laugh is as clear and deep as church bells. It echoes in the coziest of spaces. Like within your ribcage.
Jestyn - He laughs wildly. You can never predict if his laugh will appear like a witch's cackle or like a super villain. No matter what it sounds like, it's big and maybe too loud and deeply contagious. Even when it's the mocking laughter that follows your bad choices.
Knighter - Doesn't laugh. Doesn't smile. Will look at you with a straight face and say "that was funny." It's a running gag.
Wizzy - Cackles like a mad scientist or does a giggle so soft its almost creepy. There is no in between. Its so distinctive you can track him through the theater by it.
Prieston - Laughs like a normal person. Like a kindly uncle telling a dad joke. Always laughs at his own jokes.
Bonus! Crownus - laughs too loud at his own jokes. Tells other people their jokes aren't funny. Laughs at people's misfortune and pain. Theres a sound like gravel in a rolling glass jar in the back of his laugh.
