More brutalia fam content! Headcanon Talia uses ig occasionally 😆
Bruce Wayne could probably not care any less for social media but is willing to pose for her stories.
Talia and Bruce looking spectacular at a gala event but Damian just wants Titus to be known.
Thank you to the amazing @ube-kun for these pieces :)) saw them post another fanart on tw about Talia and Damian and I found it so cute, had to commission too
i like the idea that red hood is to crime alley what daredevil is to hell's kitchen in the dd comics. in the way that:
Jason: *in full red hood gear, walking through an alley*
homeless man next to him: hey, todd. how's patrol?
jason: *grinning under his helmet* i don't know if you need new glasses---or maybe a memory boost, jimmy---but the todd kid is dead. i, obviously, am not.
homeless man: *snickers* yeah sure, sure, jason
Jason: *walking down the street in civvies*
passerby: hey! hood! i have some info for you, drug deal goin' on 'round the docks
jason: *raises brow* yeah? well, i ain't hood . . . but i'll take that info to him if ya want. he patrols near my apartment
passerby: you keep tellin' yourself that, dude
batman: have you seen the criminal Red Hood?
crime alley resident: *lighting a cigarette, making continual eye contact with batman* I'm blind. haven't seen anyone
batman: *examines the woman* obviously not. you can see me just fine
crime alley resident: ya ain't ever heard of selective vision impairment? it's totally a thing
batman:
little girl: hey, hood. th' cops were lookin' fer ya
jason: hmm. what did ya tell 'em?
little girl: t' stick it where th' sun don't shine
jason: *high-fives her* i'm going to buy you an entire toy store, kid
The atmosphere of the party. The room. Her drink she’d been nursing for the past two hours. The tall boy with a mullet eyeing her across the plastic beer pong table.
Hot.
Y/n held her mixed drink, sitting in a red solo cup, in her hand. Her heart beating out of her chest as he looked her in the eyes. “Your turn to shoot, freshie.” He said, as she picked up the ball and sailed it into a cup on his side, setting her own cup down. She watched Jean chug the drink, forming a slightly disgusted expression on his face from the cheap alcohol.
He winked at her, and she looked away to his partner, her brother. “Your turn, Connie” she said as he shot a ball at their side, narrowly missing the cup in-front of her. Connie looked over at Jean, and he patted him on the back. Y/n smiled, handing the small ball over to her partner, Mikasa, and watched her sink it into the last cup on the boys’ side. The two cheered as Connie chugged their last drink, relishing in their victory. Mikasa and her twirled, and Mikasa’s long skirt flowed around her ankles.
As y/n walked towards the kitchen, Jean followed her like a dog. She went to dump her old, warm drink out and refill it with something she’d actually like, not something her brother had made for her that was 99.9% alcohol and 0.1% mixer. Grabbing the Malibu, she began pouring it into her cup as Jean walked up next to her, putting his elbow on the counter and leaning down to her height.
“So, I heard you broke up with your boyfriend. Turns out you and I have plans in my bedroom tonight.” He said, smiling at his little cheesy joke. Y/n rolled her eyes and poured cranberry juice into her cup. “Nice joke, but I don’t even know your name. I’m not going to sleep with you when I don’t know you. Nice try though.” She said, grabbing her new drink and walking away, leaving him leaning on the counter.
She walked towards Armin and Mikasa who were sitting on a couch, she heard him yell “my name is Jean!” She shook her head and sat down. Armin had a cup of soda, and Mikasa was slowly sipping on vodka and lemonade.
“Armin, why aren’t you drinking?” Y/n asked and Armin shook his head. “I have an exam tomorrow and I cannot be hungover.” Mikasa leaned over towards Y/n and whispered in her ear “Eren has been up on 4 girls since we got here an hour ago, I can only guess how many before we got here.” Y/n frowned, getting up. “Let me talk to him.” She said as she walked over to Eren.
Eren stood in the middle of the room, grinding on his 5th random girl of the night, no doubt telling her how she’s the only girl who he’s ever met that was that beautiful. Y/n tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and the girl gave her a nasty look. Y/n returned one back, then looked back up at Eren. “Can I talk to you?” She asked, and before he could reply, the girl drunkenly interrupted.
“Can’t you see we’re dancing, bitch?”
“Sorry, what did you just say?”
“I said, can’t you see we are dancing, BITCH?”
Y/n was taken aback, and before she could even react, the girl sailed a right hook into Y/n’s cheek.
A/N:
HI GUYS THIS IS THE FIRST CHAPTER! HOPE U LIKE IT 💕💕💕
KISMET - ch 2
The punch sent a shock wave through y/n’s body, knocking her and her red solo cup to the floor as she was unprepared for the girl to sail one at her. The drink pooled on the floor no doubt to leave a sticky mess no one will pick up.
Y/n looked up at the drunk girl, immediately placing her hand on her aching face. She scrambled up, staring at the girl and lunged at her, grabbing a handful of her hair and slamming her to the ground.
Armin and Mikasa heard the commotion and turned their heads towards the noise, watching their friend straddle the drunk girl and laying punches into her as the girl pulled Y/n’s hair. They stood up and ran over, but Jean and Connie had beat them to it.
Jean pulled y/n off the drunk girl, and Connie helped the girl up, holding them so they didn’t immediately start fighting again.
Y/n spit at the girl, and she tried getting out of Connie’s grip to get to y/n, blood dripping out of her nose and onto the floor.
Jean brought Y/n to the bathroom, opening up the medicine cabinet and pulling the peroxide out. He poured it on a paper towel and before he could dab the small cut on Y/n’s lip, she snatched it out of his hand. “Don’t touch me.” She said, looking in the mirror and pressing the paper towel on the cut herself. “Why? I’m just trying to take care of you after you just beat that poor drunk girls ass” Jean chimed in, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall as Y/n continued cleaning her cut. “She punched me first, because I wanted to talk to eren for Mikasa. Crazy bitch.”
A knock came on the door, and Jean opened it. Historia stood in the doorway, poking her head in and looking at y/n. Ymir stood behind her, arms crossed. “I just came to check on you, that fight seemed pretty gnarly” Historia said, her voice soft, and worried. “Yeah I’m fine, did she leave?” Y/n asked and Historia nodded as she closed the door and her and Ymir walked away.
Jean got close to Y/n, grabbing her face and looking at her cut. “Well you’re lucky you don’t need stitches, but it’ll take a few weeks to heal.” Y/n pulled away and looked at the wall, her face red as they were so close she could see his high cheekbones and his green eyes that contrasted with the blue walls of the bathroom, in clear detail.
“Okay healthcare major let me go get another drink” she said, slowly moving away from him and walking out of the bathroom.
He followed her as she made her way to the kitchen, and grabbed her arm. “Can you atleast give me your number?” Y/n rolled her eyes, grabbing a napkin that had been used to wipe up some kind of liquid, and a sharpie, jotting down her number and shoving it into his chest. “There. Now will you leave me alone?” Jean smiled and nodded, walking away.
Walking to Armin and Mikasa with her bag in her hand, she watched them get up. “Ready to go?”
College!Richard Grayson and his Horrid Case of Pinning
Words | 585
Content Warning | mild swearing , fem reader
Dick Grayson who you think is just being his normal, unintentionally flirty self as he stops you, darting around you to lean on the brick wall, right after you’ve completed your ever-so-sacred, routine morning drink run. He gives you that jaw-dropping, world-stopping, blinding white, perfectly on-brand Dick Grayson smile and you’re already groaning. Being cheerful at 7 am is the last thing you need this morning. You’re about to just walk around him before he stops you, gripping your bicep gently and slowly pulling you back to stop in front of him before he grabs your drink out of your hand, taking a sip of it before handing it back to you.
“Hey! What’s your de-”
You were about to protest until you realized that his taking that sip caused him to have a mustache of sorts, courtesy of the contents of your cup. Your expression was grim and your eyes that were glazed from sleep only moments ago had not converted to your lips twitching as you held back a smile and eyes lighting up mischievously with delight. Being a forensics major, that slight expression change doesn’t escape his perceptive gaze and his face of confusion quickly morphs into a smile as well.
“What? Do I got somethin’ on my face or is it just my devilishly good looks?”
You roll your eyes before leaning in, Dick reciprocating the motion a few moments after you move. Before you know it, the proximity you two have would have been enough to have plenty of people, men and women alike, getting flustered due to not only his boyish charm but also his status. To you though, he’s just Dickie, your best friend, and not Richard Grayson, the adopted son of billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. You reach your hand up, gently wiping away the mustache that the drink left with your thumb, careful to not let your acrylic nail scratch his face. Your eyes are trained on the spot under his nose as you delicately do that motion, not noticing the eyes full of absolute adoration that he’s looking at you with. Those pretty blue eyes practically sparkling with love and something else, something deeper. The fear unknown to every soul on the very Earth, the fear that if one day he was a fool enough to confess, you wouldn’t feel the same, and not only will he lose his best friend, but the one person he loved so deeply would finally be out of his reach for the rest of the time. He would fall out of the very orbit of the star he revolved around, you. Once he caught himself, he quickly shook himself out of his mental daze, putting back on that devilish smile as your thumb retreated from the gentle and chaste expedition it had above his lips.
“Ya know-”
“Shut it”
“I could’ve wiped that off myself-”
“Dick”
“However, it seems like someone just can't get enough of me and just couldn’t resist touching me”
“Oh my God shut the hell up please”
He laughs loudly at you before throwing his arm over your shoulder and bringing you in tightly to his side, causing an “oof” to be forced from your chest and your drink to spill a little bit. You grumble under your breath before you look up at him, your eyes meeting his, which crinkle up from that bright smile of his, the one that only you draw out of him, as the two of you walk side by side.
A/N | Sorry if this isn't super fleshed out I promise I'll make it better once it actually is the day time and not 1:30 in the morning LMAO. If y'all enjoyed please let me know and don't be shy to leave requests either because I really enjoyed writing college!Richard !
If your passions called, Simon would answer. Boxes arrived while he was gone, filled with fresh journals for your poems, new pens for your writing, and all kinds of baking supplies to spark your creativity. He wanted you to always feel his presence, even if he was half a world away, each package a testament to his unwavering affection. When he returned, you would often slip him small, handwritten notes—your own words of love and encouragement—folded neatly, and he’d keep them close to his heart, tucked in a pocket as if they were a part of him. The others joked about him looking like a:
“proper husband”
for always stopping to read your handwriting, touching every letter as if every word you wrote was a treasure on its own.
There were nights, long ones, when you’d catch him sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a scrapbook you’d made during his deployment. Pictures of the two of you, your annotations in the margins, your thoughts and memories, capturing moments he hadn’t even noticed you were holding onto. He’d touch each page, almost reverently, lingering on the edges like he was afraid his touch might ruin the paper. And when you’d join him, sliding into his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, he’d tuck his face into your shoulder, silent, holding you close as if you were the only thing grounding him to this world.
Simon never argued with you; never needed to. He believed in “happy wife, happy life” with a fervency others might never understand. If you didn’t like something, he’d change it without hesitation. If you felt uncomfortable going out he would take you back home in his arms, helping you out of your dress with gentle hands, making your favorite tea in the kitchen, casting you warm, lingering glances as you sipped your cup by his side with the prettiest smile he swears he has never seen before in his life.
There were times you’d tease him, testing the boundaries of his devotion with light-hearted remarks about your whims. But no matter what you said, he never wavered. If anything, his dedication seemed to intensify, his love quiet but resolute, unwavering in the face of your every wish. You could see it in his eyes, the way they softened whenever he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world he wanted, needed. To Simon, you were perfection, and nothing you did could ever change that.
When it came to intimacy, Simon was utterly faithful. At night, his hands would roam your form reverently, memorizing every curve, every detail he’d missed in his months away. When you traced the veins on his neck, his breaths came out heavy, the weight of his love pressing down on him. Your touch left him trembling, his normally steady hands shaking as he held himself over you, eyes dark with an almost sacred devotion as he rocked into you with slow, deep movements that left him weak.
When you’d murmur his name, kiss his scarred knuckles, and hold him close, Simon felt himself unraveling in your arms, reduced to nothing but his love for you. His broad, muscular form sank against you, a sturdy weight softened by your warmth, and he’d surrender completely, letting you hold him, a silent confession of his trust and vulnerability.
In the stillness of those moments, he would remember a time when he hadn’t believed in softness when life had taught him only to take and endure. But now, in your arms, Simon Riley found a new truth: that he could give, could cherish, and, most of all, could love without fear. And as he drifted to sleep, wrapped in your love, he knew that he had finally found his purpose—not in battle, nor vengeance, but in this quiet, steadfast devotion to the woman who had taught him that he was worthy of peace.
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