summary: Daeron Targaryen, although he did not come from your womb, he was yours.
an: god if you can hear me, please don’t let helaena, gwayne or daeron die🙏🏼🙏🏼 reader’s house is not specified, pics used are just for aesthetic purposes ig lol, just saw a pinterest comment that said alicent had daeron with her until he was 8 then she sent him to oldtown but the show said he was sent as a babe so fuck it we ball this is fan fiction and hotd is too soooo, reader is daeron’s only motherly figure sorry alicent
warnings: ormund hightower is a warning on his own, not a warning but reader loves her son daeron <3 a round of applause for motherhood even though the kid isn’t yours!!
The second you saw the small babe, you swore you would protect him. Yes, he was sent specifically so he could be your husband’s squire, but he was just a boy. A boy that needed love and affection. Daeron quickly become attached to you. He loved that you read him stories, he loved how every morning you would greet him with a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile and he especially loved that you learned High Valyrian for him.
Despite Ormund’s protests, you joined him in Tumbleton. Before, you were safe back in Oldtown, but you had traveled to the market town with your lady in waiting, Melara, declaring that you couldn’t go any longer without being close to your family. You arrived right as Ormund was taking in the bath in the middle of the room.
“Husband,” you were in the process of taking off your cloak when Daeron had helped you take off the rest, beating Melara to it. “I see you have made yourself comfortable.”
“And I see you have ignored my request for you to stay in Oldtown. Your place is not here, dear wife. It is clear that I am alive and well.” Ormund replied.
“Not everything is about you,” You say, turning your back to him and putting your attention on the young boy. He kept his arms behind his back like the squire that he was, but as soon as your warm gentle hands touched his cheek, the boy melted. He found great comfort in the woman that raised him. Yes, Daeron knew you were not his mother. He often had dreams were you were. “My boy, how are you? Have you slept fine? Have you eaten anything?”
“Yes, my lady, I am perfectly fine.” Daeron assured you. Still, you held him close to you.
“That is a relief,” you placed a kiss on her temple. Then you turned back to look at Ormund. “What?” You saw the look he was giving you. He often said you were making Daeron soft and that was not what war needed.
“The boy is fine.” He said with a glare that made Daeron and Melara’s nerves kick in.
“I see. I have eyes, husband. Do you think my vision is failing?” You approach the bath and gently sink down to your knees. Once you were at Ormund’s level, you placed a loving kiss on his lips. Ormund immediately melted at the touch. His first instinct was to grab her cheek and pull her closer, but you caught his wrist in time. “No.” You simply said and rose to your feet.
Ormund stayed quiet as he watched you. Daeron and Melara knew that if there was anyone who could get Ormund to quiet down, it was you. How you did it? It would remain a mystery for years. Without a word, you turned around and walked out of the room. Melara quickly grabbed your cloak. “My lord, my prince.” She said then followed you.
Daeron watched Melara until she was out of his sight. She was the only girl closest to his age that he liked talking to. He was thankful she made it safely to Tumbleton.
Ormund stayed silent in the bath. He desperately needed to feel all of you. But it would have to wait. Lord and Lady Footly had entered and as much as he didn’t want to, he had to deal with them.
—
You received word that you and your lord husband would be staying in the chambers of the Footly’s. You were alone in the chambers reading a book of Old Valyria. Ormund despised you reading about the Valyrians, but he understood you enjoyed reading of the old stories. Melara was somewhere in the castle retrieving some cake. You didn’t mind if it was lemon or honey cake. You just needed a sweet treat.
With Melara gone, you were all alone. That was until a knock one the chamber door alerted you. “Yes?” You called out without lifting your head from the words on the pages.
You could hear light footsteps enter the room. Daeron. Over the years, you had recognized his footsteps as well as Ormund’s.
“My lady,” Daeron approached you, his hands behind his back. “Lord Ormund has requested you.”
You sighed deeply and closed your book. “I thought he might,” What could he possibly want now? Surely he was occupied with something that didn’t require you. “Has he said what for?” You asked the young prince.
“No, my lady. He seemed displeased. He wants you now.” Daeron lowered his voice. Just a moment ago, he witness Ormund lose his tempter yet again. It was a routine.
You rose to your feet and approached him. It seemed like Daeron was the one that needed you, not Ormund. You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It is okay to be scared, my sweet boy. Everything will be alright. I’m here and I will not let anything happen to you.”
“I can’t be scared . . . . Fear and war do not go together, Ormund says—” Daeron couldn’t get another word in since you stopped him.
You sighed through her nose. “And what do I say? Hm?” You took his hand into yours. “My sweet boy.” You pressed a gentle kiss on the back of his hand.
The prince hesitated. “You say different things.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “I should hope so. Else what use would this house have for me?”
He almost smiled. Almost.
“Listen to me well, Daeron,” His eyes lifted to meet yours. “There has never lived a man who did not know fear. Not Aegon the Conqueror. Not your grandsire or your father. Not even my exceedingly stubborn lord husband.”
Daeron blinked. “Lord Ormund?”
“Oh, especially Lord Ormund.” You nodded. “He hides it beneath enough pride to build another Hightower.”
His eyes widened. “You should not say such things. If he catches you saying—”
“And yet I have.”
Daeron frowned. “He would be angry.”
“He is often angry.” You nodded. Sad, but true. Daeron let out the tiniest bit of laughter. A small smile that brought you immense happiness. “There. That is better.”
Daeron stood tall. “He says laughter has little place before battle.”
You rolled your eyes at the words “Seven save me from Hightower wisdom,” you fixed a piece of hair that felt out of place on Daeron’s head. “Then your lord has forgotten he was once a boy.”
Daeron looked positively horrified.“My lady,”
“What?” You wondered.
“You mock him.”
You nod. “I do.”
“He is your husband. He commands me. He could command me not to come see you.”
You smiled then—softly, sadly. “And would you obey?”
Daeron frowned in genuine thought. “I . . .”
You squeeze his hand in yours. “You would.”
“I must.” He said defeatedly.
“You must.” You repeated his words.
“But . . .” Daeron continued.“I would not like it.”
You laughed quietly. “There speaks the honest prince,” His shoulders eased, if only a little. You cupped his face. “Look at me. There is no shame in fear. Lord Ormund believes fear is an enemy.” You shook your head. “I believe fear is a messenger.”
He frowned. “A messenger?”
“It reminds us that life is precious. That those we love may be lost. That what comes next matters. The brave man is not the one who feels nothing.”
Daeron looked at you confused. “What is he?”
“The one who walks forward despite trembling.” You answered.
His breathing slowed. “I do tremble. . . I fear Tessarion may fall.” He did not want that. “I fear…” His voice became scarcely more than a whisper. “I fear I shall disappoint Lord Ormund.”
You felt something tighten painfully in your chest. “Oh, my son.” The words escaped before you could stop them. “He has filled your head with impossible burdens.”
“He only wishes me to be worthy.” Daeron defended.
“You have always been worthy.”
He swallowed hard. “Even if I am afraid?”
“Especially then.” You replied. What has Ormund done to your sweet boy when you are not around?
His eyes glistened. He looked so terribly young, so terribly alone. Without another word, you opened your arms. Daeron stepped into them as naturally as breathing. You wrapped him close, one hand resting against the back of his head.
When he had first come to Oldtown, scarcely more than a babe, he had done the very same after nightmares. Some habits survived the years.
“Do you think my mother remembers my face?”
The question was muffled against your shoulder. You closed her eyes.
“Every mother remembers.”
He nodded against you.
“I wish . . .” His voice faltered. “I wish things had been different.”
“So do I.” You remained like that for a long while. At last you kissed his brow. You smiled faintly.
I can just see crewel having Crowley in a chokehold the next time he dares to withhold our allowance lolz at this point the teachers are gonna take on the responsibility of buying us stuff
R.i.p to Crowley
They already have. At some point they stopped trusting Crowley to give you your money. So they just started buying stuff for you.
Though that has it's own issues because Crewel and Trein both buy clothes for you but the two of them have very different styles they like on you so that leads to your closet being a mess.
The teachers and Sam also buy you and Grim proper groceries, making it abundantly clear that you don't have to pay them back. Though, they all have different ideas of what you both should and shouldn't be eating so while your fridge is full of food, it is often the oddest combination of food but you two don't complain because you're not really in the position to complain.
𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: You have no friends to speak with about your relationship drama, so you end up using the sweets you stress-baked to bribe the local vigilantes for advice.
𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: toxic unnamed boyfriend. not really any other warnings.
𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑠: gender neutral reader. red hood being a little too into gossip. reader is a stress-baker. offering sweets for advice. featured characters: batman, robin, red robin, red hood, nightwing. batman is kinda a cryptid creature in this. fluff.
𝑎/𝑛: I wrote this in one sitting, please forgive some spelling errors (if theres any) that I didn't catch.
♡ You come home the third time this week sniffling and fighting tears. Your current boyfriend kept making comments, all about how clingy you were, about how needy you were. He joked with his friends about you wanting to do something so laughable as watch a movie with him if he had the time. He didn't, not when he was spending time with his friends. It was always them instead of you.
♡ Eventually you catch wind of those comments, and once again you stress-bake a fridge full of sweets that you and your neighbors couldn't eat in a week.
♡ You go to the rooftop of your apartment building and watch the few stars that peeked through the Gotham smog, crying quietly into a bowl of home-made apple pie.
At first you don't notice it; a shuffle, a near silent shift of kevlar at the edge of the roof. It's easily drowned out by honking cars, the chattering night-owls in the street below, and the faint whistle of a cool Gotham breeze. It was so quiet the sound registered just under your own uneven breathing. You don't notice the noise, but you notice the movement; a large, dark silhouette inching forwards in your periphery.
Your head snaps in it's direction, eyes wide and watery. What you see is something you couldn't really describe, the sight so strange you questioned your own sanity. It was tall, rigid, cloaked in shadow with two glowing white eyes facing your direction, watching you. Atop it's head was pointed horns, or was it ears..? The figure is wide, broad, more than enough to block out the light of the moon as it steps a bit closer, slowly, cautiously.
Then, the sides of it shift, and out come clawed hands, palms facing towards you.
"It's dangerous to be on rooftops at night," It rumbles, it's deep, rough voice forcibly gentled at the edges.
You struggle to get your voice under control, shocked into silent stupidity by the sight. "What are you? Who are you?"
"A friend." It murmurs, stepping just close enough for you to tense, then lowering onto it's knees. You watch it for a moment, then slowly relax in increments.
"A friend." You parrot warily, setting your bowl of pie aside with a click of the fork on the bowl. Sniffling, you wipe your hand down your face, trying to compose yourself. The shadowy figure watches you without moving, eerily still and eerily focused. You didn't have many friends. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't be crying on a rooftop in a shitty apartment thinking about your equally shitty boyfriend. Maybe instead, you'd be talking to them instead of what seemed to be some sort of shadow demon you weren't really sure was even real.
"Why are you on the rooftop? Are you hurt?" The creature asks, what you think is its head shifting to scan you over. You feel it's attention on you, assumedly checking for injuries.
"No, no, it's just.." you sniffle, voice cracking at the edges as you're brought back to the situation that got you up here in the first place. "It's embarrassing."
"I won't tell."
You observe it for a moment, trying to judge the truth of it's statement. It's not exactly easy to discern truth from a silhouette of pure shadow with horns (ears?) and glowing white eyes, but you decide to take a risk. You had no-one else to talk to, anyway.
You look down to your apple pie, barely touched, and slide it in it's direction. "I'll give you my apple pie if you let me talk about my shitty boyfriend."
Slowly, it's clawed fingers grab the edge of the bowl and bring it into its lap. It doesn't eat, but accepts the offering, which prompted you to talk.
And then you spoke. You ranted about the last few months you spent with your boyfriend, about his jokes that felt more like insults, about the way he wanted to spend time with anyone but you. You ranted and the creature listened, silent and unnaturally still. Only once did you feel it's attention leave you, and it was only to look at the offering you slid its way. It eyed it like it was scanning it, judging it, then, slowly, it took a spoonful and raised it to what you assumed was it's head.
It hummed quietly and looked back at you. After that moment, it would slowly pick at the offered pie as you spoke.
You told it, laughing bitterly with a wavering tone, that you've now got a fridge full of sweets that both you and every neighbor in your apartment couldn't eat within a week. When you had nothing more to say, the creature slid the bowl back to you, partially eaten. It was silent for a few moments, then in a low, considerate tone it offered it's advice.
As you were considering it's words, it briefly raised up a clawed hand to it's head, where it pressed against pure shadow. Then, it slowly stood.
"I have to go."
You wilted but nodded. Hopefully, you asked "Do you have a name?"
"Batman," it said as it leapt from the side of your roof. Then, it was gone.
Three days pass, and you follow the creature, Batman's, advice. The argument that ensued with your boyfriend was vicious, filled with insults, and ended in you two going your separate ways. Now alone, you ended back up at the rooftop, staring sullenly at a bowl of ice cream you had yet to touch.
This time you hear it; a shuffle, a shift, and the faint crack of debris under a foot. You turn your head and see a man in a black and blue suit, a blue mask on his face and the same white eyes the creature from a few nights ago had.
"Are you one of the creatures friends?" You ask before you can stop yourself. The man laughs softly and sits in the same spot the creature did.
"I am, yeah. I heard you're offering sweets for advice? I've been going all over Gotham and I'm reaallll hungry." He boyishly grins, his black hair masking one side of his face as he tilts his head.
Immediately, you offer the ice cream. He takes it, eyes it for a moment in the same scanning way the creature did, then plants a spoonful into his mouth. He hums immediately, murmuring a compliment.
Then you complain about the breakup, the rude things your boyfriend said, ranting about how dare he and why would he, your hands moving as you spoke.
The man nods along, shamelessly mauling your ice-cream and offering choice words of agreement and shock at the proper times. Just like with Batman, he waits until you're finished to offer his opinion. Where Batman's advice was detached, rational, and kept short and effective, the man seemed to treat it more like a gossip session at girls night. He licked ice-cream from his lips as he described possible reasons for your boyfriend's behavior, empathizing with your plight, and appealing to your emotions while reminding you to stay rational. Conversation with him came much easier than conversation with Batman, who preferred to study you more often than not, and you spent a considerable amount of time chatting even after he finished his ice cream.
But, same as Batman he eventually raised his finger to his ear, listened, then made for the edge of the roof. He left, but not before introducing himself. Nightwing.
The third time you went to your roof with sweets in hand, you didn't really have a reason. Your boyfriend problems were thoroughly sorted by Batman, your messy breakup processed and validated by Nightwing, and now you were just.. lonely. So, you went to the roof with a plate of cream filled doughnuts, eating some yourself while you waited to possibly share conversation with the strange creatures that showed up for sweets and to listen to your life drama.
A thud behind you drew your attention to a figure that was around the same size as Batman, but wearing a red mask with the same glowing white eyes as the others. He cut an intimidating figure, and you found yourself hesitating for a moment.
"I could use a break. You're that person with the sweets, right?" His rough voice growled, his head turning just enough for you to be able to guess that he was looking from you to the doughnuts half hidden behind you.
"You're one of the creatures? Er - - Batman's?" You question, beginning to relax.
The man snorted at your description as he shook his head. "Not one of his. Heard some talk about snacks 'for a price'. I'm hungry, I'm tired, and those -" he points to the doughnuts. "smell really fucking good. Whats the price?"
"Gotta listen to my problems," you reply, grabbing ahold of a doughnut and holding it out in his direction.
"So I have to deal with you whining for some food?" He huffs, but from the way his posture shifts he was intrigued by the offer.
You wiggle the doughnut temptingly.
It doesn't take long for him to lose his resolve. "God damn it, fine," he huffs, stepping forwards and snatching it out of your hands. His mask hisses and clicks as he pulls it off, revealing a similar mask on his face that Nightwing had the other night. He sinks his teeth into the doughnut and groans quietly. "Real fuckin' good. Alright, lay it on me," he says a bit too eagerly.
With the offered permission you launch into gossiping about anything and everything you could think of. The workplace drama that was going on, the way Samantha a few blocks down tripped and lost her wig (which is gifted a stifled chuckle by the man), the way the gas station on the end of the block sold the worst hotdogs you've ever put in your mouth. The man gets more and more enraptured as you go on, going from silent listening to offering grunts of agreement, then beginning to offer comments and quiet laughs. Conversation isn't as easy as it was with Nightwing, but the man was pleasant enough to speak to and ate through your doughnuts like a buff trash compactor.
After a while there's a lull in the conversation, and you find yourself standing up. "Wait a second, I have some more for you,"
"Good god, I can't eat anymore, I'm about to puke," he groans, but doesn't stop you as you make your way to the fire escape.
"Just wait there! I have a fridge full of this shit!" You call over your shoulder with a laugh.
Thats how you send the man off with a bag of sweets. Strawberry shortcake, brownies, cookies... all which he takes with a sigh and much less complaints than what you both felt like he should be doing. He introduces himself as he leaves, tying your bag to his belt and jumping off the edge. Red Hood.
Two days later you come home just as a white-eyed man enters through your window. When his face turns in your direction, he freezes like a kid caught in the cookie-jar, what you assume is his eyes meeting yours.
"You Batman's?" You say after a long, awkward moment.
"Yeah." He replies.
"Name?"
"Red Robin."
Another pause.
"You have sweets still? Red Hood gave me some a day ago and I've been craving more since."
You smile, and with a playful flourish gesture towards your kitchen. He comes through your window with just enough grace that said he'd done it many times before.
A few minutes later you're sitting on your couch, sharing cinnamon rolls with Red Robin who proceeds to ruthlessly psychoanalyze anyone you talk about for more than two minutes with disturbing accuracy. The first three times you pause, stunned, then confirm or deny his analysis with what knowledge you had on the situation. With each analysis you confirm to be correct he seems to grow more and more smug.
Red Robin eats a total of nine cinnamon rolls and apparently feels safe enough to take a nap on your couch, his head hanging off the arm as he quietly snores. You gently cover him with a soft throw blanket and sit beside him to watch a TV show on low volume. The company is nice, you feel the most content than you have in a long, long time.
Two hours pass of Red Robin sleeping on your couch when you see movement out of the corner of your eye. You look just in time to see a small figure emerge from the shadows near your kitchen, looking from you to Red Robin, where his lip curls up into a sneer.
"A disgusting display of laziness." He huffs, his voice high pitched and boyish. He walks forwards and grabs Red Robin by the hair, yanking him onto the floor with an impressive and yet mildly disturbing display of strength.
Both you and Red Robin shout your protests, but it's too late, the boy is already tugging Red Robin towards the window. Red Robin scrambles to his feet and escapes the boys grip but pitches out the window while murmuring about sleeping too long. He doesn't even give you a goodbye as he leaves you alone with the boy, who turns a boiling glare in your direction.
"You are distracting. You are ruining their diet with sweets."
You're quiet for a moment, shocked into stunned stupidity once more, and slowly tilt your head to the side.
"I .. uh.. I'm sorry."
The boy's quiet for a moment, then runs a hand down his masked face with the exhaustion of a man twice his age. "I'd say 'don't let it happen again', but I'm more than aware that if you didn't feed into their bad habits, they'd find someone else."
You're not quite sure what to say to that.
Nothing, except.. "Are you.. hungry?"
He scoffs in response, turning his nose up as if you were dirt beneath his feet. "I have no desire for your sweets."
Mentally you run through the contents of your fridge and pantry. He didn't want sweets, but what about fruits? "I have some yogurt and strawberries?" You offer.
The boy considers your statement, looking at you with the same disturbing, unflinching focus that Batman did. After a long pause, long enough that you began to squirm and second guess yourself, the boy murmurs "That would be satisfactory."
You nod and lead him to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at your dining table, which he sits in, as you make him some yogurt and cut up strawberries. He watches you make it without looking away once and takes it into his hands once you offer it, the yogurt and fruit put in a sealed container with an attached spoon for him to take with him.
His lips purse as he opens the container, scooping it and a cut up strawberry onto the spoon. He takes a small bite, then huffs. "It is edible."
You fight a smile.
"You're probably busy, right? You can take it with you," you offer, gesturing towards the window both he and Red Robin crawled through. He hums in agreement and makes for the exit, not stopping until he's half hanging out of it.
"I am told that it is good manners to thank you. So, thank you." He grumbles, then leaps from the window before you can respond.
Only then do you realize that your overstocked fridge was almost empty, and your lonely heart felt rather full.
a/n: hi!!! here is pt 2 of this little series i’ve got going. still need to figure out a name! anyway, enjoy!!
summary: somehow you ended up alone in space, grace and rocky want to know how.
pairing: platonic!
warnings: reader has glasses, death, sickness, kinda sad lol but it’s fiiiiine psh
as always, reblogs and constructive criticism is welcome! just don’t be a dick 🙏 love ya! gif is not mine :) not beta read, fuck it we ball
this is part two! read more parts here
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After the initial shock of Rocky, Grace and the alien quickly tell you their stories. Your heart hurts for the former teacher who wasn’t given a choice. But, you’re glad he has Rocky. You understand them both in a way, with your crew dying fairly early on into the trip like Rocky’s had.
“Can I ask how old you are?” Grace’s glasses hung from his chin rather than sitting properly on his face. He does that a lot, you note. His glasses sit everywhere but on the bridge of his nose, apparently.
“I’m 22. How old are you?” Your own glasses sit where they should. You don’t even know how he gets them to stay in that position.
“Oh, wow! You’re young! I’m 40.” The man’s eyebrows shoot up, his eyes widening. You’re practically a kid. How long have you been in space? What are you even doing in space? Where are you from? If only Rocky heard this. The poor guy had almost popped a metaphorical vessel at the prospect of Grace being in space. 40 is insanely young in Erid. If Rocky heard you were 22? Grace is pretty sure he’d spontaneously combust right on the spot. He had sent Rocky to check the course and see how long until they made it to Tau Ceti-E to see why it wasn’t dimming.
The furrowed brows and borderline haunted look on Grace’s face has you worried, “You okay?” You put a hand out with furrowed brows of your own, waving lightly in front of his face. He blinks harshly, shaking his head a little.
“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing in space? You shouldn’t be out here.” The man sat back down, running a hand through his hair. Rocky rolled back into the room.
“About 30 Earth days to planet.” His automated voice rang out as he settled next to Grace across the table from you.
The steam from the microwave noodles floated up, fogging your glasses slightly. You push the cup to the older man, “Will you please take a bite.” Your voice was timid, eyes looking everywhere but at the man in front of you. The shame of feeling childish burns up the back of your neck, but you really do not feel like dying after making it this far. You don’t have microwaves where you’re from. And if they are a thing where you’re from, you wouldn’t know. Your family wasn’t rich enough, and you were only with your arranged spouse for roughly 6 months before you went off to space, so if they had a microwave you had no clue.
Ryland chuckled, and grabbed the fork, “Sure. Not a problem, I promise we’ll be okay.” With that, he twirls the fork and scoops up a small chunk of noodles. After blowing on the food to cool it down, he swallows his bite. He pushes the styrofoam cup back towards you with a reassuring smile, “See? All good.”
“Thank you.” You quickly grab the cup and copy his movements, “The planet that isn’t dying, right Rocky?” Turning to the alien, you shove the bite in your mouth. The steam from the noodles should’ve been a dead giveaway of how hot they are, but you didn’t expect it to burn the roof of your mouth.
Before Rocky could reply, you yelped. Swallowing as quickly as possible, you turn to Grace, “Ow! They’re hot! What the hell?”
He bursts out laughing, holding his tummy, “Well, yeah. What did you think, they were gonna be cold? I literally just got done explaining what a microwave is to you!”
“And I literally just got done telling you I haven’t had noodles since I was a child! I forgot they’re hot!” Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. “And, to be fair. I stopped listening to your weird science talk after you mentioned something about magnetrons. Sorry.”
Rocky lets out a few, what you assume are, amused trills, “New friend funny and right! Grace weeeeeeird.”
“Dude,” Grace pipes up, an incredulous look on his face, “What the heck?” He looks from his friend to you.
“Why are you looking at me? I didn’t say it. Anyway, to answer your question, why I’m here is a long and kind of boring story.” You take another bite, being sure to blow on the noodles before stuffing them in your mouth.
Grace and Rocky both turn back to you, curiosity taking over their entire beings. “We want to hear,” Rocky’s automated voice rings out.
“We have all the time in the universe. It’s not like we’ve got anywhere to be,” Grace jokes, a small smile taking over his lips.
You smile back, and swallow the noodles. A small sigh escapes you as you adjust to get more comfortable on the chair you’re sitting on, “Okay. I’m from a planet called Zorthan. I’m not quite sure how far it is from where we are, wherever we are. I know you guys didn’t really have a choice in being out here, but I volunteered when I was 16.”
A shrill note piercing the air cuts you off. The high pitch makes you cover your ears in attempt to muffle it.
“What?! How old now, question? Why want go in space, question? You were pebble! Why they let pebble go in space?!” To say Rocky is pissed is an understatment. He is actively losing his mind. And, if you knew this would’ve been his reaction you would’ve cleared the air sooner.
“Woah, woah! Calm down, buddy. Let them explain. Sorry, in Eridian culture, I’m even young. Their life spans are significantly longer than mine, and probably yours.” The apologetic man cuts in, trying to placate the distressed creature in front of you.
“Oh wow. Um, okay. Well, in my culture, when you turn 16 you become an adu-”
This time it’s Grace that cuts you off, “16?! No, no, no. You were just a kid!” The distress is just as apparent in his tone as it was in Rocky’s.
“Are you two going to let me explain why I’m alone in space, or are you going to keep interrupting me?” You lift an eyebrow and narrow your eyes in questioning, another bite of noodles on your fork.
“Right, sorry. Continue,” Grace cleared his throat, lifting a hand to urge you to keep on with your story.
“Thank you. As I was saying, I volunteered because I hated my marriage, and the crew needed a medic. Thankfully for me, and them, I just so happen to be one. I worked at a small clinic back home, but most times I would be called in to treat the Elites. I didn’t enjoy the work, but it paid, you know? I’d much rather be back in the clinic, helping people who really needed it, even if it had to be free treatment. I was actually treating an Elite the day I heard about the trip. Something about needing to go to a neighboring solar system to see if a planet had some resources we were running low on. About a year into the trip, the rest of the crew got really sick. At first, I couldn’t figure it out. They were so sick. I ran every test I could think of, but they were dying so quick. We went from 7 crew members, to 3 in the span of four days. And then it was just me the next day. I remember asking on the second day, when almost all of them were in my med bay if they’d eaten anything. They just told me it was mushrooms, something to get them high that the captain had given them. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.” You pause to eat some more noodles, they’ve grown colder, but you really don’t mind. Less chance to burn your tongue.
You weren’t close with the rest of the crew. You were a last minute addition, and you were significantly younger than most there. On top of that, they all knew each other. In their eyes, you were an outsider. Only on board for their convenience. Grace nods for you to continue.
“Anyway, they couldn’t tell me what mushrooms they had ingested, and I couldn’t help them.” You try to shrug it off with a tight lipped smile, but the lump in your throat and shiny eyes gives away exactly how you feel. Hearing you talk about being a medic back home, Grace and Rocky can tell you take great pride in being able to help people who need it. Medically, or not. You give off nurturing vibes. “I obviously do not know how to operate a ship, or do a lot of science that doesn’t relate to anatomy or medicine, and I’m not an engineer. So, I was kinda just stuck for a while, floating around until I taught myself to fly. I know autopilot was on for a while before I figured it out. Eventually I just ran out of fuel. It was lonely. About a year of being alone, I was digging through old supplies when I found a small clear bag. It had mushrooms in it. They took Velvet Spore. Idiots.”
“What is Velvet Spore, question?” Rocky tilts his carapace in confusion, Grace’s head following the movement.
“It’s a dark purple fungus that has a large cap. It was used in the apothecaries back home during the ancient times. They believed it helped with sleep, pain relief, and stress. It has to be prepared to perfection, or it’s highly toxic. We don’t use it anymore, and you’re highly looked down on if you do use it. But, if you take a small enough dose, you can get high. And I mean crazy high! You start seeing and hearing shit. I really don’t recommend that though. Even the slightest bit too much and you’ll experience nausea, vomiting, dizziness, and abdominal pain as just the first stage. After that, you lose motor coordination, experience extreme confusion, and amnesia. The next symptoms are agitation, hallucinations, and respiratory issues. And lastly, blood leaking from orifices, a coma, and eventually death. It’s a terrible way to die, and there’s really nothing to be done about it once ingested.” Your eyes are glued to the table.
“I didn’t grow up in the capital, so even if they explained to me what the mushrooms looked like, I wouldn’t have been able to help. We didn’t really have access to foliage like that. But my crew did live in the capital, they should’ve known better. I was alone for 5 years before you guys found me. I thought I was going to die alone. I didn’t have much food left when I was found. You guys saved me, so thank you.” Tears fell down your cheeks slowly, making small tracks on your skin. Your arms came to wrap around your midsection in a self-soothing hug.
5 years spent alone. You had come to accept your fate of dying alone in outerspace. You despise your former crew for doing that to you. Your family wasn’t wealthy growing up, and your parents’ love was conditional. There was no hugging, no “I’m so proud of you”, or “I love you”s. You became used to being alone. You learned to take care of yourself, but you craved the praise and love from your family. Mistakes meant punishment. You tried to avoid making mistakes.
So, to combat the loneliness and fear of disappointment, you became a medic. If no one was going to hold you gently, you’d hold others. Once word got around of how good of a medic you were, the Elites came to you. They sought out care for minor injuries. In reality, they just wanted someone to push around and beat when they became frustrated and angry. And no one cared if it was someone from the slums, no one would notice. The need for money and approval from your parents kept you from saying no when they called you again and again. Your heart yearned to continue to help your people. The bruises hurt, but the lack of real care and help going to others hurt you more.
Grace caught on to the action. He’s done it himself many times. Rocky can’t actually hug him back, so on particularly hard days, Grace would attempt to hold himself to get rid of the ugly lonliness he felt. “Do you.. Do you want a hug?” The man raises his arms as if to pull you into a hug with his mind.
Instead of verbally answering, you throw yourself into his arms.
“Oof- okay. Hey, I’ve got you. You’re okay, I promise. You have me and Rocky now.” His arms wrap around you, one on your back, the other going to the back of your head to smooth down your damp hair. The mandated reporter inside him screaming to help you in any way he can. “You are more than welcome to stay with us, okay?” You tuck your head to his chest, nodding along with him and squeezing him back.
A gentle thump into your leg has you peeking down, “Rocky and Grace like new friend. Friend help save Earth and Erid. We do biiiiig science.” One of his claws reach out to flatten against the ball, almost as if to touch you in a reassuring manner.
“Thanks, Rocky. I don’t know much about science, but I’ll do my best.” A sniffle leaves your nose before you let out a small wet laugh.
“That’s more than enough for us. Why don’t we get a bed set up for you, and we can get some sleep. How’s that sound?” Grace runs his hand up and down your back before pulling away to catch your eye.
“That sounds great, thank you guys.” You smile and wipe your face free of tears.
Grace guides you to the dormitory with a hand on your shoulder, Rocky follows shortly behind.
“Yes! Grace and Friend sleep. Rocky watch. Make sure sleep good!” Rocky’s voice is full of pride, and if you were to look back, you’d see him puff his chest out.
“What do you mean, watch?” Your voice trails back to the Eridian.
“Must make sure friends are safe when sleep. Statement.”
“Right.. That helped clear that up. Is there something dangerous on the ship I need to be worried about?” The concern in your voice was faint, but Grace picked up on it.
“Eridians are practically paralyzed when they sleep. They don’t sleep as often as we do, but they sleep for longer periods of time. It’s custom to have at least one other being awake while everyone else sleeps in case there is danger.” Grace explains as your round the corner.
“Ohhh. Okay! So you watch him sleep and he watches you. I think that’s cute!” A little laugh is let out as you picture the sleeping arrangements.
“You sleep alone, question? All that time?” Rocky directs his question to you, sounding a little sad.
“Yeah. I did, but that’s okay! I have you guys to watch over me now. So, everything is okay.” You turn to smile at Rocky.
“You are pebble. Must always watch pebble.” The space arachnid stomps his little foot down, and if you were to guess, that was his version of huffing out.
“I think we need to talk about age, buddy. I’m a whole ass adult.” You quirk an eyebrow in protest to being called a child and let out a yawn.
Would you write a platonic fanfic, where the reader is the daughter of Baelor or Maekar, focusing on fluffy moments between the family? I'd love to be embraced and treated like a beloved daughter by any of them; that would honestly solve all my problems fr. (But if you want to add a bit of angst, because all the Targaryen family relationships are dysfunctional in one way or another, that would be even better 😁)
Usually I don't write platonic fics bc your girl has issues and processes them thru fanfic (let's not talk abt it...) but I wanted to write something cute and fluffy and pretending the Targs can be semi-normal is a fun activity for me!
Anyway, I decided to do both Baelor daughter and Maekar daughter and write a bunch of cute little scenes! I hope you like itttt!
Baelor's Daughter!reader
5-6 Years Old
"Stop teasing!" You yelled, your voice small and upset as you glared at Valarr. He was in a mischievous mood this morning, not much older than you but still knowing that that gap of age allowed him authority over you.
The maids had done your hair in two braids, and moments ago you had been prancing around, swinging them about happily and loving the feeling. That was until Valarr, on a break from his studies, had found you and begun to laugh, running behind you and pulling on your braids saying they resembled horse's reigns.
"It's only a joke! Do not get so upset," he scoffed, tugging on one again, as if trying to get you more upset. You screamed a little behind clenched teeth in frustration, shoving at Valarr's chest. He began to glare then, readying to shove you in return when there was a click of the tongue and suddenly you were being hoisted into the air with a little "ee!".
"What has happened to my little ones to cause such animosity?" And it was your father, a little smile on his face as he gripped you against his hip, looking between you and your brother. You were pouting, aggressively so, and Valarr was glaring, though his head bowed a little in shame when Baelor raised an eyebrow at him.
"He was pulling on my braids and saying I was like a horse!" You yelled, hand clenching in the tunic at Baelor's chest. "Father, admonish him!" You pointed at Valarr, a smug little smile on your face, knowing that Valarr would get in trouble.
Baelor turned the raised eyebrow on you now, watching you shy away a little.
"We do not wish admonishment for others. We must be kind, and hope others learn better." His voice was soft as he gently smoothed your braids along your back, smiling at you as you chewed on your lip and nodded.
"And we do not use what power we have to belittle others. If she does not like to have her braids pulled, then do not continue doing so simply because you know you can. We are kind and loving, always." This was aimed at Valarr, voice firm but still loving. Always loving with his children. "Do you both understand?"
"Yes, Father," a sad little chorus, and Baelor just chuckled a little, getting down on his knees so Valarr could come and cuddle up on his other side. He kissed the top of the boy's head, then yours, holding you tight and sighing slow and contented.
+++
14-16 Years Old
You sniffled softly, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your thumb, berating yourself for crying. Your eyes clenched shut, and the sobs were difficult to swallow. None of it ceased. You pressed your fingers to your eyes for a moment, but when you pulled away, they were wet with tears and even more spilled over your cheeks.
"What is the meaning of this?" Uncle Maekar, striding swiftly over to you from down the hall. You had sequestered yourself in an alcove, hoping no one would come down this way, hoping that if they did, they would not notice you.
You looked up, blinking rapidly as your eyes widened. He stopped just in front of you, his frown deep and glaring. He looked as if he was angry at you.
"Who has caused this? Who has hurt you?" His words were low, deathly serious, firm, as if he had just been told to return to fight in the rebellion. It took you a moment to process what he had said. You frowned, shaking your head and wiping at your cheeks again.
"What? No, no one has hurt me," you answered quickly, voice tired and clogged, shaking your head.
'Well, something has happened to cause this, and I will make it right," he responded firmly again, mouth pressing into a hard line as he watched you shake your head. You were quiet for a moment, just shaking your head as if it was all you could do to keep a handle on yourself.
"I do not wish to speak about it," you broke out as the tears and pain descended again, your mouth quivering.
Maekar did not say anything, just watched you with that ever-present frown. Then, slowly, he raised his arms, the space between you open. You stared at him, mouth dropping open in disbelief, a rare show of warmth. He looked uncomfortable, grimacing a little.
You did not take it for granted, and threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his torso and beginning to sob against his chest. He wrapped his arms over your shoulders and back, holding you close and tight as he shushed you gently at the top of your head.
+++
20+ Years Old
Baelor had tears in his eyes. Real, shining, tears as he looked at you beaming in the mirror. Your dress was beautiful, a perfect representation of you, and you looked perfect. Perfect.
He walked in quietly, coming to stand beside you as you adjusted the veil on your head a little. You met eyes in the mirror, your own filling with tears at the sight of his proud smile and trembling lips.
"Father..." you whispered, watching as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and bent his neck to rest the side of his head on top of yours. You let out a shaky breath, the pressure in your chest and throat rendering you speechless. Both of you shook, little laughs leaving you, water-logged and breathless.
"I remember when you were a little babe," he told you softly, caressing your arm. "You were a wriggly little thing, so restless." You laughed a little, wrapping your arm around him in return, resting more of your weight against him. "But in the evenings, when the maids put you to bed, I would come in, and cradle you for a long while. Just you and I, strolling about your room, sitting in your chair, hushed and quiet and at rest." A little sob left you, your eyes squeezing shut. "Look at you now, my beautiful girl," he whispered, holding you tight as his tears spilled out.
"Father..." you turned and hugged him, trembling in his grasp, holding on like you would never let go again. He kissed the top of your head, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
You would always be his little girl, even if you were a woman grown...
...
Valarr beamed at you as you stood at the door to the Sept, taking deep breaths in, waiting for the moment to walk in. He came over and hugged you tightly, shaking you a little as he laughed loudly by your ear.
"Look at you, sister! I never thought I would see you as anything other than a muddy little gremlin!" You scoffed loudly, shoving him at the chest as he leaned in and pressed an obnoxious kiss to the top of your head.
"I am proud of you," he told you softly, holding onto you for a moment longer, sighing. "And I hope you find all the happiness there is to find and more."
You teared up again (really, you had never stopped crying), and you hugged him back, sniffling against his chest. But he did not let you dwell long, pulling back and taking a deep breath in, blinking the tears in his eyes away as he led you closer to the door.
"Come now, you cry too often anyway!"
Maekar's Daughter!reader
5-6 Years Old
"HEHEHE FATHER STOP!" You were squealing, giggling, squirming as Maekar tickled your sides, laughing heartily as you tried to wriggle from his grip. You were thrashing, out of breath, laughing far too loud. Your father had the brightest smile on his face, hearty chuckles falling from his lips as he finally stopped.
You sucked deep breaths in, turning to fake glare at him as he scooped you up into his arms and held you at his waist, your hands coming to hold his shoulder and clench into the doublet at his chest.
"That is your punishment for being a cheeky little bugger," he said, fake stern as he threatened to tickle you again.
"No!" You squirmed in his grip, but he just held you firmly and ceased his threats, chuckling again.
You smiled brightly then, looking at him with all the admiration in the world. If someone asked, you would tell them that your father hung the stars in the sky just for you. You leaned in and kissed his cheek, a loud peck.
"Will you forgive me now?" You asked innocently, wrapping your arms around his neck. He smiled warmly, his heart pulsing with love.
"You must give me three more before I will even consider it," he negotiated, his voice all low and grumbly again. You giggled, nodding enthusiastically, then placed one obnoxious kiss on each cheek and his forehead too.
"Now will you forgive me?" You asked, nuzzling his nose with your own.
"Fine," he sighed, groaning as if it was far too difficult a thought. "You are forgiven."
"Hehehe, yay!" You lay your head on his shoulder with a soft, tired, sigh as he swayed with you in his arms. You reached out with your little palm to touch his beard, running your fingers over it and just feeling it for a moment. Then, in a quiet voice, you said, "but it really is getting too long. You look like grandsire," your voice a little mumble, and he groaned again before putting you down and beginning to tickle you relentlessly, relishing in your laughter...
+++
15-17 Years Old
You stood back, quiet and watchful. The arguing had been loud, the berating relentless. First it had been Daeron, drunk again, the object of your father's ire. Then Aerion, sticking his nose where he should not have and bearing another wave of anger. You had simply stood back, not wishing to be involved in any of it.
You watched your father, his frown deep, his anger palpable. You watched him glare at Daeron, watched his face contort with disgust in Aerion's direction, and you felt a pang of sadness hit you squarely in the chest.
Little Egg, small and sweet, hid behind Maekar's legs, clutching at the trousers there, and your father, despite his anger, ran a hand over his head, allowing him to stay there, and you swallowed harshly, the tears burning in your eyes.
You had been that child once, the one he favoured and loved and cared for. You had been the one sheltering with him, the one he gave his love to, the one he smiled at. Had you seen your father smile recently? Had you spoken to him past pleasantries at dinner since your thirteenth name day? You could not be sure. How had things changed so? If only you ad not grown...
You stared harshly at the image, at Egg hiding his face and your father, rigid and stoic. You swallowed around the lump in your throat, clenching your hands behind your back. You were standing to the side of the room, near the end table with the wine and ale. You would stay there, unseen, and burning with venom, because that was your place now. A mere ornament.
+++
20+ Years Old
"Oh shut the fuck up, Aerion," you groaned, rolling your eyes as you slumped into a chair by the hearth.
"Why do you not follow your own advice, hm, sister?" He spat back from where he stood at the end table, annoyed that he had to pour his own wine because you had sent the attendants away.
"Come here and refill mine as well," Daeron called from the other chair, just a few paces to your left, his voice slurred and slow.
"You have had enough," you grumbled in his direction, trying to snatch his cup from him. He still had enough sense to move it out of your reach quickly.
"What I have had enough of is your pathetic arguing," he responded, raising his eyebrows and looking between you and Aerion. You simply glared as Aerion scoffed.
"Go back to your cups, you're far more useful to us inebriated and unaware," Aerion dismissed, and you just scoffed, lifting up in the chair to see over the back and glare at your brother.
"Do you ever get tired of being such an annoying little shit?" You asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him. "Leave Daeron alone, for we all well know that you are just as much of a drunkard as him. The only thing differentiating you is that you wait for father to be out of the way before you engage."
Egg, sitting on the carpet with Daella and Rhae on the other side of the room, smirked and hid his laugh, pretending to sand his training sword.
"You do not need to defend me, dear sister," Daeron smirked in your direction then raised to look over the back of his chair as well. "I never take anything Aerion says seriously. He is just a little boy, still playing at dragons."
"I am not a little fucking boy," Aerion gritted out, hands clenching on the handle of the jug as he set it down with a harsh thud. "We are the house of the dragon. It is in our blood." You smiled at that, sensing the opportunity to pounce.
"Hm, I do not know if you have noticed as well Daeron, but I never seem to spot dragons in the skies. Have you seen any?"
"No, dear sister, I cannot recall any of recent times," he murmured, trying to lick out the last drips of wine from the cup. He knew Aerion would not be bringing the jug to him...
"Hm, yes, yes, you see." Then you dropped the pretence and turned to glare at Aerion again. "There are no more fucking dragons Aerion. We may be the house of the dragon, but it is in nothing more than name. Get ahold of yourself," you scoffed, looking at him with disgust as he vibrated with his rage.
"You simply do not believe," he huffed, rolling his eyes and bringing his cup to his mouth, taking a long drink from it.
Daeron stood shakily from his seat, making his way over to Aerion to grab the jug, but the boy was feeling petty, holding it away from his brother.
"Give it here Aerion, I can still fight you, even if drunk," Daeron sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head a little.
"Take it from me then, Drunkard," your brother smirked, and you just shook your head, feeling your own ire build at their antics.
Daeron lunged for it, but Aerion moved it away just in time. Daeron reached again, and again, Aerion dodged. The third time though, Daeron faked a lunge on the other side then reached over and grabbed for the jug. His hand hit the bottom of it, tipping it back on itself and all over Aerion.
You gasped, hand slamming over your mouth as your eyes went wide and a giggle built in your throat. Aerion was drenched. Daeron had been splashed as well, dripping all down his tunic. You gripped the back of the seat you now kneeled on, staring between them as they glared at each other.
You dissolved into giggles, almost falling back off the seat. Your chest hurt from how hard you laughed, your loud guffaws echoing around the room. Daeron's glare eased as he watched you, a small huff of a chuckle coming out of him, and though Aerion was still full of anger and steam, even he could not help but crack a little smirk as he watched you almost slip off the chair and onto the floor.
It was only then that your father burst into the room, looking around with a glare. "What the fuck is going on here?"
Hey! I’m requesting a platonic Batfam one-shot with a m!reader, whose inspired by Luffy from One piece?
Who instead of wanting to be the best pirate, he just wants to be a hero? So he tries to make everyone and I mean everyone join his superhero team? 😭😭
Like he even askes Gotham rouges as well.
And the Batfam are just tired of him. So it’s like a chaotic M!reader situation LMAO
CAPTAIN NAME OF THE STRAWHATS !
Summary: Name is determined to become the ‘king’ of superheroes!…much to the horror of the bat family who have never been more stressed in their lives.
Warnings: swearing//Been a while since I watched One piece so it may be inaccurate Luffy portrayal//No Gum-Gum Powers//no use of Y/n//use of ‘Name’ instead.
Reader: Male! Luffy Inspired! Reader
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊
The day Bruce Wayne found out he had yet another son, he thought maybe just maybe this one would be normal. That this one would just prefer to be a civilian. That this one would have the life Bruce always wanted for his children. But of course, life wasn’t that easy on him because Bruce was cursed (blessed) with a son that would put an end to his life.
His son was fucking insane.
Monkey D. Name had a peculiar personality. He hadn’t seemed like a huge problem when he was first introduced to the family, Bruce would even go as far to say that Name was completely average but after the young boy seemed to grow comfortable, then came the ‘real’ him.
“Hey Dick! Look at me!!”
Dick let out a horrified scream as he watched the newest member of the family hang himself from an apartment complex roof top in blüdhaven. Name only burst out in crazed laughter at Dick’s reaction.
“Name! Get down from there! You’re gonna get seriously hurt!” Dick panicked, spreading out his arms to him.
His jaw dropped further when Name simply replied, “Nightwing will save me! Shishishi”
Another moment that could be remembered was when Name had figured out the families nightly activities.
“And not only that but Harley seems to be active again…” Tim muttered to himself, he was going through the latest Gotham news in the batcave.
He ignored the sounds of someone running down the staircases, thinking that it was probably just one of the others rushing ahead. He also ignored the sounds of the Batmobile engine revving.
“Bye Timothy!!” He heard Name shout before the Batmobile left, Tim replied with a tired hum.
“Yeah..yeah bye name.”
…
He paused.
Tim slowly turned around.
‘Holy fucking shit.’
“NO NAME COME BACK!” Tim had never rushed out the batcave as fast as he had then.
His erratic behaviour wasn’t the only problem. It was Name’s search for power that led to early gray hairs.
After finding out that his family were superheroes, Name had suddenly decided that he wanted to follow in their footsteps.
By becoming the king of superheroes.
Or whatever that meant.
Name had spoken fondly about wanting to start his own superhero identity and his own team, which Bruce maybe would’ve approved of if his son didn’t ask everyone to join it.
“Join my crew.”
John Constantine blinked.
“What??”
“I’m making a superhero team. You’re strong and also you’re British which means you must be related to the queen. I need you.” Name said seriously. His eyes squinting as he thought to himself.
Jason could only drag his younger brother away silently with an awkward look, ignoring the offended expression on Constantine.
Name continued to ask various superheroes. Here was a short list Cassandra had made after the first ten.
Super man (he liked the red on his suit)
Wonder Woman (“powerful” — NAME)
Flash (needed a speedy person)
Zatanna (she fought him willingly)
Batman (he just wanted to include his dad)
Various Green Lanterns (just because)
Star fire (loves her unwavering loyalty)
Arsenal (views him as a misfit — he likes it)
Beast boy (got along with him the best)
Booster gold (wants to know his own future)
And it did not just stop at heroes.
Because after failing to recruit them, Name turned his attention onto villains. (Well he wouldn’t exactly call them that.)
“Name..stop!” Stephanie tugged at Name’s ‘uniform’. The two stood in front of Arkham Asylum, thunder dramatically cracked in the cloudy skies.
“C’mon Steph, you promised you’d help me..”
“Well I didn’t know that ‘helping’ you meant trying to recruit Riddle of all people! What about poison Ivy?”
Name sighed dejectedly, “she already declined..”
“YOU ASKED HER?!”
The family had tried multiple times to have an intervention with Name but the boy always seemed to disappear, which either meant he was hiding or he had already escaped using the Batmobile.
So no matter how hard they tried, Name was not going to give up his dream. No matter how difficult it was.
Which led them to the present.
“NAME! stay away from him!” Damian screeched from the top of the roof, worry plastered all over his face as he watched his—slightly psychotic—older brother approach Scarecrow.
The older male seemed to ignore the younger, humming out a small tune as he marched towards the villain of the day. Name wore his precious red red vest which he had always insisted was clean, along paired with some ridiculous straw hat that looked like it was on its last limbs. His smile was the most disturbing bit. It never seemed to dim.
Scarecrow, who had been terrorising Gotham, stopped and stared at the fifteen year old. Eyebrows twitching as the child simply walked past the fear gas, as if it didn’t harm him.
“What the hell is he doing?!” Duke asked loudly through the intercom.
“B, He’s doing it again.” A voice sighed tiredly.
“Robin. Stop him.”
At the command, Damian snapped out of his shock and immediately ran into action. Jumping down from his position and rushing towards Name.
“Hey!” Name called out, a bright sparkle in his eyes. “Join my team!”
“..what?” Scarecrow lowered his weapon, tilting his head to the side. This kid was so werid..
“I said join my—“
“NO!”
Name let out a pig-ish squeal as Damian tugged him backwards, choking him in the process. The young teen growled under his breath, tightly fisting Name’s now wrinkled red vest.
Grating sounds echoed in the silence as the two began battling it out on the gravel, pieces of clothing tearing itself apart.
“Robin! Let me go!”
Damian hissed as he felt sharp teeth sink into his forearm, “you pathetic idiot! I’m trying to save you!”
Now, Scarecrow would’ve been more shocked if he hadn’t already been told about the…boys' strange ways. The insanity of Bruce Wayne’s new son was a hot topic around the Gotham rouges, many admired his persistence whilst others criticised him.
So as any other villain did. Scarecrow left because if he didn’t, that name kid definitely would’ve forced him to join.
“ROBIN HE’S LEAVING BECAUSE OF YOU!!”
“YOU’RE GROUNDED!”
“YOU CAN’T GROUND ME! I’M OLDER THAN YOU”
“Should we stop them?” Barbara asked softly, she was watching the two teens wrestle aggressively through a camera she had hacked into.
“You really want to get between that?”
Barbara paused, “…yeah you’re right.”
So the tired bat family watched as the two youngest made fools of themselves out in the streets of Gotham.
