finished in

dellvanity  asked:

Imagine selective mutism link that only talks to people he's extremely close to and the first time Sidon hears him talk is after the battle in the domain when Sidon is bandaging Link up and he says "thanks"

good idea

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I need you to tell me everything you know about Magnus Bane.
Magnus Bane is the High Warlock of Brooklyn.

Learning to Ride

A while back @audreycritter and I were talking about Jason and bike riding which bloomed the idea for this story. Thanks so much Audrey for all your help getting me through this. : ) 

Words: 5,200

Rating: Gen

Summary:  Bruce was going to teach Jason how to ride a bike, but he’d died before they’d gotten to try. When Jason finds his bike in the attic Bruce decides it’s maybe time to try again.

Warnings: None

AO3 Link

~

Jason couldn’t remember why he’d gone up to the attic. There’d been a reason, he was sure, but whatever it had been was lost on him the moment he laid eyes on the bike. Unlike most everything else in the dimly lit space it was pristine. Not a speck of dust or dirt rested on it. The paint was as fresh and red as the day Jason had picked it out at the store. The tires were full and the chain looked brand new.

He reached out and touched his hand to the rubber grips on the handles, brushing his fingers over the rough edges of one of the bike’s only imperfections. The rubber was scuffed just so on the handle from where it had hit the concrete. If he reached down, he’d find a matching scruff on the hard plastic of the pedal. He’d been supposed to go out with Bruce to ride it. Instead he’d been late, caught up at a meeting. What it was for Jason couldn’t remember, he hadn’t cared enough at the time, only that it had ruined a promise. He’d wanted to show Bruce, show him what he’d missed out on, by learning himself.

He’d found out quickly that the bike was a bit too big for him, just like Bruce had warned him, and the weight of it had been too much. Too much to attempt riding, especially when he didn’t know how. Except he’d been so angry. So, he’d acted out, wanting to stir an emotion from Bruce, even if it wasn’t the one he actually needed. All he’d gotten for it was a scraped knee and a scuffed bike.

He had the distinct memory of shoving the bike against the brick of the shed he was supposed to keep it in and stomping inside. He’d blown past a worried Alfred and disheveled Bruce, just come back from his meeting, only half an hour late for their promised time.

He’d seethed with self loathing for the rest of the night. At falling. At scratching his new bike. At himself for not waiting for Bruce. He couldn’t get Bruce’s confused look out of his head, or his words twinged with hurt. He’d promised. He’d left early. He’d even come back. If only Jason had waited. There was still a faint scar on his knee from the accident. A little white line as a reminder of how impatience and hotheadedness could mess up something good.

“There you are, do you need some help finding the box?” Bruce’s voice, jarring in the way it was so normal, erased the lingering tones of hurt Jason had almost been able to hear moments ago.

Jason turned to look at him, Bruce had noticed the bike. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I remember when I got that for you.”

It hit him again how dusty everything else was. How the room was filled with the disused, old, and forgotten. His hand fell from the handle like it had burned him. His mind went back to the memorial, always in sight, always ready to bring fresh the memory of his death. And his room, the first time he’d walked in it had been like a tomb. Frozen in time. Not a thing moved from where he’d left it, socks draped over his chair, a book half open on the bed. There hadn’t been a speck of dust to be found there either, it had even smelled clean. Like lemon, the bright scent a burning contrast to the dreary weight of memory. A room should never smell like lemon.

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