head-stones

My reason of how I cannot draw Mark fuckin’ Fischbach’s facial Region.

I cannot draw guys for shit, no matter how damn hard I fuckin’ try. This guy’s got the face of what many would depict as a greek god, or like a roman statue. He’s got a very defined facehole, with a jaw that could cut the string of life like in Hercules. He has a chiseled jaw that could decapitate a stone statue’s head, and it’s just… 

SO FUCKING HARD

@markiplier HOW DO YOU LIVE WITH A FACE THAT WAS CHISELED BY THE LORDS OF THE COSMOS

HOW DOES YOUR FACEHOLE DEFINE JUSTICE

HOW IS IT SO… DEFINED

WHAT IS YOUR FECKIN’ SECRETS

I NEED TO KNOW

FOR 18 YEARS, I’VE BEEN SHEDDING BLOOD, SWEAT, SOUL FLAKES, AND TEARS TO MAKE MY ART NOT JUST DETAILED TO THE T, BUT TO MAKE IT ABSOLUTELY PERFECT

YOUR FACEHOLE FRUSTRATES ME, MARK

THE ONLY THING KEEPING ME TO YOUR CHANNEL IS DICK JOKES AND MEMES

THIS IS HOW FAR I COME

TO BE BESTED YET PLEASED BY A MAN OF DIFFICULT FACIAL REGION GEOGRAPHY AND FEATURES

I’M GOING BACK TO DRAWING HOOTTUBES SHITTING STARS NOW

Casual reminder that in the books, ordinary wizard chess isn’t shown to involve any destruction of the pieces at all.

“Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle.”

Casual reminder that this means that when Ron Weasley battled and beat McGonagall’s giant chess set, he was dealing with stakes he had never witnessed before.

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, face down.

‘Had to let that happen,’ said Ron, looking shaken.” 

Casual reminder that not only did he win in this high-stake situation, Ron Weasley still let himself be taken by that same white queen to do so, even though this particular chess game was far, far bigger and more dangerous than any he had ever prepared himself for.  

“He stepped forward and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard around the head with her stone arm and he crashed to the floor - Hermione screamed but stayed on her square - the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he’d been knocked out.”

Casual reminder that Ron Weasley, even at the tender age of twelve, was intelligent, courageous, wise and goddamn awesome
3

Adder Stones (sometimes also called hag stones, witch stones, serpent’s eggs, snake’s eggs, Glain Neidr, Milpreve, adderstanes, Gloine nan Druid, aggry, or aggri) are stones, usually smooth or glassy, with a naturally occurring hole bored straight through it, typically from water erosion or natural damage.

That said, there are no shortage of stories claiming these stones have a more unnatural origin. One claims that they are formed from the hardened saliva of a great number of serpents, massed together, and the holes are from their tongues. Another claims the stones are actually the heads of snakes.

Adder stones feature prominently in Welsh mythology and Druidic culture. They were believed to have magical powers and thought to protect people from a gamut of problems, ranging from eye diseases, evil charms, nightmares, whooping cough, and snake bites. It was also believed that if you looked through the hole in an adder stone, you could see through the disguise of a fairy or witch.

Robb x Targaryen!Reader...

((I hope you all like! Might have gotten a little wordy! ALSO, anon, sorry I couldn’t find a way to add smut!))

Word Count: 2,218

Warning: None

He sat at the long table between his siblings and his mother. All six were true Starks, watching you with cold gazes that gave nothing away.

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Stick With Me, Kid *Negan Series*

Originally posted by grungedaddykinks

Summary: Negan finds a little girl, no more than ten, amongst a car wreckage, after finding out she’s alone in the world. He takes her as his own, raising her through the apocalypse. If there’s one thing that his greatest pride but also his biggest weakness, it’s his daughter, Y/N!
Ratings/ warnings: Teen, mentions of blood and violence. I feel like, Negan as a dad is a warning.
Writers Notes: This doesn’t really have a set plot, it will follow alongside season 6 & 7, I’m unsure if I’ll make it so Carl and reader have a thing. But… I got big feels seeing Negan and Judith.

Notes: I had this idea last year, I wrote a few parts and then forgot about it. Now here I am, uploading it because I miss writing Negan! - Rosalee


Chapter One: Everybody Dies {Reader 10yrs old}


You weren’t really sure what was happening. One moment you were in your home playing with your dolls, the next your mother is picking you up and buckling you in the car seat. This had happened before, her frantic behaviour, it scared you but you were used to how anxiousness she is now. She never let you outside anymore, even living in the new community of people, she never let you out of her sight.

You peeked out of the car window and caught glimpses of the people you knew running. You also saw people that you didn’t know, dirty and grimy, attacking your friends. You frowned and your curious young eyes trained on the events before you.

“Mum, what’s happening?” Your small voice calling out to the women who was speeding out of the gates, “mum? We have to go back and help!” You plead as she continues to ignore you.

You turn your head and look out of the back window, watching as the gates faded into the background and became no more as your turned a corner. Trees and forest edge being the only scenery.

“Mum what about dad?” You asked in a rush, “we can’t leave him? What about dad? Mum.”

Your eyes welling up as she turned her head looking at you, stone cold stare but fear in her blue eyes as she looked at you. “Y/N, be quiet okay? Dad… he… was bitten okay? You know I told you what happened to people who are bitten? Right?” She glanced back at the road before you as you nodded lightly. “We can’t go back! We’re never going back, it just you and-”

“-MUM!” You yelled and pointed to the road where a man staggered out of the forest edge.

You could only watch as your mum swerved the car to avoid hitting the man. The car skidding along the road and tipping over, barrel rolling and smacking into a tree, upside down. The impact caused you to hit your head and black out for a few minutes; unaware of the potential danger around you.

You blinked your eyes open, a light thumping happening in your head as your vision is blurry. The blood rushing to your head, fast, as you’re stuck upside down.

You hear a deep, gritted growling, sounding like a frustrated animal. You blink rapidly and see, what you assume, is the man from the road trying to crawl through the windshield. Up front he looked rotten, disgusting and a grey sort of colour. Bloodshot eyes, skin flaking from his hands that outstretched trying to grab you.

Your heart thumps in your chest, tears falling from your eyes and you begin to scream. Looking to the driver’s seat and your mum isn’t there, car door open but no sign of her; panic settles in as this… man gets closer.

Over your screams for your dad or mum, you don’t hear a van pull up or the steady feet of men get out. No, all you see is the crazy man get pulled away, black boots stand over him and one slams on his back. A single gunshot is fired making you flinch, whimpering into the silence as it goes straight through his head; stopping the man growls.

The same boots along with a few others walk around the car, you whimper as a pair stop beside your window. “Boss, I think there’s someone alive in the car?” A deep, gruff voice rings out.

“Well, pull them out and let me take a look at them! It’s not rocket-science, Simon.” A smooth, clear voice comes from behind the car.

You stare wide-eyed as a man’s face appears; black moustache and grey, wiry hair, deep confused brown eyes stare at you for a moment. He opens the door, the metal scraping against the floor and he leans in, you whimper and recoil away.

“I’m gonna undo the buckle, be ready for the drop,” he tells you before pressing the buckles button and that sends you falling to the roof.

It doesn’t hurt just a little sudden, you look finally able to see him the right way up and he just gestures for you to crawl out to him. With no other choice you shuffle out of the car, standing up and looking up at the tall man; he’s wearing a khaki coloured shirt, sleeves rolled up and some jeans. He places a hand on your shoulder, moving you around the car to the back where a handful of man are stood. Waiting.

“Just a little girl,” the man holding your shoulder calls out. “Look like whoever she was with is long gone.”

You nervously look at the men. All holding some type of weapon, looking mean and tough. You heard dad and mum talking about a group, mean, biker looking group that took from settlements like where you ran from.

“What’s your name little darlin’?” A voice called out, your (E/C) eyes drift nervously to the voice.

A man with slick, dark hair and a black, leather jacket called to you. He looks mean, in the sense he’s swinging a baseball bat that has barbed wire coiled around it. But he has a kind smile, encouraging almost.

“Go on, tell him your name,” the man holding your shoulder taps lightly and you look down at your feet. Scared and afraid, terrified would be accurate.

“She’s scared, give her a minute,” the same man with the bat calls back. “Skinny Joey, check the car over and Simon bring her over here.”

You feel the slight nudge to move forward, you look up as you walk towards the man, glancing at the few others who are looking over the car. You stop a little short of him, he hands his bat to Simon, you think that’s his name, and then kneel down in front of you. He smells of smoke, leather and a distinct dirt smell, it’s not bad but different.

“Aren’t you just the cutest thing I ever did see, I haven’t seen a child this cute since, shit, before this whole mess.” He’s grinning, “I apologise for my foul mouth, now sweetie what’s your name?”

You take a few seconds and he nods in encouragement, “My mum told me not to talk to strangers.”

He laughs loudly, “That’s a good rule, but your mum isn’t here.” You look down, “And I’m only trying to help, I’m Negan, these are my men. Now you know who we are,” he grins as you look at the others all watching.

“I’m… Y/N,” you say hesitantly.

“Wanna tell me what happened? Why you’re out here all alone?” He looks at the wreckage.

You follow his eyes before looking back at him. “My mum packed me into the car, where we lived was under… attack, I think. By those… things,” you nodded to the man who was trying to get through the windshield, “she was driving fast and swerved not to hit him,” he nods solemnly.

“And she left you?” He asked and you shrugged, “woke up from that tumble and she was gone?” It wasn’t a question but you nodded. He seemed to be in deep thought as you looked at him, he looks up at Simon who gives a small sigh, nodding in agreement to whatever silent conversation they were having. “So, you’ll be coming back with us, we’ve got a good set up someone will-”

You cut him off, “I should stay here, what if… my mum left to get help?”

“Listen, kid,” Negan starts off, “that maybe true or she left you or she left to get help and died, the bad out way the good in this world. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone,” he tilts his head.

You shake your head, “No! You don’t know for sure, she wouldn’t just leave me,” you turn and sit beside the wreckage of the car.

Negan shrugs, taking the bat from Simon and telling his men to get into the trucks and vans. He gives you one last look before driving the way you had driven, you watch as the vans turn in the opposite corner and drive off.

FEW HOURS LATER


Your dad told you stories how it gets worse at night. How to never stay outside at night, you wrapped your arms around your body and shivered from the cold. The sun was setting, getting to that time where the somewhat safeness of the day time faded. Your mum would have been back by now, if she left to get help, she wasn’t.

You felt neglected, why would she just leave you? What would possess her to just leave you. Alone with no one.

You stand up walking across the road, peeking into the forest, maybe she was stuck somewhere. Maybe she needed help! You step into the forest and begin walking, it was hard to see because of the darkness painting the sky slowly.

After a few minutes of walking you see her. Sat up against a tree, already looking just as rotten and disgusting as the man from earlier, plus people attacking where you lived. Her shirt was soaked in blood, you flinched away from the nightmare in front of you, she didn’t even look like your mum but it was her. You step back, twig snapping and your eyes darted to her.

She lazily lifted her head, making groaning sounds in the back of her throat; trying to stand up. Her noises attracted others, you could hear more faint groans, without thinking you turn and begin to run back. You squealed when one almost grabbed a hold of you, ducking and running back to the car, why? You didn’t know.

You clear the forest edge and breath heavily, yet, you smack into something. Or someone. You scream and thrash around to get out of their hold, only stopping when looking up, Negan?

“Just wanted to give you one last offer to come back with us,” he looked beyond you to the forest where you had obviously come from. “What were you doing in there?”

“Looking for my mum,” you muttered. “I found her!”

He nodded, “Well, I guess you don’t need us then, where is she?” Before he can stand up, you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him, he tenses and looks at Simon who shrugs.

“No! Don’t leave me,” you cried; the realisation of being alone and having no one falling onto you. “Their all gone now.” You cried.

“Stick with me, kid.” Negan sighs, rubbing your back reassuringly. “I’ve got you,” he stands up and hands His baseball bat to Simon before walking to the truck.

(Let me know what you think. I’m still editing, hence why things are a little off and such. I’ll get to my laptop soon (published and formatted from phone) hopefully, the tagging works on my phone, otherwise I’m sorry! My first Negan series, with reader as a child, I’m nervous!-Ro)


Everything Tagging list: @girl-next-door-writes @22ifyoukeepmenextoyou @t3-daria-todo @sebby-staan @skylark50 @thegoddamnfeels @gillibean9 @sergeantjamesbarnes107th @full-of-sins-not-tragedies  @fxcknbarnes @broncos5soslover @say-my-name-assbut@fangirlwithasweettooth @buckyismybbz  @charlotteblanden @wholockiand@momscapris @mashroom-burrito @firewolfkelly @winterboobaer

@mychocolatemints @avengingthesupernatural @usannika@itzelreader @tillytheinvisibleshadow @tomhollahd @imagining-marvel-soldier @oh-my-gravity @what-the-ducky-bucky @heyitssilverwolf @katiegrace122 @newtmas-newtella @sillylittlemary  @buckyhawk @codexofwitches @the-the-sound-of-the-bees-blog@songsforsentences @leahneslen21@whateveriwantworld @itsblehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh @cassiebarnes  @that-one-jewish-elf @tardispandagirl  

@theawkwardone-0002 @djpaige13paige @thewinchestersbabe @majestic-squad  @fangirlextraordinaire713 @stevesmylove82 @mrporkstache@t0kistar @marvelousmimi  @shadyweeny @thequeenofgood @calursocute @casey-anne-j @ohmoveoveralohomora @grass-is-not-green @hiphoppery@imnotinsanehunny @myonlyloveisblade@shamvictoria11 @castiels-fave @zootycoon1o1 @fangirl1029 @itsilvermorny @angel34jolly-blog   @hellomissmabel @castellandiangelo @dividedwecantfall @heyitsthatlouisdork @buckys-shield @heaven-bound-angel @thyotakukimkim @bucky-with-the-metal-arm @callalilyiskewl @karipaleta @hollycornish @mrhowardstark @mcuimxgine@ria132love @panickedpandaposts (I deleted the tags that wouldn’t work)

Énouement

Énouement
Ship: Captain!Jungkook | Soldier!Reader
Description: Mulan!AU | War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook.
Warning: Dom!Kook, Character Death, Gore, Angst, Choking, Intercourse, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Punishment, Oral, Hair Pulling, Public Nudism 
Word Count: 19,554
A/N: This is the longest thing I ever fucking wrote but it was so worth it. Mulan is one of my favorite movies of all time, and there were some such iconic scenes that I found so great I had to include them here as well, because I love simply describing the most heart-leaping scenes in my own words.

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The corridor is long and dark. I lean against the cold wall, barely being able to catch my breath. They’ve been chasing me for god knows how long but somehow I managed to escape. I’m safe, at least for now. 

 I sigh deeply trying to steady my breath. It’s not over yet, I think to myself. They will come back. They always come back. Always too quickly, always when I least expect them. That’s why I need to be ready to run at all times.

I can’t fight them, that’s impossible. Their numbers exceed my comprehension, their strength - my imagination. They are an organised group which rarely gets discouraged once they spot their pray. For that reason the only thing left for me to do is run. I know I can’t escape, I’m not stupid. But it certainly won’t hurt to try. 

Suddenly, a familiar ring of footsteps reaches my ears. They must’ve caught up when I was resting, I think. I get up and try to make myself run but my body refuses to move. I fall down with a loud thud, tripping over my own feet. I look behind my back, down the long corridor. Here they are, with their claws sharper than the edge of a mirror and their fangs seeking blood. Absentmindedly I notice I never looked them straight in the eyes. The boiling red suns now spilling over their angry faces drill their way through my body. I must admit I’ve always envied them such passion and commitment. 

In the last desperate yet naive attempt to save myself I begin to crawl. If I’ll go down, I’ll go down fighting. Their steps are becoming louder with every second but I can barely hear them over the sound of my heart racing. One of the shadowy figures throws himself on me crushing my lungs in the process. He grabs my throat and slams my head into the cold, stone floor. It’s over. They got me. I’m trying to scream but all that comes out is a merely audible whistle.

 As I’m blacking out I can feel their claws tearing my skin. It hurts but it will be all over soon. At least I can hope.

Their heavy breaths fill out my ears. Their screams shred my eardrums. The last thing I register before slipping into the darkness is a question asked with that hoarse yet familiar voice:

“Why don’t you draw more destiel?”

Robin’s Nest: Part 20

Prompt: Bruce and Batmom, with the Robin’s as their biological children.

AN: It’s hard to believe I’ve finally finished this series. Some part of me wants to keep it going forever, but I know better. This is where it ends, and it’s been a hell of a ride. I hope you enjoy this final part of Robin’s Nest. 

This final part is dedicated to @railover85 the one who’s request started this whole journey. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12 , Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19


You stare at the tomb stone with a small smile on your face. “It’s hard to believe it’s been a year.” Your voice is croaky, even to your own ears, a sign that you’re much older than you once were. “I swear those children keep me busier now than they did when they were young. So many sporting events, and plays to go to. And let’s not forget watching the little ones when they go on patrol. Nick’s about to take up as Robin! I can’t believe he’s already ten.”

You pause, waiting for a response you know won’t come. “Eight children, Bruce. Sixty-five years of marriage, and more adventures than is right, and you have the gall to leave me behind. We were supposed to go together Bruce. Holding hands, in our sleep, discovered by a maid or something … I don’t like being without my partner, Bruce.”

You bite your lip, “That being said, I’m making sure to live. To spoil those grandbabies of ours. To keep our children in line. To make more memories. To give them more memories.” You lay your hand flat against the head stone. “I love you, Bruce.”

You swallow back the tears that want to burst, as the sound of someone calling your name draws you out of your thoughts, “Grammy!”

You turn and open your arms as your grandson barrels into your arms, “Giovani.” A minute later Nicholas runs up too, and you open your arms to him as well. Your children, and the grandchildren who are too young to run off by themselves come over the hill.

You smile as they each take turns embracing you. Dick is first. He’s tall, like Bruce was, but lean. His detective’s badge is still looped on his belt. His dark hair is now peppered with gray, and at his side is his wife, Zatanna. You give her a smile, before kissing the little girl in her arms.

Jason is next, he’s still dressed in his suit from work. The school day only having finished the previous hour. He’s somehow avoided the gray that’s snuck up on Dick. His face is just starting to show his laugh lines though. He hugs you tight, before passing you to his wife, Kori. The woman hugs you tightly, and you smile, before noticing the little girl hovering by a tree. Jason excuses himself to go fetch their daughter.

Tim is next. Long and lean, his hair had long gone gray. He gives you a smile, and you can see the hints of stress in his eyes. He’s been brokering a rather large deal for Wayne Enterprises, and Conner had been spending more than a little time at the manor in his absence. You hug your son’s husband, and he assures you that he made Tim take off the whole day.

Cassandra is next, she signs hello, before wrapping her arms around you. She’s stayed single all these years, and you smile, because you know she’s happy that way. She still lives in the manor, happy to split her time between helping you, spoiling her nieces and nephews, and protecting Gotham.

Duke follows her. He wraps you in a tight hug, and kisses your cheek. He’s a professor of literature now. His wife, Mari is next. You’re careful of her rather large baby bump, knowing that her third child, a boy to be named Bruce, is due any day now. Their two daughters hug you next, latching onto your legs. You sneak them each a piece of candy before giving them each a kiss.

Damian pushes in front of Helena to hug you next. A veterinarian, and owner of an animal shelter, Damian had found his passion in life, and had run with it. He was in the beginning of a serious relationship, with a girl you had yet to meet.

Helena was quick to push her twin aside, and take her spot in your arms. Your baby girl is a doctor, and a damn good one. Hovering slightly behind her was her fiance, Vic Sage. He gives you a polite smile before stepping to the side.

Terry was next, his fiancee Dana behind him. He was the spitting image of Bruce in your opinion. His personality aligned perfectly, and through his work in the Wayne Enterprises technology department, he had helped lead the world into a new era. He presses a kiss to your cheek, and Dana does the same.

Finally, there’s Max. Your baby. A senior in college, he was working to become a lawyer. He’d never had any desire to join the family business. Instead he had chosen to fight crime a different way, and you couldn’t be more proud.

You watch as they each say hello to Bruce, taking turns to update him on what’s new. Each of the grandkids hug his head stone. When all’s said and done, only you and your children are left behind; the spouses, and grandchildren allowing you a bit of family time. Terry’s voice is solemn, “It’s weird without him here.”

Dick nods, “He survives everything under the sun, only to die in his sleep.”

Jason wraps an arm around your shoulders, “We know you miss him mom.”

Cass snuggles into your side, and signs the words “Together forever.”

You kiss her cheek, “I had sixty-five years with your father. Eight beautiful children. And now I have wonderful grandchildren and daughter-in-laws, and son-in-laws. I’m very blessed. And I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.” With smiles you begin walking back to the car, when the song of a bird, catches your attention. In the tree just off to the side of Bruce’s resting place, is a robin tending to her nest, with eight different eggs, and just to the side is her mate. You can’t help but smile, Batman and Robin together forever, with a Robin’s nest always waiting to welcome them home.

Jaal + Vetra Banter
  • Jaal: Is Sid your only sister, Vetra?
  • Vetra: That I know of, yeah.
  • Jaal: We have large families. When you are surrounded by family, you feel strong.
  • Jaal: Like ... a wall. Many stones, standing as one. You can't have a wall with just two stones.
  • Vetra: But you can smash someone's head between two stones.
  • Jaal: (Laughs.) I like the way you think.
Bookworm

Request from anon: Hey!! Could you possibly write an imagine where she is a little wary of Draco judging her whenever he walks past as she really likes him. But she is like Hermione where she has her head in books quite a lot and so quickly hides it when he walks past but he notices it and with a smirk comes and sits next to her and eventually tells her he likes her in some way with a wink?? Thankyou I think you’ll crush it

Thank you for requesting anon, I’ll be turning requests off after hitting post on this. I’m sorry if any of you have any ideas - I have a month until I take my exams and I really need to be revising. I’m honestly so sorry but I’ll obviously upload from time to time with the requests that have already been submitted and after my exams are finished it’ll get back to normal. So, I updated my masterlist in case any of you wanted to see all of my posts. 

In the meantime, enjoy ;)

Originally posted by imaginesandmoreforfandom

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On a scale from one to ten

‘Master Bruce. On a scale from one to ten— and think very carefully about your answer— how much pain are you in at the present moment?’

Bruce let out a short breath and looked up at the brightly coloured chart with a grimace. The reds, yellows, and greens all seemed to merge together in a disorienting blur of printer ink, causing him to blink his eyes and squint at the diagram, a slight frown crossing his face.

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, and Bruce pretended to be pondering the chart in a serious manner. Truth be told, he couldn’t even focus on the text long enough to read the indicators of each pain level; so he picked a number at random that was both low, and green.

‘Three,’ he said, his chest throbbing even as he sat there, stoic, his back straightened and face expressionless to hide all evidence of how badly his injuries were really affecting him.

‘Three,’ Alfred repeated slowly, the faint glowering look in his eyes suggesting that he did not believe Bruce for one second. ‘Well, then. In that case, you should have no trouble at all doing ten push-ups for me, Master Bruce.’

‘Ten…’ Bruce stammered. ‘What.’

‘Ten. Push-ups.’

Bruce hesitated, momentarily unsure of whether Alfred was being serious or sarcastic. ‘Now?’

‘Unless your pain levels have suddenly escalated in a mere thirty seconds, leaving you incapable of exerting the necessary energy for ten pushups… yes. Now.’

This was a mistake. And Bruce knew it was from the moment he had lied so unconvincingly. But he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit to Alfred that every bone and muscle and ligament and joint in his body was on fire even as he sat there, and he probably wasn’t going to be able to do much else other than eat and sleep for the remainder of the week. Or at least, not if he wanted to heal properly. Which Alfred would most certainly insist upon.

Thus, after sitting there in a brooding silence for a moment, Bruce gritted his teeth and heaved himself off the table with a wince.

Ignoring Alfred’s cutting gaze drilling through the back of his head, he crouched down on the floor of the batcave, muscles screaming at him as he lowered his body down to the floor and pushed up, once. A burning sheen of sweat clung to Bruce’s forehead, dripping like dew down his back. Alfred’s mouth turned down in a deep, disapproving frown, watching Bruce’s entire body tremble in stubborn, petulant denial.

He went down for his second push up, and he struggled, fighting against gravity. He strained to push himself back up again, and a sudden wave of nausea hit him like a truck. His shaking arms gave out under him. Bruce collapsed into a heap on the ground, grunting in pain as the side of his head met with cool stone and sent his head spinning in a blinding flash of light.

Alfred observed the pitiful, groaning man he had raised lying still on the floor, his lips pursed.

Nn… what happened to the other pain chart,’ Bruce said into the ground, his voice muffled. ‘The one with the faces.’

‘Master Bruce, your face is always a four,’ Alfred sighed, massaging his forehead. ‘Always. It is not a useful means of measuring pain because you refuse to truthfully express any until you are practically lying on death’s doorstep. And even then, I’m afraid your face is less expressive than is normal. Now, let’s get you back on the table…’

He helped Bruce up into a sitting position and then slung his weak arm over his shoulder.

‘…and try this again.’

How Alfred was capable of supporting Bruce’s body weight in his sixties was beyond everyone. The best guesses thus far were Tim’s cyborg-enhancements theory since Alfie’s war days, and Duke’s waxing philosophical suggestion that “maybe Alfred is an eternal being who is Other, and is not confined by all the laws that govern normal human beings.”

At a close third was Damian, who had scoffed at his brothers’ preposterous theories.

Tt, my grandfather has lived for half a millennia, and can lift at least, if not more than my father’s weight.’

‘Ra’s al Ghul lifts?’ Tim had asked, a wide smirk spreading across his face even as Damian lunged at him with his sword and a look that could kill.

But no one had dared to ask Alfred if he’d by any chance taken a bubble bath in a Lazarus Pit recently. And Bruce certainly was in no condition to ask as he sat down once more on the metal operating table, grimacing and looking up at Alfred with a resentful expression.

‘On a scale from one to ten,’ Alfred said, unperturbed, holding up the pain chart once more. ‘How much pain are you in, Master Bruce?’

Bruce scowled at the chart for one long beat, the quiet draft of wind the only noise in the cave as the Batman and unrelenting butler had their stand-off.

But it is a truth universally acknowledged that, no matter who his opponent, in a battle of wills Alfred Pennyworth always and without fail, wins in the end.

‘Eight,’ Bruce muttered in defeat.


I wrote some tags for this post, and thought I may as well just turn them into a flash fic. So here you go. Bruce is ridiculous, Alfred is having none of it.

Thanks to @audreycritter for suggesting that Bruce’s face is perpetually stuck at an impassive “four” on the smiley faces pain scale… LOL