Please Don't Judge Me, It's Stronger Than Me 😮‍💨

Hes so me

Currently swayed into the ‘Believe it or not, living with a British guy for decades WILL give Bruce an accent’ bandwagon.

It'd be so cute if it only slips out when Bruce does. He maintains a silence to Batman, when he prowls, — because Gotham isn't a gentle animal, so he can't be, either, — the lesser the chances to be recognized by voice, the better.

Nonetheless, talking can't be avoided forever. Especially not when dealing with scared people that have to be reassured.

“You know we’re basically CPS for adults, right?”

“Except we do our jobs.”

Martinez looks up at the sky, biting back a cackle, because he’ll be DAMNED if he laughs at this freak’s jokes. “I hate it when you're funny.”

He’s positive Batman frowns in confusion because he tilts his head, emulating a confused dog. “I’m not trying to be.”

“Oh, go FUCK yourself.”

Batman isn't interested in continuing their benter, much too busy with the crying child in the waiting room at the station. She's the tiniest witness there.

He must be the only vigilante carrying lollipops next to paralyzing gas.

The cadence in his voice simply burns off any dark intention associated with him. But if you listen as closely as Martinez does, you'll hear a poised arch in his accent.

“Here you go, love. Shall I get you a choccy while we talk to your father?”

Martinez sits and blinks for about a minute, which should earn him a record of some short.

GAHH GAHH GAHH YES YES YES THEYRE BOTH AWFUL AND EVIL AND SO SO HUMAN I LOVE THEMMM

Bruce is very good at taking care of his own problems. He’s always been very good at it. Adults praise him for it all the time.

But then his parents died, and Bruce feels like he can’t do anything right. He knows he can’t. After all, if he was as good as adults said he was, then he could’ve saved his parents.

He should’ve been able to save his parents.

There is a darkness growing within him. Bruce doesn’t know what to do.

——

Alfred is grieving. Alfred is grieving, and he is also very angry.

He was just a butler; why is he now taking care of his deceased employer’s child? It’s not like the Waynes don’t have any other alive family branches, like the Kanes. But no, Thomas and Martha’s will clearly stated that if anything happened to them, Bruce would stay with Alfred in the Wayne Manor.

Now he’s forced to take care of a child he never wanted. How is that fair?

——

Alfred is angry all the time now but not in the way he used to be. Bruce knows it’s because of him. Every time the older man looks at him, he gets this strange look in his eyes.

Bruce can feel that it’s a bad look.

Maybe it’s because he’s even more useless now? It’s hard to get out of bed, but it’s even harder to fall asleep.

Loud noises make him jump, and the only thing he can think about is Mommy and Daddy hitting the floor, over and over and over and over and—

Alfred accidentally dropped something in the kitchen. Bruce doesn’t really remember what happened; it gets blurry and makes his head hurt to think about it, but the next thing he knows he hears screaming.

Bruce is pretty sure it’s coming from him. It sounds like Mommy’s.

——

The kid has a hair trigger. Alfred feels like walking on eggshells. Every small thing sends him into a raging meltdown.

Several times he has to stop himself from packing a bag and escaping in the middle of the night, fleeing back to England just so things could be normal.

Bruce doesn’t even talk anymore. Before the Waynes died, little Bruce talked almost nonstop in the manor.

Now an eerie quiet fills the space unless the small boy decides to have nightmares or another breakdown.

His silence is unnerving and creepy.

——

Bruce misses hugs.

Alfred doesn’t like being touched, not one bit. Mommy and Daddy loved hugging him and kissing him and just picking him up for funsies. But now no one will touch him.

Maybe it’s because they know he killed his parents. Maybe they think that if they touch Bruce, they’ll die too?

Bruce wouldn’t be too surprised…

It’s been months. Bruce doesn’t know why he isn’t better yet, why he keeps making problems for Alfred, why he’s so different now…

——

Alfred had calmed down a lot. He partially understands why the Waynes have left Bruce in his care; that doesn’t make it any easier.

Bruce has always been a particular child. Alfred would get him tested, but high society talks, and he doesn’t want to subject the young boy to even more press coverage.

Besides, what can a shrink do for the young master? Nothing hard work can’t teach him. Alfred worked through all his problems like that, and he turned out perfectly fine.

——

Bruce doesn’t want to start going to galas again…

Mr. Mauter always gives him strange looks, and now that Daddy isn’t here to give an excuse to pull him away, he’s even more afraid.

But Bruce is supposed to be fixing his own problems now. Alfred already does too much for him; he can see how exhausted he’s making him.

He’s the man of the house now. He has to be strong.

——

Master Bruce is talking again, even if it looks like it visibly pains him. Alfred is taking it slowly. Each day he finds he has more and more patience.

He allows the small child to follow him around as he completes his daily chores; he’s yet to acknowledge it yet. The first time he said something, Bruce scampered away quickly, and it took a week for him to start doing it again.

He’s taking it slow. He doesn’t want Bruce to be afraid to ask him for help anymore.

No hugs yet, but Alfred allows himself to pat Master Bruce on the shoulder.

——

Bruce can make cookies now! Alfred taught him the most perfect way ever!

They were Daddy’s most favorite cookies. Bruce feels a painful pang in his chest as he thinks about it, something that has happened very often in the past year.

Instead of crying, because Bruce is a big boy now, he walks up the hill at the back of the manor where Mommy and Daddy now rest peacefully.

Bruce lays down two of his best cookies on a nice napkin on Daddy’s grave.

He knows Mommy wouldn’t let Daddy get hungry in heaven, but it’s always a good idea to have a nice snack just in case.

——

Alfred distances himself.

He’s getting too attached. He’s now constantly reminding himself, Master Bruce, that he is nothing more than a butler.

——

Bruce had a fever.

He was delirious, and he accidentally called Alfred Dad.

Alfred no longer looks him in the eyes.

The darkness creeps in; it is all-consuming.

——

Alfred feels bad.

He catches Master Bruce practicing his smiles in the mirror, doing his best to look normal.

It’s fine. He needs to work him harder, make him understand that he can’t show weakness. Bruce will thank him when he’s older, when he is stronger, when he is better.

Alfred turns around and pretends not to see. The next time Bruce gives him that smile, he looks like Martha and tells him that he’s fine; Alfred does not argue.

——

Bruce can see that Alfred has stopped trying with him. It hurts, but he also wonders why it didn’t happen sooner.

He drops out of school.

He can’t be a doctor, not like his father was. He’s not worthy.

Gotham is his home. It’s always been his home. But right now? It feels more suffocating than ever.

——

Alfred finds them tucked away neatly in Bruce’s desk, right next to a half empty box of razors.

He reads each and every letter, his heart growing heavier when he realizes how many years ago it started.

Each letter starts the same, always addressing Alfred and saying it’s not his fault.

He holds two identical letters in his hands.

One, only a week after the incident. The second one, dated yesterday.

Alfred puts them back and never speaks about it. He can feel the guilt crawling up his throat and trying to choke him.

He knows Bruce knows.

They never speak about it.

——

Bruce knows he is evil. There is only darkness within him. He is destined to hurt and destroy the people around him.

He has to figure out a way to contain it, to keep it deep inside before he ruins everything.

Bruce only leaves a note when he goes. It is barely two sentences. Where is he going? He doesn’t know.

The entire world is open to him.

Pandora shoulve kept that box shut my head HURTSSS

I love my emotions and how it's like a mist like smoke from a cigar

It curls around my guts and then it rises when I'm upset to my throat and clogs and sweetens it so it's sticky and sickly sweet and then it waters my eyes and huffs out of my nose til it clouds above me and fills the space until everything is blurry

When I'm kinda nervous I imagine it and kinda feel it?? Traveling down my legs and shins and the ground absorbs it and my feet stick and leave residue until I feel lighter

And when I'm happy it twirls around my intestines and wraps around the muscles in my thighs and biceps and fills my cheeks and ears

I pretend to smoke it out when I'm feeling idk like I inhale it and let it swirl in my lungs before it rots and steeps out of my fingers and I blow it out

Like right now, it's in the soles of my feet and my wrist.It happens when I wanna like shake em it makes me really giddy?? I guess??

Hai hai haiiij

I made a cai bot requests form!!!

It's linked below as well as my request bot (to share my profile!!)

The format is: Character name|Fandom|Any specific trops (Ex: Omegaverse, Supernatural, mermaid)|Any plot? (Secret relationship, sneaking into your room and getting caught, picnic on a farm)

Any questions, requests, or comments will be read. I might just be a bit slow because of writers block or school (advanced classes kicking my butt 😔😞)

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Bot requests!!

Helllooo !! Im kitty, or Percy or Alex These are my bot requests/any questions for me :3

Jason fans I have wonderful news for yooooou

Absolute SuperWonderBat by Dan Mora

Ho how can you cancel Easter isn't that like gods bday or smth

Reblog to make him lose another 200 billion, like to make him lose 1 billion