anyknotrants

[anyknotrants]

"Oh you had a plague? Come back to us when you had a World War, brand new unconventional weapons, and a new international order."

[anyknotrants]

conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 1

Jason: yeah me and B are on ok terms now,

Dick: oh you guys are getting along-?

Jason: well we’re doing ok, I’m not mad at him anymore.

Dick: thought you wanted him to kill the Joker?

Jason: i did, but then like last week i went to the manor and i saw him smash the coffee machine with a hammer because it didn’t fill his mug enough; and i just don’t think he’d be a good killer.

Dick: *light wheeze* because he broke the coffee machine?

Jason: well it was just- *cracked grin* he gets- he gets angry, you know? and he’s not good at self control? like that machine did nothing and he just destroyed it. and i was just thinking about how, like, he decided that adopting kids was an acceptable thing to do, and now he has like eleven of us,

Dick: *silent cackles*

Jason: like he can’t see a kid without thinking ‘wonder if i can draft this one’. i think if we managed to convince him killing was ok it wouldn’t go well. he’d just keep doing it.

Dick: *through laughter* because of no self control?

Jason: yeah, like once he crosses that line he’d probably step over it at any minor inconvenience. he gets addicted and he gets mad at a lot of things.

Dick: so B shouldn’t kill?

Jason: no.

Dick: but you can?

Jason: well i- *wheeze* i have practice honing the rage, i don’t kill for stupid reasons. *pause* apart from that one time.

Dick, audibly amused: what time?

Jason: i sneezed and accidentially pressed the trigger.

Dick: *loud cackles*

Jason: i felt bad, man, like his cat was there-

Dick: *falls off his chair*

Jason: how are you this apathetic.

Dick: is that where Damian’s new cat came from?

Jason: it’s not like i could just leave it there!

Dick: i thought i saw trauma in it’s eyes. it had that wartime stare.

Jason: the blood spattered right across its fur. i had to bathe it.

Dick: Damian thinks it has anxiety

Jason: anxiet- dude it has more than anxiety, it has fucking PTSD-

Dick: *wheezes harder*

[anyknotrants]

It should feel too big on him. He should feel like a kid in his dads clothes. he was

But he didn't. he didn't, he didn't

The suit fit perfectly and by a glance in the mirror alone, Dick looked... exactly like Bruce. too much alike, too much the same

And that... that scared him

[anyknotrants]

promp: Invasion

words: 2800 cca tags: alien invasion, past non-explicit major character death, minor (kinda) Jon Kent/Damian Wayne, violence, hurt/comfort (???) wanted to say this is light angst, but it’s actually quite heavy, ghosts (??)  yeah, honestly most of the people are dead, hopeful ending (????)

     Jonathan Kent felt weak. 

     And wasn’t that something, for Superman, one of the leaders of the Justice League, to feel weak? 

     It just…. It was just so hard these days. To wake up, save the world with a blinding smile that felt more and more fake with every passing day; go to work, to Daily Planet, in the same position his father once had, save the world once more and go to sleep. Rinse and repeat. 

    Cycle that was the same, every single day. 

    Until it was broken. By none other but the Crimson Terminator.

     Well, that’s at least what the Earth called it. 

     For Jon, it was nothing more than a monster. A cruel, bloodthirsty monster. A beast that took more from Jon than anyone ever did. That took away his whole family, half of the Justice League and a big portion of the human population while it was at it, not three decades ago. A monster that is Jon's father, his brother, his mother, his lover… his Dami. The Bat colony –if it could even be called that nowadays– was probably the one that took the hardest hit. All the original heroes, the first heroes and vigilantes ever, gone. 

    The first to go was Bruce, as Batman, standing in the first line of defence. His dad… Superman went on a rampage after that, and got himself killed as well. The next to go was Dick, who, while unwilling, took the mantle after Bruce. He went off with a boom, Wally, his husband, went with him. Tim, Babs and Steph died not long after. Kon… Kon followed his father’s footsteps. Went to avenge his love, and never came back. Ironically enough, Jason, who took the mantle after Dcik, was the one who stayed the longest, almost making it to the end of the war. Almost. He died protecting a little girl. Damian… Damian died in Jon’s arms, pleading, begging him not to end up the same way Clark and Kon did. 

     Cass and Duke, and Alfred were the only ones who survived that godsforsaken year. A year. That was all it took. All of the people Jon ever cared about, ever loved, gone like that, within a single godsdamn year. 

     There were new Bats now, of course, new birds, new heroes. None of the original JL members willing or capable to fight anymore. Barry, grieving Hal, his husband, and Wally, son to him in everything but blood, could never use his powers again. J’onn J’onzz was amongst those who died in the attack. Diana, severely wounded and no longer able to fight, retrieved back to Themyscira, no-one has seen her since. Roy took over from his father, reluctantly training Lian as his sidekick. Cassie took over Diana’s place, Cass took over her father, and so on. The world still had the same titles, the same heroes, but they weren’t the same people. They would never be. And the world knew that. 

     The Hall of Justice was renamed the Hall of the Fallen. Filled with memorial cases for all the members who died. The original Seven, had the biggest statues, right by the entrance. Jon visited that place only a few times in all those years, preferring to mourn in the personal graves all families made for their respective heroes. 

     But the world moved on. They established peace, repaired what they could, rebuilt what they couldn’t. The world got used to their new protectors, their new heroes. 

     That peace didn’t last.

    Thirty years after his first appearance, thirsty years after he absolutely wrecked Jon’s life, the Crimson Terminator returned. 

    And he was even stronger than before. 

     They fought. Of course they did. It all seemed hopeless from the start, but if the heroes didn’t fight, who would? 

    Even some heroes, who were long since retired –like Roy– joined the fight. Jon, being Kryptonian, never aged as fast. In truth, he still felt like 18, the age that he lost it all.

    The Justice League of The Milky Way Galaxy was even bigger than ever before. Twenty-eight years was a long time to recruit and train new heroes, and Jon tried not to think about the fact that some of the new heroes were born after the first attack. That some –many– of them never experience the devastation that It brought. 

    But the Senior members did, and they refused to let it happen again. 

    And, as the battle went on, cities, and heroes, started falling once again. Sometimes, Jon couldn’t help but curse his powers, the way he was born, his need to save others. If he was born as a regular human, if he never got those powers, what would his life look like? Would he ever have to deal with this? This pain, this loss? He could lead a simple, peaceful life on the farm, never having to worry about the fate of the world resting on his shoulders. 

    But that way, he would also never meet the people he did. His dad would never know Bruce, he would never be introduced to Damian. But he would also never know the pain of losing him. And Jon, for the briefest moment, not for the first time, wished he never met him. 

     And everytime those thoughts came, he chased them away just as fast. Because how could he even think that? How could he ever wish he'd have never met Damian, or and his friends?  

     But, he thought briefly, it’s not like it’s gonna matter much longer. I’m going to see them soon enough.

     Jon was fighting alone. They were on the outskirts of Gotham, a city that was already hanging by a thread, yet refused to give up. Gothemites were resilient, as much as their heroes, and Jon had a feeling that that rubbed off of him. 

    Everything –buildings, roads, the flora– within a five mile radius was destroyed, reduced to rubble and dust. It looked like a warzone. It was a warzone. 

     Every other hero was either dead, unconscious, or in no state to fight. 

     They were losing, again.

     And Jon was alone. 

     That was about the only things running through Jon’s mind, as he powered yet another blow straight to the Crimson Terminator’s jay. As much as it had a jaw. The monster barely flinched. Jon wasn’t surprised. 

    Every bone in his body was either broken, cracked, or bruised. He was bleeding from places he didn’t even know he could bleed from. He was weak. 

     He remembered being grabbed by his leg, and being thrown into the ground. The impact created a small crater. 

     Then, his vision darkened, his consciousness slipping away. 

     Finally, he thought, I can finally rest.

     He didn’t know if he should be surprised or not, that the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, was a white. 

    Not a white room full of medical supplies, or a white cell, no, just white. 

    An infinite void that lacked color. 

    He slowly sat up– as much as one could in place (was it even a place?) like this. Nothing hurt, which was the second indicator of what happened. (If the while infinite void wouldn’t be enough). 

    Slowly standing up, Jon looked around. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, not even on atomic level, around him. Jon wondered if this is what being dead was like. 

    “Jon.” a voice called from behind him. 

    Jon turned around so fast he would give himself a whiplash if it was even possible for him. He knew that voice. He knew that voice and he missed it, he missed it so much– 

     “D-dad?” he cracked out, suddenly feeling weak in his knees. 

    There, in front of him, stood the man Jon would never even hope to ever see again, clad in his signatured blue-red-gold suit. Similar to the one Jon was wearing tight now, albeit less torn and dirty.

    He smiled. That odd, sad smile of his, that Jon hasn’t seen for so long. 

    “Hello, son,” 

    Jon has never moved so fast before, as he all but flong himself at the man, burring his face in his shoulder. It was so weird, he was almost as tall as Clark was. He felt like crying. Actually, he may already be crying. 

    “Dad! Wha– am I– am I dead?” 

     Clarks smile softened once again, not that Jon could really see that. 

     “No, not yet.”

    “What– what do you mean?” Jon asked, pulling himself slightly away from his father's embrace so he could look him in the eye. 

    “You are not dead yet. All you have to do is wake up.”

     “This– this is a dream?” Jon asked, pulling away ever more. 

    “No, not a dream, but something more. But I am sorry Jon, we don’t have much time, and I’m not the only one who wanted to say hello.” 

     “What does that mean?” Jon was frustrated, and tired, and scared. 

     “You will know. I love you, son. I just– I’m sorry, this fell on your shoulders. I’m sorry that I was reckless, and left you to be the one who has to face Him alone. But you can do it. I know you can.” 

     “I’m not as strong as you were,” Jon choked out, his eyes locked on his shaking hands. 

     “No,” there was an unreadable tone to Clark’s voice, “You’re stronger.” 

    And when Jon looked up again, he was gone. Jon let his gaze fall once again, clutching his hands tight into fists. This wasn’t fair, he was crying again, he–

    “Hey Chipmunk.” The new voice made Jon’s head snap back again. There, in the same spot his dad stood not a moment ago, was a different figure. In build and shape similar, but this one had a leather jacket, piercings, but the crest of the House of El was still visible on his chest. 

    Kon didn’t even wait for Jon’s reply before he hugged him tight, squeezing him even tighter. 

    “Damn, how is it that you are already taller than me? That’s not fair.” Kon huffed into Jon’s hair. Jon kept the remark that he now had over two decades on Kon. That thought itself only made him cry harder. 

    “Kon.” He clutched the leather jacket ightinly, probably ripping it a bit. He didn’t care. He wanted to say so much more, but he didn’t have the words. 

   “Listen, I have even less time, as there is someone who probably deserves it more. I love you, you know that right? Just– don’t let my sacrifice be in vain, m’kay?” there was a playful tone to his voice. Jon wanted to answer, but before he could get his mouth to work, he was already falling over, clutching onto nothing. Jon knelt there, tears freely streaming down his face. He hasn’t cried this hard since the first anniversary of the first war. His breathing was rapid, as much as he didn’t even need to breathe. He was confused, he didn’t like this, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

     “Habibi.” 

     No, no, no, no. Anyone but–

    Jon stopped breathing. He was freezed in his spot, too afraid to look up. Too afraid of who he might find there, too afraid that he wouldn't. 

     But, as always, his heart won over his brain, and he slowly, agonizingly so, looked up.

    “Dami?” His words were barely above a whisper, yet it carried far.

    In front of him, stood the love of his life. The one man Jon was willing to destroy the world from. The man Jon almost did destroy the world for. 

     Damian smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners, yet there was a sad undertone for it. “My soul, don’t you remember what I’ve told you? Nobody, absolutely nobody, can take you down. Don’t let them. Remember who you are.” 

    “It’s–” His words got stuck in his throat. He hung his head low. “It’s just so hard. You’re not here, my dad isn’t here, Conner’s not here, Dick’s not here, no-one is.” 

    Jon heard as Damina cept closer, until he could see the tips of his boots. Then, a cold hand was placed on his cheek, tilting his head slightly upward, looking straight into Daminan’s eyes, who was crouching in front of him. There were unshed tears in his eyes, expression of pain, yet with hidden hopefulness. 

     “That’s where you’re wrong, Habibi.” 

     “What?” Jon barely crooked out.

     “Just because you don’t see us, doesn’t mean that we’re not there. We are. And we will always be. I’m waiting for you, Jon, and when you’ll take your last breath, I will be waiting. But that day is not today. The world still needs you, go save it. I love you, Hayati.” 

    Jon’s eyes flew open. He was lying in the rubble the impact created, buried in the ruins of the world he swore to protect. Damian’s words still ringing in his mind. 

    This world still needs you, go save it. 

    Jon was never in the habit of denying Damina’s wishes. 

    The rubble and ground crumbled under his hand, as he pushed himself up. 

    His wounds, one that could be fatal to even a Kryptnonian, started to mend themself together, like they were never there. Newfound power ran through his veins.

    He could see the Crimson Terminator where he was gloating. He could see as the monster did a double take when he saw him. 

    “What– you’re supposed to be dead! How are you still alive?!” He sounded outrageous. Jon didn’t care, There was the undeniable rage brewing deep in his soul. Rage, he didn’t get to unleash the last time. 

     Jon floated fighter, the rising Sun in his back. Basking Jon and the earth in a new, hopeful light. His silhouette dark against the sunrise light, yet his eyes shone with bright, blood red.

    “I am Jon-El. Son of Kal-El; the first Superman and last survivor of Krypton. I am my father’s son, I am the Earth's protector, and you’re not gonna take it away from me!” Jon’s voice echoed over the land, heard even miles away. This was the voice of the man who lost everything, but was still willing to fight. 

    Fast, faster that should be even possible, Jon attacked, delivering a punch right between the monster eyes. The last time in did nothing, but now, now the monster faltered, and Jon didn’t give him time to recover. He delivered another to his jaw, and another to one of his stomach, and another, and another .  He never gave him chance to fight back. Never gave him the chance for figure out what was happening. 

   He delivered blow after blow, punch after punch, kick after kick. 

    He didn’t know how long he did so. It could've been minutes, it could’ve been hours, it could’ve been days. 

    He didn’t stop, until his knuckles were broken and bruised all over again, until he could no longer feel his legs. 

    He didn’t stop, until all that was left of the monster was red dust, flying away in the wind. 

   Only then did Jon fall back. 

   When he hit the ground again, he knew he would get back up again. He couldn’t help but think:

    I did it Dami.

    He let a smile appear on his face at the thought of his soulmate. For the first time in years, it wasn’t obscured by pain. 

    I did it. And I will see you again. Just not today.

   The Earth will recover, new heroes will take the place of the fallen. As they always did, and always will. 

    And with that, the world faded into darkness once again. 

Yeah… the prompt was invasion but then it kinda… just, ran away from me (and I let it). Also, I’m sorry I didn't include Lois in this, but I have absolutely no idea how to write her. 

[anyknotrants]

Gotham media is collectively thirsty for Bruce Wayne.

This is an established fact. Magazines post yearly “Best Gotham Bachelor” covers with Bruce front and center, sleeves rolled up, shirt just tight enough to cause a city-wide spike in thirst tweets. He smiles politely. He waves. He completely misses the point.

But his kids?

Oh, the kids see everything.

—

Dick has mastered the art of photobombing paparazzi shots. Any attempt at a flattering Bruce Wayne candid is inevitably ruined by Dick, perfectly positioned in the background, dramatically fake-gagging or making heart-shaped gestures behind Bruce’s head.

"Don’t sexualize my father," he says cheerfully. "He’s too old to date."

"He’s forty-two," Jason points out, bored. "And loaded. They're gonna sexualize."

"No."

—

Jason officially joins the family, and he isn’t subtle. He doesn’t photobomb—he glares.

Paparazzi tremble under his stare. Journalists who ask Bruce about his dating life mysteriously lose their notes. Occasionally, a camera or three ends up “accidentally” broken. Steph calls it the “Jason Todd Protection Program.”

Bruce distantly remains confused as to why the local media keeps a twenty-foot distance whenever Jason’s nearby.

—

Tim weaponizes social media. The moment Bruce’s name trends with thirsty hashtags, Tim is there, flooding timelines with deeply embarrassing candid pictures of Bruce spilling coffee on himself, falling asleep mid-charity gala, or getting startled by pigeons.

It’s incredibly ineffective. Gotham’s thirst for Bruce Wayne skyrockets significantly whenever #BruceWaynePigeonIncident starts trending again.

They love a silly man.

—

Stephanie starts actual arguments in comment sections.

"That's my gfs dad you're talking about," she types furiously under a post titled "Bruce Wayne: Gotham's Hottest Billionaire."

When a random Gothamite responds with, "he’s literally hot though," Stephanie replies simply:

"Blocked, reported, told Batman."

—

Cass is silent and terrifying. She just stares. Directly into cameras. Directly into the souls of interviewers who dare ask Bruce about romantic relationships.

No one can maintain thirst under the soul-piercing gaze of Cassandra Cain. No one.

—

Damian simply starts calling the thirstiest journalists at three a.m. to give them long, detailed lectures about moral degradation and ethical journalism.

—

Bruce, oblivious, wonders vaguely why Gotham media’s latest headline is:

"BRUCE WAYNE STILL SINGLE: HIS CHILDREN DEMAND RESPECTFUL DISTANCE."

“Strange,” he mutters. “They’ve never cared before.”

Meanwhile, his kids exchange glances behind his back.

Gotham media can thirst all they want—but his kids are always watching. Always protective.

Their dad might not notice the world thirsting after him, but they do. And they’ve collectively decided Gotham needs to stay at least six feet away.

[anyknotrants]

-au where Percy Jackson accidentlay ends up in Gotham, and Dick decides he's adoption material-

Fenix: oh no, Percy does have a dad. Mostly absent and it’s also a really complicated situation, but he's trying Dick: I mean... Percy: I also have a mom! Fenix: oh yeah, if you want Percy, you'd have to go through Sally Jackson first. And she's fiercely protective of her boy. You'd have bigger luck convincing Luthor to stop trying to kill Supes Dick: yikes, that bad? Fenix: imagine Lois, but crank up the protectiveness up to 13 Dick: *wincing* uhh… Fenix: and then give her a shotgun Dick: *flinches, and backs off* yep duly noted, don’t try to steal her baby boy, got it

[anyknotrants]

Clark knew he'd recognize him; he just didn't expect it to hurt this much.

There, across the marble floor of a Gotham charity gala, in a sea of jeweled masks and expensive lie he sees him: Bruce Wayne.

Same face? No.

Same soul? Undeniably.

He's older now, sharper, hair swept back, tux immaculate. Moving through the crowd like he owns the shadows between each conversation, everything about him screams wealth, control and disinterest.

He doesn't look like the man Clark once held in his arms under a dying sky, but something deeper than memory screams: I'ts him.

Clark doesn't mean to stare, but he can't help it. His hand tightens around his glass, centuries of silence claw their way up his throat.

And then, Bruce's eyes meet his.

Brief, cool, measured.

But Clark sees it, a flicker, like something inside Bruce flinched.

Bruce makes his way over with practiced charm, mot because he remembers, Clark tells himself, but because he noticed the stare.

"Enjoying yourself, Mr...?"Bruce asks, smile polite, tone distant.

"Clark Kent" he manages, barely " from Daily Planet"

Bruce's gaze lingers just a second too long. "Ah, Metropolis"

Clark nods, his mouth feels dry "I've… read about you"

Bruce's smile widens, for the cameras, not for him "Hopefully nothing libelous"

Clark doesn't laugh, he's too busy looking at the curve of Bruce's jaw like it’s sacred.

"It's surreal" he says before he can stop himself.

Bruce raises an eyebrow "Excuse me?"

Clark clears his throat "Meeting you, I mean, in person"

Another flicker. Bruce's eyes narrow slightly, just a second, the way someone might look at a puzzle they almost remember solving.

"Well" Bruce says, smooth and automatic "I'm flattered, but I wouldn't recommend idolizing Gotham’s favorite cautionary tale"

Clark swallows, hard.

He's dreamed of this man's death for centuries. Carried his name across lifetimes, and here Bruce is hiding behind a glass of wine and an elegant lie.

Clark forces a smile "Maybe I like cautionary tales"

That gets a pause.

Just a moment, one beat too long.

Then Bruce tips his glass in a half-mocking toast "To tragic endings, then"

And walks away.

Clark doesn’t follow, not tonight.

But he watches.

And he remembers.

And across the ballroom, Bruce touches his chest without thinking, like something inside him just started aching again.

(God, this was harder than I thought, I'm trying so hard to make this a slowburn. I'm a really very impatient person and I already want them to kiss and finally be happy in this life 😭)

[anyknotrants]

Riptide clattered to the floor, as the newly slashed wound on Percy opened up. Everybody –campers, dryads and satyrs alike– couldn't help but stare, as the warm liquid slowly trickled down his scarred arm. 

drip

drip

drip

This wasn’t the first time Percy bled –by gods no– but even he couldn't will his gaze to turn away, his body to move. Too busy trying to see something else, trying to convince himself that it was just a trick of light, begging for it not to be real. 

drip

drip

drip

Because the blood running freely down his arm wasn't as expected. It wasn’t the crimson red, the color one would find in human- mortal blood. 

drip

drip

drip

It was a different color. One of wealth, of power, and of those who wield it. 

drip

drip

drip

It was the color of Gods,

drip

drip

drip

His blood was gold. 

drip

drip

…

[anyknotrants]

Apparently, ‘a skull’ is not an appropriate response when your mum asks you what’s in that box. 

next time, I’m just gonna say it’s my art project T _T

[anyknotrants]

10 year old Dick: "Bruce, when you get married, can I be the best man?"

Bruce: "Of course, chum."

---

12 year old Dick: "Hey Clark, do you think when you get married, I can be your best man?"

Clark: "I don't see why not."

---

25 year old Dick: "In my defence, I had no way of knowing you'd end up marrying each other."

[anyknotrants]

Once upon a time…

[anyknotrants]

Being carried swiftly by mama

[anyknotrants]

You know those posts about one of Bruce’s kids getting kidnapped and him having no idea which kid they have based on the vague descriptions he’s given? Well now I can’t only imagine Bruce getting the dreaded call and immediately pulling out a guess who board filled entirely with his kids. Like

kidnapper: we have one of your children

Bruce: I have so many of those you need to be more specific

kidnapper: the loud and annoying one

Bruce, flipping down Cass and Duke: that does not help as much as you think it does

kidnapper: well he has black hair?

Bruce, flips down Steph: keep going

kidnapper: uhhhh? He’s short?

Bruce, flips down Dick and Jason leaving Tim and Damian: more specific

kidnapper: he’s been condescending and judgmental since we got him

Bruce: yeah they both tend to do that

kidnapper: he keeps throwing around words I don’t understand

Bruce, realizing that Damian and Tim are significantly more similar than he thought: uhh more specific?

kidnapper: more?? look just wore us the mon— WHERE’D HE HIDE A KATANA???

Bruce: ah you have Damian

[anyknotrants]

Tim, appearing on Dick's balcony: Hi!

Dick, in his boxers and toothbrush in his mouth: It's fucking 3 AM, bitch. wdyw?

Tim:

Dick:

Tim:

Dick: Whatever. Get inside before I throw you off the balcony instead.

Tim: Thanks, big bro!

Wally, watching their interaction from the couch: I— what was that? Telepathy? What?

[anyknotrants]

Prompt: Phone call

words: 1627

It was one of those nights again. Running across the rooftops of Gotham, Dick was starting to ask himself if it was really worth it. 

Sure, Red Hood was still a Crime Lord, but he mostly avoided them if anything. They stayed out of Crime Alley, he stayed out of the rest of Gotham. Mostly. It was *** work relationship, that didn’t really work, anyway. Hood still antagonized them, Batman still tried to catch him. 

And they still had yet to find out who’s hiding under the hood. They still haven’t figured him out. Which, after almost three yeast since Hood’s appearance, was quite an accomplishment for him. Not that Dick will ever say that out loud. 

What did change things up a bit for this particular chase, is that it was barely 2 pm, not really a time one would move drugs, but then again, that might have been the point. They all had to leave their current responsibilities and suit up specifically for this. Needless to say, Dick was not amused. 

And if that wasn’t enough, even though it was still early, Gotham was getting darker by the minute. Thick, black clouds obscuring the sun. Undoubtedly preparing for a heavy rain. 

“Hood’s in the warehouse, most likely waiting for us.” Came Tim’s voice through the coms, 

“Enter through rooftops, stealth, don’t engage,” barked Batman right back. They all knew stealth was useless. Hood somehow alway knew where to look for them. It was creepy, and not something Dick really wanted to think about right now. 

Still, for once they did as they were told, entering the warehouse through one of the many holes in the roof, hiding in the rafters, in the shadows. 

And there Red Hood was, standing in the middle of the open floor plan, guns in his hands, but still pointed to the floor, his stance might seem casual to any outsiders, but those trained by the Bat could see that he was ready to attack a second notice. 

“Come out, come out, little bats, I don’t have all day.” 

A moment of silence, before Batman jumped down in front of him. It may not be the smartest thing to do with an armed crime lord, but then again, Hood proved himself to be competent and civil enough not to shoot on sight… anymore. 

Dick, not waiting for permission, jumped after him, standing just a bit behind him to his left. Red Robin did the same, just on his left side. 

By the grunt Batam sent their way, he was not pleased, but also aware that he really didn’t have much say on what they did anymore.

“Hood.” Batman growled, yet did not make any move. Not any visible one. 

“Let’s make this quick,” Hood started, cocking his guns and pointing one at Batman and the other at Nightwing. It did sound some alarms in Nightwin head, but not as loud as they might have been three years ago. Hood was still a bit too trigger happy, but he no longer shoots unprovoked. 

“You get out of my territory, no-one gets hurt and I’ll—”

Obnoxiously loud ringtone started blaring  through the warehouse. It originated from Hood’s pocket, yet the crime lord seemed wistfully ignorant of it. His guns still pointed at them, not making a single move. This was a waiting game, at this point. 

Ultimately, the ringing stopped, if only for a second, before starting again.

Something in Hood’s stance changed. Almost as if he just realized something. Something that didn’t make him really happy. 

“...fuck, I actually do have to take this.” he uttered under his breath. Probably. It was hard to tell with the helmet.

“No-one moves.” he warned, pulling back the gun he had pointed at Nightwing, clicking the safety on and holstering it. He reached into one of his pocket, his gaze still *** at them, fishing out a phone and accepting the call.

“Mrs. Whitebone!” Red Hood greeted whoever was on the other side of the phone, giving all the bats a pause. He sounded… normal. All roughness and anger from his voice disappearing, replaced by normal, if a bit chiperly tone. Suffice to say it left them a bit dazed, especially since he was still very obviously pointing his gun at Batman. 

“I’m really sorry I’m kinda in the middle of….. she did what?” And what? Now he sounded almost proud?? Who was he talking to? Who was he talking about??? 

“Damn, did she win?” Dick resigned himself to understanding anything that was happening. 

“I can’t, sadly, but I’m sure I can call my husband to take care of it.” 

And that— what?????

The clicked away on his phone a bit, still keeping half an eye at the bats. Not that any of them would try anything right now. Everyone, even Bruce, was intrigued as to what was actually happening. 

“Hey, love……yeah no, I need you to go pick up Li from school…..well, your daughter got into a fight…. no, I know she’s my daughter as well, but I’m in the middle of something—.... I’ll cook dinner for the rest of the month…. yeah I do that anyway…..thanks…. yeah, yeah, love you too.” With these final words, he ended the call and pocketed his phone, turning to look back at the bats. Not like any of them really were any threat to him right now. Not with the whiplash he just gave them. 

“Now, where were w—” he started, cocking his gun, but was cut off before he could continue his evil monologue. 

“YOU HAVE A HUSBAND???”

“YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER???”

Tim and Dick shouted at the same time, completely ignoring Batman's pointed look and the gun pointed at them. They both stared with their eyes blown wide. To hell with professionalism, this was big. They need details. 

“Yeah? So what?” he growled, making a grab for the gun he holstered when he picked up the phone. 

“Since when?” Dick exclaimed, his voice cracking at the end a bit.

“Not of your fucking bussiness, but if you must know, two years. Now get the fuck out.” 

“Nope, nope, nope, I need details.” Was this stupid? Probably, but if there was one thing Dick was, it was a gossip queen, and he needed the details. 

“Jesus fuck, you’re supposed to be trying to bring me in, not interrogate me about my lovelife, Dichibird.” Hood huffed out, sounding more annoyed than anything. But to the surprise of all, he actually pulled back the guns, and holstered them. Still kept at least one hand on them, but no longer pointing them at him. And Dick wasn’t about to look a gifted horse in the mouth or however that saying went. 

He also had a nickname for him! That was nice—

Wait.

“What did you just call me?” he asked, letting his voice drop a bit. There was only ever one person that called him that, and that person was dead. Sure, it could be a coincidence, but Dick stopped believing in them a long time ago. 

Hood freezed for a moment, like a deer caught in the headlights. Which was actually the first they saw him like that. And a glowing evidence that it was something deeper. 

There was a tense silence

“You know what? Fuck this, I’m not dealing with this family drama right now.” Red Hood decided, taking advantage of their shock, shot grapple to one of the broken windows and got the hell out of there. 

By the time they went to follow, he was already gone. 

Bruce sent Dick home, saying he and Tim will handle the patrol alone. It was clear Nightwing was really not up for it right now. Not that anyone could blame him. Hood just used his dead brother’s nickname. 

And that was a can of worms Dick was not opening tonight. 

Instead he lied in his bed, trying desperately to get his mind off of Jason. Not that he was really successful. 

After a tortuous 30 minutes, he gave up deciding talking to someone might just help. 

Wally was on a mission with Barry, Donna also wasn’t available, but there was one more close friend of Dick that he could call. 

“Hey Dick, what’d ya need?” Answered Rox after the fourth ring. 

“Hey Roy! How’s it going? I’m not interrupting, am I?” Dicks hot right back, already feeling just the tines a bit better hearing his friend’s voice. 

“Not at all! So, is this a social call or do you need something?” 

“Social call actually. I haven’t heard from you in a while, how’s it been? Is Lian doing okay?” The tiny girl was one of the most adorable human beings Dick’s ever met, and it also helped that Lian herself liked him as well. 

“Nah, she’s fine. Got into a school fight today though. She wasn’t the one to start it, but she was the one to finish it.” Roy sounded way too proud of that. Not that Dick could really blame him.

“Oh? Do tell me more.” Dick got more comfortable in his bed, after all, Roy’s stories tended to be long, and a bit dramatic if you ask certain people. It was also just what Dick needed. 

“Okay so–” Roy launched into the story of how one of the kids was being an asshole, and how Lian handled it. Dick listened to the whole thing. But unknown to him, there was also another person listening in. The one that was in the same room as Roy, preparing dinner, and trying very hard not to laugh at his brother. He succeeded…mostly. 

-----------------------

This is kinda shit, I don’t care, I wrote this at like 3 am yesterday, too lazy for to read and redo it, deal with it

[anyknotrants]

the fact that Jason formed the outlaws and technically became a well known international vigilante as well as just a Gotham hero is actually so interesting to me. i wanna see an au where Jason just stayed an outlaw and never went back to Gotham at all. never revealed his identity, but became a well known hero with ties to various members of the JLA anyway because of Roy and Kori. eventually, for some reason, Red Hood is asked to become an official member, and then we get the absolutely golden scenario of the smug as shit Red Hood, feet up on the table at the watchtower, unflinchingly staring down the pissed off form of Batman sat opposite, well fucking aware that he is the only member of the JLA that Bruce won’t be able to figure out the identity of. it is driving Bruce NUTS and Jason is having the time of his life.

meanwhile Constantine is sat in the corner, head bouncing back and forth between them, fully aware of everything, content to watch shit go down only because 1: its funny and 2: Jason bought him a smoothie

i just wanna see anonymous JLA member Red Hood dancing circles around Batman due to his secret identity and immense knowledge/experience of fucking with B, and absolutely nobody can figure out how he does it.

[anyknotrants]

"Dick had to take care of Bruce and teach him emotion"

"Tim had to mentally support Bruce when he became Robin"

Shut the fuck up, they did not. They did not have to do shit. Bruce learned from raising Dick and having Dick around, Dick did not have to take care of Bruce or shit. He learned from Dick behaving lile a kid and having to deal with that, not from Dick taking his hand and teaching him. Tim literally only had to be there for Bruce to be better, it is explained in A Lonely Place of Dying that Bruce needs a child to take care of, and that's what Tim is, a child Bruce can take care of. They weren't parentified to take care of Bruce instead of him taking care of their emotional and mental wellbeing. HE TOOK CARE OF THEIR EMOTIONAL AND MENTAL WELLBEING. Damn, with Tim, he does it when his parents don't. With Dick, it's the whole point how Bruce took him to take care of his emotional and mental wellbeing because nobody did for Bruce, and Bruce succeeded.

Stop infantilizing autistic adults. Bruce being autistic and having difficulties with communication, emotions and relationships because of it doesn't mean his kids were the one taking care of him. It means his kids had to learn how it is to interact with an autistic or neurodivergent person.

Bruce being well only when he has a kid to take care of is what is difficult for the kids, because it makes the process of becoming an adult more difficult when your dad needs a kid.

I challenge y'all to be able to talk about Bruce being mentally ill without painting it as a burden to his family, because that's the only way you ever do it.