#“tim is the most normal!” touch a tim drake comic.

[redsray]

"[blank] is the most normal Batfam member!" .... be so fucking for real none of them are any kind of normal they are all off their damn rockers

[starfiretruther]

i feel like ever since comics left the silver age there has been this bizarre nearly fetishistic desire to associate robins with this stripping of innocence that has to do with you fundamentally still seeing them as the child robin figure for it to be shocking. like killing robins, having them be in these toxic relationships, showing them being sexualized (often by notably older chars) is all part of this really uncomfortable still ongoing trend. and i’m not saying that as robins grow up they can’t experience sex and sexual exploration or dark themes, i actually think ntt’s take on this was really honoring of dick and explored what it would be like to grow up under the robin mantle and also what it would take to come into one’s own identity afterwards, but usually this trend makes me really uncomfortable, like how dick has been written to be sexually assaulted multiple times (ive never seen it done tactfully), or how more than one adaptation has harley make a comment about how much dick has grown up (ew), or how they wanted to kill tim drake with aids in the 90s (they instead went with extrano). i guess while there is nothing technically wrong with making an adult male character a little sexy, the modern obsession with dick’s ass feels like an extension of this to me still. like dc and it’s fans don’t know how to be normal about robins. idk if that makes sense or maybe i project too much but i just really wish there was more skill and intention with writing robins and less schlock and awe

hm while i don’t disagree i feel like the general ‘stripping of innocence’ happened to most child or at least happy go lucky characters (e.g. bucky barnes), not just robin. Robin stands out cuz they’ve been the most recognisable child/sidekick hero in media. Comics in general took a turn to darker (less fun) “serious” stories in the 80s. Robin in particular has been a target for hate since the 60s because fans thought he made batman campy and gay (there was the whole seduction of the innocent thing where they said batman and robin were coded queer messaging trying to indoctrinate the children). I think rather than Dick, Jason got hit with the most ire of the editorial and fans and when stories kept getting darker and darker, he became an unfortunate victim. Dick (at least in this time period) had a lot of dignity, getting a well-thought out coming of age narrative through nightwing and being firmly cemented as a respectable, reliable adult hero (thanks to the titans and his romance with kory). While comics always had a touch of fanservice, his sexualization really started around the late 90s and had a resurgence during the n52-rebirth era. I think any of his prior sexualization was standard male fantasy stuff (this guy gets all the ladies type thing). I think in Tim’s case they weren’t going for a “let’s destroy his innocence “ thing and more of a way to both modernise him for a contemporary (90s) audience and also distance him far away from the gay allegations (how ironic lol). They still wanted the kid watson to Batman’s brooding sherlock but also just more “normal” so the kids relate. Which is why they made him a cheater etc and i know how tf is that better but they really didn’t want him to be gay fhdjfj. I don’t know much abt the aids story pitch though. Steph and Damian are also better examples of “stripping the innocence” storylines for Robin than Dick and Tim. Steph also had a tragic death, and Damian’s first introduction is as a child assassin (antithesis to innocence). I agree that it’s weird people are so weird abt robins (and child characters in general) but imo it reflects more on an audience’s (and editorial’s) insecurity regarding childish, campy things because why are you mad at the camp medium for being camp? Learn to have some fun LEWSER.

I feel like most dick grayson fans feel so strongly abt this is because they like his prudish and insecure ntt characterisation (and so do i tbh it’s very interesting) and also the multiple SA storylines that a) never got resolved or b) were handled poorly. BUT that dick grayson hasn’t been in comics for a while now. We haven’t seen any acknowledgment from dc’s editorial that dick is a rape survivor, he’s been consistently characterized as a confident metrosexual (eww hate that word) guy both in his civilian and superhero persona (and that agent 37 grayson thing is the biggest culprit here). He’s also retroactively being portrayed as a smooth talking flirt in his robin days now so clearly that’s what they’re going for (imo i think they’re doing what they did with tim to dick's robin just to make him look more “normal” and relatable and straight).

Dick’s robin era is still treated as peak batman&robin era and he’s still a symbol for innocent, “simpler” times. He’s gotten the most grace when transitioning from child to teen to adult hero. On the topic of his sexualization aka the butt issue, it’s only cuz he’s one of the most popular male hero they can sexualize. I genuinely don’t think there’s any malice from the editorial since Dick has been an adult for 40 years now and there’s nothing wrong with sexing up his stories BUT ALSO i get why fans are upset cuz they’re deliberately ignoring his past characterization and sexual history to make him into a more palatable, marketable character. And tbh it’s been going on for long enough that it might as well be his defining character trait now :/ .

[isfjmel-phleg]

@lady-merian replied to your post: I read a book I really enjoyed (a new TSG...

No, give us the rant!

Okay, you asked for it!

Fair warning: I am going to be yelling about superheroes again. Also the topic of sexual abuse/harassment, specifically as it applies to male characters as victims. I'm going to have to explain a lot, but I promise there's a point to all this eventually.

So I've been reading a lot of comics from the 1990s/early 2000s about the younger DC heroes, mostly Robin (Tim Drake), Impulse (Bart Allen), and Superboy (Kon-El/Conner Kent). And something I've been ranting to poor @brown-little-robin a lot about is how these comics handle these boys' love lives. Bart is mostly oblivious to romance, and Tim is very self-controlled (Stephanie Brown jokingly calls him "Boy Virgin"), but Kon...things start to get problematic there.

Kon is a clone, created by a shady genetic engineering project to be their mind-controlled replacement for Superman, who had recently died. He was supposed to be developed to maturity but escaped early, while physically about sixteen. His creators implanted him with memories of things someone of that age would know (education, pop culture, etc.), but he doesn't have a lot of real-world experience, and thus he's pretty naïve.

He's also a major flirt. Desperate for female attention. Hits on pretty much every woman or girl he meets. It's rather obnoxious. This is chalked up to his age and immaturity, or possibly to traits inherited from his human DNA donor, but I tend to suspect his creators wanted a clone who would really, really want to reproduce and pass those superpowered genes to more people for them to control. But whatever the case, this trait of his exists. And it has been repeatedly taken advantage of to put him in situations where he is vulnerable to sexual abuse.

Multiple grown women, who are fully aware that he is physically sixteen and chronologically much, much younger (one of them calls him "Kid," another refers to him as "jailbait"), see him as a romantic/sexual prospect and take advantage of his naivete and desire for romantic attention. Things happen to him that nowadays would be considered sexual assault of a minor, but in the 1990s apparently were seen as totally okay, even enviable--a teenager so attractive that even adult women are into him! If things were reversed, if he were a teenage girl receiving such attention from older men, this might be seen as creepy and predatory, but because he's male and therefore "wants it" this is all perfectly fine.

It's not. There are no adults looking out for him, he has no parental figures, no one to teach him about appropriate relationships and behavior with the opposite sex or point out to him that this isn't okay, so most of the time he doesn't question it, because it's his normal. But he does get hurt, and when he tries to talk about it, he gets shut down. One of his friends is actually rather judgmental toward him after an incident where he was being mind-controlled by a female supervillain. He is being abused, and the only way the narrative knows how to address it is to applaud it as admirable or blame him for the problem.

So...with all that in mind, I was going through issues of Kon's solo comic last night, screenshotting relevant panels for my own reference. And one of the issues was the second of a two-parter, a crossover with the Green Lantern comic that was running at that same time. So I tracked down that issue and got introduced to Kyle Rayner, self-described "anxious artist." He seems to be fairly young (early twenties?) and is struggling to find work, and the issue I read opens with his meeting with a potential agent, a middle-aged woman. He feels uncomfortable around her because she's got a reputation for preying on male clients. He's worrying that everything she says is a double entendre but berates himself for having "a dirty mind" and shrugs it off. But his instincts are correct; she ends their meeting by touching him inappropriately (while calling him "kid"). He does not respond to this, he takes the much-needed job she offers him, and it's never brought up again.

Really creepy. But he's male, and therefore the narrative can't acknowledge how messed up this is. So it's interesting to me that this issue goes on to have him pair up with Kon and briefly take on an almost older-brotherly role with him. Even so, Kyle's response to hearing that Kon has been recently dumped by his twenty-three-year-old girlfriend because she couldn't stand his immaturity any longer is...to agree that she had a point in doing so because this kid really is immature? Rather than pointing out that a twenty-three-year-old should not have been dating him in the first place! Here's someone who has first-hand experience with predatory older women, who could be in a position to empathize and advise, but he can't recognize that this situation is wrong...because he's had to normalize such things in his own life in order to survive. It's all incredibly messed up, and the narrative doesn't acknowledge it.

Apparently quite a few male heroes in this 'verse have been victims of sexual abuse. Dick Grayson (at age sixteen!). Wally West, I think. Even Bruce Wayne himself, depending on which version of the circumstances of Damian's conception you consider canon. As far as I can tell, their trauma goes unacknowledged by the narrative. And that really disturbs me.

Especially in the cases of boys.

[ewzzy]

I haven't made a real list, but since I spend all my time reading comics here's a top ten for 2022. (no particular order) First up is Kyle Starks' I Hate This Place. Kyle is always the best and a couple inheriting a farm only to find out it's haunted by ghosts/aliens/demons/cyptids/everything is a great hook.

Next up is the new Amazing Spider-Man series that brings back writer Zeb Wells and artist John Romita Jr. They're two of the best to ever do Spider-Man and as they tend to do they drag him through the mud along the way.

Adjacent to Spider-Man is Jed Mackay doing more Black Cat stories. He's writing the Moon Knight, Black Cat, and Dr Strange series and has proven to be one of the best and most prolific writers in the Marvel bullpen. Here's a bit from Mary Jane & Black Cat: Beyond.

Too bad for Jed but this was the year Chip Zdarsky hit homer after home with so many great series. Daredevil, Stillwater, Public Domain, and two Batman series that are all comic of the year level. It's been crazy watching the comedy guy known for Sex Criminals become the most prized writer at the big two. Nobody but Chip gets to write Batman and work for Marvel at the same time.

I've been going on and on about writers but the recent Poison Ivy series is all about artist Marcio Takara. I normally wouldn't give a series like this a chance but it's a beautiful horror comic where a lot of folks get torn apart by fungal spores.

I also wouldn't have touched a Harley Quinn series but Riley Rossmo's art will get me to read anything. He just started a new Robin series where Tim Drake is living in a boat house and working as a private eye. So far so good!

I don't care about the Eternals or Avengers and keeping up with the X-Men is exhausting but the A.X.E. Judgement Day event was great. Basically the superheroes create a new god and it decides to judge everyone on earth individually. If it does the math and we're mostly bad the earth goes bye bye. Captain America is the first to get a thumbs down and everyone collectively goes "oh so we're fucked right?" Then when the Eternals wake up some old war machines one reads the whole internet and becomes the secret admirer of a single human writer.

As I said X-Men is exhausting, but it was worth it to get all the jokes in X-Men '92 House of XCII which retells the last few years of X-Men comics as if they were adapted to the 90s cartoon.

A much clearer X-Men comic was Giant-Size X-Men: Thunderbird. He was the first X-Man to die for the cause and now that mutants can be resurrected he's back and not sure he wants to be a part of it anymore. It's co-written by trans native-american pro wrestler Nyla Rose and I was expecting very little but it's great.

Guess this is my last one. I have been shocked by how good the Punisher: King of Killers series is. Writer Jason Aaron and artists Jeus Saiz & Paul Azaceta bounce between two art styles & times. The present where Frank Castle is worshipped as history's greatest killer by ninja assassin cult, The Hand, and the past where we discover he first killed at age 10 and how his family dying was never what made him the Punisher. It's also an allegory about how The Punisher isn't cool and you shouldn't like him and anyone who would use his skull logo unironically is dumb.

Sorry TMNT Armageddon Game, One-Star Squadron, Superman The Warworld Saga, X-Terminators, My Bad, Billionaire Island: Cult of Dogs, World's Finest, and everyone else from this year but I've run out of time and space. Look forward to Spider-Man/X-Men Dark Web on next year's list alongside both of Ryan North's new comics Secret Invasion and Fantastic Four.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Healing Isn't Linear (And you are not alone)

by As_The_Raven_Flies

Dick thought he was okay. Really, he did. But all it took was one week of extra stress and a creepy woman to shatter the illusion. But perhaps that's for the best, as it lifts a burden from his shoulders that he's been carrying alone for much too long.

Jason knows he's not okay. But nobody seems to notice, or care, so why does it matter? Maybe it doesn't. Maybe he should just stop dodging bullets, let one hit him through the heart. No one would really care. Their Jason is still dead.

Tim doesn't have time to not be okay, because his brothers are going through hell right in front of them, and he's the only one who can help them. Right?

  Aka 4k< of me projecting my trauma/trauma related emotions onto batbros because I am not good at processing this shit normally

Words: 1054, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Nightwing (Comics), DCU

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Wally West, Bruce Wayne

Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Wally West

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Not Okay, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Romani Dick Grayson, Police Officer Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Past Rape/Non-con, Mentioned Catalina Flores, Catalina Flores Bashing, Literally if you wait long enough, Autistic Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's C+ Parenting, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, and instead of going to therapy for them he became a vigilante, Autistic Bruce Wayne, it's not even relevant here, Dick Grayson is a Better Parent Than Bruce Wayne, Traumatized everyone, Jason Todd is Not Okay, Jason Todd Has Issues, and he also won't go to therapy so instead he fucks with criminals as a form of self harm, Suicide Attempt, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Do Not Have a Good Relationship, Jason Todd Has a Weird Identity Crisis, Jason Todd Feels Unwanted, Lazarus Pit Side Effects, Jason Todd Smokes, Autistic Jason Todd, Depressed Tim Drake, Autistic Tim Drake, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Tim Drake Feels Guilty for Existing, Wally West is Alive, Wally West is a Good Friend, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Protective Wally West, Protective Jason Todd, Resurrected Jason Todd, Wally West has ADHD, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I got hyperfixated so now you have to suffer with me, I relate way too much to all of them, Mentioned Damian Wayne, he might show up again later, (Slaps fic) this bad boy can fit so much projected trauma, autistic author, adhd author, Dick Grayson Gets Therapy, It's more like 'he got therapy but it didn't work, so he just tackled his issues himself and succeeded', I have been to different kinds of therapy, four separate times, it did almost nothing for me, cause I have a touch of the tism, and therefore already know everything they're telling me about myself, referenced self harm, self worth issues, Probably Canon Divergent, because I don't have access to most of the comics

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/43726171

[forestlingincorporated]

I wanna talk about Janet Drake

I’m not against exaggeratedly evil versions of Tim’s parents, tbh. It’s fanfiction, if we can depict an Exaggeratedly Good version of Bruce (which we can, and I do, and I love) then we can depict the Drakes as Exaggeratedly Bad. As someone who personally identifies with Tim, and his brand of complicated parental abuse in particular, I find it cathartic to uncomplicate that abuse and rescue him from the Obviously Evil Bad People. 

That said, since much of comics lore is passed down word of mouth, the oral tradition surrounding Tim has developed this idea of Janet as The Worse Parent between her and Jack that was never really present in the comics. We see much LESS of Janet, and we have 20 years worth of comics depicting Jack as a neglectful hotheaded idiot who ultimate does love his son. More importantly, Jack isn’t very much LIKE Tim, so there is a habit to attribute Tim’s traits to his mother... and, as someone who really really identifies with Tim, Tim has... some negative traits. Tim can be a bitch sometimes. He’s fiercely intelligent and sweet and kind, with a strong sense of justice, but he can be cold and judgmental and unthinking - he fights those traits, but he does have them. 

And it is perfectly fine to depict Janet that way. I’ve enjoyed depictions of Cold Calculating Janet Drake, but it’s not the ONLY option, and I want to challenge fans to consider different avenues. Tim could pick up these traits from anywhere: a nanny, Mrs. Mc Ilvaine (”Mrs. Mac”), a teacher, tv, Sherlock Holmes novels, Bruce Wayne himself. Tim is capable of not being like EITHER parent. 

So, what do we KNOW about Janet? (I’ll also touch on Jack, but only in scenes he appears with Janet.) 

When Janet was first introduced she was depicted as a gentle but “modern” woman. This was written in 1989, told by a 13 year old Tim, so this theoretically was meant to take place in 1979. I’m not here to give a lecture on the history of sex discrimination in the united states, but much of the legislation protecting women in the workforce or surrounding women’s bodily autonomy would have been very very new in this initial depiction. 

Here, Janet is shown to be encouraging, emotional, maternal, and projects her own feelings onto Tim. Jack is shown to be slightly sexist, possibly discouraging, but not overbearing. And the artist is shown not to know how to draw children. 

To insert some speculation, I think it’s important to note all the Drakes witnessed a terrible murder/accident that day. I point this out, because this is the last time Jack and Janet are depicted this way. It’s possible they changed as a result of this event specifically. 

However, this is also a story being told by Tim. It’s also possible these events aren’t really “real” at all, and Tim is misremembering what his parents were like as a three-year-old, possibly projecting a more palatable version of his parents into the narrative. This is entirely up to personal interpretation. 

In fact, the Drakes are shown in Legend of the Dark Knight attending Haly’s Circus, and the artist knows what a toddler looks like and they’re depicted as already having a slightly strained relationship. Jack is clearly on the defensive, and Janet seems to be passive-aggressive, though she could just be attempting to explain the situation to her toddler honestly. The intended tone isn’t especially clear. 

I do want to point out, in this depiction, Tim isn’t being carried like he was in the previous one. He’s walking ahead of his parents, which isn’t a terrible horrible crime, but could be dangerous in a crowded place like the circus. Might be a subtle hint to his parents overall neglect. 

Back to A Lonely Place of Dying, in Tim’s memories of the night he discovered Robin and Dick Grayson were the same person at nine-years-old, his parents are home, and watching TV together while Tim played... trucks, idk, in the living room with them. (This is semi-interesting, because you could say “oh, Tim liked vehicle toys as a kid” or you could extrapolate that this is another subtle indication of Jack’s sexism, providing Tim with appropriately “boy toys.” Either interpretation is valid. If Tim was assigned female at birth, would they have been given “girl toys,” or allowed to play with whatever they wanted?) 

This is, to my knowledge, the only panel of the Drakes when Tim is between ages 3 and 13. They’re all together, which might indicate that the Drakes were home more often when Tim was 9, only later going on business trips when Tim was “old enough” but... 

This is Tim’s boarding school when he’s 13. While most boarding schools in the US are for grades 9-12, Tim is clearly not a freshman at age 13; look how much younger the other kids in this panel are. In the US, the youngest you can attend most boarding schools is 7. 

That means Tim could have begun going to boarding school anytime between 7 and 13. He most likely spent all of middle school in boarding school, at least. There are an almost infinite number of possible ways the Drakes handled having a business that required lots of international travel, an archeology hobby, AND a very young child. Janet staying home until Tim was 7, 11, 13, is equally possible as the Drakes having a nanny until 7, 11, 13. Tim just doesn’t talk about that period of his life very much.

(”What about Mrs. Mac?” - it is unclear when Mrs. Mac begins working for the Drakes. We only see her when Jack comes out of his coma. She could either be a long standing staff member, or a recent hire.) 

Note: I’ve seen it said that it’s canon that “According to Tim, when his parents were home, they made a point to try and include him in their activities, bringing him along to events that were normally adults only.” I have never seen this panel, or I don’t remember it, so I cannot confirm, but I also cannot debunk this because... comics. 

By the time Tim is 13, Jack and Janet are away on business trips a lot, with limited communication, and no firm return date. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say it was harder to communicate internationally in 1990 than it is today. If I’m not feeling generous, I’d say the Drakes are extremely wealthy, and international communication was easier than ever before in the 80s and 90s. They’re not even going home to see Tim in a week or two, they’re going home and calling Tim at boarding school in a week or two. 

Even Bruce thinks its weird, though he doesn’t say so to Tim’s face. It’s written almost as if Tim’s parents’ neglect was meant to be a plot point that just got forgotten about. 

Tim’s parents are fighting at this point (their poor assistant), but Janet still goes with Jack on these business trips. And she’s clearly involved in the business, somehow, but the comics never SAY what Janet’s JOB is. We’re told Jack is the exec, but Janet is ONLY ever referred to as Jack’s wife, though they’re later described as the “heads” of the company, plural. 

Just to be clear, this is Jack’s business. There’s a perception that Jack is a bad business man because he and Janet fight over company decisions, and Jack looses the business after Janet dies, but Jack looses the company YEARS after Janet dies, and maintains it for about a year after No Man’s Land at that. We’re not told how Jack looses the business, but he’s got to be doing something right. Janet isn’t necessarily the “real brains” of Drake Industries. 

And I’m not... gonna... touch the... exploitation and racism because... I’m not qualified to do that. But, here’s the panel. The Drakes sure seem exploitative and racist in their business decisions. Someone else can... analyze that with more nuance. 

Regardless how how long they’ve been fighting, when their lives are in danger, the Drakes fall back into a loving husband and wife. Their marriage may be falling apart, but they do care about each other. 

I want to show these panels because it shows that Tim and Jack do have things in common. They’re both level headed in a crisis and can be somewhat cold in their practicality. Janet meanwhile and silent. Jack is later willing rant and rave at their captors, but Janet remains silent. 

That is, until they’re alone, and she finally lets herself fall apart. 

God, Jack can be obnoxious. Janet just looks miserable and resigned. I actually think Tim takes after his parents in this respect in equal measure. Tim can have a temper, but he can also be fairly melancholy and defeatist. 

Jack keeps reminding Janet to be strong and in control, which could be period typical sexism? But Jack seems so practiced and ready with the words of encouragement, and with Tim’s history with depression, I wonder if Janet has an inclination towards it as well. 

As the end approaches, when Jack brings up Tim, Janet seems to have a lot of regret. She talks about “wasting” the good things, and I don’t think it’s too big of a stretch to assume she’s talking about time spent with her only child. 

From this point on, Janet is at times spoken of, but not seen. Like here, when Jack says Janet wouldn’t approve of him and Tim being so “far apart.” He says this after he tells him he takes back his threat to send him back to boarding school, which might imply Janet was against the idea of boarding school? Though she obviously lost that argument when she was alive. 

Jack will of course renege on this later, but that’s Jack Drake for you. 

Or here in Tim’s illness induced dream, where he gets everything he wants. Though, since this is a fantasy of Tim’s, where his father and girlfriend are both more accepting and understanding than they are in real life, I would take this depiction of Janet with a grain of salt. 

After loosing Drake Industries, Jack thinks about Janet (though, they call her Catherine/Cathy for some fucking reason) during his depressive episode. And... uh... 

Hallucinates a Valkyrie???? Is this symbolic of suicidal thoughts, or is she... real? Or is he seriously hallucinating? 

Anyway, we’re not here to discuss Jack’s mental state, the fact that he forgot Tim’s birthday, or that concerning “I was going to knock some sense into you but you’re still bigger than me” statement from Tim, we’re here to talk about Janet. And even though this entire arc is about Jack mourning his first wife, they don’t SAY anything about Janet herself at all. I mean, they don’t even get her name right, so I guess what was I expecting. 

Then there’s Origins and Omens, which also doesn’t say anything about Janet, except that Tim’s memory of her is faulty - Janet was poisoned, her assistant Jeremy’s throat was slit on television, but Tim seems to have conflated the death he did see with the death he didn’t. 

The only piece of canon to suggest that Janet might be cold, is Tim compares her to Thalia. And even then, he’s really just saying Janet was protective of him. It’s kind of a scary look to make at your kid, but Bruce does the same thing, so. 

I do want to say... it’s not 100% clear if Tim is even talking about Janet. He could be talking about Dana. Dana was observably protective of Tim, though I don’t think he’s ever called her mom. He PROBABLY means Janet. 

And finally we have Tim visiting his mother’s grave (in a duel Christian/Jewish cemetery, make of that what you will), where Tim says she was “a little religious.”

And that’s it! That is all we know about Janet Drake in New Earth. Hardly the Mom From Hell, but she isn’t perfect. I’d be interested in seeing some alternate depictions of her within the fandom. 

I’m still gonna eat up Terrible Parents From Hell like a starving puppy dog, though. Just some food for creative thought. 

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Little Robin and Momma Bird

 In honor of First Day of Spring 2021 which for comic fans is the birth date of Richard John-Grayson Wayne, Member of the Flying Graysons, Bruce Wayne’s Adopted Son, Barbara Gordon’s classmate, Wally West and Roy Harper’s best friend, Princess Koriand’r’s true love, the first Robin, The Boy Wonder, Leader and founding member of the Teen Titans, Nightwing, Protector of the City of Bludhaven, Renegade, Ex Apprentice of Slade Wilson, Agent 37, Big Brother to Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, and Damian Wayne, in varying times and places Father of Mar’i ‘Nightstar’ and Jacob ‘Jake’ Grayson and above all else and beyond all those titles, son of John Grayson and Mary Elizabeth Lloyd Grayson; here’s what I hope is something short and sweet. 

 Now with long intro out of the way, the following is dedicated to @mothnem @lightdusk96 @hood-ex @thattimdrakeguy @tarisilmarwen @fireflyxrebel-writes @nightglider124 @nyxqueen97 @wisegirlandseaweedbrainforever @arabian-batboy @meara-eldestofthemall @robxstar @bluerene and so many others for being my friends in light of this occasion. Please like, comment and especially reblog for any corrections and constructive criticisms. It’ll be very appreciated. 

  Please Enjoy....  

 The sun gleaming and bright rays shone through the small trailer window, lighting the small bedroom with many bright colors of its own decorated throughout. The beige carpet, still an ever bit of simple yet practical use of being the floor, was littered with small shapes of varying sizes, almost all being made of plastic. In particular, these spread out toys were action figures, representing the recent phenomena of spandex clad and awe inspiring individuals that are the ‘Superman’ from Metropolis and the rest being merely the few robotic and unnatural opponents he faces in protecting the oppressed and those in need. The resident of this small bedroom was for all accounts a fan of Superman, something not too unprecedented given the caped champion’s crusades in correcting the wrongs and dangers Metropolis and the larger world face the best he can ever since his first day to the public. 

   And given these are action figures of Superman, it shall be of no surprise said resident was indeed very young; a small acrobat of the famous Haly’s Circus currently asleep and softly snoring away in this room’s bed, blankets draped and covering almost every part of him, even his face. It’s his 7th birthday as of today, this wonderful first day of Spring. Now if only something or someone can get him awake to enjoy such a day. That’s where a certain Mrs. Mary Grayson enters our picture. 

  As she gently pries open her son’s bedroom door as to not awaken him, clad only in a grey t-shirt and black pants as used for pajamas last night, Mary carefully trudges across the beige carpet towards the bed being occupied by said son. Sure, both her and him have slept in until nearly 9:30 am as of now since their family group, the Flying Graysons, have a day off from practice for today, but frankly had Dick remembered that today’s his birthday from earlier, he would been by now sneaking into his parents’ neighboring room, awaking them both his father John and her up about said day, probably  the best he can think of for a gentle reminder. But due to recent influx of performances across the West Coast, Dick lost count so now it was Mary’s turn to gently remind him and in the best way she knows how. 

  As Mary’s bare feet carefully skirt around the action figures spread across the floor, even picking some up along the way (maybe reminding Dick to next time pick up his toys before bed will come in later tonight), she eventually reaches her son’s twin sized bed and the red, green and yellow pattern blanket that draped over the little guy overnight. In her right hand was a blue fine point marker pen with washable ink while her left gently leans to one end of the blanket where a small tuff of black hair sticks out. Gently caressing her left hand the black mass, Mary can hear a content giggle coming from under the blanket, no doubt her son feeling the familiar, loving motion John and her regularly do as parents can. On normal moments this happens, Dick would playfully push the hand ruffling his black hair away. This time, he just simply lightly giggles in his sleep. Mary was sort of banking the hair ruffling being enough to awaken her son to this bright and beautiful first day of Spring. As soon as her hand though stops with the affectionate ruffling and once more snores are heard coming from Dick, her lips turn into a soft yet mischievous smile; it was time for Plan B. Sure Enough, when looking over to the other end of the blanket and seeing her son’s own two feet, so far socked but with her there not for too long. That marker in her hand has its cap screw off. 

  On some occasions when she was basically passed out from a long night on the trapeze, Mary wold wake to find the soles of her feet with scribbles and doodles all across, most of them featuring the Flying Graysons logo prominently. She almost immediately knew the culprit behind such drawing but often times just leaves it be and even walks on her two feet with drawing and all since the marker ink easily comes off so it was overall no big deal. Besides, her son was just having some harmless fun so why would she dare try ruining that; sure she was strict on some parts of his behavior but this ain’t one of the them. Now though, as she lightly tugs the two socks off her sleeping son as to not awake him, revealing two velvet soles and the ten toes and with her marker in hand, it was time for payback if you may. 

  Starting with lightly drawing smiley faces on his big toes, Dick’s reaction was almost immediate as a slightly louder giggle comes from the blankets and his toes clench. Mary briefly backs off the marker until the toes relaxing and using her free hand, she lightly grabs unto the big ones, leaving his feet still. With that, she can proceed with the rest as sure enough, various other faces across his other toes are drawn along with flowers and even an elephant on the arch of his right foot. As for that last one, the giggling had reached its loudest and looking upward, Mary couldn’t help but smile at the results. Plan B was a success, Dick was awake and laughing his head off due to the scribbling.

   “Momma!” he yells between hearty giggles, “That tickles!” 

   Mary grins a bit, “Oh really?” 

  She continues with that elephant on Dick’s right foot, now holding him still with arm entrapping his ankles tightly, making sure he can’t pull his feet back from that blue marker as it continued its path. Though Mary notes that even then, Dick wouldn’t want to. He had not once told her to stop, indicating that he was enjoying this instead. Frankly, after a long time doing this to her, she couldn’t blame him. All Dick does on his part is lay his head on the pillows, the blankets off of him, allowing Mary to see him clad in a similar style of PJs to hers only with the coloring being a blue t shirt and grey sweat pants instead. To the left of him was his precious stuffed elephant Peanut; ever since being first given that on his 4th birthday, he keeps it close to him whenever going to bed. All this time afterwards, Mary still hasn’t been able in getting her son a second stuffed toy like Peanut much to her disappointment but hey that’s a thought for another time, she has one more spot to draw before she can move on for the rest of the day, the arch on Dick’s left foot.

  At first, Mary thought of drawing the Flying Graysons logo for the finishing touch but instead opts for a more casually yet fitting wording. With that in mind, her blue marker makes contact with the velvet of her son’s arch and starts its ink dripped path. By now, the 7 year old was still in full hysterics over his Momma’s drawings but he will admit, at least it was better waking up from his trapeze swinging dreams like this rather than the sun’s rays shining on him as it usually happens. Finally though, he feels the marker stop and opening his ocean blue eyes, sees his mother put the cap back on. Putting the marker away in her pocket, Mary places a soft kiss on her son’s forehead while giving him another hair ruffle. This time, now fully awake, Dick gently pushes her hand away. 

  His blue eyes meet his mother’s own blue eyes and a wide smile stretches on his face. 

  “Thanks Momma” he chirps happily in Romani Chib. 

  Another motherly kiss, this time his cheek, “You’re welcome, Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about your special day today, My Little Robin” 

  As Mary stands and makes her way back to the door, Dick stretches his arms, letting out a yawn from his mouth doing so. 

  “Breakfast will be ready in 5 minutes” Mary states with a warm smile on her face.

  “Cereal, Momma?”

  “Any type you like that we have of course” 

  “I’ll be there soon” Dick says, a wide grin on his face. 

 Mary has a humming giggle of her own before making her own to the kitchen to no doubt prepare her son and her’s bowls for the day. Though of course, they were just getting started. 

  Dick swings his feet to step off his bed and begin trudging to his breakfast, he briefly wonders on what his mother drew on him before putting the marker away. As such, flexing his leg to where he can see the soles and toes of his two feet, Dick smiles of all nice stuff Momma left. Indeed, there were flowers on the balls of his arches, goofy faces on each of his ten toes, what looks like a circus ball on his right heel, a trapeze bar on his left heel, a short yet cute elephant on right foot’s arch and at least the words on his left arch. 

‘Happy 7th B-Day Little Robin, Love Momma’ 

  Now that was love from a mother alright. Dick certainly will never forget this. Now to get the table without stepping on his toys on the floor. 

[heartless-error]

You have something to tell me?

Fandom: DC comics, Batman

Pairing: Jason Todd x Timothy Drake (JayTim)

Rating/Tags: JayTim Week 2020 - Day 5: Detective Tim, Secret Identity, Identity Reveal, Established Relationship, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings

Other(s) links: AO3

During the first weeks Jason spent at Wayne Manor, right after he had been picked up directly from Crime Alley, he learned something important: It was difficult to hide things from a good detective. Maybe he should have had that in mind during his adult life as well, especially when he was dating one of the best GCPD detectives.

"Tim? What happened?"

"Don't know. Tell me." He answered, angry. "You have something to tell me, Jason?"

You have something to tell me?

 During the first weeks Jason spent at Wayne Manor, right after he had been picked up directly from Crime Alley, he learned something important: It was difficult to hide things from a good detective.

 By a good detective, he meant Alfred, of course. Because at those times Bruce was a mess and was too busy panicking to have adopted another child. Really, the millionaire couldn't pay attention to when he was sneaking, smoking, stealing food, and hiding provisions along with money in case he had to flee at any time.

Anyway, he knew the man was trying to find a way to do things correctly with him, since he was a child of the street, with a difficult life, and totally different from the ray of the sun that turned out to be his first pupil, Dick.

 Of course, he didn't know that at the time. All he was aware of was that he now lived in a mansion and the butler there knew everything. Everything. No matter what he did, how he hid, or how he lied, Alfred always knew it, he always ended up finding out sooner or later. The first few times he was even scared.

 For this reason, he ended up learning that lesson. You couldn’t fool a good detective, because in the end they always ended up finding out whether by chance or not.

 He should have had that in mind during his adult life as well, especially when he did what he did. Because it would have saved him from some trouble, and he would have gotten away with it.

 That day he came home early, in a very good mood and wearing a slight smile. It was noon, and he had finished some duties, the patrol that night had been quiet, everything was going well, and his boyfriend had the day off.

 His boyfriend. His Timmy, his little detective.

 Against everything -and after several talks from absolutely his entire family- his relationship with Tim was going very well, better than anyone could have never thought. And contrary to what some people wanted to believe, Jason didn’t meet Tim as a GCPD detective, no, he was the pretty boy who lived in the neighborhood that greeted him with a cute smile, and stopped at the 24-hour coffee shop too often to be healthy. His surprise was even alarming when one night he showed up with Batman for a joint case on the police station rooftop and Jim Gordon was there with the force’s new promise: Detective Tim Drake.

As expected, just as that smile and pretty face dazzled Jason the first time he saw him in the cafe, so did his intelligence and professionalism in helping them with the case. So, days later, when Tim approached him shyly and asked him to have coffee together, how could he say no?

 He was crushing on him back then. And now, two years later, he still was.

 “Timmy.” He called him fondly as he entered the apartment they shared. “I'm back.”

 Walking down the hall, Jason looked around the kitchen and then headed to the living room. He didn't know if Tim was still asleep, but he wouldn't blame him if he did, his little bird worked too hard and sometimes didn't rest properly. Although it isn’t as if he was the most appropriate example of this considering his night activities, or night work, according to the version Tim knew.

 Even he didn't know how he had managed to hide his life as a vigilante from his partner for so long, but he couldn't continue doing it. As much as he feared for his safety or his reaction, it was a part of his life that he could no longer hide, and the more time passed, the worse the consequences.

 Just when he found Tim in the living room, he began to fear that these consequences had come sooner than expected.

 “Babybird.” He called him again.

 No answer.

 Tim was sitting at the end of the sofa, his feet up on it and curled up on himself, his arms were crossed, he was watching at the television turned off completely silent and thoughtful. His hands clenched into fists didn’t loosen, his nose was red and his eyes were watery, he seemed angry, sad, upset.

Jason's chest sank in concern, immediately closed in on the boy. Tim didn’t usually respond in a particularly emotional way to many things, he generally liked to compartmentalize unless it affected him a lot, the times when he had seen him crying had been at times like the anniversary of his parent’s death, for example.

 “Tim?” He asked somewhat alarmed.

 However, when he reached out to comfort him and lifted his hand to touch him, perhaps caress his hair in the way he knew it would relax him, he pulled away immediately, startled, surely he had been too deep in his own head to realize he had arrived.

A bad feeling began to invade him when he frowned and moved further away from his touch, clenching his fists. He knew that face, that sparkle in his eyes, he was angry, specifically with him. But at the same time his eyes were still watery and shone with disappointment, anguish.

 “What happened?” He asked again nervously.

 Tim frowned further and shrugged.

 “Don’t know. Tell me.”

 That reply was a confirmation that he was angry with him. Why? Well, based on the answer and the tone in which it was said, he might have discovered something that he didn't like at all, that would have hurt him, and Jason didn't have to think much to know what it was.

 “What?” He asked uselessly.

 Tim’s lower lip trembled for a second, but he controlled that to stop clinging to himself and getting his feet off the couch.

 “You have something to tell me, Jason?”

 Jason's alarms went off even, much louder. It was clear what was going on, Tim had figured it all out on his own.

He knew it, he knew it. God how had he been so stupid? He was dating one of the best GCPD detectives, one of the younger to join the force, with an outstanding record and the smartest person he knew. Fuck, even Batman praised the boy's ability, they had worked together on cases, that intelligence and audacity were scary, and that was what he most liked about him. Timothy was like a hound, stubborn and determined, he never gave up until he found the truth, and that was something he highly valued. If he felt that his boyfriend wasn’t being completely honest with him, of course he was going to investigate, of course he wanted to know. And having worked with the bats, being so close to him and having the necessary means, it was no wonder that he could have easily tied the dots.

 He couldn't lie to him, not anymore. He also didn’t like to do it before, the only reason he did it was because he knew it was for the best. Tim had thrown a light into his life that he never thought he could -or deserved to- have, a feeling of normality and affection that helped him improve and not be a fucking unconscious fucker. But he knew that part of his life was dangerous, dark and crazy. The proof was in his scars and nightmares, in his traumas and fears, those that Tim helped calm and never asked about. The fact that he didn’t know, kept him away from the danger that he was so afraid of could reach him, but he also worked with bats, was in the first ranks of the GCPD, and that made him join the risk.

He had no choice, besides, how could he continue to lie to him when he was there, half crying, begging him the truth and piercing his soul with those big blue eyes? Seriously, he wasn't surprised that the suspects sang so quickly with him, the boy was all eyes and pretty face.

 Jason sighed and sat down on the couch next to him, his heart beating hard and guilt devouring him. He never thought he would have to reveal his secret to someone out loud, not to a civilian, but he also never imagined caring about someone enough to do so. He looked Tim in the eye and took a deep breath:

 “Okay, it sounds like you already know, but you deserve to be told.” He said with a nod.

 Tim sniffed, looking nervously into his eyes, hurt, but let him continue. Jason swallowed and knew there was no other way out.

 “I’m Red Hood.”

 Silence.

 Tim didn’t move, didn’t react, and Jay exhaled altered. It wasn't enough, was it? It wasn’t.

 “I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.” He continued. “But I couldn't, seriously. It was too dangerous.”

 He looked for any trace of a single reaction on his face but didn’t find it. He just stood there, looking at him silently and thoughtfully. Which made him even more nervous.

 “I know you’re in the GCPD and we’ve worked together, but I didn't want to get you much more involved.”

 Still silent.

 “I pissed people off very dangerous, horrible villains, it’s a world you don't want to get into.”

 “…”

 “You have to believe me. If it were up to me, I would have told you a long time ago, but the more time passed the worse the secret became.”

 “…”

 “I constantly face undesirable people and you would be a very easy target.”

 “Jason.”

 By the time Tim whispered his name, the dam had broken, and he couldn't stop babbling, thinking aloud about everything that he had been holding back.

 “I know it sounds selfish, but it’s not just up to me and there’s a reason we keep civilians out of that life. Fuck, if you knew...”

 “Jason.”

 “It's a fucking hell and it killed me; I couldn't risk you.”

 “Jason.”

 “I know I've broken your trust but...”

 “Jason!” Tim interrupted, weary and leaning down to meet his eyes fiercely. “I knew it.”

 It took him three seconds to assimilate that, causing him to freeze and the confusion nullify him.

 What the fuck?

 “Eh?” He asked confused.

 “I knew it.” The smallest repeated, huffing and crossing his arms. “I’ve always known that.”

 What the actual fuck?

 Tim had to see the chaos and mess that was his head at the time on his face, because he huffed harder and shook his head, totally exasperated.

 “Jason, I'm not stupid.” He emphasized with a frown and raised his hands to point to the apartment. “This place is reinforced everywhere with bat technology.”

 He didn’t know what to say, because that was a good point.

 “You hide a gun in the cereal cupboard and...” Sighing and reaching into one of the holes in the sofa, he pulled out one of the rubber bullets that Red Hood used and had been there for who knows how long. “This! There are rubber bullets everywhere. Bullets I've seen you use.”

 Okay, so he might like to hide guns in certain parts of the place for extra security. And maybe he was a little sloppy with his bullets sometimes.

 “You have the same boots, pants and jacket in your closet. I even found your helmet once!”

 The excuse it was from a Halloween costume may not have been as convincing as he believed.

 “You speak the same way, you move the same way, you have the same height and constitution.” Tim continued listing. “Even the first night you saw me as Red Hood, you flirted with me.”

 He did?

 Maybe yes.

 “I knew it from the beginning and still accepted it. I knew the reason you were hiding it and I respected your decision to not tell me until you saw necessary.” Again, Tim began to look distraught, his eyes watering again. “But that's not what I was talking about.”

 Confusion arose again for something quite different. Because if Tim, his intelligent and precious detective, had known and accepted his other life from the beginning, what was going on? Why was he angry?

 “Then what were you talking about?” He asked fearfully, again the bad feeling settling in his being.

 Tim hesitated, shifted in his seat, and his lower lip trembled again, looking much more distressed than before, about to burst into tears.

 “I'm talking about you spending Saturday night at a 5-star hotel. Enjoying the restaurant and the suite for couples with another person.” He said and barely tried to control his voice. “The bank has reported recent suspicious movements on your card, when I asked half an hour ago it took me to the hotel, which asked for your assessment of your stay there and confirmation of another reservation this week.”

 Tim’s voice broke at the end and Jason started to panic much more than before.

Shit, shit, fuck, shit.

 “Tim this isn't-”

 “What it looks like?” He cut him off, trying to compose himself. “So, what is it?”

 Jason rubbed his eyes nervously. It really wasn't what it seemed, dammit. He knew what Tim was thinking, what anyone would think, and he understood his reaction. But he would never cheat on Tim, not like that, not feeling what he feels for him, not wanting to...

 “I know what you think but-”

 “But what? What should I think?” He asked again, his hands shaking.

 It was clear that he had cried, and he was trying not to do it again at this moment, the way he was getting more upset indicated that, he wanted to stay strong. And Jason didn’t know what to do, because he couldn’t deny anything and couldn’t explain it the way he wanted without making it seem even more suspicious, he knew that Tim’s self-esteem problems didn’t help the situation at all, he was among the sword and wall.

 “I went there, but not for what you think.” He began to explain, also nervous.

 Tim ended up getting off the couch, shaking his head vigorously and pacing in front of the living room table, like a caged lion.

 “With whom?” He asked then, almost in pain. “Nightwing?”

 “Wh-”

 “Arsenal?”

 “No!”

 “Starfire?”

 There he said nothing. About his brother and his best friend, he could deny it, but not with Kory. He went to the hotel and the restaurant with her, it was true, but not as more than friends. What’s more, he didn't even spend the night there, leaving the Tamaranian woman alone in the suite with one of Bruce’s credit cards to do whatever she wanted while he left on patrol and then returned home.

But Tim didn't know that, all he had was that brief silence on his part that told him he was correct, and that immediately broke him when he understood.

 Turning around, Tim rushed down the hall to their room, letting out a sob and not stopping to look back. Jason followed him without hesitation, frantic, guilt hitting him more and more along with the fear of losing him.

 “Tim!” He called him. “Listen to me, please!”

 They entered the room, Tim going straight to the closet and searching through his clothes. He knew what he was doing, he wanted to get his things and leave as soon as possible, he didn't want to be there to break even more, but Jason couldn't allow it.

 “We didn't spend the night together!” He explained grabbing the closet door and trying to get him away from there. “It’s not what you think.”

 Tim shook his head and rubbed his eyes, his breathing uneven, with no choice but to let him close the closet as he sobbed.

 “No, Jason, I get it.” He started to say. “It’s heroes’ stuff, I get it…”

 “What?” He asked confused. What was he talking about? Heroes stuff?

 “S-She’s a hero. Fuck, is Starfire, and I'm just a civilian...” He continued saying as he looked at the ground, almost looking resigned. “She can understand things that I don't, understand you on a level that I can't, and you don't have to lie to her or pretend to be anything else with her.”

 Jason opened his mouth and then closed it, stunned. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, it was surreal.

It was true, most of the heroes ended up dating others in the community, but it didn’t always have to be like that. Secret identities, lies, and danger often ruin relationships with civilians, but other times, if you wanted to, they could work. Damn, the fucking Superman had a family with Lois Lane, also Flash, many others, he was not exactly lacking examples.

And Tim thinking for a single second that he couldn’t make him happy for not understanding that part of his life, compared to other people, not only hurt him, it made him angry. If he knew how much he had helped him, how much his life had changed, how happy he made him…

 “So, it’s okay. Don't worry, I really understand.” Tim continued, even in that resigned and sad tone. “I'm sorry I wasted your time...”

 That was the drop that filled the glass.

 Tim saying something like that, crying in front of him and saying that he understood it despite how much it hurt him, broke him inside. And that he really believed as a result of all this that he hadn’t been able to make him happy, that those two years together had been a lost time and not the best in Jason’s life, made him make the decision to send everything to hell and act. Fuck everything.

 As Tim tried to hold back his tears and dry the ones that ran down his face, he silently approached his nightstand to pull out what he had been hiding for months, then turned back to him, determined.

 “Tim, listen to me.” He started to say as he approached him again. The younger didn’t dare look at him. “I invited Kory to those places because I needed to know her opinion about them. She’s one of my best friends and the person with the best criteria I know about that kind of things, but we couldn't access there without a reservation, so I had to take her.”

 Tim sniffed again and the tension in his shoulders eased a little, he seemed to be listening intently, almost hopefully.

 “I didn’t spend the night there; I was on patrol. You can check it, I faced Mr. Freeze in the town hall square, there are videos and reports about it. And if that’s not enough and you don’t believe me now, you can ask Starfire personally later.” He explained getting closer, surrounding the bed, and placing himself in front of him. “The thing is, I did all that behind your back because I really needed her advice and help.”

 Tim rubbed his eyes, still without looking at him.

 “For what?” He asked in that weak, broken voice.

 “Look at me.”

 What Tim saw when he finally dared to look up, was Jason kneeling in front of him and showing him an engagement ring.

 “Timothy Jackson Drake, do you want to marry me?”

 Time seemed to stop completely; Tim's eyes couldn’t open more because of the impression. Jason swallowed hard and buried his nervousness to continue speaking.

 “I’ve been wanting to ask you for months, but I really didn’t know how. I don't care if you are a civilian or not, I love you and I wanted it to be a surprise, something special.” He sighed somewhat agitated, the uncertainty at his answer was too much. “I no longer have to reveal why, but in my life I have learned that I must cling and keep by my side everything that makes me happy for as long as I can, and my happiness is you. So, what do you say?”

 Tim was still frozen, stunned because all the information he had to assimilate. Not only because Jason had not cheated on him as he thought, but he had been planning how to propose to him. He was thinking he didn’t want to be with him and then he just discovered that he wanted to spend their lives together, it was too sudden.

But despite having to go from one extreme to the other so quickly, Tim seemed to assimilate at last when those tears turned into ones of happiness and a smile began to grow on his face.

 “Yes.” He replied with a sigh of relief. “Yes, I do.”

 Jason couldn't help but smile too, happiness flooding him completely, his answer echoing in his head and brightening every part of his being. It didn't take him long to get up to catch him and hold him tight, both of them letting out a relieved laughter. Words weren’t enough.

The tallest wiped the tears of his now fiancé, with affection and devotion.

 “I should have thought how difficult is to hide something from a detective.” He said placing a lock of his hair behind his ear. “And this time you didn't even have to do much to discover me.”

 Tim smiled and shrugged, his eyes shining with love and relief. Almost seemed that he was going to cry again when he grabbed his hand and put the ring on him carefully. Jason's heart squeezed at the sight because it fit him perfectly, and it was his, all his, forever.

 When Tim leaned down to kiss him, he didn't even hesitate. He was more than willing to love his detective for the rest of his days, and he would make sure to tell him in every moment.

[ziezie13]

Fics of the Week

I am doing something a little different this time in honor of Juneteenth. For those of you who don’t know Juneteenth is celebrated at the day of emancipation here in Texas. On this day, two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation, it was proclaimed that all enslaved persons in the state of Texas were to be free. Normally we would celebrate with some live music, fun, and food but the public festivities have been postponed due to COVID. So I thought I might give a shout-out to all the amazing writers of color out there! These writers span dozens of fandoms and include all kinds of pairings so hopefully you find something you love as much as I did. Without further ado, check out these amazing fics!

Boostle Family by mikeymagee (@mikeymagee​)

Coming back from a quick sightseeing trip through time with Booster, Jaime has somehow been de-aged. Now it's up to everyone's two favorite superheroes to keep him out of trouble...if only they could do the same for themselves.

Words: 6804; Chapters: 9/?; Fandoms: Justice League International (Comics), Booster Gold (Comics), Blue Beetle (Comics), DCU, DCU (Animated), Batman: The Brave and the Bold, Young Justice (Cartoon); Rating: General Audiences; Last Update: 14 Sep 2014

Relationship(s): Family Relationships, Friendship - Relationship

Characters: Booster Gold, Ted Kord, Jaime Reyes, Blue Beetle - Character, Michael Carter, Boostle - Character

Additional Tags: AU, Family, Age Regression/De-Aging, Bromance

Lucky for you by Daiako (Achrya) (@achryadaiako​)

Katsuki is a summoner, a damn good one. Which makes accidently calling forth a timid Incubus and ending up bonded to him all the more infuriating. It only gets worse when he realizes he can feel the demons emotions and that it's is very very hungry. The only way to quiet the bond is satisfy the demon’s needs and complete the spell.

For Kinktober, prompts are incubus and bonds

Words: 3603; Chapters: 1/1; Series: Part 7 of Kinktober 2017; Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia; Rating: Explicit; Last Update: 08 Oct 2017

Relationship(s): Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Additional Tags: Incubus Deku, Demon Sex, Witch Katsuki, Demon Summoning, Empathetic bonds, Magic Gone Wrong, Shapeshifting, Genderfluid Character

Goodnight my Loves, says the Bat by AmarieMelody (@amariemelody​)

The various reasons Bruce's children choose to sleep in the bed with their father.

Over the years, over the ages the reasons vary with each child...and Bruce has accommodated each & every one.

Hurt/comfort, fluff, with dashes of humor.

Words: 8594; Chapters: 1/?; Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics); Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Last Update: 25 Mar 2019

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Talia al Ghul, Leslie Thompkins

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Humor, SO MUCH HUMOR, Daddy!Bruce, daddy!Bats, Mentions of child abuse & neglect (mostly w/Cass and Jason), Batfamily fanfic

Tactile by Bircjosta (@bircjosta)

In low and soft light, Taako and Kravitz learn more about each other.

Or,

Taako and Kravitz touch a whole lot and have a great and informative time.

Words: 2300; Chapters: 1/1; Fandoms: The Adventure Zone (Podcast); Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Last Update: 01 Aug 2018

Relationship(s): Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone)

Characters: Kravitz (The Adventure Zone), Taako (The Adventure Zone)

Additional Tags: Romance, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Touching, Enthusiastic Consent

sweet as can be by captainafroelf (@captainafroelf​, @afro-elf​) for JazzyTee

bucky finds love in the supermarket and it gets cuter from there

Words: 5483; Chapters: 2/2; Fandoms: Captain America (Movies); Rating: Not Rated; Last Update: 18 Dec 2019

Relationship(s): James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes, Shuri (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Cooking, Baking, it's not rated because i don't know How Sexy this is gonna get yet, so it got pretty sexy

Inexperience by HoneyBee95

Experiences are part of what makes us human. No matter who we are, or where we’ve been, every experience defines us. Poe Dameron had realized early on that Finn had very little understanding in most things, and tries to help him as best he can in every way possible.

Words: 2028; Chapters: 1/1; Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015); Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Last Update: 02 Jan 2016

Relationship(s): Poe Dameron & Finn & Rey, Poe Dameron & Finn, Finn/FN-2003 | Slip, Poe Dameron/Finn, Stormpilot - Relationship, Finnpoe

Characters: Finn (Star Wars), Poe Dameron, BB-8, Rey (Star Wars), FN-2003 | Slip

Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, ptsd finn, Loss of Virginity, Virginity, Urination, Sexuality, Implied Poe Dameron/Finn, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers, Stormpilot, fn-2003 - Freeform, Male Homosexuality, Desire

 The gorgeous gif comes from @handeleugene​! It was designed by Danni Fisher-Shin and Animated by Antoinie Eugene and Handel Eugene (original post here).

Want more? @captainafroelf​ (aka @afro-elf​) has some great posts with links to black writers and blogs! You can find her posts here and here. Also check out the blackinfanfiction tag on AO3 for fics featuring black characters.

[meterokinesis]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul, Tam Fox, OFC, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Fasir Nasser

Pairings: Tim Drake & Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Chose not to use archive warnings

Tags: Canon divergence, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Evil!Tim Drake, Blood and Gore, Psychological Trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Unreliable narrator, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Post-Battle of the Cowl, Bruce is dead, Tim is not having a good time right now

Summary: When Tim Drake leaves to find Bruce, he doesn’t expect to get stabbed. He doesn’t expect to die. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be resurrected. However, the Tim who goes into the Lazarus Pit is not the same Tim who comes out. This Tim is ruthless and unguarded in a way he never was before. And when Ra's starts to take him under his wing... well, what's a disgraced Robin to do?

Author’s Note: This work is part of the Batfam Big Bang! (@batfam-big-bang) I couldn't have done this without my lovely betas, @bisexualoftheblade, @crystalinastar, and @houser-of-stories. There's also some amazing art for this fic that I’ll be posting soon!

Read it on AO3

The desert night was cool, with a breeze that shifted the sand beneath Tim’s feet like waves. The stars gleamed overhead, and for a second he was caught up in how clear the sky was. It had been years since he’d seen stars without a haze of light pollution around them.

Owens and Z were in front of him, his babysitters for the night. Pru was off to his left, fiddling with the safety on her gun. The ride here had been as light-hearted as was possible, given the circumstances, but that jovial tone had ended quickly. Their off-roader had died on them maybe half an hour before, and the small group was still huddled around the machine, waiting as Z checked the engine. Every few seconds, Pru glared at Tim, as if blaming him for the hold up. Though the others had made it very clear that this was a fool’s errand, Tim knew that Bruce was here, somewhere. He had to be, or Tim had thrown everything away for nothing.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Tim might be the world’s greatest detective, now that Bruce was… out of commission. But his hunches could still be wrong. What if- no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He would bring Bruce back, he had to.

“Hey, Drake, are you done brooding yet?” Pru’s voice echoed over the empty land. Tim huffed noncommittally and looked up to see the bald assassin twirling her gun on her finger.

“I’m a Bat. We’re never done brooding,” he quipped, before fiddling with the little radio receiver he had brought along. It didn’t do more than give off static when it was on, but having something to do with his hands helped.

Rolling her eyes, Pru gestured over to a precariously balanced pile of rocks. “Wanna see if I can hit the top one off without knocking over the others?”

Tim sighed heavily and dragged himself over to her, Owens trailing behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Z peek out from behind the hood to watch.

Squaring off, Pru brought up her gun and fired off a shot. To no one’s surprise, the top rock went flying and the others remained still, albeit with a slight wobble.

“Fuck yeah! Z, did you see…” She trailed off, her face blanching. Tim followed suit, only to be greeted with Z on the ground, chest bleeding in a way his medical training told him was too much. His brown eyes were already glassy, and his chest wasn’t moving anymore. It was then that the rest of the image came into focus, and Tim’s eyes finally latched onto the cloaked man holding two bloody swords.

“I am the Widower,” the man said, his voice low and bone-chilling. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up a fight.”

Tim drew his bo staff, eyes tracking Pru and Owens as they rushed toward the Widower, guns at the ready. He had barely taken a step, but they were already on the ground, Pru bleeding from a large gash in her neck and Owens trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound in between his ribs.

Quick--what were his weaknesses? No visible limps or injuries, no issues handling the weapons. He moved like a snake through grass, smooth and precise. The Widower’s blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Pru’s blood dripped onto the sand. Tim lashed out with his staff, catching one of the swords right as it flew toward his throat.

“I guess dead birdies tell no tales,” Widower whispered as he drove the second sword, the one Tim had forgotten about, into Tim’s stomach.

The vigilante staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. The blade slid out and even through the gloves of his suit, Tim could feel his blood, warm and sticky. Was this how he was going to die? Mission incomplete, estranged from his family, bleeding out into the desert sand? He had never assumed he would survive in this job, but he’d at least thought he’d die as Robin. Oh god, he was never going to be Robin again.

The ground rushed up to greet him, sand in his mouth and eyes and hair. He supposed that it didn’t matter--it’s not like corpses care anyway. With his last ounces of strength, he rolled onto his back. Somewhere, some last shred of knowledge told him that this would keep him from bleeding out, but deep down he knew it was too late. Tim just wanted the stars to be the last thing he saw.

As darkness encroached on the corners of his vision, his mind drifted back to Bruce. This was it. The only father figure he’d ever had, or at least the only one who liked him as he was, would be doomed to never return. And it was all Tim’s fault.

The afterlife was dark. And cold. Tim had never been religious, aside from that year of Hebrew school his parents insisted he take in middle school, but even he knew that this wasn’t right. It took a second, but the cold and dark sharpened into something Tim knew well, his kitchen at home. Well, at Drake Manor.

The marble countertops gleamed, as did the floors, and Tim recalled tiptoeing around in his early childhood, so not to dirty them. The kitchen--really, the whole house--had always felt like a mausoleum. Cold, impersonable. Lonely. In some ways, a lot like Tim.

He drifted through the house, looking pointedly away from the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. It had been painted a few months before his mom was killed, right after he became Robin. They all looked so stiff, like actors playing a family in a movie. Actually, actors would probably do a better job than they did. That portrait had been the first thing Tim had put in storage when his dad died.

The curtains were drawn, letting in the gray sunlight Gotham was so well-known for. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his lawn, except… not. Gravestones dotted the otherwise pristine lawn, some new and some old and worn. He hesitated at the door, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. He was dead, it wasn’t like he could get hurt. Maybe this was some kind of purgatory that he had to deal with before he could move on. He pushed against the door, anticipating the old hitch in the hinges that had been around for years.

The air held the same chill as the house, pulling at Tim’s breath. Front and center, practically in the doorway, was Bruce’s grave, the one they’d buried him in just over a month ago. But now the death date was scratched out, in its place a sticker like the ones Tim used to put on his skateboard. It read: Eternally Damned To Disappointment. It’d sound like the name of a band Tim might’ve listened to, if he didn’t know that the disappointment was in him.

The next grave was older, cracked and crumbly. The ground in front of it was disturbed, and dried blood streaks marked the bottom of the headstone. Here lies Jason Todd. Well, that didn’t last long. And unlike Jason, Tim knew he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t that lucky.

Next was Steph, or at least the grave she pretended to fill. It was covered in flowers, some of them bouquets Tim had left himself. Tim had spent hours in front of it, telling her how much he missed her and loved her, praying for the first and last times. When she came back… well, they were more distant than he would’ve liked. That wasn’t Steph’s fault, at least not entirely, but it did make him wonder. What if he never took back the mantle? Would this have been easier? He could’ve been a semi-normal teenager, living with his dad and stepmom, mourning his girlfriend and being blissfully unaware of the shitshow that was heroism. But he wouldn’t have been happy.

And speak of the devil, there’s his parents’ graves, right next to each other. It was almost funny how they were closer in death than in life. A boomerang was lodged in his father’s gravestone, with an old flip phone opened at the base. It listed Tim’s number as the last call. His mother’s had a sticky substance that a voice deep inside Tim told him not to touch. He lingered at these graves for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s not that he didn’t miss his parents--he did. But he had only known a piece of them, only just deeper than surface level. They weren’t parents as much as guardians with high expectations. And for the most part, he had met or exceeded every goal they gave him. But it never was enough. There was always another class to ace or language to learn or party to schmooze at. Worst of all, they were cold. If Tim was the chill night air, his parents were Antarctica.

The next grave stopped him in his tracks. Bart. One of his best friends, his ally in all things. Gone, but not in the way Bruce or Steph were. Bart wasn’t coming back. There would be no more Hawaiian pizza and donuts shared over a comic book, or sleepovers on the floor of Mount Justice. No more Wendy the Werewolf Stalker Marathons. There was no more Bart, and it stung in a way that Tim didn’t have a name for.

He turned around, expecting that to be the end of it, but there it was. Conner. All at once, the weight of the world fell on Tim’s shoulders, like his own personal Kryptonite. His best friend, someone he had been more than a little in love with once upon a time. He knew Conner was safe now, alive and saving people once again. Without Tim. Conner’s death had been the one that broke him, more than any of the others. Because if Conner Kent, Superboy and heartbreaker extraordinaire, hadn’t made it, what chance did Tim have? Well, obviously not much. How was Conner going to take this? He wasn’t like Tim, this was the first time he’d be alone.

Aren’t you tired of losing the ones you love? Aren’t you tired of being the one left behind? A quiet voice murmured in the back of his skull.

Yes. No. Yes. A sob tore from Tim’s chest, and his hand flew to his mouth. This was so stupid. He had dealt with loss before. Hell, the past year had been one unending funeral. Of course he was tired, who wouldn’t be?

This had to be Hell, but that felt like even more of a betrayal. Even Jason had made it to Heaven. Was this his punishment for toeing the line? Had he not suffered enough? Biting back another sob, Tim ran blindly toward the door, slamming it shut behind him in a way that would’ve made his mother shriek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room anymore, but the Batcave. Even with his eyes full of tears, he would know it anywhere. And there was Dick in the Batsuit. And the demon in his Robin gear. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dick looked up, expression weary.

“Tim, I already told you. Bruce isn’t coming back. I’m Batman now, and that means I get to choose the Robin. It’s about time you accept that.” It sure sounded like Dick. “Besides, it’s not like you were doing a great job anyway. You let Batman be killed on the job.” Damian sneered, leaning against Dick’s chair like a bully in a high school rom com.

“That-That’s not my fault!” Tim cried, heart pounding in his ears.

“Look, there’s an heir and a spare. There’s a new Robin now, you can be whatever you’re calling yourself now. Go do whatever you have to on this suicide mission, but leave Gotham out of it.”

Damian smiled like a demonic cherub. “Yes, Drake. Not even Grayson wants you anymore, if he ever did.”

Tim stood in shocked silence, unable to find words. Sure, Dick was focused on Damian, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care anymore. After all, they were brothers, right?

He’s taken the only thing you had left. Don’t you want revenge? He took your mantle, you should take it back. The voice sounded like Tim, but contorted--like it would on a recording.

Tim--no, not Tim, something else--reached back for the bo staff. As his hand gripped the metal, something flew toward him, hitting him directly in the stomach where he had been stabbed. It clattered to the floor, and through his pain, Tim realized it was a Batarang.

Don’t you want more, Timothy Drake-Wayne? It coaxed.

Yes.

The new Timothy Drake-Wayne took his first breaths in a cave deep in the Iraqi desert, hundreds of miles away from the house and the graves that had haunted his dream. It was cold here, nearly as cold as that dream had been. If he was in Hell, it would be hotter, wouldn’t it?

Tim swallowed hard and pushed himself up. His stomach, where he was pretty sure he had just been stabbed, was free of wounds or scarring. If anything, he felt stronger than he had before. As his feet touched the stone cold floor, he took note of the ninjas scattered around the room. Okay, so he was back at the League. They must have… The prior strength he had felt disappeared as his legs gave out. Normally he would have rolled or caught himself or something, but his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a glowing green pit resided.

Oh, no.

No weapons, outnumbered, barely able to stand. The disadvantages stacked up before his eyes, screaming that there was no hope of him getting out of this one. Not to mention that he was probably already on his way to insanity. Fuck, the last time he’d seen Jason, the former Robin had almost killed him. Would Tim end up like that, homicidal and cruel?

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stone table for support. He could take out two, maybe three, if he just stopped thinking. He was trained for this, he could--

“Hello there, Detective,” a cold voice purred, quiet but deafening in the silent room. A chill hovered under Tim’s skin. It had been a long time since he’d last heard that voice. Detective? Isn’t that what he calls your mentor? There was the voice again, the only remaining fragment of the dream.

Ra’s al Ghul was one of those people who intimidated you just by existing in the same space. He reminded Tim of every strict teacher and cruel board member and snotty dinner party guest all rolled up into one. Oh, and he was the leader of the world’s largest assassin guild. That was important too.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy?” Ra’s said in the same tone.

The teenager opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for words. “No,” he managed to force out. “No, I didn’t.”

Are you sure?

Ra’s smiled, like a predator that had just gone for the killing blow. “Well, I suppose that you will have more than enough time to complete your quest during your stay with us.” And just like that, he turned, a group of ninjas peeling off to escort him back to whatever pit of Hell he’d crawled from. “If you need anything, ask for the White Ghost. Welcome to the Cradle, Detective.” And just like that, he was gone.

Tim was only alone with his thoughts for a minute before a tall man with alabaster skin and medieval-style chainmail entered the cavern.

Okay, so this was the White Ghost impersonator. The League wouldn’t kill someone they’d just resurrected, so maybe once he was alone he could escape? Go back to Gotham and see Dick and Sebastian and Zoanne one last time before he truly went insane, then start going to that therapist Dick recommended. He could make it through this, he wouldn’t end up like Jason--

And then in walked Tam Fox, looking terrified but for the most part unharmed. And all of Tim’s plans came crashing down.

Tam was a civilian, and a Wayne Enterprises employee to boot. Her life, and his identity, were in danger now. He was both her only savior and her greatest danger. New plan: listen to this knockoff White Ghost, do whatever it takes to gain their trust, then make it out with Tam at the first possible chance. And do it all without going off the deep end.

Easy. Not.

“I am the White Ghost,” the shitty cosplayer said, his chainmail clinking as he moved.

“Isn’t he dead?” Tim murmured under his breath. He’d definitely seen Dusan die. But if Tim was still alive, then maybe…

“There has always been a White Ghost,” the older man responded, as if that answered anything. “Now, it is time you and your guest retired to your quarters.”

Tam looked over at Tim, big brown eyes wide with fear. He nodded once, tried to conjure a press conference smile, and allowed them to be led to lavish bedchambers. They looked like beautiful, windowless prisons.

The next few weeks blended into their own lethal monotony. Tam stayed in her room all day and Tim went to meetings with various members of the League’s regime. It was a little like working at Drake Industries or Wayne Enterprises, just with more murder. A lot more murder. But the meetings were easy enough, and Tim soon found himself getting to know the people he once despised. He didn’t like them by any means, but he wasn’t terrified anymore.

He kept looking for Bruce. The desert gave no answers.

Tam didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push too hard. She had to know everyone’s identities by now, didn’t she? Tim was just one Robin-shaped piece of the puzzle. Here he was, in the desert, yet another failed Robin. His whole tenure, he’d been trying to live up to Jason Todd, and now in a sick way he had. Wearing Jason’s uniform, having been resurrected the same way, he now dreaded catching up to the boy who had once been his hero.

On nights when he cried silently into the silk sheets, trying to forget the way Jason had looked when he first came back to Gotham, the voice soothed: You can be greater than he ever was. You can outshine all of the others. You will be remembered when they are dust.

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

His bedchamber was nice enough. There was a large bed with silk sheets and gold accents and an ensuite bathroom. A large mirror took up the space where a window might have once been, like some sort of philosophical conundrum that Tim was too tired to try to unpack. There was a small passageway between his room and Tam’s, and if Tim was just a little more naive he would have believed that the League forgot about it when they placed him in this room. But he knew better. The League never forgot a thing.

Sometimes Tim caught himself in the mirror and for a second he swore his blue eyes looked green. Tam came in the next morning to glass littering the floor and cuts covering Tim’s hands. She said nothing while she helped him wrap up his knuckles.

Tim had always been adaptable. It’s easier than the constant push and shove of rebellion. When his parents told him to take those classes and join these clubs, he did. When he was instructed to give impromptu speeches at galas, he did. He put in the effort, he always had. He was never the best fighter and never would be, but he was smart and quick and brave. That had to mean something, right?

Maybe that’s why Ra’s al Ghul liked him so much.

The first time Ra’s al Ghul asked for a private meeting with Tim, the ground seemed to tilt under him. The well-trained vigilante tried not to show the fear in his eyes as his vision blurred and his heart thundered in his chest. But he went, because one did not say no to the Demon’s Head.

“Detective,” Ra’s began as he sat down at a large, stately desk that seemed out of place in the rest of the Cradle. The voices--he had taken to calling them whispers--that had been clogging Tim’s thoughts preened at the nickname, ignoring its former bearer.

“Tell me what you know about my grandson,” the assassin drawled, his fingers tapping on the desk rhythmically.

“Don’t you have spies for that?” Tim responded, not quite a retort but not an innocent question either. He’d seen enough of the League’s intel that it was clear how much they truly knew about the world outside the Cradle.

“Yes, but I’d prefer to hear it from someone… familiar with him. My eyes can only do so much from afar.”

Tim had no doubt that Ra’s knew everything about Damian: from the route he took to school to the cereal he ate for breakfast to how many times he pet Titus when he got home from school.

“He’s a brat.” Tim’s chagrin even took him by surprise, like it wasn’t really him talking. “He’s rude and inconsistent and incredibly immature. He’s aggressive and undisciplined. A sorry excuse for a Robin.”

And there it was, the green monster of jealousy rearing its head again. Yes, Damian had taken Robin from him unfairly, and yes, he was all of those things. But why did Ra’s care?

“I see. Would you describe him as a leader?”

“No. If anything, he’s a bully and a mama’s boy. Leaders need to be able to listen to others.” Where was he getting this? Damian was a kid, he could learn. He still had time.

“Interesting.” Ra’s rose from his chair and paced the edge of the room. Tim refused to look back and follow his movements. That would be a show of weakness, a drop of blood in a shark tank. “Detective, what do you have in Gotham? What do you have there that keeps you from dedicating yourself to your cause?”

Nothing.

Tim stifled a gasp as he thought of the instant response. Dick and Damian didn’t need him. Stephanie hadn’t called in months, even before Bruce died. Jason had tried to kill him, last they’d spoken. The Teen Titans were getting along just fine without him. Truthfully, the whispers were right. There was nothing left for him in Gotham. If there was, he would have stayed.

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

“Then I may have a proposal for you.” Ra’s eyes glowed a dangerous green. A pit formed in Tim’s stomach, as the last few vestiges of him that hadn’t sided with the voices screamed at him to just escape.

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

“Learn under my agents. Train to become better than you are. Continue your quest with my resources behind you. All you have to do is stay and work for me,” Ra’s smiled like a hunter who had just shot big game.

This was a terrible idea. Tim didn’t kill people, he refused. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. But he couldn’t deny that feeling like he belonged again was incredibly enticing.

Tim opened his mouth, but Ra’s cut him off. “Your friend will not be harmed. I won’t even think about putting you on an assignment until you’re up to par with my best ninjas. I will not make this offer again.”

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

Tim thought that six months of training with Bruce was brutal. Ha hadn’t known brutal until now.

His first day of training, he showed up in his Red Robin suit, now patched and reinforced where he had been stabbed.

The tall ninja that seemed to be in charge scoffed, then sent him away. Not fifteen minutes later, a tailor descended on Tim’s quarters with a tape measure and a face made of solid stone.

“Can’t have you looking like a target, all in red. What was Batman thinking?”

Maybe he wants them to be targets, Tim and the whispers thought in tandem. He balked at the thought, but the tailor’s firm hands kept him in place. What was he doing? Bruce had loved him, did love him. He had taken care of Tim when no one else would. Bile crawled through the back of Tim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

The tailor finished her measurements and scanned Tim up and down.

“It will have to be black, of course. Reinforced joints, kevlar, the whole nine yards,” she stated in a lilting accent. “Maybe some green accents, dark ones. Classy. Half-mask, no more cowls or dominos.”

Red, yellow, and black were his colors and had been for years. A tribute to a boy he loved and lost then loved some more. But Conner was back now. And Tim was tired of mourning, especially when no one was dead. Well, except him.

“Green,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t Red Robin anymore, not really. And he could always wear the suit again. This wasn’t a finale, just a hiatus.

She nodded once and then swept away, leaving a teenager clutching the last thing he had of his old life. Tim folded the suit, the way Alfred had always chastised him for, and gingerly placed it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

The next day, a precisely wrapped package sat outside Tim’s door bearing no signature. He knew exactly what it was.

Upon peeling back the paper, he saw the full glory of the new suit. It was midnight black, with dark green stitches that were beautiful up close, but would be near-invisible from far away. It looked like a cross between the ninjas’ garb and body armor--sleek and sure of itself. A hood was attached to the back of the neck, with the green stitching spelling out something Tim couldn’t discern. A half-mask with built in air filters covered the rest of the face. As he patted the suit down, he felt where all the separate compartments were for weapons and utilities. It reminded him a little of the costumes from high-tech spy movies.

Sitting on the floor with his new suit in his lap, Tim added another item to the long lists of debts he owed Ra’s al Ghul.

His first real day of training, Tim was beaten so badly he could hardly drag himself to his room.

It wasn’t that they had intended to hurt him, but he had gone almost a month without training. Bruises laced up his cheekbone like their own little domino mask, a little memento of times gone by. His joints screamed out in pain as he collapsed onto his bed. At least he hadn’t broken any bones. Or been stabbed. Or died.

Tim only had a few minutes to contemplate the stuntman funniest fails video that was his life when a gentle knock came from the door.

“Come in,” he groaned, flopping over onto his side so he could see his company. His mother would have scolded him for not standing up to greet a guest, but she didn’t have much sway from six feet under.

A girl with olive-tan skin and a brunette bun stepped into the threshold, her smile the gentlest thing he’d seen in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Aminta. I figured you could use some help with your wounds.” Her voice was lower than he expected, but pretty nonetheless. A dark, untraceable accent threaded through her words.

He peered up at her, frowning.

“Is this a hazing thing? Am I being hazed?”

She chuckled, then sat on the ottoman at the edge of his bed.

“Not hazing. The new recruits tend to help each other through the first few months. Safety in numbers and all that. I thought you might want some assistance.”

“So, you’re all friends?” That didn’t sound right.

“No,” she hesitated for a moment, “not exactly. Friends is too... common. We are assassins, but we have honor. When we need to, we take care of our own.”

Ah, so he was one of them now. For some indescribable reason, that didn’t fill him with as much dread as he thought it would.

You have no friends. You never did. Just those who you will rule and those who you will crush, the whispers added.

Tim smiled, the shy grin he used when he wanted teachers and Wayne Enterprises board members to underestimate him.

“Thank you, Aminta. I’d appreciate that. My name is Tim.”

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

Or at least, they were going to. Tim had known enough corrupt businessmen in his time in Gotham’s upper echelon that he was well versed in the signs of someone double-dipping. At first it was little things: missing pieces of inventory, strange new guard shifts, incorrect mission intel. By the time it escalated to money being skimmed off the top of jobs, Ra’s was furious.

When he called Tim in for a meeting, something that was becoming increasingly normal these days, Tim was expecting fiery rage. Instead, there was steel-sharp cunning. It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Detective, it appears that we have a liability in our ranks,” Ra’s began, his fingertips caressing a blade. “I assume you’ve read the data I sent to your quarters, and I’d like your thoughts.”

Tim cleared his throat. He had spent the night before reading the reports, putting together the pieces. If this was a test, it was a wicked one.

“The incidents began shortly after the attacks by the Widower. It’s a piece of misdirection intended to frame either Pru or I as a mole. However, neither of us has any reason for betrayal. Pru is, and has always been, loyal to the League. And you are well aware that I have nothing left for me in Gotham, nor would I be stupid enough to allow myself to get caught.” His voice was smooth, the prince of Gotham giving yet another speech.

“There is someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. After reading your files, it is incredibly clear. He has a family of his own that he is loyal to, and during my resurrection, he was not in the Cradle. His computer prowess would allow him to mess with the system in a way few others could. It would have been a very clean job, if he had spread it out over months or years instead of a few weeks.”

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Ra’s rose from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now that we’ve established the perpetrator, it is time to establish the punishment.”

Ah, so here was the test. Ra’s wanted to see how ruthless Tim could be. It was a very good thing that Tim never failed an exam.

“Kill him. It will send a message to our other agents and whoever he worked for that we are not to be trifled with.” Tim’s hands shook, but his voice was full of conviction. He had always been a good actor, but it wasn’t clear how much was truth now.

“And his daughters?”

“Bring them to the Cradle. They’re young enough that they likely won’t remember him, and we’ll be able to shape their childhood. Perhaps one will become just as intelligent as her father, and wiser as well.” The whispers hissed wordlessly in disappointment, but it was worth it. Tim refused to order the execution of a child, no matter how loud the shrieking in his skull became.

There was a beat of dead silence, then Ra’s nodded sagely.

“Wise choice, Detective. I’ll put those orders into effect at once.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming as his dagger had. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our partnership.”

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

Life in the Cradle was, well, nice. Tim was training harder than he ever had, under much more strenuous conditions, yet he felt better than he ever had. He was stronger, for one thing, but for the first time since he’d discovered Batman and Robin’s identities, he was able to rest. He didn’t need to be up until dawn chasing people across rooftops or finishing reports or writing an essay for English class because he’d been too busy on patrol. Even in a den of killers, Tim felt almost safe.

That said, he refused to let his guard down. He’d sat in on meetings with the inner circle of the Cradle for months now, trying to use his famous brain for something important. Which for his purposes, meant destroying the League as best as possible.

That was the only reason he’d stayed, or at least that’s what he told himself during nights where he twisted and turned trying to justify his choices. He’d exploit the League’s generosity to train himself and find Bruce, then take it down. Bruce would have to be proud of him after that, they all would. Maybe he’d even be Robin again.

He’d already taken out the Expediter, Ra’s’ guy in the chair. The guy confessed to the mistake of having a family and trying to work for the League at the same time. Good thing Tim didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is good, but it is not enough. You crave more. Do not be a coward, take it.

Now Tim was the techie for an international assassin guild, which would look moderately impressive on a college resume. Maybe it could count as an internship. Ra’s seemed like the guy who would make a relatively okay reference when Harvard came calling.

It always felt strange when he had lunch with Ra’s. It was eerily similar to the fancy lunches his mom used to drag him to, or the etiquette classes he was forced to take where he learned how to properly use a melon baller. Of course, it wasn’t like he was going to be killed for using a melon baller wrong then. Now, he knew that any wrong move could result in death.

Not his own death, of course. There was no point in Ra’s bringing back Tim, just to kill him again. Tam, however, was expendable. And that made the marrow in Tim’s bones shiver.

This particular lunch was more focused on memory lane than shop talk.

“So, Detective, tell me: what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tim swallowed hard around his tea sandwich, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a clown. Not a great career path in Gotham,” he began, attempting to keep his voice light. Ra’s looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, I wanted to be a photographer. Then, my father said I would be a CEO or I’d be disowned, so I wanted to be a CEO. I could always do photography on the side, you know?

“And then I became Robin.” He let the weight of that sentence sink over the pair.

“So? What happened after that?”

Tim resisted the urge to stare at his sandwich, instead choosing to meet Ra’s’ bright green eyes.

“Then, I stopped thinking I would grow up.” There it was, the thing everyone had been trying to pry out of him for years.

“I mean, Dick barely made it out. Jason died, came back, went crazy, and now murders people for shits and giggles. Stephanie died, but only kinda. Damian’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. In the wild, robins live for a year, maybe two if they’re lucky. I don’t think anyone realized how similar we all are to those stupid birds.” Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t need to cry. All that pain was gone now, replaced by something else. He couldn’t name it, but it kept all the sadness away.

Tim had been sad for his whole life. It was a relief when the roiling ocean inside him froze over. Numbness was an improvement.

Ra’s leaned across the table, his face barely a foot from Tim’s.

“You know, Detective, you remind me of myself. Not when I was young, of course, but when I had just begun to build my empire. All your life you have been told to quiet down and listen instead of speaking. You’re a fine leader because of it. You adapt when others are stubborn. You make plans while they push through without a second thought. You are a snake lying in wait, anticipating the right time to strike. I admire that.”

The air hung in silence as Ra’s stared directly into Tim’s soul.

“You know,” Ra’s finally said, “I think you could be truly great one day.”

Tim barely breathed as he nodded his thanks. When Ra’s finally leaned away, his first breath felt like the first gasp of air from a drowning victim.

“Before our lunch concludes, and I do so enjoy our lunches, I have a query for you.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary, Ra’s liked to give him riddles to keep him on his toes. “Some of our ninjas, though I will not say who, have gone rogue. A year or so ago, they got themselves caught up in some nasty business. My current intel places them here, in this compound, where they’re using innocents as collateral, should they not get what they request.”

“What do they want?”

“My head on a platter.” Ra’s’ smile was bloodchilling. “Oh, Detective? I feel it’s important to note: international news stations are currently reporting you and Ms. Fox as having been kidnapped by these rogues. Any advice on how to fix that?”

So this was the second test. Another chance to prove his loyalty. Let Ra’s’ enemies go free, or kill them and forfeit his old life for good in return.

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

“I’m afraid that those deserters are incredibly well trained. The special units from any nation’s army wouldn’t even make it into the compound. My ninjas could make it in, but there’s no way they could take out the traitors and save the civilians.”

Tim nodded, pretending to contemplate. He already knew his answer.

“Bomb the compound, kill everyone inside. It’s better to cut off the rot now than give it the chance to spread.”

Ra’s did not smile, but his eyes glimmered with pride.

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

Tam was waiting in his chambers when Tim got home from a long day of training, his body littered in bruises and cuts that would sting tomorrow. Her crossed arms functioned as a hug, like she was the only thing keeping herself together.

“Tim,” she whispered when he came into view, the word like a prayer.

He glided across the room wordlessly, and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I managed to get someone to sneak me a newspaper. Th-They think we’re dead, Tim,” she said into his shoulder, words slightly muffled by the fabric.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, the way he used to comfort Cass after a particularly long day. Tim didn’t respond, and instead let her tears soak into his shirt.

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

The Council of Spiders had a worthy namesake, as they were just as quick and deadly as any arachnid. Somehow they had crept past the League’s defenses, disabling the ninjas that got in their way. True to form, the assassins’ deaths were just as silent as they were--shadows fading out as dusk began to form.

Tim was preparing for another day of strategy and mind games when Aminta burst into the room.

“The Spiders are here. They managed to sneak in--no one knows how. You’re needed,” she gasped, as if she’d ran a marathon to deliver this message. Judging from her state of disarray, maybe she had.

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

Tim didn’t have time to question these motives or worry about much more than tugging on his cowl and pulling out his bo staff. He sprinted out the door and into the madness, moving in a dangerous dance with the assassins he had trained alongside for the past few months. The League was good, great even. But with the element of surprise, the Spiders were better.

He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen if they lost. Failure was not an option, not anymore.

A shadow glided toward one of the empty hallways and away from the rest of the frenzy, a sword glinting in its hand. Something that had dug its claws deep in Tim’s bones pulled him toward the figure, urging him to follow. To finish the job.

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

The figure purposefully stalked toward the large office Tim had started to spend increasing amounts of time in. The footsteps were near-silent, but in his mind they echoed almost deafeningly loud.

The shadow had to know he was there. It had to. Tim was good, but a few months of training could never rival lifetimes.

The shadow glanced over its shoulder, a feline-esque smile on its face. It said something, probably a witty yet scathing remark, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of whispers in Tim’s mind.

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

You are not a bird, you are not a bat.

You are a demon, and you do not know weakness.

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

Tim struck out with his bo staff, right into the shadow’s skull. It faltered, just for a millisecond, and that creature that was both Tim and not lashed out, quicker than it had any right to be. A dagger in his hand, sharpened to a razor-thin edge. He did not remember doing that. That same dagger, buried into deep tan flesh.

Then he was across the room, bones aching from being thrown into the stone wall. If he was still human, still able to rein in whatever was drowning out his senses, he would know to expect pain tomorrow. But he didn’t, and all he felt was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

And he was up again, throwing himself at the shadow with the conviction of a greek hero who knew that this fight would be his last. A fist full of rings connected with his cheek, and he could feel the skin tear beneath the metal. Maybe it would even scar.

The shadow leaned heavily to one side, though whether it was from the stab placed between its ribs or a prior injury, Tim didn’t know. It lurched toward him, and he stabbed it again, this time twisting the dagger until he felt the give of a lung. The shadow was down now, and deep down Tim knew that he never should have beaten it, never should have landed a single blow. In a logical world, Tim would have lost ten times over. But in a logical world, Tim would have been dead for the past six months.

As if time was in slow motion but he was at normal speed, Tim glided through the seconds, pushing pressure points with the tip of his blade. The shadow’s sword lay across the hall, too far out of reach for retaliation. This wasn’t torture, but it was revenge--for pain and sacrifice and nights spent clawing at his own skin, wishing it still felt like his. Payback for months of sins he never would have committed, for the green that clouded his vision. But most of all, it was a promise.

After minutes that held years of heartwrenching pain, Tim delivered the killing blow, straight under the shadow’s chin and into its brain. He was covered in blood, tacky and rust-toned, but where a past Tim--a lesser Tim--would have balked or vomited at the sight, this Tim stood, cleaned off his blade, and hefted the cooling corpse onto his shoulder.

They can try to revive it with the Lazarus Pit. You cannot allow that to happen. You cannot fail, the whispers urged, but he no longer needed them. They were him and he was them. Green in every breath and thought.

Tim escaped into the desert and finished the job, just as he had always been taught to do. Ra’s would have been proud. Bruce would have been proud.

That night, after the Spiders had been exterminated and the mess cleaned up, Tim sat at the foot of his bed, staring at his hands. The ninjas had looked at him with what could be called pride when he staggered back into the fray, his face bruised and bloody and sporting a wound on his thigh. His silky clothes brushed past the injuries every few seconds, but he couldn’t muster the energy to wince, even though he knew he should.

Tam had managed to hide during the clash, and Aminta had kept her promise. Tim liked people who followed through.

After being given the all clear, he stumbled back to his room to wash out his wounds and scrub the smell of smoke off his skin.

He had only just changed into his silky clothes when a knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the White Ghost was in Tim’s room, staring down at the teenager with an unnameable expression on his face.

“Timothy Drake,” the man said by way of greeting.

Tim glanced at him and blinked owlishly, but did not respond.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

This gripped Tim’s attention, and he finally made eye contact with the assassin, his brow creasing in concern.

“You’re going to revive him, right? He told me that you have more Lazarus Pits near here, he can use one of those. How did he die?” A million scenarios raced through Tim’s head, films of the death of the Demon.

“They burned him on a pyre and left him in his study. No trace of cause of death, and we can’t revive him. Any DNA has been destroyed.”

Tim stared blankly, processing. The Demon’s Head, the invincible Ra’s al Ghul, was dead. Gone forever.

“Ra’s made plans, should he die,” the White Ghost continued. “Those plans include a new leader of the League of Shadows. And that leader is you.”

Tim sputtered, “What? You can’t be serious. I’m seventeen years old. Why not you? Or Talia or Nyssa? Or Damian?”

“I do not make light of these things. He said you, so it is you. I am the White ghost. He had not contacted his daughters in years, and his grandson is too unpredictable to be suited to the position. You are the Demon’s Head, Timothy Drake.”

Tim stared back numbly. He was the Demon’s Head. The Cradle was his, these assassins were his, the world was his. He wanted power, and now it had fallen into his lap. The White Ghost kneeled before him and bowed his head. “I will serve you, Timothy Drake, in whatever way you see fit. I will be your eyes and ears and hands. I will obey you and carry out your orders. I pledge my allegiance to you, and only to you.” Satisfied with his vow, he rose to his full height.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked back up. “I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty.” Then, “When… When will the rest know?”

“Tomorrow, at noon. I thought it might be best for everyone to rest, and for you to know first. We can discuss further details tomorrow morning, but for now, know who you are.”

Tim nodded stiffly and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his spine the way his mother had taught him to. He had been raised to become a prince of Gotham, one of the pretty boys that graced magazine covers and made headlines at charity events. Now, he was a king of assassins, an emperor of the underworld. If only she could see him now. Maybe she’d even be proud of him, for once.

“Thank you, White Ghost. We will speak again tomorrow. Should there be any issues during the night, I would like for you to inform me immediately.” He may be clad in silk pyjamas, but there was leadership in every fiber of his being. The whispers hissed in agreement.

“Fadir Nasser. My name is Fadir Nasser. Long live the Demon’s Head,” the White Ghost--Fadir--said as he left the room, the last remark stinging with a hint of a joke.

The door locked shut behind him, and Tim flopped backward onto the bed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His gaze fell to the closet, where his suit was stuffed in the corner, smelling of smoke and burning flesh and the irony tang of blood. The whispers quickly supplied a description of the events, but Tim could picture them clear as day--carrying Ra’s to the desert, building and lighting a pyre, then bringing the body back and placing it in Ra’s’ study for someone to find. It was incredibly simple, almost too simple for no one to have done before. But Tim was Green, Greener than anyone had ever been before. And no one would ever know.

He’d need to invest in a new suit befitting his new role, maybe bring back some green accents. He no longer needed to mourn Conner. He no longer needed to mourn at all. He was the Demon’s Head, and he would never die.

The whispers laughed cruelly, like the audience of a poorly-written tragedy.

The transition of power wasn’t smooth, but it was quick. Assassins weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, and Fadir made it clear that any dissenters wouldn’t even make it to the door. They only had to clean blood off the stone floors once before that lesson sunk in.

As far as coups go, it was pretty successful. The whispers had quieted, just a little. Tim could sometimes make it hours without the hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t rest. With power comes paranoia, and Tim was intimately familiar with both.

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

It had been a particularly lucid day, and Tim’s near-silent footsteps were the only hint of noise in the hallway. Tam had been given the option to move her room closer to his, but had refused. He didn’t blame her, it was hard being the civilian favorite of the assassin king. Tim knew this well.

Tim knocked on the wooden door, two quick raps. Somewhere deep in his memory, he wondered if this would have been his life, had everything been different; maybe he’d be knocking on Tam’s door before picking her up for a date. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, put on the shy smile Tam thought was his true one, and waited for her. Shuffling on the other side of the door, then a creak as it swung open. Tim glided in, and Tam looked at him with those big brown eyes, her expression tainted with a touch of fear. He didn’t remember her ever being afraid of him before.

“Do you want to go home?” Tim asked. No preamble, just his soft question in the quiet room.

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

Tim nodded, then drew out a one-way ticket to Archie Goodwin International Airport, leaving tomorrow night. He held it out to her, that soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes.

Tam tentatively took it, but kept looking at him. “Are you serious?”

“You’re not a prisoner. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you leave earlier, I just wanted to make sure the League was stable first. My intention was always to get you home.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim slipped his hands in his pockets. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

Tam pulled him into a hug, and for a second it felt so nice it almost hurt. Then it was over, and he could be comfortably numb again.

“Aminta will be coming with you, just to make sure you get home safe. Once you’re with your family, you won’t have to see any of my… agents ever again.”

Tam nodded, her face screwed up in an effort to keep from crying. He turned to leave and give her privacy, then paused.

“Tam? Thank you. For being my friend.”

Then the king of shadows disappeared into the night, yet again.

Tim frowned at the wall, a small comms unit tucked in his ear. He hadn’t moved from this room in a day, not since Tam and Aminta left.

“Okay, Aminta, I need you to keep close. You said that it’s just Batman and Robin? No Batgirl?”

“Just Batman and Robin. They haven’t spotted me yet. Robin’s really fallen behind since leaving us.”

Tim growled under his breath and carded a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Who did Ra’s go to for haircuts? Did he just do it himself?

Focus.

The facts were these: Tam had been contacted by Batman and Robin immediately after Lucius Fox gave word that she was home safe. Tim had been expecting this, and Aminta was sent to follow Tam and ensure that the interaction went favorably. Which is to say that no one killed Tam because of what she knew. Aminta was currently hidden on the same rooftop as Gotham’s favorite heroes, listening in on their rendez-vous.

“What’s happening? Report.”

“She’s telling them--why don’t I just play their conversation? I have the capability.”

“Do it.”

A crackling came over Tim’s comm unit for a few brief seconds before it shifted to three familiar voices.

“It’s okay, Tam. Just tell us everything. From the beginning.” That was Dick. He sounded the exact same way he had when Tim left, tired and a little pained. Serves him right. “Yeah, okay,” there was Tam’s voice, slightly higher pitched than normal. “So my dad sent me to find out where Tim Drake was. And I managed to track him down to Iraq. So I’m in my hotel room one night, and I wake up to someone putting a cloth on my nose. Then everything went black, and the next thing I knew I was in this cold stone room. Then this albino guy tells me to stand up and we walk into this big hallway and there’s Tim. And he’s all sweaty and looks super freaked out. Then they brought us to these bedrooms and told us that we’d be staying a while.”

“Why would they take you?” A third voice asked, the snobby tone immediately registering as Damian. The brat.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my search for Tim sent up some flags? No one ever told me.” Her voice cracked a little, and maybe once upon a time, Tim would have felt sorry for her. Not anymore.

“It’s okay, Tam. After you moved into the Cradle, what happened?”

“Tim spent a lot of time training or with Ra’s. He couldn’t tell me much, but apparently Ra’s took a liking to him. One of the inner circle guys turned out to be a traitor, so Tim took his job. I didn’t see him a lot.”

“Who was the traitor?” Damian again, with a hint of anger in his voice. Or was that fear?

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

“The Expeditor?” It was definitely fear in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a child when he was scared.

“Yeah, him. I just hung around for the most part. They had books. They gave me makeup and nail polish when I asked for it. I was bored, but never threatened.” Tim snorted. Tam knew more than anyone that just because she didn’t have a knife to her neck didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger every moment of the day.

Dick cleared his throat, then spoke again, “Why did Ra’s let you leave?”

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

A beat of silence. Tim would have paid millions to watch them right now.

“How?” Damian, his voice filled with fear, and maybe a little pain.

“I-I don’t know. There was an attack by the Council of Spiders. Tim had them lock me in my room with a guard. Some of the girls I talked to said that Ra’s was burned afterward so they couldn’t revive him. No one knew until the day after.” Tam’s voice was shaking now.

“Then where’s Tim?” Dick asked, finally caring about his younger brother after all this time. What a joke.

Tam stuttered a few times, but eventually got the words out. “Tim… Tim’s the new leader. Ra’s named him his heir before he died.”

A hiss sounded over the comms. That had to be Damian.

“Thank you, Tam. I appreciate you answering our questions. You know where to find us if you remember anything else.”

Some shuffling obscured any new words, then Aminta’s voice appeared. “They’re leaving, do you want me to follow them?”

“Yes,” Tim responded, massaging his temples. The whispers were getting louder now, to a point where it was impossible to understand any one message. It was hard when they got like this, harder than when they teamed up. At least then he didn’t feel like a helpless teacher in a rowdy classroom.

Maybe a minute ticked by before Aminta was back. “They just went a few rooftops away. Robin’s clutching Batman’s cape and crying, but it’s like angry crying. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t understand it. Batman’s rubbing his back, but he looks miserable too. Less angry, more sad.”

“That’ll be all, Aminta, thank you. You can return home tomorrow,” Tim sighed. “Our dear friend Tam has done us a favor, so we should be ready for the consequences.”

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

“Not everything. We still have an ace up our sleeve.”

“What advantage could we possibly have, other than knowing that they know?”

“Tam didn’t tell them about my little swim.”

Somewhere, there was a universe where Timothy Drake-Wayne woke up on the morning of his 18th birthday and put on a suit, ready for a day of meetings at whatever company he was interning for before he started college. Maybe he had a party with his family or a date that night. This is what Tim thought about as he busied himself getting ready. He had never been one for birthdays. Jack and Janet were rarely home, and even when they were in Gotham, they had better things to do than celebrate a child. He didn’t blame them. Before he came to the Cradle, he wasn’t worth celebrating.

The ornate mirror in his bathroom showcased his attire: a loose-fitting white shirt, tailored brown silk pants, and a dark green cape that almost resembled snakeskin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but he left them. They made the blue stand out. Here was the heir Ra’s had craved so badly. The old Tim would have made a joke about how he looked like a dark prince from a young adult novel, but not anymore. He was the Demon’s Head now. No, not just its head. He was its hands and heart as well. Tim Drake was a demon through and through.

His guests had landed in Iraq the day before, and he had it on good authority that he could expect them that evening.

Tim drifted around the room, preparing for the meeting as one would prepare for battle. His fingertips lingered on the rings he had inherited from his predecessor, and with a deliberate movement he chose the signet ring Ra’s used to wear. He slipped it on and smiled to himself, a snake poised to strike.

Carefully, he patted his wrists, hips, and ankles to ensure his knives were still there. He had always favored batarangs, but he was no longer a bat or a bird. He had left them behind, just as they had left him.

The White Ghost was waiting at his door, ready to escort him to his study. As they walked, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumb over his knuckles. The whispers hissed inaudibly in his ear, wailing for attention.

“Has the room been secured?” He asked, face neutral.

“Yes. I have placed ninjas along the walls and at every access point. Any familiar with the al Ghul child have been sent on missions abroad, though they remain loyal to you.”

“They leave here alive. If they attempt to attack, I want them subdued but not killed.”

“That’s not wise. It will be seen as a show of weakne-”

“Do you think I am weak?” Tim’s voice was as ice cold as he felt.

“No, of course not,” Fadir backpedaled. “But how can you justify it?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no need to kill them. This is just a courtesy call, a reminder that my prior allegiances are no longer viable.”

Tim swept into the study, his back straight and his jaw square just the way he had always been taught. From birth, he had been raised to be a prince of Gotham, one of the many pretty boys in suits who graced Forbes covers before they could legally drink. He had been bred for greatness, and he achieved it in his own way. Here, no one would ever best him. He was finally free.

Soon you will have everything. All you have to do is make one order.

Tim’s hands shook slightly, but he tightened his grip on his fountain pen as he sat down. The day was full of reports, requests for missions, and invoices. He had been doing most of this paperwork anyway when he was just a lackey, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. It was methodical in its ruthlessness. $750k for a political assassination in France, 40% taken for the League, the rest wired to a private bank account in the Cayman Islands. $25k to kill a cheating spouse in South Africa, the same 40%, and this time headed for a Swiss bank account. A request for a league member to “take care of” an abuser, which Tim set aside. An invoice for new training blades, as the older ones had been dulled. A new Lazarus Pit that was discovered in Iceland.

The sun began to sink outside of his window, and Tim collected himself, drawing the last shards of who he used to be away from the surface. That Tim was dead and gone, and in his place was someone who was finally worthy. If the old Tim was a bleeding heart, this Tim was the knife that stabbed it.

Fadir knocked on the large oak door to signal that their guests had arrived. Tim pushed himself out from behind the desk, pulled back his shoulders, and stalked out of the room, refusing to look back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t show any weakness--it was that he wasn’t weak at all. Not anymore.

Tim walked down the now-familiar hallways, the whispers humming in happiness as others averted their eyes respectfully as he passed by. Aminta stood at the left hand of the large stone throne in the formal hall, and dipped her head in greeting when he approached. Tim took his place on the throne, relaxing into the smooth stone. Fadir took the right-hand side, his hand on his sword’s pommel at all times.

Ninjas lined the walls, all ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Most had been training for decades, long before Tim was even a thought. And now they served him. One lone ninja entered the room, first bowing to Tim and then scurrying up to the throne.

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

Dick looked older than he had eight months ago. His cowl was pulled up to hide his face, but Tim could see it in the set of his jaw. For a man in his late twenties, Dick looked positively weary.

Serves him right.

Damian was stiff, both an heir and a stranger in a child’s body. He glanced at the ninjas placed around the edge of the room, as if searching for a familiar face. He wouldn’t find one.

Tim did not smile when the man he had once considered his brother approached.

“Hello Dick. Damian.” His voice was colder than he ever thought it could be. “You can remove your masks, everyone here knows who you are.” Or they did now.

Dick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled off the cowl. Damian followed suit with a grumble, peeling off his domino.

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, the words pleasant but the tone as sharp as a blade.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” Dick burst out without preamble. It was a shame that he couldn’t exchange pleasantries, even after all of Alfred’s lessons.

“Not exactly. I was in Paris for a bit, caught up with some old friends.” An old friend, one who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. None of them had.

You are powerful because you are alone. Others would betray you. You can trust no one. The whispers chimed in, though they were merely repeating what he already knew to be true.

Damian hissed his displeasure, which earned him an evil look from Dick. Look, he’d already been replaced.

“Tim,” Dick began in a gentle voice, the one he used for scared kids. “Come home. We can figure this out. We’ll get you help, maybe even try that therapist I told you about. Or we can shop around, it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I miss my little brother.”

How pathetic.

“Oh, I believe you misunderstood. This is a business meeting, not an intervention,” Tim hummed, examining his fingernails. The cold steel of the knives tucked in his sleeves was a delicious reminder of who he was, who he had always been destined to become.

“In that case, I believe some clarification is in order. Following the death of Ra’s al Ghul, I became the head of the League of Shadows, a position I am very proud of. I will not be returning to Gotham, unless it is for League business, and I will certainly never fight at your side again.

“In truth, Dick, I have not thought about you or your brat once since coming to stay at the League. I understand that our previous relationship may have led you to believe that I would be a naive fool forever, but that is not the case. I have found meaning now more than you could ever dream of achieving.

“Here is my proposition: I will cease training of any assassins younger than age sixteen immediately. I am also currently updating how the League accepts jobs to minimize the amount of innocent casualties. I will waive all rights to Wayne Enterprises, though anything Bruce willed to me will remain mine. In exchange, you leave me and my assassins alone. You will not contact me unless seeking my services. You can keep your Robin, but he lost his birthright a year ago. These are my conditions, and they are non-negotiable.”

The chatty Dick Grayson was speechless. Instead, it was Damian who spoke.

“You stole my birthright.” For a child, he sounded downright murderous.

Tim smiled. “And you stole mine. I believe that makes us even.”

The child nodded, then drew his sword. Along the walls, ninjas drew theirs as well.

“Damian, no!” Dick hissed, glaring at his brother-ward. “Tim, you can’t be serious. We’re family. This is insane!”

Tim’s expression did not display the glee that bubbled in his chest.

“We were family. But you know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He dismissed Dick’s other accusations with a wave of his hand. “I have given you my terms. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision. Until then, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. You should leave.”

Green pulled at the corners of his vision as the whispers shrieked, begging him to go ahead and kill them. He couldn’t, of course, that would just invite more prying eyes to the League. But he could think about it, and that was enough.

Dick and Damian were almost at the doors when Dick stopped and turned to face Tim, his posture teenagerishly defiant.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he spat, as if Dick Grayson had ever truly known Timothy Drake.

Instead, Tim smiled. “I’m the Demon. And you should leave before I make you see Hell.”

A second later, they were gone. Watching them go felt like getting an injection--the pinch lasted for a second, but afterward there was no pain at all.

Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon, the whispers howled as Tim’s blood sang, welcome to your kingdom come.

His hands had always been cold. Ariana used to comment on it all the time--how his touch was borderline freezing. At the time, it had been a running joke: Tim Drake, the boy made of snow, with eyes made of ice and snow-pale skin. It seemed now that even in the heat of the desert, his heart had frozen too.

Nighttime was comfortable in the desert, at least for someone accustomed to Gotham’s climate. Still, the breeze that danced across Tim’s skin left goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t remember when he’d come out here, let alone what for. He barely even noticed how he gripped the banister of the balcony until his knuckles went stark white.

A little prickle of emotion prodded at his subconscious, but he couldn’t identify it even if he wanted to. There was no room for feelings anymore, if there had ever been. If anything, feelings had gotten him into more messes than out of them.

He had become a vigilante because he felt that Batman needed a Robin. He worshiped the ground Bruce walked on because he felt like Bruce saw him as a son. He broke the rules for Stephanie because he felt as if she could love him. He wanted to be with Conner because he felt that someone finally saw him for who he was. He rejected power time and time again because he felt that it was the right thing to do.

But feelings meant nothing. All that truly mattered was knowledge and wanting. And Tim knew more than ever. And he wanted it all.

Once, he had considered them his family. They had loved him, maybe, but they had never known him. He used to believe in a future spent fighting by their side, but he knew that was a child’s dream now--the same child who believed that he wouldn’t live to see twenty-one. Tim had no such concerns now.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the League was his new family, nor did he need one. But they would not underestimate him or take him for granted. Here, he had respect and power, and that was enough.

The lights of the nearest city glimmered far on the horizon, promising happiness and gaiety somewhere in the night. He smiled, a secret only for him.

One day, you will rule it all, the whispers promised. One day, you will be king. And you will destroy any who stand in your way.

Long live the Demon.

[og-danny-dorito]

1/2 jjba and mha & batfamily and Deadpool as match up swf and nswf if could I female and bisexual I like to pronounce she well I am funny I like dark humor + i shy but and outgoing I have bipolar disorder or something like the I am like the Pupoler loner I like to say I am artist with f the world attitude & 'm into music industry i like writing songs and sells them online I am always quite even when I am with my friends

@adarksoul098 you sound a lot like a friend i have, but yes i have the perfect person for almost all the requests!! I hope you enjoy, and I'm sorry for not getting these in sooner!

< - - - >

I Ship You With... Joseph Joestar, Denki Kaminari, Tim Drake, and Domino!

SFW :

- well to begin, Joseph would 100% be enamored with you upon first greeting. This is for a number of reasons, but the main ones are that you’re interested in comic books and don't take shit from other people

- but its rare (for him at least) to find women who are into comics, and most of the time they arent into the same kind as him anyway and so he can't really connect with them. You, however, match him almost to a T

- he’d love to show you his comic collection one day and maybe, if you’re alright with it, take you out sometime to go browsing for manga with him. He wants to spend all the time that he can with you, talking endlessly about your favorite characters and such

---

- Denki is almost the same way, but with music and playing the piano. You already caught his attention from the moment you spoke to him, but knowing you’re this diverse while still being true to your dreams in selling your music? You’re the coolest MF on the planet

- hes also a really patient guy, so your bipolar disorder is something that he wants to help you work through. After a particularly bad episode he might try to comfort you and ease you a bit by either singing or distracting you while he can

---

-  while these two cover the preceding aspects of your personality, i honestly think that Tim would be the best in understanding you

-  like you, he’s super quiet and reserved, and so when he finds out you’re the same way it's lost a relief for him. ‘Oh thank god, I wasn't being standoffish earlier since Y/n just did the same thing and she doesnt outwardly do that to people unless they deserve it.’ Sorta thing

- arguably he's also the best person out of this whole list when it comes to talking about martial arts and/or being involved since he was trained in a few different types. Chances are he's going to come up to you at random times and ask you to recall a specific technique he forgot about or spar with him (which can turn into spicy times)

---

- Domino is also really into martial arts, although to a lesser extent. Your articulate-ness when picking who to go out with is what she relates to the most though since shes the e x a c t same way

- Domino is also super chill like 24/7 so your quiet and bold nature is p e r f e c t for her. You two can literally just sit in silence for hours and people wont understand how you communicate so well all the time

NSFW :

- It doesn't matter how serious the situation is, Joseph will almost ALWAYS find a way to make the situation goofy for no reason. Sex with him isn't usually all that serious, he's either cracking jokes or completely breathless to be honest

- But the fact that he's completely enamored with you means he will do his absolute best to please you and pretty much worships you whenever and however he can. 10/10 most enthusiastic when eating you out and arguably has the biggest dick out of all of the characters mentioned (mainly because i have a running theory that all joestars are at least moderately well-endowed due to good genetics)

- Also PLEASE sit on his face, its like his dying wish to be suffocated by your thighs no cap

---

- Denki is straight up a sadist so jot that down. He's usually leaving you quivering and begging him to touch you instead of just ending shock waves up your thighs and to your aching sex

- He usually goes with sensory play above all others since its the easiest way to use his quirk (and also the most fun) but to make up for his cruel torturing he gives great aftercare right afterwards to make up for it

- Honestly probably into bdsm (specifically bondage and sensory play) and doesn't usually let up on his torment unless you both discuss what the rules are beforehand

---

- Tim is straight up a bottom so like thats cool- he's usually super compliant and obeys whatever you ask him to do. But god PLEASE give him some praise, his damaged ego needs it

- He's pretty quiet normally but int he bedroom he's close to screaming unless you use some way to shut him up somehow. Telling him others will hear will either shut him up immediately or cause him to be louder depending on your location (public or private really, he's actually not that opposed to public sex)

- He's also super sensitive too so its not that hard to rile him up. Usually the best for following commands if you like to have a compliant sub

---

- Domino however, HUGE top always has been and always will be. Its a struggle to get this woman to bottom and even then shes super Betty the whole time just to but up a fight and get you angry at her

- She does like it when you top though, even though its easier when you bottom. Very loving but still kinda rough top when she has control in the bedroom and wont consider her job finished until you're almost passing out from exhaustion and being too satisfied

- Best one in this list to bottom for since she doesn't usually push you past your boundaries unless discussed beforehand cause shes huge on consenting for everything beforehand

[ ~Thank You For Readng, And I Hope You Enjoyed Them!~ ]

[thattimdrakeguy]

Hiya again, I'm the same person who asked you what qualities you like abt Tim Drake, what do you not like about him? Either from comics now or back then.

Sorry for having not answered this when you gave it to me a few days ago, I also have two other asks I need to answer. My energy has just dropped massively today for some reason, and I didn’t have a confident will to look at Tumblr often besides for dashboard and talking to a friend.

But it’s sort of a difficult question to say what I don’t like about Tim, at least in context to the whole 90s Tim I like and primarily based my blog around. Because when I liked him I accepted him for all his flaws really. He can be passive aggressive towards people he doesn’t like, and a touch condescending, but that’s normally when talking to people like Stephanie who have essentially no idea what they’re doing and bug him.

Like he’s a big social idiot which can cause problems, but I kind of like that about him. He’s sheltered a ton, so it makes sense for him to be socially oblivious and naive, it just adds to his character. Like when I see him be insensitive, I’m not so  much bothered that he was, because I can understand it from a character perspective, but it can get on my nerves I can easily see some petty loser fandom person use it to act like he’s a pure jerk or something.

Though using that perspective, it’s still not a lot about Tim.

Anything I’ve had problems with when it came to Tim is just writing problems, not really his character as established.

Like how poorly he got written after the Dixon era, and I do not like Dixon as a person, he sounds like a ripe stubborn right-winger, and a total ass because of that. But he’s also been the most consistent writer for Tim ever, with his main flaws in writing being shoving his freaking O.C. in places she didn’t belong, and never properly letting Tim and Jack advance their dynamic past punishments and Jack being a terrible dad.

After that it just went terrible wrong, like the first time I read the Jon Lewis run, I didn’t really think much of it, but that’s because I was primarily skimming the series more than reading it, and the artist being the same was enough for me not to think of anything. But Jon Lewis made Tim such a pretentious, judgmental jerk, and so self-absorbed in himself like he thought he was higher up. And he made him so unlikable. Tim could be pretty dang judgmental, and be too stuck on his perspective, but that’s more of a social problem more than Tim being something I’d call an actual jerk. When Tim used to be judgmental, it typically came from the right place, normally in the name of morals. But in the Jon Lewis run he’s just a total dick.

And then Bill Willingham, tried to make Tim more standard “cool”, hanging out more with jocks a few times, when Tim is established as preferring the nerd crowd, because despite being quite fit, that’s who he fit in with. And an assistant editor at the time actually described Tim as being someone who is generally meek.

So as ya can tell, they lost the point of who Tim is, and random changes don’t qualify as character development it’s just bad writing. A person doesn’t become a whole other person randomly. That’s bad writing.

The first writer of the OYL era of Robin was pretty good, but I can’t remember his name. Took him back to what made him work before, but in the knew Tim Wayne era.

After that it was a freaking mess, even Dixon couldn’t write Tim right anymore when he came back. Every writer just made him typical angsty teen with a touch of edge. Which makes sense given the context of the OYL era Tim, but then also why doesn’t he have any noticeable traits that are strong and represent himself?

Red Robin sucked. I don’t even begin to like it anymore. The whole “Damian is now Robin” scene was just freaking dreadful from every character perspective, and that was supposed to be the launching pad for a series, that main goal was to write Tim really differently. Chris Yost did okay, like even though Tim was still clearly very different, there was enough of Tim that seemed like he probably wrote him before. But FabNic was just genuinely awful, besides some narration, I can’t see Tim in his writing. He’s just been replaced as far as I feel reading it.

And that’s not even counting Geoff Johns’ Teen Titans run, where his bio describes the general opposite of what he is. I assume also in the name of making him cooler and edgier, but changes like that-- don’t equal good Tim or even basic good character writing.

Or the New 52, which is notoriously bad.

So Tim’s worst quality in a meta sense, is just being shackled to constant bad writers that I feel like never cared about him that much to begin with but was given the job. So most of them just turned out awful on him.

Original Tim I accept for all his personality flaws, because enough work with his character.

Current Tim as he’s written in most issues of the current Y.J. is just a bare bones leader character, who’s treated as being a packaged deal with a toxic girlfriend that doesn’t even make sense in a story context for them to be together or that in-love. They changed how he looks, what he wears, what his alias is. It’s not really Tim.

And the Detective Comics Rebirth era of Tim was a show off-y genius, that was extraordinarily handsome and talented, as well as being on the path to being an actual fascist because he has control issues. But supposedly Tynion, the writer of it, was just writing Geoff Johns’ Tim. Which is not the Tim to immediately go for.

Like literally to me what I don’t like about Tim is how often artists and writers just don’t even seem to pay attention to him when they write him, and if they do it’s not exactly the right guy.

It’s honestly really saddening reading a lot of his comics because of that. I’m just happy I at least have over 100 comics of well-written Tim, that I can read from, that allowed him to be my favorite character.

[whatatime30]

Torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness

This is the “sequel” to my fic Green Eyes (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15799641), though they are standalone, hence my publishing them independently. Thanks to @renecdote​ and @themerrywriter​ for helping me title it. I’d been stuck on the title for like the past week and a half now. 

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309219

Summary: A tortured artist this poor, green-eyed boy was.

WC: 6311

Info on it

Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning

Major Character Death

Category:

Gen

Fandoms:

Batman - All Media Types

Son of Batman (2014)

Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)

Batman (Comics)

Relationships:

Damian Wayne & Everyone

Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne

Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson

Damian Wayne & Tim Drake

Damian Wayne & Jason Todd

Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne

Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne

Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne

Ra's al Ghul & Damian Wayne

Characters:

Damian Wayne

Bruce Wayne

Dick Grayson

Tim Drake

Jason Todd

Alfred Pennyworth

Cassandra Cain

Alfred the Cat (DCU)

Ra's al Ghul

Additional Tags:

MCD is Talia

Mother-Son Relationship

Father-Son Relationship

Brotherly Angst

Damian Wayne Feels

Damian Wayne-centric

Damian Wayne is Robin

Damian Wayne Needs a Hug

Bat Family

Bat Brothers

Batfamily Feels

Insecurity

Angst

Hurt

Art

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Damian Wayne is an Artist

He likes art a lot

Painting

Green Eyes

Blue Eyes

Eyes

Loneliness

Language: English

Blue.

Damian blinked at himself in the mirror. Everything looked the same.

Except that his eyes were now blue. The same shade of  blue his father and brother’s wore.

He smiled.

Damian knew he’d have to take them off before leaving his bathroom. They could never know (would never know). But he was so happy to look normal, feel normal, feel like he was a part of something.

He hated his acid green eyes. He only shared them with Ra’s. He wanted to share something with his paternal side. Now, he could (only when he was in the bathroom, of course, but anything was better than nothing).

He waited another minute before taking the contacts out. He blinked a few times, his face drooping slightly at the sight of his actual eye color. He sighed, leaving the bathroom.

[Keep reading under the cut, or go on AO3]

…

“Robin, focus,” Bruce whispered into the comm.

“I am focused,” Damian said back, equally quiet.

“No you’re not.”

“I don’t believe this is the setting. Do you?”

“On my count.”

Damian prepared himself.

Bruce counted down.

Then the fell to the floor.

Damian never did well thinking in action. He’d learned from his formative years that fighting was more brute force and instinct than planning and calculating. Sure, he could do it, but it never served him any better than just jumping in.

He suspected that this was the reason he and his father never worked well together. The family constantly said he was too rash, too fast to act, that he needed to wait. He wished they’d stop.

It was just rubbing in the fact that he was too different to belong.

He wished his mother were still alive. He used to belong at her side.

(“My Alexander.”)

…

Maya’s eyes were green. Damian’s kind of green too. He liked them.

He had more in common with Maya than his father’s family. Maya was most his family (she and Goliath).

“When you called…” Maya trailed off as she gave him a hug. “It’s been too long.”

Damian rolled his eyes (they didn’t talk enough).

“I missed you.”

“And I you.” His voice was half a grumble.

“How’s Mr. Batman?” The sarcasm was obvious. She was heavy handed in that manner, something he didn’t share but admired.

“They’re children.”

“The lot of them? Man, kids these days, am I right ?”

He felt the corners of his mouth curve upwards.

“Where’re we going?”

Damian hadn’t thought of a place. They could wander. “Out.”

“Look, I get you like this brooding thing and being all ‘Son of Batman-y,’ but tell me where you want to go, or we’re going to Bat Burgers.”

“Batburgers it is.”

Maya’s eyes were green.

…

“You got the eyes wrong.”

Damian turned to his father. He hadn’t even heard the man come in. He didn’t like to paint around anyone. It made his stomach do loops like those rollercoasters Dick took him to for his birthday last year.

“What do you mean?” Damian asked.

“Selina’s eyes are blue.”

“No, they’re not. They’re green.”

The man grunted. “You sure?”

Damian was mostly sure. He hadn’t thought of them any other way.

They fact that Selina’s eyes were green bothered him enough. It’d be a small mercy for God to make them blue. After all, his mother had brown ones. If he couldn’t share eyes with her, he’d rather not share them with his father’s lover either.

“They’re prettier blue.”

Damian couldn’t help but grimace.

After a shrug, his father left.

Damian smudged the eye, ruining the painting.

But what did it matter if it wasn’t pretty anymore?

…

Damian found photography was enjoyable.

He didn’t need as many materials.

He could do it anywhere.

It didn’t require as much time as painting, but the attention to detail was of the same caliber.

So, he took lots of pictures.

When he was in the mood, Damian would climb to the tops of Wayne Tower or some other desolate rooftop to capture pictures.

His current venture?

Eyes.

People had all different colors.

He found himself printing out pictures of them all, arranging them by levels of beauty and depth.

Ra’s always said a man’s eyes were his soul.

What did that mean of this woman? Her eyes were a placid blue like a duck pond in a children’s cartoon. Was she calm? At peace? Her dress didn’t suggest such. She’d worn a tight-fitting business suit and heels that clicked. If one had seen her eyebrows, they’d see the steeliness behind those calm blue ponds.

“What the…”

Damian sighed. Of course Jason would be the one to interrupt his studies. It seemed the man had been coming around the manner more as of late. He’d come to Damian and ask after his father.

“What’s this about, squirt?”

“Art project,” Damian answers curtly.

“For school?”

“No.”

“Then what for?”

“Recreational purposes.” If Jason was entitled to his Shakespeare, wasn’t Damian to his art?

“Why’re all the blue-eyed ones over there and the others in another pile. Something against blue-eyed people?”

“Something against aryans, Anti-Führer?”

“Father is in his study. Now leave me be, Todd.”

“No, I’m intrigued now.” Jason took a seat by Damian, brushing against the younger’s leg. “So, what’re we doing?”

Damian sighed. “Nothing.” He threw the placid blue pond to his right, starting a pile of its own.

“Are these randos from the street?”

“I suppose you could call them that.”

“Pretty good quality.”

“I-- thank you.”

Jason chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

Over the years, Damian had learned that Jason wasn’t as insufferable as he first thought the Red Hood to be. Depending on the activity, he was even the best possible company (if Dick wasn’t available, of course). They had similar histories, a common friend and foe. It made sense.

“Ever finish that portrait of Selina for her birthday?”

“I drew her cats instead.”

“Why? It was looking pretty nice.”

“I lost interest.”

“That sucks.” Jason flitted through a stack of photos he’d collected.

Damian shrugged.

“Dick been around lately?”

“Not since the Sunday before last.”

“Has he called?”

“Are you looking for him?” Damian asked.

“No… just wondering.’

“Why?”

“I dunno, kid. Can’t I wonder?” Jason made eye contact, a grin forming on his lips.

Damian couldn’t help but smile back (even if the sheer blueness of Jason’s eyes made his tongue dry up and shrivel like that of the silent soldiers of the pit).

…

He wore them again.

Damian found himself locking the bathroom door and putting the contacts in daily now.

He liked things better this way.

He wanted to gouge his slimy emeralds out. Glass water droplets would make for a better existence.

Blue was art, after all. The pretty kind.

…

Dick gazed sadly upon his youngest brother.

Damian was paler, duller (the rest of his health being intact was mercy enough).

Did no one notice? The His kid was spending a drizzling afternoon sketching ponds.

No less alert though. He saw Damian eyeing him from the garden, most likely waiting for Dick to leave the car before accepting their usual embrace. Dick sighed as he left the car.

Damian hurriedly left his spot on a jagged rock by the duck pond that’d been around since Bruce had been a boy.

“Hey, D,” he said easily, hugging the boy.

“Grayson.”

“What’re you up to?”

“Drawing.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I suppose.”

Dick punctuated the hug with a peck on Damian’s cheek.

The boy blushed. “How long will you be here?”

“All weekend. B needs me for something.”

Damian nodded.

“Is that paint or blood?”

“Hm?”

“Your hand.”

There was a red stream down Damian’s palm.

“Shouldn’t be touching sharp rocks, kiddo.”

“Better perspective.”

“Uh-huh.” Dick dragged Damian inside to clean the wound up.

(his kid)

…

Dick came back.

Damian liked Dick.

Dick was his first relationship in Gotham. The thing that tethered him here when his father died. Had Dick not kept him here, he would’ve went back to the League (which didn’t seem like a bad idea often), but now he was stuck here.

Stuck in Gotham with a family that was nothing like him and only half loved him (except for Dick, of course). He was Dick’s son in all but name.

Dick came back, helped Damian clean off his hand when he cut it on the rock. He hadn’t meant to cut it though. Firstly, because it hurt. Secondly, because red hadn’t been pretty in years.

…

“My eyes work fine,” Damian whispered.

Dick didn’t know what even brought on the statement. Maybe it was Bruce claiming Damian didn’t see the gunmen on patrol earlier, which in Bruce’s defense, had earned Damian a bullet wound in the left arm. “What’d you mean?”

Damian’s eyes were trained on the soft light that was the television screen, but the glass lid over them signed tears threatening to spill over. “I saw them, but the risk…if that boy’s idiot father hadn’t-- who brings children to drug deals anyway? No parent of any value. I saw them…” He trailed off, and a tear fell.

It was probably the meds. Alfred had given Damian pain meds and a sedative. The boy was merely tired. He was fine, nothing to worry about.

“S’okay, D.” Dick wrapped an arm around the boy, pulling him close. “He just gets scared. You know what happened to Jay…” And you.

Damian let out a small whine and pulled away.

Dick shushed him. “You did well, kiddo. I promise.”

Soft, emerald green’s glanced at Dick for a second before being obscured from view by the boy’s lids. Damian sniffled. “I see fine.” Hot tears wet Dick’s shirt.

“I know.” Dick rubbed circles into Damian’s back. “Bruce does too. He was just upset, okay?”

Damian sniffled again.

“Go to sleep. You’re tired.”

“M’not a baby, Richard.” Damian’s voice was muffled as he nuzzled Dick’s shoulder.

“I know.”

Damian’s breathing evened out a few minutes later, soft snores coming from the boy.

He was tired. That was all.

…

The prettiest thing he’d seen in his life.

Damian’d found an eye in his photography ventures. He just knew painting it would make it prettier (and it had).

Blueberry blue with azure hints. A beautiful, clean ocean of paint.

“The wall?” an incredulous voice asked from behind him.

Damian turned to see Tim. “Problem, Drake?”

“Why the wall?”

“It’s gorgeous, is it not?” Damian admired the picture.

“But… the wall? Alfred’s not--”

“It’s my room to do with what I wish. Father said so.”

“I think he meant you could get curtains, not deface a whole wall.”

Damian clenched his paintbrush. Hadn’t Dick said that if one had nothing kind to say, nothing should be said at all? Surely Tim Drake, a supposed cultured individual would know the rule. “That’s not kind, Drake.” He hadn’t meant to make his voice soft.

The expression in the teen’s face changed as fast as a bullet in a chamber, from eased indifference to a smirk. “I was joking.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Sorry.”

Damian nodded, sniffing as he looked back to continue detailing his art.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

…

Music was an art as well.

Damian’d explored it as much as any boy forced to learn the classics had. After all, there was nothing visual about music. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t touch it, so why would it interest him?

There was one person, though, that liked music.

Cassandra Cain was a particular enthusiast.

Whenever she came over, she’d always drag Damian over to the music room. They’d duet on the ivory piano keys or speak in morse code on the drums. Music was a language for her the way drawing and painting was for him.

He wouldn’t dare take it away.

“What’s with the eye?” Cass asked, inspecting the back wall of Damian’s art room. “Is it wet?”

“No.”

She brought her thin fingertips across it, smile resting on her face. “Pretty.”

“Thank you.”

…

A rose by any other name supposedly smelled just as sweet.

Damian wasn’t sure that he believed that.

…

“Hafid.”

“Talia.” Damian ducked a slap from his mother. He smiled.

She did as well. “Your absence has been noted.” I missed you.

“As has yours.” I missed you too.

“I was on business,” she defended.

“Of course.”

“Would you credit me… an embrace?” I love you.

“I suppose.” The feeling is mutual.

They hugged. It was a real one. The kind they only did every few years.

“You’re taller,” she noted.

“I am,” he agreed.

They parted.

Her hand tugged his chin (why was it still so smooth?), and their eyes met. Hers were like lukewarm cups of coffee. “Grayson emailed me your marks in school. Ra’s was pleased.”

Damian nodded.

She sighed, releasing him. “Where is your father? I must speak to him.” There she went, screaming ‘Habibi’ down the hall.

Then he woke, as he always did: Gasping for air, face wet with tears, shirt soaked in sweat, alone.

…

Damian gifted Jason a blue hoodie for his birthday. It suited the young man much better.

Though the family mostly made a joke of it, he stood by his decision, happy it brought a smile at least.

“Did you hear about the Blue Hood?” Dick asked, checking the grapples from his corner.

Tim grinned from behind his laptop, still typing away. “The Blue Hood?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?”

“Dastardly, I hear. Right, D?” Dick glanced at Damian.

Damian rolled his eyes, not dignifying the answer with a response.

“Just dastardly. Saw him helping some lady across the street with her groceries.”

“That’s Damian.”

“What?”

“I have feed of him helping some old lady.”

“Show me.”

Damian looked up from his book now. “You’re stalking me now?”

“Yeah, I was scared you’d spray paint a wall blue.”

Dick chuckled while Tim came over to show Dick.

Damian rolled his eyes once again. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

…

He wondered if he should save Tim.

Damian watched a bloodied and drugged Red Robin from the rafters of a warehouse.

The Joker hummed from the side.

Damian didn't like the Joker, but did he dislike Drake more?

With a swish, the Joker was on the floor, blood pooling around him.

Damian sighed as he helped up Tim. “Red, you with me?”

Tim didn’t answer.

He pressed his comm. “Batman, I have Red Robin. We’re in the Diamond District.”

“You didn’t think to call before leaving? We were looking for you.” There was a tinge of worry in his father’s tone.

“I apologize. Heading back now.”

“I’ll come pick you up.”

“I have the--”

“Is the Joker incapacitated?”

“Yes, but I--”

“Wait there.”

Damian humphed but sat down, pulling Tim to his side.

Tim giggled. “Gonna paint him blue?”

If fratricide were an option…

…

Damian didn’t like Tim.

He didn’t hate Tim, but Tim was his least favorite brother and sibling.

He seemed to only say things to upset Damian, and Daman never knew a response to upset Tim back.

“He paints everything blue, Bruce,” Tim said with a slur, leaning tiredly against their father as Alfred sewed up wounds.

“He can paint whatever color he wants,” his father said with a smirk.

“Blue’s boring.”

“Why?”

“It’s a sad color. Everything that is blue is sad. When someone’s sad, they’re blue. Tears are blue on TV. Water’s blue.”

“Mmhm.”

“My mom’s eyes were blue too.” Tim sniffled. “She had a blue clutch that matched ‘em-- were your mom’s eyes blue?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Damian?”

“At the computer.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Probably listening to you talk.”

Tim hummed quietly.

“Damian,” his father called, amusement evident in his voice.

Damian slunk over to his (hypothetical) family. “Father,” he said with clear displeasure.

Tim yanked Damian closer, nearly knocking Alfred out in the process. “Sit down.”

Damian obeyed.

Tim delivered a wet kiss on Damian’s nose. “I love you.”

Damian scrunched his nose. Maybe he didn’t totally dislike Tim.

…

“Damian, I have to go out. Can Tim stay with you?” Bruce asked. Alfred had enough to worry about without putting  the teen into his schedule.

“I’ll be painting.” Damian was in the process of playing in his breakfast, which had become some sort of a pastime in the mornings.

“He won’t bother you.”

Dick had told Bruce that Damian’s art room was one no one should enter without permission. Even Alfred left the maintenance of the room to the boy. Most of the family, rather than purchasing entrance, hovered in the doorway whenever they wanted to speak to him or see the newest artwork.

Tim, Bruce knew, had never been inside the room. He wasn't’ sure if it was Tim’s choice or Damian’s though.

Damian pushed his plate forward. “I suppose.” His chair scraped the floor as he stood. Damian approached a resting Tim on the other side of the table. He tapped him once. “Come, Drake.”

Tim cracked an eye open. “Hm?”

“Come.” Damian took him by the hand and led him out of the room.

Bruce sighed. His kids.

…

It was hard to paint with a lump in one’s lap, so Damian took to drawing.

Why he had to spend his day off school with Tim Drake was beyond him, but he did his best to make the most of it, as Dick would’ve told him to do such.

“Why do you make everything blue?” Tim asked quietly, staring out the window.

“I don’t,” Damian answered.

“You do.”

“I’m drawing a flower right now. Is it’s stem not green?”

“It’s a cornflower.”

“I don’t make everything blue.”

“Are you blue?”

“No.” What kind of question was that? Damian’s skin was tan like his mother’s.

“I mean in the metaphorical sense.”

“Elaborate,” Damian demanded.

“Sad.”

“No, I’m not sad.”

…

Some nights, Damian had heard, were made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness.

He spent many of his nights doing all three, though it was hard to do the latter when his father insisted upon reading in his art room. A tortured artist this poor, green-eyed boy was.

He knew this as he painted an eye-- his eye.

A family portrait was in order with Alfred’s birthday coming up. His father requested a small portrait, something he could frame and wrap for the butler from the whole family.

He liked most of the picture. Dick’s icy blues and Jason’s white streak. It all went together beautifully (ignoring one factor).

Damian payed attention to every detail, sans the blemishes. It was necessary. The picture had to be perfect.

He heard footsteps behind him. Then Duke was at his side. “Hey,” the teen said, his warm breath on Damian’s neck.

“Thomas, what do you require?”

“I just came to see it.”

“Did you?” Damian asked absentmindedly.

“Yeah, and I came to see if you want to join me and Tim for a Star Wars marathon. We ordered a pizza.”

“No.” Damian finished the red curtain behind the family with a blot. “Thank you for offering.” He struggled with common social phrasings still. He never learned them when he was younger. It was harder than people made it out to be. A second language he wasn’t quite used to.

“He’s coming,” his father said from his chair.

“I’m not hungry,” Damian argued.

“You haven’t eaten since lunch. Patrol’s soon.”

“Pennyworth's absence does not mean I’m not capable of finding my own nourishment.”

“Go.”

Damian humphed but set the painting down.

“It’s done?” his father asked.

“A few finishing details,” Damian said.

With a nod and a grunt, his father returned to his book,

Duke smiled. “Bye, B.”

“Duke.”

Then they were gone.

…

Tim wasn’t sure about Damian.

Well, he knew the kid was a certified sociopath, but he could tell Damian tried. Tried to fight his instincts, his raising. And the kid did a good job most of the time.

He did wonder about what Damian did with his free time.

Damian went to school. Then Damian disappeared until dinner. Then he disappeared until patrol. Then he was dead to the world until breakfast the next day.

He never saw Damian on weekends though. Alfred would note the absence to Bruce, but the man never did anything about it. Alfred would probably have to knock Bruce in the head to make him get it.

He supposedly ate, considering Damian retained his muscle and wasn’t getting skinnier. It didn’t seem like Damian slept. The bags under his eyes had bags. They were omnipresent, became accepted as Damian’s appearance a few months ago.

Of course, one could usually find him in the art room, except when the door was closed (Alfred would open it whenever he came by).

He didn’t want to say anything. Only God knew how Damian would take it.

Even now, Damian sat dejectedly in the corner of the sofa, staring at the curtained window with his head propped up on his arm. He looked half asleep.

“How’s school?” Tim asked, feeling more like parent than a brother (but someone had to be).

“Fine,” Damian answered.

“Do you like the movie?” Duke tried.

“No.”

Tim wrapped an arm around Damian. To his surprise, the boy didn’t pull away.

…

You are your mother's child, but you won’t learn. No one can protect you. Not your aunt. Not your mother. Not your father...Your world holds but one truth, boy...You continue to exist at my sufferance.

An echo.

Cold, tight chains released themselves from his side, clinking to the floor. His arms and legs could finally breathe. Pain radiated from everywhere. He kept his eyes closed. Damian took a breath from the floor before trying to stand. His legs were noodles. He swayed until a gloved hand steadied him.

“Damian.” His father’s gloved hand apparently.

“Batman,” he scratched.

“Don’t talk.” He lifted Damian into his arms.

Damian allowed his head to fall, chilled kevlar kissing his cheek. His nose became aware of the intermingling aromas of burnt flesh and blood confluenced with sweat.

The jostling was kept to a minimum in transporting him to the Batwing.

Damian heard shuffling as the plane took off.

He woke up to hushed voices, felt hands pulling at his blood-stained clothing and bandaging him before everything darkened to a haze once again.

…

“Touch me and die,” Damian said quietly, not in the mood for interruptions (he’d had enough in the past two days) and willing to stop them even if it meant paining his nose. He again on his way to perfecting a portrait, one of Alfred this time. His ribs pained him as he bent over the small canvas. The pain like a small searing, reaching throughout his middle. He couldn’t do detail without gazing closely though.

“How’d you know I was there?” Jason asked, coming from behind Damian with a tray.

“You’re an imbecile.”

“I brought you lunch.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “No, thank you. Leave me now.”

Jason’s silence filled the room for a solid minute. “Doing okay? Heard your Grandpappy knocked you around.”

Damian couldn’t help but smile. “Not before he coughed blood.”

A chuckle. “Good for you, kid,” Jason said. “Whatcha painting?”

“Nothing you need to pay any mind.”

“The cat, huh?” He took a seat on the floor beside Damian. “Should you be bent over like that? Has to hurt.”

“I am fine.”

“Wanna go to Batburgers?”

“No.”

“The library?”

“No.”

“Outside.”

“No.” He was fine where he was.

“Babybird told me--”

“Must you use asinine nicknames everytime you speak? It’s a childish endeavor you’re much too old and educated to pursue, don’t you think?”

“Ouch.”

It was quiet once again.

Damian leaned further forward, biting his lip as the pain increased. It felt good in it’s own way. He moved to dot a splotch of fur white when Jason punched him in the arm. A long line of white littered with gray marred the picture.

His jaw dropped as he turned to Jason.

The young man merely shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “But hey… the eyes were all wrong anyway.”

Damian didn’t know why, but that hurt more than the searing pain in his chest and the tears pricking at his eyes. He jumped at Jason with a punch.

Jason grabbed his wrist.

Damian tried with his other one. This time nailing Jason in the cheek. He then kicked Jason in the back of the knee, causing the young man to topple over into a table.

The circus-themed vase Damian’d made in art class the previous week shattered.

“Get out.”

“Kid…”

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Damian demanded, tears now cascading down his cheeks.

And for once, Jason did.

…

Bruce wondered what had caused his youngest to flee to the coat closet. He’d been about to go out to ‘enjoy nature.’ Alfred was cleaning the computer and he had nowhere to go. He hadn’t expected to find Damian curled up in the corner, face scrunched in what he read to be displeasure, possibly pain. Dried tear streaks were on the boy’s cheeks.

He lifted the boy up carefully. Damian, though technically a teenager, was still so small. Why was he so small? Would he grow up to be as big as Jason or Bruce? By Bruce’s estimations, Damian would inherit his mother’s slender figure as he had her soft skin and devious smirk.

Damian huffed at the jostling, his eyes forming slits to glance at Bruce as he sleepily rested his cheek on the man’s shoulder (beautiful basil eyes). “Todd broke my vase.”

“Did he apologize?” Bruce headed in the direction of the boy’s bedroom. He sat down on the bed, relishing any time he was able to hold his son, as the action was rarely permitted.

Damian humphed. “It was to be gifted to Grayson upon his return this weekend.”

“I’m sure we can find something else to give him.”

“Matched his parents’ costumes.”

“I’ll see what Alfred can do.”

Damian’s eyes closed again.

Bruce took the neon orange pill bottle from Damian’s nightstand and popped a pill out. “Here.”

Damian’s hand slowly found its way to Bruce’s, and the medication was consumed.

Bruce then laid his son on the bed, tucking him in as any good father would.

The boy didn’t protest the impromptu nap (most likely because he’d been napping already), taking another last look at Bruce.

Beautiful basil eyes.

…

“You’re sketching me?” Maya asked Damian, her emerald greens piercing him with amusement.

Damian snorted. “Of course, chica.”

“I’m prettier than over half the things you draw.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

“Is it done yet?”

“Everything but the eyes.” The eyes were the only white thing left on the page. He sniffed the pleasant aroma of graphite and wax. The searing in his middle had regressed to a dull soreness.

“You always save the eyes for last,” she sighed, grinning. “Why is that?”

“They deserve the most care and attention.”

“Why?”

Damian sighed. “I don’t know.”

…

Tim was walking through the hallways of the manor towards his bedroom when he heard talking in the kitchen. He entered the room to see Damian and Bruce of all people not cooking, but gluing together what looked to be a vase.

Damian’s arms crossed themselves as the boy frowned. He was seated by the stove, wrapped in a blanket. It could be classified as cute, if not for the purple and blue bruise surrounding the boy’s broken nose and Damian’s split lip. “You’re not doing it right. Let me.”

“Alfred would never forgive me if you cut yourself,” Bruce said, hunched over the island with glue and tweezers.

Damian turned to Tim. “Can’t Tim do it then?”

Tim’s brows raised at the use of his actual name.

Damian seemed to catch it too.  “I’m sure no one will care if he is cut.”

Tim grinned. “Hey, B.”

“Tim,” Bruce returned.

“What’re you guys--”

“Jason knocked the table over and broke Damian’s vase for Dick.”

“And you’re fixing it?” Tim surmised.

“It’s all wrong,” Damian said before Bruce could respond. “Father, you’re--”

“Like a try, Tim,” Bruce interrupted, stepping back and holding out the materials to the teen, now revealing his own scowl and furrowed brows.

Tim chuckled. “Sure.” Those two were too alike.

…

“Todd broke it, but Drake fixed it,” Damian said quickly.

Dick examined the vase carefully. “It’s beautiful, Lil’ D. Thank you.”

Damian wasn’t sure what to say at that point, his face flushed. He slackened, releasing some tension on the pulling bandages under his shirt. He was proud to say the least. He’d known Dick would love it from the moment the idea sprouted. The moment now was mere proof.

Dick’s eyes glazed over with tears. He blinked them away. “Guess I’m gonna have to start keeping flowers now, huh?”

“I suppose you will.”

…

“I meant to visit you on your birthday but Ra’s…” Damian trailed off as he played with the dew-filled grass. It was early morning. No one was up but him, which made sense considering they’d just arrived back from patrol two hours ago. Damian hadn’t slept either. He couldn’t.

“I…” He sighed. “You are missed.” He missed her. Every single part of her he missed, from her whacks during sparring to her petty threats. “Why won’t he bring you back?” He used to always bring her back. “I wish he’d bring you back.”

Damian wiped warm tears from both his cheeks and sniffled.  You are-- and will always be-- an assassin at heart, my lovely boy. Your mother's child. “My mother’s child.” The boy’s voice was a rasp, filled with anguish.

A sad smile. “Even in death, you haunt me. A ghoul you truly are, Mother.”

There is no Hell. No Heaven. Only what we make for ourselves.

…

Blue came in seven distinct shades, each with its own name: azure, prussian, cobalt, cerulean, sapphire, indigo, and lapis. Damian loved them all.

Yet, none of them could be found in Ra’s’ compound. The buildings were tan. The shades were lined with mahogany. The uniforms were charcoal. The katanas were silver. Nothing was blue except the sky above him.

Damian liked it that way.

…

Gone. He was just gone. No notes no trace.

Damian disappeared like smoke in the air.

Where had he gone, Dick wondered.

…

“You came back?” Maya asked. “Then what was the point in leaving?”

“It’s better here,” Damian said, voice a trained low volume he’d learned when he was younger and never forgotten. He stretched his hand to test the pain, having cut it earlier when sparring with Ra’s earlier. It was worse if anything, and looked infected, but he was ignoring it for the time being.

“How?”

“My father… he-- It just is. The rules are clear. Easier to follow.”

“My father wasn’t the easiest guy either.” She took a seat on his rug and crossed her legs. “He made us ghosts.”

“And I’m not one?” He could tell she was searching him, sifting through what she knew, what she surmised, conjuring an answer that was appropriate, correct.

“You want to be?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Tears fighting their way out behind his eyes made them burn. It’s better than the torture being someone puts me through , he wanted to say, but he didn’t. He said, “Yes,” for that was all that mattered to the question.

A small wet stream ran down her right cheek. A glass film over emerald jewels. She leaned forward, wrapping her lean arms around him.

He knew the embrace was meant to be some form of solace, but it did nothing for him. He wanted to ask her to release him, to let him feel the pain, to let him fade into the black and through the wall like any good ghost could. Why wouldn’t she let him?

She stayed until he was nearly asleep.

He used her lap as a pillow, eyes having long given way to the heaviness.

She hugged him once more before laying him on the rug. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t a soft cotton either.

He let out a small whine of complaint, mumbled her name.

“Right here, but I have to go,” she whispered. Maya pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He allowed her last words to escape him as he drifted off.

…

“Where is he, Ra’s?” Bruce growled.

“I assume you’ve scoured my compound for him then?” Ra’s smiled. Damian swore that was the face of the Devil sans the cherry skin and raisin horns.

“He’s my son.”

“He is his mother’s as well, Detective.”

“She’s dead.”

“I’m well aware.”

Damian watched the scene from above in a blindspot even the Batman wasn’t aware of. He came back to Ra’s for two reasons. One, it was easier than living in Gotham. Two, Ra’s would burn Gotham if he didn’t.

And he knew Gotham was his father’s true love and mistress. The thing that let the broken boy with wet cheeks who became a man whose had dried out. The motivation to live, he even guessed. He’d rather be under Ra’s than take that away, than be the cause of the fall of the Bat and his cohorts. He’d rather die than do that.

So, he came back, enjoyed the blue-less world of the League of Assassins, visited his mother’s quarters occasionally. He minded it the first day, and he still missed a stray Gothamite or four, but other than that, he was fine.

He was trained to be fine, after all. How could he not be what he was created to be? It made no sense, so he didn’t let it happen.

The pain was duller here anyway,

And dulled pain was the best kind.

…

There was one part of being with his grandfather again that Damian didn’t like.

He hated having to slash throats and impale hearts.

It wasn’t that he now found murdering abhorrent either. It was the voice Dick Grayson implanted in him at the age of ten that told him it was wrong. Everytime he even came close to ending a life the voice rang in his head. It hurt.

This was why Ra’s sent Damian to kill a whole family. The psychology behind it was infallible. It would prove that he wasn’t soft, that he’d earned his place long ago and hadn’t given it up on his departure, which was why Ra’s called in the comm for him to stop before the action. The man wasn’t as cold as he advertised himself to be. He wanted loyalty more than blood any day.

So, having proven such and still possessing free hours, Damian slunk across the street of a nearby diner. He hadn’t come to eat but to watch. He loved to watch people still. That want had not waned. He’d even smuggled a camera on the off-chance he would see something truly photogenic.

Contrary to his intruder coming from behind, he did feel the footsteps. He hadn’t stopped feeling the things behind him since the day his uncle was shot in the head. A memory he held quite close to the day he first met his father.

“Red Robin,” Damian said.

“Dames. What’re you doing here?” Tim asked, crouching beside Damian.

“I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to figure it out. I don’t take you for as much as an imbecile as you advertise yourself to be.”

A snort. “B came for you.”

Damian made a noncommittal noise. It seemed Tim Drake would always interrupt his art.

“You could call.”

Damian plopped himself on the ledge and extricated a bagged sandwich from a pocket he should’ve been keeping a pistol in (still couldn’t break that habit).

“Ziplock?”

“The League isn’t that old.” Damian pulled his face mask down and set the camera beside himself.

Tim did the same. “Didn’t take you for one to eat on a profiling.”

“I’m not going to hurt them.” Damian sighed, watching his smoky breath dissipate. “Any of them,” he added. An assassin’s past times weren’t limited to killing, after all. Even Ra’s liked books and reading. He took another bite of his sandwich, sweet honey ham and American cheese.

“Okay.” Tim didn’t sound like he believed Damian, but he didn’t care about Tim’s thoughts of him anymore.

“What do you want?”

“Took me awhile to get a lead on you.”

“If you count Maya as a lead.”

“She told me ‘cause she cares.”

“I hold nothing against her.”

“Nightwing misses you,” Tim said.

Damian inserted himself into a scene before him. A young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair in a waitress uniform sat across from a young man and baby with the exact same features. A family, he figured. Both women were hunched over the table while the baby-- a girl-- babbled to herself and stuck a fist in her mouth. An interesting sight. He wondered if his parents could’ve ever created a seen like that had his father known of him when he was a baby. It was a pretty thought.

“--mian.” Tim laid a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

He turned to meet the gorgeous blue eyes that were Tim’s.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Damian repacked his sandwich and stood. “I have to get back.”

“You’re not due ‘till four. It’s two thirty.”

“I have to go.”

Tim took his wrist. “One day he’s gonna actually make you do it, you know.”

Damian blinked. “What?”

“Kill somebody. Maybe a family. Maybe a couple. Maybe a person. But he will.”

“I live with myself just fine.”

The whites of Tim’s domino squinted before returning to their previous state. “Don’t die. Maybe send a text once a while, so we know you’re still succeeding in that venture. And call Dick ‘cause you know how he blames himself.” Even when it’s not his fault, Tim didn’t say. Because that would also imply it was Damian’s.

Damian nodded.

Tim released him.

The robin flew away, and the ghost became translucent once again.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Healing Isn't Linear (And you are not alone)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/n9RyulN

by As_The_Raven_Flies

Dick thought he was okay. Really, he did. But all it took was one week of extra stress and a creepy woman to shatter the illusion. But perhaps that's for the best, as it lifts a burden from his shoulders that he's been carrying alone for much too long.

Jason knows he's not okay. But nobody seems to notice, or care, so why does it matter? Maybe it doesn't. Maybe he should just stop dodging bullets, let one hit him through the heart. No one would really care. Their Jason is still dead.

Tim doesn't have time to not be okay, because his brothers are going through hell right in front of them, and he's the only one who can help them. Right?

  Aka 4k< of me projecting my trauma/trauma related emotions onto batbros because I am not good at processing this shit normally

Words: 1054, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Nightwing (Comics), DCU

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Wally West, Bruce Wayne

Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Wally West

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Not Okay, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Romani Dick Grayson, Police Officer Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Past Rape/Non-con, Mentioned Catalina Flores, Catalina Flores Bashing, Literally if you wait long enough, Autistic Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's C+ Parenting, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, and instead of going to therapy for them he became a vigilante, Autistic Bruce Wayne, it's not even relevant here, Dick Grayson is a Better Parent Than Bruce Wayne, Traumatized everyone, Jason Todd is Not Okay, Jason Todd Has Issues, and he also won't go to therapy so instead he fucks with criminals as a form of self harm, Suicide Attempt, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Do Not Have a Good Relationship, Jason Todd Has a Weird Identity Crisis, Jason Todd Feels Unwanted, Lazarus Pit Side Effects, Jason Todd Smokes, Autistic Jason Todd, Depressed Tim Drake, Autistic Tim Drake, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Tim Drake Feels Guilty for Existing, Wally West is Alive, Wally West is a Good Friend, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Protective Wally West, Protective Jason Todd, Resurrected Jason Todd, Wally West has ADHD, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I got hyperfixated so now you have to suffer with me, I relate way too much to all of them, Mentioned Damian Wayne, he might show up again later, (Slaps fic) this bad boy can fit so much projected trauma, autistic author, adhd author, Dick Grayson Gets Therapy, It's more like 'he got therapy but it didn't work, so he just tackled his issues himself and succeeded', I have been to different kinds of therapy, four separate times, it did almost nothing for me, cause I have a touch of the tism, and therefore already know everything they're telling me about myself, referenced self harm, self worth issues, Probably Canon Divergent, because I don't have access to most of the comics

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/n9RyulN

[onehaleofanadventure]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning:  No Archive Warnings ApplyCategory: M/M Fandoms: DCU, Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics) Relationship: Tim Drake/Jason Todd

Summary: 

Tim really should've seen this coming. Although the not-so-nice merman and his anger were a surprise.

Mermaids and Mermen once ruled all the lands, taking the seas and oceans as prizes that the humans were not allowed to touch. Thousands of years later, man bound together to end mer-tyranny and take back the waterways that made life easier. The first years of the war decimated the humans, only having survived through sheer numbers: humans outnumbered the mer a thousand to one.  

However, there were mer who also fell in those first years. The humans, inquisitive as they are, collected to fallen mer, and those who were too weak and injured to return to the water. Through intensive study, the humans learn several things about the merpeople. First, even in death, they were all beautiful beyond reason; second, their webbed hands ended in large, sharp talon-like claws that could easily rend a man to pieces in a matter of seconds; and third, they had two sets on teeth, one normal and blunt like humans, and another set of razor sharp, needle-like teeth meant to cut through bone like butter.  

They also learned about the differences between a mermaid and a merman. Merpeople were inherently both sexless, possessing—though hiding—the anatomical characteristics of males and females. However, the human's study showed the mermen were larger, strong and capable of changing their tail and fins for legs and feet, where they could fight and win on the land. Mermaids were characterized as being thinner and more delicate looking, with longer claws and were able to become sirens by luring men—through their angelic singing—to a water death and then consuming them.

They even deduced how best to kill the creatures: using the claws and teeth of their dead against them. Their studies evened the war, but because the humans outnumbered the merpeople, the mer were driven to the depths of the oceans after being hunted almost to extinction.  

Now, nearly a century after the humans declared victory against the once great merpeople, a live mer is considered a great treasure, only to be had by the best of pirate captains. Though, there are rumors of a band of once great pirates who fell in love with their mer prize and disappeared into the water, thus, the pursuit of a mer is only to be taken up by the strong willed or most cruel.

-------

Timothy Drake is the captain of the fearsome Robin, known for its speed and the brutal efficiency of its master. His first mate is one Richard Grayson, an orphaned gypsy man who was taken in at a young age by the previous captain of the Robin, Bruce "The Unseen" Wayne, known for sneaking up on ships in the dead of night and pillaging them before their crew had the chance to fight back. Timothy himself had been taken in by the menacing man after a dispute between Captain Wayne and Timothy's father Capitan Drake had left Timothy orphan at a young age.

Richard was an excellent crew member, expected to be the next captain, but he refused when Captain Wayne set off with his treasure. Even still, Captain Drake tried to do right by his friend, even going so far as to accept the infuriating, insubordinate leech that is Damian al Ghul, the once prize heir of the al Ghul naval fleet, when Richard requested permission for him to board.

In hind sight, it should not have been a surprise. Ever since Damian showed up, he refused to take orders from Tim, challenging him, trying to make him appear weak in front of the rest of the crew. What Timothy will never understand is why Richard helped with such a betrayal.

-----

It was stormy night, the water choppy and jarring. A bad omen for any captain; all the more reason to lock your door and make a show of force come morning, after all, no one would try anything or risk being left in the water. Normally, no pirate would truly fear such a threat, self-confident enough to believe they could make it to the nearest island.  

However, the island in question is one that no pirate—no person, whoever they may be—would encroach upon. This particular island, only about two klicks away, was said to house the fearsome Deadly Hunt, a mythic merman. The Deadly Hunt was infamous for his brutality, said to be twice the size of the average merman—who are already much larger than humans—with the strength of ten men and the temper to match. Every ship who has passed too close to the island has sunk, with only floating and detritus the odd body part here and there to tell the story of the fallen.  

Most ships avoided the area, uncertain of how far out the hunter would travel from his island for a fresh meal of man. In fact, The Robin was only so close because of a failing on the part of his First Mate during the worst part of the storm that made the water so harsh.  

Captain Drake was headed off to his quarters since the worst of the storm was behind them and the still cloudy sky was losing the faint glow of the sun. As he opened the door to his quarters, Damian appeared, slamming his hand over wood, causing an eerie groan to roll through the deck. The fight was embarrassingly short after Damian pulled out his pistol. A few shots going wide, hitting the water or splintering pieces of the deck and knocking them into the churning black depth below. The last thing Timothy remember is Richard behind him, apologize and the a forceful blow and swirling black.  

Captain Drake—well now only Timothy—loses time, dragging himself to consciousness long enough to grab the deck railing floating nearby. He swears he catches a glimpse of a sleek, dark shape in the water and a fin in the distance, but he can no longer hold onto consciousness.

Timothy wakes up some time later, half buried in the sand, head throbbing from the crack to his skull, with a headache only worsened from the bright glare of the hot sun beating down on the water. He digs himself out of the sand with care, mind slow, but still working out a plan for survival and escape when feasible.

Inland, there are trees for shelter, which also hit at some sort of fresh water.  However, there is also likely to be predators, and if the Deadly Hunt is real, he would probably be near whatever water source—if any—leads directly to the ocean. The broken masts and rotting remains of decks that can be seen around the jagged rocks just off shore support the possibility of the Deadly Hunt being real. Or at least some sort of deadly water-based predator with enough intelligence and strength to destroy an old warship—judging by the size and shape of the most prominent mast.

Timothy has just managed to drag himself to the cover of a palm tree when he hears a growling noise—human, but deep and threatening—behind him. “Get the fuck off my island.” The voice demands. “I don’t take kindly to your kind, human.”

Stiff and stoically hiding his fear, Timothy turns to face a very—attractive—angry man. Tall, over six foot, broad and thick, dark hair and light eyes, toned and tanned with a patchwork of thin white scars. Timothy jolts at the renewed growling, trying not to cower from the bared teeth and the growing snarl. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Timothy notes the blood gushing from a hole in the man’s leg—he stands precariously balanced to look menacing without putting too much pressure on it; Timothy is also mentally impressed at the man’s ability to move so quietly when he must be limping badly—and the hand, covered in blood, clutching at his side.  

“Are you an unfortunate, human? A waste of space and time? Is that why you were thrown overboard as my next meal?” The man snarl as if accusations, despite being phrased as questions.

Timothy’s brain seems to finally catch up with what the man—the merman!—is saying. “You’re the Deadly Hunt. You’re real?” he breathes, equal parts wonder and skepticism.  

“Is that what the humans are calling me now,” the Hunter smirks, “you couldn’t come up with something better than that?”

“You’re giving me the chance to leave? I thought you killed everyone who came too close to your island?” Timothy questions, silently cursing himself for reminding the vicious predator of his reputation rather than accepting his generosity and leaving.  

The merman snorted a laugh, “Lucky for you, I’m not hungry. I’m sure the sharks will get to you before anyone else.” With that said, the merman spun on the heel of his good leg and began walking—rather well for someone with a pistol shot to one leg—farther inland.  

Timothy scrambled to his feet, ignored how it made his head start throbbing again. “Wait!” he called. “I don’t want to be eaten by shark. I can…umm” The arched eyebrow he got on response was both a disconcertingly human reaction and terrifying. “I can help with that—those. I can patch you up.”

In the blink of an eye, the merman hand a hand around Timothy’s throat, squeezing lightly, with teeth only a breath away from his face. “And why,” he growled, “pray tell, would I let you, human, anywhere near my wounds. Especially,” he shoved Timothy harder into the tree trunk and squeezing harder, “when this is your fault, Captain Drake.”

“I’m not—“ Timothy choked. “Not Captain… Anymore.”

The merman barked out a harsh laugh. “Mutiny aboard your ship caused this. I really should feed you to the sharks.” He hummed. “Maybe I’ll tear you to pieces for the little fish to eat.”

Tim wouldn’t call them friend exactly, but he’s still in one piece and the merman only threatens his every few days. It’s been months and it seems the only way off this island safely would be the merman, if one could count that as safe.  

It’s been nearly a month, and Tim—as he had requested to be called, now that he’s no longer a marauder deserving of respect—has warmed up to the merman.  

“So,” Tim says carefully, checking the makeshift bandages wrapping the merman’s leg, “you never did tell me what you call you.”

The merman growls, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have one of your human names. You are undeserving of knowing, let alone speaking my true name—“

“And if I call you the Deadly Hunt one more time, I’ll wake up missing an important part of my anatomy. I know. Although, I’m starting to not believe you. I thought a merman would want to be in mer form. Wouldn’t it be better for the gunshot if you didn’t have legs. Also, does that mean I get to name you?”

The merman—Tim is thinking Jacob or Jordan—snarls at being interrupted. “My tail, while infinitely more muscular and powerful, would be more difficult to heal because of the location of the wound. There would be significant tissue damage that is avoided by having the wound heal on the inner thigh of a leg rather than the center of my tail.”

“I’m thinking I’ll dub you Jason. Wait. Are you telling me you can’t transform!” Tim shrieks.  

Jason growls, deeper and more terrifying than he has been in a couple weeks. “I can transform! It would simplly be unwise. But I do not need my tail to rip you to shreds, human!”

“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you. Just wanted to know more about you. I mean, we’re stranded on this island, might as well be friends.” Tim sighed.  

“We” Jason says, motioning with a claw tipped finger—a sure sign Tim has pissed him off if his body is prepping for a fight —between himself and Tim, “are not friends.” Tim can see how well he’s healed from the lack of tension in Jason’s body as he marches off to wherever he goes.  

“So,” Tim starts, feet dangling, toes just brushing the surface of the lake, causing small ripples that he intently watches crash into Jason’s naked torso, “you’re all better. Transforming and everything. Guess that means it’s time to part ways.”

Jason hums softly from where he’s laying half-in half-out of the water, warming in the sun, head pillowed on his hands. “This is my island. I’m not giving it to you.”

“I know. Just… you always say that you are going to get rid of me the first chance you get. And now you can take me away.” Tim was irrationally sad that Jason hadn’t asked him to stay—not that he could, it’s been nearly three months, people had to be worried. Not to mention, Damian and Dick had to be punished for how they wronged Tim.  

“I’ve been trying to get rid of you for months and now you want me to be your glorified boat. How undignified.” Tim could see his face, but he could imagine Jason’s special brand of amused disgust, that tone and face have been pointed at him often enough.  

“Well, I haven’t changed my mind about being eaten by sharks, so…”

Jason cracked once sea-foam green eye to look at Tim. “I guess. I can’t exactly let my—“

Tim smiled. “Say it!”

“—friend get eaten, or drown because he doesn’t swim well.”

“Gee, thanks Jay. And I’ll have you know, I’m a great swimmer.” That got both those beautiful eyes, and that handsome face pointed in his direction. The quirked eyebrow though… “You’re half fish. That’s not even a fair comparison.”

Jason snorted a laugh, returning his head to its previous position “Fine. We’ll leave tomorrow. I’m quite comfortable right now.”

Tim smiled softly, somewhat sad. He’d miss Jason. They would probably never see each other again.  

It’s been almost six months since Jason dropped Tim of in the water just off shore of the first populated land they found. Tim—Captain Drake once again—misses him dearly. It’s irrational. They are completely different species, both male—well Jason is as male a merpeople get, anyway—and they only became friends, reluctantly on Jason’s part, because they were stuck on an island together.  

Tim thinks he might have fallen in love on that island. But that makes no sense: you can barely forge a good friendship in that short of time, you can’t fall in love. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.  

It only takes Tim another two months to finish implementing his plan. Damian and Dick go down hard, losing all respect—pirate and military alike.

The first thing Tim does, after watching Damian and Dick go down in flames, is take back his ship. Second, he picks up a few friends—Steph and Cass, two terrifying women spurned by society for their relationship; Bart, a restless and clumsy, but incredibly loyal friend; and Connor and Cassie, amazing friends rumored to be half mer, though that is said to be biologically impossible. And third, set a course for his new home: the one island no human is stupid enough to set foot on.  

The voyage takes longer than Tim remembers. However, it’s nice to be on the water again, even better to have a crew be trust to have his back.  

When they finally reach there destination, they set anchor and Tim rows to shore alone. The island is just as big and beautiful as he remembers, but he’s looking for something more amazing at the moment.  

“I thought I told you to get off my island, Captain Drake.”

Tim simultaneously jumps and turns, only stumbling a little, and not at all surprised Jason snuck up on him and is caught up on current events. Tim allows himself to stare at Jason’s ridiculously beautiful, smirking face for about two second before he lunges. Tm wraps his arms around Jason necks, molds himself to Jason’s scarcely clad body and kisses him with nearly a years worth of pent up passion. Tim sighs softly and breaks the kiss only when Jason chuckles and rests his own hands on Tim’s waist.  

[totesmccoats]

Saga #48

We catch up with Ghus, Squire, Upsher, and Doff as they starve on Quietus, waiting for the protagonists to return with supplies. Things are desperate enough for Upsher to consider eating Friendo, and so Ghus decides to take Squire hunting for a Dreadnaught – an invisible apex-predator that only Squire can see; well, he can see it’s innards.

Ghus, with his trusty “chopper,” leads Squire, armed with a bow, on his first hunt into the woods; and Squire asks him about his connection to Friendo and if he’s ever had to kill a person before. But, before things can get too deep, the duo are attacked by the Dreadnaught, which is only seen by Squire as a brain and eyes on top a pile of guts and veins. The creature breaks Ghus’ chopper, meaning Squire has to make the kill-shot. He looks into the Dreadnaught’s eyes…and he can’t do it.

As the two go home the next morning, empty handed, they notice smoke from their camp, and are in for quite a surprise.

I think this might be the first time that BKV and Staples end the arc with a palette cleanser, or at least not, you know, Kalima. Nobody dies; there are no sudden cliffhangers; everything is just kinda, nice. And Staples killed it with the Dreadnaught design, a pile of innards ambling around like some sort of gorilla is creepy as heck. It also appears that there’s been another brief time-skip in this issue, so next arc should fill us in on that. But we know of one very important development – fidget spinners exist in Saga now.

  Amazing Spider-Man #790

Peter and Harry have gone around the world, liquidating Parker Industry assets and apologizing to everyone the closing of the company hurts. They finish Pete’s apology tour by selling their most prized asset, the Baxter Building. But, tired of all the crap he’s getting as Peter, he decides to escape for a while as Spider-Man, taking pictures with his once-again fans, playing skip-rope with some girls, helping little old ladies with groceries, that sorta thing.

But, he’s got to bite this bullet eventually. Unfortunately, Pete’s not the only one mad he has to sell the Baxter Building. Johnny Storm is steamed about his old home going up for sale. And Pete, tired of not being cut any slack, boils over and decides that if Johnny wants a fight, he’s got one.Additionally, Clayton Cole – Clash – wants ownership of all of his work he did for PI, and is willing to steal it back. And his henchmen have plans of their own.

Christos Gage knocks out another issue as the series’ pinch-script writer, filling this book with sharp quips and just enough dialogue to keep the issue moving at a great pace, including the top-half of a spread long montage of Spidey goofing off. Immonen, Gracia, and von Grawbadger continue their run as one of the best art teams on superhero books today, with a distinct cinematic approach; and von Grawbadger in particular does some spectacular work with the Human Torch and how he acts as essentially a second sun, making everything around him seem that much blacker in comparison.

  Black Panther #166

Klaw has found a way to enhance his abilities by using Reverbium, and plans to ascend to godhood through Vibranium. He reveals himself as the voice in the ear of Wakanda’s previous threats over the run of the series so far, uniting Stane, Faustus, and Zenzi under his cause; and convincing the people of Azania that he is their new god.

The motivation behind Klaw’s latest efforts: the memory of his sister, who was lobotomized after having been beaten by their father and because she heard voices – voices that Klaw had always believed were real as well.

I got a really strong B:TAS Mr. Freeze sense from this issue, most likely because it’s the story of a scientist who was irreversibly transformed into a non-human by the product of their own research, and is motivated by the loss of a woman they loved. And being that Klaw is made up of semi-solid-sonics, it would even make sense that his voice would have the same reverb effect as Mr. Freeze. Well, the issue was fun to read with that voice in my head, in any case.

Unfortunately, the art in this issue just doesn’t stand out, mostly because so much of it takes place in gray hallways in Alaska. Klaw is still just a fun character to look at, because frankly he looks ridiculous; one of the worst-aged silver age character designs in my opinion, with his dumb satellite dish hand and featureless red and purple mannequin body.

  Batgirl #16

In flashback, Barbara and Dick drop in on some hackers that Ainsley used to work with, who tell them that they kicked her out of their group for designing nanobot-based drugs for the Mad Hatter. They find Ainsley shortly after and tail her to what ends up being an addicts-anonymous meeting, where they find out that she didn’t know she was designing drugs, and is a recovering addict herself. And after learning all this heavy information, Babs and Dick release some of their own emotional tension.

In the present, Batgirl and Nightwing follow the trail of bodies to a rehab clinic that Ainsley once checked into, but find it already under attack by the Red Queen’s tripped-out henchmen. Luckily, Babs remembers a way to hack the nano-drugs into making their victims docile. And afterwards, digging through the hospital records, they make three unfortunate discoveries: 1. Ainsley died of an overdose, homeless and alone; 2. She has a sister, now with the proper motivation and tools to become the Red Queen; and 3. They just let her slip through their fingers.

As with the earlier issues in the arc, the main draw for me is seeing the evolution in Dick and Barbara’s relationship, both as crimefighters, and as a couple. While there are a couple of quick fight scenes in the issue, Dick/Babs get a lot more mileage in their cases by simply sitting down with people and talking to them. Also by breaking HIPAA and digging through medical records, but hey – who hasn’t done that once or twice?

Wildgoose does a lot with smaller details in their pencils; things like younger Barbara kicking her legs as she sits with Dick on the edge of a building, or the anime-girl posters in the hackers’ apartment. And I’m really enjoying Lopes’ colors on this book, giving everything the impression of softer lighting – moreso in the flashbacks of course, giving a more washed-out effect to those scenes – while still saturating the primary and secondary reds, blues, purples and greens in the duo’s costumes enough to make them pop.

  Wonder Woman #33

Whoever it was that came up with Kid-Darkseid, Johns, Snyder, or Robinson; give them a medal. Kid-Darkseid is hilarious and I love him. I hope he doesn’t grow up too fast – they always do though, don’t they?

This issue is entirely from Grail’s perspective, as she goes around the world, killing the the Greek Gods to provide the energy to grow her baby Darkseid big and strong. But a mother worries: will he be evil enough? Feared enough? That’s not a joke, that’s in Grail’s narration in the book, and it’s darkly hilarious that even when you’re trying to raise the worst kid in the multiverse, you have parental fears that you’re gonna somehow screw up. Kinda reminds me of raising dark chao in SA2.

It’s also interesting for this story to fill in what exactly all these demi-gods have been doing with their immortality on Earth, which is overall, not much. Perseus became a Wall Street bro; others became librarians, fishermen, bears…like, just normal bears. Wonder Woman is the only one who it seems decided to do something good with her powers; likely because she was raised by the Amazons with a strong sense of moral justice.

  Nightwing: The New Order #3

Kate Kane gives orders to the Crusaders not to engage with the captured Dick Grayson in the slightest. One of them disobeys, asking if he’d at least like a glass of water, and Dick takes his opening to escape capture and begin looking for Jake. He goes to one of his oldest allies, Tim Drake, who hacks into the government files to find that they’re bringing Jake to a stasis facility in Central City. But before he heads there, Dick goes to Gotham to gear up. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to break into the Bat-cave, with it having been turned into a Batman museum shortly after Bruce died; but there are still sub-basements that only members of the family have access too. He grabs his old Nightwing gear and rides to Central City before being stopped by one old friend, and saved by a couple more. Congratulations. If you placed your bets on this story going Minority Report, collect your no-prize up front. Come to think of it, old-Dick even kinda looks like a taller Tom Cruise. The issue has the same pacing as that style of action movie, too; cutting from location to location; moving from action beat to exposition beat and ending on an action beat. The story has seemed to stray from the initial “Nightwing, but if fascist” angle, but that may be for the best. And it’s still there in softer strokes. The Bat-Cave museum, for one, is a genius bit of world-building; but smaller even, is that Tim reminds Dick that he was right to set the world on this path, despite what’s happening to his son. The desire to preserve order, any order, is a powerful one, despite the harm it could bring to even family members. The same applies to Kate’s reaction to Alfred’s death. It’s a personal loss, but not worth rocking the boat over. Plus a lighter touch really is just more fun, especially with a character like Nightwing, who was never as dark as other members of the Bat-family. McCarthy’s layouts continue to be awesome at conveying movement across the page. He uses non-traditional panel layouts, non-rectangular shapes, and overlappingoverlapping to match an action director’s camera motions: pans, zooms, cuts, etc.There are almost no gutters in the issue, as panels bleed into the next, making the issue feel fast and kinetickinetic.

Comic Reviews for 10/25/17 Saga #48 We catch up with Ghus, Squire, Upsher, and Doff as they starve on Quietus, waiting for the protagonists to return with supplies.