#Alfred is originally the one who ‘replaced’ him and put up the memorial

[lovelylonelymoonlight]

something something Bruce feels more maternal and alfred feels more paternal something something it’s always the mothers fault something making fun of your mother with your farther knowing your next something ginger snaps they would’ve blamed me anyways something something something

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Please. I NEEEED a continuation of Drunk Jason kissing reader.

Ari Note: The original drabble is here. Also Alfred watched garbage reality TV and no one will ever convince me otherwise... It's his favorite Sunday night activity.

Jason curled around a cup of stale coffee like it was penance and took a sip, cringing. Yesterday had been a blur. The memories are surrounded by a haze of alcohol. Softening the edges of the day. The Afternoon hanging out with Dick on the beach, day drinking. Dick telling him he finds you attractive- that he thinks he's got a shot at getting you to go with him. The resulting tussle.

The one thing that ISN'T a blur is kissing you. He could still feel the shock, and then when you melted into his arms when he gentled. The way you leaned in. The longing. The need. The way the world fell away and nothing mattered but the feel of you, like you'd imbedded yourself into his DNA. Like his heart would stop if he stopped kissing you.

Until he finally pulled away.

And you realized he tasted like liquor.

And your eyes that had been looking up at him with so much... hope. Were doors closing. The lights went out and left him feeling cold. But- he still felt you there. And he knew you were out there, somewhere. Still believing that he didn't really want you.

"A fine mess indeed," Alfred said disapprovingly, taking the cup of old coffee and replacing it with fresh.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Jason mumbled.

"So listen," The Butler said scowling, taking a seat opposite Jason. "You find them. And you make it right. Or someday, someone who can admit they have feelings is going to take your place."

"Maybe they should-"

"Master Jason," Alfred barked, slamming his hand down on the table, "Please. Suspend your penchant for dramatics."

"But-"

"They're at home," he sighed, "Where else would they go?"

"If I don't go are you going to shoot me?" Jason snorted.

"Don't test me," the Butler drawled, "If I have to watch Love After Lockup alone because of this nonsense I will be very put out."

[scorpionyx9621]

I Hope Hopeless Changes Over Time: A Red Hood and Batman Fic

*Source of the image I found off of Pintrest. I tried to find the original artist but the link on Pintrest led to a dead Tumblr account. If anyone wants to find/point out the account to me so I can give proper credit to the artist please please do.*

I wanted to make a fic based on an ask I did from the lovely @dilfbatman about Jason and Bruce. I hope people enjoy this mini-fic that I've expanded upon.

TW: Blood, Physical Assault, Suicide Ideation, Swearing. Bruce being a shitty father but trying. Jason having demons 

3.75K words. 

Bruce was uneasy about Jason staying over at the Wayne Mansion. Even with other members of the family around. Jason has done so much wrong and has hurt so many people. However, at the end of the day, Jason still is his son. So when he gets a call from Jason in a hushed voice asking Bruce to stay the night. He hesitated for a second, but acquiesced, Jason was nothing if not independent, so to be asking Bruce outright to stay at the Wayne Manor meant something was wrong.

"Master Jason wouldn't reach out to any of us unless something was gravely wrong, Master Wayne." Alfred had reassured Bruce, who was staring absentmindedly at the glass case which housed Jason's old Robin costume. The costume that Jason had died in. Bruce always tried to repress the memory of holding his son's cold, lifeless body. The pain he felt from losing his parents burned in his heart as an everlasting stab wound. But the pain from losing Jason, his son, it was too much to bare.

"I'd be welcoming to Master Jason, but keep your distance. Master Damian is spending the night at Jon Kent's house, Master Richard is in Blüdhaven, and Master Timothy is with the Teen Titans tonight. I'll rest assured Jason doesn't try anything to harm you. But don't try to encourage a confrontation." Alfred explained. He always seemed to understand Jason to a tee after he came back to life.

"I don't know how you do it Alfred, you can read the boy like a book." Bruce had retorted. Cocking a half-smile to the man who raised him since his parents died.

"Master Wayne, Master Jason wears his heart on his sleeve. He always has. And one of the reasons why you two fight constantly is because, for as terrific as a detective you are, you are horrifically inept in reading the emotions of your children." Alfred had stated, those words bit Bruce. He wasn't expecting such sharp words from Alfred. "We failed Master Jason. And he's hurt, he's been hurt for years because of it. However he keeps choosing to come back and try and trust again. We needn't come at him with accusations of ulterior motives, but we should be supportive." Alfred stated.

"But cognizant of what Jason is capable of." Bruce added back. Jason may need help, but he's still dangerous. He has tried to kill Bruce and the rest of the Robins multiple times. He wants to trust Jason and warm up to him again. But the man who wears the Red Hood and stalks the streets of Gotham killing those he deems criminals is not his son anymore.

Alfred and Bruce greeted Jason as he walked in the large double doors of the Wayne Manor. The first thing Bruce noticed was the dark circles under Jason's eyes. It seemed as if the man hadn't slept in days. Jason was wearing sweatpants and a fitted black wife beater, accentuating his muscles. Jason would have looked more intimidating had his body language not suggested he was as disheveled as he was, physically and mentally.

"Thanks Alfred." Jason had said meekly towards the butler. He took one step into the mansion and looked at Bruce. Bruce noticed as soon as Jason's eyes met his, his tired irises contorted into anger. His lips pursed downwards but Jason chose not to say anything. Instead just walking past Bruce pretending not to acknowledge him.

"Master Jason, you will be staying in the guest suite on the main floor. I've already prepped everything for your arrival. Please make yourself at home." Alfred had said. Jason just shook is head as he headed towards the hallway leading the guest suite. Bruce didn't notice it immediately but the stench Jason had emitted stung in the air. It smelled like stale liqour and body oder. It seems Jason hadn't bathed in days. Bruce had wanted to say something but chose not to.

The evening went by quietly enough. Jason had taken a shower and changed into another fitted wife beater but still sported a tired energy about him. Alfred had put together a beef pot roast for dinner with red potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery over garlic mashed potatoes. A favorite dish of Jason's. The three of them ate quietly as Bruce continued to size up his son. He was conflicted. At one point he saw the man who blew up the head of a Gotham security force member with a torture decide he had created. On the other hand, he saw the boy who would beg for Bruce to buy him more books after he finished the maximum amount a library card would allow for a week in the span of 3 days. The son who told him being Robin gave him magic.

The dinner ended as it began. With awkward silence and the father-son duo eyeing each other. One with cautious trepidation and the other with abject hate. Bruce had decided not to go on patrol tonight as he felt he needed to be at the manor should anything happen while Jason was here. An uneasy sense of dread built over Bruce as he had said good night to Jason as the two passed by each other in the halls. Jason simply spat 'Bitch' at Bruce and walked into the bedroom. Bruce had been bad with other people's emotions, but something didn't sit right with the way Jason was carrying himself. He had decided to stay up tonight regardless. A sense came over him after being sworn at by Jason. A sense he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt as though his son needed help.

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"You're a monster"

"Jason is a murderer"

"Stay away from Jason, he'll kill you."

"No one wants you around, Todd"

"You're just a good guy trying to be bad"

"This is the kid you had to replace me with as Robin? Bruce he's pathetic."

"I can't believe my daughter wasted the Lazarus Pit on a miserable failure like you."

"Maybe I'd be better off dead"

Jason tossed and turned. It's been days. He couldn't get the voices out of his head. Those whispery, moany voices that taunted and tormented him. He knew it was a result of the Lazarus Pit. Ever since Roy died and everyone left him the voices started taunting him again. He tried everything he could to get the voices to stop. He drank, he read, he worked out, he did everything he could. The only way the voices became quiet were when he was beating the ever-loving shit out of some criminals. This was not the mindset Jason had wanted. He wanted to go back to being supported by Bruce, the man who betrayed him. He knew that Bruce was weak. He couldn’t kill the Joker because of his weakness. 

Jason got up and walked over to the connecting bathroom to the suite that he was staying in. He went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. Against his better judgement, Jason looked up to the figure he saw in the mirror. He took note of his jawline, his face, his green eyes, his muscles.. but one thing that caught his eye was the fucking skunk streak of hair at the top of his head. The physical reminder of his dip in the Lazarus Pit. He had just re-dyed the spot not two days ago and it already came back. He did everything he could to try to hide the streak. It’s what he hated most about his new body. The pit wiped away all of the scars he had on his body. And any new fresh scar or wound would just fade in a matter of moments due to the effects of the pit. The only thing that ever stayed was that damned streak. 

Jason had nothing but disgust and contempt for the man he saw in the mirror, which, ironically, was himself. 

“You’re just using the sarcasm to hide your hatred.” 

“It’s your fault that everyone hates you.” 

“Killing the sick of the masses to save those who are weak is your calling” 

“Those reptiles deserve to die” 

“I don’t want to kill unless I don’t have to.. I don’t want people to hate me..” Jason tried reassuring himself. The voices in his head kept getting louder and louder. “I want Bruce and everyone to love me again....” He continued to try to re-assure himself. It was a false sense of hope as always. His mind soon wandered to a moment where he was on top of Dick in a fight. Confronting his older sibling and reciting a quote he had heard from a Japanese philosopher and optimist as he had the barrel of a gun placed against his older brother’s temple. 

“Do you know what the most convenient phrase in the world is, Dickie? It’s ‘I’m sorry.’ Anyone who hears that is obligated to forgive, no matter how hurt or angry they might be... There's no more disgusting phrase in all the world. It's used to displace your suffering unto others so you can escape your sins... The moment you employ it, your suffering becomes the other person's. A thing can be unforgivable, but oh, if they apologize... I say there's no reason to accept that suffering. You don't have to forgive them. Cast aside the mask of your conscience.“ 

“Stop this. Please stop this.” Jason had begged aimlessly into the air. He didn’t want to live like this anymore. He didn’t want to live, period. He just wanted all of this to end. He had caused so much pain and so much suffering to the people of Gotham all so he could attempt to hurt Bruce. But those words kept repeating in his head. He knew he had to stop this. He needed help, he wanted to go to Bruce and explain what was going on but Bruce would just have him institutionalized. His murderer of a son starts hearing voices in his head? A one way ticket to a padded room. 

Jason suddenly stared back into the mirror and saw something he detested. The green eyes that stared into his soul. The one he hated more than anything else. Was himself. This thing was staring him in the face mocking him, and he wanted it gone. 

“Do it Jason.” the voice had beckoned from the mirror. “Kill them all. Slit Damian’s throat and watch the fucker bleed. Bash Tim’s stupid face into the concrete until there’s nothing but mush. Rip Dick limb from fucking limb. Watch Bruce as you choke the last bit of life from his eyes. I promise all the pain will go away once all of this is done.” the voice sounded almost sweet as it promised to do all of this. Jason just retched as he saw the green eyed monster promising poison to him. He felt his vision fade to black. 

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

STOP IT. SHUT. UP. 

*CRASH* 

Bruce had jumped up from the chair he was sitting on in the library, the voice came from the suite that Jason was staying in. Bruce didn’t have time to think. He just ran towards the noise. He threw the door to the suite open and ran to the bathroom. There he saw Jason in front of a heavily cracked mirror. Jason was hyperventilating and he saw blood oozing from Jason’s fist which was pressed against the mirror. Bruce saw from the reflection that Jason had split open the left side of his lip seemingly from a shard of glass. It wasn’t long before Jason glanced up at the imposing shadow in the mirror and noticed Bruce’s presence. 

“YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME BRUCE.” Jason had shouted at his reflection. Jason was shaking. Bruce had wanted to assess the injury that Jason gave himself. But he knew he was cornering a scared animal if he pressed any farther forward. Bruce stood their frozen. Pondering between trying to press forward upon a killer, or to check up on his son. 

“Jason, I just...” Bruce was cut off by another scream as Jason turned around. 

“IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU FUCKING STAND YOU PIECE OF SHIT.” Bruce finally got the cue. The hitch in Jason’s voice. This is the same hitch his voice made when he was a kid and was angry at Bruce. Alfred was right. This is his son. And right now Bruce needed not to be the Batman approaching the Red Hood. He needed to be Bruce, to help his son. 

Bruce walked forward to Jason, still shaking as blood oozed from the gashes of glass on his fist. Bruce decided against everything in his gut telling him to stop this criminal. This monster who killed for sport and to prove a point. He needed to help Jason, his son. 

Bruce was knocked back by a fist to his chest. Glass imbedded itself into Bruce as he felt the sting of their shards. Jason was right, he was going to hurt Bruce if he approached. Oracle was right, Jason had been abusing venom. The quick gain in muscle mass was proof enough but the stinging pain in Bruce’s chest also proved that hypothesis. Jason barred his teeth as his eyes displayed a seething hatred. Bruce would have been frightened on any other day. Today, Bruce felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Bruce collected himself and got up to approach Jason again. 

“I TOLD YOU I’M GOING TO KILL YOU BRUCE. I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS. I WANT YOU TO DIE. I WANT ALL OF US TO JUST FUCKING DIE.” Jason screamed even louder this time. A hot stream of tears worked their way down Jason’s cheeks. Bruce no longer saw a rage-induced monster but the boy who took a tire iron to his gut on the streets of Gotham. The boy who would was thrilled at every opportunity he got to show Bruce the A’s on every test he got in school. This was his baby boy who needed his help. 

“Jason Peter Todd that’s enough.” Bruce said firmly, but not harshly. Jason stared directly into his eyes. “Jason. I want you to listen to me.” 

“Go to hell you motherfucker.” those words which escaped Jason were laced with poison. Bruce didn’t waver. 

“You can punch me as much as you want Jason and I’ll deserve all of it.” Bruce came closer to Jason. Jason proceeded to physically make himself smaller. Like a scared animal. Bruce remember what he did to Jason after he had seemingly killed The Penguin. How he beat Jason to within an inch of his life. His heart plummeted to his stomach as he saw Jason cower like a scared dog over his approach. 

“What are you going to do Bruce, beat me to a fucking pulp again? You hate me more than you hate the fucking Joker, don’t you?” Jason asked. Bruce truly saw the fear in those green eyes. He had to take a moment and realized just what he was doing. He unclenched his jaw and relaxed his shoulders as he approached Jason. This time he was back within striking range of his son. 

“Jason. I failed you. I have been failing you for the past 10 years since your death. I have failed this city and this family in providing the protection it needs. I couldn’t kill The Joker because I’m weak.” Bruce sucked at emotions and emoting. But Bruce hadn’t felt this shaky and wavering since the day he lost Jason. His son needed to know the truth. He deserved to know the truth. “Jason I never hated you. I hated the actions you have taken against the people of this city. But I’ve come to realize that the hatred and contempt I’ve held is because you do what I can’t do.” 

“Oh so now you’re coming over to apologize? I don’t owe you shit after what you’ve done to me.” Jason had stated. He may have been acting like a pinned animal. But his mouth will never not cut like knives. 

“Jason, when we had fought in the abandoned apartment. And you had the Joker with you. You had tried to shoot me after I had turned away from you.” Bruce said. Inching ever closer to Jason while trying not to be imposing. “In that moment, I threw the batarang because I knew you were going to retaliate against me. But I need you to know in that moment I turned away. I turned away because I decided I wasn’t to be the one to decide the Joker’s fate. He had taken your life and it wasn’t up to me to decide. I want nothing more than for the Joker to pay for the countless lives hes taken and ruined.” Bruce swallowed hard as he felt tears beginning to well in his eyes. “I failed you because I couldn’t kill the Joker. But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to have my baby boy back. I wanted you back in my life. I still want you back in my life.” 

“Bullshit. Fucking BULLSHIT.” Jason spat at Bruce. The emotions were flooding out of his face. Anger, hatred, fear, but most of all sadness. Jason’s voice began wavering as he began to cry. “If you loved me why in the fuck have you never realized I’ve been trying to help the people of Gotham. Instead every time I take matters into my own hands all I meet are your fucking fists. I hate your guts Bruce. We’d all just be better off fucking dead. It’s all Hopeless. I’m hopeless.” 

Bruce took a deep breath. He tried to find his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out to his son again. “You’re absolutely right Jason. I’ll bet Gotham would be a whole lot better without me. Without the pain I have caused. And no amount of apologies will fix the pain that I have caused you. No words will ever take back the transgressions I have taken against you.” Bruce was crying this time. “But know this. You always have been my son. And I love you so much. The day I lost my parents was agony. The day I lost you, I felt like I had lost myself I felt I had died a bit inside.” Bruce choked out. “We both have done so much we regret. If I could take back all the times I hit you I would do it in a heartbeat. But no amount of sorry will take back that pain. I shouldn’t be in the position to be asking this. But I just want my son back.” Bruce swallowed. “You have every right to hate me, but I will never stop loving you. You aren’t hopeless and you never have been. You never have been a burden. You are valued by so many people. I. I love you my son. I love you Jason."

Jason’s face relaxed from a position of contempt and hatred and soon was overcome with years of pent up tears. Jason let out a hearty scream as he proceeded to weep and sob. As if a dam had broke and was threatening to engulf a town in an apocalypse. Bruce went against everything he had known and was screaming from the inside of his body and wrapped Jason in a hug. He was almost as large as Bruce himself and barely fit around his arms. But Bruce held his son and hugged him tight. Jason was crying uncontrollably. 

“I’m hearing these voices. They’re telling me I’m a monster and a killer and that I should kill all of you.” Jason shouted between sobs. “But I don’t want to. I’m so afraid Bruce. I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to.” 

“Just breath Jason. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let it all out.” Bruce had solidified his resolve and worked on being there for Jason. He couldn’t run away this time. His son needed him more than ever. And Gotham be damned. He’s not making this mistake twice. He’s staying here. For Jason. 

It felt like hours before Jason had run out of tears and sobs. Jason was fading and seemed like he was about to fall asleep. The shards of glass that were imbedded in his hand seemingly prevented Jason from bleeding out. Bruce had saw Jason’s eyes glaze over as his breathing calmed. 

“Jason, I’m going to pick you up and take you to bed.” Bruce had said, asking for permission from his second son. Jason simply nodded as he starred off. He was numb now. The pain seemingly gone for the moment. Bruce lifted Jason up and was taken aback by just how heavy his son was. He truly was 225lbs just like his records showed. This wasn’t the son who hid under the cabinets when Bruce first brought Jason home. But Bruce still saw the boy as his son nonetheless. As Bruce laid Jason on the bed Alfred had approached with a first aid kit. Proceeding to begin to clean up Jason’s hand. Jason was so exhausted he barely felt any of the picking and pulling or the iodine going into his wounds. He kept his eyes fast forward on Bruce. 

“Bruce. I. I’m sorry.” Jason had said meekly. 

“Don’t apologize Jason.” Bruce had stated. He ran his hand through Jason’s hair, giving a soft massage to his scalp. “You get some sleep now. I don’t think you’ve rested in days.” 

Bruce had remembered the time he had read Jason to sleep. This time he had thought back to a poem that struck him from his phone. It was from a famous lyricist and singer. As Bruce pulled up his phone he had found the poem and recited it as Jason fell asleep. Things are far from perfect or even better. But tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of his and Jason’s lives. 

“They told me once, ‘there's a place where love conquers all’

A city with the streets full of milk and honey

I haven't found it yet, but I'm still searching

All I know is a hopeless place that flows with the blood of my kin

Perhaps hopeless isn't a place

Nothing but a state of mind” 

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pHEW GOD THAT WAS LONG. I hope you all enjoyed the fic! This was my first published attempt at angst and whump and while I feel some parts are cringe. I am proud of what I made. 

Big thanks again to @dilfbatman for inspiring this fic. The inspiration of the title is the song Hopeless: by Halsey. The quote about I’m Sorry is from the character Shadow Maya Amano from Persona 2: Innocent Sin. And the poem at the end is the first part of the lyrics to the song Good Mourning by Halsey. 

[mydeardeath]

Forever mine

TimDamiWeek day two : League of Assassins

Sorry for any mistakes, this was not proofread.

Also on AO3

¤

Tim is no longer a vigilante, not really. He still worked as the new oracle on a regular basis, but he was rarely on the street himself. Most of his time was dedicated to WE and to creating a better future. He had abandoned his role as CEO to work for the research department, putting his brain to good use. While most of his projects were for clean energy, he also worked on better equipment for the bats. 

It had been weird to hang up his cape, for him and the family. He had been the first one to abandon the R peacefully and chose his own replacement. He hadn't known Duke that well at the time, but he never regretted choosing him. The man had easily fit into the family, Bruce hadn't complained much, and Jason had been accepting of the new Robin.

A few years had passed since he had hung up the cap, and he had picked up his habit of following the dynamic duo at night. He did not indulge in it that often, but they were nights where he would climb on rooftops and watch the action from afar. Tonight had been one of those nights. Tim had finished his most recent project and had taken a few days off. He sat upon a building overlooking the diamond district, offering a great view of the fight going on below. It still amazed him to see Dick flying through the air, even after so many years spent working alongside the man.

A few months back, he would have been tempted to jump in to fight alongside Dick, but now he just appreciated the show. Dick is going up against a major threat, just kicking the ass of a few wannabe robbers.

The night is somewhat calm for Gotham, and Tim doesn't see the attack. One minute his eyes were on the street below, the next he's swaying dangerously on the roof's edge. He had barely time to regain his footing that another blow came to hit him in the back. He thankfully managed to avoid the next one and rolled back to a safer place.  It doesn't take long for his attacker to come at him again, but this time he's facing him. It took a split second for Tim to identify his opponent as League of assassins. His memory takes him back to his meetings with Pru, Z, and Owen. He had not hesitated to fight them. This man, even standing alone, seemed more dangerous than they were. It's obvious by his stance that the guy has proper training, but what made Tim anxious were his own abilities. Tim was still dangerous himself, but he imagined that this man trained more frequently than him recently. Probably studied Tim's fighting style before attacking him, knowing the level of preparation the league put behind its assassination attempts. Tim can't afford to make a mistake. Hell, he should call Bruce or someone, but he doubted the assassin would let him make a call or even reach for his phone. 

They danced around each other, exchanging a few blows. Tim could see that the man was holding back as if he was playing with his prey and waiting for him to get tired. He needed to find a way out of it, quickly.

His biggest hope might be to catch Dick he was still near him, but that would mean giving his back to that guy, and Tim didn't like that idea much. He still decided to attempt it. He packed a powerful punch toward his assailant before taking off to the next building's roof. Tim had never been the strongest in the family, but he was fast. He also had the advantage of having spent years on those rooftops and knew them better than this man. In the end, it didn't matter at all. The man didn't try to catch up to him, just threw a small knife to his leg that made him lose his balance. Then the man jumped after him. He was on Tim in no time, katana in hand. He managed to avoid the first slash but, soon, he felt the blade sliced through his skin. The wound wasn't deep, but the assassin kept going, covering his body in cuts. 

Tim retaliated with a few blows of his own or attempted to anyway. The man was more than good. He could read him so easily, and Tim stood even less chance as time passed as his movement became slower and sloppier while his assailant was moving with grace, dancing around him. Tim fell to the ground a few minutes later, hitting his head hard on the floor. He tried to stand, but a harsh blow to the head made his vision blur, and all he could do was try to crawl away. 

That was not how he had imagined dying. 

 ***

 Tim startled awake to the sound of his alarm clock. He attempted to reach for his phone, but searing pain stopped him midway. Yesterday's fights came back to him, and Tim wondered how he was still alive. It had looked like an assassination, not a kidnapping.

Tim slowly pushed himself in a sitting position in the bed, in arms straining under the effort of carrying his aching body. His wounds had been tended to and bandaged. Some painkillers were even waiting for him on the nightstand, next to his phone and some clean clothes.

Somebody had taken him to what seemed to be a hotel suite and taken care of him. Whoever it had been, wasn't part of their family or they would have taken him to the batcave. It didn't seem that Tim would have an answer quite yet about his mysterious savior. He couldn't hear a sound in the suite, and unless his savior was hiding, he was completely alone.

Tim didn't want to stay in bed too long and force himself up despite his body's protests. He needed to inform Bruce of what had happened. He wasn't a fool, the league didn't like to leave jobs unfinished, and the whole fiasco of the previous was proof enough that Tim couldn't protect himself from that threat. The realization had not been pleasant. But keeping in shape was apparently not enough, not against that kind of opponent.

Once he managed to gather the energy to get dressed and inspect the room(to no avail, there was no clue of who had brought him here), he hailed a taxi to drive to the manor. He was far too tired to make the trip to his own house and take his car.

Tim hoped that the driver hadn't recognized him, he didn't need to make the front page while looking beaten up. That would be hard to explain to the press, and Tim still didn't like dealing with them despite how many times he had to. 

Tim gave him a good tip before exiting the car, hoping he would keep silent about dropping off a beaten up man at Wayne Manor. Then he made his way to the front door where Alfred had appeared. The butler led him straight to the medbay with a somber expression. He knew that Tim wasn't the kind to get in a fight. That was not supposed to happen to him now that he was retired.

The cave was empty at this hour. Bruce was probably sound asleep at this hour, and nobody else was living at the manor nowadays. Tim let Alfred examine him in silence, still tired and preferring to wait for Bruce to start speaking. He was sure to get a thorough interrogation, so he didn't see the need to tell Alfred every detail right now, simply informing him that it was the league of assassins.

Tim was glad to learn that he didn't have any kind of internal injury. He had hit the ground pretty hard, but he was not concussed. The only problem Tim could have to face now was septicemia because of his weaker immune system. Alfred would keep an eye on him to check he didn't forget his medication, and that would give even more of an excuse to make him stay at the manor for a while.

 ***

 Tim couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched. He had already checked his room twice for cameras, and even though he had found none, he still felt observed. It was hard to tell if the presence if was feeling was a friendly one, watching his back, or an enemy waiting to strike him down.

He knew that Bruce was worried about the league of assassins. Batman hadn't run into Ra's Al Ghul in a while, and Bruce couldn't decipher why he would send his men after Tim now. Tim's works with Wayne Enterprise didn't interfere with any of the league business. There was nothing he could think of that would explain the sudden interest in Tim.

Everyone was worried about him. Bruce had demanded that Cass came home. She was by far the best fighter in the family and had been assigned as his unofficial bodyguard. Wherever he went, she was never far.

Usually, Tim would appreciate the time spent in her company, but he could tell she was tense. She was better at hiding than most, but they had known each other for a while, and Tim had been getting good at reading her microexpressions. 

Not that Tim was faring better. Barely a day after he had gotten to the manor, he had received a gift elegantly wrapped. Bruce had been the one to open it in the batcave, not trusting a mysterious package arriving shortly after the attack.

The box hadn't exploded as they opened or anything of the kind. It simply held a dagger on a velvet pad. A very ancient and beautiful one, that was still sharp and ready to use. Guessing the origin of the dagger wasn't a hardship, especially considering the note that accompanied it. "You should always be prepared, Timothy."

That was a warning, Tim was sure. The assassin was playing with him. He wanted Tim to offer a bit more of a challenge. 

Bruce had taken the note and analyze it thoroughly, from the type of paper to the handwriting. It was a lot of effort for nothing. It was unlikely that any of Ra's assassins would be in the cave database. Bruce didn't like not knowing why Tim was suddenly targeted by the league and not being able to predict when the next attack would come.

The next days passed in a tense atmosphere. Tim tried to relax and appreciate the time he got off work, but there were always shadows or doors creaking that made him jump to his feet, ready to fight for his life. That was not the greatest time off Tim could have had.

Tim was glad to be back at his office, finally able to take his mind off the attack to concentrate on his work, even if it meant waking up thirty minutes earlier than usual to put on make-up to cover his bruises.

Tim smiled at his secretary as if he was perfectly rested and had an awesome time during his break. She returned it with a knowing smile as if she was on a secret. Tim was pretty dumbfounded. He didn't think he had fooled her enough that she would actually think he had had that sort of fun while he was away. She seemed pretty excited nonetheless and Tim finally understood why when he entered his office. There was a beautiful bouquet of red tulips waiting for him in his office. Tim wasn't an expert when it came to the language of flower but it was pretty sure that red was the color of passion or something like that. It was doubtful that it was the company or a client sending it to him to say "good job".

Tim dismissed his secretary and gave a suspicious glare at the flowers. He had not been on a date in a while or even flirted with anyone recently. There was no reason for him to receive such a thing. Tim was almost tempted to send the flowers to be analyzed in case there were hiding poisonous spores but he would most likely pass as a madman to his employees. Still, he put in a far corner of the room, near the windows with the prepared excuse that flowers needed the sun to thrive. In a few days, it would be deemed acceptable for him to throw them away without generating gossip about him turning down an affectionate lover.

Tim spent most of his time working in the labs instead of his office, all to avoid the bouquet. Maybe he was just paranoid, but he preferred to be careful. Plus, that allowed him to also avoid his secretary who seemed to make him want to spill interesting details so that she could report them to the rest of the employees. Not that there was any to give. Tim just preferred to avoid the subject.

 ***

 A week after he had gone back to work, Bruce deemed it safe enough for him to go back to his own loft. Alfred had dropped off some casseroles while Tim was still in his office, so Tim could sink onto his couch to eat a delicious meal while watching some shitty tv show.

It's only the following morning that he noticed the flowers in his room. A bouquet of purple hyacinth this time, according to the quick search he made. 

Somehow, he doubted those had been from Alfred too. There was a note accompanying it this time, still handwritten in the same beautiful calligraphy. "Please accept my sincerest apologies, Timothy."

That had Tim wondering. Had the assassin not been sent by Ra's? He hadn't thought of one of Ra's agent going rogue. It could explain why he had never come back. Betraying Ra's often meant death.

Ra's Al Ghul wasn't the kind to lie, not like that anyway. If he had been the one threatening Tim's life, he wouldn't have tried to pretend otherwise. And the man did have a weird obsession with Tim at some point that could explain the tulips.

Tim wasn't one hundred percent sure that his life was no longer in danger, but he did finally start to relax.

Three weeks after the initial attack, Tim's peace was once again shattered. It was a different assassin this time. Not one trained by the league or with any real experience, Tim was sure of it as the man started to taunt him instead of doing his job, telling him how much money he would make from killing him and what he would do with that much in his pocket. His obvious excitation was short-lived as a bullet pierced his skull right in front of Tim. Tim saw the man's eyes widen suddenly in stupor just before he fell to the ground, lifeless.

Assassins were a daily occurrence after that, Tim having up to three attempts to his life in the span of twenty-four hours. Not that Tim expected anything else when he learned how much his head was worth. It seemed that if Ra's hadn't been behind the first attempt to his life, then it had given him an idea. 

Weirdly enough, it seemed that all his attackers were taken down by the league's own agents before they could do any harm to him. It was as if Ra's was trying to eliminate all competition. But, Tim hardly understood why he had to be involved in that business.

It went on for weeks. Weeks spent worrying about an attack that may never come. Tim didn't understand why the league was stalling this much to finish the job. So he decided to finally act instead of waiting for assassins to attack again.

Without warning anyone of his intentions, Tim boarded a plane headed to Ra's latest known location. The probability that the man was still in a known base was very low, but Tim would try nonetheless. 

Tim hesitated once he landed. He didn't have much of a plan, beyond demanding an audience with Ra's. He could be killed as soon as he crossed the threshold, and none would be the wiser. Tim wondered if he had really been the smarter Robin once upon a time, sure didn't felt like it now.

Tim took a hesitant step out of the plane before steeling himself. Showing weakness would do him no good, the least he could do was appear confident.

Guards watched him climb up the stairs without a word, not showing any signs that they would try to stop him even going as far as opening the door for him, slightly bowing as he passed. Tim's face was blank, seeming emotionless, but he was freaking out. It was almost as if his arrival had been expected, awaited even.

The White Ghost himself came to greet Tim quickly. It was yet another one. Ra's had gone through a few in past years. None had last long since his son's death.

Tim was lead to a grand room where a man that on a throne. The first thought when Tim's eyes felt on him was that the man looked regal in his green robe.  The second he said aloud: "You're not Ra's Al Ghul." 

The man seemed familiar even if Tim couldn't pinpoint from where, but not the leader of the league Tim knew. Definitely too young, the pit never made Ra's rejuvenated that way. Could be that Ra's soul had been transferred to a new body. He really hoped not.

"Ra's Al Ghul is the title of the one leading the League of Assassins, which I am. The man that preceded me is dead. For good."

"Did you kill him?" The question was out of Tim's mouth before he could stop himself. But the man didn't seem offended by the accusation.

"I did. Grandfather wanted to use my body as a vessel for himself. I choose to take his empire instead. It was my birthright, after all."

"You are Talia's son." They hadn't been aware that the Al Ghul family had expended. Tim hoped that hadn't been done with just the idea to provide a new body to Ra's. That would be twisted and horrible for the guy to be born for that sole purpose. And despite the moral instilled by his mentor, Tim found it hard to condemn Ra's murder.

"And Bruce's. I think you know my father rather well."

"What?"

Tim was having a hard time processing that bit of information. The man didn't seem to be lying, but how could the 'greatest detective' have ignored that bit of information.

"I believe you did not come to talk of my lineage, Timothy. I would like to reiterate my apology for hurting you the first time we met."

"That was you?"

"I'm afraid that yes. I had just taken control of the league, and I wanted to consolidate my power by eliminating all that Grandfather had seen as potential successors. Thankfully I saw your mark before my mistake became irreparable. I see now that you are not a threat to my reign. I will never again cause you harm. And I doubt any other will after all that tried in the last few weeks and failed. The world must have gotten my message."

"I'm not quite sure I understand."

The man stood to cross most of the distance separating him from Tim, stopping only a few feet away. His face only showed determination as he took the hem of his clothes in his hands and started to divest.

"Ra's." Tim stammered out, not quite knowing how to refer to the man.

"You may call me Damian, habibi." 

Tim didn't react to the pet name, his eyes fixated on his mark adorning Damian's skin. Their soulmark.

Tim gaped inelegantly, short of words to express his emotion. He was beyond shocked. He hadn't given much thought to his mark in years. Not many had one, and finding one's match was rare as most people preferred to ignore it to make their own choices.

"I would like to offer you a place at my side to lead the league."

Tim was about to answer but Damian shushed him.

"Do not think of what the league had done so far, but what you could do with its many resources. Take your time to think about it. I will in Gotham in a few days, you can tell me your answer over a date."

Damian escorted back to his plan, bidding his goodbye to Tim with a single blossom of red salvia. A token of his intentions.

Tim was quite relieved that Damian didn't insist he stay longer. He had a lot to think about and some time alone would do him some good.

A true partner of Batman should have said no right away, but Tim saw all the possibilities, all the changes he could bring to the world with the league shaped to his image. The proposition was tempting and Tim was already making plans in his mind.

Tim wasn't quite sure what to make of Damian. The man's apparent desire to date, since he was not based on anything relevant. But Tim's love's life had been non-existent since Tam and he could admit that sometimes he got pretty lonely. He could even admit that Damian was easy on the eyes when he wasn't trying to kill him. It wouldn't hurt to go on a date. 

The only problems were Damian's role as the leader of a criminal organization that his family had often fought against. And that he was Bruce's son.

Tim rolled the flower between his fingers, a soft smile on his face. For once, he would take time to enjoy his life and worry later. He didn't have to tell anything to his mentor and let Damian deal with it when the time came. It sounded like a good plan.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Vivant, il a manqué le monde ; mort, il le possède.

- François René de Chateaubriand (1768-1848), Vie de Napoléon, livres XIX à XXIV des Mémoires d’outre-tombe (posthume)

Of course we don’t have any photograph or film of Napoleon’s death on 5 May 1821 on Saint Hélène. But we do have the next best thing: a painting. Charles de Steuben depiction of Napoleon's deathbed and his faithful entourage that served as witnesses to his dying moments became the one of the most important paintings of the post-Napoleonic era but then faded from modern memory.

I first came across it by accident when I was in my teens at my Swiss boarding school. There were times I found myself with school friends going away on hiking trips around the high Alpine chain of the Allgäu Alps and we would drive through Lake Constance to get there, or we would hike around the Lake itself through the Bodensee-Rundwanderweg.

Perched high above Lake Constance and nestled in large parklands, stood Schloss Arenenberg which overlooks the lower part of Lake Constance. At first, it appears a relatively modest country house. But this was no usual pretty looking house. Arenenberg was owned by well-heeled families before it was sold to Hortense de Beauharnais, the adopted daughter and sister-in-law of the French Emperor himself, Napoleon Bonaparte. She had it rebuilt in the French Empire style and lived there from 1817 with her son Louis Napoleon, later Emperor Napoleon III, who is said to have spoken the Thurgau dialect in addition to French. This elegantly furnished castle then was once the residence of the last emperor of France.

The alterations made first by Queen Hortense and later by Empress Eugénie have been carefully preserved and the house still bears the marks of both women. Queen Hortense's drawing room is perfectly preserved and visitors can still admire her magnificent library (all marked with the Empress' cipher) containing over one thousand books. Likewise, in the room where the queen died, every object has been maintained in its original condition: pieces of furniture and personal belongings are gathered here to evoke her memory in a very touching manner. As for Empress Eugénie's rooms, they too have been very carefully preserved. Her private drawing room is a perfect illustration of the Second Empire style with sculptures by Carpeaux and portraits of the imperial family by Winterhalter.

After 1873, the Empress and the Imperial Prince brought the palace back to life by making regular summer visits, which they continued until 1878. However, on the tragic death of her son in 1879, Eugénie found it difficult to return to a place so full of painful memories. And so in 1906 she donated the estate to the canton of Thurgovie as a testimony of her gratitude for the region's faithful hospitality towards the Napoleon family. And in accordance with the Empress' wishes, the residence was turned into a museum devoted to Napoleon.

In what is now the Napoleonic Museum, the original furnishings have been preserved, and the palace gardens had been fully restored. This in itself might be worth a visit for the view over Lake Constance which is stunning. For Napoleonic era buffs though its the incredible art collection which is its real treasure. It houses an important art collection including works by the First-Empire artists Chinard Canova, Gros, Robert Lefèvre, Gérard, Isabey and Girodet-Trioson, and by the Second-Empire painters and sculptors Alfred de Dreux, Winterhalter, Carpeaux, Meissonier, Hébert, Flandrin, Detaille, Nieuwerkerke and Giraud.

But what caught my eye was this painting, ‘La Mort de Napoléon’ by Charles de Steuben. I didn’t know anything about it or the artist for that matter, but one of my more erudite school friends who, being French, was into Napoleonic stuff in a huge way, and she explained it all to me. Of course I knew a fair bit about Napoleon growing up because my grandfather and father, being military men themselves, were Napoleonic warfare buffs and it rubbed off onto me. I just knew about Napoleon the military genius. I never thought about him once he was beaten at Waterloo in 1815. So I never really engaged with Napoleon the man. And yet here I was staring at his last breath of mortality caught forever in time through art. Not for the first time I had mixed feelings about Napoleon Bonaparte, both the man and the myth (built up around him since his death).

On 5 May, 1821, at 5.49pm in Longwood House on the remote island of St Helena, in the words of the famed French man of letters,  François-René de Chateaubriand, ‘the mightiest breath of life which ever animated human clay’ came no more. To the British, Dutch, and Prussian coalition who had exiled Naopleon Bonaparte there in 1815, he was a despot, but to France, he was seen as a devotee of the Enlightenment.

In the decade following his demise, Napoleon’s image underwent a transformation in France. The monarchy had been restored, but by the late 1820s, it was growing unpopular. King Charles X was seen as a threat to the civil liberties established during the Napoleonic era. This mistrust revived Napoleon’s reputation and put him in a more heroic light.

Fascination with the French leader’s death led Charles de Steuben, a German-born Romantic painter living in Paris, to immortalise the momentous event. Steuben’s painting depicts the moment of Napoleon’s death and seeks to capture the sense of awe in the room at the death of a man whose legendary career had begun in the French Revolution. It was this, ultimate moment that Steuben wished to immortalise in a painting which has since become what could almost be described as the official version of the scene.

There is no question that Steuben’s painting became the most famous and most iconic depiction of Napoleon’s death in art history. In another painting, executed during the years 1825-1830, Steuben was to give a realistic view of the emperor dictating his memoirs to general Gourgaud. This same realism also pervades his version of Napoleon’s death, and it is totally unlike Horace Vernet’s, Le songe de Bertrand ou L’Apothéose de Napoléon (Bertrand’s Dream or the apotheosis of Napoleon) which, although painted in the same year, is an allegorical celebration of the emperor’s martyrdom and as such the first stone in the edifice of the Napoleonic legend.

And what a legend Napoleon’s life was turned into for time immemorial. Napoleon declared himself France’s First Consul in 1799 and then emperor in 1804. For the next decade, he led France against a series of European coalitions during the Napoleonic Wars and expanded his empire throughout much of continental Europe before his defeat in 1814. He was exiled to the Mediterranean island of Elba, but he escaped and briefly reasserted control over France before a crushing final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

Napoleon’s military prowess earned him the fear of his enemies, but his civil reforms in France brought him the respect of his people. The Napoleonic Code, introduced in 1804, replaced the existing patchwork of French laws with a unified national system built on the principles of the Enlightenment: universal male suffrage, property rights, equality (for men), and religious freedom. Even in his final exile on St. Helena, Napoleon proved a magnetic presence. Passengers of ships docked to resupply would hurry to meet the great general. He developed strong personal bonds with the coterie who had accompanied him into exile. Although some speculate that he was murdered, most agree that Napoleon’s death in 1821, at the age of 51, was the result of stomach cancer.

By contrast, Charles de Steuben was born in 1788, his youth and artistic training coinciding with Napoleon’s rise to power. He was the son of the Duke of Württemberg officer Carl Hans Ernst von Steuben. At the age of twelve he moved with his father, who entered Russian service as a captain, to Saint Petersburg, where he studied drawing at the Art Academy classes as a guest student. Thanks his father's social contacts in the court of the Tsar, in the summer of 1802 he accompanied the young Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna of Russia (1786–1859) and granddaughter of Frederick II Eugene, Duke of Württemberg, to the Thuringian cultural city of Weimar, where the Tsar's daughter two years later married Charles Frederick, Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach (1783–1853). Steuben, then fourteen years old, was a Page at the ducal court, a position for which the career prospects would be in the military or administration. The poet Friedrich Schiller was a family friend who at once recognised De Steuben's artistic talent and instilled in him his political ideal of free self-determination regardless of courtly constraints.

At the behest of Pierre Fontaine in 1828 de Steuben painted La Clémence de Henri IV après la Bataille d'Ivry, depicting a victorious Henry IV of France at the Battle of Ivry. De Steuben's Bataille de Poitiers, en octobre 732, painted between 1834 and 1837, shows the triumphant Charles Martel at the Battle of Tours, also known as the Battle of Poitiers. He painted Jeanne la folle around the same time and he was commissioned by Louis Philippe to paint a series of portraits of past Kings of France.

Life in the French capital was a repeated source of internal conflict for Steuben. The allure of bohemian Paris and his military-dominated upbringing made him a wanderer between worlds. As an official commitment to his adopted country he became a French citizen in 1823. However, the irregularity of his income as a freelance artist was in contrast to his sense of duty and social responsibility. To secure his family financially, he took a job as an art teacher at École Polytechnique, where he briefly trained Gustave Courbet. In 1840 he was awarded a gold medal at the Salon de Paris for his highly acclaimed paintings.

The love of classical painting was a lifelong passion of Steuben. He was a close friend to Eugène Delacroix, the leader of the French Romantic school of painting, whom he portrayed several times. Steuben was also part of this artistic movement, which replaced classicism in French painting. "The painter of the Revolution," as Jacques-Louis David was called by his students, joined art with politics in his works. The subjects of his historical paintings supported historical change. He painted mainly in sharp colour contrasts, heavy solid contours and clear outlines. The severity of this style led many contemporary artists - including Prud'hon - to a romanticised counter movement. They preferred the shadowy softness and gentle colour gradations of Italian Renaissance painters such as Leonardo da Vinci and Antonio da Correggio, whose works they studied intensively. Steuben, who had begun his training with David, felt the school was becoming increasingly rigid and dogmatic. Critics praised his deliberate compositions, excellent brush stroke and impressive colour effects. But some of his critics felt that his pursuit of dramatic design of rich people also showed, at times, a pronounced tendency toward the histrionic.

The portrayal of key moments in Napoleon’s dramatic military career would feature among some of Steuben’s best known works. But it is this death scene that Steuben is most remembered for.

Using his high-level contacts among figures in Napoleon’s circle, Steuben interviewed and sketched many of the people who had been present when Napoleon died at Longwood House on St. Helena. He wanted to attempt o give the most accurate representation of the scene possible. Indeed, the painter interviewed the companions of Napoleon’s captivity on their return to France and had them pose for their portraits. Only the Abbé Vignali, captain Crokat and the doctor Arnott were painted from memory. The Grand maréchal Bertrand made sketches of the plan of the room, noting the positions of the different pieces of furniture and people in the room. All the protagonists within the painting brought together some of their souvenirs and in posing for the painter, each person can be seen contributing to a work of collective memory, very much with posterity in mind.

Painstakingly researched, Steuben painted  a carefully composed scene of hushed grief. Notable among the figures are Gen. Henri Bertrand, who loyally followed Napoleon into exile; Bertrand’s wife, Fanny; and their children, of whom Napoleon had become very fond.

The best known version of “La Mort de Napoléon” was completed in 1828. French writer Stendhal considered it “a masterpiece of expression.” In 1830 the installation of a more liberal monarchy in France further boosted admiration of Napoleon, who suddenly became a wildly popular figure in theatre, art, and music. This fervour led to the diffusion of Steuben’s deathbed scene in the form of engravings throughout Europe in the 1830s. As Napoleon’s stock arose within French culture and arts, so did Steuben’s depiction of Napoleon’s death. It became a grandeur of vision that permeated Steuben’s masterpiece of historical reconstruction.

Initially forming part of the collection of the Colonel de Chambrure, the painting was put up for auction in Paris, on 9 March 1830, with other Napoleonic works, notably Horace Vernet’s Les Adieux de Fontainebleau (The Fontainebleau adieux) and Steuben’s Retour de l’île d’Elbe (The return from the island of Elba). The catalogue noted that the painting had already been viewed in the colonel’s collection by “three thousand connoisseurs” – which alone would have made it a success -, but its renown was to be further amplified by the production of the famous engraving. The diffusion of this engraving by Jean-Pierre-Marie Jazet (1830-1831, held at the Musée de Malmaison), reprinted and copied countless times throughout the 19th century, made the scene a classic in popular imagery, on a level of popularity with paintings such as Millet’s Angelus.

A / Grand Marshal Henri-Gatien Bertrand. Utterly loyal servant of Napoleon’s to the last. His memoirs of the exile on St Helena were not published until 1849. Only the year 1821 has ever been translated into English.

B / General Charles Tristan de Montholon. Courtier and companion of Napoleon’s exile. Montholon managed to ease Bertrand out and become Napoleon’s closest companion at the end, highly rewarded in Napoleon’s will, which Montholon helped write. Montholon’s untrustworthy memoirs were published in 1846/47.

C / Doctor Francesco Antommarchi. Corsican anatomy specialist. Sent by Napoleon’s mother from Rome to St Helena to be Napoleon’s personal physician on the expulsion of Barry O’Meara. Napoleon disliked and distrusted Antommarchi. Antommarchi’s untrustworthy memoirs were very influential and published in 1825.

D / Angelo Paolo Vignali, Abbé. Corsican assistant-chaplain, sent by Madame Mère from Rome to St Helena in 1819.

E / Countess Françoise Elisabeth “Fanny” Bertrand and her children: Napoléon (F), who carried the censer at Napoleon’s funeral; Hortense (G); Henry (H); and Arthur (I), youngest by six years of all the Bertrand children and born on the island. She was wife of the Grand Marshal, very unwilling participant in the exile on St Helena. Her relations with Napoleon were difficult since she refused to live at Longwood. She spoke fluent English. Was however very loyal to Napoleon.

J / Louis Marchand. Napoleon’s valet from 1814 on and one of his closest servants. As Napoleon noted in his will, “The service he [Marchand] rendered were those of a friend”.

K / “Ali”, Louis Étienne Saint-Denis. Known as “the Mamluk Ali”, one of Napoleon’s longest-serving and intimate servants; He became Librarian at Longwood and was an indefatigable copyist of imperial manuscripts.

L / Ali’s English (Catholic) wife, Mary ‘Betsy’ Hall. She was sent out from England by UK relatives of the Countess Bertrand to be governess/nursemaid to the Bertrand children. Married Ali aged 23 in October 1819.

M / Jean Abra(ha)m Noverraz. From the Vaud region in Switzerland. Very tall and imposing figure that Napoleon called his “Helvetic bear”. He was himself ill during Napoleon’s illness.

N / Noverraz’s wife, Joséphine née Brulé. They married in married in July 1819, and she was the Countess Montholon’s lady’s maid. Noverraz and Saint-Denis had a fist fight for the hand of Joséphine.

O / Jean Baptiste Alexandre Pierron. The cook, dessert specialist, long in Napoleon’s service and who had accompanied Napoleon to Elba.

P /Jacques Chandelier. Iincorrectly identified on the picture as Santini who had left the island in 1817. A cook, from the service of Pauline Bonaparte, Napoleon’s sister, who arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

Q /Jacques Coursot. Butler, from the service of Madame Mère, Napoleon’s mother, he arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

R / Doctor Francis Burton. Irish surgeon in the 66th regiment who had arrived on St Helena only on 31st March 1821. He is renowned for having made Napoleon’s death mask (with ensign John Ward and Antommarchi).

S/ Doctor Archibald Arnott. Surgeon in the 20th regiment. Brought in to tend to Napoleon in extremis on 1 April 1821.

T/ Captain William Crokat. A Scot, orderly officer at Longwood for less than a month, having replaced Engelbert Lutyens on 15 April. He received the honour of carrying the news of Napoleon’s death back to London and also the reward, namely, a promotion and £500, privileges of which Lutyens was deliberately deprived by the governor.

[forevercloudnine]

arkhamverse riddlebat ship meme

(Continuing with the questions that @heroes-etc​ picked out for me, this set being from this ship meme.)

3. who is more afraid about the other leaving them?

Edward, hands down. Arkhamverse Riddler is maybe the neediest take on the character I’ve ever seen. Which is saying something, because the panel from “Questions Multiply the Mystery” where he writhes around on the floor begging for attention is permanently burned into my mind. He also clearly doesn’t take rejection well, as evidenced by the graffiti in his cell shown in a promotional image for Arkham Asylum (2009). J'ai aimé, j'ai souffert, maintenant... je hais. “I loved, I suffered, now I hate.”

It didn’t make it into the game proper (too subtexty, maybe, given a general lack of non-Batman people this could be referring to), but from my perspective it might as well have, since I experienced all the games second hand by sitting on the couch next to my brother while he swore at the Riddler challenges. Anyway, if perceived rejection has you writing French poetry on your cell wall in what looks concerningly like bodily fluids, then you probably won’t deal well with the concept of actually being dumped.  

5. who is more likely to drunkenly confess?

Also Edward, given that he’s calling Bruce every five minutes. And if he’s not calling Bruce directly, he’s talking ABOUT Bruce in a public broadcast to all of Gotham. Eddie is the king of freudian slips sober, so one can only imagine what he would say in vino veritas. If he does get drunk, let’s hope for his sake that he opts to communicate through his private line to Batman rather than over every screen in Gotham.

6. who is more likely to push the other away (for any reason)?

Bruce, also hands down. Arkham Knight really goes out of its way to hammer in that Batman’s callous treatment of Riddler has wreaked havoc on Edward’s psyche, even if arguably Eddie had it coming. Riddler’s mole in the GCPD talks about this:

JT Walker: It used to be funny, you know [...] And then one day, it just wasn't funny anymore. It was pathetic. He stopped taking care of himself, got that crazy look in his eyes. I swear man, he's broken. You broke him.

Bruce’s subconscious gets a dig in on this topic via Joker hallucination. 

“Joker”: Good for you, Bats! Eddie doesn’t need help. No, no, no. Beat ‘em up. Lock ‘em up. That’s the best medicine. 

Even my brother, who would attempt to stab Arkhamverse Edward in the face War-of-Jokes-and-Riddles style if the games let him, felt guilty on Bruce’s behalf when Eddie started ranting about his photographic memory. 

Riddler: I can summon your sneering features at will. That is, when they don't burst unbidden into my brain [...] I can remember every time you've hurt me. Sometimes I wake up, Dark Knight, to the feel of your hands around my neck, your carbon fiber created fists smashing my solar plexus. 

I think because of this trait, one of the only ways this ship would work in Arkhamverse is if they came to an agreement during Arkham Origins (since Edward is... more or less... a vigilante in that game, albeit one that Bruce considers distasteful), well before their relationship gets to where it is in Arkham Asylum. The other way is if Bruce actually took the lesson Arkham Knight hammered over his head and tried to fix the damage done after faking his death. (In my mind there exists a many chaptered fanfic where after Batman “disappears” he moves to the second Batcave the games put under Arkham Asylum and takes on Joker’s “Eric Border” persona from the comics to become an orderly there. Whether it’s scarebat or riddlebat varies depending on my mood, but what’s consistent no matter what is that I have five WIPs on ao3 and I can’t write it until I finish at least one of them).  

7. who picks fights more often?

Obviously Arkhamverse Edward is the most irritating person who has ever lived, so he kind of wins by default. But Bruce definitely holds his own in instigating unnecessary conflict with loved ones in this continuity. I’ll cut him some slack during Arkham Knight because one could argue that he spends most of the game half-possessed by an evil clown ghost, but it’s not like he’s much better in ANY of the other games. The bit in Arkham City where he lies to Talia’s face about being willing to spend the rest of his life with her so that she’ll give him access to the Lazarus Pit — even though if he was just honest and asked for it she probably would have helped him anyway, given that she DIES protecting him in the climax — is probably the best example of how he will infuriate people who love him for no logical reason. It’s a symptom of the post traumatic hyper vigilance, probably.

So if Edward did get the closeness to Bruce that his subconsciousness seems to be gunning for, he could look forward to the physical violence and public humiliation being replaced with the same well-intentioned gaslighting and emotional manipulation Bruce gives everyone but Alfred in these games. Actually, is Alfred the only one who’s even aware that he’s alive after Arkham Knight? Bruce, please tell your kids that you aren’t a pile of ash in the crater that used to be Wayne Manor.

9. who is more likely to withhold their feelings for the other?

The obvious answer is Bruce, because he keeps his emotions locked in a lead box buried like twenty feet beneath the floor of the Batcave (probably along with a bunch of kryptonite, since Superman is flying around the Arkhamverse somewhere). But honestly Bruce doesn’t seem to have a problem getting it on with supervillains in this continuity. He and Talia chat pretty casually about a recent romantic rendezvous in Metropolis when they meet in Arkham City. His emotional distance from Selina in Arkham Knight seems less like him withholding his feelings from her, and more like him not being over Talia’s death (or Joker’s, which... the narrative certainly focuses on more than Talia’s...). 

So I think Edward would actually be more likely to withhold his feelings for Bruce. Even if Bruce approached him first, he’s too obsessed with the possibility of Bruce humiliating him to take any positive interaction (especially a romantic overture) at face value. 

Riddler: You left me battered and demeaned in Arkham City. I am the Riddler, Batman. I don't suffer humiliation. I pay it back.

He’s not really wrong, either. Batman does humiliate him in Arkham City (by misleading Edward into thinking he’d let him die, no less); it’s the same embarrassment Edward inflicts on his own victims, so it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it per se, but it’s definitely not Bruce taking the higher ground.

Sticking him in his own trap is pretty vindictive, and Riddler’s weird commentary about not letting Batman have bathroom breaks during his revenge trials in Arkham Knight hints that Cash and the other guards might have made his (clearly unlawful!) punishment even more humiliating than we see on screen.

Riddler: Rule the seventh. Bathroom breaks will be administered on a discretionary basis. Should we find ourselves at a pivotal moment in your arduous journey to self-realization and defeat, I expect you to hold it in. Rule the eighth. Any accidents resulting from my strict enforcement of the seventh rule are to be considered your fault entirely. 

So would Edward withhold his feelings for Batman? Yeah, probably. And it would probably take a lot of time and effort for Bruce to convince Edward that any feelings on his part weren’t just an attempt to humiliate Riddler further.     

[whereflowersbloom]

Pumpkin Disaster

Richard could almost smell the cinnamon spice, vanilla scent and cinnamon sugar in the air. The colors of the leaves changed from green to a dazzling display of red, orange and yellow. The air became crisper and temperatures dropped a bit as a chill came into the air.

Richard Grayson absolutely loved Halloween. As expected of the eldest Wayne sibling, he was the kind of person who enjoyed decorating and preparing the manor for Halloween because of his everlasting enthusiasm for holidays. He loved the cheesy and horror movies, the excuse to stuff his face with candy, the seasonal special editions of cereal, the elaborate and extravagant costumes, the creative decorations. It was his second favorite holiday. And he definitely considered it a holiday.

Halloween wasn’t just a day to him. Oh no. The whole month of October was Halloween. But with his vigilante duties, intermittent Titans training and constant Gotham crises cropping up, he had made it through two weeks of the month without an ounce of Halloween festivity. But that was about to change.

“You never carved pumpkins for Halloween?” Dick Grayson asked incredulously, pressing a hand to his chest in a move overly dramatic.

Damian exclaimed a familiar ‘TT’ in response. For him seeing people playing pretend, wearing flashy and ridiculous costumes was not particularly interesting. Thought they weren’t much different from the impractical clothing Todd and Richard insisted on wearing. It was just a recurrent reminder that he was not a normal child.

“Which part of I was raised in the inhospitable and desolate mountains you didn’t comprehend, Grayson?” Damian brusquely returned with furrowed eyebrows.

“But we cannot celebrate it without carving your first pumpkin...” Grayson sounded so downhearted it stung Damian with shadowy guilt. Out of all his adoptive siblings Grayson was the pleasant and tolerable one. Damian swallowed hard.

“I want all of us to carve a pumpkin!” Dick declared holding up his index finger in contempt. Damian raised a dark eyebrow as a go on communicating silently. “We are all doing this together as a family.”

“It’s not necessary. I’m not a small child anymore.” Damian scoffed, rolling his eyes before refocusing on his Robert Frost book, flipping another page. No. He would not acquiesce easily into this. He was self-sufficient, mature preteen. Not a child.

“Demon spawn, you are only eleven.” Jason commented before putting out a finished cigarette. Fortunately Alfred wasn’t lurking around to give him disapproving eyes for smoking inside the manor.

“Is this your way of asking for a new scar, Todd?” Damian threatened through gritted teeth and clenched fists, mind quickly calculating the damage of throwing an explosive batarang.

“You’re getting less insufferable to be around.” Jason scoffed and met Damian with a sly smirk. “Dickie, pouting is not an acceptable reaction for a full-grown adult.” Jason sing-songed as he grabbed his motorbike keys.

“This includes you Jaybird. I plan on getting you into the Halloween spirit.” Dick announced with his authoritative leader tone, letting Jason know he would be part of this wether he liked it or not.

Jason groaned dreadfully, cursing under his breath. Great. Now he was part of the Halloween circus. At least he didn’t have to take the annoying gremlin pumpkin picking. God knows what would happened if they fed him candy. The thought gave Jason chilling goosebumps.

Damian folded his arms over his chest in a sign of disagreement. “I don’t do pumpkins. It’s a waste of food. It amounts to about 18,000 tons of pumpkin, including flesh and seeds. Have you read the recent studies on how it’s destroying the environment?”

“Come on, D. You will have fun. You can carve your own Robin lantern” Dick encouraged, practically vibrating with excitement. Damian wondered what on earth he did to deserve such blinding sunshine as his adoptive sibling. “...and I’m sure Alfred will find a convenient way to make use of the pumpkins.”the last words seemed to have done the trick to convince the younger boy.

Damian considered the options carefully for a solid minute. He knew better than ignoring Richard wouldn’t get him anywhere. He wouldn’t leave it alone. Sigh. If it meant he could help Pennyworth baking a pumpkin spice pie with ginger-snag crust...

“Lead the way, Grayson.” Damian sighed resignedly.

Dick squealed in joy, bouncing to his feet and wrapping his arms around Damian’s neck.

It was just pumpkin carving what exactly could go wrong. Right?

~~~

Less than two hours later Jason Todd walked into the kitchen of the Wayne manor, initially looking for a cup of peppermint tea as the Gotham chilly autumn winds were making him crave a hot beverage.

“Would anyone care to explain why is there a whole fucking pumpkin patch on the kitchen table?” Jason muttered audibly, mouth opened in stupefaction. What in the name of Halloweentown....Where did all these pumpkins come from?

“Language, Jay.” Dick scolded him glancing up at him over a pile of massive mutant pumpkins with a provoking grin.

“I grew up in the Narrows. I’m allowed to swear.” Jason rolled his eyes in reply as he tried to avoid stepping on the pumpkins, accidentally squashing them, they were scattered on the floor, table, those fucking things were everywhere. “Dickie, are you going to explain?”

“These are from Roy.” Richard gestured the numerous orange bulbs with his right hand. “I think he got these from some illegal smuggling bust. I didn’t really ask a lot of questions. I just accepted them because I thought it’d be fun to try carving Batman lanterns with little D.”

It took Jason less than two minutes to process the information. Why was the golden boy not bothered by this?

“You mean these are contraband pumpkins.” He remarked skeptically, green-blue eyes widening still rather incredulous.

Dick simply shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d have a problem.”

Right. Only if Bruce found out about the origin of the contraband pumpkins. Then he’d be blamed for being the bad influence and his merry band of disreputable friends. He groaned as he rubbed the nape of his neck.

“And where is the demon spawn. I don’t seem him anywhere.” He questioned narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side the slightest. He had to be close to Dick, but the kitchen was alarmingly too quiet. Too quiet for his liking. This meant trouble.

Tim didn’t try too hard not to flinch as a knife flashed dangerously close to his face and flied past Jason. “This is the third time in the last hour. I’m starting to think it’s personal.” Tim spoke calmly with a sarcastic tone as he continued sipping his black coffee expressionless as usual. Getting knifed by the little demon spawn before Halloween would hav been the cherry on top of the misfortune cake.

Jason was genuinely concerned and wondered how many cups of coffee Tim has had today. Hopefully not over five.

“If he wanted you dead, you’d be already in a casket.” Jason pointed out. It was no secret Damian’s strong aversion towards replacement, but he didn’t wish the shortstack dead.

Tim just shrugged his shoulders casually. “Well, I suppose we always could use your old one.” Fuck that. He took it back.

“Low blow, replacement.” Jason feigned hurt putting a hand to his chest right above his heart in a offended manner.

“It’s juts not cooperating.” The young kid voiced his frustration and discontentment . Leaving the kitchen knife he used on the table. Tt. He was trained and raised for excellence and he couldn’t carve flawlessly a stupid pumpkin. Mother would be entirely displeased.

“Requires time and practice, Dami.” Dick whispered softly with a warm smile, running his hand up and down the preteen’s back.

“I don’t know D, to me it looks like you’re slaughtering it mercilessly.” Jason joked with a wolflike smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Head moving in different angles trying to find a figure or face in the pumpkin Damian had been carving. “Unless you were thinking of the Joker, If so then you have my seal of approval.” The little demon spawn was never the most pleasant person to be around but deep,very deep down maybe Jason had a soft spot for him. Not that he would ever admit it out loud. Never.

“Do us a favor and keep your mouth shut, Todd.” Damian barked, glaring daggers at him.

“I never did Halloween with my parents.” The words escaped Tim’s mouth before his brilliant brain registered the order. The pain wasn’t there anymore. No. There were charity Galas, social events for wealthy socialites, last minute journeys for significant discoveries. Because people often assumed there will be plenty of time later. Tim didn’t want Damian to live for the later.

“I remember trading a cheap wristwatch for expired candy once. Not a great deal.” Jason muttered nonchalantly, giving it unimportance. Tone flat and factual. His memories from the narrows weren’t memorable for being happy or enjoyable but he had what he managed to obtain and he did what was necessary in order to survive. Nothing to be ashamed of.

“There’s always a first, Timbo.” Dick placed sympathetically a hand on Tim’s shoulder in a comforting way. Tim smiled softly back. Well, perhaps this pumpkin carving experience could be fun.

~~~

“This is the grossest thing I’ve ever done.” Tim announced, scooping a handful of pumpkin guts out of his pumpkin and examining them distastefully. “Seriously. I’ve done some pretty gross things, but this takes the cake.”

Jason flicked playfully a few pumpkin seeds at him and Tim moved fast enough to evade almost all of them. “Don’t be such a crybaby, replacement.” He has been playing with the large pumpkin, stabbing it numerous times picturing the joker’s fAce.

“Look at the gremlin, he’s been doing it for like two hours. What if he’s developed an addiction?” Jason mumbled slightly concerned and half-joking to Tim.

Damian pulled the pumpkin impossibly closer to him, practically cradling the thing in his lap. His mind completely absorbed in the task of carving the perfect pumpkin. His back was pressed to the cupboards behind him, a series of knives and napkins scattered at his sides. He looked focused, impossibly focused, like there could never be a more important thing for him to pour his energy into. Because Damian Wayne even if he didn’t admit it was obsessed with maintaining perfection. Failure was not a word he accepted.

Damian rolled his eyes. “I’m fairly sure no one has ever got addicted to pumpkin carving and I can hear you, mindless fools.”

"Any behavior can become compulsive.” Tim supplied absently, eyes fixed on the small pumpkin in front of him.

Dick paused briefly from working on his Nightwing lantern to just observe Damian, not even trying to hide the smile on his lips.

Dick and Jason quietly exchange discreet glances. Quickly they picked a few pumpkin seeds out of the bowl that resided in the scented of the kitchen table, flicking them over towards Damian who squawked and tried unsuccessfully, to duck. Due to being too focused on the task assigned. “Will you stop distracting me? I have a masterpiece to finish!”

“A masterpiece?” Jason asked teasingly, glancing pointedly at his Batman lantern.

“Yes. A masterpiece, Todd.” Damian exhaled exasperated. What did anyone have to do to carve a mere pumpkin in peace?

“Come on, little D. It’s time to have some fun!” Jason threw a handful of pulpy flesh at his face. Oh. This would be seen as a declaration of war. Quickly, Damian grabbed a portion of pumpkin and aimed for Jason’s leather jacket. ‘NOT MY JACKET’ several minutes later, Drake was covered in the orange flesh from head to toes. He was in urgent need of a bath. Grayson was smart enough to grasp a breakfast tray and use it as a shield, however it didn’t work for long. Damian and Tim teamed up to caught him on the top with a surprise attack, Drake sneaking behind his back. Needless to say the kitchen was in shambles at this point. Good thing Pennyworth has been busy the whole day reorganizing the library.

“What’s all this mess in my kitchen?! Master Richard I demand a proper explanation!” A very agitated British voice came from the doorframe. Alfred very upset, furrowing his grey brows appeared looking utterly baffled by the chaos.

Oops.

“Fuck me” Jason and Richard grumbled in unison from the floor covered in pumpkin pulp. Soon they broke out in bowls of laughter all four of them. Damian genuinely laughed at his heart’s content with the innocence of a normal child. His family may have been unstable and insane, but canned if they weren’t entertaining and the best part of his new life.

Some mandatory batbros bonding October prompt 🎃 🙈🙈🙈❤️💜💜

Also I’m celebrating 1.8K followers. Thank you so much for your support and reading my stories. I appreciate it 🥺🥺

Edited here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26891536

@sofiii @chromium7sky @deep-in-mind67

[b-rainlet]

Gotham for the fandom ask thingy.

(I ran here so fuckin fast you have no clue)

Hello anon! :D I will answer this now, so you don't have to wait any longer but also....this would be very nice to answer through gifsets...(maybe when I am feeling up for it).

For now, have this:

(It's not proof read because I just sat at this for several hours and I don't wanna look at it anymore).

Favourite Male Character

You mean...besides the obvious answers?? :D

Ngl, it's S2 Jerome. I love that little twink with his parental issues and his tragic backstory and I wanna see him happy. There's a reason I have a bunch of AUs where he ends up having a family (mostly in the form of Lee as his Mother) and gets some actual help instead of being ostracized for being a mentally ill person snapping after years of abuse.

(This also ties into my very strong feelings regarding the fact that nobody actually helps the people at Arkham. And I don't mean the main villains there, I mean all the inmates who get treated like shit and are left behind on the regurlar (remember in S2 when Arkham was about to explode and nobody was talking about evacuating the inmates???? I do).

Other than that, one of my faves is also Jonathan. Which may be a little surprising because I barely talk about him but he was my favourite character throughout the show and he had way too little scenes.

(Kinda telling that the characters I latched onto are both helpless teens who were fucked over by the people who were supposed to protect them and can both trace their villain origin story back to Jim Gordon not caring enough about them lmao).

But the cast is big and varied enough that I actually like everyone? Butch, Zsazs, Penguin, S1 and 2 Ed, Jervis, Harvey, Jim......I like them all!!

(Special shoutout to 514A too, he was soft and baby and I wanted to keep him safe and sound really desperately).

(Another special shoutout to Barnes!! I didn't expect to like him when I first saw him, given he looked like he was gonna be mean and stoic and all, but I ended up really liking him and his story!)

Favourite Female Character

Let's just pretend Ecco doesn't exist for this answer ajdkaskaslj.

I fell in love immediately upon seeing Ecco but all! the women! are so!!! good!!!!

I especially have a soft spot for the side characters. I mean, upon first watching I got attached to Alice (even though she only features in two episodes lmao), and also Kristen Kringle - who isn't talked about much within Fandom, but she was pretty and her and Ed were actually quite cute but then she had to die for him to become the Riddler which was...pretty much telling us from the beginnning 'The woman here die to advance the men's plots'.

Barbara was also a big surprise to me because I figured she'd be the female love interest and nothing more but!! her and Jerome were the best thing in S2 and also the most entertaining thing about the Maniax Plot. (In several ways, I think I had the most fun watching this show during S2 , it was just. Good).

Also upon being in this Fandom and thinking about certain characters a bit longer I also really like Vicky Vale. And Montoya. And I wish they had kept both around for longer.

(I also wish they wouldn't have made Vicky a love interest for Jim. Or Sofia. No love interests for Jim except Lee and Barbara please).

Also Selina!! I love both Selina and Tabitha with all my heart - which may also be surprising because I barely ever talk about Tabby but I contain multitudes aklskddsm, and while I like sharing my horny thoughts about Ecco, I also love to think about Tabby and daydream about her being happy and exploring her (and Selina's) issues with showing weakness and affection and their strong loyalty regarding people that they trust.

I just.....women. Women good.

(Women also deserve to have more character than just being somebody's love interests and I have enough wips that completely sideline the guys to focus on the woman instead lmao).

Least Favourite Character

I don't have many characters that I hate??

I generally tend to instantly love everybody unless they are specifically made to be unlikeable. (I also spite-like characters who are hated for petty reasons, I just have a lot of love in my heart and not much energy for hate lmao).

But there were characters who annoyed me while I was watching.

For one, I think Gotham has a variety of super entertaining villains, but the main villains of each season tend to be....boring.

Safe for Strange they all kinda fell flat for me. Theo. Kathryn. Ra's Al Ghul. His Daughter. Mostly because their plotlines were less exciting than stuff like Jerome's carnival or Mother and Orphan's Hotel of Horrors.

Or their motives seemed a lot less understandable than the ones of the other Batman villains who pretty much always come from a place of suffering and abuse and break/snap under the pressure that's put on them (continuing this take of Gotham creating its own villains by leaving behind - mentally ill - people that need help, which I think is very true to most - if not all - Batman villains).

And then you have some characters that simply suffer from the fact that the show was cut short - which is pretty much any and every S5 character that had way too little screentime, but in this specific case means Jeremiah.

Because I disliked Jeremiah a lot while watching.

Without wanting to step on anybody's toes, him and Nygma are probably the two characters on this show I ended up disliking the most.

Mostly because Miah felt like a very cheap copy of Jerome and to this day I think it was a bad idea to replace Jerome with him, since Jeremiah - to me - seems like a super flat character.

Maybe if we had gotten him without meeting Jerome first, just having a Joker character introduced in S4, maybe I would've adored him, who knows.

But in comparison to Jerome...no. Just no.

(I will spare you from any longer rambles, but I think if you follow me, I talked about the ways Miah is lacking for me before).

My made up version of Miah though? I love him.

With Nygma it's even worse because I adored him. I instantly liked him. I was 100% behind him right up until the godawful Isabella plot happened and then it just all went to shit so quickly, I couldn't stand seeing him on screen anymore.

It's surprising that I didn't stop liking Oswald but to me, Oswald pretty much stayed the same while Ed became all bitter and hard and I just miss dorky S2 Ed you know?

It actually got so bad, I completely turned my back on Nygm/obblepot as a ship because I was so severly disappointed and I barely talk about Ed because I just can't stand what they did with him.

(Another victim of bad writing).

Favourite Ship

I'm just gonna stick to canon ships because I don't ever shut up about my Fanon ships so you probably know which ones I love the most :D

There isn't much romance going on within Gotham if I think about it - apart from Jim - which I definitely prefer. You wouldnt guess it from my blog, but I am not a fan of too shippy stuff because in most cases it just means sex scenes and I can live without those. I want action! Blood! Dead People! Not a two minute make-out session between two bland characters!

I gotta admit that Ed and Lee have some cute scenes and I would definitely ship them if I didn't dislike S4 Ed so much (S2 EdLee tho?? Yes).

Also I thought Jim and Lee was okay and Baby Batcat was quite cute at times but mostly I don't care about the canon ships.

I do ship Barbara and Jim though :D

I remember right before they hooked up in S5 I was like: 'I wouldn't mind if they got back together' and then went 'yay!' when they did and I wouldn't have minded a little more 'Will they?? Won't they??' between those two and them just having the mother of unhealthy relationships on this show.

(Also Jim/Barbara/Lee poly relationship but we can't have everything).

Favourite Friendship

So many good relationships on this show!

I need to rewatch the show soon because I probably already forgot about most of them but from the top of my head: Oswald/Butch and Oswald/Zsazs

Which were both then done dirty lmao. One by having Oswald be overly petty (one of the few times I was like...Pengy...wtf...) and the other by passing up the obvious opportunity to have Zsazs find out who really killed Falcone and just...letting Oswald and Victor never interact again. 

Then of course Ivy and Selina which also gloriously fell apart. Just like Ivy and Oswald. 

(Gotham isn’t the best when it comes to maintaining friendships). 

And the biggest and most grandious friendship of them all: J Squad. 

(Who have too little scenes together honestly and then also simply fell apart after Jerome died. Consistency who?)

Favourite Quote

I don’t know, I don’t have many quotes in my head from the show. Me and my niece mostly reference: “Yeah, that’s a spoon.” - “IT IS ALSO A FORK!!1!!!”

Also: “Gotta Go! Gotta Go! They’re after me and the Scarecrow!”

(There are some dialogue blurps I have written down somewhere because they are inspriration for gifsets but in order to be able to just recite some of them from Memory, I would have to watch this show way more obsessively). 

Worst Character Death

I don’t even gotta say anything do I? :D

But I think the character death that actually made me cry was Jerome’s first death. I clearly remember crying because...he just wanted recognition! And praise! And instead he was used as a pawn and betrayed by someone he idolized and he was only 18! My poor little meow-meow!

Seriously, the only things that make me cry on this show: Jerome’s first death, any and all mention of Bruce as a baby - told by an emotional Alfred, any and all Bruce/Alfred interaction at all and Solomon Grundy. 

This made me so happy you have no idea Moment

I seriously need to rewatch this show, it’s been so long :D

But I remember being pretty excited for the J Squad Team Up - because I was like ‘If I were Jerome I would definitely work with Tetch and Scarecrow since they’re also in Arkham atm’ and then he did!!

And I also distinctly remember in S3 that I was close to falling asleep right when they scene came on where Oswald realizes his feelings for Nygma and let me tell you - it caught me so off guard, I was awake instantly lmao. 

(I knew that people shipped them but I was so used to mlm ships being popular when they only have a handful of scenes and are platonic friends that I didn’t expect them to actually have a possibility of being canon). 

From then on I was super pumped for them to deliver on that ship but well....we all knew what happened asnksnndk. 

Saddest Moment

Aside from the already mentioned scenes in the character death column, the scene where Bruce leaves and Selina runs to the airport. I always liked Selina but she wasn’t a priority character of mine (much like Bruce isn’t) but then that scene happened and in an instant, I felt super protective over her. 

She is now my baby. My daughter. My beloved wife. She deserves everything and most importantly she deserves better than Bruce Wayne. 

(Coincidentally that was also the scene where I decided I don’t care much about Bruce asldjkjlj. I absolutely adore early seasons Bruce though). 

Favourite Location

There are so many different locations, I don’t think I can adequately answer this with my spotty memory :D

But I always loved the few episodes where Alice features, because I love how her scenes are shot so probably the little carnival Jervis prepares for her.

Also!! Jeremiah's church!

Or Commissioner Loeb's secret house (Especially the Attic).

There are a lot of cool locations, I gotta gif some of them soon :D

[jupitermelichios]

Snyder Cut: spoiler free post-mortem

First things first, the only film I have ever just panned with absolutely no attempt at balance was Suicide Squad, and while I do enjoy SS more (in a delirious ‘I can’t believe this is actually happening’ way) than I enjoyed this, I’m also not going to pretend that this isn’t a better put together movie than SS. Whatever else you can say about him, Snyder is a better director than Ayer will ever be, and his editors are leagues better than the two different trailer houses that cut SS.

But this movie is too long. Not ‘four hours is too long for a movie’, i have watched and enjoyed four hour directors cuts before, this movie is too long for what it is. It’s not just four hours, it feels like it. At least. I haven’t done any editting since I was 18 and genuinely and sincerely think I could remove an hour from this movie and audiences wouldn’t even notice. An actual trained experienced editor could proably get it down to two and a half total without losing a single plot beat.

The Good

Cyborg gets a lot more room to breathe, and his magic maguffin powers feel a lot more earned.

Bruce and Alfred’s relationship is weird and unlike any other version of them, but I mostly enjoyed it, and I definitely enjoyed it more than I did in the original cut.

My questions were mostly “why is this happening” and not “what is happening”, which is definitely an improvement over the original.

Jason Momoa is just really great in any role where he’s allowed to not be generic grittyman, Gal Gadot is good, Henry Caville is... well he’s here, so good for him. Gotta get that bread. (I don’t think Henry Caville is a bad actor, I do think he’s incapable of rising above the dirctor or source material).

My favourite Justice League member has a cameo, and it’s tonally very weird but I dug it.

The didn’t make Henry Caville shave his chest hair, which actually may have been a rights issue with MI, but I still appreciate it.

The designs for the messenger dude (I’m sure he has a name, but the New Gods aren’t my area) and the parademons are both really good.

Flash Naruto-runs at the end. That’s not much, but it is pretty good.

The Bad

At one point the process of Lois Lane having to put down a cup of coffee for a minute so she can open the door of a coffee-shop with her hands full is in slow-mo. That adds nothing except padding the run-time, and it’s also not even the worse use of slow-mo because so much of this movie is slowed down.

There’s also a lot of shots that are just held a beat or two too long, which normally would be a minor problem but when it’s repeated over a movie that already feels padded it really starts to stand out every time it happens.

There’s two subplots added in this cut that aren’t (from memory) in the original. One is an entirely pointless recurring bit about Bruce trying to get a new design of plane to fly. It’s not special in any way that we are actually told, or even really shown, it’s just a plane. It adds nothing.

The other is an extra layer to the Apokolyptian stuff that gets several minutes of set up and is then just dropped with no ceremony or even acknoledgment. It’s just gone from the movie at around the three hour mark and never reoccurs, and to honest ‘if the bad guy destroys the world a second bad guy will come and destroy the world ever harder’ wasn’t much a subplot to begin with.

Despite this very clearly being Cyborg’s story, and his added screen time, he’s still not the main character, Bruce is.

I didn’t particularly like most of the jokes Wheadon gave Flash, but at least they were something. Without them... He’s mildly creepy to someone who I assume is supposed to be Iris West but who never speaks or gets named. Other than that he’s just... here? It doesn’t help that whatever you think of him as a performer, Ezra Miller is not and never claimed to be a comic actor, so most of the jokes left in just don’t land at all.

Everyone who says this movie treats it’s female characters better than the original needs to up their standards. It removes the incredibly tired tripping into cleavage moment, but otherwise... Iris doesn’t even get a name, Lois barely qualifies as a sexy lamp (replacing her with Beppo the super-monkey would change nothing substansive about her interactions with anyone and would honestly be more comics accurate), Martha Kent is identical, and Wonder Woman is barely changed except the one scene of her drinking Whiskey with Bruce is replaced with one of her drinking tea with Alfred, and also she now just says “Kal-El” over and over whenever he’s on screen like a reverse pokemon. While I generally think tests like the Bechdel and the Mako Mori are short-sighted, it is worth noting that this movie passes none of them. Not one. The Dead or Alive movie passes the Bechdel test, and this movie doesn’t. Removing one bad joke does not a feminist movie make.

The Ugly

The lack of colour is so pronounced it’s almost comical. Recolouring superman’s costume was a choice I don’t like, but it was an artistic choice. Removing all colour and light from a fight scene already taking place in a dark room makes it just incomprehensible. It’s startling just how much better the two fight scenes which take place outdoors in sunlight are, and 90% of that is just that you can easily distinguish between the characters. (It would have been even easier wthout the beige colour grade, but I’m not expecting miracles here).

[hobbitsnapes]

The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 16

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @tyuuniverse)

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever.

Tags: @comic-nerd-dc @comic-brew @psychovigilantewrites @psych0crybaby

Days go by, and each one sandy feels more comfortable being here. Now coming out each day of her room. No longer staying in feeling as though she’s trapped inside the room like the rest of the manor was hell. Most of her days she’d frequent the garden, walking around and taking in the beautiful flowers and trees.

But the majority of her time was spent in tims room. Having grown a friendship with the insomniac. But she couldn’t really say anything, due to usually coming in at the wea hours of the night to the earliest of the day.

And that’s where she found herself, at the early hour of 3:57 AM hanging upside down on tims bed with him beside her.

“why do they make decaffeinated coffee? Who does that help?” He asks. The pair hadn’t said a word in minutes. “People who like coffee but not the caffeine. Or Constipated people.” She replies. Tim nodding his reddening face due to the blood flow from being upside down. “Do you think the ocean is so salty because of whale sperm?” She asks, making him laugh. “Where in the fuck do you think of these things?” He asks, still laughing. Sandy pulls herself up, Tim following in suit. “I could ask you the same question.” She asks. They both lay back on the bed this time, heads fitting comfortably against the plush blankets. “Wanna play a game?” He asks, she tunes to him, “I want to play a game.” She says in a deep voice. This causes Tim to roll his eyes. “Okay jiggy. Let’s play 20 questions.”

“Most embarrassing story?” She asks. “The time everyone went out and I popped a hard on and the thug laughed thinking it was because of him. When in reality it was cause I was young and couldn’t control them.” This caused sandy to let out a large laugh, dubling over clutching her stomach. “Alright alright alright, it’s my turn to ask.” Tim chuckles. Her eyes look up at him, nodding her head slightly. “Favorite memory?” He asks. Her brow furrows as she looks to the side. Eyes slightly squinted. “I have 2 that I can’t pick between.” She sighs. “Then tell me what they are.” Tim says.

She pauses for a moment, looking back over to him. Letting out a large breath. “My 8th birthday. My dad was always busy but would always make sure to come into my room each night, and if I wasn’t asleep, he'd take me out to our living room, and with my mom we’d all take a huge blanket and all the pillows and make a huge heap on our couch. Most nights we’d end up falling asleep together. Sometimes we’d watch a movie or they’d tell me a bedtime story. Each one was different from the last. Well that night my dad brought me out into our living room, he took the day off to spend it with me. And he said to sit there by myself and wait patiently. So o did, and after 10 minutes my mom and dad came out.” She starts laughing as she’s speaking, trying to calm herself down to tell the rest. “T-they both came out in what I think was an 80s rendition of the Renaissance. They then gave me a dress to put on, along with a crown. The dress was a ball gown that was white with light blue lace, it also had small pearls on it. The crown was beautiful, it almost looked real with the shine of the diamonds and sapphires. We then spent the rest of the night dancing, to anything that played. We then all got in my parents bed, and they held me until we all fell asleep.” A tear fell down her eye, wiping it away almost immediately after it cascaded down her face. An ache reasoned within her heart at the fond memory. “The next one had to be at the fair with Jaso. I hadn’t been there with him long. I don’t even think it was a month at that point. He, he really was trying. I saw every attempt he made to get closer with me, and each time I’d pretend I didn’t notice or not be interested and go to my room. God, my room. I hated it at first. It was originally the weapon room, he has removed all of them but it was almost completely bare.”

Both of them step into the small room, both silent apart from their breathing.

Jason had gotten all of the guns, the knives, anything out of the room when she took a shower. Both just meeting an hour prior.

She eyes around the mostly bare room. A small cot bed was nestled into the corner of the room, along with a small bedside table with a lamp on top of it. Apart from those, dark curtains cover the window. The floorboards were bare, cold on her feet. “I’m sorry about the bed. I-I can have you take mine if you’d like?” He asks her. She looks over at him, seeing the panic in his face. “No no, this is more than enough. Thank you.” She says, looking down at the large t-shirt that hung below to her boney knees. “Do you need anything? I have some books, I don’t have a tv here but-“ she looks up at him, his rambling stopping. “I’m honestly really tired right now.” She says. “Alright, get some rest.” He says.

He walks to the door, but stops. “Thank you, um?” She says, her eyes scrunching slightly. “Jason. Jason Todd.”

A tear slipped down both her eyes, but was snapped out of it when she felt tims hand on her shoulder. She wipes both away and looked up at him, his face contorted in worry. “Sorry, but back to what I was saying. The fair was amazing, we had so much fun playing all the games, riding most of the rides, and the others I watched biting my nails as I watched him go on the extreme ones. God I, I felt like he was my actual dad, and that we were just normal father and daughter going to the fair for the first time. I finally felt like there was some normalcy in my life, that I could just be a kid again. I, I didn’t feel guilty. Each time he would try bonding with me, it killed me because I felt like I was replacing my parents with him. That I shouldn’t bond with another person because it’s not fair to my actual parents.” Small tracks of tears fell down her face, no longer trying to wipe them away. “But that day, I felt like my parents wanted me to. They wanted me to feel like a kid, to have fun again. I felt them with me that day, and that was also the day I started slowly seeing him as my dad.” Her tears had dried at this point, having been replaced with a smile. Fond memories of the day played through her mind. No longer a pain in her heart, but a warmth flooded through her as she remembers one of the best days of her life. “Alright, my turn. Why Red Robin? And why not add him to the end of it?” She asked, a smirk on her face. “Oh for fucks sake.” A large laughter reasoned throughout the room.

“Then when I came in to tell Bruce what happened he was balls deep blowing her back out on the-“ Tim was cut off from laughing so hard, both him and sandy laying on his bed clutching their chests due to the heavens of their laughter. It had been some time, the sun started creeping over the trees for a few minutes at that point.

They both lay there as their laughter started to die down, that is until footsteps were heard walking by. Sandy abruptly stopped laughing, turning to the door with wide eyes and tensed muscles. Her heart fell but Accelerated to the point of it being painful, until the door remained closed and the footsteps drifted away. She felt a hand on her shoulder, turning back to Tim. Worry overtook his face. “It’s alright, he doesn’t even come in here anyways.” A large sigh escaped her as she ducked her head down. “I know, I just can’t help but get worried whenever I hear him.” She says, a frown painted on her lips. Tim brought her in for a hug, wrapping her in his arms and rubbing his hands along her back. Her head rested on his shoulder as small tracks of tears fell down her cheeks.

“Alright, last question.” Tim says, looking over to her as she played with the strings on her jacket. She turns her head to him, looking into his eyes as her heart speeds up, the fear of the question but the Curiosity outwayung her fear. “Why does my dad not y’all to you guys? He told me he was robin, and that he was killed. But he never said what happened besides that?” She asks softly, her brows slightly furrowed. A sigh leaves Tim as he looks away. “It’s, complicated. It’s not my place to tell. But I will tell you, it came after what happened to him.”

Dick sighs as he puts his head in his hands. His brow furrowed as lips in a tight line. He pulls at his hair, meshing his hands into knots into it. “God what am I gonna do?” He whispers to himself.

He paces back and forth along the floor. Eying his feet as he bites at his nails. It’s a bad habit he developed as a child, but with the help of Alfred he stopped it for the most part. That is unless he’s very stressed. Sometimes he’ll chew them raw, pain coating the tips of his fingers for days. A knock at the door abruptly stopping him, looking over to it but seeing nothing. Could it have been another room? He wonders.

He walks over to it and opens it, and looking out and meeting sandy standing there. She was clad in a an oversized sweater and high waisted jeans. “Hey, you need anything?” He asks, curious as to why she had knocked at the door. “I heard you pacing when I was walking by. I got worried if you were alright is all.” She replies. Worry taking over her face. He sighs, and steps to the side to let her in.

“Yes and no. I, I’m planning on proposing to barabara in a few days. I’m so excited for it. But I have no idea how to do it.” He sighs. Head again in his hands as he stairs beside her. Dick had moved out long ago, but would still sometimes stay at the manor if he was needed. Him and sandy had bonded slightly over the past 2 weeks she had been there. While most of her time was spent with Tim, she did a few times come to spend time with the eldest of the brothers. They both would usually discus her father, his embarrassing stories when he was young. Or her love for ballet. Dick promising her that he’ll come by to practice with her sometime. “Alright, you want some advice?” She replies, raising her brow slightly at him. “Sure, whatcha got?”

“So you guys met on top of the police department?” She asks. Her brow raised as she asks. “Yes, it was one of my first nights as robin.” Memories flooding through his mind from the memory. She sells her hands together with a wide smile. “There you go! Ask her there!” She exclaims happily. A chuckle leaving dick. “Elaborate please?”

“Tell her to meet you up there. And have ready a small table with dinner, wine, and candles. The whole 9 yards. Then, ask her there. It is after all where you guys met. It’s a special place for the both of you. I promise she’ll love it.” She says with a smile. “What if she says no? We haven’t always been the model couple. What if she doesn’t want to marry me?” He asks. Fear and doubt eating heavy in his chest. She puts a hand on his shoulder, with a warm smile on her face. “How long have you guys been back together?” “The day I plan on asking her will make 5 years.” A smile taking over his face. “And how long in total has she been by you?” A laugh leaving him briefly at the question. “Well over a decade at this point.” A large smile taking over both their faces. “That’s your answer. She’s been by your side through everything. And to this day she stays and loves you. I see the way she looks at you. It’s the same look my mom looked at my dad with. She loves you so much, and I know that she’ll be so happy to marry you.” A small tear leaves his eye. He looks over to her, tears brimming her eyes. He pulls her into a large hug, her arms wrapping around his neck. “Thank you. You really are an angel.”

The small ticks of the computers, along with the heavy noise of the waterfall nearly drown out the sound of the tumbler. The chill in the room increasing tenfold due to the opening of the large cave to the cold outside. She turns away from the boxing bag, removing her gloves. She watches as dick exits first, following along with Tim in the back. A dull ache resins within her when Damian exits. Turning her head away before he saw her. Hearing his footsteps head for the showers.

She starts walking over to Tim, eying him over at the med table stripping the top of his suit off. A cut ran along his left peck. Only scraping the skin and no muscle, with the blood nearly gone and congealed slightly. It looked to not need any stitching, just s good clean and bandage.

A grunt was heard behind her, taking her focus away from Alfred cleaning up tims wound.

She turns around and spots Bruce, he was lugging boxes out of the tumbler over to the computer desks. She ran over and grabbed a box herself, bringing it over to the table and going back over to help him. “You don’t have to, I've got it.” Bruce replies, his voice strained slightly. Sweat poured down his ghostly white face. Worry struck her as she watched as he had a hard time taking the box in his arms. “I wanna help. I didn’t go out tonight so the least I can do is help bring in the information.” She replies back. Eying him closely the entire time.

A groan leaves him as he picks up another box, stumbling slightly and dropping the box. Worry floods her as she watches him. Dropping her box on the table and running over. “Hey hey hey. What’s going on?” She asks. She notices His hand clutching his side. She removes it to see blood covering his hand. “Hey it’s gonna be okay.” She says. Taking her jacket off and handing it to him. “Apply this to it and I’ll be right back.” She runs over to the end station, grabbing the first aid kit along with anything else she needs and runs back over. She kneels down to him, taking out the scissors and cutting the top of his suit off. She slips the top of his suit off, gently removing his hand from the wound. It didn’t look to be internally deep, no ripped muscles were shown and the blood looked external rather than coming internally. The skin was torn slightly, but overall it didn’t appear to be life threatening. She slips on a pair of gloves and grabs a bottle of saline solution “It doesn’t look that bad, but I am gonna do some stitches okay? Do you want me to numb it?” She asks. Her face no longer full of worry. “No need, I barely feel them now.” She nods her head to him. She soaks the wound in the saline, the water running down his side onto the floor. She dabs it slightly with gauze and soaks the area a couple more times until the water ran to a light pink. She applies the gauze to the area, having him hold it as she soaks the suture in alcohol. She pulls the skin together, and locates the center of the cut. Slowly pulling the needle through the first part of the skin to the other side, then out the wound, back through the wound on the other side and out the skin. She pulls the skin together again and ties it off with a double knot. She works back toward the edge placing a new suture halfway between the end of the gash and the closest stitch. “You’re doing a great job at this.” He says, eying her as she slowly makes the next stitch. “Thanks, if I had a penny for the amount of times I’ve had to stitch my dad up, I’d be richer than you in a year.” She jokes back. Causing a smile to grow on his face. “My actual dad was also a surgeon. I guess I got his doctor's hands.” She chuckles. Bruce’s brow furrows. “What was his name?” He asks. “Hal hawks. He was a surgeon here in Gotham.” A sad smile on her face when she said his name. “I remember him. I had gone to him for a shattered kneecap a few years ago. Doctors said I wouldn’t be able to walk again. But your dad did the surgery and I was walking in no time. He was a good man.” A tear slipped down from her eye at his reply. “They both are. Look, I don’t know what happened between you and my dad. But he’s a great father. With everything that’s happened to me in the last few years, I would give up my life for him for everything he’s done for me.” A sigh leave him as he looks at her, Tara brimming her eyes. “If I know one thing, it’s that Jason is a good man. And a good father. He’s exactly the kind of father for you. And I couldn’t be happier.”

The room was almost completely dark, the only light coming from the full moon shining in through the blinds. She tossed and turned, not being able to find a comfortable position to lay in. Her mind wouldn’t calm down, racing heavily on multiple things. Glancing over to her bedside table, and reading it was 4:26 in the morning. A sigh leaving her as she sits up in bed. She knew Tim would be up, this time usually being their time they go to each other’s rooms to either watch a movie, play a game, or sometimes paperwork.

Slipping out of bed and over to her closet, grabbing a robe and slipping it on. The silk inside felt warm to her exposed skin. Having only wearing a pair of underwear underneath.She wasn’t worried about wearing this around him. Having worn this before when he came to her room and he never once tried anything or even taken a glance. She suspected she knew the reason as to why, but not quite sure if it was true. Her room would get quite hot in the night. With the cold weather outside the heat would be cranked up higher during the night. This causing her to strip almost to the nude as to not sweat all night. Walking out of her door she was met with the chilled air of the hallway. A shiver ran up her spine. Her feet almost feeling painful against the cold wood.

She starts her way over to his room down the other end of the hallway. But stopping abruptly at the door opening to her side. Her stomach dropping as she’s met with damian towering over her. Shock takes over both their faces briefly as they just stand there. They were frozen in place, hearts beating so heavily they were sure the other could hear it. Their eyes just locked into one another’s. They both tear their eyes away as she looks down from his gaze. Another shiver ran through her. He was shirtless. His tan skin glistening with a fine layer of sweat, probably due to the heating. Clad in only sweatpants that stopped at just above his v line. His chest rose and fell fast due to his heavy breathing. His hair was messy. No longer slicked back and straight. Now a mass of soft curls that puffed slightly. She’d almost say he looked cute. But pain shoots through her heart when the thought played in her mind. His eyes were locked on her. Her hair had grown ever slightly since the last time he saw it. The blank locks soft curls around her face. A feeling of electricity flowed through him along with warmth when he looked at what she was wearing. Or lack thereof. She wore a thin ivory colored robe. The thinness of the silk laid against her soft skin. His heart sped up when he noticed she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her breasts were framed against the silk. Her skin looking as soft as a petal. From the cold of the hallway, he could clearly see her nipples poking out of the fabric. His body now hot as he fought with himself as to not grab a hold of her to feel her skin against his again. A fire slightly burning inside him as he looks at her.

His mouth was slightly open, as if he was about to speak but couldn’t.“I was just going-“ “to drakes room. I know.” He cuts her off. His usual hard voice sounding tired and deadpan. She looked up at him again. His face was blank, but his eyes showed a slight strain in them. “Can’t sleep?” She asks. Her voice an almost whisper. He closes his eyes and nods. “Yeah.” He whispers. His eyes slightly crinkled. “Do, do you need anything? Are you alright?” She asks. Her voice slightly wavering. Her heart aching as she looks up at him. Tears wanting to spill from her eyes. His eyes shut tighter. “I’m good. Goodnight.” He whispers. His face in pain as she shuts the door. A tear slipping down her face.

A quietness filled the large room as everyone finished their plates, all of them apart from her and Alfred bid their goodnights and thank yous to the butler before walking to their rooms. She watches as he stacked some of the plates, his hands shaking slightly under the weight. “Hey, why don’t you let me do the washing up tonight.” She asks. Her eyes hopeful as she eyes the elderly butler. “Oh it’s perfectly fine miss-“ “please, you always do it for us. And I know it’s your job but, I wanna do it and help around here.” She says. She puts her hand against his shoulder. A warm smile on her face. “Alright miss Todd. Thank you.” A soft smile on his face when he hands her the plates. “No problem Alfey.”

Plates clinked together as she scrubbed them. The water hot against her hands as she removed the sticky sauce from the plate. Humming a song in her head as she did them.

She turns around to put the dish on the rack. Having not noticed before that Damian has walked in to grab some water from the fridge. She gasped and dropped the plate, letting out a small yell when it shattered on the floor. He put his hands out in front of him to her. The crash startling her and not seeing it was Damian due to the low light in the room and his hand out. She let out another tell as she quickly spun around, grabbing a small knife and throwing it at him.

He caught in just before it hit his face, his heart beating out of his chest as he watched her heaving for air. “What the fuck was that!” He yelled out. Anger flowing through him. “I didn’t see it was you! And you put your hands out like that, what was I supposed to do! Don’t get fuckin mad at ME that you jumped me!” She yelled at him. Her fists in balls are her sides. “NOT THROW A FUCKING KNIFE AT ME! GOD WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT!” He screams out. His whole body tensed up as anger overtook his face. “Why don’t you ask yourself that.” She snaps back. Her arms folded on her chest. “I fuckin ask myself a lot of questions about you.” He snarls back. A pain shoots through her heart at the venom in his voice. “Oh and what’s that supposed to mean.” She bites back. “How I didn’t see it. How I didn’t realize who you actually were. I’m not even mad about what you and Todd do. I’m mad that you act like you’re this perfect little thing that’s so kind to everyone. And then you just waltz right in here and get all buddy buddy with everyone! And I’m angry that I fell for you. I’m angry that the first time I have feelings for someone it was you. I’m not even angry like I was. I’m angry because it still hurts me every time I look at you because you weren’t who I thought you were!” He yelled out. Tears streaming down his face. A vain popping out of his temple as he yelled. Her eyes flowing out tears as her heart broke for the forth time. A deep pain shooting through her as tears rolled out like a waterfall down her face and chest. “What you’re not getting is THIS IS ME! I showed you who I truly am that entire time Damian! I let myself for the first time bare my heart for someone besides my dad. You just think I’m 2 different people when IM NOT! AND HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL! IT KILLS ME THAT YOU LOOK AT ME WITH DISGUST BECAUSE I WAS FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU! HOW IS IT FAIR THAT YOU TAKE YOUR ANGER OUT ON ME WHEN I'M HURTING TOO! GOD IT FUCKING HIRTS SO BAD!” She screams out, her voice breaking due to the heavy tears. Her heart now nothing but filled with hard pain that squeezed her chest and throat. She beat her hands against his chest, tears streaming down her face as she lets out yells. He grabs a hold of her wrists, trying not to be hard as to got hurt her. Tears falling down his face as his heart broke as he watched her. Her face was contorted in pain as sobs wrecked her body. “WHY! WHY DID I HAVE TO FALL FOR YOU!” She sobbed out. Her head liply laying against his chest. She keeps whispering why as she soaked his shirt. “Why do you keep doing this to me?” She weakly whispers out. Tears fall even harder down his face. He laid his head in her hair, soaking her scalp. “I-I can’t do this.” She says. She rips her wrists from his hands, looking away as she runs out of the room. Her sobs being heard until she gets far enough away. Sobs overtaking his body as he falls to his knees. His head in his hands as he sobs violently. His heart breaking again.

Dick runs down the hallway towards her room, his heart beating heavily in his chest. He had heard everything, tears brimming his eyes the entire time he heard the level of pain in their voices. His heart falling when he heard her running towards her room.

He walked in and saw the window was open. The blinds shielding the outside view. But he heard her quiet sobs from her door. He walked out onto the balcony, seeing her looking over the ledge with her head in her arms. The puddle of tears soaking the floor. He wrapped his arms around her. Holding her tight as she turned around into his chest and sobbed even harder. Tears now escaping his eyes as he watches as she shakes with how violent she’s sobbing. “Shhh it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.” He whispers, rubbing his hand on the middle of her back. Avoiding her shoulders. “W-why is he doing this?” She sobs out. Her voice quiet due to her throat being raw. “Damians never had feelings for someone. He’s always had anger problems and doesn’t know how to handle his emotions well. And whenever he’s scared or hurt, he lashes out. I’m gonna have a talk with him. I’m sorry I haven’t sooner.” He says, her sobs slowing down as he talked. “It’s okay. I understand. I just wish I had my dad with me right now.” Tears fell down her face at the end. Pain shooting through her as she misses her father being with her. Having grown used to his hold and presence whenever she was sad or hurt. “I know, and I promise you’ll see him soon. Want me to stay out here with you till you feel better?” He asks. Looking down at her. Her sapphire eyes brimmed red. “Please.”

“That was the best prank we did on Bruce, god he couldn’t figure out how to stop the ghostbusters theme playing over the coms for a month!” He laughed out. Both of them laughing hard at the story. “Sounds like you and my dad were his worst nightmare kids.” Age laughed out. A fond smile grew on his face. “You have no idea. Him and I were really close when he was robin. He was the little brother I had dreamed of having my whole life.” He replied. His face slightly falling at the end. Her eyes squinted slightly as she watched as his face fell a bit more. “Dick, can I ask you something?” He looks over at her, her face painted in concern. “Sure.” He replies. She takes in a deep breath, her heart beating fast again against her rib cage. “What, happened? Nobody’s told me why he didn’t speak to all of you for so long.” A sigh leave him at her question. Pain in his chest creeping up his neck when he thought about it. “Alright, I’ll tell you. But please, understand we love him and didn’t do this to hurt him.” Her eyes widen slightly. “Okay.”

“He, told you about joker right?” He asked. Both now lying on her bed. “Yeah, he killed him but he came back.” She replies. Her eyes watching as his face fell again. “That’s, not entirely what happened. Joker didn’t just kill him. He held him in an abandoned building near Arkham asylum. He Tortured him for over 6 months. None of us could find them because whenever we thought we did, he’d switch buildings. Until he brought him to an abandoned wing of the asylum. There he, did things to him. Things that he hasn’t even spoken about. And one day, Bruce got a video. It was Jason tied to a wheelchair. He was hurt so badly. His suit was torn and almost completely red from blood. He was slumped over. And, out walked joker from behind him. And he, he shot him in the head.” Tears fell down both their faces as he says the last part. “We, found his body. We took him back here and buried him. Well, damians mom talia took his body for some reason. And she put him in this thing called the lazarus pit. Its able to heal all wounds, and some can bring back someone’s life. Well, it worked. But not exactly. It changes people, what was once a kind, sane person, can go mad and angry from it. Jason lashes out, and ran away from the league. He ended up back in Gotham. And he, because of his anger, started killing criminals. He was eventually found by Barbara’s dad Jim. And he’s known about ya since I was robin. And he called Bruce. Jason couldn’t speak. He didn’t look the same as he used to and he was dubbed a John Doe. But jim knew. Bruce, he didn’t know what to do. So, he had Jason admitted to Arkham. The place had cleaned up a lot in the last year. Now actually helping people. Bruce paid off the doctors for Jason not to let the word out that he was there. And he made all of us promise, not to speak or let him see us. He didn’t know if he’d handle it well and lash out again. So we didn’t. For 3 years we watched as he was there. And he was doing amazing. He grew to be massive, and his hair grew out and was bright reddish blonde. He even grew a beard that was firey ginger. You literally couldn’t recognize him if you knew him when he was robin. And, we all thought he had forgotten us. He never once mentioned us, his life at the manor, being robin, joker, nothing. We thought that entire time was wiped from his memory. And it killed me. God the amount of times I’d go there to bring back someone like croc or pyg, I’d always fight with myself not to go to his room to see my little brother.”

Pain shot through dicks chest when he walked down the hallway, knowing he was behind that door. He stopped at it, tears threatening to spill over his mask as he looked at the door. Hands shaking at his sides, until he reaches up and skids the window of the door, looking in. There sat Jason on his bed, his hair had grown long, even longer than his own and was a light red. His firey bead covered his face. His body was massive, you wouldn’t believe he was only 21 due to the size of his body. No longer the scrawny street kid he once was. Now he was large with bulging muscles and towering height. He looked, calm. And happy. He was at ease in the room. Reading his book and sipping some water. Tears fell down dicks eyes as he watched, his little brother not seeing him, and wouldn’t recognize who he was.

“He did so amazing, so amazing that he was being let out. We knew the date he was, and Bruce, Alfred and I prepared ourselves for how bad it’d hurt. Knowing he wouldn’t come back. Never remembering who we are. At this point Damian has become robin. He was about 15 at the time. Him and Tim has never met him before. So it wouldn’t hurt them to watch as he built his life without us. But we were wrong. The day he was let out, all 3 of us had cried a little. But, that night, Alfred cane to the door, and he fainted. Because there at the door, was Jason. Turns out, he remembered everything. But the doctors did such a good job, he forgave us. He came in and, I don’t think I had ever hugged someone for so long. We both were crying, eventually Bruce and Alfred joined in and we all stayed in the living room for hours catching up. And things were perfect, he stayed here in his room and wouldn’t really leave the manor. He, even grew close to Tim and a little bit with Damian. He actually was our computer guy, you wouldn’t know it but damn he knows his way around a computer and tracking. And it was like this for about a year. Them that night, he had come into the cave and told us he wanted to go back out with us. It was gonna be a really difficult night and he wanted to go back out to help. But Damian said he couldn’t. They got into a huge fight, and, Damian let it out that Bruce had him admitted to Arkham. Jason he, he thought we didn’t know he was alive. He never knew, and that’s when he, he lost it on us, and he left. It kills me that I never went to see him. I wish I had, maybe he wouldn’t hate-“ “stop it dick.” She cuts him off, hand on his shoulder. Tears falling from his eyes. He looks into hers, no longer red with tears. “He doesn’t hate you. You were doing what you were told for the safety of your brother. You did nothing wrong. I’m not mad at what you did or didn’t do. No, who I’m mad at, is Bruce.”

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: The Jason Project

Summary: Jason had just wanted to see his autopsy report, he had only wanted to know what information Bruce had about his death. And when Bruce hadn't given it to him, he had stolen it. He hadn’t meant to stumble upon the bucket list of a dead child and the footage of a grieving father crossing one item after another off the list.

AN: Because I stayed up until 2am and then had to spend the entire day writing the best Jason & Bruce angst I’ll write this year. Yes, I wrote nearly 5.000 words in one day. Warnings for Bruce’s suicidal tendencies after Jason’s death.

The anger was still burning in Jason’s stomach when he was already halfway across the city, far away from the manor and Bruce’s self-righteous, arrogant, condescending fuck-all damning attitude. Green had taken over his vision, and Jason had only started to get back some resemblance of conscious control when Crime Alley had greeted him. He wasn’t clear on what exactly he had said to Bruce once the screaming had started, but Jason also didn’t care. None of his so-called-siblings ever stood up to Bruce’s authority, but Jason wasn’t like them. He didn’t just back down and roll over like a good little soldier when Daddy said ‘no.’

Fuck them.

And fuck Bruce in particular.

Jason had been playing by the rules for months now. He hadn’t killed, hadn’t used excessive force – he hadn’t even antagonized the other kids. And for what? Only to be denied over and over again.

No, Jason, you’re not taking that patrol route. No, you can’t work on that case. No, don’t take your guns. No, you can’t look at the files I collected of your death.

No, I don’t fucking trust you with anything, no matter how hard you try.

The USB drive in his pocket was just another proof that Jason would always be the black sheep – no, he wasn’t even the black sheep. That was probably Steph. In Bruce’s mind, Jason was the wolf in sheep’s clothing, just another threat, a ticking time bomb, for this city.

After all, he was the only one who hadn’t been granted access to the files Bruce had on him. Dick could take a look at what Bruce thought of his golden boy, the Replacement could and even the Demon brat were allowed to see the bi-monthly – or even more often? It wasn’t like Jason had access and could see them – evaluations Bruce wrote on each of them.

The best part of this whole affair was that Jason hadn’t even wanted to see those. He didn’t need a physical reminder of how much of a disappointment he was in Bruce’s eyes.

He had only wanted to see his own autopsy report because Jason needed to know. Talia hadn’t been able to tell him which scars were the Joker’s fault, which ones Jason had earned in his time as Robin and which ones he had already had when Bruce had adopted him.

Jason couldn’t recall those memories himself. Or rather, he couldn’t trust those memories. Often enough Willis Todd’s face morphed into the laughing grimace of the Joker beating down on him again and again, and Jason just wanted to know so his head could stop spinning and his body would start feeling like his own once more.

He got uncomfortable in his body sometimes. Bruce probably had notes on that too. Had seen Jason twitch one too many times too often and written down PTSD, anxiety, dysphoria and a whole lot of other diagnoses.

Fuck him, Jason thought again when he finally arrived at his safe house. Jason had wanted to see only one thing, but now he had gotten every file, every single thought and he’d throw them all in Bruce’s face the next time he saw him. He’d do it right in front of the others too. Who knew, maybe Replacement had some unmentioned thoughts about being replaced himself?

Jason locked the door behind himself and activated his security system. The last thing he needed was anyone barging in when he was in the middle of another existential crisis. The safe house he had chosen to hide away in was his most secure one. State of the art defense and comfortable on the inside, prepped to keep someone on death’s door alive for ages.

Carefully, Jason took the USB out of his pocket and laid it on the table. Then he got out of his uniform and headed for the shower. The water was almost scalding, but Jason preferred it this way. There were days on which temperatures meant nothing to him. He could walk out in shorts in the middle of winter or be wearing four layers in summer. He just didn’t feel the difference. Today wasn’t one of these days, but it was close enough.

When he was done, he got dressed in sweat pants and a hoodie. Soft, warm, and kind on his aching bones.

He skipped dinner.

He hadn’t prepared anything because he’d thought he would be eating at the manor tonight and he was too lazy and too nervous to make himself something now. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to stomach it either.

All that was left to do now was put the damn stick into his laptop.

The USB was cold in his hand, freezing really, and Jason had to force his hand to stay steady. The laptop screen lit up and the files loaded. He hadn’t really expected this many GB to be on him, but Bruce had never been anything but thoroughly.

Jason Peter Todd, the first line read. His birth record was in there, the old one and the original one. His adoption papers, ID and passport and a bunch of other things. Jason wanted to get to the file he was actually here for first. The rest he could still read later on. He had all the time in the world now.

Or at least a week until Alfred talked some sense into Bruce.

Robin, skipped, school reports, skipped, vacation – what the hell was that doing here, skipped.

Ethiopia.

The cursor hovered above the file and Jason wanted to open it, he really did, but then the name of the folder below that caught his interest.

The Jason Project.

What the hell was that?

A 30 step plan to rehabilitate him and make him a good Robin again?

Jason scoffed. He double-clicked on the Ethiopia file. The documents in it were sorted by date, very neatly and labeled to the heavens.

Autopsy report. April 28th. 2am.

It was just one click away. He’d finally know if Bruce had been able to tell how often the Joker had taken the crowbar to Jason’s head, how much it had hurt, how much he had hoped that his Dad would come and save him like he had all the times before?

Jason returned to the overview and opened the file beneath Ethiopia.

He was such a fucking coward. He finally had what he’d wanted to see, and then he couldn’t open it because his heart sped up and his breathing got a little uneven like it always did right before Jason fell into a panic attack?

Well, it had been almost three full weeks since his last one. It was time for a new one.

“Shit,” Jason cursed and closed his eyes.

He could see the flames dancing in front of him, hear that deranged laughter, high pitched and mad.

Okay, alright. He got this.

All the time in the world left for him.

He’d just start with something else first. Losing a few laughs about Bruce’s dumb rehabilitation plan was a good, no, a great idea. He could write one for Bruce right after and mail it to every member of their little family. It was petty, yes, but Jason could do a lot worse, and it was only because this city needed a functioning Batman that he didn’t.

Thus he opened The Jason Project and clicked on the first document. He expected something like a diagram measuring the Red Hood’s aggression to the number of times he messed up, but instead, he came face to face with a video of Bruce.

He looked so young and exhausted.

Bruce looking tired was nothing new, it was sort of his permanent state of mind, though Jason thought he used to be less dead on his feet before Jason had died.

Bruce’s age, however, caught Jason off guard. This video was at least what? Five years old? Maybe even a little more. What was this? Against his better judgment, Jason hit play.

X

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Bruce said. “It was fine. Everything was fine, and then your English teacher called about a project you handed in before- and I just- I don’t know. I don’t even recall what happened after, except hours had passed and I can’t recall a fucking thing-“

X

Jason hit stop. This wasn’t what he had expected. The Bruce on the screen looked like he was going to cry and Jason didn’t have any memories of Bruce ever actually crying in front of him. Though this wasn’t in front of him at all, was it?

So Bruce had recorded himself talking to Jason. Maybe. Was this a video diary? Jason looked over the other files and no, they seemed to be pretty mixed from writing to photos and audios.

He bit his lip until he could taste blood. Should he keep watching?

Hell, why shouldn’t he? These files were in Jason’s folder, he damn straight deserved to watch them.

He clicked on play again and started watching.

X

“Your project was supposed to be about things you looked forward to doing in summer. And you wrote about The List. Our list. All the things you wanted to do someday because I’m ‘stupidly rich and stupidly rich people spoil their children.’“ Bruce swallowed. “I forgot about the list. It was still there where you left it. Pinned against the corkboard above your desk.”

Bruce took a piece of paper out of his pockets.

X

Jason remembered writing that list. It had been days before his first birthday at the manor and he hadn’t expected anything whatsoever. But then Bruce had asked what Jason wanted and he had written a list of the dumbest rich kids gifts he could think of and handed it to Bruce.

And Bruce had taken it seriously. He had seen nothing wrong with taking Jason on vacation to the freaking Caribbean for two weeks. His only concern had been getting someone competent enough to cover his night shifts, and Kate and Babs had gladly volunteered.

It had been the two best weeks of Jason’s life.

On Jason’s birthday, midnight, they had sat on the beach and talked about all the things they really should do someday and as soon as Jason had come home, he had sat down and written it all down.

That had been the birth of The List. And every once in a while Jason and Bruce had picked something from the list and done it.

Those had been the good times. Jason could feel the dread rise in his stomach, but he refused to stop the video. He had decided that he’d go through all of this tonight and he would.

X

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I told Dinah and she said it might help me to do something with it. So I will. I’ll do everything on this list, all the things you wanted to see and- I’ll tell you all about. When the time comes-“

X

When.

When as if it was something sure, something soon, something planned-

X

“-I’ll tell you all about the things you wanted to do so you won’t feel like you missed out. I’m so sorry, Jaylad. I’m sorry, my son. I should have been there. I should have been there for you-“

X

The video cut off.

Jason was frozen in his seat. Something wet rolled over his cheeks and he immediately reached up to wipe the tear away. This wasn’t fair. He hadn’t thought about this, about all the things he had missed out when he was dead and later on when he’d been training.

He hadn’t spent a second thinking about catching up with the rest of the world.

X

Diamond Cats

Nolan Street 134 9am – 6pm M-T 9am – 9pm F-S

Fri 05/15/2014 11:32am

PURCHASE Donut, sprinkles   1,12$

3x Coffee             10,5$

TOTAL               11,62$

TIP                        300$

Thanks for supporting a local business!

THANKS FOR THE TIP MR. WAYNE.

COME BACK WHENEVER YOU WANT.

CATS ARE GREAT HUGGERS.

AND WE’LL MAKE SURE THE PRESS DOESN’T

KNOW YOU COME HERE. I’M SORRY FOR

YOUR LOSS.

X

Jason stared at the receipt, unsure what to think of it. He remembered that cat café. He and Bruce had passed it as Batman and Robin on patrol one night after chasing after Catwoman. Jason had joked about going there with Selina someday instead of running after her when it was freezing and raining. Bruce had rolled his eyes at him and said something about going there just with Jason as well, and no begging about taking a cat home.

So was this Bruce collecting proof he’d actually gone out and done something from the List? The rest of these documents would be full with little things like this. Jason’s missed opportunities, Jason’s lost childhood.

He needed something strong if he wanted to make it through the rest of these. Why didn’t he have any drinkable alcohol in this safe house? Or cigarettes. Anything to make this easier.

He continued on, this time greeted by an audio file.

X

“I’m in Hollywood and let me tell you, it’s not as shiny or impressive as everyone makes it out to be. And the food isn’t even nearly as good as Alfred’s. I think the salmon they served at the buffet was closer to its due date than it should be. And the biscuits are super dry. You would have hated it. But breakfast in Hollywood can be crossed off the list I guess.”

X

A postcard from Disneyland, accompanied by a photo of Bruce in Mickey Mouse ears.

X

Another photo of a couple fries and burgers with Gotham harbor in the background.

X

“Do you- do you remember that documentary about the most spectacular libraries? I’d injured my leg and we didn’t go on patrol, but I couldn’t fall asleep so you sat with me. We turned on the TV and they were talking about all these libraries. Your eyes were shining, you looked so stunned like you didn’t believe the manor’s library could be bested still. And then they started talking about the Biblioteca Joanina in Portugal and you- you started jumping up and down on the sofa when they said that bats lived in the library. You wanted to rush down to the Cave and collect some bats for the manor. And- it’s so pretty, Jason. It’s so beautiful and you would have loved it. I can almost see you here right next to me and god- why didn’t I take you here? Why didn’t I take off a week and just took you here?”

X

A postcard from Kyoto and a photo of Bruce dressed in a yukata. Next to him stood Katana, holding an umbrella over them both.

X

Another photo, this one of Bruce dressed as Superman standing in front of a building Jason recognized as one of the orphanages funded by the Wayne foundation. And next to him was Clark Kent in a Batman costume. Jason couldn’t believe he was seeing that correctly. They both seemed to be handing out candy to children.

“It’s Halloween,” the audio file repeated. It was Clark speaking. “He’s doing better, but I wasn’t sure whether going out with children was a good idea, especially since what happened with the-“Clark stopped speaking, and Jason could hear him struggling to find the right words. “What happened. I thought Bruce was going to quit the League after I stopped him, but he hasn’t. Diana and Hal are keeping track of Arkham right now and I’m checking in on Bruce. I don’t know- I don’t know how you usually do these recordings, Bruce. Or if you’ll ever listen to this one here. But we’re here for you.”

X

The next video was of a room Jason would recognize everywhere: the halls of the Globe Theatre. He had begged Alfred and Bruce to take him there when they’d been in London for a weekend once, but they hadn’t had the time.

The room was packed full and the play seemed to only just begin.

“Thank you for coming tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen! This performance is sponsored by an anonymous donator, who only asked us to perform in honor of one Jason Todd…”

X

Jason pushed the laptop off his legs and stumbled into the kitchen. He needed air. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and marched into the direction of the balcony when he stumbled over his discard uniform.

In his attempt to catch his balance, he dropped the glass bottle, which broke as soon as it hit the ground.

“Damn it,” Jason cursed and took a step back only to hiss and jump up.

Blood dripped to the ground.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Jason maneuvered himself away from the glass shards and hobbled to his first aid station. He took out alcohol and bandages and began cleaning the cut on his foot. First, he pulled out all the shards, then he used the alcohol to disinfect the wound. It wouldn’t stop throbbing even after Jason had bandaged it. He took one look at the mess he had made and decided he could clean up another time. Silently counting to ten, Jason leaned back and closed his eyes.

The boy who had died in that warehouse would have loved to know that this was how he had been remembered.

Jason didn’t want to be that child.

He mourned him anyway.

X

Another video, this time no Bruce in sight but a lot of injured animals. Wildlife rehabilitation center could be read on one of the signs in the recording.

X

The sound of classic instruments playing various movie themes. Harry Potter, Titanic, Star Wars – Jason recognized most of them.

X

A stack of DVDs.

X

The camera was focused on Bruce and his desk. A stack of documents was waiting to be signed on the right. A colorful collection of pens and pencils in an ugly handmade ceramic mug. A photo in an overly fancy frame of Bruce, Barbara, Dick and Jason sitting at the living room table playing Monopoly.

“You always complained about the fact that we don’t take photos in uniform, so I collected some. Or rather, picked them up from someone who collected them.”

Bruce smiled a little pained. Then he held up a photo album, pages upon pages filled with photos of Batman and Jason’s Robin. Some of them were blurry, others stunningly clear and pretty.

“Did you ever notice a kid following us, Jay? I didn’t. I didn’t notice a child following us into Gotham’s darkest parts. He could have gotten hurt, and I wouldn’t even have known. His name is Tim by the way. He’s the exact sort of boy you would have befriended instantly. Smart kid, figured out our identities years ago from a simple flip. And- hell, you’d hate his parents. Jack and Janet Drake, our neighbors actually. They leave Tim alone for most of the year, they weren’t even there for his birthday. They have a kid waiting on them, and they don’t appreciate it one bit. I’m sure you’d have a couple more words to say about them that Alfred wouldn’t approve of. Anyway. Do you know you’re his hero? Yesterday- Tim saved me yesterday. I was going to die. I was almost okay with that as well. You’d be so disappointed in me, but I’m so tired, son. Tim took one of your old uniforms and saved me. He did well given that he doesn’t have training. He said Batman needs a Robin and maybe- maybe he is right. But what if I- what if he dies? I can’t let another child die, and this one isn’t even mine. I wish he were, but- Just, please promise me you’re watching over him, Jay. He loves you, and he needs someone and I don’t know if I can be that person.”

X

“This one wasn’t on the list.” The video was shaky. People could be heard and seen rushing around Bruce, most of them speaking Italian. “But I saw them on my way to the meeting and there was this boy- I could have sworn he was you, Jason. He was wearing a hoodie, just as red as your favorite and his hair was black too, if a little longer than you kept yours. Only his eyes were green. I can’t even tell you how glad I am that his eyes were green, because for a moment I thought the new pain killers were also interfering with my other meds. But the point is, I saw these and thought you’d like them.”

The camera moved to show a couple Venetian masks lying on the table. One was black and reminiscent of Batman’s cowl and besides it laid a smaller green one decorated with fake and cheap gemstones. Another mask was shaped like a W, then there was a blue, red and yellow one.

“Justice League masks,” Bruce said. “They are cheap and look ridiculous, but you would have loved them. I think I’ll keep them as a New Years gift for the League.”

X

Jason was woken up by the sound of his doorbell ringing. He had made it through all the documents, fifty they must have been. It had taken all night and Jason felt hollow. Those things had been for a boy that would never get to see them and Jason was painfully aware that they hadn’t been meant for him.

Nevertheless, he had to choke down those feelings for now and deal with whoever had decided to disturb him.

He managed to make his way over to the display screens showing who stood in his entrance without too much hissing. He was ready to shout at whoever wanted something from him to go away, only for the words to get stuck in his throat when he realized who was standing there.

Bruce.

Civilian clothes and all.

Oh no.

No, no, no, nonono.

Jason couldn’t deal with that now. He didn’t want to stare into the eyes of the man he’d seen cry. He couldn’t. Not now.

The doorbell rang again.

And again and again and Jason couldn’t move.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Bruce’s shoulders sank in defeat and he turned around. He was leaving.

He was leaving Jason behind once more.

Suddenly, it seemed like Jason couldn’t get to the door fast enough. His foot screamed in protest when Jason rushed forward and threw the door open.

Bruce turned around and stared at Jason with wide blue eyes, and Jason didn’t know what to say.

“I still haven’t seen Romeo + Juliet,” Jason blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

Bruce stared at him like he couldn’t understand what was going on in Jason’s head, which was fair because Jason had no idea either, so he just kept on rambling.

“The Leonardo di Caprio movie. We only ever watched these super old black and white Shakespeare movies, but I think we should give this one a shot, right?”

Bruce was still staring and it freaked Jason out. Bruce knew. Of course he knew that Jason had stolen all the files and watched them and bawled like a baby because even death couldn’t teach him that the world was a vicious monster that enjoyed breaking people into pieces until they didn’t know who they used to be.

“Jason-“

“I saw the stupid files,” Jason interrupted him. Better to get this out of the way now before they started shouting again. “The videos about the List and all the things you did, and it’s not fair that I didn’t get to do any of that and that these were the end of me. I- I don’t know. I’m tired, Bruce. I’m really tired of you not listening to me and that everything has to be a fight. We used to be better than this.”

Silence followed Jason’s statement and for a moment he thought he’d finally done it and ruined everything. Not the killing, not the disobedience, this talk would be what finally crossed the line. Jason could see it in Bruce’s face.

“I know,” Bruce replied slowly. “I know and I’m sorry, Jaylad.”

Jason’s brain short-circuited. What?

Bruce didn’t notice Jason zoning out, still stuck on that first sentence and kept talking.

“But I can’t shake off the feeling that every time I take my eyes off you, you’re going to disappear again. Back to Crime Alley or to another country or just somewhere I can’t reach you. So tell me what to do, Jay, because I don’t know.”

This used to be easy. He’d been able to ask everything and get a reply. He hadn’t had to worry about what topics they talked about or what he demanded. Sometimes he hadn’t even needed to voice it. Bruce had already known.

“You could start with trusting me for once,” Jason said. “That’s all I ever wanted. Just getting the same amount of trust as Dick. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Silence followed in which they both mustered the other. Bruce looked older than he was, more exhausted than yesterday as well and he was wearing comfortable clothes, those he only put on at home or if he didn’t want to be recognized outside.

Bruce’s eyes darted away from Jason, taking in the sight behind him. It wasn’t a pretty one. Jason had fallen asleep without cleaning up.

“Are you injured?” Bruce asked.

That must have been the most unsubtle topic change of history.

“There’s glass and blood on the ground,” Bruce continued, diving head-first into detective mode.

Jason took a deep breath and bit on his tongue so that he wouldn’t go right back to where they had started.

“Already bandaged.”

“Oh, okay then.”

Bruce’s words made Jason’s sight flash green for a split-second.

“What? No more inquiries? No interrogation about what I was doing?”

Bruce hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I- I’m supposed to trust you on that.”

Jason could nearly hear the unspoken question mark tagged onto the end of that sentence. This was bound to be the worst conversation on the planet.

“Great. Thanks. So, if that was everything, can you-“

Jason didn’t get to finish as two arms suddenly wrapped around Jason. His first reaction was to fight and get out of that grip, until he realized that it was supposed to be a hug. Alright. Okay. They were hugging now.

“This isn’t going to fix us,” Jason mumbled into the crook of Bruce’s neck.

He didn’t know what hugging Bruce was like. It used to be like holding onto a mountain, or a big tree trunk. Nothing could move Bruce and Jason used to be so small, he had been able to climb on top of him and get carried around the whole house.

He wasn’t that child anymore. That child had died years ago.

“I know,” Bruce said. “But can we stay like this a little longer regardless?”

Jason’s foot hurt from standing so long already, but he didn’t mind. This way he had a little more time to hide his tear track, even though Bruce must be able to tell he was crying from the shaking of his shoulder and the wet spot on his jacket.

Just a bit longer.

[hood-ex]

For the post about plot bunnies for short fic about Dick and Jason! 1) Dick and Jason going train-surfing before his death and after his return. 2) 1st time one of them got the other a birthday gift. 3) Jason finding out that Dick was the one who finally took down the memorial case in the Batcave and realizing his brother hated that thing as much as he did. 4) Bonding over ranting about Dad. 5) Jason lowkey trying to get Dick and Kory back together cuz he shipped them hard when he was younger.

@bigskydreaming​ These are all great prompts! I decided to take a whack at #2. I might write for some of the other prompts though. Anyways, hope what I wrote is somewhat satisfying lmao. 

Link to read on AO3

Jason’s so glad the 250 pound goon he was fighting earlier decided to leave him with a brand new spankin’ set of bruised ribs. Really, truly, he shouldn’t have given Jason such a nice gift for his birthday. The goon should’ve been embarrassed though. Giving Jason the same gift his dad used to give him? Tsk, tsk. Tactless.

Jason sucks in air through his teeth, mentally preparing himself for the pain, and then tries to sit up. He barely raises himself up three inches before sharp pain shoots up his torso and forces him to thunk back against the rooftop floor. Yeah, okay, he really doesn’t want to try that again.

This is just great.

He sighs. There’s nothing that says happy birthday quite like staring up at the smog that keeps him from seeing any of the stars he’d normally wish on or the fact that he’s probably lying on heaps of bird shit. Alfie is definitely going to give him the stink eye for the latter.

A shadow crosses over the corner of the rooftop. It doesn’t look distinctly Batman shaped.

Jason tenses and reaches for the smoke pellet in his belt. Normally he chooses fight over flight, but he doesn’t want to take any chances with his ribs this time. Creating a distraction and then using whatever adrenaline he can muster to get the hell away is probably the smartest decision. That’s what Batman would say, anyways.

Whoever is creeping around is being way too quiet. Goons don’t usually bother being quiet around Jason. They just see him as a small kid in a costume. An easy target. The whole Robin getup is good for creating that kind of misconception.

“Hey, shorty,” a somewhat familiar voice drawls right before a guy in a blue costume flips into Jason’s view.

Black hair. Plunging neckline. A collar somewhat akin to the cone of shame.

Nightwing.

Jason relaxes his muscles, relieved, and stares at Dick in surprise.

Dick’s got a big stupid grin on his face. The niceness of it is what throws Jason off. He’s still not used to people smiling at him and shit. He’s used to grins that are meant for mocking or that are sleazy and spell trouble. Dick Grayson’s grin is none of those things. His is all playful and good-intentioned. Something about it feels safe, and safe’s not something Jason feels a lot outside of the manor.

“Hey, Old-Timer,” Jason says, “fancy seeing you here.”

He suddenly remembers how much his ribs hurt when he tries to sit up again to see Dick better. He can’t help the small sound of pain he lets out as he settles back into his original position. God, bruised ribs are such a bitch.

Jason can’t see Dick’s eyes because of his mask, but he just knows Dick is looking him over from head to toe, mind probably tripping over itself to analyze Jason’s situation.

“You good?” Dick asks, already kneeling by Jason’s side.

“Oh, totally,” Jason says. He tries to adjust his position without hurting himself more. “Sometimes I just come up here by myself to stare at the smog. Just contemplating the rampant amount of pollution in the city—ow fuck. I don’t know if Bruce told you, but I’m an environmentalist first and Robin second. I’ve always been that way. Since the womb.”

Dick frowns and presses his fingers against Jason’s pulse point. “Have you been drugged?”

Jason smacks Dick’s hand away. “No, I haven’t been drugged! I got my ribs busted by some Hulk Hogan wannabe.”

“Ouch,” Dick winces in sympathy. “Been there, felt that.”

“Yeah, well, how about you give me a hand so I can stop rolling around in bird shit.”

The worried furrow in Dick’s brow melts away and is replaced by an amused grin. God, Jason needs to learn how to become immune to Dick’s stupidly genuine face. It’s stuff like that that makes it easy for Jason to see why Bruce has such a hard time letting Dick go. And if he’s honest with himself, he’s a little bit jealous that Dick can warm people over so easily. If Dick is the gooey middle of a s’more then Jason is the hard-coated graham cracker that takes a little time to chew through.

“I’m going to lift you up a bit and then I’m going to come under your arm so you can stand up, capeesh?” Dick says, moving just beside Jason’s right shoulder.

“Capeesh?” Jason grunts in pain as Dick levers him upwards. “Who are you? Uncle Jesse?”

While Jason’s torso is off the ground, Dick positions himself under Jason’s right arm and then quickly, but gently, helps Jason onto his feet. Jason squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths while he waits for the pain to calm down.

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” Dick assures him softly, draping his arm over Jason’s shoulders.

If anyone asks, Jason totally does not lean into Dick for support, he does not. He just. Trips. Into Dick’s side. Yup. That’s what happens. The bird shit is witness to it.

“Would this be a bad time to tell you that I got you a birthday present?” Dick asks suddenly, taking Jason off guard.

“Birthday present? What birthday present? How did you know today’s my birthday?” Jason demands, leaning closer to Dick’s face so he can stare into Dick’s… eyelets.

Dick places a finger on Jason’s forehead and gently shoves him backward.

“O ye of little faith. Give me some credit. You think your big bro doesn’t know when your birthday is?”

Jason stares at him with a knowing look.

“Alfie told you, didn’t he?”

Even though he meant it lightheartedly, he’s a little surprised to see how Dick’s mouth tightens into a frown.

“B sure as hell didn’t,” Dick grouches in a tone Jason’s come to associate with Dick and Bruce’s yelling matches.

“Yeah,” Jason drawls, “I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.”

Dick’s expression levels back into a neutral look. “Right, yeah.” He gives Jason’s shoulder a squeeze as a silent apology. “So do you want your gift or not?”

Thank God for Dick’s ability to smoothly change the subject.

“You know you’re not supposed to ask stupid questions in the field,” Jason says in mock horror. Dick makes a bitch face at him and Jason cackles. “Too bad Poison Ivy isn’t around to give you some aloe for that sick burn!”

Dick stares at him before walking towards the edge of the roof.

“Wait!” Jason says, quickly snagging Dick by the wrist. His ribs only scream a little bit, but honestly, who’s paying attention to that kind of thing when the person with his present is about to disappear into the night. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll stop being a brat. Although, for the record, you’re an asshole for even pretending to leave me all alone with my busted ribs.”

Dick’s stupid grin makes a reappearance.

“An asshole and a brat walk into a bar—”

“Shut up,” Jason says, shoving Dick away from him. “Are you going to make me stand up here for eternity or can we get to the whole gift-giving thing.”

Jason’s not sure what he expects the gift to be. From what he knows, Dick’s not exactly rolling in money, so he doesn’t expect it to be something as extravagant as what he received earlier in the day. Alfred gave him six new books and also made him a buffet of breakfast food. Then Bruce had given him a new bookcase for his room, an insanely gaudy watch Jason doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do with, and an entire set of baseball equipment for him to play with in the yard.

Compared to his other birthdays, the gifts he got this year are almost too much to comprehend. Hell, the price of the watch alone will probably be enough to put him through college. The gifts are nice but… overwhelming. Honestly, Jason doesn’t think he deserves shit that nice. It’s not like he can refuse them, though. It’ll make him sound like an ungrateful little snot, and Jason doesn’t want to give Bruce that impression at all.

“I’ve only been in your room once,” Dick says as he pops open a compartment on his glove, “and I saw a Poison Idea poster over your bed. So—” he brandishes two blue rectangular pieces of paper in front of Jason.

Eyes wide, Jason snatches them from Dick’s hand. “Holy shit—”

“I got you two tickets to their concert,” Dick finishes with a smile.

Jason stares at the tickets and reads the print on them over and over again. Hands shaking, he throws his arms above his head, ignoring the sharp pain it causes.

“Shut the fuck up! No way! No waaay, dude!” he chatters. He grabs onto Dick’s arm and shakes it in excitement. “You’re not allowed to be this cool! Dude, what? Are these real?”

Dick’s sudden laughter only fuels more excitement in Jason’s chest. He shoves at Dick again.

“Don’t even tell me these are good seats, dude. Like. These are nosebleed seats or something, right?”

“Nosebleed?” Dick squawks indignantly. “These are VIP tickets! You get access to the venue before general admission and you get to meet the band backstage.”

“What!” Jason yells, genuinely shaking now. “Di—Nightwing! Are you serious?”

Dick laughs again and grabs onto Jason’s shoulders to squeeze them. “Yes, I am completely serious.”

There’s a feeling in Jason’s chest that he’s not sure how to describe. It’s a weird mixture of excitement and gratitude and… awe. It’s something he only feels rarely. Kind of like the first time he went out as Robin or like the time he got to work with the Titans. Special moments like that.

Jason reads the print on the tickets one last time, unwilling to vocalize just how touched he is that Dick’s given him such a personalized gift. He didn’t expect to get anything from Dick at all. Hell, he didn’t even expect a phone call, knowing how busy Dick is. And now that Dick’s given him one of his favorite gifts he’s ever gotten, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Doesn’t know how to act.

All he can think of is to extend his fist and to blurt out a quick, “Thanks.”

Luckily for him, Dick’s had a lot of time to adapt to emotionally inept people. Dick extends his own fist and bumps it against Jason’s.

“No problem. Happy birthday, Little Wing.”

Notes:

I don’t know if any of you have ever hurt your ribs before, but I’ve bruised mine, and trying to move was a bitch. My mom had to help me sit up because it was too painful to bend my torso. I don’t know why in fics people constantly break the batfam’s ribs and then have them running around like it’s no big deal. So that’s why Jason is like I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up.

In comics, Robin Jason called Dick “Old-Timer” and Dick called Jason “shorty” and “Little Wing”. So I incorporated that into the story.

Jason referring to Dick as Uncle Jesse is a reference to the TV show Full House. On the show, Uncle Jesse asks “capeesh?” a lot when he’s talking to his nieces or sons.

Poison Idea is an actual band that Jason used to like when he was Robin. In comics, he had a Poison Idea poster on his wall and I thiiink he might of also had a shirt with their name on it. So yeah. Jason is a punk rock bitch.

[runnfromtheak]

fanfic author’s tagging game (yay!)

Thank ya darling for tagging me!!!! @boyblunder-thedarkheir!!!!!

AO3 Name(s): LostandLonelyBirds aka RUNNFROMTHEAK

Fandom(s): Primarily Batfamily (so, Dick Grayson) and Young Justice (along with DCU obviously, but I also dabble into Miralculous Ladybug, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter, and MCU (none of which I will ever seriously write for? Idk man).

Number of fics: 22 I will admit to (how do you have so many, my dear @boyblunder-thedarkheir​? What is your secret?)

1. Fic you spent the most time on: Are we talking writing or thinking about writing, cause those are two very different answers. I spent the most time writing this bitch of a fic I’m working on right now, and the most time thinking about the two latest installments of my main series, Death is But An Illusion (aka How Could He and How Could It Be). I agonize over every goddamn detail with Dick’s anger, Jason’s Jason-ness, and every person’s every move and word. I am a mess, and I’m going to be murdered if I don’t update them soon. I am not sorry about that XD

2. Fic you spent the least time on:  You Came Behind Me Secretly and Shattered Every Piece of Me (There's Blood On My Hands) aka my pick-your-own-canon clusterfuck of Dark!Dick Grayson and Dick Grayson being traumatized and tortured with no comfort (Some of them are so fucked up I question my own mind). I take less than an hour to write 80% of them, cause they’re short, and they very rarely take any time to plan. Fun and easy!

3. Longest Fic: At present, he had a chest full of heart and a body full of scars (pain became the only way that he could ever learn)  is my longest, but the fic I’ve been hinting at on my other tumblr, @lostandlonelybirds​ is easily double the length (why do I do this to myself? Why am I like this?) the long boi (named one, not the one I won’t shut up about) is easily my best fic at the moment, and I’m so excited to write a sequel whenever I get the chance.

4. Shortest Fic: With Bated Breath and Pain You See (We're Nothing More Than Memories) technically, I have one shorter than that, but it’s a collab that wasn’t my original idea so I’m not counting it :)

5. Most Hits: You Came Behind Me Secretly and Shattered Every Piece of Me (There's Blood On My Hands) why do you people like this trash-fire so much? I don’t understand

6. Most Kudos:  How Could He which does not surprise me.

7. Most Comment Threads: Technically, How Could He followed by the trash-fire AU title thing I’m too lazy to type again, but I’m gonna love on this one: Just Close Your Eyes (No One Can Hurt You Now) because it’s my baby, and it deserves it okay?

8. Fave Fic You Wrote: Ooo we are doing a top five.

             5. How Could It Be (Jason is precious and sad and Dick is oblivious, and I love one-sided pining wayyyy too much)

             4.  How Could He (I put my life force into this stupid fic, so ofc it’s here)

             3. I'm Scared to Live But I'm Scared to Die (I'm Numb Inside) (the suicidal boy, major trigger warning)

             2. I See Things That Nobody Else Sees (And It's Slowly Killing Me)  (the only fic I’ve ever written from Cass’s perspective, and definitely one of the creepiest and most fucked up. Bruce does not look good here)

             1. he had a chest full of heart and a body full of scars (pain became the only way that he could ever learn) (so ummm Bruce doesn’t look good here either? RHATO #25 if DC wasn’t cowardly and let Dick react how he actually would, aka fuck Batman is the new motto)

9. Rewrites?: Fuck. All my older ones? Everything? Who knows.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

Let’s do two. I’m nice.

First comes from How Could It Be:

“You loved him,” Donna says, ignoring his barb. “You loved him, and no one’s seen you or heard from you and I’m concerned, damnit.”

 She punches his shoulder roughly, and he’s reminded of her strength, no matter how small she seems in her dead best friend’s sweater.

 “I’m fine. Peachy-keen. Couldn’t be fuckin’ better. Honestly, you should be more concerned with Replacement, don’t think he’s slept in—”

 “Jason.” Her voice is firm, even as her eyes swim with tears and she holds her arms tight to herself, breathing in the well-loved item’s scent. Jason wonders when Dick wore it last, if Donna had taken it from his abandoned Gotham Penthouse or his Chicago Apartment. He wonders if he’d left it draped over the couch, like the natural disaster he was, or if it had been folded neatly in a drawer.

For someone who prides himself on not being sentimental, Jason suddenly wishes he had something of Dick’s too.

 “I’m here because I care, and because if Dick was here, he’d be doing the same thing I am.”

 “But he ain’t here,” Jason snaps, “Is he?”

 Donna’s head falls, and he feels like a giant jerk. He just… reacts poorly to that name, hasn’t heard it spoken since the transmission and subsequent funeral, since the guy he’d had the hots for since wearing the scaly panties had his mask ripped away and his life taken in front of Bruce’s eyes (who, to absolutely no one’s surprise, failed to save his son).

In the aftermath, no one said Dick Grayson’s name, always Nightwing, or some inane nickname the superhero community had for him. Last time he said it was to Damian, a failed attempt at comfort. But even Jason’s form of mutual grieving had been better than any of Bruce’s shit ideas. Bastard immortalized the ripped costume from his own son’s corpse (not that it had been the first time) and hadn’t even had the decency to give it a plaque (No ‘Good Soldier’ or ‘Good Son’, just a bare glass case with a bloody suit). Which… was weird. Jason was far from B’s best friend, but even he noticed something seemed strange, off, just not quite right. Like the funeral he didn’t speak at, like the breakdown none of them had witnessed beyond a one-off rage fit

“B, what the fuck happened down here?”

The Batcave was a disaster, dents glaringly obvious in several vehicles and a large spiderweb crack across the Batcomputer. Bruce closes the screen down, but Jason manages to catch a spiraling eye.

“Nothing, just…”

Bruce looks at the spare Nightwing costume none of them had taken down yet, still clean and ready for use (too bad its owner died and would never wear it again).

“Dick?” Jason questions, and the way Bruce’s eyes snap to his face is almost suspicious, almost enough to arouse concern.

“Yes. I—”

Jason sits next to Bruce on the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I miss him too, Old Man. Don’t mean you need to be an ass about it.”

 A memorial next to Jason’s own, but Dickhead’s is empty and broken from Damian’s fists and grief, and Jason’s is just gone. No one told him why, it was just gone.

Kind of like Dick.

He wonders if Bruce would have told him if the video hadn’t been broadcast, if he would’ve told anyone. B did love his fuckin’ secrets.

 “No,” she whispers, and he can hear the tears in her voice, can feel her grief as keenly as his own. It’s palpable, tangible, “He’s dead, and I’m alive, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

 And then, to Jason’s mounting horror, she starts crying openly.

…..

Second comes from my one I’m working on rn with Stray!Dick called I See Sunset In Your Eyes (I Hate This Part Right Here)

“Come on,” Wally says with a pout, dragging an overly amused Jason and Dick with him through the karaoke bar doors. “Donna and Roy are waiting for us, and Dick had to take forever to primp.”

 Dick shrugs with a grin.

 “Beauty takes time, time I can tell you did not take.”

 Jason snorts, and Wally glares at him.

 “At least I don’t take five hours to finish getting ready.”

 “At least I can last longer than five minutes.”

 “Ouch!” Roy butts in, throwing an arm around Jason and Dick’s shoulders. “Claws are out tonight!”

 “Speaking from experience?” Jason asks, eyebrow raised.

 Dick smirks without comment, sauntering past the group towards the table Donna’s lounging at.

 “Hey gorgeous twin of mine,” He greets with a kiss to her eyes. She smirks, rolling her eyes at him.

 “You’re just stroking your own ego with the twin tacked on, Wonder Boy.”

 Dick bumps his shoulder against hers.

 “Can’t I stroke both our egos?”

 “You can stroke mine,” Wally mutters, turning red when Stray winks at his phrasing. Jason and Roy both facepalm, groaning. “Not what I meant guys!”

 “Why Kid Idiot,” Dick replies, hand on his heart, “I had no idea you could be so forward~!”

 Wally glares, waving over the waitress.

 “Round of shots, on this dick,” he jerks his thumb at Stray, offering up his fake ID. She doesn’t bother checking it, probably because this is Gotham, and they were all in uniform. “Whisky, please.”

 “Trying to get me drunk?” Jason jokes. It is, after all, his first big outing with the Titans for non-mission reasons. Stray had practically dragged him out of the Manor with a wink at Alfred and a middle finger for Bruce, saying that Jason needed to have fun outside of books.

Jason knows better than arguing with Dick Grayson-Kyle when he wants something, Stray trained him well.

 “Of course, Batboy,” Roy replies, “It’s not a Titans outing if Stray is fully dressed and everyone’s sober.”

 Dick shrugs.

 “You’ll have to get some real liquor in me if you want me to do anything like last time.”

 “Last time?” Jason asks, looking to Donna for an answer. Dick snorts. You get near naked one time…

 “Boy Blunder ended up in just his boxers in a dancing cage drunk of his ass. Everyone thought he was one of the strippers, and he made, what, three-hundred dollars in bills?”

 “Five-hundred,” Dick replies proudly, offering the waitress a twenty as she came back with their drinks. “Keep the change, darlin’!” He adds with a wink.

 She flushes, making Jason frown.

 Stray, of course, notices this and elbows Jason.

 “Don’t get jealous, Blue Jay, it’s not becoming.”

 Jason does not blush. He doesn’t, and that’s the hill he will die on.

 “I’m not. On an unrelated note, pass me a shot.”

Jason is the master of changing the subject, Stray thinks sarcastically, passing him a shot and downing one of his own.

 “Five bucks says alley cat blacks out,” Roy says smugly as Dick makes a face, the way he always did with heavier liquors. He glares at the redhead, who shrugs unapologetically.

 Donna eyes them both speculatively, taking a sip of her own drink.

 “Twenty says he gives a lap dance before he blacks out.”

 Roy snorts.

 “I’ll take it,” and to Dick, “Don’t do it, for me.”

 Dick bats his eyes innocently.

 “Lil’ old me? I would never do something so…” He trails a finger down Roy’s chest, making him swallow roughly. “Scandalous.”

 Donna grins victoriously as Roy groans, trying and failing to hide his excitement.

 “I hate you. I hate you both.”

 Tagging whoever sees this, I suppose? 

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

Been going thru a writing block recently but I FINALLY managed to write something. It’s very stream of consciousness and messy and was written in like an hour so,,, eventually I’m gonna clean it up/add to it and post it on AO3 (it was a prompt for the Bad Things Happen Bingo hhhhh) but for now, enjoy Jason’s reaction to Tim’s torture being broadcast:

---

Jason goes to cave, and the only reason why is because everyone else is out for the night. It's early enough that he doesn't have to worry about anyone coming back, unless they're seriously injured, which like he does not want to deal with at all ever.  Because that would mean INTERACTING with people, and he can only handle so much of that, especially with these specific people. So it's just easier for him to go and get what he needs--which, tonight, are a few old reports, and yeah he could've gone without them but whatever--before it hits, like, one AM. That's like the witching hour of Bat injuries. He would know.

So he goes, and he's thankful that no one's around, and he tells himself that if Alfred happens to come downstairs while Jason's still poking around getting his stuff, it'll be fine and he won't be happy to see him, no way no how.

The Cave is big and empty, the only sounds the bats screeching and flying around. And maybe he should be scared, but he never has been before so he's absolutely not about to start now. He knows his way around still, and if he feels a little like an apparition, numb and distant and totally not dissociating, well. He's just. not gonna acknowledge that. Ever.

But like, he is definitely feeling that way, so he hurries over to the computer, wanting to Stop Feeling Like That Right Now Immediately. Sitting there in Bruce's chair doesn't help the way he thought it might--wait, nevermind, he never thought that. That'd be dumb. Of course it's not going to help sitting in this freaking chair that holds so many of his memories. 

He thinks, whatever, and pretends that Oracle won't know what he's doing and report right back to B. Maybe he should just do his thing and go. But hell, if he's going to be caught out anyway, he reasons, why not fuck stuff up a little bit?

So he detours from his original intentions and opens up a porno or two or ten on the Batcomputer. But that gets old after a few minutes of findign the weirdest shit he can, so he goes to the very complicated organization of files and looks up what he needs. Suddenly the mouse stops clicking. 

"What the fuck," he says, because um. What the fuck??? The Batcomputer doesn't get slow. And he'd know if it was Babs, because she's not shy about putting up her logo and locking people out of their hardware. So by all rights this shouldn't be possible and can basically only mean bad shit.

That's when a video pops up on the screen.

At first, it's just black, and Jason is confused and annoyed. "Babs," he says, because there's no way she's not tapped into whatever bugs she has down here, "stop playing. I'm just here for some files and then I'm gone." When that gets no reaction, he adds, "Won't even take the originals, just need some copies." but. it's Not Babs. it's Worse.

The black of the screen is replaced by a horrible sight: a Frankenstein-esque laboratory that's been splattered in paint. White and green and red paint. There's a huge table in the middle, and there, strapped down on it, is the fucking Replacement.

Jason... does not Like the kid. He really doesn't. They're civil enough and he's apologized for almost killing him, enough that Tim has forgiven him if not forgotten. But they don't interact outside of the occasional missions, and there are still days that Jason thinks about being replaced and sees sickly green and has to forcibly calm himself down. Or like, punch the wall or something. And then remind himself it's not the kid's fault, except for that it totally is--BUT NO. Stop, Jason! Not the point right now!!!

The Joker comes onto the screen, then, and Jesus Christ his smile is still as big and inhuman as it ever was, sickeningly amused by a what, 17 year old kid? being tortured. 

 "Oh, Batsy," he sings, and the sound of his voice sends furious, painful shivers down Jason's spine. Oh fuck no, he thinks, and wants to get up, but he finds himself rooted to the spot. (And this spot, by the way?? It's where Jason's dad sat for years. He would sit here and protect the city, make it better, or so Jason thought. But sitting here, it feels like he's Bruce, it feels like he's that little kid who was murdered, it feels like a lot of really horrible, gut wrenching emotions that he has no desire to poke through or experience to any degree.)

"I've got another of your little birds," Joker says. 

 Part of Jason tunes out. He can't stand this. He doesn't want to hear another word out of that fucking thing's mouth ever again, and it's better to just let the voice pass by over him than to actually listen. 

But another part of Jason, the part that's been fighting this war since he was born, won't let him ignore what's being said. He has to know everything, all the details, can't have only half the picture. 

So Jason pays attention and catalogs everything. Forces himself to listen as the clown talks about how he kidnapped Tim off the street.

Then, moving over to the set up, Joker flicks a giant switch, and Tim, who's been laying on the table, seemingly passed out--Jason could tell he was awake the whole time--he. He gets shocked. With like, what seems like actual freaking lightening and Jason really shouldn't be surprised at this point but what the FUCK?????

Clenching his fists, he watches as Joker goes over to Tim, crooning something the camera doesn't quite pick up. Joker turns the electricity off and says, "I think you need some air, little birdie," and puts a mask on Tim's face. and Jason is hit by a strong wave of alarm bells, but there's nothing he can do. Tim fights it, but he's so weak, and then there's an oxygen mask on his face and he's only got straight up Joker Toxin to breathe with.

A blinking message shows up on the screen, saying an address. Signed 'O'.

Jason watches for another minute as Joker takes the mask off and Tim starts hysterically giggling, the sound a wheezing and crackling and painful thing.

"Fuck this," Jason says, because he doesn't even want to THINK about what comes next, what it's going to do to the kid's body, how badly the kid is going to be hurt. He runs over to the bikes, grabs the keys and high tails it the fuck out of there. 

 He thinks he might throw up, the thought of seeing the Joker in person again too much to bare even on his best nights, but. Whatever. He has to get through it. He's managed it before, with other horrible things, and he can do it now. He can do it for Tim. 

He doesn't like the kid, they aren't friends and certainly aren't brothers, but he's not about to just let the Joker kill another Robin. Absolutely fucking not.

---

please do not tag as incest!!

[bigskydreaming]

Um... /post/188248925631/dick-and-damian-dont-love-each-other-more-than Explain, please. Also curious about your opinion on the Dick and Damian being the mirror of Bruce and Dick, especially things like That scene in Nightwing #20 and fanon's heart nut material that is Dick being Damian's father figure along with brother.

LOL that was a goof post that basically is just another way of me saying “stop making the Batkids have favorites, let them all love and appreciate each other just in different ways.” With the fact that Dick and Damian tend to interact with each other more comfortably than with their other siblings not being proof of favoritism, but rather just...a lot of the same things and experiences appeal to them in very similar ways, so they have plenty of available bonding activities at any given moment. 

Like I see them both as adrenaline junkies in a way that say, Tim perhaps isn’t....like Tim isn’t afraid to do any of the things he does as a vigilante, of course, but he’s a more cerebral character, more of a thinker, happy surrounded by computers and data and investigation files as much as anything else...whereas Dick and Damian I both see as very physically oriented people, they like action, danger and excitement that gets their blood pumping and adrenaline going, like....on its own merits. 

So they’re like “HELL YEAH, LET’S DO THE THING” when the thing isn’t always the most....logical course of action, but hey, at least they’re not gonna be bored, lol. Y’know?

As far as Dick and Damian mirroring Bruce and Dick....I both agree and disagree with it.

I disagree in the sense that canon and fanon frequently views them as an INVERTED mirror of Bruce and Dick, with Dick as the happy Batman trying to cheer up the brooding Robin Damian, as opposed to when Bruce was the brooding Batman cheered up by his happy Robin Dick.

Because I think that devalues Bruce and Dick’s VERY early relationship, the inception of it, the foundation of their bond....and perhaps ironic given how critical I am of Bruce and his badly written or acted upon parenting a lot of the time....I think this perception of Bruce and Dick undercuts some of Bruce’s BEST times as a parent to Dick, specifically.

Because Bruce WASN’T just a dark, brooding Batman for most of the time Dick was Robin, historically speaking. Before the late 70s/early 80s, which was also around the time they started transitioning Dick out of Batman’s sphere and into his own role as Nightwing and most associated with the Titans, like....before all that, Batman tended to be as silly, tongue in cheek, and yes, even cheerful, as he was at times dark and brooding. Like, in pre-Flashpoint stories that trace back to Dick’s early years, Bruce SMILED, even when in the cowl. He laughed, he joked, he called Dick by personal endearments. He was PATERNAL and affectionate.

And given that in pretty much every version of his origin story, and like....in logical view of the events that unfolded in it....Dick himself did not START as a cheerful, happy go lucky Robin without a care in the world. He was traumatized, he was grieving. Depending on which origin you go with, he had massive trust issues, in all origins he has abandonment issues....early Dick Grayson had a darkness every bit as much as anyone else, because he was a lost and grieving child trying to find his way in the world with his usual support, lifeline, the familiarity that had defined so much of his early life in the form of his parents, his friends, his circus....like all of that was gone, and he had to start over in terms of finding things good and worthwhile in a world that had taken all of that away from him.

And it was Bruce who helped him do that. Who was HIS light, HIS brightness every bit as much as people tend to credit Dick with being his, if not more. Like, I would argue that it was NEVER that Dick made Bruce lighter and happier by simply being himself and always being cheerful and joking. More accurately, I’d suggest that it was more that Dick made Bruce lighter and happier by giving him reason to make a conscious CHOICE to be those things...for Dick’s benefit, specifically, so as to help steer Dick away from becoming a replica of his darkest and most brooding self, by setting a more carefree, light-hearted example for Dick to look at and use to help decide how he wanted to shape himself and what he wanted to shape himself into.

So the irony is, I think Dick and Damian are MORE of a mirror to early Bruce and Dick than people actually deem them to be. That they weren’t actually an inverted mirror, with Dick always playing the role of the cheerful inspiration that brightened his counterpart’s demeanor. I see it as Dick occupying the exact same role Bruce did in Damian’s life, leading him by example, out of his own personal darkness, the way Bruce had once done for him...no matter what differences came between them later in life.

The part where I DO think they’re actually an inverted mirror of Bruce and Dick, is in the paternal bond between Dick and Damian, that fandom highlights so consciously. Its not that Bruce wasn’t paternal, as I said earlier. Its more that like....there was always that slight distance or buffer (that grew as Dick grew older) that came about because of the uncertainty between Dick and Bruce as to what they actually were to each other, what label to use for each other....friend, brother, partner, father/son? And I do firmly believe that as the adult and guardian, it was Bruce’s responsibility to take the lead in establishing what they were to each other...or at least, what they COULD be, if Dick wanted it to be.

Like, I mean, the popular take is that Bruce never adopted Dick as a kid because he didn’t want to replace Dick’s father in his eyes. But like, there’s all of one story in pretty much their entire history when Dick ACTUALLY says anything like that himself...and its back when he’s like, ten or eleven, and they’re trying to keep him in Bruce’s custody and so like, a judge is forcing ten year old Dick to like....put a label to them himself. And Dick is many things, but presumptuous on his own behalf has NEVER been one of them, so I have super negative feelings towards that always being pointed at as why Bruce didn’t adopt Dick as a kid and saying see, it was for Dick’s benefit because he was just doing what Dick wanted....like, no. An orphaned kid who lost everything once, has massive abandonment issues, and ended up taken in by a billionaire who gave him more than he could have imagined....like that kid is NEVER going to be the one to push the envelope and say “hey this isn’t quite enough for me, could you please also adopt me, Bruce, even though you’ve never given me any clear indication that this was okay with you or something you even wanted?”

Like. Its just not realistic. Or fair to put that on the kid, to be the one to open up that avenue for exploration. This is why people who foster or adopt older kids are HEAVILY stressed to make clear to the child like....what their OPTIONS are. Like if they foster them initially, its not presuming anything about the child’s wants to just....make it clear that hey, if this is ever something YOU want, we would be very much open to adopting you and changing our dynamic accordingly, but if not, that’s fine too.

Kids just aren’t going to have the confidence to ASK for that. They’re just not. Especially when they come into the relationship with the kind of emotional baggage and familiarity with total upheaval that Dick had.

So my point being....I don’t think it was ever truly that Dick wanted to not be adopted, or expressed or hinted at that in any way. I think its more likely that Bruce projected his own wants on Dick, based on the fact that he initially identified with him and his circumstances so much, seeing himself reflected in Dick’s tragedy when losing his own parents. I think Bruce’s hesitancy to raise the issue of adoption when Dick was a kid was far more likely to do Bruce assuming Dick wouldn’t want that....because Bruce projected himself into DICK’S shoes, and based on THAT, operated off of what HE would have wanted as a kid....which was to NOT see his parents replaced in any real way, even though Alfred of course was very much a paternal presence throughout his later childhood.

So its not even that Bruce didn’t want to adopt Dick either - I think he very much did. He just told himself that Dick wouldn’t possibly want that, because Bruce couldn’t imagine have wanted that himself when he was Dick’s age, in Dick’s situation. And so Bruce held back from ever really raising it while Dick was a kid, because he was afraid he’d only get rejected if he did....again, just based purely on his personal assumptions and history.

The irony, for me, and why I see this as an inverted mirror to Dick and Damian’s bond....is that I think once Dick was in Bruce’s shoes....he did the EXACT SAME THING BRUCE HAD DONE....just in the other direction. He, just like Bruce had with him...projected himself into Damian’s shoes, and based his decisions off his assumptions about what Damian wanted or would want....which were in turn, based on his memories of what HE had wanted when he was the one in Damian’s position. Which was for Bruce to fully act like a father to him, to not hold back or hesitate or be afraid to step into that role.

So because of that, Dick tried to avoid what he saw as responsible for so much of the distance between him and Bruce - that hesitancy to establish a clear relationship and bond that left no real doubt how either felt - and so he in contrast all but threw himself into the paternal role with Damian...also using it at the same time to hide from his own grief and other issues stemming from Bruce’s death as well as having to be Batman. He EMBRACED being there and available as an actual father figure to Damian, if Damian made moves in that direction - which of course Damian inevitably did, because he was a kid desperately in need of affection, and here Dick was offering it freely and openly.

I think this additionally played into why Dick was so resistant to believing Tim about Bruce - it wasn’t that he didn’t WANT Bruce to be alive or that he didn’t trust Tim or WANT Tim to be right....it was that on some level, because of what he saw as so crucial to being for Damian’s benefit, and to avoiding making the same ‘mistakes’ with Damian that he felt Bruce had made by holding himself back from him at times, emotionally....Dick couldn’t afford to see himself as a placeholder in Damian’s life. Especially not without any guarantees that Bruce actually was alive or could come back....let alone how long that would take to happen. If he did that, accepted that, it would be all to easy to put off establishing that firm presence and role in Damian’s eyes for longer and longer....until one day he might look up and years might have passed and Damian was sixteen and pissed off and moving out because he didn’t know what he was to Dick and Dick was afraid to tell him, because he was afraid of replacing Bruce in Damian’s eyes.

So I think on some level, Dick just couldn’t allow himself to believe Bruce might come back, because if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to commit to what he truly, honestly felt Damian needed him to be, for Damian’s sake.

With the end result being that strong father/son seeming bond between them....and Dick not having ANY clue how to handle it when Bruce DID ultimately come back, and he probably went in his head....oh shit, I fucked up, I replaced Bruce in Damian’s eyes, or at least made it weird or difficult for them...I gotta get 1000 miles away from here STAT, otherwise I’ll fuck things up for them more and they’ll never have the father/son relationship I want them to have and they deserve to have, and it’ll be all my fault. And PS no this does not have anything to do with my devastation that I went all in on this whole ‘treating Damian like my own son’ thing and now I can’t do that anymore, I have no real claim, that’s not my place and I gotta just make my peace with Bruce occupying the role I came to want and love having myself.

*Shrugs* So yeah. All of that.

Oh and also....it does feed my ire on the ‘treating Dick like he’s only sorta Bruce’s son because of the smaller age gap between Dick and Bruce and how young Bruce was when he took Dick in’ front. Because Dick and Damian have just as small an age gap and Dick was pretty much just as young and Damian just as old as Bruce and Dick had been, originally...

And yet notice how fandom has NO trouble characterizing Dick and Damian having an almost father/son dynamic even WITH Bruce still present and even WITH them only having occupied those roles in each other’s lives for a year.

But meanwhile, Dick raised solely by Bruce from ages 8 through the end of his childhood, and some people still can’t wrap their heads around how they could possibly be TRULY a father and son to each other because this reason or that one?

Meh. Sounds fake. Hard pass. LOL.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I was watching the D-Day commemoration ceremonies this week with family and I thought why do we have a Royal Navy and Royal Air Force but not a Royal Army? I mean other than the fact that it sounds a bit naff? We’ve got the Royal Navy and we’ve got the Royal Air Force but no Royal Army. My dad was a Grenadier (RIP dad) and was mighty proud of being a guardsman and protecting HM the Queen and all that but I never really thought about it until after he died. The Guards like the rest of the army serves the Queen so why not? Would you know since you were an army officer and you are very academic?

This is a great question which I can hardly refuse to answer given I’ve been actually attending one or two official events myself to commemorate D-Day along with members of my family and also friends (some ex-army). I’ve been very moved by the whole solemn occasion and back in my hotel room your question serves as a useful distraction (in a good way!).

It’s a question that baffles a lot of people - especially my American and other European friends - who ask me that too on occasion. You’re right it does sound naff to say Royal Army when you say it out loud. It’s not as if the army doesn’t already have somewhat eccentric and even supercilious traditions - to the outsider’s eyes at least - to add ‘Royal’ for an extra helping of pomposity and snobbery. Although the delicious opportunity to rub it into the noses of the (republican) French army just might be worth it. But personally speaking, I’m super glad it’s just the British Army.

I think I’ll have a stab at the answer but it might not be the only answer. Put simply historically, unlike the Army, the Royal Navy has always been a single and national organisation. And so has the Royal Air Force since its formation in 1918.

There is some contentious debate here as to who really founded the ‘navy’ whether it was Alfred the Great or Henry VIII of the Tudor dynasty - I err towards the Tudors in this debate. It’s true that Alfred the Great founded a navy of sorts to defend the realm. Whether you want to call this collection of ships a navy is both semantic and charitable but at the very least it was a single ‘national’ entity. For his army though Alfred had to rely on noblemen volunteering men from other shires.

This pattern continued down the centuries where the nobles had their own armies which were expected to rally round the sovereign in times of crisis. Indeed, the term 'The Army’ did not come into proper use until the middle of the 17th century, by which time the Royal Navy had been well established on a permanent basis for many years and was called so.

The English Civil War (1642-1651) between the King ( Charles I) and Parliament (Cromwell and company) was the true origin of the British army. In that war, Parliament obviously won. The overall outcome of the war was threefold: the trial and execution of Charles I (1649); the exile of his son, Charles II (1651); and the replacement of the monarchy (by divine right) with, at first, the Commonwealth of England (1649-1653) and then the Protectorate under the iron rule of Oliver Cromwell (1653-1658) with his creation of the New Model Army.

Charles II returned from exile in 1660 to take back the throne at the behest of the will of Parliament. But all was not the same. Although Charles II had agreed to accept the powers of Parliament in the Declaration of Breda, there were many who were suspicious. They thought that he might say one thing and then, after being restored to the throne, return to his father’s policies.

The navy had always supported both Charles. So when Charles II was restored to the throne, he proclaimed that, because of its support for him, the navy would henceforth be called the “Royal Navy”.

With the army it was more complicated. Many in the army had fought against Charles. This was not surprising as the army was very much the creation of Parliament and especially Cromwell. Charles II accepted the fact that the Crown was prohibited from having its own standing army. 

The Royal Navy are the senior service as they were the first to receive Royal recognition as an armed service of the Crown. The Royal Air Force were formed by Royal Charter in 1918 by King George V.

The key thing to understand is that the British army was never national in the way the navy and the air force were. Historically the British army was a collection of region based militia raised at the behest of the monarch.

When the monarch wished to raise an army he would do so by endowing a stipend to a local nobleman to raise a regiment. The nobleman would be the Colonel of the Regiment (hence that tradition of the senior officer commanding the regiment or division) and would determine its uniform, and promote its NCOs and select its officers from the sons of other notable families within the region.

On raising a regiment an oath of allegiance would be sworn and a toast drunk. The army are considered “loyal” not “royal” in that sense.

Some regiments enjoy royal patronage, others such as the Intelligence Corps don’t. Indeed a member of the Royal family is often the ‘Colonel’ of that regiment (and he or she wears the regimental uniform when they see them). During Colonial times, the British Army was allowed to use Queen Anne’s Red Ensign, however, they were still not considered a “Royal” service.

Another reason why the British Army doesn’t have the prefix ‘Royal’ is because only certain regiments and corps are called 'Royal’. The prefix Royal before the title of a unit is considered an award in much the same way as a battle honour. The regiments with this prefix are entitled to wear the coveted blue facings on collar and cuffs on ceremonial scarlet tunics.

So the picture is complicated but it’s true to say the quirky historic traditions of the regimental system within the British army is why there is no Royal Army.

You and I know - because we both have had family members in the guards - know the picture is even more more muddied in answer to your specific question. The Grenadier Guards and the Coldstream Guards as well as the other foot guards - the Irish, Scots, and Welsh Guards - form part of the royal Household Division along with the Household Cavalry (made up of the Life Guards and the Blues and Royals).

Despite their ceremonial duties dressed in scarlet tunics and bearskins known to the world over, all the foot guards are considered an elite fighting force - along with the Parachute regiment the Guards provide many officers and soldiers serving in the SAS.

As you know the Grenadier Guards is considered the most senior regiment in the British Army. It can trace its lineage back to 1656 when Lord Wentworth’s Regiment was raised in Bruges to protect the exiled Charles II. In 1665, this regiment was combined with John Russell’s Regiment of Guards to form the current regiment, known as the 1st Regiment of Foot Guards. Its most famous battle honours were at Waterloo they broke Napoleon’s Imperial Guard. So it’s interesting that the Grenadiers were seen as the bodyguards of the monarch.

But it’s not the oldest regiment in the British army, despite its seniority. That honour is widely given to the Coldstream Guards whose Latin motto is Nulli Secundus (second to none). More accurately it is the oldest continuously serving regiment in the British Army.

But its lineage goes back to the New Model Army when Cromwell gave General Monck permission to raise in Scotland his own foot regiment to join the New Model Army. After the Civil War and after Richard Cromwell’s death, Monck gave his support to the Stuarts, and on 1 January 1660 he crossed the River Tweed into England at the village of Coldstream, from where he made a five-week march to London. He arrived in London on 2 February and helped in the restoration of Charles II to the throne. For his help, Monck was given the Order of the Garter and his regiment was assigned to keep order in London. However, the new parliament soon ordered his regiment to be disbanded with the other regiments of the New Model Army.

And don’t get me started on the Blues and Royals!

This digression down memory lane still leads me back to the conclusion that the regimental system remains the backbone of the British army today. It is its strength as a fighting force and man to man the best army in the world today.

Even as the British army and its regiment system faces challenges (budget cuts and regiments are either being stood down or amalgamated) and evolves (reflecting societal changes such as letting women into frontline combat roles), it is fitting that we are not the Royal Army, rather the British Army loyal to the Crown.

Thanks for your question and I hope you enjoy(ed) the rest of the D-Day memorial ceremonies with the rest of your family as indeed I have.

**PS: I wrote this on the night of June 6th but I could only send it out now. My apologies.