#I like to think that after this incident Damian somehow ends up making a similar mistake and ends up not noticing

[ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole]

MariJon Week

Day5: Social Media/Life Swap

It's gone midnight but it's still day 5 somewhere in the world and I've 3% battery left!

This prompt was not playing ball to write but it's done! It's not proof read but it's finished finally!!

Masterlist

Day1 Day2 Day3 Day4 Day6 Day7

____________________________________

Who would have thought a hashtag would have resulted in this. A “small series” of videos. A quick succession of tweets and a “innocuous” request have ended up like this. Even more so that she didn’t really used twitter a whole lot.

Marinette smiled amusedly, her attention to watching the chaos unfold in front of her. If Ayla was upset, then it was her own fault in the first place.

Six months ago:

Miss Bustier’s class were used to Marinette ranting about Akuma designs and costumes. The class had taken to recording these outbursts as a result and posting edited versions on twitter. She had gained her own hashtag because of a particular caped akuma; #EdnaModeHasSpoken

Someone (Alix) had thought it would be amazing idea to ask for requests to have the Parisian Edna Mode “discuss” global villains. Alix and Kim printed off what pictures they could find on the net of them and primed Alya up to record and let Marinette roll.

And oh boy did she roll. She tore into the Riddler’s wrong shade green and purple mix. She praised Lex Luthor on suit colours until she ripped into him on the suit cut. With Prankster she bemoaned the lack of originality of it all, a hybrid attire of Ridder and Joker.

Over the course of a few months almost biweekly Alya posted a new update of “Edna’s” views on the world of villain fashion. The harshest critique came when villains chose poor fashion rather than the poor Akuma victims who were forced by Hawkmoth.

Three months ago:

A new type of request came in to Alya's account. Specifically from @Zombieboy requesting that Edna review Gotham Vigilante's as she had done a tremendous reviews on Gotham's Rogues.

Seeing the pictures Alya had found, Marinette let a high pitch shrill before starting to pace.

"What the… how the… underwear on top of tights?! Where's the Kevlar?! The protection!!!

Traffic light children!!! With not trousers!!!

Is that a tampon on his head?! A swim hat?!

Why skin tight?! They dont have magic! Have they lost their marbles???"

Marinette drew in a deep breathe before releasing

"Capes!!! Are they trying to kill themselves. It's hero 101 no capes?! What are they thinking. They're from Earth … they are from Earth right? Superman obviously copied Batman's fashion sense and he's an alien. The poor man is blind but coping Batman's fashion. It's hideous!!

The only semi decent is tampon head as at least he looks like he has some armour protection. And no Cape. The leather jacket is tolerable but he needs a different cut!"

Marinette's pacing inreased with her disgust and somehow had picked up her sewing scissors and started to wave them around as she got more and more wound up.

"Capes and underwear!! Are they serious about saving the world dressed like that. It's an eye sore. Capes!!

What is with Gotham fashion?!?"

"Em… can you put the the scissors down please?!"

Alya ended up having to stop filming to help Alix try wrestle the scissors from Marinettes grasp.

#EdnaModeHasSpoken #BatmanLostHisMarbles #BatmanVsSupermanFashionCrimes #UnderWearAsOuterwearNoThankYou #CapesNoCapes #EdnaNeedsToPutTheScissorsDown

One month ago:

Some how unintentionally Marinette had managed to get into the middle a Twitter battle between Metropolis and Gotham. @TrueHeir had decided that Gotham had obviously superior fashion crimes than Metropolis stating that being the worst at fashion was a skill that Metropolis didn't have as they had to copy Gotham. Which had caused a backlash led by @BoyOfSteel stating that Metropolis moved away from wearing pants and having a leather jacketed hero first.

The battle online got quite heated until @TrueHeir demanded that the mysterious Edna wade in and settle the debate.

The issue suddenly became that Edna never really had her whole face shown @SassyFox managed to film it in such a way that it was hidden. Edna didn't seem to have Twitter. The way to solve it was to track down @SassyFox.

One week ago:

Jon and Damian via covertly using the Bat Computer managed to track @SassyFox down to Paris. They located a small(ish) area that based on the videos and pictures regularly taken. The pair looked at each other and knew that's where they were heading. They wanted, no NEEDED to Edna to settle this arguement of there's.

Checking that no one was about the pair zeta'd to Paris. They were men on a mission. A mission to resolve this fashion disaster crisis. Was Batman and Gotham or Superman and Metropolis the worst dressed.

They'd spent the day camped out in a local park. But no sign of anyone remotely like @SassyFox. To replenish supplies the pair decided to try out some local cuisine.

Jon insisted on this bakery. All the reviews rated it as one of the best in Paris and he had to try it. Walking in he met with the heavenly delight smells of pastries. He could feel his mouth drooling with the onslaught of sights and smells. He dragged Damian in to look at all the treats hidden behind the glass. Jon was drawn out of his pastry driven haze by a sweet voice asking if he wanted anything. Looking up to the source of the fairy like voice was a cute face. Blue eyes shimmer with amusement and blush coloured gloss graced lips twitch towards a suppressed smile.

"Everything!" Jon responded without thinking. Causing an eyebrow to raise on the girl's face.

"Tt! What Kent means is what would you recommend? Savour and Sweet."

Smiling a broad grin the girl launched into describing the pastries and treats and suggesting recommendations. She packed their goodies up and sent them on there way.

One day ago:

"Morning Jon, Damian, the usual?"

"Please, Marinette. Could you also pack another box on those macaroons you had yesterday as well?"

"Sure things. I take it they were a success?"

Jon nodded in agreement.

Jon and Damian after their first visit and repeatedly ended up at the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie and Patisserie over the course of the week. Jon was hooked on the sweets and maybe a little (a lot according to Damian) taken by Marinette, the girl at the counter.

"The macaroons were above average."

"That's Dames speak for excellent" Jon cheerful supplied. "Hey Marinette are you on twitter?"

Jon picked up some cursing under her breath something about Alya and she was going to *kill* her before she plastered a fake smile on her face.

"I'm not. My friend uses it all the time though."

"Oh, so you've heard about the Parisian Edna Mode?" Jon cocked his head to the side. Marinette's heartbeat had picked up. Through gritted teeth so responded,

"Yup. I've heard about *Edna* my friends are slightly obsessed with it all. They *adore*her reactions."

She smile loosed at the American pair as the morning rush started to pick up.

"Sorry guys, I best finish your order off and help Maman deal with the queue building."

She effectively concluded the conversation in a polite and effective manner before waving them off with the supplies for the day.

"She knows more than she is letting on."

"Mentioning Edna made her heart beat quicker Dames. Do you think she knows her?"

"It is a high potential. Today we should stay near the bakery as formour hunting grounds."

Now:

Damian and Jon were at the park near the bakery. It appeared Marinette was off today so was missing from the bakery so Jon was "sulking".

By pure chance or coincidence, potentially luck, though the pair saw her enter the park with a group of friends and set up a picnic for them all. One was setting up music to play while others seemed to be playing an elaborate (childish) game of tag. Marinette her self looked gorgeous in a pale pink sundress. She outshone everyone she was with. When Marinette saw them she gave them a wave causing a blush to cross his cheeks.

They were content observing from a distance until Jon grabbed Damian's arm.

"It's her!!!"

Even from the distance, Marinette was mimicking Edna's wound up animated gestures of frustration. Jon could hear the growl and heat in her voice. It was a perfect match. Damian watched while quickly researching Marinette and who the girl filming was. It was all lining up. The final evidence was when a pink hair girl threw herself on Marinette crying out "Em!!" in a similar fashion to the scissor incident. Em wasn't a name but M short for Marinette.

Damian finally had found his mark and was determined to end this war with him being correct. This time it was him dragging Jon towards the girl.

"You're Edna!! You didn't tell us yesterday when we asked about it!"

"Yeah, my gurls Edna what about it. Who are you?" Alya quickly jumped in.

Marinette flapped at Damian, flustered by his bluntness.

"TrueHeir and BoyOfSteel. Edna needs to make a decision on which city has the worst fashion. Gotham or Metropolis. Once that's done this arguement can be settled and we can move on."

"What?!?! Damian??? Jon??? You've come all the way to Paris to resolve that??. What the…" Marinette looked confused at the pair. It seemed extreme to go to so much effort to find her just to settle this.

"You've stalked my gurl!!! You freak!! That's crazy. You're crazy!! All because of an arguement you two got into!!"

"Alya… you may have started it with posting all this?"

Marinette tried to defuse the situation which didn't really work.

"So who is worst?!" Demanded Damian.

"I… errr…." Marinette looked between the two boys. Which ever city she chose wouldn't be the end of this so she needed to think quickly. But she was panicking now….

"Star City!" She cried out.

The boys stopped and looked at her.

"What?!?! No! That's not what we asked. Why? You had to have chose Gotham." Damian was not impressed and about to launch in to integration mode when Alya cornered him and demanded that now he knew that he had to leave Marinette alone.

Jon just stared at Marinette. She had completely changed the rules and cleverly removed potentially tension that could of occured between him and Damian. The bragging right was taken away and handed elsewhere. With that thought Jon gentle grabbed Marinette's hand to get her whole attention. He softly kissed her cheek and smiled playfully at her.

"Sneaky move. Nicely played though Edna."

Marinette grinned up at him, knowing he got what she did before the pair turned around to watch the chaos of their best friends.

[pl-panda]

The vines that bind us - Chapter 9

Chapter 1 || Previous || Next

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She opened the window and picked a pencil. With deadly precision she tossed it. The wooden tool sailed through the air until it hit the binoculars and broke one side of them. She huffed and closed the window before pulling the curtains closed. How rude.

Jason cursed under his breath. Any other day he would probably avoid the projectile, but it caught him completely by surprise. By all accounts, it was physically impossible to use a pencil with such precision and force to destroy military-grade night-vision binoculars. At least the memory card was safe so he could give it to replacement later on for analysis.

Still in bad mood after having his gear ruined, Jason zipped to Dupain-Cheng’s window and gave a light knock. No response. Another knock. Still no response. Finally, after the third knock, the blinders opened and the window itself followed, revealing a very angry girl. Jason finally had a chance to get a better look at her. She did, in fact, have blue hair and now that he’d seen it close, he would bet half his paycheque that it was somehow a natural color. The purple too. She must have had her hair dyed for the first day of work. Her eyes were another part that he memorized. They were blue and iridescent green at the same time, giving a slight unnatural aura. Or maybe it was just that she looked ready to murder him.

“Are you done staring?” She asked, clearly annoyed. “You are not my type and much too old. And the stalker routine is plain creepy. Get lost old guy.”

She was about to close the window when he started speaking.

“I actually came to apologize. I did not ‘stalk’ you, thank you very much. I was just checking on you, miss. You do realize that you single-handedly kicked Riddler’s ass and got quite a bit of publicity.”

“Suuure. You do that for every brave citizen?” She asked with a raised eyebrow and a small grin. “You would be really short-staffed. I hope that overgrown furry does pay you for the overtime.” Any traces of amusement disappeared from her face. “Now get lost before I sic Chloe on you. She recently started dating Damian Wayne and the two seem to bond over ruining people. I’m sure you would make a decent target.” Without further ado, Mari closed the window and put the blinders back in place, completely cutting him off. 

Jason didn’t protest. He was too busy processing the fact that Demon Spawn apparently started dating someone. Oh, he would have so much fun teasing the little menace. 

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

When the motorbike entered the Batcave, Jason expected to meet perhaps the Replacement or Demon Spawn. He definitely did not expect to see the entire family sans B and Alfred. 

“Do you want to perhaps explain why dad received an angry call about ‘some idiot in red bucket’ stalking her through the window?” Barbara asked. frowning deeply. 

“Or at least why were you stalking her?” Dick added.

“Or where you hid my coffee?” Tim joined.

“Timothy!” Several of them shouted.

“What? It’s important!”

“Back to the matter at hand.” Dick turned back to Jason. “What exactly were you thinking?!” He screamed.

“Geez. You thought about joining some opera?”

“Tt. Answer the question.” Damian interrupted.

“That reminds me. Did you know Demon Spawn got himself a girlfriend?” Jason asked, trying to deflect. He really did not like how they jumped at him.

“Not… important.” Cass stared daggers at him. “Talk.”

“Fine!” he threw hands in the air. “I followed a hunch. And I was right. She is a meta!” He procured his destroyed binoculars. “There is no human way to destroy military-grade equipment like that with just a pencil.”

Tim picked it up and quickly tossed it onto the table nearby. A blue light scanned the products and the bat-computer started to display the scan plus introductory analysis.

“Well, he is right. There is no way that a simple pencil could destroy it.” He pressed some buttons and recording from the last seconds of the item’s life played. They could clearly see her throw a pencil at it and then everything went black. “Or I was wrong.” Tim started to do a series of calculations. 

“Bucket-head might be onto something. With her muscle mass, it would be impossible to throw a pen with enough force. Actually, it’s almost impossible to make that throw. Not with human muscle density…”

Barbara rolled over to him and the two started to work side by side. “But that’s also not probable since the body is not…” 

“She would probably…” 

“Plant fibers have a similar structure, but she would…” 

“Maybe… Unless she is not strong and instead…”

“Um… earth to nerd corner. Can you explain?”

“Jason might have hit the bullseye.” Tim grinned and several groans could’ve been heard. “She is definitely a meta. It still doesn’t explain why you stalked her.”

“Is that not reason enough?” Red Hood asked. He immediately regretted it when Duke stared daggers at him. 

“You do realize, that metahumans are not as rare as it was believed at the beginning?” Tim asked.

“What?”

“Roughly ten percent of humans are born with dormant meta-gene and the number is increasing each year. And about one in twenty people have an active meta-gene. They just don’t go around wrecking everything or don a cape and run around beating people.” Tim spoke in a matter-of-factly tone. 

“What?”

“Yeah. Eidetic memory, or perfect recall for our uneducated bucket-head,” Tim snickered while Jason grumbled.

“I hate that name.”

“I think it will stay for a while.” Stephanie was smiling. “She does have a way with nicknames. First an overgrown furry, then red Buckethead…” She was on the verge of laughing. “I wonder what she does next?”

“As I was saying,” Tim regained the control of the conversation, “eidetic memory is actually one of the earliest forms of registered active meta-ability.”

“What?”

“The gene tends to activate under extreme duress, but, as we learned, the definition of extreme duress varies from person to person.”

“So what? A guy afraid of failing an exam might accidentally unlock super memory?” Jason dismissed it.

“More like if someone lived in years under pressure and is about to crack.” Dick pointed. “I mean there was even this large awareness campaign about four years ago led by Beast Boy. Where were you?”

“Dead.” Jason deadpanned. “I was dead.”

“Oh… I guess you didn’t see Garfield’s movies then?” Steph asked, being the first to break through the heavy atmosphere.

“She is still a meta.” Jason tried to fight, but his arguments were wavering. 

“Which changes nothing. You will go to her tomorrow and apologize.” Tim said categorically. 

“Ugh! Fine. But I got one more interesting fact: Demon Spawn got himself a girlfriend.” He grinned and turned to Damian. Everyone followed his gaze.

“Tt. I have no idea what you are talking about Todd.” 

“That blonde! Charlie saw you two sitting and eating pastries together! She is the new intern!” Dick had a big fat smile on his face and his eyes were almost glittering. “Who is she? How did you two meet?”

“Blonde?” Tim suddenly paled considerably. “There is only one blonde intern. Please tell me you aren’t dating Chloe Bourgeoise of all people!” He squeaked.

Damian wanted to deny it further, but seeing the Replacement’s reaction he changed his mind. The grin that formed on his face was borderline malicious before turning back to the emotionless mask he wore every day. “Yes. She finally admitted that I was not at fault for the cake incident. She is actually tolerable now.” 

“What cake incident?” Steph asked, smelling some juicy story about her ex. That kind of story was the best.

“Tt. When we were at this gala in Paris two years ago, Replacement attacked me and we fell into the birthday cake.”

“It doesn’t sound…” Dick started, but Damian interrupted him.

“The cake had six levels and was about as tall as I am now. Mayor Bourgeoise was not happy that we ruined his precious princess’s birthday.”

“So that’s why we no longer go to Paris?”

“Tt. No. That’s because Jason almost trashed the Louvre.” 

“Right…” Tim mumbled while his eyes closed. In just a moment, he was snoring away on the chair.

“Damn. I thought it would work faster.” Barbara complained while peeling the near-invisible sticker away from his neck. 

-----

Thursday actually passed without any trouble for Marinette. The class finally got it through their collective single brain cell that she had the power to end their trip with two words. She was slowly getting the grip on the work and after some talk with Penny, where the woman practically forced Mari to listen to some additional advice. She was actually offended that the girl didn’t call her immediately. 

She did have to practically drag her barely conscious boss to a meeting in the afternoon, but he didn’t put up much of a fight after she gave him a Tikki Special Coffee. The small goddess giggled inside her pocket the entire time as the boy begged on his knees.

After work, she and Chloe went to the Gotham Zoological Garden. At first, she wanted to go to the Botanic Garden first, but their class was supposed to visit there after work, so the girls went to Zoo instead. Gotham had a much broader collection of birds than Paris did. And the less chance of running into their classmates, the better.

“...He did what?” Chloe asked louder than necessary, but nobody paid the two girls in smart outfits any attention.

“Yeah. But don’t worry. I gave him a piece of my mind.” Mari dismissed it.

“It’s still creepy.”

“I know. That’s why I sicced the police at him.”

“That’s my girl!” 

“Well, I threatened to send you and Damian after him, but I decided it would be too cruel.” She smiled. “Besides, I’ve seen that Red Buckethead is trending already.” She pulled out her phone and showed a post there was a picture of Red Hood next to a reversed red bucket.

FashionMari @QueenGoldie Someone in a red bucket was stalking me. I was torn between calling the police and criticizing their fashion choice. In the end, I did both. 

“Only you Goldie. Only you…”

--------

Friday was press conference day. For once, Mari woke up earlier and got dressed in record time. Chloe watched from the side-lines as the girl moved around like a tornado, preparing everything and triple-checking all arrangements. She changed outfits four times before finally the blonde grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to sit down. 

“Goldie! You know I love you and I would kill for you,” She started, “but if you don’t calm down I will tie you up and leave you here for the day.”

“But…!” Bluenette tried to protest, but Chloe cut her off.

“No buts. We are only sixteen. I for one came here to learn a bit and maybe meet someone. You are supposed to be learning. Nobody said anything about getting a full-time job.”

“The deal…”

“So what if they fire you?” Chloe raised her hands over her head. “Ridiculous! Utterly Ridiculous! You have Gabriel Agreste and Audrey Bourgeoise fighting over who will get you while Jagged Stone is willing to fly over half the world just to give your references in person. You run a very successful flower shop and even more successful boutique.”

“But…” She tried to muster a weak protest, but Chloe’s angry gaze made her wither. 

“I will not let you run yourself dry!” The blonde stated firmly. “So either you take a step back and breathe or I will call your uncle.”

“Not uncle Jagged! he already banned me from drinking coffee!”

“So you will behave?” Chloe asked with a smirk. 

“Fiiiinneee!” Mari couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Queenie. I needed this. I’m glad I have you as my friend. And sister.” 

“Well of course you needed me! Everyone needs me!” She huffed before her expression became more gentle and she pulled Mari into a hug. 

Downstairs the class was waiting for them. Probably they finally gathered the courage to confront her about Alya’s fate. The girl shouldn’t have lied while filing for promotion. Mari and Chloe stormed past them not even sparing them a glance. Outside, Adrien was already waiting inside the limousine with Gerard at the driver’s seat. 

“I’m glad your driver is finally here.”

“Me too!” The blond boy was practically beaming. “I’m free from Lila’s clutches.”

“Could you drop us at… No. 2 Twine Street?” Mari asked the gorilla, who only grunted in response.

“Um… We should be going to Wayne Tower.”

“Nope.” Mari popped the ‘p’. “You,” she pointed at Adrien, “are an intern in PR. I asked for you to be present at the press conference to help move stuff around and so on.” 

“And me?” Chloe asked. “If you expect me to…” 

“You’re there to support your boyfriend. He was the one that practically demanded that I get you there. He hates publicity.”

“Oh… Good then. Let’s go.”

“Boyfriend?” Adrien asked curiously. “You mean Wayne?”

“Yeah. Apparently Chloe found herself a partner in scheming.”

“I bet that their dates are filled with planning to take over the world.”

“We could’ve taken the world over by lunch if we wanted.” Chloe looked almost offended. “The question is what way would be the most suitable one.” 

All three of them broke into laughter as the car rode through the city of crime.

----

About fifteen minutes before the press conference was scheduled to start, Tim Drake was still not there. None of the Waynes were there in fact. She sent about fifteen angry messages to Mr. Drake and he was still not here, which only fueled her stress and anger. 

The press had no idea so far and they were eagerly awaiting whatever news the company wanted to present. She bit her lower lips. Chloe was on the phone, trying to reach her boyfriend.

“If that idiot doesn’t get here in the next ten minutes, I’m going to consider stabbing him.” 

“Damian?!” Chloe shouted into her phone. 

“Tt. What do you want?”

“First of all, that’s not how you talk to your girlfriend. Second of all, where in the world is your excuse of a brother?! Mari is an inch from going ballistic!”

“Tt. He’s asleep.” Damian answered in an impassionate tone.

Mari leaped over and wrestled the phone from Chloe. “You go to him right this moment or I swear to all that’s holy and…”

“I get it.” He interrupted her, showing signs of irritation. There were some static and the camera blurred for a moment from the fast motion. When it returned, she saw barely awake Tim Drake wearing blue onesies. 

“wah…”

“Get yourself cleaned up and into a suit in the next three minutes!” She shouted. God bless the soundproof backstage.

“Um… But I will never make…”

“I’m certain you have a great webcam somewhere in this big mansion of yours. Set it in the library and call me in the next few minutes. I so hope you were not supposed to be the model because gods help me…” She took a look at his terrified face. “Of course you were…” 

“In my defense…”

“Shut up. Get going!” She hanged up and turned to Adrien and Chloe, who were looking at her with a mixture of fear and awe. “What are you waiting for?!” She tossed a package to the boy. “You get dressed in the new product.” She pushed him outside and into the janitor’s closet on the other side. “And you’re coming with me!” She dragged Chloe toward the main room. The blonde was sent to the technics room to get the feed started while Mari stepped on the scene. The chatter died quickly and all reporters turned to her.

“Hi. Please forgive us for the slight delay. We have minor technical difficulties that are being solved as we speak. In the meantime, you are free to take the seats. The conference is about to start.” 

Behind her, a screen slowly descended. She saw Adrien leaning from the doors leading backstage and smiling at her. 

“Without further ado, I present you Tim Drake, CEO of Wayne Enterprises.”

The image of the teen with black hair appeared on the screen and he waved everyone. He was holding a red cup of coffee with black polka dots, the same Tikki summoned for him the first time. 

Satisfied with herself, Marinette allowed herself a moment of rest. The conference was going well and after a minute of silence for the dead in the recent attack, the presentation began. Adrien was a natural model so it all went great. Wayne Tech in co-operation with Gabriel brand was introducing a new line of ‘smart’ fabric that could withstand medium stress and was almost impossible to dirty or stain. She had to admit it was quite amazing. Apparently, it was partially how Mr. Agreste got her class internship. Granted, Adrien was not supposed to be the model but you don’t look a gifted horse in the mouth. 

Everything was going great until the doors to the room were kicked open and several goons barged in, followed by none other than Two-face. Everyone immediately fell onto the floor. Mari couldn’t help but sigh exasperatedly. Why did it have to go wrong at every turn?

Ignoring the terrified stares, she stormed toward the intruders. “Excuse me, sir?” She asked with an emotionless face.

“What?” The man looked clearly irritated.

“I don’t see your name on the guest list. Did you remember to call in advance?”

“Of course not! Do I look like…” The criminal was clearly angry. 

“Then I apologize, but I must ask you to leave now.” 

“Do you have any idea who I am?” Two-face pulled his gun.

“I’m sorry, sir, but if you are not on on the list, I can’t let you stay.” She said in an emotionless voice. Mari was honestly too tired to care at this point. Maybe at least the evening would be better.

“I’m not sure you get the situation, miss. I’m not here for the interviews. Everyone pull out your wallets and drop them in the sacks!” He shouted while his men started to walk around.

“Hm… That won’t do.” She said. After muttering something under her breath, Mari tossed her clipboard. The spinning board hit one of the mooks in the head, knocking him cold, before bouncing and hitting the next one. After that, it returned to her hand. 

That was enough for Two-Face. He aimed his gun at her, but she moved faster than he anticipated. Within seconds, she grabbed his wrist and pushed it up so he was aiming at the ceiling. She squeezed it hard enough to make him drop the gun right into her other waiting hand. The girl let go of his wrist and disassembled the gun into pieces in what could become record time. 

Now irritated, Mari grabbed Two-face by his tie and pulled him down until they were at the same eye-level. 

“I was trying to do it peacefully sir. I am now ordering you to leave. Otherwise, I will actually have to hurt you.” She leaned closer until she was able to whisper. “And don’t make mistakes, Dent. I can and will hurt you.” For a moment her eyes lost the blue coloring and became entirely iridescent green, glowing slightly. 

Harvey Dent rarely felt fear. His life was more often than not guided by the toss of a coin. Now though, he stared in the eyes of Poison Ivy, except ten times scarier. He was already afraid of that woman after she almost fed him to her ‘precious’.

“I… I am deeply sorry madame.” He spoke carefully. “Men! We are moving out. Leave the bags!” And with that, they were all gone. 

Most of the reporters gave Mari big applause. There was only one angry old man that stared daggers at the girl. 

“You let that scum go away!” He shouted. “He was a criminal.”

“Sir. You are free to go after him if that’s your wish. I’m at work and my job description never included chasing after criminals.”

“But… But…” 

“Anyway, we were in the middle of the press conference if I’m not mistaken.”

-------

NEXT

[ultimatetornshipper]

Daminette December day 11- Snowglobe and 12- Soulmate au

@daminette-december2019-2020

Okk sooo like I said I wanted to make a separate lil one shot for this one because I have a nice lil idea in mind and my medieval au does not work with the snow globe and soulmate thing so I decided fuck it.

Also Tim isn’t it the series yet so I decided to do some brotherly shenanigans that included him.

This one shot actually worked out really well like I love it.

I get to be slightly more… hmm what’s the word?... stupid?

It’s the writing on skin, appears on soulmate's skin, soulmate au btw.

Honestly I love this, it did not go as expected lmao.

Anyway I hope u guys enjoy this!

Previous- Princes and Pedestals Chapter 10

Next- Princes and Pedestals Chapter 11

The Permanent Marker

The first time Damian saw a snow globe it had been during a fight with Tim, who'd decided to throw him with it.

It was safe to say that the item that was thrown ended their fight. The side made of ceramic hit his arm. Unfortunately (or fortunately) it landed on the floor, the glass shattered. The tiny fake snowflakes scattered all over the place.

Before then he had only heard of one thing that, in his mind, worked similarly…

“Drake, I will skin you alive!” he said jumping on his brother, Jason pulled him off and held him back, “Todd! Release me at once! The imbecile just attacked me with a glitter bomb!”

The entire manor went silent for a few seconds before they all burst out laughing.

To this day, he was still being teased about it. Even though the incident had happened years ago.

It resulted in him having quite the distaste for snow globes.

So imagine his annoyance when he woke up four days before the anniversary of The Incident with a picture of a snow globe on his hand.

As if that didn’t make the message clear enough, there was a snow globe and a glitter bomb on his bedside table, each labelled mockingly.

He growled and turned his gaze back to his hand.

He had no idea how his brothers had managed to draw it on him without waking him up but he was absolutely livid.

His soulmate must be incredibly confused as to why there was a crudely drawn snow globe on her hand.

He got up and stomped to the bathroom, washing it off. He got ready and walked angrily to the dining room.

He found them all there and when they saw his sour expression they burst out laughing.

He glared at them all through breakfast, his temper far shorter than usual.

He just hoped his soulmate wouldn’t ask about the snow globe or better still, that she hadn’t seen it.

Every morning for the next two days, he woke up with an ugly little snow globe on his hand. And each morning he would wash it off.

He was bordering on the edge of murderous.

Meanwhile in Paris, Marinette was in a similar state.

You see, for three days she had been trying to remember the damn stupid snow globe Alya had forgotten at her house over the weekend.

She’d drawn a nice little snow globe on her hand to remind herself. But apparently her soulmate was hell bent on not letting her return the damned snow globe.

Each time she drew the little picture, he would wash it off it sometime before she got home.

Because of course he would.

She knew he was a tidy person and he’d established that he had no wish to meet her back when they were small, but usually he at least didn’t wash off her drawings.

She huffed in annoyance as she rode the train back home.

It would’ve been easier to return the snow globe to Alya when they were still in Collegé Francious Du Point, where she lived only a street away. But nooooo, their lycee was far enough away that she had to take the train there and back. Just having Alya pick it up wasn’t as easy as it used to be.

She took out a pen and redrew her snow globe. He had already washed off the one she made earlier that day.

When she got home she realized that he had also washed off the one she made on the train. She huffed in annoyance and groaned.

Why was everything against her?

She eyed her drawer.

Maybe…

No, that wasn’t fair, she didn’t know why he erased the snow globe each time. There could be a very good reason.

Her pettier side didn’t care though. She was sick of him. He’d hurt her so much when they were kids, refusing to even try to get to know her. Not replying to any of her writing or doodles.

Eventually she stopped writing but doodles found still their way onto her skin. And they arrived at a silent truce of sorts, he would let her draw, and she wouldn’t expect anything.

Until now apparently.

Why couldn’t he just give her – give them - a chance?

Why couldn’t they just be normal? Why did he have to be such an ass? Why couldn’t they just write to one another?

She was reminded of the only time he'd written more than a few words to her.

The day she’d accidentally used the wrong kind of pen. The kind that had ink that didn’t wash off properly until after three days.

A permanent marker.

She didn’t known it was a permanent marker, and it wasn’t like she’d drawn anything too big with it. Just a medium sized heart on her wrist.

She was eight, she didn’t think it would be a problem.

Well apparently it was, because that day he let her have it. That day he made it clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

But to hell with that.

If he wanted to break their truce, the weird set of rules they had somehow established…

Then so would she.

She stood and opened the drawer, she took out the permanent marker she hadn’t touched in years and removed the lid.

She smiled as she drew her snow globe again.

This time she would remember the snow globe.

And she did, the next morning she saw her snow globe still on her hand, slightly smudged, but there. She smiled victoriously.

She returned Alya's snow globe and spent the rest of the day on cloud nine. Maybe it wasn’t the nicest of things to do, but it wasn’t like he took her into consideration. She figured this, at most, made them even.

What caught her off guard however, was the neat writing in black ink that appeared on her wrist later that night

The words ‘I’m sorry’ were etched onto her skin in handwriting that she recognized as his.

You see Damian hadn’t noticed the sketch when he got home. Hadn’t noticed it when he’d put on his gloves for patrol or when he’d gone to bed.

He never saw it until morning.

He lost it when he realized his brothers had written on him with a permanent marker.

The one think he’d basically forbade her from doing all those years ago and they did it.

They crossed a line. And Damian made that perfectly clear.

By attacking them and beating them up until they apologized.

He still felt it was necessary to apologize to her.

For the permanent ink. But also for all the years of silence, for all the years of ignoring her.

He settled on a small ‘I’m sorry’ on his wrist and hoped for the best.

That tiny apology, though, opened up a line of communication between the two.

They started talking regularly, growing closer and closer through their words. Eventually they met and started dating.

They helped one another, through trauma and superheroing and liars and villains, they were there.

They became a dynamic duo, he helped her run her label while she did commissions and designed her days away.

They were happy, one of the success stories. And while they hung up the capes and cowls, they were always available for emergencies.

They would tell their children and their grandchildren the story of the snow globe. Dick, Jason and Tim often liked to take credit. Earning a disgusted ‘Tt' from Damian and a laugh from Marinette.

The moral of the story, Marinette always liked to say, was that sometimes even the smallest, insignificant thing could make the biggest, life altering difference.

Taglist:

@animegirlweeb @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @forgottenfriends @wolf-for-life @heyitsbugette @f-rget-lt @fusser90 @editorofeverything @thenillabean @sunflowers-and-mooncakes

[anime-writing-everything]

Okay, so I know that for some reason Miraculous and DC are frequently like put together. And in these Marinette somehow either knows the Batman already or will go seek them out. There was one that I read (which is amazing) where Chloe brings Marinette to find Batman). But I think there’s a better way to have Chloe meet the batfamily and get their assistance. Hear me out on this story idea

First you have to know that in this Chloe was manipulated by hawk moth a while before she was miracle queen, that she did it primarily to help her parents, and that soon after the incident she regrets everything about it.

So the story takes place a few weeks or so after miracle queen, where Chloe would go with her parents to America for a business conference/gala, where the Wayne family is as well. One of the Wayne kids for some reason goes to get her attention by putting their hand on her should (probably Damien or Tim), and since she is a prime target for Akumas, kidnappings, or both plus she has super heroine insticts she judo flips them (they are taken by surprise). The family comes over asking if the son is okay and what the hell did she do that for. She apologizes and says it’s instincts since akumas happen all the time where she lives.

When they ask what that is she gets kind of confused and explains it. She tells them (I’m thinking it’s all the family, and probably other guests at the party at this point) about how Paris has a supervillain who makes a victim out of anyone feeling extremely negative emotions and how there are superheroes that stop him and restore everything so that’s probably why no one outside of Paris knows. She would also show them videos from the ladyblog.

That night at the hotel she’s staying at, she gets a visit from the bat family who “heard from the Wayne’s, very concerned donors of theirs”. Chloe can either believe them or call them out on the lie cuz she isn’t stupid and there are a lot of odd similarities between the Batfamily and the Wayne’s. Either way she tells them all about the miraculouses, what their powers are (that she knows about), and how she was the super heroine queen been (they know they did some research on her before she came; including in her first outing and some rumors about miracle queen). She’ll explain that she didn’t really know what she was doing on her first outing she just wanted to prove her worth and that miracle queen was her biggest regret because she hates the fact that she was manipulated into a villain when all she wanted to do was help people.

The batfamily off their help and the justice league’s for the capture of hawk moth, and ask her to get them in contact with ladybug discretely.

They all go back to Paris together where she goes up to Marinette, Alya, nino, and adrien at school. She tells alya she needs her to get her in contact with ladybug because she has information that is crucial in stopping hawkmoth. Obviously alya is still mad about miracle queen because now she probably can’t be Rena rouge ever again and denies her saying it’s probably a trap, etc. Thankfully, adrien and Marinette (who may or may not know each other’s identities) are both curious enough about the information to go to chloes after school where they meet the batfamily and justice league.

The justice league explains why they are there and offer their help, which obviously the two except wholeheartedly.

Somewhere in the story I would think Chloe gets her miraculous back because she’ll and ladybug talk and actually manage to understand each other’s sides. She becomes a permenant miraculous holder (supervised) because until they can catch hawkmoth he will still try and come for her first as she’s defenseless, plus pollen would like to help her on her path of redemption, plus it’s easier to fight when they have a full time ally.

Im not sure fully how it would end. Either they defeat hawkmoth and get the miraculouses and a new enemy appears (because obviously there is a reason for the miraculous). Or they defeat him and the butterfly miraculous goes missing (probably lila).

Also I would say stick with Marinette and Adrian together, so like if Damian was their age maybe him with Chloe or Jon. And then if Chloe isn’t with Damian, have her with Luka.

[animemangasoul]

We Parted Ways A Long Time Ago

Summery: Lucius Fox is Tim's emergency contact number.

In which Bruce and Tim have drifted apart and Bruce doesn't realize it until it's little too late

Chapter: 1/4

He’s out the door and in his car, driving full speed to the hospital before the remote can hit the carpet.  

Today had been one of those rare days Bruce got to himself. Those once in a blue moon days where all his kids were accounted for but busy enough with their own interests that he’d somehow come out the other end with nothing better to do but relax on the couch.  

Dick had been upstairs reading; Jason in the kitchen baking with Alfred, Steph and Damian accompanying Cass to her ballet recital and Duke out of the country with his family. Everything had been normal, calm. Too normal. Bruce should have known. Should have noticed that one of the kids had been unaccounted for. 

Tim had been unaccounted for.

Swerving around the corner, his grip tightened around the staring wheel, and Bruce tried to breathe through the constricting feeling in his chest.  

Bruce life was always hectic, and he was fine with it. He’d signed his life away to the job many years ago and he’d made his peace with that. Gotham needed both Bruce Wayne and Batman and the Billionaire had readily given it both. But that demanding life came with its own set of sacrifices and it had made Bruce a jaded and broken man. The time he spent with his kids had practically shrunk to nothing and his family had drifted apart, no longer connected under similar goals and similar trust of warmth and love.

It was only after his death that he’d recognized his shortcomings. Only after Tim had practically dragged him from the abyss that he’d finally taken a closer look at what he’d become and actively tried to mend fences. He had started with Dick. His son who had almost broken under the pressure to live up to his name. They’d sat down and talked things out.  

There had been a lot of hugs and reassuring words, but Dick had always been the forgiving one. The kind one. The son he didn’t deserve, so despite his failings, his oldest son had practically folded into his arms the moment he had voiced his apology, and slowly, ever so slowly their relationship had built up from there.

Then of course came Jason whose hatred for him boiled over the edges and burned. Burned his skin of his flesh, flesh of bones and bones of soul. But he’d persisted. Hung on tight as his second oldest trashed, screamed, punched and fought, but Bruce hadn’t let him go. Had chased him to the end of the world and told him as many times as Jason needed to hear that he loved him. He loved him so so much and “won’t you come home son”?

It took weeks, months, but eventually his second oldest did come in from the cold and while he spent most of his time solely with Alfred, the fact that he was even here; under the same roof, and actively participating in family dinners.... Bruce couldn’t ask for more.  

Cassandra wasn’t home much, but the frequent phone calls with his only daughter and her uncanny ability to make things a little less awkward between him and Stephanie had made their conversations worth every second that he took to speak with her. She was so easy to talk to and the warmth in her voice... Bruce loved her and through her, he’d gotten to know Stephanie, and it was as if his family was ever so slowly starting to mend. And the hope he’d built with the others had given him the strength to finally take the last steps to fix whatever that had been broken between him and Damian.

His youngest had been different from the others. There weren’t as much history between him and Damian. Not as much disappointment and let downs. For his youngest son, he was still unblemished, untarnished. He still was a hero not a man. It was difficult to get past the image of perfection Damian had created during his death and it was hard to sit down and get to know his son. And it hurt.... it hurt seeing him treat Dick the way Bruce deep down wanted to be treated by his son, butwith patience and time. Bruce has swallowed down his restlessness, his frustration and taken the time to get to know his son. Let down his guards little by little and let his boy see him for who he was and.... he’d seen it. That look. The curious tilt of the head, the spying as Damian trailed behind him; albeit trying not to be noticed, as his son got more intrigued by the man behind the mask rather than just the Batman himself, and....

If that didn’t make Bruce feel elated.  

The first time Damian laughed in his presence is probably one of the best days Bruce had ever experienced in the entirety of his life. Watching his son turn beat red; tiny hands coming up to clap over his mouth as he tried and failed to hold back his uncontrollable giggles. Yes.... yes, Bruce would never forget that moment.  

It would forever be ingrained in the fondest corner of his mind along with all the precious memories he’d made of his family.  

Now, as he hurried to park his car, almost forgetting to turn of the engine in his stumbling haste to get to the hospital, he wondered how long it had been since he last had a conversation with Tim.  

“Excuse me,” he said to the receptionist, looking mildly frazzled where he was leaning against the desk. “Can you tell me where Tim Wayne is?”

The old woman was halfway through a polite refusal when she looked up. Eyes widening and mouth falling open, she quickly scrambled to type something into her computer. “Oh,” she said. “So sorry Mr. Wayne. He’s in room 204. Right down the hall.” She pointed. Thin lips forming a hesitant smile. “Sorry for the misunderstanding. Too many unsavory people want to know your son’s location and I-”

Bruce cut her off with a head shake. “I understand. Thank you for looking out for him.”

With that he made his way down the hall, hands stuffed in his pocket and looking for all the world like a man unburdened, all the while his mind raising as to why Tim hadn’t called him the minute he was able. His son had apparently collapsed on his way out of Wayne Enterprises and had been quickly rushed off to the hospital.  

If it hadn’t been for the news, if Bruce hadn’t been lazily shifting through the channels; too bored to put on a movie, he might have missed the incident all together.  

His son was in the hospital and he hadn’t been called.  

Maybe he should have asked the receptionist?

He was all his children’s emergency contact number. He should have been notified. Maybe it was an oversight on their part, or maybe Tim had refused to let them call. He was stubborn that way. Still, Bruce frowned, reading the numbers as he quickened his pace.  

Not calling him would result in his boy having no one here with him in his time of need, and that was unacceptable.  

Finally reaching the right room he knocked. Not waiting for an answer, he twisted the doorknob and let himself in. “Tim, kiddo how are you--” he came to an abrupt stop.

Tim wasn’t alone.

Bruce hadn’t expected him to be alone. He’d expected a doctor or a nurse or a medical staff of some kind to be there. What he hadn’t expected however, was Lucius Fox sitting by his son’s bedside chuckling about something while patting Tim’s hair.  

Blinking in surprise, Bruce faltered. And it was then Tim turned around and saw him.

“Bruce!”

“Tim.” He nodded, shaking the wariness off. “Lucius.”

His son smiled up at him. It wasn’t wide, it wasn’t overly sweet but it was friendly and familiar. Still, it wasn’t the one Bruce remembered before his death—It looked foreign on the kid’s face and Tim looked so tired. So very tired, that something at the very depth of Bruce soul ached.  

“What are you doing here?”

For a second Bruce thought the question had left his lips, but it didn’t. Instead his son was looking at him, still a friendly tilt to his lips but confusion crinkling at the corner of his eyes. Bruce frowned back. “I saw the news,” he said stepping closer; fingers coming to rest on the bed railings. “I heard you collapsed at the fundraiser, so I came to check on you.”

“Oh.”

The words come out airy and Tim inclines his head a little. “Wow.... thanks Bruce. That’s really nice of you! But I’m fine. The nurse called Lucius and everything seems to be fine.” Here he turns slightly to smile up at the man next to him. Said man reaching out to ruffle his hair as if it was a second nature. Bruce frown deepen. “I think I just overworked myself.” A shrug. “But the doctor said I could leave so you shouldn’t worry.”  

Overworked....

Bruce hadn’t had the time to check up on his middle son and he knew the kid had been overworking himself, of course he did. Anyone who knew the younger vigilante could tell that he was taking on more work than was heavenly possible, but he’d assumed the kid could handle it. Tim had to have learned to pace himself, right?

Years of working under him and independently most have thought him something. And yet, here he was. Laying on a hospital bed. Face ashen and limbs trembling ever so slightly.

He opened his mouth to say something. To refute Tim’s ability to take care of himself, to drag him home and scold him, but just as he’d made up his mind, Lucius moved. Head tilting downward and arm coming to rest on the younger’s shoulder; squeezing it once before letting it rest there.  

“We’ve talked about this Tim,” he said; voice warm but the stern scolding behind it unmistakable. And by the way Tim looked away in guilt he’d heard it too. “I know our current project is draining all of us, but you need to take a breather every once in a while, son.”

And, Bruce flinches at the last word.  

It’s not even something new, there is nothing specific about the word ‘son’ that almost makes him recoil in anger. Lucius had always talked like that to all his kids. It was normal.  

What wasn’t normal was Tim’s reaction to the word.

His son... his son uncoils as he hears it. Stiff muscles relaxing and face lifting into more of a sheepish smile the minute Lucius addresses him in that familial way and.... and....

Nausea almost rises up Bruce’s throat as Tim practically leans into Lucius. His old friend, running a hand through the matted hair; looking mildly amused yet exasperated. “Tim,” he says, words still stern, but Tim only hums back, pressing his face even further into the businessman’s chest.  

“I know Lucius. I know.”

“Good. Now you understand that I’ll take care of everything while you take a break, right?”

Bruce expects Tim to vehemently deny the suggestion. Refuse the rest and insist that he was fine. That he can handle it. That he’s ok to continue working and ‘I can handle myself Bruce. I don’t need you to worry about me.’ But again, taking Bruce by surprise, all his kid does is nod tiredly into Lucius and mutter a soft ok.  

“I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. Now,” the man says, gently pushing Tim away. “It’s about time to get you home.”

And that’s when Bruce snaps out of the stunned daze that had been keeping him trapped. The overwhelming chaos in his mind momentarily coming to a screeching halt as he raises his hand quicker than his mind can comprehend the action. “I’ll take him.”

Tim startles, but Lucius only fixes him with a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Are you sure?” His fingers are still running through Tim’s hair and Bruce’s stomach flips.  

“I’m sure,” he grits out.

Tim looks back and forth between them, lips pursed in confusion, but when neither seems to want to elaborate, he shrugs and smiles at Bruce. It’s friendly as ever albeit not as happy. Bruce relaxes under it. “Are you sure?”

The echo of the same question, this time from his son’s mouth makes Bruce stomach sink even further, but he tries not to show it. Instead grunting low and nodding. “Yes Tim. It will be no trouble at all.”

The smile turns into a grin and Tim flings the cover off himself. “Great. I’m already discharged so we can go.” Bruce silent question why he was still there if he was already discharged must be too readable, because his son shakes his head; humour dancing in his eyes. “Lucius wouldn’t let me go until he scolded me.” The words come out with an exaggerated incredulity, but the warmth coloring them are unmistakable and Bruce doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like it one it.

And for the life of him, he doesn’t know why that bothers him.

Still, “Let’s go Tim,” he says, waving the kid over with a sharp twist of his wrist while sending Lucius his signature Brucie smile. “We need to get you home.”

He tries to keep up that cheerful persona even has his muscles tense watching Tim; without hesitation lean forward to hug Lucius fox; his friend cupping his son’s face and telling him to call as soon as he’s home safe.  

Even as his son, his son only affords him a tiny smile in comparison to that overly friendly display of affection and he tries to keep the mask on as Lucius reaches out for a handshake, tone light as always but smile just one the side of plastic. “I’ll be seeing you Bruce?”

Bruce nods. “Of course.” He doesn’t let them linger. Putting an arm around Tim’s shoulders and leading him out the door the second the pleasant back and forth is over. “Goodbye Lucius. Say hi to Tam for me!”

---------

They are in the car when it finally hits him.  

“Tim,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot, eyeing his son. “How did Lucius know to come get you? I thought he was still on his week off. He couldn’t have seen your collapse.”

His son pauses on whatever he’s typing on his phone before looking up at him and shrugging. “I told you, the nurse called him.”

“Why?”

Something unpleasant is niggling at the back of his mind and Bruce grips the steering wheel tighter.

Tim shrugs again. Looking utterly confused. “He’s my emergency contact Bruce. I’m sure they saw his name on my medical records or something, I don’t know. It's not the first time they had to call him.”

Bruce freezes.  

Sensing that something most have shifted in the air, Tim stills too.  

But his son is confused. It’s so obvious that Tim doesn’t understand what has upset Bruce. Because the kid is fidgeting, fingers absentmindedly tapping at the back of his phone while his feet are wriggling on the floor. Bruce may have not spent as much time with Tim has he should have lately but he still remembers the kid’s habit, and the fact was that Tim had no idea why this new piece of information had suddenly and violently shattered Bruce’s idea of their relationship.

Breathing in deeply Bruce holds it for ten seconds before letting it out. He does that three times until his heart-rate his back to normal and his fingers don’t feel as clammy anymore.  

“How many times have you ended up at the hospital since my return?” he asks, careful to keep his voice even and his eyes forward. Right now that was the safest question and Bruce desperately wanted to know everything without asking for it directly.

His son flips his phone a couple of times as he mutters nonsense under his breath. “Five times?” he finally answered, sounding unsure even of that. “Maybe seven?”

Bruce’s breath hitches. But he has to know. “And Lucius picked you up every time?”

“Yeah?”

Taking a left turn a bit too sharply than safely allowed, Bruce gritted his teeth. “You couldn’t call me?”

“No?”

Bruce tenses. “Why not?” The mild befuddlement in Tim’s voice only serves to make him even more adamant in fixing this. Them. Whatever this was.  

Whatever that happened to have broken between them to the point that Tim did not even consider him as his emergency contact anymore.

“You were dead,” his son says, sounding amused. “And then you were super busy with your family so I just kept Lucius as my emergency contact.” He looks out the window and shrugs. “It made things less complicating. And...” Here he smiles faintly; a ghost of what his smile used to be but not any less genuine. “Lucius tends to freak out when I don’t call him after an accident so I thought it would be good for him to know.”

There was so much Bruce wanted to address in that answer, so much, but before he’d even had time to formulate his thought Tim spoke up again. “You missed the turn.”

Focusing back on the road, Bruce shook his head. “No I didn’t.” They were fifteen minutes away from home. Bruce wasn’t that old to have forgotten where the manor was located and he tells Tim just that, trying to lighten up the mood.  

It works.

His son barking a high-pitched laughter only to slap a hand across his mouth, failing to muffle the sound.  

Bruce can’t help but smile at the action.

“Don’t worry Bruce. You’re still a couple of years away from the gray hairs.”

“Just a couple?”

Tim grins. “Yes a couple. For real though Bruce. My apartment is only a couple of blocks away. You need to take the next turn coming up or we will have to take the long way back.”

Bruce’s heart stops. “Your apartment?” He hadn’t even thought of his son not coming home with him.

Sure Tim hadn’t been at the manor for months, but that’s because he was busy and Bruce had so much on his hands with the rest of his kids.  

Working on getting to know them and catching up with the life he’d missed. He understandable hadn’t had time for his middle son, but that didn’t mean his kid didn’t have a home with them anymore. And with him sick, surely he would want Alfred’s cooking and a nice bed to sleep in with family surrounding him on all sides? “Don’t you want to see Alfred and your siblings again?”

Tim doesn’t miss a beat. In fact he sounds very sure of himself. “Course I do Bruce. But I’m pretty tired and I don’t feel like dealing with all the noise and death threats and stuff. So please drop me off at my apartment.”

Death threats?

Was he talking about Damian?  

Didn’t Tim know that Damian had become a lot more mellow ever since his return? Sure his youngest hadn’t always been the nicest to Tim, but for Tim to hold those minor strife against him and use that as an excuse to avoid the manor? Bruce frowned.  

He had thought better of his Robin.  

“I’m sure they miss you son,” he says, leveling his second youngest with a look. “Why don’t you come and stay for dinner at least.”

Tim is already shaking his head before he can even finish the sentence. “No can-do Bruce. I need to rest, and I’ve got other plans today so maybe another time?”

It’s one of Tim’s ‘there is no arguing with me tone’. A tone Bruce had learned not to ignore in his years of trying to get Tim out of his shell, so despite the insistent need of having his son near clawing at his throat, he resists.  

Still....

“Tomorrow it is then,” he says, taking the turn as it appears. “Alfred will be delighted.”

Tim looks startled, but a blank mask quickly descends over his features and he shrugs again. “Sure Bruce. I can work with that.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up.”

“There’s really no nee-”

“Tim,” he says. “I’ll pick you up.”

His son nods and turns away to stare out the window, a tiny amused smile curling around his lips.

The rest of the drive is taken in silence and Bruce, well Bruce, no matter how many times he opens and closes his mouth is not able to say anything. He can’t manage to strike up a conversation. Can’t for the life of him even remember a topic of interest he can discuss with his kid that doesn’t revolve around work.

God, when was the last time he’d had a sit down with his middle son and just talked?

He’d talked to Dick early this morning.  

A quick reminder not to forget their movie night and a hair ruffle as his son had escaped his hold and skipped up the stairs. Jason he’d talked to just an hour before he’d seen Tim on the news. Complimenting his second oldest on how great of a baker he was and as for Damian and Cass and Duke and Steph.... he could distinctly remember the many conversations he’d had with them this week. The exasperation, the annoyance, the fondness..... he remembered it all. So why couldn’t he recall the last time he and Tim talked?

How long had it been?

A huff of laughter startles him out of his chain of thoughts and he looks over. Sees that Tim is on his phone, typing away with the largest and most impish grin on his face. Bruce heart tightens.  

When was the last time he’d seen Tim so happy?

‘In the hospital,’ a traitorous voice hisses in the back of his mind. ‘With Lucius Fox.’ Bruce elects to ignore it. Instead coughing lightly and avert his gaze.

“Who’re you talking to?”

Tim takes a second to type something back before he chuckles again and grins up at Bruce. “It’s just Kon. Bart is doing something stupid and he doesn’t know how to handle it.”

Bruce tries to smile; it turns out more like a grimace. Tim doesn’t notice, being too busy grinning at his phone. “You’re still close then?”

“Of course,” his son scoffs, looking incredulously up at him. “Why wouldn’t we be? Just because they died doesn’t mean they aren’t my friends anymore?”

‘I died and you seem fine without me,’ Bruce wants to snap, but he doesn’t. He would not let himself stoop that low. Not when Tim was slowly slipping out of his hands and he didn’t know what to do to keep him there.  

“That’s good.” he says instead; his smile a little bit more genuine this time. “I’m glad.”

“Thanks Bruce. Oh!” Bruce looks over and Tim is pointing out the window. “We’re here. Just park in that spot thanks.”

Bruce tightens his grip around the wheel and does as told. Almost holding his breath as he comes to a stop. It’s as if his body is expecting something, anything. Something that will make everything ok. Fix what was broken and bring them back to how they used to be. Bring back the Tim that needed him, the Tim that wanted to spend time with him but...

“Goodnight Bruce!” And with those few words, Tim is out the door and steadily vanishing behind cars; a last enthusiastic wave all that he leaves behind. Bruce doesn’t know for how long he sits there in the parking lot. Hands on the wheel and teeth chewing at his lips, but by the time he finally pulls out and begins the drive home, his mind has been made up.

He was going to get Tim back. Whatever it took.  

He wasn’t ready to lose his son.  

@miss-choco-chips wanted to write a fic where Tim wasn’t the one angsting and it was actually Bruce while Tim was fine with his wholeass new family and Bruce was left floundering. Hope you like it. Kinda nervous since all your new fics are literally the best thing that ever happened to me.

@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen New Tim fic I wrote. Hope it’s your cup of tea. This time Bruce be angsting.

[solarcelest]

escape route

Day #8

It was one of those horrid, much dreaded nights. The type that comes only once a month and somehow that still seems to be way too often. None of the family took too well to attending Fathers galas, all doing their best to produce excuses and reasons to warrant their absence. Most get away with it, especially Dick and Jason since the public are aware that the oldest Wayne has his own, separate life in Bludhaven and the second eldest is hardly ever in the public eye. He wished that Richard were there, he at least would wave off some of the offending hands and, unlike the unfortunate Cass, the irritating miscreants surrounding him would listen to the five foot eleven man. For now however he was there to suffer, with some of the other members of his family who seemed to have more of a difficulty cultivating excuses to escape these horrid gatherings.

Cassandra, the only official female member of the Wayne family, was absolutely adored by the press. There were more gossip magazines and new articles about his sister than Damian was able to make himself aware of (no matter how hard he tried to keep up on all the tabloids about his siblings). The public was always going on about how what a beautiful young lady she is (something Cass doesn’t particularly appreciate) and how everyone knows she will grow up to do great things for the world and about how great she is for the family.

Tim, being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises is therefore obligated to attend nearly every company event (except for the many he doesn't) and always does his ‘best’ to show.

Such a surprise he was not there tonight.

He was, Damian does have to credit him, at the gala for a brief time earlier in the evening. But, the city calls and with the Bats already short staffed and Tim neck deep in a nearly solved case, he had checked out early to go on patrol.

Oh, how envious Damian was of him. He was getting antsy, crowded into this (really not so) small room with so many intolerable people.

Damian was similar to Cass. Through the oh so innocent eyes of the public, ten year old Damian Wayne was nothing more than a poor abused child who was always clinging to his family members like shadows. Just a little kid who had been beaten and abandoned by his mother for the first decade of his life before being left to the father who wasn’t even aware of his existence.

And, well, Damian did have to give them a few points for accuracy.

The thing they didn’t have the right, however, the fact they had absolutely incredibly wrong was the assumption that Damian Wayne was cute. Which, to anyone idiotic enough to have to question that fact, was not.

Still, the rich snobs who occupied the event hall seemed to believe otherwise with how often they approached simply to coo and attempt to ruffle his still baby soft raven hair or pinch his, only slightly, chubby cheeks. Damian, who was not the biggest fan of physical contact already, disliked the constant attention from the ogling strangers and thus was his reason for tagging so close to Cassandra that night.

The two stood as they were, would probably make the front page, or at least popular photo the following day. Cassandra, who, even at her short stature stood nearly a foot above Damian, had each of her hands placed on either of shoulders. The boy was nearly rigid beneath her slender fingers, anxious from the crowd around him and the constant touching and pestering. She herself wasn’t much better but still, be older and the current big sister kept her discomfort to herself and helped to ground her brother.

They made their way off to the side, standing a ways away from the denser areas of the crowd in order to breath again. Pulling cover a chair, Cass motioned for her little brother to take a seat.

“Going to help Bruce.” She said, gesturing to where he was being bombarded with Vicky Bales never ending questions. She then turned back to Damian before pointing to the food tables not far to his right. “Eat.” She said, before sauntering off, her black dress flowing behind her.

Damian watched, more than a little jealous that at least she had something to go and do before he sighed and headed over to the food tables. He want necessarily hungry, he was trained to run in very little nutrients (much to Pennyworth disliking) but decided to at least see what was available.

Most of the items in the spread were finger foods, small sized appetizers and tapas that were meant to be grabbed and easily snacked on, not like the three course meal that was planned to come later in the night. There were a few different things though, a chocolate fountain that dripped lazily and cheese fondue. Damian sighed at both of the rather fattening choices, opting instead for one of the oranges resting in the fruit bowl.

He grabbed a dull steak knife then, the only blade near him that was not secured to his hip by a holster or tucked into his sock, resting the fruit on a plate set on the table before going about cutting it. He realized how hungry he actually was then, his stomach growling in response to the fresh smell of the fruit.

He had only altered his focused to his plate momentarily but, as it seemed, a second was all it had taken. Suddenly, all too quickly, there was a breath on his neck and a voice in his ear. It was sweet, sickly and male. The exact kind of things his father and siblings had always warned to watch for at events like these.

Bold of them to assume that Damian wasn’t always watching.

“Hungry?” Was all the voice asked. Yet the simple question carried so much weight and implied all the wrong intentions. Damian jumped, shocked by the voice and even more so by what was said. As he startled, the knife slipped, fingers moistened by the fruit juice, the handle slipping easily through them.

The blade, no longer in his control, cut down into the orange once again. But this time it was too far forward, too near his other hand and cut through the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

The cut was jagged, the blade too dull to slice evenly and blood began to seep from the wound almost immediately. Acidic oils from the citrus began to sting at the cut, causing a burning sensation to add to the pain.

Damian saw his opening.

After staring at this hands in offense, easily mistaken for shock by a bystander, he promptly burst into tears. It was humiliating, most definitely and he could nearly feel his pride dwindling on the spot, but Damian thought that was an okay payment if it meant he able to leave this wretched event even a little bit early.

Turning around and sliding past the creep, only after wiping just enough blood on the man's coat to mark the offender, Damian made a beeline towards his father and Cassandra. The buffet table, though out of the way, was still close enough to where the crowd was more congested, that numerous heads had already turned to see the source of the sound. Father was included, the man tall amongst the other elites, was brushing by them as he hurried past.

Damian met Father in the middle. By this time, the crowd had begun to form around them, interested in the cause of the scene. Damian had salty tears running down his soft cheeks and snot collecting in his upper lip. The perfect picture of a distraught child, he nearly smiled at his own perfected acting skills.

“What’s the matter, son? What happened?” Father asked as he kneeled down. Even then, he was slightly taller than Damian. Father was a large man.

Damian sniveled, offering his bloodied hand for observation. Father took it gingerly and began to gently prod at Damian’s minuscule fingers.

Damian had suffered much worse during his training and on patrol and was well aware that Father knew he was playing this up. Like, a lot. Presumably, the ‘world's greatest detective’ also knew his sons motives.

“I-I was c-cutting an orange a-and someone snuck up b-behind m-me!” He gasped, sucking in large gulps of air between his sobs, just as he had seen the misbehaved children and the park do.

Perfect.

“What man?” Father inquiered, looking around at the crowd. Damian reeled, pointing a shaking finger at the man accusingly. He still wore his suit jacket, a red swipe of Damian’s blood across the pocket, he was also turning to walk away. Only guilty men attempted to escape. Father nodded to Jim Gordon, who had been running security at that nights event, before turning back to Damian.

“I think this needs stitches.” He said, grabbing a cloth napkin to press against Damian’s hand. “Come on, we’ll go to Leslie’s.” And then, much to Damian’s surprise, Father lifted Damian by his underarms and rested the ten year old on his hip, motioning to Cassandra to follow. Damian stiffened, unused to the feeling of being held like this, of his feet dangling above the ground even though he was not in shackles. Father didn’t seem to mind though, and was able to easily support Damian’s small weight on only a single arm.

From over Father’s shoulder, Damian could see the other guests of the gala stare at the trio as they left the hall. Most of their faces held concern, some confusion at Bruce’s relatively calm hold on the rather bloody situation. Damian ceased his tears as the crowd became smaller, but hid his face in the collar of Bruce’s coat nonetheless. He never liked the feeling of eyes boring into him, of having all the attention on him when he was out as a civilian. It was unnerving, even if he would never admit it.

Bruce hadn’t said anything about the incident as they left, but Cassandra sent her brother a knowing look. Damian knew he would not be getting out of giving his sister the full run through of tonight's events later in the evening. He had a feeling he would not be in trouble though. After all, as a civilian child, a cut such as so would have them heading for the hospital whether he played it up or not. He was only staying in character acting as he was.

Father had acted well too, playing the part of the concerned parent and comforting Damian. No doubt it would be the top headline by the following morning, pictures everywhere.

Pennyworth was waiting by the main entrance for them, a gauze wrap in his hands for a temporary bandage.

Cass was looking at Damian again, a soft smile on her lips as Pennyworth began to wrap the tender cut. Father had yet to put him down and Damian was beginning to wonder why. After all, he hadn’t really been in danger and, even if he had been, Damian was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you.  

But, even as Pennyworth secured the wrap and the buildings staff opened the door for them Father did not loosen his hold. And still, when they stepped into the cool autumn air, Father went further as to place a hand on Damian's back and honestly, the boy couldn’t tell whether the act had been continued for the sake of the few valets tending the entrance or, if it was simply just a dad, looking for an excuse to hold his son.

read on Ao3 instead

[currentfandomkick]

thank @stareyedmoonchild and their post  Mid Day Thoughts for the quick fic

It started out as a joke in class--since she managed a collection around the Chinese new year and all the known miraculous (courtesy of Alya asking Ladybug and Chat in an interview), for their Gotham trip it was a challenge to do an outfit for each member of batfam the students could identify.

as it stood, she had a list of the following: Robin, Red Robin, Batgirl, and Batman. They decided Nightwing was more of a general hero since he kept jumping cities, while the others were deemed “uncertain’’. The Sirens.were a toss up, Red Hood was deemed a murdering vigilante and the others were only whispers on the internet. 

Marinette would have done one for what must have been a Batman inspired hero going by Black Black in China, but her challenge was Gotham-active only.

Day one was Robin day. She had done her research and combined what she liked and altered it to her taste while still being distinctly ‘Robin’. First layer was a black thermal. Next was a short sleeveless  red cheongasm with detailing to mimic the current Robin’s tunic, with the signature R in its usual place. Next was the cape, gold interior with an iridescent black exterior that fluttered past her waist, with a quick release just in case, all with a hood attached because it does get cold in Gotham.. Lastly thick dark green tights and a pair of green tinted black boots completed the look for her first day in Gotham. 

The class did ooo and ah over the end result, until Lila called it cosplay. 

Ignoring the challenge was issued by the head of the school’s fashion program.

She was not expecting to get grabbed by Riddler and Two-Face during lunch. Or for pair to broadcast it to Gotham.

“Batman, if you want your Robin back, come and get her!”

Riddler was issuing his clues while Two-face and his goons kept watch over her.

She could feel Tikki shaking in her hood, but couldn’t talk back without getting unwanted attention.

--

Bruce didn’t know what to do with the broadcast. He didn’t have another Robin? Damian was the only one that wanted the mantel.

That didn’t stop his family from running into his office with various levels of confused and betrayed faces.

“Again!”

“Master Bruce, it would be wise to cease the surprise adoptions and tell us when new family members have been acquired.”

“Damnit Bruce! You can’t help yourself when it comes to blue eyed raven haired children! Stop fucking up their lives!”

“B, what the hell.”

Bruce pinched his forehead.

“Father I will not stand to be replaced!”

That did it. the room was silent at the now fifteen year old Damian’s accusation.

“I haven’t adopted anyone.”

“Yet” grumbled Jason, watching the feed over Tim’s shoulder.

“Say, do  you go by Robinette?” one of the goon was heard asking.

The girl scrunched up her nose at that. “qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec les américans? je ne suis pas un "Robin" ou l'un de vos héros.” (What is wrong with Americans? I am not a "Robin" or one of your heroes."

Tim rubbed his head. “She’s a foreigner.”

“Leave in 5,  Babs and Tim watch the feed.”

That settled the group, for the most part. until the girl said something very long that caused TIm to start wheezing.

“"Bien que vous ayez le même QI collectif que mes camarades de classe. Ce qui n'est qu'impressionnant dans le fait que le bambin moyen a plus de sens qu'eux lors d'une bonne journée."  * ( Though you do have the same collective IQ as my classmates. Which is only impressive in the fact that the average toddler has more sense than them on a good day.)

“She just dragged her class and her captors!”

the group paused at that. Bruce decided he’d look into it after the girl was out of harm’s way.

“Can we please just save the poor girl, She must be terrified.”

“Don’t think so. She just told Riddler ‘i have seen better color coordination from baby August, whoever that is, than from this poor excuse for grown men’ Are we sure we’re not getting a new sister?”

“I will begin preparing the room Master Bruce will inevitably request.”

--

Marinette rolled her eyes as the ‘batfam’ entered and Riddler and Two-face turned between her and Robin.

“Batman, I think you might have a case of Serial Adopter worse Bruce Wayne.”

That caused Red Hood to cackle. 

It distracted the man holding her just enough for her to get out of his grip a kick the man in the face. here

The room froze as they saw Marinette huff, turn to face Two-Face and grabbed the gun from his hand and threw it elsewhere. “Si tu vas me battre ce ne sera pas avec ça!”

“Uh, Red Robin, translate.”

“ ‘If you are going to fight me, it won’t be with’ that.”

They watched  during their own battles as the girl then threw Two-Face over her shoulder like it was nothing. 

“Father, I change my mind, she may join us.”

The girl looked over at that and raised an eyebrow. “J'ai une vie.” (I do have a life.) she took down another goon as she said, “mais merci pour l'offre.” (but thank you for the offer). The girl wiped her hands as she said “Mais Paris est ma maison, et quelqu'un doit aider avec le problème d'akuma.” (But paris is my home, and someone has to help with the akuma problem.)

Damian walked over to her, offering his hand. “Robin. Why are you dressed like me?”

“Marinette. Je dessine, et on m'a dit de faire des tenues pour les héros gotham choisis par mes camarades de classe.”  Marinette shrugged then gestured to her outfit. " Celui-ci était pour ta journée.”

“Hey, Replacement, translate.”

“She designs, had to make outfits inspired by us.”

“Non, choisis par mes camarades de classe. Sinon, j'aurais dû concevoir pour chaque membre du batfam et Sirens"”

“My mistake, her classmates chose who. apparently she’d have siren designs and one for each of us otherwise---speaking of, who did you design for, out of curiosity?”

Red Hood tried to move closer to her then, suddenly seeing into her hood. “Oh my--MDC!”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “Oui.” 

Red Robin began.... hyperventilating? She wasn’t sure. 

Nightwing was swearing then, something about a bet--her English was good but not enough for fast mumbling.

Robin rolled his eyes. “I apologize for my father’s other partners. Now, you said something about an akuma problem....”

the rest of the night was spent with Marinette talking to the Gotham Police about the incident, with Robin staying close to her to translate as Red Robin was too busy acting like her over Jagged Stone before she met him.

“est-il toujours comme ça?“ Marinette pointed to Red Robin, who had yet to calm down from the earlier revelation.

“No, he’s usually a professional zombie.”

Marinette laughed at that. Somehow Robin ended up escorting her back to the hotel.

“Girl, we were so worried!” Alya hugged her. “You shouldn’t go off on your own just because you’re jealous that Lila’s dating Damian Wayne and you can’t even confess to Adrien without something going wrong, or him dating someone else or--” Alya then noticed Robin, right there and still hadn’t given her the time to point out she and Adrien were friends now or that Lila lied to get her expelled once and that she didn’t go off on her own, Bustier didn’t do a head check before leaving the coffee shop. “Can i get a picture!”

Robin was glaring... she didn’t know why though. “No. I hope you don’t get caught up in anything else during your stay here Marinette.” with that he left.

Marinette rubbed her temples, eventually making her way to her room.

--

Later Damian would snap at his brothers about Marinette not being his girlfriend or dreaded crush, and that she already has someone she likes and can they please focus on the akuma problem the girl mentioned?

--

Marinette tuned out Lila as she gushed about dating ‘Damiboo’ while Adrien thanked her for not causing a scene despite wanting to with his eyes on their way to their next destination. Only because she wanted a peaceful day.

During their hour of the Wayne Gardens Poison Ivy--one of the Sirens--walked over to her.

“So do I get an outfit too?”

Marinette sighed, twirling slighting in the batgirl outfit. “Outvoted on that one. If you feel any better, only the Robins, Batgirl and Batman were deemed real and heroes.”

Ivy hummed at that, watching Marinette work out a design. “But if i did, this I think a formal dress like this is what iId do.” 

the dress used Ivy’s old plant bustier as the base for a ballgown’s bust. The bustier on it was black with various shades of green vines and leaf patterns embroidered onto it. the skirt was an explosion of various plants and flowers found in the Wayne Garden.

Ivy smiled, walked off and sent out a tweet. 

Gotham, I elect we keep #notRobinette. If Batman won’t train her, I will.

--

It was later in the day that Marinette and her class would find out the #notRobinette tag was not only trending, but that there was now a twitter war between the Sirens and the entire Batfam for custody of Marinette.

Lila glared at her for it. 

--

A day later Lila was apparently sent a cease and desist from Wayne Industries and a warning that if she continued lying about the Waynes, she would be sued. 

Apparently Robin mentioned what Lila was saying to Batman, who is known to be the Wayne’s savior, and probably told them.

Marinette says probably as Damian appeared with Dick Grayson-Wayne to deliver them, and noted his measurements were awfully similar to Robin’s... and he was glaring at Lila identically to how Robin had glared Alya.

Before the pair left, Dick asked if his family could commission her, and if she could come in the Batman outfit for that one, please?

Alya answered for her. “She’d love to, right, Marinette!”

--

Somehow Adrien weaseled his way into coming with her--”For protection. And to stop you from getting adopted--there’s already two groups after m’lady, I can’t bear the thought of them taking you away from us all!”

“No kitty, “ Marinette booped him on the nose. “You can’t stand being stuck with Liar Rossi, your father and facing Hawkmoth without my baking.”

“And creative commentary on their outfits.”

“Hawkmoth is a terrorist and can’t handle even basic designs. He will rue the day he akumatized Nino, almost killed the adult population AND forced us all to witness that atrocity that was Bubbler’s outfit.”

The limo driver, Alfred, raised an eyebrow at that comment.

“Okay, that one was bad. Still want to know what he’d put you in though.”

“And if only for that reason, i refuse to be akumatized. Lila can try, but she is not going to get me there again.”

“Again?”

“uh, confessions later, work now?”

“M’lady...”

“Another time Chaton.”

--

Somehow the Waynes were easy for her to handle... Once Bruce was not staring at her like she was a ghost  and the howling clan that made up his kids (oddly the same number as the extended Batfam... and many with similar measurements to).

Except for Damian who was not answering her questions for his suit.

Instead he was glaring at Adrien, who was destroying Tim at a fighter game in her stead while asking “Why is he here?”

“Kitty, care to explain yourself!”

That had the room looking at the pair. 

“What did i do this time?”

“Follow me to work.”

“I am not letting you end up in a three-way adoption war in Gotham. When we’re in Paris its my job to deal with  being the fouht-over adoptee with yours and Nino’s families, and the Couffaines, and yours to watch father and Audrey and Aunt Amele argue over who discovered you while we sneak off to check up on how Kagami’s holding up.”

That had the room stare at them.

“There you have it, my best friend is convinced if he lets me out of his sight, one of the hero groups will kidnap me this time.”

“To be fair, it isn’t your first time being kidnapped, its just, not Paris so its worse.”

“Not your first time being kidnapped!” Dick yelled

The pair shurgged. “Akumas.”

“I’m pretty sure that Evillustrator started the kidnapping trend.”

“Does it count when its a date and I’m tricking him to get his akumatized object?”

“I think so, but Sabrina’s better on legal things like that.”

The Wanyes exchanged a look. 

“Plus, you get damseled more than me. especially is Lila’s involved.”

“We do not speak the devil’s name, it summons her.”

“We’re not in Paris, whatever magic side effects of  working with Hawkmoth isn’t around Chaton.”

When the Waynes (eventually) were caught up on the conversation, Bruce and the others exchanged a look.

They were adopting both of them. And the pair were definately the Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Dick patted Damian’s back when they left. “First heartbreak is the worst.”

Damian punched him.

--

Robin visited Marinette before the class left. 

“I was told to inform you i will be in Paris to assist your heroes. Please inform them however you communicate with them.”

Marinette nodded. She texted Adrien what happened, unaware they confirmed the batfam’s suspicions.

--

In Paris Robin was shocked to learn that Chat Noir was dating Ryuko, and that Ladybug set them up as civilians. He also learned that Ladybug and Marinette saw Adrein and Chat as a little brother.

And Chat and Adiren may have told both Robin and Damian that if they hurt Ladybug or Marinette, he would disappear.

It didn’t stop him from asking her out, or her from saying yes.

And it definately didn’t stop Alfred from telling Bruce that he cannot adopt her as Damian is handling her joining the family (over Dick’s cheers, Jason’s taunts and Tim and the girl’s teasing while Duke whispered “since when can he have a crush? i thought he said those were distractions.’)

--

Years later Damian did propose. In front of where they first met as Robin and #notRobinette.

---

Hope you enjoyed!

[tgwltw]

What’s next?

Hi, thanks for sending in this request! I really liked the idea and I might have gotten side-tracked for a bit there but I feel a bit unsatisfied about how this turned out - I wanted to write a longer version for this but perhaps, maybe next time. That aside, the drabble might get confusing so I apologize in advance for that! Hope you enjoy this nevertheless! 

request: Could you please write a scenario where Reader and Damian are classmates at Gotham Academy but she doesn’t know him very well because she’s intimidated by him and who his father is. she somehow travels to the future and sees that they’re married and have kids, however when she goes back to the past, she avoids him because she’s confused but somehow that only caused her to bump into Damian every time

It takes some sort of bizarre incident for you to stumble on a sight that you still don’t quite know how to wrap your head around - or rather, what you had stumbled upon had caused you to trip over your own two feet and fall flat on your ass.

The noise from your fall had attracted the two persons that had been making out in front of you and just when you think you could not be surprised even further, the moment your eyes land on the faces staring right back at you, your jaw drops to the floor and you suddenly feel like you can’t breathe because what is going on??

“Beloved, I reckon you ought to calm her down.” Damian Wayne - the same Damian Wayne who is your current classmate at Gotham Academy and the one you tend to avoid like a plague because he makes you feel very intimidated - motions for an older version of you towards you and you blink a couple of times as you watch the older you pull away from Damian’s embrace and suddenly you feel like you can’t breathe. “Tt. You have yet to break out from that habit of yours, I see.”

She chuckles and pads over towards you but with everything that you had just gone through, your first instinct had been to run but since there is really not a lot of strength in your legs, you simply scramble backwards in your haste to run away - that is until your back and head hits the wall behind you as you continue to stare at the older you. As much as you would love to deny this person in front of you, you know you cannot: it’s like staring into the mirror. But what’s on the very front of your mind is not the fact that you probably time-traveled or hit your head hard enough for you to be imagining all of this, but rather, the fact that you have just seen yourself making out heavily with Damian Wayne.

“I thought you would have arrived earlier, you know.” The smile on her face would probably have been reassuring if it was directed to someone else but since it was from you to… you, it just feels very disconcerting and the next thing you know, your eyes slid shut and you fainted, falling sideways.

You wake up to the sound of hushed whispers and someone poking you lightly every now and then. You shift slightly and suddenly the whispers and poking instantaneously stop and that is when you notice that you are on a very comfortable bed (one that you are sure does not belong to you) and it causes you to panic slightly. So you slowly open your eyes and sit up, blinking a couple of times.

“She does look like mother after all.”

That voice caught you by surprise - so much so, you jumped slightly on the bed, grabbing on to the duvet, pulling it closer to your chest. Your eyes land on the identical twins who are standing by the bed, flanking you on the right and left. If it wasn’t for the fact that you are too shocked by the revelation that you have kids with Damian Wayne (and that you are probably married to him too), you would have cooed at how adorable the twins are.

“But younger than mother, brother.” She corrects her twin and the boy nods his head curtly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. A shiver goes down your spine at how eerily similar the boy is with Damian.

“Tt.” He stares at you. “You are our mother from the past, yes?” He turns back to you but before you can actually open your mouth to say anything, there is a knock on the door and she walks in, Damian trailing behind her.

“Ah, it’s nice to know that you are awake. Hope these two,” She glances at the twins, “Didn’t wake you up.” The twins quickly share a look with each other before gathering at the end of the bed, eyes still on you. “I think it was probably too much information being dumped on you.” She chuckles sheepish, stopping a few feet away from the bed. “But fret not, babe, you will be sent back to your own time in about five minutes so if you have any questions, shoot.”

You open your mouth with the intent of asking a question only to close your lips, swallowing the words - this happened a few times - and despite the many questions running in your mind, you just can’t seem to find your voice. Your fish-out-of-the-water look might have been a huge indicator because after that, your older self lets out a giggle.

Giving her twins one last side-glance, she stares at you and a smile forms on her lips. “I think some introductions are in order; my name is Y/N Wayne and as you know, this big teddy bear here is my husband, Damian Wayne and these two rascals are the infamous Wayne twins.”

You stare at the family in front of you; Damian definitely did not like being called a teddy bear, what with the glower on his face and the twins seemed oddly proud at being called ‘infamous’. Then your brain finally caught up to her words and your jaw drops the tiniest bit; ‘this big teddy bear here is my husband’. Those words ring in your ears and you could not help but stare at them.

“All of this might seem very overwhelming but trust me, there is a reason why every single thing happens and I wish there was a way that I could show you how happily I live but we are probably running out of time.” She turns to look at Damian for confirmation and he nods his head curtly. She then turns to look back at you. “Y/N, there is one thing I want you to know though..” She then proceeds to lean in very close to your ears and when she pulls back, she chuckles at the sudden shock on your face but before anyone can really do anything, you disappeared.

“What did you tell Y/N?” Damian wraps an arm around his wife’s waist loosely. “It escaped my mind just how terrified you were of me back then.” He mutters but it was loud enough for the twins to hear.

“Mother, you were afraid of father?” Damian scoffs at his son’s disbelieved tone.

She pulls away from Damian’s embrace to get down on both of her knees, pulling both of her twins in to her arms. “It was such a long time I go - I am definitely not afraid of your father anymore.” She points out.

“What did you tell her anyway?” Damian tries to ask nonchalantly but since she knows Damian like the back of her own hand, she knew Damian’s curiosity is going to burn hard.

She looks up at him and Damian catches sight of the cheeky grin he absolutely adores. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

[aspiratinganxiety]

Bat Boy Headcanons Bed Partners

We are looking at the batboys as bed partners. Not necessary with a focus on NSFW themes, but they’re there.

Dick:

-Blanket. Hog.

-Say it one more time, all together now, this man is a blanket hog. After many a night waking with shivers and losing the battle to wrest a sliver of your bedspread to cover yourself (good God, what is his grip strength?), you begin to keep an old comforter at the end of the bed. When it’s time to sleep, if Dick happens to be staying over, you split the blankets in two. He can have the top sheet and the fluffy, fancy duvet. You’re fine curled up in the worn floral cotton cover that had been on your bed in girlhood. Warmth is warmth, Martha Stewart home-goods be damned.  

-The added comforter makes for awkward, bulky snuggling. You tried to maintain the post-coital sleep cuddles a handful of times, but with the burrowing nature of the sleeping Richard, spooning through the night was abandoned in favor of pressing your backs together. Most times, sex or no sex, you take a shower and emerge to find him curled under the fancy covers facing the wall. You know he’s not sleeping, but you both pretend. By the time you’ve gone for a shower, everything that needed saying was said. You creep into bed and settle in. Slowly, wordlessly, you inch together until the lengths of both your bodies are pressed tightly against one another. He even points his toes.

-Bless him.

-In the morning, fucking morning glory jostles you a few times before rolling his entire body weight over you to “squish you awake.” He chuckles and coos at your angry huffs and groans. Asshole.

-He makes you breakfast to make up for the squishing. Gross whole-grain related hot cereal breakfasts, but whatever. He didn’t hafta’ make it, and that’s what counts.

-You’re not a morning person, by nature. The inherent conflict between someone with your night owl tendencies and his cheery, perky, frighteningly sunny disposition before noon tends to cause friction. At least… you expected it to cause friction. In actuality, he’s just infectiously chipper? It’s hard to stay upset when your house smells like brown sugar and fresh fruit and he’s all smiley.

-Damn him.

Jason:

-This poor boy generates more heat than a top of the line WE radiator. We’re talking damp sheets and a bunched up comforter kicked to the foot of the bed every frickin’ night. You own pajamas. You used to sleep in pajamas. Now you’re too damn hot. Not in a fun, hot and bothered way. No. Hot in the “Jason, I swear to God, if you don’t get your heavy, sweaty arm off of me, I’m kicking you” sort of way.

-For the most part, he doesn’t really sleep. At least, you don’t think he does. He seems to nap in quick bursts, but will stay with you through the night without protest or excuse when asked.

-He sleeps so hard when he rarely slips past his usual doze to full unconsciousness that it doesn’t really matter what you say, nothing can be done. You are trapped in the crushing embrace of your sweaty boyfriend.

-At least he mostly smells good, cigarette breath aside.

-You like cuddling. Previous boyfriends had requested separate blankets or a pillow wall because, Jesus, you are a monster. What Jason does cannot be called cuddling. It’s huddling. He huddles you.

-Your back to his chest. One bicep under your neck and, somehow, that same forearm is positioned in a bar back over your chest so your cheek sits on his elbow. Is it still a headlock if done out of affection?

-You don’t know.

-The other arm gets tossed over your belly. It fastens your torsos together with a firm hold kept in place because he burrows that hand beneath your hip. When he takes deep breaths you’re sort of squeezed. It’s a happy turn of events that you aren’t claustrophobic.

-You’re not sure what happens to your legs. You’ve never managed a look down at them while being huddled. Suffice to say that they are not your own.

-When you absolutely have to extract yourself from him, a lot of squirming is involved. 100% honesty, you have elbowed him awake. You had half an hour before work and were dangerously close to pissing your scant pjs.

-Drastic times, yo.

-On the nights when he just naps, mornings are whatever. The huddling is not at DEFCON 1 levels of nuclear crisis, so you just slip out of bed with some wiggling and start getting ready for the day. Within 30-45 minutes, he drags himself out of bed and gloomily sucks down the coffee you offer to him.

-The morning of the elbowing incident he stayed in bed. You haven’t talked about it.

 Tim:

-The first time you invited Tim over to stay the night, you tucked yourself in while he was hunched at the foot of your bed working on some big project for his company. When you woke up he… he was at the foot of your bed clacking away on that project. He had not moved. He had not slept.

-Like, thanks Edward. I totally invited you over so that you could watch me snore and drool on my pillow instead of fall into a similar state of vulnerable unconsciousness as a relationship building exercise.

-I’m not inviting you back.

-You do invite him back. You also impound his laptop, his tablet, and his smartphone after 11:30 and physically wrestle him into bed. He resists. Desperately.

·         “I have to finish that in the next  36 hours. I don’t have time for sleep.”

·         “But I’m working on a project for Bruce! I can’t stop until it’s finished.”

·         “I took a long nap today. I’m not sleepy.” (Spoken as he yawns.)

It almost reminds you of tucking your kid brother in when he was spoiled and four, but you don’t want your brain making those kinds of connections, and wait… what? No.

-He falls asleep in exactly 23 minutes. Yes, you timed it. If that’s creepy, you don’t care.

-Once actually bedded, Tim is a pretty ideal sleeping partner. No snoring. No copious drool. Mild mumbling here and there when repositioned. You even manage to arrange the both of you into one of those cute couples’ sleeping positions from the movies with your head all on his chest and his nose resting in your hair.

-It is comfortable for 10 minutes, then you move because your arm is asleep and your neck sort of hurts.

-When you wake up, he is gone. There is fresh coffee in your kitchen and also a note signed with the extremely professional full signature of Timothy Drake. You don’t know what to make of that, and honestly, the fact that it is sitting so neatly beneath a sloppily drawn heart doodle serving as the “sincerely” only serves to further confuse you at such an early hour.

-Nights with Tim are always one of these two options: he is up doing some ungodly thing on the internet or sleeping like a rock that somehow rises gracefully before the dawn and never, never wakes you up to say goodbye.

 Damian (obviously, significantly older):

-He is surprisingly calm? You are a bundle of nerves strapped into the fourth pair of pajamas you tried on before leaving the closet, and he’s just standing there in pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt staring at you like, “What the hell took so long? Please tell me you know how to dress yourself by this age.”

-Every time it is like this. This is not the first time you have slept beside him, but you just want to tie yourself into a knot and die because, oh my GOD, why is he so  p r e t t y?  

-Your roles in this relationship are utterly reversed every time it comes down to crawling under some covers. Unfortunately, he even does awkward with more grace than you. Where he usually is painfully formal and stilted in old fashioned ways that amuse you to no end, you’re just like… a mess. A hot mess in blue striped pajamas brimming with nervous giggles and a distinct lack of eye contact.

-He insists that you sleep on the wall side. When you ask, horrified by a premonition of you crushing him in the middle of the night trying to scramble for the bathroom half-asleep, he patiently explains for the seventh time that he has made an honor-bound promise to protect you. You cannot sleep on the outer edge of the bed. If there were to be an assailant, they would have easy access to you while he was hindered by an inferior position deeper within the gully of the mattress.

-Yup. Used the exact words “gully of the mattress.”

-What were you worried about? He’s still your scrub. A pretty scrub, but an awkward scrub who cannot hold a conventional conversation in a bucket with a speech guide.

-When your strange, flighty demeanor calms into your more usual behavior, you settle in nicely. You both like sleeping on your back. He stretches one arm beneath your pillow, and you tuck neatly into his side.

-He is warm. Damian smells like soap and tea and something musky and mannish that isn’t indicative of cologne. It is a good smell, and you always sleep wonderfully when he stays over.        

[camsthisky]

Visions of Sugarplums

Thanks to @wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey​ for donating! You’re wonderful! And kind of dedicated to @laquilasse​. Forecast says war is on the horizon.

Good luck.

See, it happens like this.

Everything’s normal for them all—or, well. As normal as a family full of vigilantes can get. But things are running smoothly. Almost too smoothly, Dick thinks at one point, but he decides to take what he can get while he can still get it. He takes the lack of rogues and prison break outs in Gotham all in stride, and spends his time patrolling Blüdhaven, stopping muggings and rapes and murders before they can happen, and the world doesn’t have that dark, dingy tone to it he’s come to expect.

Hell, it even looks brighter. Which. That just doesn’t happen.

So Dick takes it in stride and keeps moving forward, like he always does. He keeps his head up and his ears open, though, because he may be able to move forward, but he isn’t stupid enough to think that he’s not going to hit a bump in the road.

He always hits a bump in the road. It’s how his life seems to work. He’s come to expect it at this point, this calm before the storm. Because, just as there’s always a bump in the road, there’s always a storm.

And, of course, it hits. Dick had expected it to.

He just hadn’t expected this.

His life goes from smooth flying to turbulence in two seconds flat. One moment he’s stopping a mugging, the next, the world freezes. Dick freezes. Because in front of him, impossibly, is Damian. A sword sticking out of his chest, blood bright red and staining the ground as his younger brother takes a step towards him. A younger brother who should be with the Titans right now, and not here. In Blüdhaven. A brother who should be alive, not struck in the same place that killed him before.

Dick blinks, and Damian’s gone. The mugger has run away. The woman has called the police. Sirens wail in the air, every second he stands there staring at empty air a second that brings them closer. And Dick—he finally manages to pull out his grapple gun.

He barely makes it to the rooftop, the image of Damian with a sword in his chest still burning behind his eyes.

Dick doesn’t sleep that night.

So, it starts with Damian.

It continues with Damian, too.

And eventually, Dick’s seeing his little brother everywhere—stabbed, beaten, poisoned, and one scary incident where Damian’s limbs are twisted to the point where they remind Dick too much of a night that sent him to live with Bruce and eventually lead to the creation of Robin.

Dick stops sleeping.

And then he sees Damian on patrol again, and he’s close enough to touch, this time. Dick’s Nightwing right now, and he’s pretty sure the warehouse he’s standing on top of is the base of operations for a drug lord he’s been after for weeks, but Damian’s standing in front of his entrance, taking step after step after step closer to him.

Dick flinches when Damian touches him.

Except, it can’t be Damian. Damian’s not here. He’s in San Francisco. Dick had just talked to him last night. There’s no snark to this kid standing in front of him. No sass, no scoff, no pride to hide his huge heart. Just cold and silence and death.

It’s not Damian.

But there’s a hand reaching up to cup Dick’s cheek, another hand gripping his wrist, and Dick flinches, because he can feel the cool fingers against his own warm skin, and he shivers, because he remembers a time he held his baby brother’s cold body, and this is far too similar.

“You’re not real,” Dick whispers.

Damian—Not Damian—whoever it is, doesn’t speak. The cold turns into burning, and Dick pulls away. He stumbles back a step, arms curling around his chest as he tries to put distance himself from whatever’s happening to him.

Dick stops patrolling, too.

Bruce answers the phone on the first ring. “Speak fast.”

Dick barely hesitates. “I—”

A cacophony of shouting and objects being thrown explodes from Bruce’s side of the line, effectively cutting Dick off, and Dick thinks that that noise sounds like one of Tim and Damian’s fights. It’s a pretty big one, too by the sound of it.

Bruce’s voice is muffled, and there’s a sharp command—an order—and then Dick can hear a few mutters from Tim and Damian, but there’s this rush in Dick’s ears at the sound of Damian’s voice, and it has Dick freezing, some sort of terrifying band tightening around his chest and squeezing, until Dick has no air left and he feels like he’ll pass out from lack of oxygen.

Panicking, Dick realizes. He’s panicking. He should stop that. Stop panicking. It’s only Damian’s voice, and if this is his reaction to just hearing it after all those times only seeing his little brother, then he’s already lost. He’s screwed.

Bruce is back. He’s managed to stop the fight in its track, apparently.

“This better be urgent,” Bruce says, his voice flat. He sounds busy.

“No,” Dick says, and—for the first time that Dick can remember—he hangs up first.

He doesn’t answer any of Bruce’s calls after that. He sits on the cold bathroom floor, his phone vibrating every few minutes against the tiles, and he’s unable to recall just when and how he got there. Eventually, Bruce stops calling.

Dick doesn’t know what to do after that. He briefly entertains the idea of going to Jason, or maybe even Tim, but both of them have too much on their plate as it is. Tim has just come back to them and Dick’s not ready to drop new problems onto his shoulders, because Tim will shoulder them, and he’ll probably shoulder them without complaint.

Jason is busy, too, and there seems to be a limit to how much of Bruce’s brood Jason can seem to handle. Dick doesn’t want to push, especially not when he feels like he’s about to fall apart at the seams

He’s slowly unraveling. Damian’s appearing everywhere he looks. He can barely take a step without running into the cold imitation of his little brother, and he’s having trouble breathing, his eyes flicking down to the sword—sword, it’s always a sword now, never anything else, just a reminder of all Dick’s mistakes—and Dick has to look away. Ignore it. It’s not real.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

He’s running himself into the ground, though. He spends most of his time avoiding the silent, piercing stare, trying desperately to find some kind of footing as he tries to keep going about his life. But he doesn’t sleep. He can barely stomach any food, his stomach flipping over and over and over and over, until he feels nauseous to the point of being almost sick. He goes outside for fresh air, only to find himself just running, like running will solve any of his problems.

And he doesn’t patrol. Blüdhaven suffers for it. Dick isn’t in the best state of mind to worry about Blüdhaven, though. He’s a little preoccupied with the fact that he can’t even think about his little brother without thinking of the cold image that’s always stare straight into him. And on patrol, it always seems so much worse, to the point where Dick starts to mess up, and when Dick goes out, the image always seems look a step closer to real.

Blüdhaven suffers, yes, but so does Dick. He doesn’t know how to help either.

So that’s how it starts. And how it continues. And this, well. This is how it ends.

Dick is human, it turns out, because the Not Sleeping thing that he’s trying out doesn’t quite work out for him. He accidentally falls asleep watching some trash tv. He’s on the couch, dozing, his head tipped back, and he’s exhausted. He’s on guard at every moment of every day, and it wears him out.

So yes, Dick falls asleep.

He wakes up to a gentle touch, and at first, when he opens his eyes and sees familiar dark eyes, Dick’s first reaction is to lean into the touch.

It’s unlike Damian to initiate contact, but there were times when Dick was still Batman where Dick would wear himself out to the point of exhaustion, and Damian would find him slumped over on the couch or in the arm chair, too tired to stagger the rest of the way to his bedroom. Damian would wake him up with a simple touch to his cheek and then insult him until Dick got up and stumbled the rest of the way to his bed. There was always fondness and concern in those dark eyes, though.

The insults don’t come, the dark eyes are cold, and Dick freezes.

This isn’t Damian.

Cold fingers dig into the flesh of Dick’s cheek, but Dick can’t move. There’s a familiar face—but so, so different—hovering just above his, their noses so close that they’re almost touching. Dick’s trapped, stuck inside something from his nightmares.

Except, his nightmares have come to life. They came to life a week ago, when he first saw the ghost of his little brother.

And then. Then the image of his little brother—the one that’s not so much of an image anymore, the one with a sword sticking out of his chest—opens its mouth, and it screams.

Dick can’t breathe. The screaming doesn’t stop for a long, long time, and Dick sits there and just listens.

For the first time in a week, Dick’s alone.

His head is a complete and utter mess.

The scream had lasted minutes, and by the time the image’s mouth had snapped shut, Dick’s brain had been thoroughly scrambled, and right now, Dick’s having a hard time getting a handle on what’s real and what’s not.

The image is gone, and the scream seemed to have done something to make it go away. Maybe it completed its job of driving Dick completely over the edge, or whatever. But it’s gone, but Dick’s skin feels electric. There’s something humming underneath it, and with every turn, he expects to see his dead brother.

His dead brother that’s still alive. Damian’s alive, he reminds himself. He’s with Bruce. Or the Teen Titans. He’s not here. Even though he was dead, he isn’t now, and that has to count for something. Damian’s alive.

Alive, alive, alive.

Dick feels like he’s barely holding onto his sanity.

He somehow ends up on the bathroom floor again, his phone in his hand as he stares at it. Whatever happens now, nothing can be worse than having his dead brother—no. The image of his dead brother. He can’t get that mixed up. Alive, alive, alive—hovering over him, touching his check, and screaming until he goes insane.

He’s almost there. He’s close.

He doesn’t want to be close. He wants to be back in his right mind, where everything made sense and he wasn’t questioning his surroundings every few seconds.

He ends up calling Bruce, and again, Bruce picks up on the first ring.

“Dick,” Bruce says, something almost relieved in his voice.

Dick can’t find it in him to say anything.

“…Dick?” Bruce says again, but there’s a questioning tone to it, faltering, maybe, if it were anybody else. But this is Bruce, and Dick isn’t sure Bruce knows what faltering is when it comes to anybody besides Jason. “If you don’t answer, I’m tracking your phone and coming to get you.”

“I think I’m going insane.” It comes out in a rush, and Dick thinks that maybe he’s crying, because his face feels, but he can’t for the life of him remember when he started.

Bruce is silent for a moment, two, three, and then—

“I’m coming. Stay where you are.”

Bruce hangs up. Dick stares at his phone, and tears run down his face. He stays where he is on the bathroom floor.

At first, Dick thinks that Bruce is an image, too.

But when Bruce crouches down in front of him less than an hour later, Dick just stares at him. He thinks if this were any other time, he’d reach out to his dad, wrap his arms around Bruce’s middle and let Bruce just hold him, but something stops him.

“Dick,” Bruce says.

It’s with a gentle voice that Dick only hears when he’s on the edge of unconsciousness or death, and Dick’s face crumples the moment his name hits the air. He collapses forward, and Bruce catches him. His chest is warm and intact. A hand runs through his hair, and another wraps around his back and pulls Dick closer.

The image never spoke. This is Bruce. This is his dad.

It’s weird seeing someone who isn’t dead, who isn’t just a part of Dick’s mind, who isn’t some fucked up part of Dick’s imagination. Someone who doesn’t burn his skin with ice cold hands. Someone who doesn’t stare into Dick’s very being with dark, lifeless eyes. Someone that doesn’t have a sword sticking out of their chest.

Someone that’s real.

“I keep seeing him,” Dick says, never closing his eyes, even as he presses his face into Bruce’s button up shirt. If he closes his eyes, the image will come back.

“Keep seeing who?”

“Damian.” His voice is barely a whisper, but the name sends a shiver down his spine, and Bruce holds him ever closer when Dick threatens to shake apart. “I keep seeing him, and it doesn’t make sense, because Damian’s alive, right? Damian’s alive?”

“Damian’s alive,” Bruce confirms. He sounds like that crinkle in between his eyebrows is back. Stressed. Impossibly sad. And Dick had brought it back. “He’s at the manor right now.”

“He was screaming,” Dick says, and his chest hitches on a breath. “And he was dead. A sword in his chest. He was dead, Bruce.”

“We’re going back to home,” Bruce says.

And Dick can’t remember how to argue, how to say no, no, no, that’s where Damian is, I don’t want to see that anymore, I don’t want to be reminded of what I did to my little brother, so when Bruce helps him to his feet, Dick clings to him. Follows him out the bathroom door, out the apartment door, down the stairs, and into the car parked out front.

And that’s that.

Or that should be that, but it’s never that simple, because the moment Bruce parks in the garage, Dick looks into the mirror on the passenger side of the car and—it’s the image. Cold lifeless eyes, sword sticking out of his chest, and Dick’s sure that if those fingers were to touch his skin, they would burn.

Dick stops breathing, and he can’t take his eyes off of the image in the mirror.

“Dick?” Bruce asks, and Dick can feel his stare. “What’s wrong?”

Dick doesn’t answer. He stares. The image steps closer, opens its mouth, and it screams. Dick slams his hands over his ears, and his breath comes in short pants. Bruce doesn’t hear it, because he’s leaning over to Dick’s side of the car to tug at Dick’s wrists, but Dick can’t move.

“It’s not real,” Bruce murmurs.

But Dick can barely hear him, too focused on his current problem. The kid he killed is still screaming his lungs out. Dick wonders if this is all the pain that Damian felt when he died. Dick hadn’t seen the blow happen, but getting skewered isn’t painless, and leaving his family is even less.

The screams must be what Damian had felt when he’d died.

“Damian’s not dead,” Bruce says, his voice a touch harder. “Dick, look at me. Look at me.”

Dick doesn’t look. Bruce’s warm hands force his face away from the mirror, and the screaming stops. Dick’s left panting for breath, sweat clinging to his forehead. There’s something seriously wrong with him, and he stares at Bruce’s wide eyes for almost a full fifteen seconds before Bruce speaks again.

“It’s not real,” Bruce tells him. “Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real.”

“Damian,” Dick tries, the name coming out barely louder than a whisper on a whistle of breath. “Damian keeps—”

Dick cuts himself off. Bruce’s hands—they cup his cheeks, just like Damian’s did hours ago, but Bruce’s hands are warm and calloused, and they ground Dick in a way Damian’s had left him cold and aching.

Except, they weren’t Damian’s hands. Because Damian’s alive, and the hands on his face before were dead. Damian’s alive.

But Bruce’s hands frame his face, and Bruce’s thumb runs underneath his eye, and it’s so real, that Dick has no choice but to keep his attention on his dad.

“What’s wrong with me?” Dick croaks. Tears are running down his face again. Bruce wipes them away as they come.

“I don’t know,” Bruce tells him truthfully. “But we’re going to figure this out, okay?”

Dick can’t help but believe him.

Damian’s at the manor.

And the thing is, when Dick steps into the cave and sees Tim and Damian arguing over something on the computer screen, he freezes. His breath hitches, and he thinks that maybe this is just another image. That maybe there’s something wrong.

He waits for the sword to appear in Damian’s chest. For the dark eyes to swivel his way, cold and lifeless and filled with blame. It’s his fault. It’s Dick’s fault, and when that doesn’t happen, when Damian turns towards him and honest to god scowls, Dick sobs.

The Cave goes silent. Both Tim and Damian stare at him, and it’s Bruce that moves, and all Bruce does is press a warm hand to Dick’s back. Dick wants to curl up in his dad’s arms and fall apart, but—Damian’s right in front of him.

“You’re alive,” Dick whispers, and it’s almost inaudible, but his family seems to hear it anyways.

Damian’s expression is bewildered, almost frightened, and Dick sees him look between Dick and Bruce for a few seconds, seemingly at a loss of what to do. There’s warmth in his eyes. There’s life in his movements. It’s Damian.

It’s his little brother.

Dick’s knees give out underneath him, and it’s only because Damian and Bruce are both quick to catch him that Dick doesn’t face plant. But that’s Damian’s hand on his arm, holding him up, and Dick throws himself forward, curling his arms around Damian and bringing him impossibly close. He can feel Damian’s heartbeat, feel Damian’s breath on his neck, and feel the warmth of his skin.

Alive, alive, alive. Damian’s alive.

Dick squeezes his eye shut and he sobs into his little brother’s hair.

After a long moment, Damian brings his hands up to wrap around Dick’s waist, and they just hold each other.

Dick keeps his eyes closed. He knows if he opens them, the image will be there, but he has Damian in his arms, and that’s enough. Damian’s alive.

It starts, continues, and ends with Damian.

It also, apparently, starts with fear toxin that no one is sure how Dick was exposed to. It continues with the fear toxin making Dick see Damian dead. And it ends with the fear toxin overwhelming his brain, and Dick thinks that if he hadn’t called Bruce for help, he might have died from exposure.

He curses himself for hanging up the first time.

The antidote, unfortunately, takes a long time to fully take effect. Dick holds Damian in his arms the entire time. He keeps his eyes closed. And eventually, Bruce directs them both to lie on a cot in the medbay.

Dick doesn’t argue and, surprisingly, neither does Damian. Dick eventually falls into a restless sleep.

When Dick wakes up, the world doesn’t seem so dark and gray. It’s not bright and sunny, sure, but it’s clearer, and there’s something to be said for that when Dick’s world has been murky water for the past week. It’s refreshing, and a weight’s been lifted off of Dick’s shoulders. One he hadn’t even known was there.

Damian’s still in his arms, sleeping softly, and Tim’s nowhere to be found. Bruce, though, is working on a laptop in a chair next to the cot, bags under his eyes, looking a lot more tired than Dick last remembers. He wonders if that’s just because he’d been so whammied by the fear toxin he hadn’t noticed or if it’s because of the fear toxin. The waiting.

Maybe it’s both.

“Hey,” Dick says softly.

Bruce looks up, face softening minutely. “Hey.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Always,” Bruce promises.

Dick knows it’s true, but he can’t bring himself to do much more than give Bruce a shaky smile. The world is clearer, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember what he had seen. What he’d been thinking. He remembers everything.

Especially the screaming. Especially Bruce’s hands.

“I was really scared,” Dick tells him. “I thought I was losing my mind.”

“It was just the fear toxin, Dick.”

“Yeah.” Dick sighs and stares up at the endless cavern above him. “Yeah, but it felt real. I thought I was going to have to stare at—at Damian forever. That it was never going to go away. It was awful.”

Dick chokes on the last word.

Bruce doesn’t say anything to that. He usually doesn’t. But he does close his laptop, lean forward, and brush the hair away from Dick’s forehead. “Go to sleep, Dick. Damian isn’t going anywhere.”

“Right,” Dick says, taking a deep breath. Damian shifts, and Dick rubs a hand up and down his back. He doesn’t wake up. Speaking of little brothers, though—

“Where’d Tim go?” Dick wonders.

“He went back home,” Bruce sighs. “He said he was going to give you two some space.”

Dick hums, but he’s starting to feel sleepy again with Bruce smoothing his hair back, and Damian tucked into his side, and the antidote running through his veins fighting against the toxin. He’ll have to have a talk with Tim—and soon—but for now, Dick closes his eyes, and he’s not afraid to sleep.

See, it starts with Dick, alone in Blüdhaven. It continues with Dick losing his mind. And it ends with Dick and Damian and Bruce.

It happens like this. And Dick, well. He endures. Just like he always does. Nothing’s solved, not really, but his little brother is here. His dad is here. He thinks that for now, it’s enough.

[marquis1305]

In response to my and @keeperscompanionsdai talking over what might happen if our OC’s were to go to battle to protect one of their favorite family member’s. A little bit of a reunion thrown in for good measure <3

Mesara had finally gathered the courage to visit her cousin after the Exalted Council, it had taken her too many months, she knew. But she could not bear to see William so worn down. Not after the way he had returned.  

After everything.

Damaia pressed her hand to Mesara's shoulder, shaking her from her thoughts. Mesara knew that Damaia had had her own concerns regarding visiting the Trevelyan farm. The Iron Bull had given his report shortly after the appearance of the Tal-Vashoth that had managed to capture Iseran; Damaia had refused to believe the report at first. Had disappeared to go speak with her father, get what details that she could regarding those possibilities. Had refused to return until the Exalted council, and even still had refused to speak on the subject.  

Now, they both made their way across the field. Eyes trained on the house, both walking with the ease of those who had made it through a war, and feared nothing that might come in their path.  

Mesara could not help the breath of relief when she saw her cousin come into the doorway, waving his one hand emphatically at her.  

She could not help as her feet carried her ever faster towards Will, until she was barreling him over.  

A litany of apologies pouring out from between her lips. Her face buried deep into his chest, hands grasping at his clothes.  

"Why, lady Mesara, one might think that you had missed me," William tries to keep his tone light, despite his own emotions making it hard to press out his voice from his throat. "I had wondered, considering that you hadn't come to visit all these months."

"William, don't you dare tease me now," she grumbles, voice muffled by his chest. "Not after everything. I couldn't, I just I-"

"I know cousin. It was not an easy time for any of us. And while I might have missed your company, I do not blame you for withholding it. I am just glad to see you, truly." He wraps his arm tightly around her, feeling the absence of his left hand all the more for being unable to lift her as had become their custom. His throat tightening once more.  

"I hope that also applies to me, seems like I have been a terrible friend, missing so much of your new life," Damaia's voice rings out, her tone playful as always.

"Of course, Damaia. After all, who could blame so sought after a mercenary captain. Seems like the Frostblades are almost as popular as the Chargers these days." William smiles over at the Qunari, arm still tight around his cousin. "I would offer you a hug as well, but it would seem that I am all out of arms to offer."

"Then forgive me for assuming that mine would do." She laughs as she wraps both tightly into her long arms, pressing her forehead to William's.  

"Tsk, and here I had assumed the only reason that you came was for a decent meal," Iseran's voice calls out from the kitchen. Quickly summoning Damaia.

"Iseran, I see that you have managed to keep William well fed and only mildly annoyed."

Iseran clicks his tongue, gazing over at Damaia, "No thanks to you, or his cousin."

"I know. I couldn't, not with him here."

"Damaia, I would think you of all people..."Iseran huffs in frustration.  

"It is one thing for me to accept in those who need a family," she bites at her lip. "Quite another to find out that my own blood-"

They both turn at the sound of a door slamming. Iseran clicks his tongue.

Damaia wilts where she stands.  

Iseran turns to look over her, then rolls his eyes. "Well, go after the boy. If not, he will just brood over this for the coming months. Tsk."

Damaia nods, and waves to the others, excusing herself. She follows the trail out to behind the barn, where she can see an open field, littered with scars from either flames or lightning. In the center of this field, standing, is the boy that is technically her brother.  

She looks over him, trying to find where they might share some sign of their lineage. She can see the scars that litter his back, and is forcefully reminded of the history that Bull's report had laid out.  

A life she might have lived, had she not been the child her father had chosen to acknowledge.  

And then, only because of her mother.  

"You know, when trying to sneak up on someone, it's best not to sit there and stare," his voice jerks her out of her thoughts.  

"I wasn't exactly trying to be discreet," Damaia keeps her tone as light as she can. "I find that it isn't exactly my strong point."

"A trait that we share then, in case you hadn't noticed the field while staring at me."  

"You know, it sort of reminds me of my home," Damaia's lips quirk up in a small smile. "I used to do the same thing, whenever I was angry, or sad, or upset. Was pointed out to the field and would let my magic loose."

She chuckles slightly and runs a hand over the back of her neck. "Funny story, that is actually how I found out I was a mage. Got caught in a storm, felt like letting loose everything that I had kept bundled inside of me, ended up matching the lightning shot for shot."

Damian keeps his silence. Staring out towards the edges of the field.  

"Iseran said that he had told you, in his letters, that-"

"Yes." His voice is curt, leaving no room for further questions.

Which had never stopped Damaia before.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that our father had-"

"Your father. Not mine," Damian finally turns, meeting Damaia's gaze. Damaia was shocked to see that his eye color was almost an exact match to her own. "My fathers are the men inside that cottage, who have taken care of me for the past year. My brother is the boy who learns beside Iseran, and comes out here to talk to me. To vent, and let me vent in return. They are my family. I don't know you."

Damaia tries to swallow past the lump in her throat. Nodding.

She understood, she would have to. She certainly couldn't blame him.  

Not after everything.  

"I will not press you further then," Damaia huffs a short laugh. "Though, it still leaves us having to deal with each other. After all, Mesara is my oath sister, and William is the closest thing to a true sibling that she has. Which makes you something along the lines of my nephew, if we want to ignore being blood siblings."

Damian groans softly, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead. "So quite literally, there is no way that we could avoid each other."

"Not true, I can simply ensure that when I come to visit, you have good enough warning to leave the area," she tries to tease him gently. "Or we can try to figure things out."

"Why would you want to do that? You had already made it quite clear what you think of me, Damaia." His gaze drops to the ground, looking at one of the scars he had left on the earth.

"Damian, I am mostly just in shock. I didn't know that my father had ever bred, besides my mother. My mother had always told me that I was their only child, as she couldn't have others. Then I find out that the only person who might understand what it was like, was someone who tried very hard to hurt people I care about..."

"It was my purpose, I-"

"I understand. I only spent ten years in Par Vollen, and still I always worry whether I am figuring out my own life, or just following what they taught me. If my rebellion is true to who I am, or if it is just what they told me to be as Tal-Vashoth."

"Yes," the word is whispered, as softly as a prayer. As he lifts his head to look at her once more. Face tight with grief.  

"They stole us from each other, Damian. We do not have to do the same," she leans up to ruffle his hair. Earning a surprised bark of laughter.  

"Hey!" Both Qunari turn to face a child rambling their way to where they stood. "Iseran says that if you two take any longer, he won't be able to keep supper from burning... he also added a few 'tsks' in there for measure."

"We will be right in Alfie," Damian rolls his eyes at his younger sibling. Walking over to place a hand on his shoulder.  

"You must be Alphonse," Damaia smiles at the half-elf, offering her hand.  

"And you're Damaia. Iseran has mentioned you before, something about missing your hair braiding abilities." He takes her hand quickly, then just as quickly releases it.

Damaia bursts out into laughter, recalling the incident with Sera. "Yeah, that. I am sure that he doesn't miss my long list of injuries though."

Alfie shrugs his shoulders, then starts making his way back to the cottage.  

Neither Damaia or Damian move.  

Both suddenly stiff, every muscle tense.

It doesn't take long before Alphonse can hear the chanting as well.  

"Alfie, go, run, warn the others." Damian barks the orders. Turning to step beside Damaia. Alphonse spares only a moment before bolting off to gather the other adults.  

"Qunari, I had thought that they would stop after their plan failed at the Exalted Council."

"Damaia, you know better, the Qun does not allow for failure."

The two siblings share a look. Then spread out, fifteen paces apart. Their body language somehow similar, despite never having met before.  

Arms spread wide, they begin to summon the magic that runs through their veins.  

Electricity begins to crackle in the air. The very atmosphere reacting to so much concentrated static energy.  

Damaia's hair begins to lift.

It takes only seconds before the first spear is thrown.  

It shatters against the wall of lightning that the two Tal-Vashoth have summoned.  

"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun." A harsh voice calls out, walking into the field before the two with an air of command.  

"Ashkost Kata," calls out Damian in response. Damaia gritting her teeth as she is accosted by memories of her childhood, of her struggles to forget this tongue. But she is not the same, she has faced down these fears many times in the years since she first joined the Inquisition.  

"Na via lerno victoria, you struggle for a fight that has been already lost, Qunari." Damaia chose specifically to use what Tevene her father taught her, knowing how much more it would enrage the Qunari soldiers lining up in formation.  

She can feel the air grow cold around them, and Damian shivered as he felt Mesara stride up near him. Her spirit blade in hand, and the other pushed forward, calling forth shards of ice to hang perilously above the Qunari forces.  

"Do not think that we will bow down before. None here fears your kind," she calls out. Voice high but regal.  

Iseran takes his place beside Damaia, fire crackling about his hands. "Tsk, you have made a mistake in coming here."

"Vinek kathas," is the only response that the group gets before the Qunari charge forward.  

The four mages make their stand.  

Damaia throwing out bolts of lightning, summoning up the spirits of those who fall to her strikes to fight against their brothers. She fights alongside the spirits, grabbing up a spear from the ground to use as a quarterstaff, striking down with physical prowess those she meets face to face.  

Damian unleashing his raw power, throwing everything he has into creating an electric storm amidst the Qunari forces, roaring loud and strong. Any Qunari that come too near being thrown aside by bolts of static charge.  

Mesara charges forward into the fray, striking down those before her with her blade, and summoning ice walls to subvert others, forcing them to either break through to attack her, or change course to face the others.  

Iserans allows his fire to reign down upon the enemies, making sweeping blasts to push them away. Only stopping to occasionally send a blast of healing energy towards one of the others as they require it.  

William stands in the door of his cottage, holding back Alfie with his hand.  

Watching in some measure of awe as each of those whom he has called family bring forth their terrible might to smash against an enemy.

He wonders why anyone would dare to face this willingly.

He certainly wouldn't.  

Translations:

Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun. ( "Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun." )

Ashkost kata!  ( “ You are seeking death!” )  

Na via lerno victoria  ( “Only the living know victory” )

Vinek Kathas! (An order to attack or kill. Another possible meaning is "Seize them.")

(links for all translations provided.)

[totesmccoats]

  Batman and the Signal #1

After years of teasing and buildup, Duke Thomas finally has a suit and a codename. As the Signal, he protects Gotham during the day, when the Bats are all sleeping. Besides being the only non-nocturnal member of the Bat-family, he’s also the first with powers, albeit, powers he doesn’t quite understand. He can “read” light, and is able to reconstruct images of where it’s been and where it’s going. Essentially, he has the ability to rewind and fast-forward his perception.

His first assignment, given to him by Batman, is to investigate the recent spree of metahuman teenagers – like Duke – popping up in Gotham. But even with his training under Batman, there’s no guarantee he’ll even survive his first day.

Duke Thomas has always been a breath of fresh air to the recent Batman mythos. For one, he’s not a dark haired white guy. (I know Todd was blond at one point; and also wish that Damian was more often depicted as half-Asian, but he’s not.) He’s also been a bit of a perpetual outsider; someone a distance removed from the Bats and Robins. So it makes sense to give him an entire 12 hours to himself, to become his own type of hero. He’s also got his own crew, the former members of We Are Robin, whom he’s let into his superhero life. In one issue, he’s already showing how he’s doing things his own way.

On the art side of things, Hammer and Martin are showing us a side of Gotham we don’t often see; what it looks like during the day. But also, Duke takes them into the streets more than the rooftops. Being a daytime hero means more groundwork, and also running into more people as they go through their daily routines. Despite what we usually see of the city, during the day, Gotham can be surprisingly bright and spacious. And the modern style of the new Wayne-funded developments even give the city a few shades of Metropolis. The brightness continues through Duke’s costume, which takes the yellow highlights found in Batman and the Robin’s costumes, and makes it the primary color. Eventually, even his black chestpiece is replaced with a more reflective material, bouncing the light back rather than absorbing it.

Between the half dozen Batman books DC has running at any given time, it’s easy to feel overexposed by Gotham city. Turns out all you need to make it feel new again is let the sunshine in.

  Batman: White Knight #4

Jack continues with his plan to take over Gotham – nicely – announcing his run for city councilman; and turning his campaign launch into a PR stunt when he gets Batman and Gordon to interrupt and arrest him for no reason. Blackport is already overwhelmingly in favor of Jack, and the rest of Gotham is slowly turning. Even Gordon is convinced by Jack’s plan to use the Batman fund to instead fund a new team of super-cops; and Jack hopes that Gordon can convince Batgirl and Nightwing to turn as well.

Meanwhile, Neo-Joker leads the mind-controlled villains on a raid of Gotham PD headquarters to steal files and find a way for her to reawaken Joker. She also tells Mad Hatter how she came to meet, and fall for, the supervillain.

But, for my money, the most interesting development is that Harley senses that somewhere along the line, Jack legitimately turned his plan to get revenge on Batman and the GCPD into a way to save and improve Gotham. And if anyone would know, it would be her, the person who knows him best, and a professional psychologist. Maybe the Joker really is dead.

And, of course, Batman keeps playing right into Jack’s hands – almost causing a riot at his campaign launch, and pushing Gordon away by refusing to listen to a plan that could help them both. If Bruce still has a chance at saving his own hind, he’s letting it slip past him awfully quickly.

SGM is really out-doing himself with the art in this series too, and can switch things from the sweetness of Jack and Harley spending a night out together, to the brutality of this Batman’s ways of taking out criminals, and the pathos of Neo-Joker’s backstory. Plus, there’s a garage full of the GCPD’s idea of what their Batmobiles should be like, and if there’s one thing he goes all out on – it’s cars.

  Batman #38

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, although, I can assure you you haven’t. One rich kid, two murdered parents, a butler, a desire for vengeance. But this isn’t Bruce Wayne. It’s Matthew, the son of a couple who worked on Wayne’s board. As Bruce, he assures Matthew that the person behind the murders will be caught, and that he’ll be taken care of. As Batman, he investigates. The first suspect is Zsasz. Shortly after this discovery, Zsasz’s parents are found dead in their home. But Zsasz didn’t do it. Then, another couple is killed.

Coming off the perfectly delightful Superfriends two-parter, King reminds us he can also write twisted noir Batman with this one-shot story that’s a twist, not just of the Batman origin story, but of all the twists on the Batman origin to come before it. It also plays into King’s larger arc of Bruce Wayne trying to heal past the trauma that’s defined him. Just because Matthew is very much like Bruce Wayne, and looks up to Bruce Wayne, does not make him Bruce Wayne, nor any of the Robins or other heroes with similar backstories. Sometimes, tragedy doesn’t result in heroes.

And, despite the darkness of this issue in particular, King still finds places to inject humor. The clues Batman ends up following to solve the mystery, down to his final deduction, could’ve come straight from the Adam West show – just add blood.

  Justice League #36

Following the opening of a congressional investigation into the Justice League, the chairwoman leading the investigation is assassinated by a Batman doppelganger. The next day, the public pressure from the investigation and assassination, as well as personal agendas not lining up with the team’s charter, further increases fissures in team cohesion as they try to prevent another international incident involving a nuclear sub in Chinese waters.

I can’t remember the last comic book to make me so stressed. If Priest succeeds in one thing this issue, it’s selling how stressed everyone in the League is at the moment. Aquaman’s balancing being part of the League with being the King of his people; Wonder Woman is starting to think that Batman’s rules are interfering with her mission of peace; Superman’s being called to testify at congressional hearings; Simon feels that the League’s charter is preventing him from saving lives; and Batman’s gotta somehow heard all these cats while also dealing with a doppleganger using his example to kill people. It’s a lot to deal with, and adding to all of it, the public ain’t the biggest fan of vigilantism right now.

I’m also really enjoying Wood’s art on this series. It’s bold and colorful, unabashedly heroic, almost to prove by aesthetics alone how necessary the League is in spite of the public’s doubts. On the other hand, he perfectly captures the stress in every heroes face as they deal with each-other and other mounting stressors. They’re larger than life, but also relatably human – a very fine line that he nonetheless walks.

  Green Arrow #38

Another Ferreyra illustrated issue, hell yeah! I don’t think I get this excited over any other artist. He kills it every issue he’s on. This one included. From Dinah kneeing Ollie in the balls, to a sunset on the beach, to an underground fight; he does it all with style and personality.

After Dinah and Henry rescue Ollie from the trench in the Pacific ocean Moira abandoned him in, Ollie has to make things up to Dinah for almost getting himself killed in the pursuit of money. Meanwhile, Moira resurfaces and reconnects with Malcolm Merlyn, and together, hope to pay back her debt to the Ninth Circle. Unfortunately for them, they’ve decided they’re already settled.

How else could this issue end but a three way fight between team Arrow, Moira and Malcolm, and the assassin the Ninth Circle sent to collect their debt? Well, many ways; but none as satisfying.

  Black Bolt #9

Black Bolt and Blinky visit Titania to tell her that her husband is dead. And then the three of them hold a funeral for Crusher Creel. It starts with a toast at his local watering hole, and ends with a visit from Captain America and Odinson, who come to pay their respects to a worthy adversary who died a hero’s death.

This issue got to me. I’m no bastion of emotional fortitude or nothing, but, because of everything leading up to this, this death meant something, and Crusher’s funeral means something too. Within the pages of this story, Crusher found love and redemption. That his funeral drew heroes and villains alike says that his life mattered because in the end, he chose to give his own for someone else’s. It’s a simple story, but a powerful one. We’re all loved. We all matter. No matter where we come from, we can all choose to be heroic. And that will matter too.

  Hawkeye #14

Kate remains captured by Eden, who gives her a moment with her mother to convince her to turn her back on Clint.

Meanwhile, Clint and Kate’s friends make a plan to find where Eden took Kate, and save her. The plan Clint comes up with after finding out where Eden and Kate are? Kidnap Madame Masque, who’s still in a Kate clone body, and pull the ol’ switcharoo on Eden. Like most of Clint’s plans, he hasn’t thought this one entirely through.

This is mainly a Clint issue, and it’s great how Thompson continues the tradition of writing Clint as an almost utter fuckup, but importantly, a likable fuckup who always tries his best.

  Rise of the Black Panther #1

This series, which serves as a retelling of T’Challa’s origins and early years as Black Panther, has two Black Panther’s in it, neither of whom are T’Challa. The book begins with his grandfather Azzuri meeting Captain America and the two working together to defend Wakanda from Hydra; then follows the reign of T’Chaka, as told by his first wife, and T’Challa’s mother, N’Yami. Together, the story tells of two kings who broke tradition for the betterment of Wakanda. Azzuri gave vibranium to an outsider so that he could use it to save the world; and T’Chaka made a common woman his Queen, and gave her the resources she needed to study vibranium and develop new technologies from it. But, it is also a story of Wakanda being pulled onto the world stage as it is attacked by outsiders for the first time. Wakanda is able to repel them, but always at a cost.

This first issue does a great job at establishing the legacy that T’Challa inherits from his forefathers; a legacy of a recently unified country just beginning to expand past its history of secrecy. It presents T’Challa inheriting a country at the height of its power, but also, at its most vulnerable. It also establishes that whatever T’Challa does, he’s following in the footsteps of imperfect men. This issue ends with the stakes being that T’Challa has to be a Black Panther unlike any Wakanda has ever known. The next ones will have to tell us how he begins to become that.

  Paper Girls #19

The Girls, and Chris, decide to find old!Tiff before she gets smushed by the giant robots, and when we meet old!Tiff, she has a run in of her own with some future-folk. And through the whole issue, including the Girls and Chris finding old!Tiff and going to a church for safety, Mac doth protest KJ’s lesbianism way too much, to the point where her edginess begins irking the other characters.

Like pretty much every issue this arc, this one moves quickly, ending almost before you know it. And, a lot of this issue is characters playing catch-up with one another as they go over that Tiff is married to Chris, Tiff can see the fighting robots, and time-war. Like, it makes sense in-universe that the characters have to re-explain everything to the people who weren’t there for the initial exposition, but being that we the audience presumably know most of this, it stalls the issue and the overall story a bit too much.

Crosswind #6

Cason and Juniper finally meet in Seattle and prepare to defend themselves and each-other’s friends and families from the gang coming to kill them all.

Like all great finales, this is an issue full of self-actualization and beautiful bloody coups de grace, mostly from June, who finally stands up to her whimpering douchebag husband. Cason also actualizes, deciding what he wants to do with the rest of his life, being that he can’t go back after today. By the end of the issue, Simone manages to bring all of her characters to satisfying places, while still giving them some room for inferred growth.

Staggs, meanwhile, gets to finally deliver on the action and blood front, and even draws a poignant send off for her recently departed dog.

The final panel of this issue promises more Crosswind, but with such a satisfying ending, I have to hope the series continues as an anthology, showing us another incredibly freaky-friday.

Comic Reviews 1/3/18 Batman and the Signal #1 After years of teasing and buildup, Duke Thomas finally has a suit and a codename.

[pl-panda]

The vines that bind us - Chapter 8

Chapter 1 || Previous || Next

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“I trust you to act responsibly. And as a Guardian, you probably should start learning magic anyway.”

“Let’s get started then. Please tell me I can curse Lie-la!”

“Mari!”

“Just kidding, alright?” She smiled innocently and Tikki shook her head. 

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

Somewhere into the evening, Chloe called her to inform her that she was on her way back and she shouldn’t worry. When the blonde entered the room… it was a mess, using the word loosely. The walls were in all colors of the rainbow sans their original one. The room seemed to be double its size and Chloe was pretty sure her bed just got a fourth dimension added to it. There was also that the plants seemed to have taken over one corner and created their own kingdom. She could even see them raising a flag with Marigold Design and creations logo on it. 

“Figures! I leave you for one afternoon…!” Chloe said with disdain while trying to step over what looked almost like a black hole. 

“Chlo? Is that you?” Mari’s voice came from two and a half directions at the same time. The blonde had no idea how was it even possible.

“Isley! Get your pretty ass here so I can properly scold you!”  

“Um… Kinda tied at the moment,” came an answer.

“I don’t want to hear it. I had a long day of scheming and I need my beauty sleep.” Chloe complained. “Get me my bed fixed at least.”

“Oh fine! Tikki! Spots on!” There was a pink light from two separate directions and suddenly Ladybug jumped out of the small hole in the ground. “Miraculous Ladybug!” 

After the wave of shining bugs settled and the room was back to normal Mari detransformed and smiled apologetically at Chloe. “Sorry. Got carried away with the new book.”

“Picasso’s guide to architecture and interior design?” Chloe deadpanned. 

“Nope,” The bluenette smiled and pulled a rather hefty tome from her bed to show it to her friend. “Someone dropped it inside our room when we were out. Tikki deemed it safe and taught me the basics.” 

“I think you will need remedial lessons, given how our room looked. What exactly was the purpose of making my bed four-dimensional?”

“I might have tried to expand the room a bit, but I miscalculated a tiny bit. There is a surprising amount of math in magic.”

“Whatever. I would tell you how my date went, but I’m utterly exhausted now.” Chloe teased her friend. She expected the girl to beg her for the details. Instead, Mari pointed her arm at the bed.

“Pea and feather go along. Make this bed out of stone.” Her iridescent green and blue eyes flashed for a moment… and nothing happened. Chloe smiled triumphantly and tried to jump onto her bed, only to hit the cover hard. While on the outside, the bed looked like nothing changed, in reality, it was hard as the floor. Funnily enough, she could easily slip under the cover, but it still felt like lying on the floor with sheets of paper sewn together as a blanket. 

“You’re mean!” She cried. “I’m now commandeering your bed.” Before Mari even understood what Chloe meant, the girl jumped under her covers and snuggled on one side. There was still enough space for Mari to join if she was brave enough. 

“Ugh! That’s my bed!” 

“Exactly. You can take mine if you like it enough to modify it.”

“Tikki!” Mari cried, hoping that at least the Kwami would support her.

“Nope. You’re the one that made the bed so now you must sleep in it.”

“Um…” Mari tried to look in the book for a counterspell, but in the end, she just pointed her hand on the bed. “Princes found her prince at last. Take the curse and…” she tried to quickly find some rhyme. “break the glass? Ups…”

The window suddenly exploded, but the bed glowed, and after checking it was okay she picked Chloe to move her over. Except it totally didn’t work and the blonde instead pulled her into the comfortable bed. The tired Mari was too exhausted, both emotionally and physically, to care. She just cuddled closer to her adopted sister for some comfort. And heat since there was now a hole instead of the window and it was February.

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

The next morning Mari and Chloe woke up in a similar mess to the day before. And once again they were clothed.

“Ugh… I should probably calm down on magic.” Mari stretched herself a bit to get ready. She quickly changed into the fresh version of her yesterday’s outfit and helped Chloe gather herself a new ‘something’ for the day’s work. Apparently, for the next step of her scheme, she needed to look like a perfect Parisian princess. Something about Media attention. Mari was too busy with her tablet to care. 

She received a mail at 6 am that there was a slight change in the time of the press conference so she needed to forward it to the conference center before she even got to work. While eating breakfast she checked over the summary reaction about the public statement and emotions that accompanied the fallout. Predictably, the pictures served as a nice distraction, but also rallied the citizens behind the company. They treated it as someone making fun of the suffering company and flamed the Lila girl, even though the company said that she was also a victim. Well, there was a footnote about it. 

“You know you don’t need to put so much work into it?” Chloe asked while eating her croissant.

“I do. But if I can’t manage it now, how am I supposed to one day make MDC as big of a brand as Gabriel?”

“By not working yourself into a coffin?”

“Well… Wait a moment.” Mari was interrupted when her phone ringed. She quickly picked the call and her smile was replaced with a frown. “I understand. I will be there soon. Please keep an eye on him and tell the security not to let any more paparazzi.” she hanged up.

“Trouble?” Chloe asked with a grin.

“I’m afraid to ask…” 

“Damian is doing an errand for me. He is such a good sidekick.” The blonde smiled. Mari did not answer but urged her best friend to move on faster.

Since they stayed in their room for breakfast, neither girl wanting to deal with their moronic class longer than needed, they got down just in time… to see the bus leaving them in front of the hotel.

“Are you kidding me?” Chloe raised her hand. “We are in Gotham. Does that… that… Has she got any idea how dangerous is it?!”

“Said the girl that taunted the Riddler.” Mari deadpanned.

“He wouldn’t hurt me.” The blonde answered confidently.

“Anyway… we could call a taxi.” Chloe sneered at the idea, so Mari offered something else. “I could also test that portal spell…” 

“Taxi!” The girl shouted. Mari just shook her head and pulled the mobile phone. After less than five minutes Chas Chandler rolled next to them in his cab.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He smiled.

“Nice seeing you sir.” Mari greeted him before pushing Chloe in the back seat and joining her.

“To the Wayne tower, please. I would appreciate it if you could get us there fast. I need to get my boss to do his work.” She hoped they would arrive before the class to see their faces.

Sadly, the cab got stuck in the traffic and it took them over an hour to arrive. When Mari entered the lobby, she was angry enough to turn into a ‘stern assistant’ mode. Not a nice place to be if you are on her way. She stormed past the security while flashing her badge. They didn’t dare to try to stop her. 

“Get McKinsley to HR. And by the time I arrive I want Lila Rossi and Alya Cessaire to be sitting there!” The second one was directed to the receptionist, who nodded. So far everyone loved Mari, even in her bad mood. It didn’t stop them from being terrified. 

Both she and Chloe got into the elevator. When the doors closed, the blonde grinned. 

“I love it when you finally show your Gothamite side.” 

She got no response from the angry Mari, but through the ride, her smirk did not disappear through the ride. Once they separated, the bluenette continued alone. Angry did not give her emotions justice. She was furious.

Once she finally got on the floor, she stormed through the corridors right to the head of the department’s office. Luckily for everyone, Lila and Alya were already there.

“Who do you think…” Alya started only to be silenced by a death stare from Mari. For the first time in her life, she realized that the bluenette was someone not to be trifled with. 

“Apparently, since this morning I’m your superior.” Mari deadpanned. “Funny thing. I would probably only learn about this from your bragging later on if you didn’t decide, in all your stupidity, to write yourself reference in my name.” It was clear that she did not find it funny. 

“Puh-lease. You bullied Lila since she came. I thought that it was only fair that you’ve repaid her somehow.” Alya babbled, already forgetting her earlier fear.

“So you take full responsibility for forging both your resume?” Mari asked with a raised eyebrow, wanting to have it said out loud for the record. Especially since Madame McKinsley was standing in the entrance.

“Of course. It was totally unfair that such a bully got all the privileges while hard-working Lila had nothing.”

The Head of the Human Resources department sent Mari a tired look that seemed to mean ‘is she for real?’ She was a woman in her thirties with neatly cut black hair and skin in the color of dark chocolate by the name Mrs. Alicia Lynch

“Oh… In that case, you’re disciplinarily fired.”

“What?!” Alya screamed.

“And I will make sure this incident finds itself into your acts,” Alicia said with a frown. 

“You can’t…!” Alya was once more cut off, this time by madame McKinsley.

“They can. And you’re lucky that we are not pressing charges for attempted sabotage.” 

“The security will show you out. The teacher and your guardians will be informed. Since the hotel is paid by Wayne Enterprise for the members of the interns’ program, you will need to find alternative accommodations or simply return to Paris. I’ll leave this to the teacher and parents to resolve.”

“But… But…” Alya wanted to argue. All blood left her face and she seemed close to passing out. A man in a suit, carrying the security badge helped her out of the chair and led her outside.

“Now about you.” Mari turned her gaze toward Lila, who so far was busy checking on her nails.

“Oh! This is ridiculous! I had nothing to do with it. I’m a victim too!”

Marigold turned to McKinsley, who looked dejected.

“We can’t fire her. She was hired for the six months period.”

“Mutual agreement?” Mari asked. She’s been researching ways to dissolve her contract faster. Sadly, she already knew the answer.

“Two months waiting period. Standard to ensure she doesn’t use any of her knowledge against us.” For Mari, it was a year when she couldn’t work for any other company. Luckily, running her own business was still on the table, as long as she stuck to restrictions.

A different idea formed in Blunette’s head. She smirked slightly. “Well, Miss Rossi, looks like you’re in luck. Welcome to Wayne Enterprises. I hope you didn’t have any great ideas.”

Lila gulped. “Was that a threat?”

“No. If I threatened you, you would know. You and your little attack dog forgot that this is not Paris. This is Gotham. Here, we play by my rules.” With that she spun around and left, typing on her tablet. Just before the doors closed, she tossed another sentence that drove the nail deeper. “And this time, there is no minion to do it for you.”

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Marigold didn’t calm down before reaching the top floor. Her emotions subsided a bit, but she was still on edge. 

“Ugh! How dare those stupid witches to try to use my name to sign their references! And that idiot who somehow believed them. He will definitely not get any bonus this month. Or next. At least they had enough common sense to call me. Except after the fact!” She was pacing in front of her desk. 

Tikki peaked from the inner pocket of her jacket. “At least you could do something about it!” She cheered.

“True. I got rid of one trouble. Without her, I will have a chance for some peace…” She barely finished the sentence when there was a crash in the room next door. Immediately, she rushed inside to check. Turns out her boss for some reason decided to move the desk. He ended up knocking the computer over. 

“Ehm.” She faux-coughed to get his attention.

“Oh! Um… I was just…” Tim tried to find some excuse.

“Trying to open the secret stash of coffee?”

“How do you…” he started to ask flabbergasted, but she interrupted him once more.

“I studied the schematics. And Sarah left me a note about it.” A smirk ghosted her stern face.

“Damn! Now I will need another hiding place.” Tim gathered himself from the ground. “Wait! You moved the desk by yourself?”

“Do I look that strong to you?” She asked, her face unmoving. Just because she came to hate liars didn’t mean she didn’t know how to bend the truth a little. And technically, she just avoided answering altogether.

“Whatever. You must’ve ordered the repair crew to move it then. I want my coffee.” He said pouting.

“Sir. I’m supposed to help you manage your time better. I am not simply your secretary.” Marigold informed him firmly. She checked with both Chloe and Nathalie what her responsibilities included.

“But you made that divine brew on Monday!”

“That was a gift for my first day of work.” Plus I had no idea what I was doing.

“But…”

“Enough buts for today. You have a meeting with Mr. Fox about the Friday presentation in half-an-hour. Did you familiarize yourself with the content of the email he sent you?”

“Ah! Of course, I did. I totally didn’t spend my night…”

“Then I would appreciate it if you spent the next half-an-hour on doing so.”

“B…” He didn’t even finish when her glare stopped him. She could pull Batstare better than the original.

“If you act like a proper CEO, I might think about making you some of my ‘divine brew’ as a reward.” She suggested and closed the door, leaving him to his own device. She had several calls to make and set other meetings

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It was two hours later when angry Caline Bustier demanded a meeting with her. Mari didn’t even think before redirecting her to HR. The teacher was supposed to be the chaperone of the group and look after them after work. She was also directly responsible for all of their actions. She was very displeased that now she had to take care of Alya for eight hours a day that used to be free time for her. So of course, she blamed everything on Marinette. This time, it backfired. She had to quickly give up any accusations before she ended up in an even worse situation. 

Luckily, after that little incident, the day passed without any more surprises. She had half-a-mind to search the town for her mother in the evening. Since she was hired, she was now technically independent of the class. Chloe had a slip from her father that allowed her to basically ignore the teacher. The blonde convinced Mari that mindless wandering the city would only get her robbed. Or at least involved in attempted robbery since she could easily kick ass if she only wanted. Instead, Mari spent the afternoon shopping for materials and working on a new outfit for uncle Jagged that he ordered for his visit to Gotham in a month or so.

She also made a quick call to Paris to discuss things with her hire. The girl informed her that she would happily run the store a little longer. Mari promised to even consider to hire her permanently if she did well. 

Chloe had another date scheming meeting with Damian Wayne. At this point, it was unclear what their relationship was. Good thing: neither did the tabloids. Mari promised to the blonde to hold back on the search for her mom until Friday afternoon. She also promised to take both Adrien and Chloe with her when she visited a contact in the local club. They would celebrate her getting a job and the first week over.

All would be great. If she didn’t spot a vigilante on the rooftop next to her (now fixed) window. Even then, it was Gotham. The bats were rather common at this point. It wasn’t like when she left and they were only starting. Batman was still mostly a myth back then, even after six years of work. Except this vigilante was clearly staking her room specifically. he even had binoculars that she was sure had night vision in them. 

She opened the window and picked a pencil. With deadly precision she tossed it. The wooden tool sailed through the air until it hit the binoculars and broke one side of them. She huffed and closed the window before pulling the curtains closed. How rude.

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