#Talia raged and wept when she woke up

[bluerosefox]

Bellatrix Star

A TaliaxDanny idea that came to me.

Damian, Bruce, and the rest of the bats discover the Talia al Ghul they had been fighting against, the one that cloned her own son, had the clone kill him, plant a control device in him when he broke his spine, etc etc was actually not the real Talia al Ghul.

Turned out Ra's had cloned her and killed the original when she discovered his little plans to take over Damain's body and she confronted him about it. Ra's had to make a clone when after tossing a dead Talia into the pits but never returned (he meant to kill her as a warning, as a "you may be my blood but will not hesitate to end you Talia.") It explains so much to Damian when remembers how out of nowhere his mother changed, her training him changed from harsh to deadly, the soft motherly love she would give him when behind closed doors suddenly stopped, the tales she would spin for him about his father no longer whispered to him for bed.

How this was find out?

Well it's hard to ignore the facts that when your foolish grandfather in his quest for immortality summons an eldritch being known as the Ghost King into the Mortal Realm and uses Damian as a sacrifice while his (not) mother watches emotionless.

When the being appeared, plunging the room from green glowing flames and the glow of the Lazarus Pits into darkness before a cosmos exploded to life, its glowing green eyes snapped open in the stars and stared at them all. Making every single one of them feel small, so very small.

It took a single glance around the room before stopping on the al Ghul's. It's eyes widen before a steel and firm look entered them. Just as quick as the cosmos sprang to life, it suddenly swirled away into a ball, putting them all back into the Lazarus room,and reformed in front of them to a more humanish height and body.

When the body, around the height and build of Batman, was done forming it took a step forward and suddenly as one blinked a man stood in front of them. Or rather floated. Snow white hair that flickered and wisped towards a crown made of fire and ice, glowing green eyes that held none of the madness but all of the power the Lazarus Pits could give. His clothing were tailored made that were tastefully a mixture of black and white with some silvers and greens, clothes fit for a King one would say. The cosmos that once engulfed the room had shifted into a cloak that hanged around his body, on one side more than the other (think like how CW wears his only the hood is down).

This, this was no doubt the Ghost King, he stood tall and regal and made everyone in the room feel the need to look down, to bow ones head for even just a moment. Even Ra's had trouble disobeying the urge to do so.

"Well..." the being said, his voice deep but not as gravely as Batman's was "What an interesting way to meet my In-Laws and Step-Son..."

He has said that as he looked towards the al Ghul's. Damian flinched back with a frown of confusion and disbelief while Ra's looked panicked for a second when the words registered into his mind, meanwhile Talia... looked emotionless and barely even twitched.

"What the fu-?" Someone began only to stop when the King lifted his hand and with a snap of his fingers a green portal appeared, it looked almost like the Lazarus Pits but it felt... cleaner? Less angry?

"My Bellatrix, my warrior star. I believe I've been summoned to your home dimension. And judging by the looks of it your father created a barely functioning Mirror of you and planned on using your son as a sacrifice to me." He spoke out towards the portal before holding his hand out.

A hand appeared from the portal, a slender hand and with green and black painted nails manicure to perfection before someone walked through it as they took hold of the Ghost King's offering hand.

Standing in front of them was another Talia, only this one looked a tad older than the one in the room. She wore clothing that matched the King to a T but even then, as always, Talia looked deadly in it. Beautiful but very deadly. From the heels she wore to the crown upon her head, a crown made of not ice and fire but of stars and black jewels. Her eyes were sharp as she stared at everyone in the room, frown on her painted lips, but her eyes lit with a small soft joy when she saw Damian only for them to turn poisonous when they landed on Ra's and the other Talia nearby.

"I should had know you would had created a Mirror of me instead of admitting to my son you killed me Father." Queen Talia spat out. "The least you could had done was not make my Mirror so cheaply, it doesn't even have a proper soul attached to it."

[doctoranon]

No Magic In The World.

Written for the Maribat? Get In! Civil war.

This is a direct sequel to I Must Be Dreaming so it would be best to read that. Though it works easily enough by itself.

TW: Mentions of sex, alcohol, driving under the influence and vague suicidal thoughts.

Waking up in another unfamiliar bed, Jason's head was banging with a raging hangover. Rolling over and out the bed he stumbled to the sink in the hotel bathroom to retch. This was becoming a bit of a regular occurrence. But the welcome oblivion of no dreams kept his heart from breaking over and over again every time he woke up and realised Marinette wasn’t going to be laying in the bed next to him. Dreams of her were a sweet torture, and he’d quickly decided no dreams of her were worth the moment of bliss he felt before reality intruded upon his waking mind.

Leaning over the sink he felt rather than saw as two slender arms held him from behind, and for a moment he dreamed of familiar arms and the smell of apple blossoms, before roughly pushing the woman away.

“What the fuck are you still doing here for?” he sneered, looking at her over his shoulder in the mirror. He took the woman in, icy blue eyes and a dark brunette. Looks like his drunken ass couldn’t even get that right. Then again, no one would ever come close to Marinette's fierce beauty.

The woman stuttered in confusion at him. Bless. She thought this was more than a drunken tumble and a subpar substitute. Holding a hand to his banging head he scoffed at ther, pointing at the door. “I don’t give a shit. Fuck. Off.” 

He knew, somewhere in his mind, that he was treating the poor woman awfully. Unfortunately his self disgust at touching another woman but her had him taking it out on her. Flashes of the night before came to mind, and mixed with his already nauseous stomach he threw up what little he had left in his system.

Hearing sobs from the other room and a slam of the door he grimaced. Not his most shining hour but he didn’t give a fuck right now. He’d cheated on Mari, fuck the fact she was- shaking the word from his head he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

He was in a sorry state. Pale skin, dark red rimmed eyes. He’d even lost some muscle mass and weight. He was a shadow of his former self. Splashing some cold water on his face, he moved to the other room, dressing as he found articles of his clothing.

Sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, one which he refused to look at, he took out a cigarette, lit it and took a drag. What the fuck was wrong with him? This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten hammered and fucked his feelings away with a poor substitute and it disgusted him. How could he ever take someone else into his bed, drunk or not? He physically shuddered as another bout of nausea rolled through his stomach. It always left him feeling unclean. Unworthy. 

He groaned when the silence of the hotel room was broken by the ringing of his phone. He took it in his free hand and scoffed at the displayed name.

Incoming call. Dickhead.

Rejecting the call and throwing it back on the bedside table, he finished his cigarette before lighting a second one straight away. Seeing a mostly empty bottle of whiskey on the dresser he staggered over and picked up a packet of painkillers and proceeded to wash a few down with what was left, relishing the burn at the back of his throat. 

Looking around for another bottle he scoffed at the litter of empty ones. Not one had any left in it. Looked like he was making a trip to the liquor store very soon in his future. 

In the background his phone had started ringing again, be he wasn’t up for his sympathetic older brother to offer a shoulder to cry on. He was fucking done sitting on his ass and crying about it. There was nothing he could do to change it.

He had begged Tikki and Plagg. Gotten down on his fucking knees and begged them. He would never force them- no, Marinette would never forgive him if he forced her beloved Kwamii to act against their will. But it had hurt that they weren’t willing to save her.

He had accused them of all sorts, that they didn’t actually care about her. That they had never loved her. At one point he had even pointed his gun at Plagg before he had destroyed it. He had broken down again in that moment, curing fetal on the floor as he wept for his love to come back. The kwamii had joined him, sharing his grief. But still, ultimately, swore off letting him make the wish. The had told him there was no magic in the world that could bring her back. He had replied she was all the magic in his world.

Now he was travelling, looking for someone, for something, that could bring her back. He wouldn’t believe the Kwamii until he had exhausted every option available to him. Except the pits. He refused to use the pits; to owe Talia something. He would never taint Marinette like that anyway. She was all things good and beautiful and pure in his life, he would never make her like him.

Hearing his phone start ringing again for the umpteenth time, he picked it up and answered.

“What the fuck is so important? Huh?” he answered, face twisting in a rage that was aimed at himself for his actions both last night and this morning. “Six missed calls, Dick. Didn’t you get the memo? I didn't want to fucking talk to you when I rejected the first fucking one!”

The silence that greeted him down the line had his stomach twist in guilt. He knew Dick was only worried for him. Heck even the Demon Spawn had shown worry for him and treated him like fucking glass. It was one of the reasons he had to get the fuck out of the manor. But even then, he couldn’t return to his and Maris' apartment. She was everywhere, in the fabric swatches on the table to the post it notes on the fridge. Their bedding smelled like her and her perfume lingered in the air. It repulsed him.

Everything about the place repulsed him. It was a home made for two. One set of his and another set of hers. Other things that were theirs. Except there was no theirs anymore. It had taken one look in her office room, to the zipped up garment bag he knew held her wedding dress for him to grab his bikes keys and get the fuck out of dodge. At the time he’d simply not wanted to be in that apartment. Ten minutes later he was on the road out of Gotham and no plans of returning any time soon.

“Jay-” he could practically hear his brother trying to figure out what to say to him, could easily imagine his shoulders would be hunched and tense as he deliberated. It was something he did when planning his next move in the field. Mentally he snorted. Did that equate him with a battle or an enemy? Either sounded right to him to be fair.

“Are you going to tell me where you are today?”

“I couldn’t tell you even if I felt like it.”

“Jay please.” he could hear the frustration in the acrobats voice, but he couldn’t really give a damn. “Come home.”

“Home, Dick?” he questioned, licking his chapped lips and picking up his bikes keys. He didn’t give a shit if he was over the limit. Death would reunite him with Marinette, and if he made it to his destination the liquor would help with that too. “I have no home anymore. She was home.”

“Then tell me where you are, Little wing! Please!” he closed his eyes shut tightly, gritting his teeth together. He hated that his family was hurting. But he couldn’t give up. He had to find a way to bring her back.

There had to be some magic somewhere that would give her back to him. He’d seen it happen for everyone else, so why couldn’t it happen for him? For them? Why couldn’t they have this one piece of happiness? Just this once?

“I can’t do that, Dick. You’ll try and stop me, bring me back to Gotham.” He paused as he opened his eyes and swung his leg over the bike. “I won't stop looking for a way to bring her back to me until I know I’ve exhausted all possibilities. Because I owe her that much. And if I die trying, well I owe her that too.” he told him, smirking sardonically.

“That’s not true, Jay! Marinette wouldn’t ever want you to do this. Please, Jason, this is killing you.” Dick begged him down the phone. “Come home. We can still search from here, but please, come back, be with your family.”

Putting his keys into the bike and revving the engine he grinned dryly. “Sorry, Dickie bird. Not today.” he hung up then, turning the phone off and pocketing it. Kicking up the bike stand he took off, he was sure he remembered the nearest booze shop was only 5 minutes away, and even that was five minutes too long.

The conversation had flared up the pain in his chest and it needed numbing again. Sweet oblivion here he came.