#To the point he knows like half the Gotham youth

[nothesunisadeadlylazer]

Dick: I think you may have inherited Bruce's adoption problem

Jason:

[hauntingrabbits]

More Batman/My Little Pony au art because these are ridiculously fun to draw. Part 1 here!

More info under the cut!

1. Sweet Talk/The Harlequin (Harleen Quinzel)

Originally contracted to work as a psychiatrist for the Tartarus villain redemption program, Sweet Talk had a unique relationship with the Joker. This relationship was proven to be even stranger than her coworkers had originally assumed when she broke him out and joined him in his life of crime.

Devoting herself entirely to her new life and relationship with the joker, she covers her original cutie mark at all times. Snce her horn was snapped she can no longer cast precise spells, leaving her magic mostly emotion-based and intensely volatile, (typically manifesting in the form of sparks, zaps, and explosions).

Other Notes:

-Using Tartarus as a substitute for Arkham Asylum for this au because why not.

-The villain redemption program did NOT go well. Sorry Twilight.

-Mostly based on BTAS Harley because I adore the original costume.

-Her horn was cracked by the Joker

2. Pudding Pie/The Joker (The Joker)

Batpony’s most notorious foe. Said to have been just a regular pony until he fell into a vat at an Ace Potions factory during a conflict with Batpony.

He doesn’t have a Cutie Mark, but it’s unclear whether this was always the case or instead a result of his accident. The effects of permanent Cutie Mark loss—the only known cases of which occurred via long-banned magic and/or traumatic injury—are largely unstudied, and it’s ramifications are unknown. Some ponies theorize this may be the reason for the Joker’s mental state and general disposition.  

Sundown has a different opinion on the matter.

Other notes:

-Based mostly on BTAS joker and the ‘89 Nicholson joker.

-His name is just based on Harley’s “pudding” nickname for in in a lot of versions, but I think it would also be hilarious if he was a distant relative of Pinkie Pie.

-I could leave it ambiguous but. Yeah the potion vat didn’t actually do anything beyond slightly altering his physical appearance. He’s just like that and he never got a cutie mark in the first place.

3. Gadiel/Scarecrow (Jonathan Crane)

Raised among ponies, Gadiel was relentlessly bullied for being gangly and birdish, earning him the nickname “Scarecrow” in his youth. Though he later successfully became a professor and psychologist in Gotham, Gadiel was eventually fired when he was found to be testing his fear-inducing potions on his students and purposefully putting them through terrifying and dangerous situations. Deciding to take his experiments to the masses, Gadiel donned the mantle of Scarecrow and weaponized fear to become a career criminal.

As the Scarecrow, he’s known for his skill in manipulation, psychological torture, and crafting dangerous potions and gas. The effects of fear on magical creatures are unique and intense, much to Gadiel’s delight and interest.

Other Notes:

-I wanted to make his front half a crane but I couldn’t get the long neck to work right with the mask, so he’s more crow-like instead.

-according to the wiki 1/3 of Griffin names start with a G so naturally I was extremely tempted to name him Gonathon and you should all be very grateful I did not. The name Gadiel has origins in the bible as the name of an archangel which I thought was fitting given the insane religious trauma some versions of the scarecrow went through. I thought about trying to do something similar for this version but given that the mlp universe uses Princess Celestia as a replacement for God in expressions like “Celestia knows where” and “Oh my Celestia” I wasn’t really sure how to go about it. There’s probably some kind of sun-worshipping thing in equestria idk.

-I spent a long time on the mlp wiki but from what I could find the only “fear” magic in the show is just used by one guy and its just called “dark magic”. I thought for sure there would’ve been some random plant or magical creature they dealt with at some point that maybe did something similar I could use for his blurb but unfortunately there was not.

4. Mandible/Falseface (Basil Karlo/Matt Hagen)

Hungry and deeply resentful of the changeling queen for forcing her underlings to share what little stolen love they had with her, Mandible went rogue early on and split off from the hive to pursue his own ventures. Finding success under the name Claypose as a pony actor in Gotham, he was sustained primarily by the one-sided love of his fans for years, despite the false identity having no real prior personal relationships to leech from. 

After a magical special effects accident on set revealed his true nature, he went into hiding and immediately started crafting a new persona, but soon found in his distress and rage over losing his identity as Claypose that he could no longer sustain any disguise long enough to keep up a long-term facade. Blaming the accident, he targeted the unicorn responsible by posing as his wife to leech his love, but ended up killing the pony in a panic when his disguise failed much faster than he’d anticipated it would. Unable to keep up a new identity or return to the hive, Mandible turned to a life of crime instead, doing dirty work for the bigger criminal names in Gotham and leeching love from his employer’s targets to survive.

Other notes:

-Clayface being a changeling was an obvious pick given his power set but I really wasn’t sure how to tackle the main issue of him being unable to keep a solid form for long. I went with his distress and frustration being the main thing keeping his disguise flimsy (so he gets put in kind of an ourobouros cycle where his disguise being bad makes him upset but him being upset makes it harder to fix his disguise), but the magic accident probably also contributed somehow.

-Why are all the changelings straight up just named after body parts in this show whats that about. The “Clay” in Claypose is obviously a reference to his title/schtick in the comics while the “pose” comes from both his job as an actor and the fact that he’s posing as a pony. Mandible is the name for the jaw part of an insect.

3. Winglon/Killer Drake (Waylon Jones)

Originally intended to be used in an entrance exam, his egg was stolen from a Canterlot delivery cart on its way to Celestia’s school of magic and sold on the black market to a Pony Island circus. Raised to be part of the freak show, Winglon was pitted against circus performers and overconfident challengers in ring fights for money and entertainment. Enduring abuse and injury throughout his life from ponies that he was always fundamentally stronger than, it was only a matter of time until he snapped. Garnering the name Killer Drake for his actions, Winglon escaped into the Gotham sewer system.

Not knowing how to return to the dragonlands or whether he’d even fit into dragon society at all, he continues to lurk in the dark away from any life, deeply resenting ponies and all other manner of magical creatures that make friends with them.

Other notes:

-I like silly names ok. Winglon Jones. -I like the theory that the dragon egg used for Twilight’s entrance exam was actually fake/meant to be a no-win scenario, but I also don’t think it would be that hard for enterprising ponies to get their hands on dragon eggs. The practice probably stopped in the later seasons when they made friends with the dragonlands or whatever though.

-Given that dragons threaten to eat or kill ponies at multiple points in the show, the cannibalism is actually kind of understandable. And also not even cannibalism anymore. Still murder though.

[webshood]

Jason didn't plan for Red Hood to become the father figure of half of Gotham's youth.

It was all a accident, as much as Jason likes to believe, deep down he's a softie with a very obvious weakness to kids. At first he didn't notice things changing, everything seemed normal, kids always called for him asking for things.

"Mr. Red Hood can you give money so I can buy my baby sister's formula?"

"Mr. Red can you help me get my kitten, she's stuck behind the dumpster and it's heavy to move it alone"

"Hood can ya talk to ma'? My old man beat her again and she ain't gonna leave him"

"Mr Hood are you good at math? Mom don't know how to do my homework"

These kids needed him and he would help them all the ways they needed, once a 17 year old, barely five years younger than him needed help applying for college and he spent the next hour going over every single scholarship, government help program, part time job and help them through the process.

Some kid wanted him to knock their parents a peg or two for being abusive? He got it.

A sex worker needed him to look after her baby for a little while so she could work? Well, Red Hood has a baby wrap for his back and will be doing light patrolling to not disturb the baby.

Little boys want him to play football/soccer with them? He's changing his shoes so his pointy steel toed boots won't ruin the ball.

He should've noticed when younger children started calling him papa and all the other variants of the word in different languages, one day he was Mr. Red Hood, the next, he was papa, dad, abba, papito, papai, painho, baba, cha, no matter if he had interacted with the kid before or not, they would all call him dad anyway so Jason just shrugged his shoulders and proceed with his life.

Jason is 100% okay with that because his kids always respect his job as a crime lord/vigilante and never get in the way, but there's small incidents that they're in direct danger and he just has to protect them. Like the time he pointed a gun to a lacy college boy from the diamond district who thought his high schooler daughter was the one to catcall, or that time when one of his son's had a father's day presentation on school and the deadbeat biological father didn't go and Jason had to give him a little scare.

[ravenlocksentwisted]

Fic concept (Jason Todd & Duke Thomas & Duke Thomas):

Jason Todd comes to town after his green glowy spa trip. He's planning a brutal takeover of the area's gangs, particularly the drug trade. His focus is honed to a razer-thin blade, and nothing's going to stop him from forcing Batman into a confrontation.

At one point, he'd probably have tried the harm reduction route. You know, take over the drug trade to limit who was sold to, keep kids out of the line of fire, protect the people of Crime Alley and the sex workers and all that.

But.

Priorities.

Gotham is a cancer, and there's no rot left to cut out. There's nothing left to fix - the whole city is broken. But he CAN force Batman to fix one thing. He's not going to get caught, so he needs to do this fast, and there's no time for mercy.

Which leads him to staring down half a dozen gang members at the edge of his territory. Contested territory.

He's been here for less than a week, and the toughs in front of him are already shaking in their boots.

He quirks a smile under the helmet.

One of them straightens, stands up. The one next to her looks over in alarm.

"You can't-" says the chick.

"Oh really?" he drawls, amused, the vocal distortion adding a touch of menace. "I can't what?"

"You can't sell drugs to kids here."

He loses some time after that. Stares out over rooftops like a good ex-bat, gathers some information. Finds out that there's a youth group organizer in the Blackport area that has somehow managed to actively band together a group of gangs to protect their neighborhood. Actively protect it!

Jason's been tailing him for a couple of days now. He moves like Special Forces, but his documentation is sketchy as hell. Probably in his early thirties, whatever the papers say.

The guy's name is also Duke Thomas, which is a weird coincidence. There's also a child by the same name that's been taken in by Bruce Wayne recently. (The new baby Robin seems especially focused on the area, too. The kid is hard to avoid now that he's actively doing reconnaissance there.)

Whatever is going on, the adult Duke Thomas is a threat to his operation. And Jason has a job to do.

[nanabrainrot]

2. Love, Bruce

Summary: In which Bruce loves your birthday more than you do.

Mutual pining & oblivious idiots in love

Part 2 of “Love, Bruce”

“I can’t believe I’m already 23!” You bellyached again. You had known Bruce way too long; you could feel your youth depleting as the days pass and withering in front of him. These past few years of Bruce being your only friend in Gotham was a hardship as you aged, climbing the ladder to 25, and wondered if saving yourself for Bruce was becoming a fool’s task.

That’s about 2? 3 birthdays with him? But every birthday, though you no longer had parents to get gifts from, you would always get one from Bruce and a secret admirer. 2 and a half years of wanton waiting and watching, carefully curated and expensive gifts at your building’s front desk was a bit odd and almost cause of considering a restraining order but… these gifts were always so thoughtful.

“So what did you wish for?” Bruce asked from opposite your counter… which also happened to be in your living room and bedroom due to your absurd studio’s size but it was the only reasonable rent in Gotham. You smiled a weak one at him; if you told him, you’d spill your guts and look stupid all the while. You aren’t sure if this friendship with Bruce was a collection of you misunderstanding his nature or genuinely a connection. This in mind you decide to lie: “A promotion, obviously.”

He smiles and looks down, like finding his will to say something, and then not saying it. Instead, he takes a breath and asks, “Why don’t you open your gifts then?” You grin at the concept. Bruce had a lot more money than you and often gave you something you’d really had your eye on, sometimes earrings, a perfume, a makeup palette, or some fancy designer’s two piece set for the office whose name you always butchered. “A giiiiffttt? For me from you?” you slyly counter, not trying to hide your excitement, “don’t mind if I do, sweet stuff.”

You wink, saunter past the threshold that offered barely any separation from your kitchen to the main room, and sat on the futon’s arm just behind the stools at your “counter” (otherwise known as the pathetic ledge above your stove that gave you a luxurious view of your futon and piece of shit console table that doubled as a your office). “Lay it on me, Brucie! Don’t forget the price limit was $40. If you went over, I’m throwing you out,” you smiled half-heartedly. Truthfully, you always tried to give him a price cap that he never followed through. Whenever his birthday rolled around, you’d be forced to pop out a sewing machine or show up at some shithole pottery place to craft some random attempt at a gift. The rent was ever-raising and your wage stayed the same; you wondered if you should get a second job to get him something nice.

His hands are so big, calloused and sometimes littered with cuts or bruises, to which he always says he took up woodworking with a short laugh. But they’re so gentle, handing a small box with a delicate bow and brown tag that reads, “Happy Birthday to the Best Friend of All, (y/n).” Despite the sincere affection you feel, you barely beat back the tears at the sight of the word “best friend.” But it’s your birthday, a day more exciting for him than you; you couldn’t care less if he showed up at the lobby with a smooshed clearance cake if it meant he’d come. “Can I open it, Bruce?” You question lowly, staring at the handiwork tenderly. The bow was knotted weirdly, probably from him struggling to tie it himself with his meathead fingers, but a part of you want to save it so badly and to never know what’s inside of it. Just keep a memory of him in your “desk” forevermore.

“Well you open gifts, don’t you? That’s the whole point.”

“Fuck you, Bruce,” you laughed, struggling to unknot and trying desperately to conceal the fact you were trying to keep the tag intact to lock away to stare at later. The little bow, all crinkled, sits on the sofa as you open the little box. A simple heart necklace. Your heart blossoms at the sight, his birthstone in the gem of the heart, glistening brightly. Something tells you he went over budget, but something claws in your throat and makes you want to cry.

You feels like he knows you like him, feels like he’s teasing you, staking little claims on you, but never telling you he loves you. He loves you as a best friend. Who lets nearly 3 years fly without saying something like that? Your eyes feel wet, but you grin at him across from you. “This is so beautiful, thank you.” You lift it out, leaning with it in hand to place the little box on your desk, before you start trying to put it on, struggling a little with the clasp. Fiddling with it still, you laugh a little embarrassed at it and mumble, “Ah I think it’s cause I grew my nails a bit too long. I’ll just put it on tomorrow -“

“No, let me help you.” Your eyes follow him as he stands, gliding across the small space to sit on the futon behind where you sat on the futon’s arm. His hand is a bit cold when he moves your hair to one shoulder, brushing your skin to smoothly it makes heat rise to you face and your heart thump so hard you fear he’ll point it out. His pale face ghosts close to your neck, grunting as he tries to make use of his thick fingers on the delicate clasp, breathing hot breaths on your neck. The clasp clicks in place, but the necklace doesn’t drop once he’s done. He smooths it across the nape of your neck then moves your hair back to where it was at your neck.

You think you’re gonna fucking pass out.

“I clasped it for you,” he says in a low voice behind you, his breath sounding a little shallow.

“Really? I’d never have noticed,” you start sarcastically, softer than usual, still looking forward as you try to steady your breath and command your heart to just go back to normal. You don’t even want God to know the thoughts racing in your head at the potentials that could’ve unfolded.

It’s too quiet after his, the sound of both your shallow breathe and the honking of the cabs, the yelling of teens on the corner outside, your upstairs neighbor’s kids running here and there and the couple next door laughing with their in-laws are the only noises. Even with all that, his breath sounds short and shallow, before he gulps.

“Did that admirer send you stuff this year too?” He coughs, trying to make some conversation to fill the incredibly heavy air of your quietly loud studio. “My admirer? Surprisingly, yes! You’d think after like 3 years or something he’d give up but no; I didn’t open it yet because I always feel bad opening it,” you chuckle at the thought of past presences, all the gifts were so expensive the first year you were speechless for like ten minutes groping at the expensive linens set.

“Feels bad?” Bruce countered, almost sounding a little to worried. You would wonder what that was about if you weren’t wondering so hard about the admirer. “Yeah,” you shrug, “I could never afford that stuff if he never sent me the gift. I guess I feel bad I can’t say thank you for it, but I don’t think I’d be able to face the admirer honestly.”

“Why’s that?” Bruce asks hesitantly.

“Huh? Oh, uh, I uh am kind of interested in someone specific,” you start laughing out of anxiety. Specific? If he asked who you think you would just full on piss yourself.

“Specific -“

“Actually, let me see what he sent me this year haha!” You frantically changed, jumping up despite enjoying his brief closeness and scurrying to the kitchen where a neatly wrapped box sat with a letter. You gulped, desperately praying to every God he just shut up about it as you unraveled the bow and picked off the letter.

“Wait (y/n) what do you mean someone -“

Shut up shut up shut up! you internally cried at your own stupidity, frantically searching for a way out, some escape route from the topic before settling on tearing open the letter to read aloud. “Dear (y/n)! Happy birthday, I sent you this gift to celebrate another year of you being alive. Even if you don’t know who I am, you don’t need to. You don’t owe me anything for these gifts; I just need to show you how deeply I love and care for you. Enjoy your birthday, have a beautiful day… your secret admirer,” you trail off at the end, staring at the scribbled text and feel sad. You aren’t even happy at the notes, at the gift, knowing that some guy out there is stuck in the same position as you, just wistfully staring and yearning for someone out of reach. But your heart still blooms at the idea of someone wanting you so badly.

“This admirer really likes you, huh?” Bruce smiles from the threshold of your tiny kitchen. Your lips twitch into a small smile as you set down the letter and debate throwing the letter away, but at the same time wanting it to keep it to remind you someone liked you. A moment passes before Bruce asks, “Are you gonna open the gift?”

You snap back into reality after that teenage moody adjacent behavior possesses you to sulk over Bruce and the admirer, before you muster a grin to him. “Yeah! I wonder what he got me this year,” you laugh back, trying to muster the energy to look happy at the gift but really growing continuously frustrated at the presence of Bruce who you aren’t sure if he likes you, loves you, platonically or whatever is going on in his head. You push aside the box top like you push your thoughts aside and staring into the cottony plush surrounding a Dior perfume. You remembered sniffing it in a department store you were roaming around with Bruce a few months ago and your heart flips at the chance maybe maybe it’s Bruce, maybe it’s him. Your heart flips, then falls.

God, you’re getting so fucking delusional.

“I love this scent! I’ve been putting money aside to get it, but now I can save a hundred bucks!” you giggle, partially cheered up and partially about to sink to the floor and weep. Dior perfume was a luxury for many in Gotham, rent too high to spare it for something at this price tag. “Ah, if I ever met my admirer I’d have to at least kiss him to show my thanks,” you laugh absentmindedly as you turn over the bottle and admire all its text and coloration, oblivious to the blushing man by you.

Bruce feels a stir of jealousy as he watches your fingers turn over the bottle, watches your other hand still hold the paper with a certain gentleness and appreciation. What am I thinking? I’m the one who got her it anyway, he shakes his head at his irrationality, trying to shoo away his thoughts of you crooning and cooing at some guy claiming to be your admirer. “It’s getting late, (y/n), I’ll get out of your hair now,” he coughs, stepping back to your coat rack and going to slip on his shoes. You glance at your clock beside the stove. Oh. It was late. You smile a weak one, desperate to have him stay the night, but knew the implications with just a futon to stay on. “I’m sorry I kept you so late, Bruce -“

“Y’know I’d do anything for the birthday girl right?” He smiles, way too charming, slipping on his coat and shoes as you feel your face turn twenty shades of red in a minute. “Th-thank you,” you giggle stupidly at him, “I’ll see you next week?”

“Sure,” he replies shortly as he stood by your door. You shuffle to approach him, mustering your confidence and courage, and use it to make something count: you kiss Bruce Wayne on the cheek and pull back in one swift movement. This happens within a second and if both your faces were photographed in this one second time frame, you would both make it into Guiness World Records books to be named “Most Surprised Dunces in the History of Gotham.” Before he can question you, your hand moves it its own past him, flying to open the door and usher him out before you literally burst into tears. Pushing and batting at him to leave you cry out, “Thank you, okay bye I’ll see you next week or not no pressure it’s cool if you don’t wanna see me if you don’t wanna you don’t have to stay safe call me when you get home say hi to Alfred okay bye Bruce -“

You close the door hot and hard. His footsteps pause as he paces down your hall and you fear he’ll return, but he keeps going until his steps vanish. You lock all your 5 locks, shut off all your lights, and sit on your futon. The tag from his box stares at you with cold eyes and you… you put it on your desk. The couple next door is saying goodnight to their in-laws, and retreat to their lives of loving each other so blissfully. You sit there in the dark, in a simple top and a pair of shorts, and wonder if the world is fair.

You aren’t sure. You go to sleep anyway and have 364 days until you turn 24.

[cetaceans-pls]

The (Non)Necessity Of A Stiff Upper Lip

Batfam | Bruce, Dick, Jason | No Capes AU, per @sparkypantaloons

Jason’s too old for floaties, too young to swim free.

He is the exact right age to almost die when swim tube meets sea, though.

Or, the vicious life and damp times of Bruce Wayne, father extraordinaire.

(Based on a true story).

-

Gotham Bay is a success story, of sorts. Used to be that she was prettiest in winter, often iced over and blowing such frigidly cold wind people were too busy trying to avoid eyeball-frotbite to take a glance of the mysterious lumps and bumps that were always floating in the water. With the industrial waste and the absolute lack of oversight, Gotham Bay in the summer was even worse, of course. Green and slimy, with the occasional disembodied hand or foot courtesy of the crime families using the area as an easy dumping ground.

Used to be, finding a knuckle bone was a rite of passage for the youths of Gotham City. Bruce is glad that it’s better, city and sea both, glad to have put in decades of campaigning and lobbying and pouring as much money as he could into improving what he could of Gotham.

Glad that they reached a point where he felt confident enough in the bay’s recovery to step into it during a press conference when he was in his twenties, gladder still that a few years on from that he gets to have this.

This, being the first outing he’s had with his sons without Alfred’s watchful eye. The man was supposed to come with them, but a splitting migraine doesn’t mesh well with children screaming and the bright sun of a rare buttery-summery day. So Bruce has a bag filled with things children may like, and a child in each hand. He looks at Dick on his left and Jason on his right, and hopes (as he has hoped since that dark awful night he’d met Dick for the first time all those years ago) that it won’t takes decades for him to get good at looking after them too.

“What would you boys like to do?” Bruce asks solicitously, because he doesn’t know what average(ish) children would enjoy. He had hated most places when he was their age, but it had been easy to be unloving in the absence of his parents.

He doesn’t want them to have the same experience.

“Ice cream!” Jason declares, lisp-and-a-whistle coming on through the little gap of a fallen baby tooth. Nevertheless, he tries to worm out of Bruce’s hand with the strength of three eels.

“Noooo, let’s go for a swim first!” Dick counters, and he’s squirming half-heartedly. Bruce is reasonably sure Dick wants to let go of his hand to look more Adult, and he’s also sure Dick doesn’t actually mind holding hands, and it’s embarrassing and sweet and it’s a lot to bear ‘round brunch-time on a Wednesday.

“It might rain after lunch.” Bruce sets off towards the lifeguard tower, because it’s only good sense to stack the odds in his favour in case of an emergency. There is a large first aid kit in his bag, but it’s reasonable to assume that the young woman with excellent shoulders and neat braids tucked under a sun visor would be an important resource if things go wrong.

“So we should swim first, and if the weather goes bad we can go eat and get ice cream. How does that sound, chum?”

Always plan for things to go wrong. Who knows what would have happened, if he’d thought to think like that in the alleyway, after all.

Jason looks mutinous, but that’s pretty much business as usual for him. “I don’t wann’ floaties,” he says, though ‘floaties’ gives him struggle. Bruce gives this heavy consideration, because it’s the only type of consideration he knows how to give. Jason, presumably, does not want floats on his arms because Dick’s graduated up and away from them last year. Who is Bruce to stand in the way of a boy’s determined self-improvement?

“You can use a float ring,” he relents, “but I will keep my hand on you this whole time. And Dick, you’ll stay close to us, do you understand?”

Dick, more wonderful than any child has any right to be, doesn’t even tease Jason about it. Just gives a jaunty salute, before diving into Bruce’s bag to find the air pump and the float.

The sun’s beating down, harsher than it almost ever is in Gotham, and the sizzling of his shoulders feels like an omen.

Good times to come, surely.

-

Bruce ensures that they stand right in the line of sight of the lifeguard, in as straight a line as he can manage so that she can see them clearly and she has a straight path straight to them. He is, himself, a strong swimmer, but he has two children in the sea and one of him is two people too few.

The odds need to be stacked in every occasion, every single blessed one, because failure to do so can leave people (can leave children) with, ah, undue burdens.

He does start feeling a little ridiculous, being as worried and tense as he is. Jason’s going quiet as he hangs on to his ring, open ocean waves rolling him up and down, too short and sweet for his feet to touch the ground for all that the water is barely chest-high on Bruce. Dick keeps to his word, sweetly doggy-paddling in a little radius around them, laughing whenever a big wave crashes hard enough to push him a little off course.

It’s going fine. Gotham’s gotten better, the bay’s gotten better. This composition, one-of-Bruce two-of-family isn’t destined for failure, no matter how he had felt when he’d brought Jason home and Dick had hated him so at first, no matter how Bruce has made his peace since awfully early on that he's a bringer of blights to pairs.

It’s fine. He takes a deep breath, unwinds a little. Everything’s fine, and he’s doing fine, and the water is fine, and it’s fine if he’ll need to hustle everyone out again in another fifteen minutes or so because being so, so on alert here in the big bad world with the absence of Alfred is giving him a headache.

A boat cuts across the sea, far enough away from the swimmers and beach-goers to offer no direct harm, but it does set off a wake big enough to clear the top of Dick’s head.

“Dick!” Bruce yells, and he knows it’s a yell, hears the loud booming panic even if Dick resurfaces before his name’s even fully-called, shaking his head to get water out his ears.

“I’m fine-” Dick’s starting to say, but the fake wake had come through in just the perfect time to obscure a startlingly large wave. Bruce has his hands on Dick when it hits, tall enough to dampen the top of his head, hard enough to almost knock him off his feet.

Dick just whoops, and Bruce smiles at him. “All right, all right, don’t get too excited now.”

But Bruce is the one stricken, when a sharp PREEET of a plastic whistle claps through the air, and the lifeguard is blowing on it like a life depends on it, bearing down on them at a run that’s alarmingly fast for all that it’s bare feet on heated sand, and reality slows down to molasses and misery when Bruce looks at how both his hands are wrapped around Dick’s shoulders leaving nothing for-

In the near distance, the float ring gently bobs away. A tiny wave breaks, and Jason breaks through the surface, crying loudly as he struggles to reach out to Bruce, the left side of his face scratched and bloody.

Bruce reaches for Jason on automatic, head blank, and doesn’t hear Dick’s pained gasp from how hard he’s holding on to him. He stands there, and stops being a person for a little bit. His only function is to keep Dick and Jason’s head above water, and Bruce is physically, wholly unaware of functioning further than that.

(It’s a victory that he doesn’t throw up, and it’s almost his greatest despair that his son is looking at him and is crying and he doesn’t know what to do, can’t figure out how to solve Jason’s suffering the way he figured out algal blooms, and in that endless, eternal 5 seconds for the lifeguard to get to them, Bruce wishes he’d just left the Bay to rot all those years ago, wishes he’d been able to be left to rot all those years ago too).

-

In the end, the boys get tucked on a hip each and transported to their beach towel right by the lifeguard tower. Leila tells them sternly to not move, not for a second, because their father still needs rescuing.

She goes back for the man, though she keeps her eyes on the boys. “Hey, mister,” she says, in this situation they absolutely did not train them for. Didn’t ask for much from her, when she said she was on Gotham U’s varsity swim team, but now she wishes they at least had given her a pamphlet, or something. The man is so tense he’s shaking, and this has been just a stroke of misfortune, is all, except he looks like he’s died or dying. “Hey, your kids are waiting, c’mon.”

She tugs at him, and he seems dazed, and lost, and red on the shoulders and green in the face, eyes too-bright and nose peeling. He doesn’t move, looks like he doesn’t know how, like he’s actually a man made of kelp and while she can move his arms and tilt his body his feet are deeply planted.

This is far, far beyond her pay grade, considering that she’s a volunteer here as part of the Wayne Enterprise scheme that’s helping to pay for the refurbishment of the swim centre by her place, but not having a wage somehow makes it feel like she owes more. So Leila reminds herself that she can bench 130 pounds, and the water’ll help.

“C’mon,” she says again, tugging harder, kicking at his feet like she’s trying to uproot him. “You’re not looking so great, but we only have me on staff here so I need to get you better, but I need to do it fast.”

He doesn’t seem to hear, but he does start to move, lead where she goes till their feet are on dry(er) sand and she has to look up and up and up to see the whole of him and realise that 130 pounds would’ve still left a lot of him out there.

The beach towel where the older boy is carefully cleaning the scrapes and cuts of his brother feels like an insurmountable distance. Leila looks around, at the people rude enough to stare but too polite to intrude and offer any sort of help, and sighs. “Okay. Cool. How about we just-”

She maneuvers the man till he’s kneeling on his knees, then has him turn over and lie down. He becomes more human, for a little bit, blinking owlishly right at the sun. Assuming that he drove here with his family, she can’t exactly let him go sunblind, so she tugs off her visor and lays it over his face.

He looks strange, unmoving even as most of his face is obscured by neon orange, but in for a penny in for fuck, what, 200 pounds? And she arranges his feet so that when the waves peak they just, just tickle his toes. That usually helps her when she’s feeling, uhm, unmoored.

Reminds her that sometimes it’s fine to lack mooring, somehow.

It takes another few minutes to check on the boys, make sure that Jason isn’t actually hurt badly, hadn’t swallowed water when the wave took him under and scraped his face against the pebbley sea floor. His face has already been cleaned really well, and nothing’s really bleeding anymore, even if the cut by his brow looks like it might scar a little.

Dick hands her a tube of antiseptic cream, and she slathers it on with abandon. “You sure you’re okay? I can call an ambulance, if you need it.”

“I’m okay,” the boy says, clearly attempting to be.

Can’t fault a kid for trying, and frankly, succeeding at keeping calm. “Not scared of the sea?” God knows, a sharp rock in the wrong place and he might’ve lost an eye, but that’s true of most places.

“Not till I learn how to swim,” Jason says bullishly, and that’s that on that.

“Okay, cool.” Leila awkwardly pets him on the head, and he looks like he sorely wishes he could put Dick between them.

The big brother’s busy, though, repacking all their things. Bag zipped up tight, little kiddie hats pulled out so there’s one for him and one for his brother, Dick looks at her with a serious look. “Can you look after our things, please? We want to go sit with Bruce.”

Calling your dad by his first name’s mighty weird from some middle-school kid, but family dynamics aren’t her major (it’s botany). “Do you think, uh, Bruce, does he look like he need an ambulance?”

He does to her, because he’s still lying there unmoving, her hat on his face like a strange funeral shroud, unmoving like the corpses that apparently used to be a regular sight here years and years and years ago.

Dick shakes his head. “Alfie says that sometimes when someone falls and they’re hurt but they’re not hurt-hurt, all they need is for you to sit down with them till you can get up together.”

Jason springs to his feet all at once, looking proud. “I’m not hurt or hurt-hurt or hurt-hurt-hurt. I can sit with B until he wakes up again.”

“I think you both should,” Leila says, not understanding what in the hell is going on in the slightest, but happy to defer to the experts. “You should go sit with him, but stay out of the water, okay?”

They discuss this amongst themselves, though it mostly sounds like babble with a few weird buzzwords. Jason starts a sentence with “Stratagems,” and Dick just nods gravely, and okay, it’s a little sweet that they’re parroting words they probably heard from Mister Dad.

Leila helps them move the beach blanket and some drinks to where she had left the man, who might be dead or asleep or unconscious or away, at this point, and heads back to her post.

The volunteers have to write a reflection essay after every shift, mostly so that the WE people can get input for how to improve Gotham Bay.

She feels like she might hit the 800-word minimum to describe maaaaaybe 1/8th of the interaction she’s just had, wow.

-

Bruce doesn’t know where he went, but comes back to Jason and Dick bickering over his chest, spilling some Capri Sun the way they have a tendency to when there’s an intersection of access to juice and a heated argument.

“-no, Alfie said, he said that I was better at helping roll out the cookies!”

Dick, then, in that high-handed way of older siblings he seemed to have acquired within literally 24-hours of Bruce showing up with Jason at the Manor, tells him that, “He says that, to be nice, because you’re baby.”

“I’m not!” Jason protests. “Bruce is! He’s the one who, who fainted ‘cos I got a lil cut!” A fist with a juice pack slams down hard onto his belly, and it’s as good a time as any to rejoin his sons.

Bruce blinks at the underside of a hat, pulls it off, and blinks at the sun.

The view is quickly obstructed by two faces, familiar and sweeter than air, and Bruce desperately, desperately wants to cry.

He’s good at not doing that, though, so he clears his voice and raises his hands to run them through their hair. “I definitely would be the worst at rolling out cookies,” he says, voice hoarse. “Jason, you’re all right?”

It feels heinous to say, because surely the answer is No, but he was struck dumb at the sight of Jason’s little face all bloodied up, and he’s also good at picking up traumas that simply will never leave him.

“I’m fine,” Jason says, play-wrestling with Bruce’s arm. “Just some scratches. ‘s okay, you had to help Dick ‘cos he’s bad at swimming and cookie-pressing.”

It’s a declaration of war, just about, and it’s a testament to Dick’s strength of character that it hasn’t come to body blows quite yet. “At least I’m not the one that needs floaties!”

“Enough,” Bruce says, quieter than usual. He’d made an effort in the early days of all this, a specialised training regiment where he taught himself to speak more and more softly the angrier or more overwhelmed he got. He won’t shout at his children, no matter what, not for any reason, so this is how he conveys himself instead.

It works, because they are (somehow, blessedly) his children. Two pairs of eyes stare at him unerringly, and Bruce feels cracked and complete all at once. “I think we should go for ice cream now.”

That garners him cheers, though no one seems in a hurry to move from where they’re slumped against him.

Bruce is even more reluctant to lose this, this unusual heat beating down and him and radiating from his children, a strong breeze sending sand and spray into his mouth, feet wet to the ankles from the sea.

Years and years and years, poured into the bay to make it better, cleaner, healthier. Make it well.

Substantially fewer years, poured into Jason and Dick, and here and now he feels like he’s holding fewer corpses too.

[writer-panda]

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

Chapter 1  -|-  Previous -|- Next

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

-----------

As she hanged up, Marinette rushed to the doors and let her mother in. The previous night she spent mostly on working with Kwamis to prepare. Most were in agreement that she needed to act and not leave her kitty’s fate to chance. Tikki protested for a bit, but in the end, she saw that there was no changing Marinette’s mind and joined in on scheming. Except she had no way of tracking Adrien. Not… until she received the call!

Except now her mother entered. Sabine greeted her daughter by giving her a bone-crushing hug. 

“I was so worried! When the police called I couldn’t just sit there and wait!”

“Maman. It’s alright. I’m okay. See?” The girl did break away from the hug and smiled.

“I know. But I couldn’t help but worry.”

“Maman… Adrien’s been kidnapped.”

“I know.” Her mother’s expression didn’t reveal any emotions now.

“I… he’s been miserable ever since that wedding mess, and now this.”

“I know.” Again, nothing. 

“He’s my friend.”

“Not the love of your life?” Sabine questioned with a bit of amusement in her voice.

“No. He doesn’t need another fangirl. He needs a friend. Someone who can support him. I… I wasn’t a good friend before this…” She didn’t reveal that she wasn’t a great partner either. Chat hid things well, but from time to time his shell cracked. She should’ve seen the signs. She could’ve done something. Or at least do something with Lila. She had connections and Lila deserved a lawsuit or five. 

“Oh, sweety. You were a great friend. You are a great friend. I’m happy to see you’re not about to chase after some misguided love, but after friendship.”

“I know I’m only… wait, what?” Marinette.exe stopped working. If the problem keeps repeating itself, please contact customer service or the nearest Kwami. 

“When I was fifteen, I dropped out of… school to explore the world on my own. It wasn’t until a few years later that I met your father.” Sabine said in a bit dreamy voice like she was reminiscing. “We had several adventures across Europe before finally settling down in Paris.”

“But… Papa’s a baker.” Marinette protested. “I thought he was always a baker, like his father.”

In response, her mother chuckled. “No. Your father had much more in common with your Nona than with his father. I met him when he was fighting in an underground cage-fighting club.”

“Whoa…” Marinette’s eyes widened. That was a story she never heard before. “So how did you two got together?”

“I will tell you some other time. The point is, I know that even if I took you to Paris with me, you would’ve run away to look for your friend.”

“Maman!” For a moment, the girl wanted to protest. But then she decided that there was no point. “Yes… you’re right. But I can’t just let it happen! If the police find him, he will end up back with his father!”

“I know. And what’ll you do about it?” Her mother had this mysterious smirk on her face.

“I guess… I need to be the one to find him. I will get him situated somewhere safe. Maybe stay with him for a bit. He’s smart. And a quick learner.” He mastered being a superhero faster than I did.

“Good. Then you have my blessing.” 

“I can’t just abandon-” Marinette.exe stopped working again. Contacting the customer service might be in order. Technically, Sabine kept hinting about it. Practically, Marinette would miss a clue even if she was holding a gun to its head. “I have your what now?”

“You can go. Save him. Find yourself. And maybe kick some asses while you’re at it.”

“Most parents would be worried sick about their not-yet-adult children running off to an adventure.”

“You wanted to know how I met your father. The answer is I was the first to beat him in that cage.” Sabine’s smirk was replaced with a serious expression. “Of course I will worry, sweety. I’m your mother. But holding you back now will not help you. You’re a strong young woman and to be fair, I’m not sure how we could hold you down. You have steady access to the rooftop and two years of parkour training.”

“What now?”

“Did you honestly think we wouldn’t notice you sneaking off through the balcony?”

“And you didn’t even tell me?” 

“It would be hypocritical of us.” Sabine defended. “And if the worse came to happen, I had several… souvenirs from our travel around the world.”

“Thank you, Maman. I promise I will come back; And call you often. Well, maybe not too often.” Marinette already dashed to start packing. 

“Of course you will. And don’t get into too much trouble. I would hate to have to go and find you.” Sabine threatened with a bright smile on her face. 

“I’ll try, Maman.” The girl was only half-listening now. She couldn’t waste any more time. She learned how to trace the call about one-and-a-half years ago when she was still a bit ‘stalker-ish’. 

Sabine watched her daughter with amusement. So many memories returned to her now. Youth mostly well-spent if someone asked her. The ‘mostly’ part came to bite her just that moment as her phone pinged. She quickly checked the message and frowned. 

“I’m sorry, my little cupcake, but I need to go check it. An old friend turns out to be in town.” 

“I’ll call you later!” Marinette called from where she was furiously working on her laptop. 

When Sabine left, the kwamis swarmed her immediately.

“Your mom is so cool!” one of them cooed.

“And she’s one bad-”

“Roaar!” Tikki scolded the tiger kwami. 

“What’s the plan, pigtails?”

“Adrien’s call was made from within Gotham City. He’s still here for now. I also managed to track him to Burnley.”

“Didn’t that mercenary you called mention some Lawton?” Trixx offered.

“Yeah. I did try to search him up, but the only one with that name that I managed to find is Zoe Lawton. Wait. There is more!” She beamed up. “An old article in some Mexican newspaper.” She clicked on the link and read it aloud for her co-conspirators “Floyd Lawton, also known as Deadshot, was recently arrested after an assassination of a small group of smugglers. It is yet unknown if it was a hit or was it personal.” The article went on, but there was nothing more of interest.

“So the guy’s a mercenary too? That’s good. He’ll bring Adrien to you.”

“Not so fast. I remember hearing about him. Deadshot is one of the few mercenaries who try to keep some resemblance of a code. He’s also noted to be soft around children.”

“Isn’t Adrien almost an adult though?” Kaalki asked rather uncaring.

“Have you met the guy? He’s a literal ray of sunshine!” Plagg protested.

“So… he won’t deliver him and won’t return him.” Seeing that some Kwamis didn’t understand her logic, she clarified, “I don’t think that if he learns how Gabe treated his son he will be in any hurry to return him.”

“That makes sense.” The little being all nodded in agreement.

“So what’s the alternative?”

“He could adopt him,” Ziggy suggested.

“Please.” Marinette dismissed the idea. “He’s not Bruce Wayne.”

“He could smuggle him out of the country.”

“No. Everyone’s looking for him.” Roaar countered. “He would try to lay low somewhere.”

“Burley is large and full of potential safe houses.” Marinette started to think. “But there is also a large concentration of organized crime. Alone, we would have a hard time, but if we got them to help…”

“Is it wise to involve more criminals into your schemes Marinette?” Tikki asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry, sugarcube. To catch a bird you need wings. To catch a criminal you need crime.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“What’s the worse that could happen? I will go there as Seamstress. I won’t even appear in person. Right, Trixx?”

“You can count on it.” The fox kwami grinned.

“But… but…” Tikki wanted to scream her head off. Why did the previous guardian choose a juvenile criminal for her holder. Marinette used to be such a sweet girl. Where did Tikki go wrong?

---------

It was dark when an eerie mist filled one of the less-than-legal clubs in Burnley. From among the smoke, a figure entered. She was wearing a godet-type black dress with a side-cut that reached to her belt. The dress was overlayed with a very visible deep-blue corset that pronounced her blue eyes. It had some intricate laces on it. She also wore a puffy-sleeved blazer (also black, but with a dark blue finish) with large and very pronounced cuffs. Around her neck was a white double jabot fixed to a choker with a large black gem surrounded by diamonds. Her long deep-blue hair was let loose and hung over her shoulder. A simple black-and-white domino mask hid her features.

As she marched, one of her legs shifted the fabric to reveal she was wearing dark-blue socks reaching above her knee and black leather boots. A knife was strapped to the right one and several leather strips around her thigh and knee suggested she had more weapons on her. 

One of the men whistled.

“Looks like the entertainment arrived, boys!” Several cheered at that shout. At least until the man who dared to say it ended pinned to a wall with a rather large needle holding his jacket in place. It was also uncomfortably close to his jugular. 

“I’m not entertainment.” The Seamstress hissed. 

“Then you’re not invited.” Several men got up, many were holding now-empty bottled which they turned into impromptu weapons. 

“You will help me find what was taken from me.” She demanded.

“Yeah? Or?” One of the men laughed before charging at her. 

What followed next was perhaps the strangest carnage Gotham City has seen in years. The Seamstress danced between the attacks with almost unnatural grace and agility while stabbing the attackers in various places with large needles. None of the hits were life-threatening and most would heal within hours. The wounds were meant to incapacitate with minimal long-term damage.

By the time she reached the far end of the bar, almost every man was laid out on the ground groaning in pain or scrambling in fear.

“I am not asking. You will be rewarded for your obedience.” She then disappeared into the back alley. One brave/foolish enough who still had some fight left rushed after her, only to find the place completely empty. 

On the rooftop, Marinette let out her breath. She didn’t use any miraculous for that one, but she kept Plagg’s ring on. Chat Noir wasn’t seen in some time, so it would’ve been easier to explain that the ring was stolen by a criminal. She would really need to thank her mother for all the training she forced on her ever since the Akumas started to appear, as well as the lessons during her childhood. Those were all only the most basic grunts tonight, but she got their attention. One of them would run to their boss. There, she could actually do what she planned. 

--------

Just like she predicted, some of the less injured guys left the bar in hurry and drove their bikes to another part of the district. They disappeared into a three-story building. The windows were boarded, but some light seeped through on the top floor, so that is where she climbed. Indeed, by hanging on the edge of the window sill, she was able to hear the panicked screams inside.

“...and then she just disappeared! It was like that damn Bat, only much more terrifying. She was so small, and yet there was this… this… aura of power.”

Thank you Chloe for being queen B. Marinette stifled a laugh. Mimicking Chloe was the right choice. 

“Probably another one of his useless brats.” The boss dismissed them. Marinette decided that it would make the best impression if she contradicted him right now.

She wondered for a moment how to enter the armored building. She could rip the boards away and enter that way, but she was aiming for ethereal, not brute. In the end, she pulled a pair of glasses and put them over her mask. 

“Kaalki. Would you please help me break into headquarters of a criminal organization to scare them into serving me?”

“How many sugar cubes is it worth?”

“Ten. No more, no less.” Marinette had a small window of opportunity. 

“You’ve got a deal.” 

“Kaalki! Full gallop!” The light enveloped Marinette. When it died down, she was still in her outfit, only now the blue accents were brown instead. The gem on her neck held the symbol of a horse miraculous. “I love magical clothes. So easy to maintain the image.” Marinette muttered before a blue portal opened before her and she entered.

Inside, the five men (two who came to report, the boss, and his two guards) watched as the blue portal opened before them. The mist started to pour through it as well as through the boarded window. A figure calmly stepped inside.

“I didn’t expect the Gotham criminal organizations to be so… cliche.” She commented. Two needles sailed through the air and pinned the guards to the wall. Her horseshoe weapon waited patiently on her back should she need to use it.

“Who… who’re you?”

“Me? Oh. I’m The Seamstress. I had business in Gotham, but a fool dared to double-cross me. I need to find him.”

“Why… W-why shou-should w-we help… help you?” One of the guys from the bar asked.

“Oh. I’m not asking. I’m telling you that you’ll help me.” She informed. “I’m about to make you an offer you shouldn’t refuse.” 

The boss was now shaking. Damn city with its damn overpowered supervillains. They think they can simply run things as they want. First Red Hood took out most of the top brass of the underworld and then this? Working on his father’s farm was sounding more and more appealing. Then there was the shouldn’t. The reference to the classic movie was not lost, but she said shouldn’t. Not can’t. Once more he remembered how Red Hood took over. Submit, or die. This was the same. She clearly wouldn’t hesitate. He liked to think he could see those things. 

“I’m waiting.” The lady growled. “I’m not used to waiting.” Channeling Chloe is actually fun here. 

“Fine. You can have my seat. I’m going back to dad’s farm. Just let me go and you can have them.” The boss stood from his seat and motioned for her.

Marinette.exe is not responding. Do you want to execute the process? Not yet. 

She managed to keep enough cool to smile and take the seat, although she didn’t even register what was that. 

She would panic later. For now, tracking Adrien. “I need to find where Floyd Lawton, also called Deadshot, is hiding with my… asset.”

“It… I will see to it, Boss… lady.” One of the guys from the bar nodded very fast before rushing out of the room.

“I… will bring you the list of current assets.” One of the guards informed and walked somewhere. They were used to aggressive takeovers. This was their third. Boss change, guards remain. This was honestly the first time the previous boss managed to escape with his life. 

Meanwhile, Marinette finally realized what just happened. She really wanted to hit her head on the desk, but she was too afraid to show any signs of weakness. Why did she end up in this mess again?

----------

Sabine Cheng was waiting for her plane back when an airport guard approached her.

“Lady Cheng?” Sabine’s blood froze for a moment, but she refused to show any outward reaction at her past codename. “There is a man who wishes to discuss some… past debts.”

Damn it. And here she thought that bald bastard would forget about her. He had several more suitable people. He knew the risks of angering her.

Then again, she knew not to anger him either.

“Lead the way.” Her face was stone cold as she stood up. 

Inside a comfortable private lodge sat a blad man in a suit more expensive than the yearly revenue of her bakery. 

“Ah… Lady Cheng. I’m so happy you could’ve joined us.”

Sabine looked around and noticed that there was another man there, standing slightly in the shadows. A man she came to despise just as much as Luthor. Standing there was Gabriel Agreste.

“I can’t return the pleasure, Luthor.” She snarled, not letting her gaze drop from Agreste.

“Figured you’d say that.” The billionaire laughed. “But it doesn’t change that you came.”

“Be quick. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“About that.” Lex smiled. “I’m afraid you won’t be on that plane. I need you to do something for me.”

“Sadly, my calendar is full for the foreseeable future.” She retorted coldly.

“Then you will clean it. Unless that is, you want me to tell my good friend the president about your little assignment for me twenty years ago. If I recall, your pardon didn’t cover that particular crime.” The man chuckled.

The only upside of this whole situation to Sabine was that Agreste finally realized exactly who she was. Or at least how dangerous she was. The deal she made ensured that Lady Cheng disappeared from everywhere but some people’s memory. To her dismay, Lex didn’t forget. And he still had that damning evidence.

She also knew exactly what was the job.

“I don’t do jobs involving kids, Luthor.” She seethed through gritted teeth. It wouldn’t matter, but she hoped it would at least give him a pause.

“Adrien Agreste was about to be married. I think that can calm your conscience. He was all but adult.” That despicable man dismissed her concern, as she predicted.

“I’m a little rusty. Don’t you have someone younger? Someone who would actually want to do this?” Sabine deadpanned. She kept true to the deal she made for her and her husband’s pardon and didn’t do any… extracurricular work.

“Alas, the fact you’re unwilling is why I need you. You see, the client, whoever they are, picked Agreste Jr. as a target in a… battle royale of sorts. It quickly stopped being about the ludicrous money reward. It’s now about proving who’s the best. And they won’t stop until they deliver him to that mysterious Seamstress.”

“So what do you want? I’m sure you could’ve bought some of them to drop the glory part.” She really didn’t want to do this.

“I offered to pay five times the price, but most of the competent ones want a shot at whatever that job is. A mysterious benefactor with no history, nonexistent in any database in the world, paying a small fortune for a simple job and offering further work? Doesn’t it sound familiar?” Lex reclined in his chair and smiled.

“One job only. I want everything you have on me. And ten times the bounty.” She noted his discomfort. “Don’t give me that look, Luthor. You can afford it. My daughter’s about to start a university.” Sabine turned to Gabriel. “I must thank you for the idea. Homeschooling really helps when one is gifted.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Lex grumbled. If he didn’t know the quality of her works, he would’ve laughed at the price. Except he foolishly revealed that he was desperate.

“Oh, I’m sure we can.” Sabine smiled. She was like a cat that just caught a mouse.

[bluegarners]

Oooh for the bingo card can I pick survivors guilt with dick feeling guilty cause he ran away from home just like Jason but he lived while Jason died 😢

ahhh sorry this took awhile to get to!! i hope you enjoy this though~ requested for my Bad Things Happen Bingo ; it is also on ao3

Survivor's Guilt

The days bleed into one another to the point where it’s almost offensive, how indistinct and indiscriminate each sunrise and subsequent sunset is. A little boy died and the world carries on like nothing happened. Like his life was nothing less than the lawn being mowed or a tree being cut down. Is there an analogy Dick’s forgetting about, comparing dead children to nature? He’s not sure, he’s just tired, and the days continue to bleed into one another.

Monday is actually Thursday and Dick looks in the mirror and traces the bruise on his face. There’s a line in the fading purple blob that’s just the slightest bit darker. Knuckle indents. He saw it coming but he didn’t do anything. It was… just a punch. He applies some ointment and looks away. A little boy died and he’s still taking care of a tiny little injury, hardly an injury, it’s nothing, it’s nothing, because-

It’s four in the evening and Dick just woke up. It’s not a good habit to fall into, to sleep so late, do so little, think about dead little boys and missed funerals, but Dick can’t help it. Sometimes, he loses time within the bleeding days, just sits down for a moment and then an alarm goes off to remind him that it’s morning now and that he should be getting up to do… something. Go somewhere. Take care of things. But what? But what? Dick only just sat down, it doesn’t seem fair for the world to demand he be pulled this way and that when it already took a child, already took someone that never graduated tenth grade.

What do people learn in tenth grade? They’re just children, and Dick can’t remember much from his Gotham Academy days, so he really hopes they aren’t put under too much pressure. They’re all just so young, tenth graders, so young and youthful and there’s really no reason for them to be bogged down with work or stress from education. Life was infinitely more important than some late homework and Dick wonders if the school requires missing assignments from dead children. Wonders what they do with that extra, empty desk or the absent name on the roster. Wonders if they just shove another kid into their place, cross out the name for attendance, and carry on like the rest of the world seems to have.

What’s more, what do the friends of the dead child do? Do they mourn? Mourning seems so sad for the young, it's got no place in their view, and yet Dick remembers mourning, grieving when he was just nine but it was all so wrong. Dick hopes that the friends of the dead child are okay. Dead child. Dead little boy. Dead tenth grader.

He heard the funeral was nice. Heard that the school hosted a vigil. Of course, he wasn’t able to attend. Wasn’t extended the invitation to attend, but it’s not about him. It’s about the dead boy.

Dick has never been comfortable with children. Not in the sense that he finds them strange or annoying or that he can’t stand youth. He’s just not comfortable with the sheer light, with people who possess so much of it that it literally oozes out in all the things they do. Leaks out from their innocent smiles, their troubled and off-handed questions, their zest for adventure, yearning for dreams so much larger than themselves, their endless compassion for others, their infinite amount of crushes, their worry about deadlines and asking someone out on a date, their constant need to keep up with trends of the day; so many light things that Dick hasn’t touched in so long. So many things he feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to touch.

You were lucky.

Was he? Dick doesn’t think he was, but then again, he’s not a dead little boy with a specially made coffin to fit his small, under-developed, never got the chance to reach a growth-spurt, body. Being Batman’’s partner was terrifying. He remembers it being scary, not knowing if he was going to live through the night or if Batman was going to go off on another rampage because Dick screwed up. Not knowing if screwing up as Batman’s partner meant no longer being welcomed as Bruce’s ward.

How many times has it been now? Twice? Three times?

A key is gone from his chain now and its missing weight burns holes in all of Dick’s clothes. It’s a finality that feels just as permanent as the dead little boy’s gravestone.

A size six and a half pair of sandals sit on the edges of Dick’s tiny balcony. He has a no shoe policy in his apartment, hardly cleaner than the streets below, but it was the principle that counted right? No muddy boots, no dirty sneakers, no rain logged socks, none of that. So Dick keeps a pair of size six and a half sandals on his balcony in case a size six and a half wearer decides to waltz in.

Dick wears a size eleven.

He’ll have to get rid of them at some point. There’s no reason for them to stay there, collecting dust or peeling away whenever it rains. They weren’t even that good of a pair, just some knock off brand he found at a convenience store once, so keeping them for their worth isn’t that important. He spent the entirety of seven dollars on them, so really, he’s not strapped for cash and he can’t wear them himself and he’s sure that some homeless kid or anyone really would be happy to have them. He could just donate them, throw them in a box and leave it outside for the trash to pick up. He could. He could.

He can’t.

They aren’t his. They belonged to someone, someone very important, and he can’t just throw them away. You don’t throw away a dead little boy’s shoes just because they can’t wear them anymore. His parents always taught him to respect the dead, respect their belongings, and those sandals aren’t his so he’s got no say in what to do with them. It’s fine if the dead child’s shoes stay out on Dick’s balcony. It’s fine. He doesn’t go out there much anyway. The shoes are so tiny, only a size six and a half, and Dick can hardly get half of his foot in a size so small and they belong to a dead boy anyway so he shouldn’t touch them. Shouldn’t touch the dead child’s shoes.

He’s distancing himself on purpose. It’s a lot easier to say a dead little boy, a dead child, than it is to admit a name belongs to such a ghastly title. There are so many other words, so many other titles infinitely more fitting for a child than dead, and yet it’s the only one that describes him in this moment. Dead. Gone. Passed.

There used to be a box shoved away in the back corners of his closet. A cramped and banged up cardboard box containing every memory he had from being Robin. There used to be a picture of his parents in there, a cracked glass frame and a stained photo all he had left from Haly’s; there was his old costume from the circus, the same one he wore on the night where the sawdust turned black and he learned what sounds a body makes when it hits the ground; there was a small photo album in there too, pictures Alfred took of Dick’s time at the Manor, of his time as Bruce’s ward. Sometimes he’ll flip through its pages and feel that sting in his eyes, feeling the ghostly fingers of longing cradle his head through each memory every pristine photo contained.

And, most importantly, in that old, worn out, and beat up cardboard box, was Robin. Red, green, and yellow. Shorts and a velcro cape. Boots he doesn’t know how he ever fit into. A vest that would be impossible to get around his shoulders now. The crest, the emblem. Robin.

It was supposed to stay in that box. Remain there for the rest of his days, leave behind a child soldier and trade it out for a freelancer looking for a new war to fight. A new landscape to reshape and hone as his own. But then another little boy, taller than when Dick started out, appears in the night and leaps and frolics and laughs by Batman’s side. Stands over Gotham and gloats and jeers and grasps Robin almost perfectly.

And for the first time, Dick understands the horror that plowed into every other superhero out there when he first debuted as Robin. Understands the numbing terror of the thought of a child, someone who probably didn’t know how to do calculus or read Shakespeare or tie their shoes correctly, out there fighting the dirtiest and darkest sides of the world. That someone with a shoe size of six and a half was out there punching rapists, getting up close with drug lords and traffickers, witnessing and investigating crime scenes and analyzing gore and blood spatters.

Just a child. Just a little boy.

It feels wrong. So, so wrong, to give his blessing to someone who’s just barely hit puberty. Who’s still struggling to perfect a Robin cackle or speak without his voice cracking and pitching wildly. It’d make him a hypocrite not to though. He was younger, so much younger, when he started out as Robin, so who is he to stop an almost teenager from being Robin?

Well, actually, Dick is an adult. His frontal lobe is completely developed, he can pay taxes, drink, vote, organize his own affairs, drive, buy cigarettes, make his own decisions. Help others make decisions. Jas- the dead boy was just that. A boy. He had no idea how to do any of those things, much less think about them for the next few years, so how can he just allow a child to decide if they want to traumatize themselves, bleed themselves dry, for a city that doesn’t love them and devote themselves to a man’s mission that hasn’t changed in over a decade?

But even if he hadn’t given his blessing, the boy would have been Robin anyway. Remember? Dick has no say in anything to do with Robin. Anything to do with Gotham. No, all that was taken away the moment he stepped out of line, stepped out of the conformity and obedience Batman demanded. The blessing… it was just a formality for something Dick had never wanted to continue. Robin was supposed to disappear with him, die with him leaving Gotham, and yet…

Robin died anyhow.

There’s a dead little boy that used to be named Robin buried in a cemetery with a beautifully carved gravestone that just wanted the child to rest in peace, sleep well, and dream of a better life. And Dick gave his blessing for him to die as Robin.

The days still bleed into each other, melting and drifting over and mixing until the sunrises and sets in the same minute. Dick keeps losing time and people keep calling him but he just forgets to pick up the phone to answer. He can’t help but stare at his balcony, can’t help but stare at the empty space in the box, can’t help but listen to his own heartbeat and watch the way his chest expands as his lungs do.

He is alive. Alive when he probably shouldn’t be.

Robin was not meant to last. Dick has told himself that over and over again, the clear and simple fact that Robin was not meant to carry on. Born through the same circumstances as Batman, Robin was supposed to be nothing more than a temporary outlet but Dick got addicted and now he can’t stop. Now his thoughts loop around and around and all he can think about is a dead child wearing his Robin uniform and running out in the night with his blessing.

You were lucky.

Bruce was right. He was lucky. Lucky beyond belief that he survived being Robin. Lucky he stuck around long enough to learn what he needed to and then some under Batman’s tutelage, only to be fired and leave a gaping hole behind that was just calling for a replacement. Screaming for someone to fill the void, beckoning the ears of the young and naive to answer its call. Of course a child would answer. Of course someone eager and looking for love and praise and meaning would find their way there.

And perhaps Dick used up all the luck, all the magic, Robin gave. Used it all up and without a care in the world for who would be next to wear the cape, parade the emblem, because now there’s a dead little boy in the ground and his blood stains Dick’s hands.

Maybe if he had died as Robin instead, died in those early days where he was nine and filled with moxy undeserved, it would have served as warning enough to stay away from Batman. Stay away from Robin. Stay away from the beckon of being a child soldier. And, really, it wouldn’t have been all that bad if he had died so young. If he had died after Zucco was found because then he would have been with his parents, would have been reunited with his family again.

Dick isn’t sure he believes in the after life, if there are places like Heaven and Hell, but sometimes he hopes there is because there is a dead little boy in his arms and he is desperate for the hope that he has a good place to go to. To move on to.

But Dick’s not dead, still very much alive and breathing through working lungs with blood pumping through his veins, and now he’s not only outlived his time as Robin, but the next as well. He has outlived a child.

How do you outlive your own legacy?

He can’t call the dead child his brother. They’re not, legally, and Dick didn’t bond with him like brothers should. He tried, tried to after the initial shock and horror, bought size six and a half sandals, helped with homework, lent an ear to vent to, but it wasn’t enough.

Somehow, a dead little brother is so much worse than a child and Dick can’t give him another title to cling to. Can’t assign another name and still…

Jason is dead. Dick missed his funeral, missed it all, and his name is Jason Todd and he was only fifteen when he died and god, Dick wishes he had been a better brother. Wishes so badly he had never given his blessing, never lived through being Robin, because that would mean Jason would have never had to die and he would be in Dick’s place, simply breathing and alive and that’s… that’s all he can ask for.

The days continue to bleed into each other and the bruise slowly fades away into his skin.

The sandals remain on the balcony.

[nightwingmyboi]

Hey so I was wondering about Dick's Romanian heritage. Is it mentioned a lot in comics or media? Is he dark skinned in any adaptations? Is it true he originally went to Juvie after his parents died? Where would I go to find this stuff out? Thanks!

Sure! So, Dick’s heritage is a pretty complex topic. I think it’s best to leave the explanation to [this post]. Since I know not everyone will click the link, just to briefly clarify something: Dick is Romani, not Romanian. Being Romanian means being from the country of Romania. Romani people are scattered across the world. Also, Dick is typically depicted with light skin in canon...him being Romani would not conflict with this, because the Romani people have a large range of skin tones. Not at all opposed to him being depicted with darker skin, but just so that you know. Very, very strongly recommend checking out the post for the whole story (edit: and checking the reblogs for the counterpoint to said post!!) 

Robin (1993) Annual #4

As for your other question...in one version of Dick’s origin story, following his parents’ deaths, Dick was sent to Gotham’s Youth Center. This center was essentially a juvenile detention center; most of the kids were sent there for committing what are described in comic as “adult crimes.” It was a very rough environment for Dick, especially in the aftermath of his parents’ deaths. 

Dick going to the center after his parents died is technically a retcon of his origin (ie it was something added later). I know for some reason certain people hear the word retcon and immediately are like “then it doesn’t count!!!” but I think that is very much the wrong approach. True enough, some retcons are bad--that is, those that completely ignore previously established characterizations or plot points, and in doing so often radically change the story for the worse. It’s fine if people want to ignore those bad retcons, I do so myself. But, that’s not true for every retcon lmao. I’d say the juvie origin retcon is a great example of a good retcon. It really helps to clarify and enhance the original story, and I don’t think it should be dismissed. Hear me out here: 

1.) The juvie origin doesn’t replace any previous origin story--it really only adds to and improves upon the timeline of Dick’s original origin. 

For the most part, in previous tellings of the story, Dick’s origin went pretty much straight from his parents dying to him and Bruce in Wayne Manor. It’s a pretty sudden, jarring jump; the in-between was largely left to the reader’s imaginations or implied to not exist at all. And I’ll be real...the pacing and immediacy of events is pretty wonky and unreasonable. In one of the most extreme speed runs through Dick’s origin I’ve seen, Dick’s parents die and Batman immediately swings down from the rafters and tells Dick that he’ll solve the case...while Dick’s parents’ bodies are still cooling a couple feet away (Batman #436). Yeah, that is absolutely ridiculous lmao, as is the idea that Bruce just immediately adopted Dick the day his parents died. I think that the juvie origin very nicely slows things down and helps to organically fill in the gap of time that would and should exist between Dick losing his parents and being taken in by Bruce. 

2.) The juvie origin helps to rationalize Bruce’s reasoning for taking Dick in. 

In previous origin stories, Bruce’s main motivation for taking Dick in is that he saw his own suffering reflected in Dick and wanted to help him. I dig the parallels between Bruce and Dick...but this is very flimsy reasoning to adopt someone lmao. With all the tragedy that occurs in Gotham, you cannot tell me that Bruce had not run across some orphans before. Bruce sympathizing with Dick certainly should be part of what motivates him, but there needed to be something more. If there is not some immediate, urgent reason to adopt Dick, then it makes zero sense that Bruce would try to raise him honestly. Why would Bruce tear Dick away from his remaining family and friends at the circus? Why would Dick want to leave? And even if Dick could no longer remain at the circus, why wouldn’t Bruce allow Dick to go to a good foster home, especially since Bruce is so laser focused on his solo crusade against Gotham’s crime that he doesn’t even allow himself to have a steady girlfriend half the time? Lots of plot holes here!

The juvie origin fixes a lot of these issues! Staying at the circus is not an option for Dick, not because Bruce just snatches him away, but because legally Gotham Juvenile Services says that the circus is an inadequate environment for raising a child. Dick is sent to juvie, and the comic makes a point of showing Dick nearly being beaten to death almost immediately upon arriving. 

Dick is in danger and he’s lost in the system, so there is no longer a possibility for him to land in a good home. Initially, when Bruce goes to find Dick, he’s still tracking him down only with the intention of getting justice for Dick by solving his parent’s murder. But Bruce is a good person at heart. When Batman finds Dick trying to escape from the juvenile hall, beaten to hell, he intervenes. The next morning Dick is taken in by Bruce Wayne. 

So now, taking in Dick isn’t Bruce tearing Dick away from the chance of having a loving family and throwing him into the dangerous life of a crime fighter; taking Dick in is Bruce saving Dick from a horrible situation, possibly even saving his life. The only way to get Dick out of the potentially deadly situation he was in quickly was for Bruce to take him in as a foster parent. Bruce’s actions actually make a lot of sense! And Bruce is forced by necessity to take on a fatherly role that he does not feel suited or prepared for, rather than him adopting Dick on a whim. The juvie origin gives this scenario the urgency and necessity that it desperately needed. 

3.) The juvie origin has been around for a long time, and pretty successfully adds nuance to Dick’s character without completely altering or changing who he is. 

The juvie origin is a retcon that has been established for about 25 years, fyi. Robin Annual #4, which is where this idea first came into play, was released in 1995. There are also references to this origin story in Nightwing Vol. 2, and that comic series ran from 1996 to 2009, so it’s not like the juvie origin is completely baseless or totally removed from the narrative. 

Nightwing (1996) #11

Also...Dick Grayson has been around for 80 years. In DC comics, I’m pretty sure he is predated only by Superman and Batman. You are inevitably going to have to add nuance to his character as time goes on. The juvie origin adds a very interesting complexity to the character and his fight against crime, considering he himself has been in the system...there’s so much untapped potential there!! So yeah, I feel like the juvie retcon is a very valid addition to Dick Grayson’s origin story. Plus, Robin Annual #4 is just a very well written and well thought out comic book that really fleshes out Bruce, Dick, and Alfred’s initial relationships to one another in a realistic way, and more people should check it out. 

What I’m saying...is that more people need to get on board and accept the juvie origin guys!! It’s my favorite origin for Dick, hands down. Thanks for giving me an excuse to talk about it anon. 

As for where to go for more info…well, you can always check out Dick’s DC wiki, or anyone else’s, for basic summary info. For me, I always like going straight to the source. You could find a comic rec list that focuses on what you’re interested in and just dive in and build your knowledge that way. Sometimes if you google around, you can find neat creator interviews that address questions like the ones you asked. If nothing else, I’m sure there are people on tumblr (like me :D) or elsewhere online who are willing to help you out and point you in the right direction if you’re curious about something in particular. Idk if other people know of a good resource for things like this?

[motleyfam]

I Must Leave, Right Now, Immediately

Fandom: Batman, DCU

Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne

Word count: 3034

Summary: Tim splits his pants at a charity gala. To say that he’s expecting merciless teasing from his brothers is an understatement.

What he gets is… not that?

Read it on Ao3

Like most problems in Tim’s life, this whole situation could have been avoided if only he was a little less of a Walking Human Disaster.

Three weeks ago, when the invitation to the charity fundraiser for the Gotham Homeless Youth Center first arrived in the mail, Alfred had asked each of the boys if they had suitable attire. And Tim, distracted by the case notes he was pouring over as he shoveled Froot Loops into his mouth at three p.m. on a Sunday, assured him that, yes, his old suit still fit just fine, and no, he definitely didn’t need to try it on to check because he was just as infuriatingly five-foot-three as the last time he’d worn the thing.

Damian—who’d promptly requested that his own suit be altered to adjust for what Tim figured couldn’t be more than the half an inch he’d gained in height—suggested that Drake might do well to start looking into platform heels.

(The ensuing fight took up most of the next hour, eventually ending in Bruce banishing them both to their rooms on threat of no mid-week patrol.)

So that was strike one.

What Tim failed to take into account, however, is that all the extra training he’s been doing these past few months with the Titans has added a few inches of girth to his scrawny limbs, which would be a welcome addition if not for the fact that now his trousers are just a smidge too tight. Not enough that anyone else would likely notice, but just enough that they’re a bit more… slim-fitting than Tim is used to.

Strike two.

Then there was the fact Tim hasn’t exactly been keeping up with his laundry as of late. Alfred’s been on a ‘teach the boys more independent life skills by sheer force of will’ kick lately—kind of funny considering that method obviously never worked for Bruce, who’d burnt toaster waffles last week and set off three of the manor’s fire alarms—so Tim’s been doing his own clothes washing. Or, more precisely, letting it pile up in the hamper to the point that when he emerged from his pre-gala shower a few hours ago with a towel wrapped around his waist, running on three hours sleep and a triple shot of espresso, there was exactly one pair of clean underwear left in his dresser drawer—of the dazzlingly ‘tighty-whitey’ variety that he’d stopped wearing sometime around middle school.

Strike three.

Strike four, was less Tim’s fault and more due to the unseasonably warm weather they’re having for October, which caused him to ditch his suit jacket back at the table, leaving him a bit more exposed than he’d otherwise be. Granted, he does have exceptionally bad luck as a person in general, so it’s still debatable who’s to blame.

But strike five was definitely all Tim.

It’s kind of amazing how someone as meticulously trained in stealth as Tim could be clumsy enough to knock a whole tray of mini éclairs off the edge of the dessert table with one wrong move of his elbow.

Equally amazing how, the very same reflexes that kicked in to shoot Tim’s hand out and drop him into a sudden deep squat both managed to save the tray from clattering to the floor, and to spell Tim’s doom.

Because the next thing he knows, the sound of ripping fabric is echoing in Tim’s ears and the room feels significantly draftier than it did just a second ago.

Tim shoots back upright, immediately turning around so that he’s facing the room with his back to the wall, the blood already rushing to his face. Setting the tray down, he moves swiftly backwards behind the dessert table over to the back corner of the room, where an inconspicuous glance over his shoulder reveals–

It’s bad.

It’s the entire back seam of his trousers, ripped in two, top to bottom, exposing his bleach-white briefs for all to see. Not to mention the fact that the room is filled with paparazzi at the moment, all no doubt thirsty for shots of Gotham’s favorite billionaire family in compromising situations.

Tim closes his eyes, bringing his hands up to cover his face. This can’t be happening. He’s screwed. So screwed. Absolutely nothing could make this worse.

“Yo, Replacement.”

(Spoke too soon.)

“The old man wants us all out by that big-ass marble fountain in the foyer in five minutes,” Jason informs, snagging a short fluted glass full of chocolate mousse from the dessert table as he approaches. He’s dressed in what constitutes for Jason as formal attire—black jeans, a button-down with a tie, and a dark leather jacket instead of his usual brown one. Alfred must have put his foot down. “Someone from the Gazette’s gonna take a pic of us for their cover photo. Publicity stunt or something.”

(Someone, please, just kill Tim now.)

“Uh...” Having been trained by Batman means that Tim is acutely aware of exactly where the exits are located in any room he walks into, but he lets his eyes dart around the ballroom anyway in the desperate hope that he’s missed one. He hasn’t—the corner he’s both physically and metaphorically backed into is about as far from the door as humanly possible. “B wants us for a picture?”

“Mh-hm, of all of us,” Jason hums affirmatively, scooping up a large spoonful of mousse and shoveling it into his mouth. “First I told him no way, I’m not smiling next to the demon bat, but he gave me that patented disappointed look and was like,”—he puts on a gruff, mocking voice—“‘This is for the children, Jason, charitable donations increase thirty percent at events where we are all seen interacting together positively in public,’ which was kinda below the belt, but what can you do.” He takes another bite of mousse.

Tim blinks at him dumbly. “I… can’t.”

Jason quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I just– don’t think it’s a good idea,” Tim moves another half-step backwards, his back now flesh with the wall. “At the moment.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Obviously we’ll fix your hair first, Timbo, don’t worry about it.”

Tim frowns, his hand immediately moving up to his head. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“And I’m sure you can bum some concealer off Barbara to cover that giant zit on your chin.”

“Zit on my–?” Tim moves his fingers down to feel his face, then stops when he sees Jason’s smirk. “Fuck off, Jason,” he mutters darkly.

“C’mon, let’s get this over with, princess,” Jason says, and reaches out his hand like he’s going to grab Tim’s wrist to drag him over there but Tim swats it away irritably.

“I said no!” Tim snaps, his cheeks burning.

Jason’s expression changes to a scowl. “What’s the matter with you?”

Tim is acutely aware of how many pairs of eyes there are in the room, more than a few looking curiously in their direction. He can see flashes of cameras going off, the press circling around like vultures. He has no idea how he’s getting out of here.

“Why are you over here anyway?” Jason goes on.

“Just leave me alone.” Tim’s aiming for a sharp tone, but only manages to sound frazzled. “Tell B I’ll make it up to him next time.”

Jason’s eyes narrow as he takes a step forward, uncomfortably close now. “You’re being really fucking weird right now, can you jus–”

“I split my pants, alright?” Tim hisses in frustration.

Jason freezes mid-step, blinking. “Wait, really?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “No, I was joking,” he huffs. “Yes, really.”

Jason’s brows knit together. He steps to the side, craning his neck like he’s trying to see around Tim.

Tim shoves him back. “Well don’t look!”

“I wasn’t!” Jason hisses. “I just–” He blinks again. “You actually…?”

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and nods miserably, bracing himself for the absolute field day Jason is going to have with this information.

It doesn’t come.

“Ah. Right. Well.” Jason clears his throat and rubs a hand awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Let’s get you out of here then.”

Now it’s Tim’s turn to blink at his brother. “Wait, you’re… You’re helping me?”

“What, you think I’m gonna leave you to fend for yourself like this in a room full of reporters?” Jason looks almost offended at the idea. “I’m not fucking heartless, Timmy.”

(Speaking of heartless.)

“Tt. Hiding in the corner like children, I see.”

Tim glances up, revealing Damian standing there in his perfectly tailored three-piece-suit, glaring at them scornfully. “Come. Father says we must all be photographed immediately.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well tell the old man to take a selfie. Tim and I are peacing out.” He makes the sign, holding up two fingers.

Damian’s eyebrows knit into a frown as he moves a step closer. “Both of you? You are not going”—he lowers his voice further—“on patrol, are you? Because Father explicitly forbade–”

“So what if we are?” Jason cuts him off. “You gonna rat us out? Did your precious League fail to teach you the cardinal rule about snitches and stitches?”

Damian’s expression is scathing, but he merely crosses his arms over his chest. “Take me with you,” he demands. “I wish to patrol as well.”

“Dami.” Tim runs a hand over his face in utter frustration. “We’re not patrolling.”

“Tt. Then where are you going?”

“I– we’re not–” Tim stutters.

“None of your business, pipsqueak,” Jason interrupts. “Go run along back to Daddy.”

Damian’s gaze narrows. “You two are behaving strangely,” he says, and then sidesteps like he’s trying to see around Tim, but Jason grabs him by the wrist and jerks him backwards.

Damian lets out an indignant little noise and starts to twist away, but Jason just rolls his eyes, mutters a quick, “Oh for fuck’s sake...” and lowers his mouth to the boy’s ear, hand cupped in front to shield his lips from view.

There’s a beat. Then the little brat’s eyes go wide.

This is it. Tim’s life is officially over. The two people most likely to blackmail him from now until kingdom come have both just been made privy to the most embarrassing, compromising moment of Timothy Drake’s life and there’s no way in hell they’re not going to mercilessly–

“We will get you out of here, Drake.”

And for once, there’s not a hint of sarcasm or malice to the kid’s expression. He’s standing ram-rod straight, looking somehow equal parts sincere and uncomfortable.

(Maybe Tim should split his pants more often.)

Jason clears his throat, all business now. “So what’s our extraction plan here? Did you drive yourself?”

Tim shakes his head. “Alfie dropped me off. Was planning to get a ride home with B.”

“And I took my bike here,” Jason muses, chewing on his lower lip as he thinks, “so that’s not gonna work.”

“Father drove,” Damian pipes up, pointing across the room toward the bar where Bruce—in full Brucie Wayne mode—is chatting animatedly with a few older ladies. “We could–”

A little gasp of “No, don’t tell B!” slips out of Tim’s mouth before he can stop it.

Damian just stares at him as though he’s gone mad. “I had no intention of telling Father your plight, Drake.” He looks over to Jason. “If you can provide a suitable distraction, I am certain I can slip the keys off of him unnoticed.”

Jason snorts. “Who needs keys to borrow a car? I’ll just hotwire it.”

Damian frowns. “You know how to evade the anti-theft device?”

“Bitch, who do you think installed the anti-theft?”

Tim and Damian both respond by each making a small, satisfied little humming noise in the back of their throats. Jason does have a point there.

Damian turns and locks eyes with Tim. “How extensive is the damage?” he inquires, and Tim has to fight the urge to drop his own gaze in shame that he’s even having this conversation with an eleven-year-old.

Tim grits his teeth. “Very,” he answers honestly, aware once more of the draft on his backside.

“Can you escape to the lobby undetected?” Damian goes on. “If we flank you on either side?”

Tim shakes his head, cheeks burning again. “No. I– It’s really noticeable,” he admits.

Jason and Damian exchange a grimace.

“Alright, plan B,” Jason declares, gaze traveling around the room in full tactical mode now. He holds out his hand expectantly. “Dami, give me your jacket.”

“What, to conceal him?” Damian looks aghast. “This suit is a Boglioli.”

“Since when do you even know what a Boglioli is?” Jason says with a scoff. He makes a grabby motion with his hand. “C’mon. Chop-chop.”

Damian scowls. “Use yours.”

“That’s even more suspicious and you know it.”

Over their bickering, Tim heaves out a sigh. “Look, I appreciate you trying, but I don’t think it even matters,” he says, pointing around the room at the sea of paparazzi snapping photos. “No matter what we do, they’re gonna see and I’m gonna be on the cover of every stupid tabloid tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t be defeatist, Drake,” Damian chides, and to Tim’s great surprise, the kid shimmies out of his jacket.

“Yeah, chin up, Timmy,” Jason agrees, nodding, as Damian passes it to Tim. “That was only part one of my plan.”

Tim wraps the jacket around his waist—ignoring Damian’s shudder. The arms aren’t quite long enough to tie in a knot, so he just holds them together in his fist awkwardly. “And what exactly is part two?”

A grin spreads across Jason’s face. “Part two…” Keeping his back to the wall, Jason moves a few paces away. “Is run.”

Immediately, Jason slaps the whole row of light switches on the wall, plunging the gala into darkness. Gasps and little shrieks echo around the room, no doubt from concerned citizens expecting any number of Gotham's foes to attack, and Tim would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little guilty about distressing them all. But then Damian grabs his arm and grits out a “Move, Drake!” the two of them are both bolting for the exit, Jason hot on their heels.

The lobby outside is a swarm of commotion as well, with an equal number of citizens trying to get into the ballroom as there is trying to get out. Jason signals them both through a side door—clearly meant for the staff—and then a moment later they’re racing toward the parking lot.

“Where’s he parked?” Jason calls over.

“I am not certain—a valet took it,” Damian replies as they run, and Tim groans internally. “But there might be a–”

“Wait!” Jason comes skidding to a stop in front of a familiar, rusty, old beater of a vehicle—the only type that can survive parked on the street in Blüdhaven more than twenty-four hours without getting stolen. A grin spreads across his face. “Dick’s here!”

“Tt,” Damian scoffs, though it sounds almost amused this time as Jason opens the drivers’ side door easily. “Grayson never bothers to lock it.”

“Probably because he’ll get more in insurance money for it than it’s worth,” Tim quips, opening the passenger door. He’s just about to climb in when Jason stops him with a yelp.

“Whoa, whoa, let me put something down first!” Jason says, shoving his arm back out of the car and reaching into the backseat to retrieve a plastic Walmart bag from the messy floor, much to Tim’s confusion. “Jesus Timbo, first rule of joyriding is you bring the car back as nice as you found it,” he says as he spreads the bag over the seat cushion.

“What are you talking about?” Tim frowns. “I’m just sitting on it.”

Damian—who’s paused midway into climbing into the backseat—gives him a strange look. “You are ill,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?” Tim’s head is swirling. “I’m not sick.”

Jason’s eyebrows raise. “That’s frankly more concerning then...”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you are not ill,” Damian says, still staring at him, “then do you simply make it a habit to defecate in public?”

“To do– what?!” Tim splutters in horror. “Who said anything about that?”

“You did!” Jason retorts, looking utterly confounded. “You told me you shit your pants!”

“I said I split my pants, you moron!” Tim bites back.

There’s a moment of utter silence, their panting breaths from having just sprinted to the parking lot the only sound between them.

It’s broken by a loud snort from Damian, followed instantly by Jason’s guffawing laughter. A second later, Tim is joining in, and then all three of them dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“F-Fuck, Timmy!” Jason spits out between laughs. “I thought–” He gasps for breath, “I thought you really shit yourself!”

“As did I,” Damian admits through giggles.

Tim’s laughing too hard to reply at the moment. They all climb into Dick’s car—though with far less urgency now—and shut the doors after them. Jason whips a multitool out of his inner jacket pocket and gets to work on removing the panel under the steering wheel, his shoulders still shaking slightly with mirth.

As Jason starts to strip the wires, Tim wipes a hand at his face to clear the moisture from his eyes. “You seriously thought I shit my pants and then asked you two—of all people—for help?”

“Hey,” Jason huffs out, pointing the end of his multitool at his brother. “Don’t knock us. We got you out, didn’t we?”

(And, well, Tim has to admit that they did.)

“Drake,” Damian says, and Tim turns around to look at the boy in the backseat. “There are fates even one trained by the League of Assassins does not wish upon their worst enemy,” he says solemnly.

“Damn straight,” Jason agrees. He touches the two exposed wires together, creating a spark, and the car revs to life. “Alright,” he says, pulling the car into gear, “who wants to get fro-yo?”

-----

[knit-wear-it]

Bloom

A/N: Happy Pride! Here’s some Crossbow Canary to celebrate 🏳️‍🌈❤️🏳️‍🌈❤️

They met at a Halloween party. Helena was half-listening to a group of fellow freshmen discussing the politics of TokTok when she noticed her— a petite, athletically-built blonde wearing a yellow hard hat and a slick of red lipstick. It was a shade too dark for her, standing out stark against her pale skin; the mark of a makeup novice. She was laughing with a small group of friends, her smile radiant. She was radiant.

Then, as if she could feel Helena staring, the blonde looked straight at her.

There was a faint flush in the apples of her cheeks as she offered a tremulous but encouraging smile, and Helena practically bolted across the room toward her.

***

Her name was Dinah.

They met again a week later, by accident, at a small martial arts studio off campus. Helena arrived just as Dinah was leaving, her face shiny and blotchy with exertion, her ashy blonde hair plaited back in a sweaty French braid. She wore black Lycra gym-gear beneath her pea coat to stave off the approaching New Jersey winter. Her coat was a vibrant cornflower blue, reminding Helena of the rich pigments Italian Renaissance painters used for Mary Magdalen's robes. Without the dark smear of lipstick, she could see the graceful curve of her prominent Cupid’s bow, giving her face a sweetness that belied the clear-eyed maturity few their age possessed.

“Oh,” Dinah stopped short on the sidewalk, her face lighting up. “Hello,” she grinned.

“Hi,” Helena grinned back at her, suddenly giddy as if she’d eaten a gallon of corn syrup. She could feel excitement fizzing in her veins, propelling her closer like a moth to the flame.

“Do you train here?” Dinah asked, re-shouldering her gym bag.

“They have a Krav Maga class I like,” Helena explained. “You?”

“Jiu Jitsu,” Dinah shrugged, smiling. “My old trainer swore by Krav Maga, but it doesn’t have the same…” she pursed her lips as she took her time to search for the word. “Grace,” she settled on.

“Grace?” Helena smirked. “Are we talking about ballet or fighting?”

Dinah laughed easily. “My first sensei would say they were the same thing.”

“Wow, how many senseis and trainers have you had?” Helena teased. She immediately regretted it when Dinah visibly tensed, her expression abruptly becoming guarded.

“I was fostered at a dojo for a little while when I was a kid,” she explained haltingly, her brown eyes darting off to the side. “And uh, then I was in a group home until I was eighteen and they… let me keep taking karate to give me some, uh, stability I guess.”

Helena’s eyes widened at this revelation, delivered so candidly in passing on the sidewalk—that she’d grown up in foster care; that she was an orphan. She could feel Dinah’s uneasiness, and it inspired a desperate need to comfort or reassure her, a wholly unfamiliar impulse.

“My dad sent me to a Swiss boarding school when I was twelve,” Helena blurted out. “After my mom died. It was kind of like a group home just with, you know, rich kids and archery. And a castle.”

As the words came tumbling out of her mouth, she knew she was being horribly rude by being so flippant about her privilege, but it seemed to lighten Dinah’s mood, her kind smile blooming again.

“Well, just because there was archery doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard to be away from everything you knew,” she said, meeting Helena’s eye meaningfully.

She understood loneliness, Helena realized. She understood the pain and anger of abandonment. Yet she didn’t carry bitterness around in the same way Helena did; bitterness that didn’t taste as bad when Dinah was standing here proving there was a way beyond it. It gave Helena hope—something she wasn’t well acquainted with after repeated tragedies.

A squat city bus puttered past behind them, catching Dinah’s eye. She glanced at Helena apologetically, a sliver of vulnerability slipping into her otherwise confident counternence.

“Maybe I’ll try Krav Maga sometime,” she offered, almost shyly.

“Maybe we could get coffee afterward,” Helena suggested, beaming.

They exchanged numbers before Dinah ran to catch the bus.

***

A week later, they kicked the shit out of each other at the studio and went for coffee. Helena had expected Dinah to pick up the Krav Maga moves quickly since she was well-versed in Karate and Jiu Jitsu. She even indulged in a stupid fantasy about helping her find the right techniques and positions, a blatant ploy to be physically closer to her.

But when they began sparing, Helena quickly realized she was wildly outmatched. Dinah did not need her help—she already knew Krav Maga even if she hadn’t quite mastered it. Then the minute Helena got the upper hand, Dinah gave up on the prescribed moves the instructor gave them, and took Helena down with a few quick karate strikes she couldn’t counter effectively.

Helena’s back hit the mat hard, knocking the wind out of her. Her eyes widening as Dinah pinned her down with a steady hand flat over her heart, the heel of her small hand grazing the top of Helena’s breast through her sports bra.

Dinah released her and sat back, looking smug.

“You cheated!” Helena laughed, accepting a hand to pull herself up to sitting.

“What’s the point of fighting if you aren’t going to win?” Dinah shot her a knowing smirk.

“What happened to grace?” Helena demanded, her eyebrows raising when Dinah faltered but quickly recovered.

“You’re right,” she agreed, her face softening like she’d come to some internal revelation. “It’s not about winning. It’s about the practice, and finding balance.”

“Alright, sensei,” Helena rolled her eyes but she couldn’t stop smiling—another unfamiliar impulse. “You can buy me a coffee to make up for cheating.”

“It’s called mixed martial arts for a reason,” Dinah insisted as they headed for the changing rooms. “I was just mixing in more martial arts”

“Yeah, yeah.”

***

For the rest of the semester they trained and went for coffee at least once a week. They would tell each other which parties they were going to, what events their friends were discussing attending. It went unsaid that they were leaving breadcrumbs for each other, a trail that would lead them back together.

Their social lives began to blend. Helena became friendly with Dinah’s carefully cultivated group of scholastic overachievers and misfits. Meanwhile, the gang of loud, kittenish gay men Helena surrounded herself with fawned over Dinah. They showed her how to do her make-up properly and cheered when she paraded around the dorm in high heels for them like a clumsy newborn colt.

“She is gorgeous,” one of Helena’s friends hissed to her.

But it never went any further than a lingering touch or look as Helena restrained herself from making the first move, but not because she feared rejection. She’d taken a gap year after boarding school, a boozy thirteen months during which she’d travelled across Southeast Asia—Vietnam, Cambodia,Thailand, Bali, Singapore—and then on to Australia. The youthful hedonism that characterized backpacking made it easy not to be shy or ashamed of her attraction to both boys and girls. But she resisted making the first move with Dinah— she wanted Dinah to come to her.

***

Helena stayed at Princeton over the holidays, just like she’d done throughout boarding school. The only place she could feasibly go was Gotham to be with her younger brother, Pino. He was seventeen, and Helena had just enough contact to suspect he was already involved in the ‘family business,’ which she tried not to think about. They mostly kept in touch via Snapchat and Instagram, a selfie and meme-based relationship that removed the painful edges of reality.

Dinah returned to Gotham for Christmas to visit another member of the orphanage she’d grown up in. She wanted to see how they were getting on without her, she said, though she wasn’t looking forward to being back in the city.

But something obviously went wrong while she was away, because once they were back at school she began determinedly avoiding Helena. She made excuses about being busy with classes and other friends needing her attention. Weeks went by and Helena started to feel crazy, like she was missing something obvious, which meant she was either blind or too stupid to be able to see what was happening.

Then out of the blue Dinah showed up at Helena’s dorm, her hair freshly cut in a cute, girlish bob that brushed the collar of her cornflower blue coat, her tawny eyes glowing determinedly.

“Helena,” she breathed, searching Helena’s face. “Will you go out with me?”

***

They went out for dinner, something Helena had never done with a girl before. She’d slept with women, but she struggled with the idea of going on a date with a woman. She was disappointed in herself, that she hadn't evolved beyond worrying about the perception of others when she knew what she wanted.

But those worries were relegated to background noise when Dinah showed up on her doorstep, wearing a candy-apple-red shade of lipstick that suited her perfectly.

“Hey,” she greeted Helena, her smile radiant. Excited.

***

After dinner, Helena walked Dinah back to her dorm. When the moment she’d been waiting months for finally arrived, Dinah tucked a loose piece of Helena’s hair behind her ear, then tentatively laid her palm across the curve of her jaw. Her eyes fell shut as she drew Helena's mouth down to hers.

Her lips were eager and curious, but clumsy. Helena paused to draw back, the thick fringe of her eyelashes brushing Dinah’s nose as she opened her eyes. Dinah’s hand was still resting on her cheek, while Helena’s hands had found Dinah’s waist. Her eyes were heavy and her lips parted, the red lipstick faded.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Helena said slowly. “But... have you ever kissed someone before?”

Dinah’s face split into a rueful grin, without a trace of shame. “I have now,” she pointed out playfully.

Helena mirrored her grin and gave Dinah’s waist a gentle tug, pulling her closer as their lips met again.

***

They went on more dates, and eventually they found their way into each other’s beds. They got to know each other’s bodies, bringing them closer in a way Helena hadn’t realized was possible. She’d only experienced sex as a blurry, rushed encounter, but with Dinah she was overwhelmed, drunk on how badly she wanted her.

Their friend groups continued to cross pollinate with the queer communities on campus, and they slowly began to build a chosen family together since neither of them had one of their own. Helena was thrilled to see Dinah slowly shed the armour she’d built to protect herself, becoming more open and accepting of her own feelings and desires. But Helena found it harder, in part because she was lying to Dinah by not telling her the full truth of her past.

Her family and their ‘business’ was a dark, shameful secret she had never told another person, and she couldn’t decide how Dinah, with her strong moral compass, would react. It was like an invisible blockade between them, one Helena knew could destroy the delicate fabric of their blossoming relationship if she didn’t resolve it.

About four months after their first official date, it became impossible to keep it inside any longer, especially because the words “I love you” were constantly threatening to spill past her lips. It was only when she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer that she found the courage.

“You can tell me anything, Helena,” Dinah insisted, holding Helena’s hands between hers. They were sitting on a blanket on the quad, the sun shining bright overhead as the first vestiges of spring bloomed around them.

Helena felt physically sick. She’d imagined every way this conversation could go, and she usually settled on Dinah being horrified once she learned the terrible, violent truth.

“It’s about…” she swallowed thickly. “My family. I haven’t been… completely honest with you. My dad. He wasn’t really a businessman. Not in the traditional sense.”

Dinah’s eyebrows raised, but she gave Helena’s hands a reassuring squeeze.

After a few false starts, Helena explained that her family wasn’t like other families. That her father and his brothers and generations of Bertinelli men before them hadn’t had… normal jobs. They were criminals. Successful, powerful criminals whose influence manipulated the very fabric of Gotham society.

Dinah listened, her expression becoming more and more guarded as Helena ploughed ahead. She could see what she was thinking. That Helena’s family was partially responsible for the corruption and crime that plagued Gotham. That the city was a shithole because of men like her father. It was all true, or at least it used to be, before the masked freaks took over and made everything worse.

She explained that a man named Mandragora tried to usurp her father when she was twelve, killing her mother, aunts and uncles, cousins and family friends in a blood feud. She was shipped off to Europe for safe keeping while her brother Pino, just 9 years old at the time, was sent to live with extended family in Central City. Ultimately her father’s associates and friends ran Mandragora out of town, but not before the damage was done. Helena remained in Switzerland, and Pino returned to Gotham, where he was raised by what extended members of the Bertinelli clan.

There was one more piece of information Helena couldn’t bring herself to share, because just thinking about what happened to her father made her blood boil—anger frequently outstripped grief when she thought about what Harley Quinn did to her Papa.

She hunted him. Tortured him. Murdered him.

But she couldn’t say the words. Mobsters were bad enough. Harley Quinn was an entirely different kind of villain, one Helena didn’t want her family — who she loved deeply despite their flaws —associated with if she could help it.

By the time she’d finished, Dinah had taken to playing with an errant daisy springing up from the grass, her attention wholly focused on the little white flower as she worked through her thoughts. When she finally looked up at Helena, she was cautious, still uncertain, but eventually her lips curved into a smile—kind, open, generous, and reassuring.

“I have to tell you something too,” she shrugged helplessly. “I love you, Helena... and you aren’t responsible for the choices your family made. You still loved them and lost them and I know how much that hurt you.”

Helena’s eyes widened, shocked that Dinah was speaking these words to Helena. For Helena.

“I—“ she faltered, searching Dinah’s face. “I love you too.” She sprung up to her knees and pitched forward, grabbing Dinah’s face with both hands and making her shriek with laughter as they fell back on the grass together. “God, I really really love you, Di.”

Dinah laughed again, her eyes closing as Helena urgently kissed her. She felt as if she’d never be able to properly express how much she felt. This was the polar opposite of the grief and anger that plagued her. This was the beginning of something beautiful and powerful and safe.

Dinah would save her from the darkness, she decided.

She was the only one who could.

***

A/N: I know you’re all here for Jarley, but in the same way I wanted you to love Ed, I’m hoping you’ll simp for this ship. I loved writing Dinah through the eyes of someone who sees the best in her since she’s been pretty limited to her own self-punishing point of view and Harley’s warped vision of the world. And it’s a relief to see Dinah begin to grow up now that she’s around people her own age she relates to… Even wearing lipstick is like an indulgent act for her that she’s finally allowing herself to take part in. Yes, Dinah! You deserve love and lipstick and self care! ❤️🎉

[considermewhelmed]

Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths- Tim Drake

TW: attempted su*c*de/su*c*dal thoughts, anxiety, depression. 

a/n: hey remember in the Master when I said these would be short fics? Ha. Yeah. Me too. Good times. 

Tag list: @river9noble

Master

“Achilles, Achilles, Achilles come down/Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof?/You’re scaring us and all of us/Some of us love you/Achilles it’s not much but there’s proof.” 

“You may feel no purpose/Nor a point for existing/It’s all just conjecture and gloom/And there may not be meaning/So find one and seize it/Do not waste yourself on this roof/Hear those bells ring deep in the soul/Chiming away for a moment/Feel your breath course frankly below/And see life as a worthy opponent.” 

Tim stood on the edge of the building, overlooking the city. His cape billowed lightly in the cool air, and he took a deep breath. 

‘Red Robin, report.’ Barbra’s voice asked in his ear. 

Tim remained silent, his eyes scanning the streets, but his mind far away. 

‘Red Robin, report.’ She repeated. 

‘Red Robin, are you okay?’ 

A new voice broke onto the comms. 

Dick.

He had been thinking a lot. About Dick. And Damian. Bruce. Steph. Babs. Duke. Luke. Cass. Kate even. There were just… so many of them. So many. One less surely wouldn’t matter? 

He imagined he wouldn’t get a huge memorial like the one for Jason in the batcave- he was choosing this, he did it himself, there was no honour in that. He didn’t mind though, he wasn’t sure he even cared to be remembered. 

They barely remembered him alive, why would death help? 

He wondered how long it would take them to forget him. The voice is the first thing you forget about a person, when was the last time he talked to them all? 

‘Red Robin, where are you?’ Dick.

‘Is his comm offline?’ Steph. 

‘No, it’s online. It should be working. Receiver and all.’ Barbra. 

‘Red Robin?’ Dick. 

He looked down. He’d survived some pretty unlikely things, but this was too much. Too high. There was no way his heart could take his fall, let alone the pavement below waiting for his body. It called his name, whispering the promises of sweet relief with every breeze, the streetlight spotlight marking his entrance to his final bow. 

‘Can you get his tracker online?’ Dick. 

‘Red Robin, come in.’ Bruce. 

‘No. He’s bypassed the security.’ Barbra. 

‘Really Drake?’ Damian. ‘Sneaking off during patrol?’ 

‘Red Robin, report.’ Bruce- and Tim imagined he sounded worried in the way only Batman could be. 

‘Where was his route?’ Dick. 

Tim tuned them out, but couldn’t bring himself to turn the comms off completely. He didn’t have the heart to be alone- he was selfish and desperate. 

He shrugged off the cape, letting it fall to the rooftop, and quietly unclipped his utility belt. He wished he felt scared, or sad, or anything, but instead he just felt numb. Human instinct should be trying to get him back safely to the solid roof behind him, but instead he just swayed in the wind, as if even his own body was impartial to the decision. 

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly, rolling his shoulders back, resigning to his fate. There was no use in fighting anymore. 

That was it. He felt something. Tired. 

Not just tired. Exhausted. Bone deep exhaustion, the kind of exhaustion that made even sleeping a chore. Tears gathered in his eyes, and with each drop his mask got looser and looser. He thought of something to say- some sort of goodbye. Not for them, but for him, for closure. His own eulogy. Last words, maybe? 

Did he deserve last words when the villain he lost to was his own mind? Internal, eternal, and inevitable? It was a dance he’d been a part of for far too long and he was just tired. 

“Hey Replacement.” 

Tim expected his whole body to go rigid, for his instinct to take over, for any kind of fight to bubble up inside him, itching to get out. He and Jason reconciled, sure, but sometimes when he caught him off guard, Tim still had the same knee-jerk reaction. 

Instead, his body just stood there, open and unarmed. It solidified his resolve- even his instincts knew it was over. The idea that Jason could easily shoot him, or push him off the roof didn’t scare him. 

Why would it? 

He could hear Jason’s quiet, heavy steps as the older boy approached. 

‘Red Hood, status, have you found him?’ 

Dick’s voice came over the comms. 

Tim didn’t look at Jason. There was a soft click. 

“No, not yet. I’ll keep looking. Just cover my area Dickhead.” Jason said before the soft click happened again. 

The two boys were quiet for a minute. 

Behind him, Tim could hear the familiar whirring of the mechanics- mechanics he helped design -that indicated the removal of Jason’s Red Hood helmet. A thump after indicated Jason had opted to ditch it on the roof. 

Normally, Tim would yell at him for being so careless with his equipment, especially since Tim worked hard on the last updates, but he couldn’t even find his voice. 

He heard the clatter of weapons hitting the ground, and Jason stepped closer. 

“Come on Timmy,” Jason said softly, and Tim’s chest tightened at the nickname. “You’re shaking. You gotta be freezing.” 

It wasn’t until Jason said something that Tim realized he was vibrating. Even the air was unforgiving in Gotham, and somewhere between his decision to step on the ledge and the loss of his cape, it turned into an icy grip that cut through the thin material of his suit. 

The wind stung his face where the tears had started to slip beneath his mask. His knees buckled and he sucked in a sharp breath of air. 

“I can’t.” He choked out, his hand gripping at his chest. “I- I can’t move.” 

‘Red Robin?’ Dick’s voice cut through the comms. ‘Come on buddy, where are you, I’ll come get you.’ 

Tim couldn’t hear him over the roar of his own blood in his ears, and took his comm out of his ear, throwing it off to the side. 

It was then he caught sight of Jason, and was shocked by the lack of not only helmet, but mask as well. Jason’s eyes had a green shine to them- a side effect of the pit -and they were trained on Tim. 

Jason held out his hand to Tim. “Take my hand baby bird.” He murmured. 

“No,” Tim cried. “I want- I should- I have to- I’m going to fall Jason-” 

“No.” Jason said sternly. “No you won’t.” 

Tim inched closer to the ledge. “It doesn’t matter-”

“Of course it matters dipshit, you matter. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” 

Tim’s lip trembled and a sob tore from his throat as his knees gave out from under him and for a split second he was falling- 

And the next he was wrapped in a tight hug. 

Tim reached out instinctually and grabbed onto whatever he could hold, staying as close as possible to the smell of leather, gun polish and sweat, a surprisingly comforting combination. 

Maybe it was just because it meant safety. 

“I’ve got you baby bird,” Jason mumbled, and he could feel Jason bury his nose in Tim’s hair. “I’ve got you.” 

“I’m sorry,” He sputtered through his tears. “I’m sorry, Jay, I’m sorry,” A whole new breakdown washed over him, and he couldn’t get a grip on his emotions. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Jason scolded him lightly, and rubbed little circles on his back. “I’ve got you.” 

“I was going to do it,” Tim cried. 

“I know.” Jason whispered. 

“They hate me. They’re going to hate me more!” Tim whimpered. “I can’t- I don’t want-” 

“I know.” Jason repeated. “But no one hates you, Tim,” He promised. “Hell, even Barbra threatened to get out here to find you.” 

Tim buried his face in Jason’s chest and just stayed there. “I’m nothing more than a placeholder,” He mumbled. “I’m a pretender. A replacement.” He sniffled. “I didn’t- I didn’t even want to be Robin. God. I wanted Dick to be Robin. Batman needs Robin.” He was close to hysterics, and god Jason still didn’t know what to do. 

“Maybe,” Jason agreed. “But Bruce Wayne needs Tim Drake.” Jason said quietly. “I’m pretty sure the old man would be lost without you Timmy.” 

Tim shook his head and Jason snorted. “You set up the system in the batcave, make sure the Wayne business is intact and running smoothly, you’ve updated all the security, you always make sure there’s coffee in the manor, and no one makes him smile with bad jokes like you do.” 

Tim stayed quiet, and Jason alternated between rubbing his back and running his hand through Tim’s hair. The boys stood there for as long as Tim needed to and Jason realized how small Tim was because Jesus Christ this was just a kid in a costume and he just wanted to be loved. 

“Can we go back to the Manor?” Jason murmured. “My bike’s not far.” 

Tim didn’t move. 

“We can watch a movie?” He suggested. “I’ll let you pick.” 

“Why are you being so nice?” Tim mumbled. 

“Well… I could punch you instead if you’d like. Not sure that’ll make you feel better though.” He offered, and was rewarded by the smallest, quietest laugh. “C’mon, we can raid the kitchen.” 

“You aren’t going to make me talk?” Tim asked. 

Jason shook his head, tightening his grip on him. “I’m not going to make you talk about anything you don’t want to baby bird.” He said softly. “But if you want to do that, I’m here for that too.” 

Tim tightened his own grip and kept close- Jason was keeping him grounded and that’s all that mattered. “What was it like?” He whispered. 

Jason was quiet for a long moment, and Tim regretted asking almost immediately. 

“Long.” Jason decided. “Dark. Quiet.” 

“Good quiet?” 

“No.” Jason said softly. “Too quiet.” 

“I’m sorry.” Tim whispered. 

“Me too,” Jason mumbled. “You’re not alone Timbo. I’m right here, alright?” 

Tim nodded and pulled away after a moment when he felt like he could stand on his own. Jason collected their things and handed Tim his mask, cape and belt, putting his own mask and helmet back on, clipping his holsters on. 

The ride back was quiet- Tim’s comm must have busted when it hit the roof, and if Jason heard anything he wasn’t giving it away. Jason came up with some half-assed lie about what happened to Barbra and the other Bats over the comms, and immediately claimed the living room for him and Tim, heading upstairs. 

Tim was asleep by the end of the opening credits, tucked safely into the side of his big brother. 

Maybe Tim couldn’t fight the villain in his head on his own, but having someone like Jason Todd on your side certainly made it easier.

[mischiefandspirits]

Bloodlines (1 of 3)

After receiving a vague warning from his mother about his cousin and Richard, Damian goes looking for his runaway ward.

This chapter started as a flashback in the latter half of the story, but I felt like it was running on too long so I decided to cut it out and make it its own chapter. As such the events of this chapter occur a little under five years before the events of the main story, which takes place a few months after “Family Weekend.”

Part of Batkid and Robin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian was surprised to see Nightwing in the Hatch when he arrived. He knew his ex-partner noticed his entrance, but the Super didn’t look up from the conversation he was having with Señal in the doorway to the infirmary.

Taking the hint, Damian turned to E-ko. “What happened?”

“We’re not entirely sure. Izzy and I were both in class and Dax was at work when Dick’s distress beacon went off so only Duke and Dre responded,” she said, glancing towards the infirmary. “By my estimate, they sent out the request for backup almost immediately after they engaged. Nightwing had been finishing up something with Metro across the bay so he responded. Izzy and I were suiting up when ‘Wing dragged them in. He thinks they were fighting talons when he got there, but the guys took off as soon as he got close. Dre was already knocked out -- drugged we think -- and Duke passed out on the way here -- bloodloss.”

“Richard?”

“Your son wasn’t there,” Nightwing said as he and Señal approached. “I didn’t know he was involved until I got here and the girls filled me in.”

“He’s not -” Damian closed his eyes and asked, “Did Signal say anything before he passed out?”

“He slurred something about Cobb and Halloway and I think he tried to say something else, but he was fading fast at that point. Didn’t recognize either name, but I’m not surprised since this seems to be Gotham stuff.”

“Nightwing.”

“Batman.”

Damian glared up at neon blue eyes. “We’re not doing this while Richard is missing.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just stay quiet then. Not sure I have anything to add since I don’t even know the kid.”

The only reaction Damian allowed himself to have was to clench his fists as he turned to Señal. “If the talons are involved, then Cobb is William Cobb. Why would he be after Richard though? The Court has only ever targeted adults for kills and street kids for would-be talons. A child from a prominent family doesn’t fit their M.O.”

“We’re not sure,” she said. “Oracle’s looking into it. In the meantime, Selina’s pulling Stephanie and Jason out of school in case they’re targeting Wayne kids. Cass and Mia are also going to bunker down somewhere safe with Tim if they can drag him away from wherever he is now on his mental breakdown road trip.”

“Don’t call it that.”

The group turned to see Duke slumped against his IV pole in the infirmary’s doorway.

“¡Bobo! Lay back down!” Señal snapped, rushing over to him.

He let his girlfriend take his weight, but didn’t let her drag him back to bed. His chest and arms were heavily bandaged and butterfly stitches were keeping a few cuts on his cheek and neck closed. He was also glaring at Señal. “Lay off Tim.”

“Sorry, I know you want to humor him.”

Duke shook his head and turned to Damian. “We’ve got a problem.”

“I know. We’ll find Richard. Go -”

“No, you don’t understand. Halloway was there. From DCF.”

It took Damian a moment, but he put the name to the face. Cathy Halloway was one of the social workers that gave him the hardest time while trying to foster Richard, but not one of the ones who’d earned his respect because they thought Damian was taking Richard in on a whim. He wasn’t sure if it was Richard’s Romani heritage she had a problem with or if it was the fact Richard was white-passing while Damian had very clearly taken after his mother, but the family had dug up a few comments made by her about keeping Richard “with his own people.”

As if the Gotham branch of the DCF had placed Richard with a family instead of in a detention center.

Backward morals aside, the Bat’s investigation hadn’t turned up anything tying her to the court. “Why was she there?”

The Hatch’s main computer lit up green, announcing Oracle’s presence. “Because Cobb told her he was Dick’s grandfather.”

“What?” Damian asked. Richard didn’t have any living relatives, the Bats checked as had DCF at the Waynes’ insistence. “Why would she believe that?”

“I’m looking into it, but she’s started the paperwork to transfer custody and she was there to help Cobb pull Dick out of school. Selina played it off like she was picking Dick up alongside Steph and Jay then went full PTA mom when she found out they’d sent Dick off with strangers. Alfred’s bringing the little Bats to you while she puts the staff through the wringer to get as much info for us as she can. I’m trying to match our maps of the Court’s labyrinth to what little information from Dick’s beacon is making it through the scramblers so, hopefully, I’ll have a location by the time you’re all suited up.”

Damian made a mental note to bring his own version of hell down on the staff if any of them survived his Step-Mother’s fury then focused back on the matter at hand. “Señal, you know the labyrinth best. Can you see if you can help Oracle? I’ll get Duke back in bed.”

She nodded and passed Duke off to him after giving her boyfriend a quick kiss.

“Sorry, Dames,” Duke said as Damian helped him back onto the medical cot. “The talons cut us off before we could get anywhere near Dick or Cobb.”

“You did your best. We know what we’re facing now. We’ll bring him home, no matter how many talons we have to freeze. Get some rest.”

Duke nodded and leaned back.

Damian returned to the main room and approached E-ko and Nightwing. He asked the latter, “Are you staying?”

The Super gave a sardonic smile. “I guess I should get going. Don’t want to overstay my welcome. Call me if you think the situation is bad enough to need outside help.”

“That’s not what -” Damian started, but Nightwing was already gone. He sighed and turned to E-ko. “Has the Court been up to anything recently that could explain coming after Richard?”

She shook her head. “They’ve been quiet since we reclaimed that youth shelter they were using to try and lure in would-be talons. We knew they’d try to find a new way to bring in kids, and trying to get their hooks in the foster system isn’t too far out there if they don’t realize we’ve been keeping a close eye on it ever since Jason, but going after someone as notable as Dick doesn’t make sense.”

“There has to be a reason.”

“Who cares, let’s just get out there and find Dickie!” Jason called as he stomped into the Hatch. He and Stephanie came towards them while Alfred went off to check on the two in the infirmary.

“Knowing why a person is doing something is very important,” Damian said and Jason scowled.

“It’s not more important than rescuing my Red Bird! Let’s go!” he snapped, shoving Damian towards the changing rooms.

“Rushing in is going to get you in trouble,” Damian huffed, but let his younger brother push him along with Stephanie trailing after.

The three quickly changed into the extra suits they kept in the Hatch in case of emergency then they, Señal, and E-ko set off towards the labyrinth entrance closest to the approximate location Señal and Oracle had decided on.

Batman took the lead, keeping an eye out for danger as Señal directed him through the tunnels. Thankfully the closer they got, the more accurate the beacon's positioning became. He was keeping a sharp eye on everything, looking for the booby traps and talons, so he immediately noticed when Señal and E-ko began to share worried looks.

“What?”

“There aren’t any mazes, meeting halls, or holding cells this way,” E-ko said. “The only things down here are…”

“Labs and cryo-caskets,” Señal finished.

“Shit!”

Batman grabbed Batkid before he could race ahead. “Hold on.”

“Hold on? I’m not going to wait around while those psychos turn Red Bird into one of those monsters!” the boy snarled, then took off down the tunnel.

“They wouldn’t start the process so soon,” E-ko tried to reassure as the four chased after him. “They always start training before beginning the Electrum injections. They want to be sure the investment would be worth it.”

A shadow slid out of a side tunnel and Batman grabbed the edge of Batkid’s cloak. He yanked the boy back just in time for the talon’s dagger to cut through the air in front of his face instead of across his throat.

E-ko intercepted the assassin with her cryo-gun as Señal repelled another two with her chain whip.

“Go find Grayson. We’ll deal with these ones,” E-ko called out and Batman nodded.

He led Batkid and Batgirl forward, bringing up Richard’s distress beacon on his gauntlet computer. They raced up to a heavy door that he quickly kicked in once confirming it was locked.

Inside, scientists and talons stood over an operating bed that held a teary eleven-year-old. Thick leather straps wrapped around Richard’s arms, legs, and chest to keep him pinned to the bed. A scientist had been preparing an iv filled with a dark silver liquid while William Cobb had leaned over Richard with his hand fisted in the boy’s hair, but all eyes turned to the Bats at their entrance.

Batkid immediately launched himself at the scientists, ripping the one closest to Richard away from him and laying into them with a fury. Batgirl and Batman tossed liquid nitrogen pellets at the talons, partially encasing three of them in ice to put them into hibernation. Batgirl engaged another two talons while Batman tackled Cobb.

“You must be getting desperate for new talons if you’re starting to steal children from Gotham’s old families, Talon.” Batman ducked one knife strike, deflected another, then landed a blow that snapped Cobb’s arm with a loud crack.

“Wayne was the one who stole him,” Cobb spat, disengaging just long enough for the Electrum to twist his bones back into place before slashing at Batman’s neck. “The Gray Son was born and raised to serve the Court of Owls. Just as his grandfather, my son, was before him.”

Batman shifted back in time for the claws aiming for his ribs to cut through nothing more than armor. “Emil Grayson was a circus acrobat.”

“Emil was raised by Nathaniel Haley to be the perfect talon, just as I was. Had Nathaniel not passed before he could return my son or instruct his own in the ways of the Court, then Emil would have surpassed even me. Instead, that fool Cameron spirited my son away to Europe. By the time the Court could reforge ties with the circus, my son was lost to us while my grandson had been raised weak and the Court had no influence over him. We could only ensure that the child he bore would receive the proper training and be returned to Gotham when the time came.”

Batman felt sick. He wanted to deny it, but Cobb had no reason to lie and the Bats hadn’t bothered to look that far into Richard’s family’s past. “The Graysons’ deaths…”

“Not the Court’s work, though it provided us with an opportunity to place the boy somewhere we could have full influence over him.”

He’d never felt better about rescuing Richard from that awful detention center. He fought down a smirk that would be both telling and uncharacteristic for Batman as he slammed his foot into Cobb’s chest, audibly breaking a few ribs. “But Wayne took him instead.”

From his place on the ground, Cobb pulled off his mask to spit out discolored blood then glared up at Batman. “It doesn’t matter. The boy is destined for the Court. Whether now or later, the Gray Son of Gotham will be a talon.”

“Never,” Batman growled, freezing the talon with a liquid nitrogen pellet.

When he turned back to the room at large, Batgirl was taking down her opponents while Batkid had tied up the scientists and was pulling off the straps. Batman went to help the boys, pulling Richard into his arms as soon as he was free. The ladies agreed to handle the talons and scientists so Batman and Batkid could get Richard up to the surface where Oracle had police cars and an ambulance waiting.

Once they were out of the labyrinth and away from any cameras the Court may have had, but before they reached the authorities, Dick pressed his face into Batman’s neck. “Dami.”

“I’m here, Dick.”

“Th-that man, he said…”

Batman tightened his grip on his ward. “I know, but I’ve got you now and I promise, the Court won’t ever touch you again.”

Richard wrapped his arms around his neck and Damian quickly ran his fingers through the black-brown curls before Batman stepped out of the shadows and passed Richard off for a paramedic to check him over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For Reference:

The Batcave: Under Wayne Manor in Bristol, acts as HQ for Batman, Catwoman, and Batgirl (and Batkid)

The Perch: Under Damian and Jon's house in Somerset, acts as HQ for Nightwing and Flamebird (and Robin)

The Hatch: Under the Lucius Fox Center in Burnley, acts as HQ for We Are Future (Signal, Señal, E-ko, Flyfox, and Allegro)

The Clocktower: At the top of Gotham Clock Tower in Old Gotham, acts as HQ for Oracle and Orphan

The Roost: Under Drake Towers in Blüdhaven, acts as HQ for Black Bat and Athens

[eak8753]

“You Made Your Decision”

They had always been a duo. They always knew each other like no other. The two birds of the team; Raven and Robin

Everyone on the team could see it. The bond between the two of them became all the more noticeable when he went to hell for her. Cyborg and Beast Boy were wary; Cyborg thought of Raven as a sister and would never want harm to befall her, she was already hurt too much. Beast Boy had seen first hand what it was like when she was heart broken, they had been each other’s biggest ally’s after Terra and Malchior, helping one another through the heart break.

Starfire hadn’t seen it at first. She just assumed Robin and was being nice, being a friend to Raven. Although she often wondered why he had been the one to go to hell for their friend. It had made the most sense for her or Cyborg to go, but instead Robin had gone. It had taken years after her and the Titan’s leader’s break up to understand that he had been in love with his fellow bird.

It was subtle at first, he had always found Raven attractive but it wasn’t until Tokyo that he knew that he was hopelessly in love with her. However, at this point he was already with Starfire, he knew that the two of them wouldn’t last, so he would wait out the relationship. It was a cowardly move, yes, but he would not hurt his alien friend’s feelings. Plus, Raven had always been a bit slow when it came to emotions, she probably didn’t even realize what was between them.

She knew. She knew before Cyborg or Beast Boy. Before Robin and far before Starfire. Raven knew how she felt, she was never one to lie to herself, and she knew that Robin felt the same. She was, after all, an empath. But he was with Starfire; he had made his decision and she would give him the opportunity to make it again, just not now.

Yes, they had always been a duo. Always knew each other like no other. The two birds of the team; Raven and Robin

Well, now Raven and Nightwing.

He had gone away. Bruce had called him back because the media was getting angsty and thought that Dick had gone missing or was killed. That had been almost a year ago, but now he was back. His absence didn’t have a huge effect on the team. The Titans Tower had been a popular spot for meta’s and supernatural teens/youth to crash. Although the original team still remained they did have a few constant visitors; Donna Troy/Wonder Girl, Wally West/Kid Flash and Jinx, Jericho, and Argent to name a few. 

Another hero who visited constantly was Zachary Zatara. He was Zatanna’s little cousin and was a very skilled magician for his age. He had immediately taken a liking towards the empath and they often practiced magic together. He would invite her to his shows but she rarely came, preoccupied with something else.

It had been like this for years now. Everyone had grown accustomed to each other’s fighting styles and if one was to leave they could easily fill them in with another hero.

So no, the team’s fighting was affected by his absence but they did miss him. And he missed them. He decided that it would be fun if he surprised them. So he had taken the two hour flight from Gotham to Jump without their knowledge, got a cab from the airport to drop him off near a cafe and hauled his luggage the rest of the way. In hindsight, he probably should have called.

Once he entered the common room, two things happened. One, he was bombarded with hugs and “I missed you” “look who’s back” and other welcoming phrases. Two, Raven wasn’t there. If he was an adolescent he may have scolded himself over looking for her, but he knew now that he loved her and didn’t deny himself the simple pleasure of seeking her out.

“Hey guys, I missed you all too. It’s good to be back” he smiled up at his team, feeling the happiness radiating off of them. 

“So uh, where’s everyone else?” They knew immediately that he didn’t actually care where everyone else was. He cared about where Raven was, and they couldn’t help but cringe at their leaders' words. They knew, eventually he would come back and he would find out, they had just always assumed Raven would be here to tell him herself.

“She’s uh” Cyborg stepped in, trying to think of a place we’re the sorceress could be.

“Park” “Library” “Cafe” Dick heard them all say simultaneously, he could hear the guilt in each of their voices. What he couldn’t understand is why? Where could she possibly be that would make him upset. Wha-

Suddenly the doors to the common room opened revealing a young man with a tux and white gloves on, a young woman in a knee length dress covered in lilac lace. Her sleeves were elbow length and she had on a pair of silver heels. Half her hair was pinned up to the middle of her head and the other half down, a few pieces of hair around her face to frame it. 

The most disturbing thing about the picture however was the fact that the two of them were holding hands, while the boy smirked and the girl gave a slight smile. 

Dick knew that smile, it was the smile that she gave when she found something interesting or was in awe. The smile she gave when someone said something amusing. The smile she gave when she was appreciative. The smile she gave when she was at ease; the smile she had always given him, and only him.

Zachary and Raven entered the common room, quickly looking over they’re friends faces and as she saw him, her smile faded a bit. 

What was she doing holding Zachary Zatara’s hand? Didn’t she know that his cousin wanted her dead. And more importantly, she was supposed to be in love with him.

“Dick” Zachary said, surprise and amusement in his voice. “It’s good to have you back man” he said, noticing his gaze wasn’t in him. In his defense, he couldn’t take his eyes off Raven, she looked absolutely stunning and he had never seen her in a dress before. But where in the nine levels of hell was she and why was she with Zachary.

“Richard” she said, her voice monotone and cool; controlled. “Raven” he said in the same voice. Before he knew it though, he was pulled in a light hug by the small girl, and she gave a sigh. “Welcome back” her breathy voice said next to his ear, and he smiled as he returned the hug, basking in her warmth. All too suddenly though, she pulled away.

“When did you get back” she asked, and he was faintly aware of the guilt in her voice. “A few moments ago” he responded, and he was sure that his cheeks were lightly dusted in pink; it really wasn’t fair that she looked that good in a dress.

“You should have called, we would have picked you up” Zachary called, moving towards Raven once again. This snapped him out of his staring and he realized, for the second time that night, he didn’t know where she had been.

“Where were you guys anyway?” He said nonchalantly. His eyes were scanning her face, trying to see if there was anything he could pick up. Alas, she wasn’t called the “Ice Queen” for nothing.

“I had a show,” Zachary told him. Well that explained him being gone, but it didn’t explain Raven’s absence. Or why they were holding hands. Or why she was wearing a dress.

“And my presence was all but demanded” he heard her voice, the amusement evident in it.

“Yes, well” Zachary came around and turned her towards him, fully encircled her waist. “Forgive me for wanting to show off my breath-taking girlfriend” he said, leaning down to peck her lips.

“Girlfriend?” Dick asked. He mustn’t have heard them right, there was no way. Raven was in love with him, and he her. Sure they had never kissed, but he had kind of confessed before he left, he knew she understood what it stood for.

Turning towards Batman’s oldest son, the magician grinned. “Yeah, I finally plucked up the courage to ask her about 4 months ago.”

Four month. They had been in a relationship for 4 months and he didn’t know. He hadn’t really had a chance to call them while he was away, but had kept up with the news and knew of all of their battles; just as he knew they had kept up with the media and knew all about “Dick Grayson’s Return.”

Never had he thought any of their personal lives would have changed that much, least of all Raven’s. She didn’t like change and avoided it at all costs, it was only natural for him to assume that she wouldn’t have made such a drastic decision; that she would have waited.

Mumbling a quick excuse he left the common room to get some much needed rest. They would talk in due time, but for now he just wanted to wallow in his self pity. 

***

It had been a few days since his return and he had yet been able to get Raven alone. He sighed in his cup of coffee. He had just come back from patrol and had a couple of cuts along his body, not many and certainly not enough to warrant any attention but they still hurt.

However, no amount of physical pain could ever be equal to the hurt that the hole in his heart caused. He didn’t understand, she was supposed to be with him. They had been in this game of “will they, won’t they” for years. He thought once he came back they would finally be together but...

The sound of footsteps broke him out of his thoughts. He knew those footsteps, they were hers. 

“Raven” he said as she entered. She nodded towards him and made her way to the kettle, filling it with water. She was in her uniform; her classic blue cloak and a black catsuit. She turned around to face him, her back leaning on the counter. She looked tired but happy.

She looked beautiful 

“How have you been?” She asked, running a hand through her hair. He wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through it, but he pushed those thoughts aside. 

“Fine” he grunted. He would have been better if it didn’t feel like he had been stabbed repeatedly; but hey, he had dealt with heartbreak before. ‘Not like this’ he thought.

“You're mad” she stated. Sighing she turned towards the kettle that started screaming and poured the water into a mug, adding a teabag when she was finished. Lastly she added some honey and turned back to him, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m not mad” he started off. “I just, I don't get it Raven. I thought you loved me.”

“I did”

“So then why? Why Zachary? Why ruin what we have?” He didn’t understand, sure he had relationships even though he was in love with him - Starfire case and point. But that was when she was unattainable, when he had just realized his feelings for her. It was different now, they were adults, not confused teenagers.

 “16 Dick. That’s how long we’ve been in love. That was when we went to Tokyo, when you kissed Kori, when you found out you loved me.” 

He was stunned, he really thought she didn’t know how he felt until last year when he had semi confessed to her. Empath. She had known, for all these years, felt everything he had. Yet, she chose him, even after she knew how he felt about her, she chose him.

“Did you really think I was gonna wait forever?” 

“Huh” came his intelligent reply.

“It’s been four years Dick, you made your decision. You made it all those years ago when you kissed Star in Tokyo, re-made it when you held her hand in front of the world.”

“I thought that once you two broke up we could be together, but then you went to Gotham. You made your decision again.” She knew this conversation was necessary but she really wished it could have been had when she hadn’t just woken up and yet to mediate.

“I had no choice, Bruce needed me and I couldn’t just leave him hanging-” No matter how much I wanted to be with you, he wished he could add, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“Did you have no choice in getting involved with Barbara? Did Bruce need you for that too? You made your choice Dick, whether it was the right one or not you made it.” She said so quietly he strained his ears listening.

“Well what was I supposed to do? We couldn’t be together at the time and the media ate it up. Sure, I had feelings for her  but they’re nothing compared to the ones I have for you.” He pleaded with her, trying to show her his side. 

“Look Dick, I know now that we can’t be together; never could”

“But we can be, we could have been if you hadn’t got together with Zachary. If you had-“

“Shawn” her voice broke. “What” he asked. What did she have to do about this, they had been together for less than two weeks. 

“I thought the reason you didn’t tell me about your feelings after yours and Kori’s breakup was because you were embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“Even if I could do the heels and dresses, I would never be accepted by high society. I’m not tall or undeniably beautiful; not like Star or Babs. But then you got with Shawn and I knew that no matter how much you loved me or how much I loved you, we could never be together.” She slightly screamed, but did Raven ever scream. She looked to be on the verge of tears and he just wanted to wrap her in his arms and  tell her everything was gonna be okay.

But they weren’t, things had become so strained between them, he didn’t know if they could be fixed; but he hoped, oh god he hoped they could.

“So when Zachary asked me out, I said yes. He’s loved me almost as long as you have, he just did something about it first. Yeah, I gave up on ‘us’ first, but you drove me to that point. I wasn’t going to wait forever Richard.” 

“Do you love him?” He swallowed, he didn’t want to know the answer but he had to ask.

“No” she shook her head. “I don’t love him, and he knows that. But I like him, oh Azar, I really, really like him Richard. He's amazing and patient and funny and a little flashy and cocky but in an enduring way.” She rambled, and he let her, for although he loved her and every word she spoke was a stab to the heart, she was still his friend first and foremost. He would pretend to be happy for her, even if he was dying on the inside.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, Zachary walked into the kitchen, hair and shirt disheveled. Grumbling he walked up the sorceress and pecked her on the cheek, grabbing the mug from her hands and taking a sip from the tea. Sighing in contentment he turned to go make a proper breakfast.

“Toast or waffles?” He asked the mage. “Waffles” she said without missing a beat, excitement in her eyes. The magician chuckled at her expression and taped her on the nose lightly. 

He loved moments like these, moments where he didn’t have to be “Zachary: Teen Magician.” Sure he loved performing, but he would be happy to just sit and read with the dark girl. He still couldn’t believe she was his, after years of silently pinning after her, she was his.

Turning around he addressed the Titans leader, nodding towards him. He knew of their history, more than Raven thought he did. It was one of the reasons he had been  so shocked when she said yes, but she had and he made sure that she didn’t regret it everyday they spent together.

“I have to meditate, I’ll be done in an hour and after breakfast I have to go into town and pick up a few things” she said to both of them.

“I’ll come” Zachary insisted, and surprisingly she didn’t put too much of a fight, he assumed whatever had happened between her and Dick had taken a lot of her emotionally. He made a mental note to check up on her as he watched her retreating form.

“You know” he said to the acrobat. “You May have been the one to go to hell for her. But don’t think for a second you’re the only one willing to.”

“Excuse me” the leader supplied.

“I know you love her, but so do I” with that he turned back to making breakfast.

The Titans leader just found himself nodding towards the magician before leaving for his room.

As he entered he leaned his head against the door, feeling the tears underneath his eyelids. He smiled a bit sadly. 

She may be taken at the moment, but they had been friends since they were 14. They had their whole lives ahead of them to get together; they had time.

[slightly-nerdy-rambles]

Robstar Week Day 6: The Start of Forever (Prompt: Wedding Bells)

I love weddings. They’re just these big, happy, fun parties! So for this prompt I ended up going full self-indulgent mess and just sort of jumped in with very little plan... and I think what little plan I had didn’t even make it into the fic, whoops. The end result is less a single cohesive story than it is a series of events meant to evoke a sort of snapshot of these dorks’ wedding, and I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

(Note: You’re going to see a certain character here whose presence would make the Royal Family Verse go very differently, as I’ve had pointed out to me. Rest assured that I have not forgotten him in that ‘verse, and simply have different plans for him there than I do here.)

The Start of Forever

Penguin was really not having a good day.

It should have been an easy heist, or at least a relatively low-risk one. The Bat’s brat was getting married halfway across the country, which meant the whole posse was out for a couple days. And, sure, he’d made the mistake of getting cocky while Batman was away before, but this thing was a big deal – something about alien royalty, he hadn’t been keeping track of the specifics – and the way he figured, the only buddies of the big guy who wouldn’t also be there were the small-fry or the newbies of the Justice League. Still formidable to common criminals, of course, but to veterans who’d been dealing with the Bat himself for years? His gang could handle it.

But now here he was, his thugs already captured, his trick umbrella wrecked, and fleeing for what was beginning to feel uncomfortably like his very life. He could hear footsteps behind him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before –

There was the lasso. Before he could even try to dodge it, he was bound up tight and thrown flat on his face.

Penguin glared at his captor as she stepped into view, calmly looping up the other end of the rope bound to him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a wedding?” he grumbled.

Wonder Woman gave him a flat look. “This was the only way to convince my colleague it was safe to go. I was watching the ceremony live, and I’d like to get back to that, so let’s get this over with.”

With one hand, she pulled him up by the loop of rope around his torso and glared deeply into his eyes. “Where are you hiding the loot?”

********

“Yeah, I really can’t help but feel sorry for anyone who tries to mess with Gotham right now,” Wonder Girl said, pausing to take a drink from her glass. “Di might be tough in the field, but she loves a good wedding. I’m kind of surprised she even volunteered to city-sit.”

Batwoman chuckled and leaned back in her chair. “Part of me kind of hopes a supervillain shows up there, if one hasn’t already. Not only would it make a great story, but it would prove the old man right about not leaving the city vulnerable and Wonder Woman won’t have to be mad at him.”

The two women shared a good laugh at that, before settling in to watch events around them. The wedding was a very… unique affair, which was inevitable when one considered the couple in question. Starfire was still technically Tamaranean royalty, after all; her marriage to a prominent hero (or rather, another prominent hero) meant too much for relations between her home planet and Earth to host it under the privacy of civilian identities.

Not that most of the Titans Network weren’t used to going around in uniform off-duty, but it made things interesting when fancy tuxedos and dresses were paired with the masks. The resulting “badass masquerade” feel of the party was oddly suited to both the many superheroes and the handful of boisterous Tamaranean dignitaries that had managed to attend.

Across one very active dance floor, over at the head table, Beast Boy and Cyborg were starting up a chant. They’d already had all their silverware taken away after one too many rounds of “tapping the glass to make the bride and groom kiss,” but this had only slowed them down for about twenty seconds.

Amidst an increasingly disruptive chorus of “Do it, do it, do it,” Raven leaned over to Starfire’s side. “They’re going to keep doing that until you give in,” she muttered.

Nightwing looked over from her other side and pointed out, “If we do, it’ll only encourage them.”

Raven shrugged. “Your call.”

Starfire just smiled and turned toward her husband. (Her husband! X’hal, that sounded good.) “I believe it all depends on whether we want to,” she declared, right before leaning forward to give him a quick peck on the mouth. His half of the table promptly erupted into cheers.

“Mmm.” Nightwing gave her that goofy little smile that never got old, and then stood up and held out a hand to her.

“Come on, let’s head back to the dance floor before they start up again.” His smile widened as he added, “As much as I enjoy kissing you, I’d rather do it on our own terms.”

Starfire laughed a little as she accepted his offer, and together they made their way into the throng.

As befitting its hosts, the wedding reception was a mixed bag of American and Tamaranean traditions. In a general sense, there was plenty of overlap – good food, energetic music, and a whole lot of dancing. But it was still worth noting when the couple made their way past several tables of casually chatting guests only to come across a traditional Feasting table sprawled over with several Tamaraneans (and one specially-invited reporter who’d wanted to sample the local flavor of the royal half of the wedding).

The free-for-all had died down significantly by now, but one youth had planted himself cross-legged in the middle of the table and was munching happily – and completely in leu of a fork – on a slice of wedding cake. He perked up upon seeing Starfire, and promptly flew over to her.

“Sister!” he chirped, still clutching his cake. “This Earth dessert is very good! Do you think I can bring some back home after this?”

Starfire smiled good-naturedly and shared a knowing look with her husband. “You might have a hard time getting a wedding cake, but a normal one shouldn’t be a problem,” she said. “I can even give you a recipe Cyborg and I came up with that uses Tamaranean ingredients, if you would like.”

“Why don’t you join us when you’re done?” Nighwing offered. “Star says you’re pretty impressive on the dance floor, and I don’t think you two have had much family time yet.”

Wildfire grinned and nodded, but as he returned to the table, Starfire lifted a few inches off the ground and swung around to face Nightwing. That was another Tamaranean tradition – for the happy couple to fully embrace their rapturous joy by spending as much time in the air as possible – and one she was all too happy to indulge. A little impish smile crossed her face as she pulled him out to the center of the reception hall.

Oh, but he did look fetching. They had opted to dress in the wedding wear of each other’s cultures, and as much as she loved her lacy wedding gown, she loved even more how well it paired with the long, loose white sleeves and classic armored accents of his suit. Even his mask had been altered for the occasion – narrower and sleeker than normal, with a dark silver replacing the usual black edges and tiny flared accents at the corners.

“I must admit, I do not at all mind you having to wear such a handsome mask on a day like today,” she thought out loud, pulling close to him as the two began to move in beat with the music. Then, leaning in and speaking in a voice too low for anyone but him to hear, she added, “I wouldn’t mind if you continue to wear it tonight, either.”

Nightwing smirked at that, resting a hand on the back of her neck and pressing his forehead against hers as he twirled her around the dance floor. “Sorry Your Highness, but I fully intend to see you properly for our wedding night.” He considered that train of thought for a moment. “Although we might be able to bring it on the honeymoon.”

Starfire held back a snort of laughter, instead schooling her face into a mock pout. “It is less fun when you refuse to be flustered.”

A little smile crept into the edge of her expression. “And this is a poor time to start calling me ‘Highness.’ You’re technically a prince now.”

Nightwing’s smile broadened. “I still can’t quite get over the thought of that. Please feel free to remind me whenever you like.”

Now Starfire did laugh. Rising a little higher from the floor, she wrapped both arms around his waist and looked to him with a silent question.

Her husband (and thinking that was still absolutely delightful) knew her well – he just smiled again and secured both arms behind her shoulders in answer, allowing her to lift him off the ground with her. Together, they joined the flighted guests that twirled whimsically high above the rest of the party, sharing in the joy of their union for both their worlds to see.

[krispydefendorpolice]

The Demon’s Bride (4)

Call out to @vitaliciouscreations for their “Drop of Paradise” story. I’m using the same name Tiān but they came up with it (to best of my knowledge). Another fun read. Anyone interested in me putting up a random maribat recomendation in this part?

On to the story

Beginning Previous Next Masterpost

_________________

Chapter 4

After dropping Mari in front of the hotel she was staying at, where the teacher definitely had not noticed she was missing he fumed, Damian returned to the Bat cave. His father, all three of his brothers, his sister, Alfred and the rest of the extended Bat Clan were waiting.

“You never turned your comm back on,” Bruce commented.

“I needed to speak with Mari before talking to you,” Damian said, passing his father and pulling up files on the Bat computer.

“We had noticed. It would have been nice to know you were alright after she took down Jason the way she did.”

“Hence the reason I left my tracker on instead of disabling it. You knew where I was.”

“Who is this mystery girl the boys are talking about?” Barbara, aka Oracle, asked.

Damian ignored the question while he filtered through the files of the Wayne conference attendees for the school group staying at Mari’s hotel and down to the students on the trip. He pulled up the school picture of Mari and the information they had on her.

“She is a friend from my childhood,” he finally said looking at the information. He saw that her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, her parents on file were listed as Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng. So they hadn’t changed it, he thought, disappointed in himself because he never looked.

Damian turned when no one said anything after his declaration. Leaning against the console he waited for their responses.

“Bull shit Demon Spawn. You’ve never mentioned friends other than Jon and the Titans before,” Jason said, “and even then it’s because they are not your friends.”

“I assure you she is,” Damian said.

“Then why is this the first time any of us have ever heard about her?” Dick asked.

“None of you have ever shown a particular interest in my childhood with the League of Assassins before now, so why would I have talked about her to you?” Damian answered with a question of his own.

“Because you bit off our heads every time we asked anything,” Tim argued.

Damian narrowed his eyes, “The last time anyone asked me anything about the League I was 11 years old, had just moved in with a bunch of strangers, and had witnessed my family and my whole life destroyed by a madman. Of course I fucking yelled at you. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t cry, yell or rage about the unfairness of watching my family, my family,” he emphasized, “die because I was with strangers and emotions make you vulnerable and I could not afford any more vulnerabilities with the unknown situation I was in.”

The entire clan was silent during his tirade, and a bit ashamed at what he was revealing to them years afterwards.

“I’m sorry Damian. We should have realized that and asked you how you were handling the changes at the time,” Bruce was the first to apologize.

“So you weren’t just rabid from Mom’s Tender Loving Care?” Jason asked.

“Master Jason,” Alfred chided while the rest of the clan just gave Jason a Really? look.

“In the 10 years I lived with her I probably spent less than two in her actual company,” Damian said. “I don’t think I would have responded well at the time even if you had realized,” he acknowledged Bruce’s apology.

“Can you tell us about her?” Bruce asked.

“I can but there’s a lot to talk about to really understand everything. I’m meeting her tomorrow for her free day, we can come here for dinner. I can give you some of that background information now and she can answer any of the questions about herself that I can’t answer.”

“Alright. So tell us what we need to know.”

“Might I suggest we move this discussion out of the cave and to the parlor where we might be more comfortable while we talk,” Alfred interrupted.

“That sounds like a good idea Alfred,” Dick said.

**************************

They did as Alfred suggested and moved to the sitting room so they could sit comfortably while talking about Damian’s past. They were all aware that before he came to them at the age of 10 he had lived with his mother and grandfather and with the League of Assassins. He had been volatile and reckless even while he was taking up the mantle of Robin and began following the others into the vigilante lifestyle.

But apparently there was more to his actions as a kid than just being a snobbish brat raised to believe he was better than everyone else.

Damian sipped at his cup of Black tea while settling his mind around what he was going to discuss. He had spent the last 7 years trying not to think of the other half of his biological family and believing the rest were dead so that he hadn’t had any other reason to reflect on his youth in the League. But that had obviously been a mistake. If Mari survived did anyone else? Can I get my family back? He wondered to himself while the rest of the clan settled down with their drinks of choice.

Finally everyone was settled. Bruce was the one to set the ball rolling.

“So what should we know?”

“Before I start about what I know,” Damian began turning to Jason, “I need to know more about what you know of the League, Todd.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and looked at him stonily. If Damian was quiet about the League as a kid (lies, he really wasn’t because he was an Al Ghul dammit) then Todd was a monk who had taken a vow of silence (slightly less a lie, he didn’t talk about it but he did rant about what a bitch Talia was). None of the Bats knew much about his time with the League other than he met Talia before returning to Gotham to seek vengeance on the Joker.

“Like what, Demon Spawn?” Jason asked.

“Well, first, did you have a designation?”

“A what?”

“That’s a no then. Consider yourself lucky, or not, since you were one of mother’s various pet projects then.”

“Damian,” Dick warned as Damian still had a tendency to be very blunt, to the point of being abrasive, when talking about other’s trauma’s.

Damian frowned before nodding in acknowledgement of the warning and in apology for his tone.

“I suppose the first thing you should know is that the League of Assassins is only about two hundred years old, while Tiān the city from which it was established is thousand of years old. Grandfather found it years ago and started to recruit certain prized and influential citizens and families into following him. Eventually the majority of the city were members of his cult and doing his bidding. We can get more into why the League as its own city is important tomorrow.

“Now, since the League is a cult and it was born out of an independent city how has it maintained it’s membership for so long? And I assure you it wasn’t because grandfather shared the secret of the Lazarus Pits with anyone” he asked.

“They recruited new members,” Dick answered with a shrug.

Damian gave him his own Really? look. “Recruits only account for about 25% of the new trainees and they are usually older teens and young adults. The people that are disenfranchised from the society outside of the League. Individuals with knowledge of the world outside shaped by influences from outside and not by Ras Al Ghul,” Damian said. “I was one of 79 children born in my year group. I was not raised by Talia no matter how she spins it. Despite having a personal bodyguard, private tutors and a nursemaid because I was an Al Ghul heir, I was raised with the other children my age in the al’akadimia*.”

“Talia didn’t raise you?” Barbara asked.

“She oversaw my training, instruction and education which seems to be her impression of parenting, but no, she was not involved in the day to day of my life growing up. I got more of that with Father in the first few months than I did from her in the entirety of my time with her,” Damian answered.

The Bats were silent as they digested this new piece of information from their youngest.

“In the cave you mentioned losing your family. It sounded like it happened in Slade’s attack. If not Talia, who were you thinking of? The girl?” Tim asked.

*academy- Arabic via Google translate

_________________

So, this chapter f*cked with my head. I was just writing and playing with the story and had to come up with a reason for Damian being such a little shit as a kid. And I threw in the line about him losing his family and moving in with strangers when I had an oh shit moment of enlightenment.

In the Son of Batman, Damian witnessed his grandfathers death. His mother brought him to strangers and essentially dropped him on their doorstep. Then we get into the fact that most likely he was essentially abused growing up (how else do you get a kid that wont show emotions) but they were still his family and yeah...

I try throwing in a flippant reason but really it kinda sounds like a canon reason too.

I had never thought about why canon Damian was the way he was especially in that first movie and now my head hurts. I’m curious if anyone else has ever given that a thought or if you’re just now having that oh shit reaction?

Taglist: I’m so happy so many are enjoying it. I’m trying to get everyone but if I miss you I’m sorry but it’s not intentional. Also, I appreciate the comments but unless you ask I won’t tag you so if you’ve commented and not been tagged it’s cuz you didn’t ask or because I overlooked it trying to find everyone who’s asking to be tagged. And I’m going to ask that you message me since I’m having trouble finding all the asks in the comments. Thank you.

And thank you all!

@ozmav @multifandomscribette @mochinek0 @inevitableenquere @zebrabaker @poshplumcot @tog84 @luciferge @sonif50 @ravennightingaleandavatempus @northernbluetongue @actual-human-disaster @clumsy-owl-4178 @aarushi-03 @bluerosette23 @g-arya @moonyloonyx @fertileleaf @shreky-boi @thanks-captain-obvious @panda3506 @hinata3487 @thequestionablyhuman @dontgiveaflyinflip @dast218 @chocolatecatstheron @asianfrustration13 @slytherinsheashire @weird-pale-blonde-person @yin-390 @mycupisbroken @vixen-uchiha @kuroko26 @autisticlinx @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mariae2900 @zalladane @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @tbehartoo @novicevoice @violatiger8 @thebookish3lf @fandomkitty8 @redscarlet95 @gingersnapnoir @chewbaccaatemythoughts