#While Tim is the Ward of Fear

[radiance1]

Based on this post.

"You're odd."

Tim turned to Danny, who was braiding one of the younger horses' mane and tiled his head. "Am I?" He asked, continuing to run a brush through the mane of his father's caretaker's steed. "I don't think I'm odd."

"Well yea, cause you're you." Danny huffed and gestured at his with one hand, pulling it back to comfort the foal in his lap before recontinuing to braid. "It's not bad, not really. But I thought Fright Knight just cared about serving the Ghost King and betraying him occasionally." Danny sniffed. "I didn't think he had an actual life beyond that and then boom! You appeared." Due to having his hands full, he gestured at Tim with his chin.

"And that's... odd?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Tim looked up at the sky, the clear night sky full of twinkling stars that he would have never seen in Gotham. By now he would be sneaking out of his manor to try and catch more pictures of the ever-elusive Batman and Robin. He was so close to figuring out who they were.

He just knew it.

Unconsciously, his hands slowed down until they stopped entirely. Eyes squinting as he pulled up what pictures he had in his memory and trying to connect the dots.

An arm wrapping around his shoulder snapped him from his thoughts. "Don't take it too hard. I'm odd, you're odd, we're both odd." Tim thinks there was a misunderstanding here. "Me and you? We're odd buddies!"

Tim blinked.

He blinked again.

Something warm was in his chest.

"Odd buddies?" He asked and Danny presented his pinkie finger with a smile. "Odd buddies!"

That was the first pinkie promise Tim ever made.

//////////////////////

The infinite Realms has recognized the bond established between the Ward of Time and War and the Ward of Fear.

//////////////////////

"You're odd." Red Robin stated, arms crossed over his chest and both voice and expression flat.

The Ghost Prince, most recent potential addition to the Justice League, merely shrugged. "You're odd too." He said, sending a finger gun in the vigilante's direction.

Warmth bloomed in his chest when he saw the look of recognition and mirth in the Ghost Prince's eyes.

He didn't forget him.

Red Robin held up hand, pinkie finger extended and a smirk on his lips as he tilted his head slightly. "Odd buddies?"

The Ghost Prince mirrored his smirk, and curled his pinkie around Red Robin's.

"Odd buddies."

[rainrot4me]

Let Me Hear You

Summary: Walking the same path every day while listening to music is your routine. Humming along, Masky makes it his routine to follow you. Until you wander somewhere you shouldn’t…

Characters: Masky x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Stalking, non-con, vaginal fingering, vaginal, Masky's nasty, struggling, you don't give consent/Masky just takes what he wants, choking

Words: 4.2k

You walked this path every day. 

After every shift of work, every weekend, rain or shine you would slip your shoes on and take that dirt path through the woods. The path used to be an old horse trail used by the previous owners of the land, the dirt dry and matted down for miles. The forest surrounding the path was dense, sunlight rarely slipping through the leaves overhead and giving the lush area a nice, shaded feel. The area was thriving, nature untouched besides your constant walks, but you never dared press off the path out of fear of getting lost. Although the dirt made a giant winding loop back to your home, what lay in the middle made you too nervous to find out. 

You could usually complete your walk in under two hours, making your way back to the treeline connected to your backyard and safely back into your house. It was routine, so of course, when you got home from work well past nine PM, you slipped out of your uniform and into athletic clothes and a hoodie. Sliding your screen door open, you flicked your flashlight on, the moon hiding behind dense clouds and offering little light. But this was your comfort, if you didn’t have anything else, at least you would have these two hours to debrief and get at least some exercise in. Despite the cool summer air, you pressed through your ward and to the well-worn path you knew, disappearing into the trees.

What you didn’t know, or rather, what Masky didn’t want you to know, was that this path was also his daily routine. Not for walking, persay, but more for observation. His routine was to hang at the edge of that treeline whenever he wasn’t busy, waiting for your car to sling into your driveway and for you to come strolling out that screen door. You were oblivious to his presence, sauntering on that path as he quietly shifted behind the trees to watch you unwind the further you walked. In a way, it was his way of unwinding, giving himself something to focus on besides the constant pounding in his head. 

Now, he hadn’t sought you out through choice. It was a sort of coincidence that he began to watch you. 

Before you lived in that house, the previous owners were old, rarely trailing past the range of farmland and into the trees. So it made it simple. That widespread land in the center of the round path was a popular spot for the various members of Slender’s band of misfits to visit, hauling whatever recent kill they had made and burying them randomly, difficult to find. Seeing as it was land connected to the house, cops couldn’t just stroll through without some type of warrant, so it made it all the easier just to dump the bodies there and forget about them.

Until you moved in, curious little mind pulling you to the trees and investigating the trail. Masky was there that day, burying some boy, or what was left of him, just out of sight. He didn’t even realize you were there until your foot crunched on a branch, sending him grabbing for his pistol and aiming it through branches straight to your head. You had no clue, headphones lodged in your ears and playing some old songs, leaving you completely vulnerable. Masky was going to shoot, irritation guiding his movements at the thought of being seen. Until you started humming, tune familiar to some Fleetwood Mac song that stirred in the man’s brain, tugging at some long-forgotten memories that he knew were Tim’s. But instead of becoming angry, it was like his body was relaxing, gun slipping back into his jacket pocket and eyes trained sternly on you as you continued walking. 

It was laughable how unaware you were, even still as Masky followed that familiar path, watching you the same way he always had. He chalked it up to being a precautionary measure, watching to make sure you didn’t move further off the path than he wanted you to. But in reality, in the depths of his mind that he wouldn’t tell anyone, he just wanted to hear your voice. 

So, nudging your wired headphones into your ears, you shoved your phone into your pocket, shining your flashlight on the ground below as you walked. You kept the volume low, still able to hear your feet crunch on the weeds as you hummed lowly, swaying the light back and forth. Masky was to your right, hidden in the shadows of the branches as he walked in time with you, straining his ears to relish in your sweet voice. It was his guilty pleasure, getting to hear new and old songs that otherwise he wouldn’t. He recognized it as Name by Goo Goo Dolls, an older song he occasionally heard in bars and stores he passed. Tim was already stirring, pressing against the edges of his consciousness and skewing his thoughts, making the man reach for his cigarettes, popping one into his mouth and flicking the lighter. Masky had to put distance between you two now, wary of the smell of smoke alerting you, giving himself about fifteen yards of space but still keeping time with you.

You slipped your hair behind your ear, hands shoved into your hoodie pockets as you walked. The air was rather cool for a summer night, the clouds overhead making you wonder if there would be a storm tonight. Slipping your phone from your pocket, you flipped to a weather app, scrolling through and surprised by the pop-up showers happening within the hour. You'd have to speed up if you wanted to return home without getting soaked. 

So, shoving your phone back into your pocket, you held your flashlight tight, putting a little pep in your step. Masky was caught off guard, pushing his cigarette box back into his jacket and matching your pace, confused as to why you were hurrying now. He sucked the smoke into his lungs, the pounding in his head sizzling out. You had stopped humming, which irritated him, but he followed in the hopes that you would start again.

Minutes had passed and you recognized the path to be at about the halfway mark. You had an hour left, but the heavy clouds in the sky were already pushing down, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance. Shit. You wouldn’t make it back in time. Stopping, you had to think, to weigh your options of running the rest of the way or cutting through. You had never been off the path, the entire unknown distance in between making you uneasy. But what could be in there that wasn’t just more trees? This land had been lived on and used, so you had nothing to be afraid of except the possibility of running into a deer. Taking a breath, you held your flashlight up, stepping off the dirt path and into the thick brush of the woods between. 

Masky immediately tensed, heart thumping as he saw you turn off the path and past the trees in the direction of your house. You were gonna cut through. The man had realized your hurry, the rolling storm clouds above telling him it wouldn’t be long until you were both soaked. But he never expected you to take a shortcut, pressing into the dark shadows of the trees and unfamiliar territory. This was bad. It wouldn’t be if he knew you would just pass through, mosy on to your home and out of the rain, but Masky knew better. You see, using that plot of land as a screwed-up burial plot was way too easy and convenient, and it led some creeps to become lazy. Toby was the worst, leaving chopped-up pieces of arms and torsos scattered against the earth, letting nature and curious animals take care of the rest. But that method left evidence, bones and rotted flesh scattered everywhere and easily noticeable. You would see them and become scared, calling the stupid cops and busting them all. He had to deter you. 

Hiking your legs over tall bushes and weeds, you push deeper in, trying your best to keep straight and search for your porch light. The wind was already blowing, leaves upturned and shaking against the breeze. Keeping your eyes trained on the ground, you began to hum again, Leave Out All the Rest by Linkin Park thumping in your eyes, keeping you distracted against the pants you were heaving. Your leisure walk had turned rough, getting more exercise in than you intended. Meanwhile, Masky was gritting his teeth, shoving through the trees as he pressed in front of you, wracking his brain for some way to throw you back onto the path. You were quick, Masky having to work to stay ahead of you and make sure you didn’t run into anything unsightly. 

Your humming was throwing him off, cigarette pressed tight between his lips as he tried to focus more on you instead of your pretty voice. The pre-storm breeze was picking up now, tall grass whipping against his legs and tangling themselves around his boots. Looking forward, he could see fresh dirt dug out into a pit, one of Toby’s lazy mishaps again. Masky didn’t have a choice, he’d have to confront you if he was gonna get you out of here. Swearing, he crossed your path, yards in front of you and shoved off his mask.

You smelled the smoke before you saw him, his lit cigarette wafting in your direction as the breeze blew. You looked up, flashlight shining ahead and barely catching the man mixed in with all the trees. Heart dropping, you stopped, music still pumping in your ears as you stared at the man across from you. In all of your time here, you had never seen a person in these woods. Especially during the night right before a storm. This was bad. Your breath was shaky, catching up from your quick movements but not getting a chance to settle as you began to panic. You didn’t have a weapon, you never needed one, that was a sore mistake now. The man didn’t move, just standing and watching, his build taller and larger than yours, able to easily overpower you. 

Moving slowly, you plucked the headphones from your ears, taking a step back as you shook. “Uhm… Hello..?” You called, voice shaky as the breeze whipped your hair in your face. The man had his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, puffing his cigarette in the breeze and making your nose furl, the scent sour. “Pretty late, huh?” His voice was rough, low and scratchy as he talked, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. You stepped back, nerves begging you to run but deciding it would probably be worse if you did. “Hah, uh, yeah. Just out for a- uhm, a walk. Cutting through so I don’t get rained on…” You laughed awkwardly, fidgeting the flashlight between your hands as you continued to step back slowly, trying not to draw his attention.

“Well, you outta be careful. Buncha fox traps out here. Could take your foot clean off.” He called, taking a step towards you and making your stomach turn, palms beginning to sweat. He flicked the cigarette between his fingers, ashes falling before he put it back in his mouth, puffing smoke. You glanced around the ground, feet suddenly nervous as you shuffled under yourself, hugging yourself tight. “O- Oh really? Didn’t know about that… uh, I’ll be careful. Just gotta make it home before it rains.” You went to turn, pushing for another path away from this strange dude. You noticed he didn’t have any form of light, standing in the darkness as he began to step towards you, panic surging. Stumbling back, you gripped your flashlight, willing yourself to hit him if it came down to it.

But instead, the man stopped in front of you, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it, glancing at you. “Trust me. It’d be better if you just take the path. I can walk with you, make sure you don’t get rained on too bad.” He was pushing, pressing beside you and guiding you back towards the path, not giving you any choice but to follow beside him as he pressed his hand on your back. The rain had already begun to sprinkle through the leaves, cool mist running across the ground as you held your flashlight close, wary of the man as you walked next to him.

Finally seeing the dirt path again, his hand pushed you to follow it again, the familiar crunch of weeds comforting you against the panic you felt internally. The man’s hand never left your back, keeping you next to him as he walked quickly, moreso forcing you to go this way than advising you. You wanted to run, to throw the flashlight at him and get home but he was stern, the brunt look on his face stunning you. So you just kept walking.

Masky had no clue what he was doing. He only meant to scare you, push you in the opposite direction and disappear again. But when you didn’t run, just kept watching, he had no choice but to speak up. He opted to take the mask off, giving you good reason to leave but not scaring you so much you wouldn’t come back. He still wanted you to feel comfortable here, just not off that path. Obviously, that didn’t work. If your survival instincts wouldn’t help you, he would. 

Minutes passed in tense silence, flecks of water sprinkling onto your face and wetting your hair. His hand still pressed, your shoulders tense as you flicked nervously between the path and his face, the unwavering look making you uneasy. “So, uhm. Why’re you out here?” You shook out, filling the cold air as you felt his fingers tense, eyeing you slightly. He was quiet for a second, almost like he was contemplating. “Cleanin' up. Got some hunting equipment back there. Had to get it stable before the storm.” He looked away, continuing on.

Settling in, you let him guide you, figuring that if he tried anything, you would be close enough to neighbors to scream. If he was going to do anything, he would have done it where no one could hear. Either way, you knew after tonight you wouldn’t be walking back in these woods without a knife. The rain was coming down harder now, thick droplets landing on your cheeks and blurring your vision. Your hair was soaked, clothes sticking to your body as you walked, and chills running over you. “Almost there.” The man grunted, tugging at his jacket and pulling it closer to his chest, raindrops running down his face. Nodding, you hummed, slicking your hair back off of your face.

This walk was weird without music, and your routine became skewed. So you decided to hum, picking up where you left off of the Linkin Park song and hitting the notes softly. The man’s hand instantly tensed, fingers curling into your hoodie and catching you off guard, stunting your voice. “Sorry.” You mumbled, sniffling as your nose became stuffy against the cold. He huffed, flattening his hand out again. “It’s fine. Keep singing.” He huffed, gripping the back of your hoodie. Uncomfortable, you began to hum again, pressing the notes quietly as you walked. The man held your top tight, taking deep breaths as he listened to you, teeth gritted. 

Internally, Masky was fighting himself, using all of his willpower not to drag you back to your house and force better noises out. Maybe it was his deprivation, the loneliness from all this time, but he couldn’t stand how nice you sounded next to him. It was always from a distance, but right now, pressed by his side, it was like you were beckoning him. Like some fucked up siren. He huffed a breath, begging himself just to keep walking, just get you home. But as you hit a high note, throat straining against the sound, Masky's breath hitched, fist gripping onto your back. 

You paused, humming stiffled in your throat as you looked at him, feet planting beside his as you stopped. “Are you… alright?” You asked nervously, gripping his jacket sleeve and gazing into his stern face, eyes dark as they looked back at you. “[Y/N]...” 

“How do you…” You gasped, pulling back against his fist wrapped against the back of your hoodie. “You’re a real tease, you know that?” The man huffed, gripping your shoulders and shoving you backwards against a nearby tree, shoulder blades shoving into the bark as rain pelted down your cheeks. You shook your head, panic rising in your chest as you pushed back against his arms, his fingers gripping your shoulders tightly. “I don’t… What?” You huffed, tears pricking in your eyes as he grits his teeth, eyes roaming your body under him quickly.

“Of course you don’t. Coming out here every day just to tease. Practically begging me.” The man spat, pressing a knee between your legs and shoving your hips down, forcing a whine out of your throat. You had no clue what was happening, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as your hips forcefully ground down against his jeans. “Please… I don’t know what you want. If it’s money-” The man gripped your throat, pressing whines and gasps past your lips and holding you flush against the large tree behind you. “Can’t you see? I don’t want your fucking money, hun.” He grunted, pressing his body close and shoving his clothed bulge against your hip, gripping your hips tightly. 

You were still clueless, adrenaline pumping and kicking your brain into survival mode, too busy wondering if you would survive to realize the man’s intentions. Grunting, he gripped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Listen to me very closely, [Y/N].” He spat, grinding his bulge against your hip, moving your hips along with his against his knee, making your eyes shoot down, cheeks growing hot. “I just wanna hear that voice. You can’t imagine how many days I listened to you humming and wanted to turn them into moans. You’re just so… addicting.” 

You couldn’t comprehend what you were hearing, your mind too muddled with the feeling of your clothed cunt throbbing against the man’s leg, his hands rough against your hips. “I don’t understand…” You grunted, pushing back against his shoulders as he leaned in, pressing his lips close to your ears.

“I need to fuck you, hun.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss against your ear as you gasped, flinching against him. Shoving a hand up your shirt, he pushed the cloth up, rubbing his rain-soaked hands against your warm skin. You didn’t know what to think, didn’t even know what to do. This guy overpowered you by a long shot, but as he pressed his hand into your shorts, you couldn’t hold back the whine that sounded. 

“Yeah, yeah, noises just like that, hun.” He smiled, pushing your shorts down to your thighs and groaning at the sight of your panties. Your clothes were soaked now, pressing uncomfortably against your skin as he pressed a finger against your clothed cunt, pushing his thumb between your folds and onto your clit. You gasped, gripping his arm tight as he watched, your eyes trained on his face and hand as they moved. “I don’t-”

“Just don’t hold back that voice, mkay? Let me hear you…” He sighed, shoving your panties down before you could stop him, rubbing his thick fingers between your folds. Slick collected against the digits, your body betraying your racing mind as you decided to give up, fighting obviously useless. 

Masky was electric, fingers moving faster than his mind could cooperate as he pressed against your clit, causing your body to stutter under him. Even if you didn’t know him, he knew you, and he knew that this was what you needed. Rain ran down his face, he rubbed his fingers against your cunt, pressing in and stretching. You couldn’t handle it, mind racing as he slowly fucked you open, body unsure of what it was even supposed to be doing. He shoved deeper, curling up into you until you were moaning out, fingers digging in. You gripped and held his forearm, too sensitive to take it as you spasm against his fingers, words getting caught in your throat. Masky relished in the way you gasped every time his palm hit your clit, fingers pumping up until you were gushing against him, arousal building. With every unforgiving pump of his fingers, you were losing your restraint, mind muddled under his grunts and thick fingers. 

“Can barely hold back, yeah? Go ahead, be as loud as you need to.” You were biting your lip, eyes screwed shut as you fought off your orgasm, refusing to give in to this eager man. Until he leaned in, licking against your neck and pressing his wet hair against your cheek. You shuddered, losing your resolve until you were clenching around his fingers, his palm shoved against your clit and rubbing your orgasm out, chuckling as you cried out, your resistance completely gone. 

He didn’t give you a moment, shoving your panties down to your knees and leaning up, unzipping his jeans. Stuttering, you whined, watching as his length sprung free and pressed against your abdomen. “What are you…” You gasped, vision blurry and goosebumps running against the throbbing still in your cunt. “I already told you, hun.” He hissed, pumping his cock with his wet hand before he was pulling your hips close, feet still planted but knees buckled. He pushed his cock down, pressing the tip against your lips, pushing forward until your lips were wrapping around him, clit spasming. You whined, the man angling your hips until your entrance pressed against the tip, your hands gripping his shoulders tight as he pulled you to him, pressing inside.

You gasped, his thick cock stretching you until you were gritting your teeth, his head nudging against your soft walls. “Don’t hold back, now…” He gasped, chuckling as he began to grind your hips down onto his length, your folds pressed against him with every deep thrust. You couldn’t handle it, stomach tightening with every tug and pushing gasps through your lips. No matter how badly you tried to keep quiet, you just couldn’t, the sensitivity dragging noises from you. He was ecstatic, every moan matching yours as he thrust faster, nails digging into your hips. He stared you in the eyes, dark gaze staring through you as you stared back, jaw hanging open. 

As if by instinct, fingers pressed into your mouth, shoving down into your throat until you were gagging, throat constricting around the digits. He was moaning, your lips wrapped tightly around his fingers as you sucked, your head becoming light due to the lack of oxygen. He would pull back slightly, giving you a moment before shoving his fingers back in, spit building against your lips. You couldn’t handle it, couldn’t comprehend anything but the intense pleasure of his thrusts, fingers muddling your mind. 

Before you knew it, you were clenching around his cock, clit straining against the pressure until you were crying out, choking on his fingers pressed knuckle-deep into your throat. “Fuck, hun…” He groaned, bottoming out against you and gripping your hips tight, relishing in the way your throat squeezed in time with your cunt. You were whining and grunting against him, eyes rolling back until you were coughing, cunt throbbing as spit ran down your chin.

Ripping his fingers from your mouth quickly, he slid your cunt off of his cock, throbbing hard as he fisted himself quickly, pressing the head against your abdomen. You gasped, heaving for breath as you watched, eyes heavy and face soaked with rain. He came against your skin, seed shooting against your stomach as he was rubbing the tip against you, cursing as he stared into your eyes. It was all too much, knees buckling against him as he gripped your waist tight, shoving your hoodie down and pulling your shorts up, your wetness soaking into the fabric. Your eyes lulled closed as he threw you over his shoulder, legs gripped tight as he began to walk through the trees, abandoning the path completely. But you were too delusional to think, mind too frayed to fight against him.

-

When you woke, you were in your bed, clothes still damp and hair still tangled. Cursing, you sat up, cunt sore as thunder roared outside, the hint of sunrise peeking against the trees. You tried to wrack your brain, tried to comprehend what had happened. But when you moved, feeling the crusted semen against your stomach, you decided a shower was the better option.

You still walked that path, just more cautiously now, carrying a knife in your hoodie every time. Cautious, you always made sure to stick to the path, unsure if the ‘fox traps’ existed or not, but not wanting to tempt it. 

You still had your headphones lodged in your ears, keeping the volume at a good level as you walked, making sure to hum just a little louder. Occasionally, catching a whiff of smoke.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[yasmindifference]

👀🎃🔥 trick or treat? ÓwÒ 🍬🍫🍭

happy halloween, i hear you like werewolves 👀

For as long as he can remember, Jason's greatest fear has been his wolf.

He knows he's crossed more than a few lines in his day, has let his temper lead him into bad choices, but all of that? Was still rational. Even blinded by rage, he's never stopped thinking.

The monster within doesn't think. It doesn't reason. It doesn't have morals or emotions or a goddamn brain. It's a big, violent brute, and if it ever escapes the containment spells he hides behind every full moon, there's no telling what damage it might do.

Ever since he was a kid, he's been having nightmares about the wolf--about waking up the morning after to find he's slaughtered his mom, his friends, Bruce or Alfred or Dick.

Tim's taking center stage in those nightmares these days. Jason's had dozens of them since they got together, horrible dreams of waking to Tim's blood on his hands, in his teeth.

In all this time, it's never once occurred to him to fear being on the other side of things.

"Okay, Tim," he says carefully. "It's okay. It's just me."

The growling doesn't stop. There's no recognition in Tim's beautiful blue eyes. Just pure, animal instinct.

Fuck. Fuck.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, baby," he tries. "And the asshole who did this to you is dead. Everything's fine. You're safe."

The asshole who did this was a half-assed sorcerer with half-assed magic. The so-called werewolf spell gave Tim the ears and the tail, the claws and the fangs, and apparently wiped his reason away, but that's it. Tim might be half-crouched, keeping low to the ground like a real wolf, but his spine didn't change with the spell.

(Neither did his vocal cords; his throat's gonna be killing him after all this growling.)

(Also, if the situation weren't so dire, Jason'd be real fucking offended by this shit being called a werewolf spell when it didn't even give Tim a fucking snout. Stupid Hollywood bullshit.)

That doesn't mean he's not showing some wolf-like body language. In addition to the crouching, his tail is stiff and his ears flat against his head. Could be that's a lack of control, given he's not a real wolf.

Or it could be that the behavior's instinctual, and Tim's just as scared as his body language is screaming.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Tim," he tries again. "Okay? The spell will wear off in a few hours and we can go home. It's fine. You're okay."

Tim bares his sharper-than-usual teeth. Not good.

Jason knows he can take Tim out, but can he do it without hurting him? Can he do it without losing his grip on his own wolf, which even now is stirring beneath his skin, unhappy with the clear challenge Tim is issuing?

If that very dead jackass hadn't cast a containment spell, Jason could run. He could lead Tim on a chase straight to his nearest safehouse with its carefully warded room designed to hold a werewolf.

As it is, he's trapped. Here, with a Tim with claws and fangs and not a single drop of recognition in his eyes.

"You're safe," he tries one last, fruitless time, and Tim lowers his head and lunges.

Jason swears and tries to dodge, but it turns out he's been too focused on Tim and not the fucking containment spell, because like a goddamn rookie, he bounces off a boundary he hadn't realized he'd backed up too.

Tim hits him full force, knocking him down flat on his back.

Fuck. Fuck.

He gets his arms up in time to hold Tim back, keeping those fangs away from his throat, but it's a close thing. And he can't fucking grapple with another wolf without losing his grip on his own.

His wolf would kill Tim. He can't let that happen.

And while he'd gladly die rather than hurt Tim, he's spent his whole life fearing waking up to find he's slaughtered someone he loves. He can't inflict that on Tim.

There's a way out of this. He knows there's a way out of this. If his fucking wolf would chill and stop fighting him, just give him a second to think, he knows he could find a way out.

But Tim and Jason's wolf are fighting him in equal measure, and there's no time to fucking think.

"Tim," he wheezes, breathless from the struggle and the impact with the floor. "Tim, it's me. It's Jason. I don't wanna--fuck!"

Whatever's going on in Tim's head, he's figured out the claws. He lashes out and Jason has no choice but to release his shoulders to catch his wrists, to protect his own from being sliced open--but that just frees Tim to lunge forward and lock his fangs around Jason's throat and--

--and freeze?

Jason's frozen, too. Tim's wrists in his hands, Tim's teeth just barely pressing into his skin, his entire brain screaming that he can't hurt Tim, and his wolf rolling under his skin, distracting him. Tim wouldn't have gotten his fangs this close if Jason's stupid wolf wasn't fighting him so hard.

As it is, his wolf really does not like having fangs this close to their neck. It takes everything Jason's got to keep his own from sprouting. He can't move, not even to take advantage of Tim's sudden stillness.

Tim makes a strange noise. Something that wants to be a canine vocalization, probably, but again: wrong vocal cords.

Slowly, Tim leans back and then right back in. This time nose first instead of teeth first. He pushes his nose right into the crook of Jason's neck and...sniffs.

And again. And again.

And then he...well, he yips. Like a puppy.

Tim's ears unflatten. His tail wags.

And he pulls away from Jason's neck to lick him across the face.

...Okay then.

Tentatively, Jason loosens his grip on Tim's wrists. Tim snuggles in close and rubs his head against Jason's, making another little not-quite-vocalization and licking his face again.

"Gross," Jason says, but he's too light-headed with relief to actually protest. "Okay. Okay. You remember me, Tim?"

In answer, Tim licks him again. Which has no right to feel as gross as it does, really, considering how they've both done their share of licking (and sucking) in bed, but--come on. There is a lot of saliva on Jason's face right now.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he says. He rubs Tim's back with one hand and wipes his face with the other. His heart's still racing. "I take it you remember me now."

Tim sniffs him happily, which, yeah, makes sense. Wolves rely on their sense of smell a lot, and they've been living together for months. Jason smells like himself and like Tim and like their den, all their mixed up scents of gunpowder and lemon and cedar.

Thank fuck Jason didn't put on his scent-blocking leathers today. He usually saves them for close to the full moon, when the wolf starts to show in his scent, but he's been known to wear them on other nights when he's in a hurry and they're the first thing he lays hands on.

He can't believe this night having a happy ending hinged on which jacket he chose on his way out the door.

Tim's tail is still wagging. He nuzzles his face back into Jason's neck.

It's kind of adorable. Still...

"Okay, stop wiggling," he says after a minute. "You're half a werewolf right now, have some fucking dignity."

In response, Tim licks him again.

happy halloween! 🎃👻🦇 i’ve decided to use this prompt generator for every ‘trick or treat’ i get. this prompt was Uh oh! These two idiots got themselves trapped together. i hope you enjoyed! ♡♡

[blueiscoool]

The Aztec Death Whistle ‘The Most Terrifying Sound in the World’

For those who want to celebrate Halloween like it’s 1399: Scientists are sending shivers down the internet’s collective spine by recreating an ancient “Aztec Death Whistle” that’s said to emit the “most terrifying sound in the world.”

The macabre kazoo is detailed in a new video produced by the Action Lab, a group of proud internet nerds who specialize in mind-bending experiments.

“The sound that the death whistle makes innately strikes fear into your heart,” intones presenter James J. Orgill in the clip while holding a 3D-printed version of the instrument.

The Brigham Young University engineering grad then plays an audio clip of the scream machine, which evokes a bloodcurdling, bansheelike shriek resembling a sound effect from a haunted house attraction. (We dare you not to jump!)

Orgill points out that this is not a “human scream” but rather the sound emitted by the replica of a skull-shaped artifact originally discovered in Mexico City in 1999 by archaeologists.

It was reportedly found clutched in the hand of a headless skeleton in a temple dedicated to the wind god Ehecatl — one of many sites where the Aztecs conducted human sacrifices.

Initially thinking it was a toy, per Orgill, scientists didn’t blow into it until 15 years later, whereupon it emitted a terrifying sound.

“‘It was a startling discovery because it sounded like a screaming human,” said the burgeoning YouTube star, who dubbed it the “most terrifying sound in the world.”

The Aztecs were able to create this nightmarish noise by modeling the death whistle after the human larynx.

When the user blows into the instrument, the wind divides in two, producing oscillating sound waves that bounce around a large chamber before leaving via a second hole.

While the purpose of the instrument remains unclear, experts have several theories, with some believing this fright flute was used to scare enemies in battle.

Others postulate that the whistle was a defense talisman used to ward off evil spirits during a sacrificial victim’s journey to the afterlife.

In order to resurrect this symphony of screams for our listening “pleasure,” Orgill blew into different Tim Burton-esque whistles that were 3D-printed by US tech firm HeyGears.

All told, they made the raptor larynx from “Jurassic Park” sound like a kazoo.

No 3D printer, no problem: Interested parties can buy their death whistles on Amazon, which offers duplicates made of materials ranging from resin to carbon fiber.

Many advertise how closely their decibels match that of the most bone-chilling human screams.

By Ben Cost.

[aroacebrucewayne]

when I grow up, I want to be nothing at all

CHAPTER 1.

summary: ‘Bruce hasn’t looked at himself properly in the mirror for months.’ {batman? more like notman.}

a/n: 1. character referred to w he/him pronouns for a while because she doesn’t realise she’s transfem. She’s also Misgendered because the batfam doesn’t know yet. 2. I haven’t read any comics except for the first one w/ penguin in it!! All my knowledge is from other fanfics!! Do not come at me for not knowing lore please!!! 3. Story title is from “the end” by mcr because I’m cliche trash. 4. yes, I know Dick lives a city over. Why he’s randomly returning to Gotham on this day is unknown to me. But I have gone on overnight trips to visit my grandparents in the past and they live in another city too, so I guess it’s fine. Maybe he missed his family :) [also if you’re wondering where everyone else is/what their roles may be: patience. I’ll add to this au soon hopefully!]

5. Enjoy! Idk when I’ll be writing more for this but uh. Yeah. Have fun :)

Bruce hasn’t looked at himself properly in the mirror for months. He figures that it’s the scars crossing his body, riddling his torso and limbs with a map of his past victories and losses. Sure, he looks at his face to shave and occasionally cut his hair, but that’s about it. He’s still pondering this when he his phone chimes sharply.

Tim: hi bruce. dickhead coming for dinner 2day

The text, short and to the point, only reminds him to hurry up with his dressing. The batcave, while cool, isn’t an “acceptable substitute for fresh air and human interaction, Master Bruce.” So he swiftly pulls on a sweatshirt and pants, and goes back upstairs to wash the dirt, grime and facepaint off his face.

The bathroom tile he rests his forehead against is cool against his flushed skin, offering slight reprieve from the steady pounding in his skull. Bruce forces himself to look up at the mirror. Heavy dark circles, downturned mouth, and tired eyes stare back at him, and he trudges out into his bedroom.

The room isn’t really messy, he’s never allowed it to be. But there is a jacket flung over his full-length mirror, and a chair shoved in front of it, and both of them obstruct the full view of himself. He pushes the chair aside and grabs the jacket, convincing himself with some difficulty to look at himself fully and truly.

He looks normal. Maybe a little beaten down and weary, but otherwise he looks like a normal, regular, alright guy. The moment the thought manifests in his mind, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ward off the feeling of WRONGWRONGWRONG thrumming under his skin.

Fuck. Fuck. Maybe there is something wrong with him, something twisted. Self hatred is nothing new to him, but this feels different. More painful. He takes one more look at the mirror - Face your fears - and leaves the room, jacket tossed to the floor. He can’t waste time thinking about himself: Dick’s coming for dinner, Tim and Damian are coming home from school soon, and the sky is clear and cloudless. It’s a beautiful day, and Bruce has spent most of it in the cave, burning case details into his mind.

The thought makes his headache spike up again, and he casts his mind to other things. Chiefly, the sound of voices coming from the dining room. Tim and Damian are sitting at the table, eating sandwiches, while Tim chatters excitedly about his day to Alfred.

Bruce steels himself for a moment before he enters with a smile, jumping into the conversation with ease. All his worries and anxiety melts into the background, his chief attention being on this sliver of his family, here and now. His mind hones into the present, and he drops his earlier train of thought with ease.

He can always figure that thing out later.

[brucewaynehater101]

I think the worst one for his family to find out about him healing would be if he said, "I did have to use some of my feathers to survive the Titans Tower attack." While refusing to look at Jason. Or maybe he could mention that due to being a bird, his bones are hollow and more fragile than humans. What if he had unknown to his family used a feather during training? Just. One of them managed to hit him in the side of the head and Tim goes down. But a few moments later he's up and holding the side of his head where they hit him, groaning. Whoever did it gets a lecture and Tim is benched until his "concussion" is healed.

I also love your thing about Tim not being able to feel the positive emotions as deeply either. It's heart breaking but makes sense. I wonder if his refusal to show anger or joy would lead to his family thinking he has some kind of neurological disorder where he physically can't feel those emotions as strongly and try to send him to therapy so that he can get some kind of medication to help with that.

I currently have two ideas for how the family could find out and neither are pleasant for anyone involved. On the one hand, Tim catching the attention of Scarecrow because his fear gas doesn't seem to effect him as much (it does, but Tim's greatest fear in this one is loosing control of his emotions and letting his instincts take over so as soon as he gets gassed he's trying to keep everything under control so he can "hide his wings again" even though they never came out) so he ends up making an extra powerful version juuust for Tim that would have even Bruce kicking and screaming. He lures the Bats into his hide out with some canisters of regular fear gas and then somehow manages to get Tim with a dart full of the special formula.

Of course everyone freaks out as Tim's breathing picks up speed and he starts to back away from them, pulling into himself. They try to say things but he clearly can't hear them as he covers down and whimpers about something needing to go away, that no one is allowed to see it, that no one can *know*. Scarecrow isn't happy though and yells, "scream! Why aren't you screaming?! You're the only one I've never heard *scream*!" Bruce takes down Scarecrow quickly and hauls him out of the room so they can focus on Tim, trying to get near him. But when Dick touches his arm to try and ground him, a panic that Tim can't possibly smother races through him and he lashes out, claws and wings extending as he tries to get away. Tim screams at them, "NO I WONT BE SOLD FOR WHAT I AM, ILL KILL YOU!"

Then on the other hand, possibly even worse, some poachers come around Gothem with a device that scans for magical creatures. They don't know who this guy with black hair and blue eyes In a suit is and they don't care. They don't have any idea what he is either, beyond that he's a paycheck if they can grab him. Tim doesn't fight back really hard when they come for him, thinking that it's his turn with the monthly family kidnapping of some idiot who went "if I kidnap a Wayne I can ransom them to Bruce for a lot of money". It's not until the car door closes and he feels the magical wards around the van that he begins to truly panic and fight, but the wards are up and doing their job, acting as a powerful sedative that Tim has no defense against as he slips unconscious. When he wakes up, it's his worst nightmares come to life. He's stuck in a cage and his Glamor is gone and there are people leering at him and talking about how much money a *thing* like him will make them.

By the time the Bats manage to get there though, Tim has been sold off to the highest bidder and the Bats are informed that these people only deal in Magical Creatures. They tell the Bats that it's no wonder they didn't know what he is because his species hold what they are as their deepest secret. After all, they inform the Bats, the poachers did sell the Phoenix to Circe herself for 6 million dollars.

Both of those are absolutely delectable. I am more partial to the Scarecrow one (just cause ofnTim having some type of "immunity" which inspires Scarecrow to increase his formula is a really interesting concept).

The poachers one is super cool too! There's a ton of ways that can unfold. I am curious if the device they use is rare/expensive. Otherwise, lots of folks could figure him out.

The tidbit you added about the fragile bones is devastating. Poor Tim is just trying to live his life when the hits he takes do more damage to him than the others (which can add onto his angst of not being enough).

[prettyprincesse80]

The Room We Built in the Dark

Summary: The baby hasn’t arrived yet, but the fear has. In the middle of the night, Lucy rearranges furniture while the world sleeps. Tim wakes up to find her standing in the nursery, chasing silence, chasing control, chasing peace. Sometimes, love looks like quiet hands and steady heartbeats.

The stillness of the night is thick, soft. The kind that only exists in the hollow hours, when the world is on pause, when even the old oak outside seems to be holding its breath.

Everything sleeps. Except Lucy.

She got out of bed without a sound. A visceral need to move. To adjust. To check, one more time, if the natural light falls just right in the corner of the room, if the nursing chair is close enough to the crib. Calm, methodical restlessness. As if the layout of the room could ward off the chaos inside. As if she could control everything — just for tonight.

She threw on one of Tim’s old sweatshirts, tied her hair up without thinking, and wandered barefoot through the nursery, focused like she was defusing a bomb. She nudged the dresser closer to the wall. Shifted the changing table by a few inches. Repositioned the rug in a soft arc. Then stepped back and narrowed her eyes.

No. Still wrong.

She reached up to grab the little frame on the shelf — the one with the oak tree drawing Aaron had given her. And then… it slipped.

The sound was sharp. Clean. Not dramatic. But enough to slice through the night like a gunshot in a church.

In the next room, Tim shot out of bed. Not just awake — launched. He crossed the hallway barefoot, shirtless, in joggers, looking half-ready to stop a burglar with a soup spoon if needed. He flung open the door, breathless.

��Lucy?!”

She froze. The frame lay on the floor, unbroken. She stood with her arms still raised, staring at it like it owed her an answer.

“…Hi,” she whispered, not moving.

Tim blinked. Once. Twice. He still had the pillow mark on his cheek. Hair a mess. Voice dry.

“What exactly are you doing?”

She gestured vaguely around the room. “I’m moving the furniture.”

“…At three in the morning?”

She nodded, completely serious. “Yeah. The flow was off. The energy was stuck.”

He stared at her. For a while. “…Célina talked to you about feng shui again, didn’t she?”

She didn’t answer. Which was an answer.

He sighed. Deeply. Ran a hand through his hair and looked around. The room looked… the same. Or almost. Just enough of a shift that now, awake, he noticed.

He stepped forward, crouched to pick up the frame, gently set it back on the shelf. Then turned to her.

“You want me to help? Now that I’m up?”

She shook her head, suddenly sheepish. “No. I was just finishing. I… I think I had a panic dream. Everything was wrong. The baby bumped into furniture. The light was too harsh. And when I woke up, I just… I couldn’t stay in bed.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stepped closer, placed his hands on her hips.

“You’re allowed to panic,” he murmured.

She closed her eyes. Took one step closer. Rested her forehead against his chest. Right where his heartbeat raced a little too fast. Not for show. Not for comfort. Just to anchor herself. To that rhythm. To him.

That’s how they work. Always have.

When she runs out of words, she leans into him. Into that heart that beats for two. And Tim — he doesn’t ask questions. He just knows. He holds steady.

He slows his breathing, just a little. So she’ll follow. So she’ll feel: I’m here. I’ve got you. You can let go.

And she does. Not with tears. Not with words. Just with her weight. With silence. With trust.

“You want me to make you some tea?” he asked after a long moment.

“No.” Her voice was softer now. “Just… stay.”

So he stayed. Standing in that half-finished nursery, not yet full but already overflowing. With memories waiting to happen. With quiet fears. And two hearts not quite ready — but already bound to face it all. Together.

Because when she listens to his heartbeat, she knows she won’t fall. And he’ll keep beating, even for her, even in the dark.

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 23: Blackness of blackest darkness close to day

It took Gerry almost a week to convince Tim that what happened to Martin wasn’t his fault.

He told him over and over again that he’d had no reason to go and check on him, that if Martin was sick it was perfectly sensible for him to want to be left alone, and if he wasn’t responding to his texts that was no reason to get suspicious. He’d also pointed out that if Tim had gone over earlier and run into this Jane Prentiss, no amount of knowledge of the Fears would have kept him from being caught off-guard, and it was likely he’d have just ended up getting consumed himself and made things worse all around. Eventually he convinced him to palm the disk they’d transcribed Martin’s statement onto and bring it home; once he’d read through it, he’d pointed out the numerous places where Martin emphasized that he’d done what he did out of fear that Jon wouldn’t think he’d done enough. Even if Martin had known about the Fourteen, and the dangers they represented, he still probably would have kept pushing ahead, because the consequences of that would have, in his mind, been lesser than the consequences of telling Jon he hadn’t looked into every conceivable line of inquiry and pursued it to a satisfactory conclusion. And from what Tim had said about Jon, even if he’d known about the Fears…well, he might not have sent Martin to look into it, but he probably would have looked into it himself, and it would have been that much less likely that anyone would have known what happened to him.

Gerry hadn’t actually meant to say out loud that Tim probably wouldn’t have cared as much if it had been Jon, but the guilt that flashed through Tim’s eyes at that told him it wasn’t entirely untrue.

They’d discussed the possibility of having Martin stay with them instead of at the Institute, but they’d eventually discarded the idea. For one thing, Tim didn’t think Martin would actually agree to it, but for another, Gerry was pretty sure he was actually safer at the Institute, Elias notwithstanding. He’d remembered where most, if not all, of Gertrude’s traps and wards were, and Tim had quietly gone around and shored them up, so it wasn’t likely anything would get in to attack him without alerting someone. (Tim never said anything, but Gerry knew he was hoping they would alert Gertrude and that she would pull a King Arthur and return in the Archives’ time of greatest need or whatever, because he was hoping the same thing.)

The bigger discussion they’d had was over whether or not to clue the others in. After all, now they were actively being hunted by Jane Prentiss; surely it would be better for them to know the whole truth. Somewhat to Gerry’s own surprise, Tim was the one making that argument, while he was the more reluctant. In the end, he’d convinced Tim that, for right now anyway, knowing about all of the Fourteen would make things worse—Martin and Jon were both paranoid enough—so it was probably safer to let them think this was an isolated incident. At least until Gertrude got back.

God, please let Gertrude get back soon.

The notes Gertrude had given Tim were pretty much exclusively about the Unknowing, and while she’d mentioned a few of the other rituals—and not just the Extinguished Sun—neither of them could recall her ever saying anything about the Corruption’s. Which might have meant she didn’t consider it a worry, or might have meant that she’d already disrupted it, or might have meant something else altogether. Either way, it was possible that the Crawling Rot was attempting to remake the world in its own image before I Do Not Know You did, which meant they would be scrambling to stop it…and worse, they’d be having to start from scratch. No notes. No precedent. No Gertrude. Tim was smart, and Gerry had a good deal of practical knowledge of the Fourteen, but they weren’t Gertrude Robinson and they might not be able to fix it.

Less drastic for the universe at large, but every bit as concerning to Gerry, was the fact that Tim’s nightmares were getting really, really bad. He hadn’t woken up swinging since the first one back in January, but five nights out of eleven he was waking up screaming or with tears rolling down his cheeks, and Gerry didn’t know how to fix it. Logically, he knew there wasn’t really anything he could actually do, short of getting him good and tired before they went to bed and hoping that would make him sleep too deeply to dream or being there for him when he woke up—and Tim kept assuring him that was plenty. Still, he kept wishing there was a way to just wave a wand or flip a switch and make it all better. Which was a new experience for him. Not just the feeling, but having someone he wanted to do that for.

The first day of spring topped out in the low teens under a leaden sky—so pretty typical for London—and Gerry spent most of the day in his studio. Someone who’d made an appointment to ask about a book had gotten distracted by the painting on the wall and asked if Gerry took commissions, and Gerry had surprised himself by saying yes, so he was working on a piece for the man’s living room. The thought of giving over the rare book business, which he wasn’t all that keen on to begin with, and being able to make a living as an artist was an enticing prospect, but it wasn’t much more than a pipe dream at that point. Still, he hummed along with the music as the image began to take shape.

Once the light passed the studio window, meaning it was gone five o’clock, he reluctantly put down his work, closed the door to the studio, and took Rowlf for a walk before starting on dinner. He’d found a recipe book that claimed to have been put together by some ladies’ auxiliary or other, probably as an effort to raise money for a new roof or some such, in one of the boxes his mother had never bothered to go through, and since it didn’t appear to be a book of power—unless Indigestion had emerged as a fifteenth Fear—he was determined to find out if any of them were worth eating. Most of the gelatin molds could be dismissed out of hand, but the recipe for chicken paprikash intrigued him, so he was giving it a go. Evidently, he was doing well with it, since Rowlf was sitting at his side with his ears perked, very attentively watching everything Gerry did, nostrils twitching the entire time.

Suddenly, Rowlf’s ears pricked further and his tail started thumping. A second later, he leaped to his feet and ran towards the front of the flat. Gerry heard the jingle of keys in the bowl and called, “Dinner will be ready in about twenty, I hope.”

Tim waltzed into the kitchen, almost literally, with Rowlf prancing about his feet. His eyes were sparkling with excitement and mischief in a way Gerry hadn’t seen in close to a year, and he was carrying the folio Gertrude had given him. Gerry considered trying to guess what was up, then decided that would take all the fun out of it. “What happened?”

Tim danced over to Gerry’s side and kissed him on the cheek. “Hither Green.”

Gerry blinked, trying to figure out what that cryptic phrase meant. “Whither green?”

“Are you doing some kind of—no, never mind, you haven’t seen Young Frankenstein.” Tim glanced at the simmering chicken momentarily, then turned his gaze back to Gerry and grinned. “Got another real statement today.”

He had Gerry’s attention. Maybe not in the way he wanted. “And that’s…good?”

“Yeah. How much attention do you need to pay to that?”

“It’s simmering right now, and I don’t need to start worrying about it or the pasta for another ten minutes.”

“Good.” Tim hitched himself up onto the counter and unzipped the folio, then pulled out a few sheets of paper that looked like notebook paper rather than official Institute stationery. He rattled it in Gerry’s direction. “This was in a box that came down from Research about six months ago that we’ve just never got to. Martin unpacked it and cataloged everything in a fit of nervous energy last night and Jon told us to parcel everything out. I snagged this one. Couldn’t justify taking the real thing, but I copied it out. Here.”

He handed the paper to Gerry, who took it and glanced at the top. The statement number clearly labeled it as being from April of the previous year, a couple weeks after they’d got back from the Faroe Islands and found out Gertrude was AWOL, which meant she hadn’t seen it yet—smart of Tim to snag it before anyone else did, especially since they wouldn’t know if it would be important or dangerous. If he was this excited about it, Gerry assumed it was to do with the Unknowing somehow.

It wasn’t. Gerry’s eyebrows jumped into his hairline, not that they had far to jump, as he began reading further into the statement. The words church and evenings and light bulbs jumped out at him, painting a coherent picture even before he got to the really meaty bit. As soon as the man who’d given the statement repeated his girlfriend’s roommate’s phrase—it wasn’t long until they were collected by Mr. Pitch—Gerry knew exactly what was going to happen.

He lowered the pages and looked at Tim sharply. “She was preparing for the ritual?”

Tim rolled his hand eagerly. “Keep going.”

Gerry resumed reading. The woman had attempted to recruit her roommate—failed, thank God, or that could have been bad—and when the statement giver had gone back to have it out with her, she had vanished. That her room was sealed against the light was completely unsurprising, but what caught Gerry’s attention was the paper the man found: A drawing of a closed eye, backed with the words Hither Green Dissenters.

He looked up at Tim again. “Hither Green Dissenters. You think that’s how the People’s Church of the Divine Host is rebranding themselves these days?”

Tim shook his head. “It’s a chapel. When they laid out the Hither Green Cemetery in 1873—it was Lee Cemetery then, that’s what parish it belonged to—they put up two chapels. One was the Anglican chapel, but the other was for ‘dissenters’—nonconformists, people who weren’t Anglican, specifically Protestants. Which was kind of a big deal back then, since burials were still largely controlled by parish churches until 1880 and a lot of urban chapels didn’t have graveyards attached, so having a cemetery where people of multiple faiths could be buried was kind of important.”

The inklings of understanding began to niggle at Gerry’s brain. “When did all this happen?”

“He just said ‘a few weeks’ before he came in to talk to the Institute, but I ran a search on Natalie Ennis.” Tim’s grin notched up a bit. “She was reported missing by our Mr. Bilham on the eleventh of March, 2015. You and I were still in Sicily, getting ready to head to Prague.”

“So right before…” Gerry let out a long, low whistle. “Fuck me.”

“Maybe later.” Tim slid off the counter. “You finish reading that, I’ll get the pasta started. Did you have something in mind?”

“The recipe calls for egg noodles,” Gerry said distractedly, fumbling for a chair with one hand while trying to find where he’d left off in the statement.

“Northerners are weird.” Nevertheless, Tim reached for the cupboard.

Now that he didn’t have to pay such close attention to the food, Gerry let himself sink a little deeper into the statement, slowing down and paying attention to the details. The man had investigated the Hither Green Dissenters Chapel, gone in—as stupid as that was for someone unprepared—and tried to find the missing woman, to no avail. And then, of course, the torch had gone out and the Dark had attempted to claim him, or at least remain undisturbed. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to read that the floor had seemed transformed. His skin crawled, though, as he read the description of the man’s having found some kind of metal grating and touched hands with something…odd. It could have been a worshiper, but then again, it might not have been. Either way, the man was damned lucky to have survived it.

Especially given the timing.

Slowly, Gerry lowered the last page to the table, pursing his lips thoughtfully. He looked up at Tim, who was watching him from the corner of his eye as he stirred at what he presumed to be a pot of noodles. “Does ‘nee alisund’ mean anything to you?”

“Yep.” Tim popped the P sharply. “Ny-Ålesund is a small town in Norway, and except for research stations, it’s actually the most northerly human settlement on Earth.”

“I thought that was the Faroe Islands.”

“No, that was just the northernmost place we could get to without flying, remember? Ny-Ålesund is on Svalbard, but we could see it from where we were.”

Gerry mulled that over for a moment, then said slowly, “So, a Dark statement, about an incident that took place nine days before the solstice, that mentions Mr. Pitch, the culmination of three centuries of waiting, and the place we’re pretty sure Gertrude was going to charter a boat and take us over to if she’d had to meet us in the Faroe Islands instead of staying in London to do what she needed to do, which is incidentally the same place where this statement largely occurred? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Probably. Should we bring the dog?”

In the end, they didn’t have a choice; Rowlf invited himself along whether they wanted him or not. Gerry had to admit that it was probably for the best; they were armed with a heavy-duty torch plus the small one on Tim’s keychain, but if the Dark was still hanging about those could become inadequate, to say the least. Rowlf’s nose might, key word was might, come in handy. Since the cemetery closed at five and it was gone eight before they even left the house, they were dressed in all black, and Gerry took out a few of his more noticeable piercings. He also managed to persuade Tim to let him give him a bit of a makeover, on the perfectly legitimate grounds that if they got caught, they could pretend to be a goth couple looking for romance in a crypt or something.

The eyeliner suited him, actually, and Gerry almost wished he had a mobile phone just so he could take a picture and make it his background.

They parked about two miles from the cemetery and walked the rest of the way, trying to look casual despite the late hour. Fortunately, there weren’t many people to observe them. As they approached the gates, Gerry started thinking about how they were going to get in unobserved.

He needn’t have bothered. Something clattered on the path inside the cemetery; Rowlf’s ears perked up, and he leaped forward, seeming to jerk the lead from Tim’s hand as he slipped through the bars of the gate.

“Noodles!” Tim called, which surprised Gerry for a moment until he shook the gates, cursed, and glanced around—rather obviously—before hauling himself over the wall. Then Gerry got it.

“Jesus,” he hissed for the form of things, then shinned over the wall himself. Thank God he’d quit smoking or this would have been a lot more difficult.

He caught up to Tim and Rowlf just off the path. Tim had once again taken hold of the lead, and Rowlf was sitting attentively, tail thumping. Tim blinked innocently at Gerry. “Sorry, officer, our dog was chasing something and we had to catch him.”

“You devious bastard.” Gerry gave Tim a quick kiss. “Come on. Where’s this chapel?”

“Near the back. Where else?” Tim glanced up at the sky. “I’m not sure if we picked a good night for this, or if we should’ve waited a couple weeks.”

Gerry understood what he meant. The clouds of earlier had passed, leaving the sky clear and pristine, and the moon was near enough to full that it bathed the cemetery in a silvery glow. It was going to be hard for them not to be detected. On the other hand…

“Well, it’s got to be easier to tell if we run into the actual Dark this way,” he pointed out.

“Good point. Let’s go. Carefully,” Tim added. “Mind your step.”

Gerry nodded and looped his arm through Tim’s. Rowlf stayed close to Tim’s other side, although he was certainly sniffing about, as they headed deeper into the cemetery.

“Tiptoe…through the graveyard…” Gerry sang under his breath.

“Cemetery,” Tim corrected him.

“What?”

“It’s a cemetery. Not a graveyard.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“Graveyards are attached to churches. Cemeteries are unattached, and usually well away from populated areas.”

“How do you know that?”

“There’s a Robert Frost poem, ‘On a Disused Graveyard’, that we studied in one of my A-levels. Someone in class asked why a cemetery wouldn’t be used anymore and our teacher gave us an impromptu lecture on the difference between cemeteries and graveyards and why they stopped burying people on the church grounds.” Tim checked over his shoulder, then clicked on the torch he was carrying. It did more than Gerry would have thought. “Further up and further in.”

Gerry hummed in acknowledgment. “So why did they? Stop burying people on church grounds, I mean.”

“Overcrowding. And they were too close to human habitation. The decomposing bodies were starting to affect the water supply. Especially after the cholera epidemic of 1831.” Tim swept the beam of the torch ahead of them; Rowlf chased it momentarily. “That’s why they built the Magnificent Seven. Hither Green isn’t one of those, it came about fifty years later.”

“And…why is this chapel so far back?”

“Dissenters,” Tim reminded him. “Most of the cemetery is for good C of E Christians—you know, the official religion. This place wasn’t built that long after they stopped requiring you to have taken sacrament in an Anglican church in order to be eligible for public office, so there were thirty-nine acres for the Church of England and fifteen for the Nonconformists.”

“Got any relatives buried here?” Gerry asked, and he was only partly joking.

Tim, however, shook his head. “No Catholics here. Not from back then anyway. Nonconformists really meant other Protestant denominations—Baptists, Methodists, Moravians, that kind of thing—plus atheists, or anyone who didn’t openly express to being religious. There are two Catholic cemeteries in London, Saint Mary’s and Saint Patrick’s. Four Jewish cemeteries would’ve been open at the time Hither Green broke ground, too, since I know that’s going to be your next question.”

Gerry waited until they had darted across a paved road and started making their way between the mausoleums before he spoke again. “Whose rule was that? That only Protestants and atheists could be buried here, I mean.”

“Kind of both? There was a lot of anti-Catholic sentiment up until the 1940s, really, and anti-Jewish sentiment was, and is, way worse. But even besides that, the fifteen acres where they buried the Dissenters aren’t consecrated, so you can’t have a proper Catholic burial in that.” Tim tugged Rowlf’s lead, steering him away from a headstone, and nodded to it. “Pardon us, ma’am.”

Gerry assumed Tim could see the name carved on the front, because otherwise, there was no way of telling a woman was buried there. “Religious people are weird.”

“I am a religious people, and I agree with you. Come on, I don’t want to be caught out here if the moon goes behind a cloud.”

Eventually they found what they were looking for—a small, clearly abandoned stone structure that had once been a chapel, with a pointed bell tower and boarded up windows. The double doors stood open, or at least slightly ajar. Gerry eyed them for a moment, then turned to Tim. “If something in there springs out and tries to attack us, I want you to know that I will live the rest of my life without feeling the slightest bit guilty that I tripped you and left you to die in my place.”

Tim nodded solemnly. “And if we walk in there and everything is laid out for a grand ritual sacrifice, I want you to know that I almost decided you were worth not going through with the last stage of my plan to ascend into godhood.”

Rowlf barked softly and wagged his tail. Gerry leaned down and scruffed his ears vigorously. “That’s right, boy! When you shed this earthly disguise and reveal your true monstrous form, you will be merciful enough to kill us both before you enslave the world and bend it to your will!”

Rowlf’s tail wagged harder. Tim squared his shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“What are we actually looking for, anyway?” Gerry asked as they took the last few steps and paused outside the door. “It’s been a year. The bodies will definitely have decomposed by now.”

Tim shook his head. “If Gertrude was going to kill them all, she’d have blown the place to bits. The fact that it’s still intact means she did something else to disrupt the ritual.”

“We’re absolutely certain it was happening here, then?”

“Part of it was. Gertrude reckoned it was going to happen in stages, sort of. Like a gradual eclipse. Disturbing any one part of it should have disrupted the whole thing, and the fact that it never got to the point where she had to come up to Ny-Ålesund means it definitely worked down this way.”

“How do you know that?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Anyway, I’m not reckoning on there being anything dead in here. But I am pretty sure we’ll find some sort of hint as to where Gertrude is. At least what she did to disrupt it, which might give us another clue.”

Gerry shrugged. “Right. On three, then?”

Tim nodded, put his hand on the left-hand door, said, “Three,” and slipped in.

“Motherfucker,” Gerry said under his breath, but he followed his partner and dog into the building.

The chapel was exactly as Mark Bilham had described it: dusty, littered with junk, and utterly empty. It had maybe been used to duck in out of the weather and have a smoke or a drink—or a shag, Gerry thought, nudging what was clearly a spent rubber with his toe—but nobody had worshiped here in a long time.

“When did they stop burying people here?” he asked. On an instinct he didn’t know he possessed, he kept his voice low.

“It’s still an active cemetery,” Tim said distractedly. “Burials are only in the mornings, though…damn. Ger, do me a favor, would you?”

“If I can,” Gerry said, a bit warily.

Tim held Rowlf’s lead towards him. Rowlf was sniffing enthusiastically at one of the pews. “Take the dog and stand by the door, would you?”

Gerry assumed he was worried about Rowlf messing up a trace, or possibly eating a cigarette butt, which…was probably valid, actually. He took the lead and clicked his tongue; Rowlf trotted over to him and sat, eager and attentive. Gerry fished a cold cube of chicken out of the little canister attached to the lead and rewarded him for obeying orders. “Any clues, Holmes?”

Tim looked up at him. Gerry, very suddenly, did not like the look on his face. “I’m about to do something extremely ill-advised. If I scream, for God’s sake and mine, run. All jokes aside, I need to know you’ll be safe if I fuck this up, okay?”

Gerry swallowed hard. “Tim, what are you going to do?”

In answer, Tim took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and clicked off the torch.

The boarded-up windows, combined with the fact that the moon was directly overhead at best, meant that the interior of the chapel was now pitch dark. Gerry tightened his grip on Rowlf’s lead and held his breath. He couldn’t hear anything but the rapid thudding of his heart and Rowlf’s very, very faint whimpering, couldn’t feel anything but the encroaching cold and the leather biting into his hand. He clenched his free hand into a fist and kept his eyes fixed on the spot where he had last seen his partner, hoping, praying to a god he didn’t even really believe was there—

The sound of Tim cursing was the sweetest of music to Gerry’s ears, second only to the click as the torch came back on. Tim stood exactly where he’d been before, looking none the worse for the wear and maybe just a little disappointed. “I should have guessed.”

“What the hell was that all about?” Gerry dropped the lead without thinking and strode across the floor to embrace his boyfriend, because fuck it, after a scare like that he could use that word and not be ashamed of it. “Were you trying to summon the Dark?”

“Yeah,” Tim admitted, hugging Gerry back. “I know it’s stupid, but…I thought Gertrude might be hiding in it. Or stuck in it, maybe. You know, Elias was surprised she’d texted me on the twentieth, I thought maybe she got attacked by something, came out here to finish the Dark off, and it…I dunno, held on to her or something. That if I could lure it out, it would at least let me step into it and find her, the way I stepped into the Night Market.”

“Jesus, Tim.” Gerry rested his chin on Tim’s shoulder for a moment, then slowly, reluctantly, eased back. He kept hold of his hand, though, even as he bent to pick up the lead, Rowlf having trotted over to join them.

“I know. I know. But it…it’s not here anymore.” Tim stared down at the floor, his forehead puckered in a frown. He untangled one of his fingers from Gerry’s and worried at the ring on his finger for a moment.

Gerry slid the loop of the lead around his wrist, brought Tim’s hand up, and tugged the ring off for him—damn, it was unusually tight, it took him a second to work it up to the knuckle, never mind yank it over it. “Whatever Gertrude did disrupted it good and proper, I guess.”

Slowly, Tim shook his head. “Gertrude didn’t do it. Not from here, anyway. Don’t do that if you’re not serious about it.”

Gerry paused for no more than half a second as he contemplated what Tim had just said—both of the things Tim had just said—before mentally shrugging and resuming sliding the ring onto the slightly smaller finger between his middle and pinkie fingers. “What makes you say that?”

Tim took both of Gerry’s hands in his, squeezing gently, and gave him a look that was both confused and worried. “Gerry, I might not have been able to step into the Dark, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see what it left behind—the shape of the ritual. It was here. They were doing something here. But Gertrude never touched it. She wasn’t here. I don’t know what that means.” He swallowed hard. “And I don’t know where the fuck else she could possibly be.”

[gccdstories]

"Where is she?"

Kaden glanced up from his work.

"Who?"

"Who is the only female in this fucking fortress I care about that isn't my fucking mate Kaden?"

Azrael leaned over his desk, glaring at Kaden. Kaden's grip on his pen tightened.

"I don't know."

Azrael sneered and turned away, yelling for Einar.

"Where is Elianna boy?"

Einar looked to Kaden and shrugged.

"She was in her rooms when we all left this afternoon? Maybe she went out?"

"This late?"

"She'll be back. She can take care of herself Unc - Azrael -"

Azrael scoffed, shoving Einar away from the door as he stormed off.

"Thank the Fates your mother didn't give you siblings, you'd be a shit older brother."

Einar stiffened and looked to Kaden. Kaden ignored him, focusing on his work. On ignoring the steady growing awareness that Elianna was out there alone. It wasn't his problem, it wasn't his responsibility -

"Did she?"

"Hmm?"

"Did Mama have -"

"Stop while you're ahead Einar. Close the door on your way o -"

He stilled, feeling it. A thin slice of fear, of confusion. That wasn't his, it must be strong for him to even register.

He barley heard Einar's questions, winnowing to where she was. She was clearly drunk, no not just drunk - drugged stumbling as someone tugged her to an unused storage shed. A commander or something judging by the brass on his shoulders.

"You're out late Eli."

It felt like a dream, for her to turn to him. To reach for him, like she would have before. So confident she'd catch him. Sotoria had always looked at him like that too, like he could solve every problem in front of her.

Look where that had lead -

The male tugged Elianna away, a hand in her hair to turn her to him. Kaden moved, there was no rage. No it was cold, a killing calm to wrench his neck back and snap it. He wanted to set him on fire but Azrael should have a body to work on. He set the unused shed on fire instead.

He turned, catching her as she stumbled in the snow. He tisked, that dreamlike feeling coming back. She curled into his arms, her eyes closing.

"Kaden? Am I - am I dreaming?"

He inhaled her, his mind spinning. Was this a dream? Could he pretend too? He was loosing his senses, his reasons with her this close.

Why was he fighting it? Why was he pushing away the one good thing left?

"Of course you are. I don't want you now remember?...Clearly this version of me is an idiot."

Elianna hummed and burrowed into him.

"A very big idiot.....take me home Kade?"

He picked her up, winnowing to her rooms. He didn't like he knew where to go. That her wards let him in at all. Why? She should hate him, she shouldn't -

"Kaden?"

He shook his head, pulling away as he moved the blanket over her.

"Getting you water."

She hummed, giggling into her pillow.

"You really a dream, he wouldn't have done that now."

"He's an idiot remember."

He got her a water, some medications for eventual headache tomorrow morning. He should go, she was falling asleep. He couldn't seem to think, he wanted to live in this dream. Nothing bad happened here, his sister was alive. His family was whole, Einar was -

They were all happy, safe and -

"Eli? Where did you -"

Kaden glared at Azrael who stopped short. Maybe it was at the glare, maybe it was Elianna holding tighter to his hands. Kaden turned back to her, but the illusion was broken. He pulled one of his hand away, lingering. He could -

"Don't. Even if she remembers none of this....don't make it worse Kaden."

Kaden exhaled, his other hand moved from her wrist to her mouth, thumb running over her lips. Still so soft like he remembered them to be, still as warm as -

He pulled away, touching his thumb to his lips, biting down till he tasted blood. Azrael eyes went wide, maybe he saw it.

Kaden looked away tearing his thumb away from his teeth. He needed out of this fucking room. He -

Azrael grabbed him, ignoring his growl. He was brought to the other's rooms. He was shoved away and the door closed. Azrael raised his hands and stepped backward.

"You still love her -"

"I don't time for this -"

"Make fucking time. I need answers, not some fake shit. I mean real ones. I'll never bring it up again but you owe me answers! You owe me explanations!"

Azrael moved toward him, knocking glass vases away to have it shatter. He pointed his finger at Kaden.

"I see it. It's all destroying it her. You know how deeply she loves, you know how she will work herself to bone for everyone and never complain! So you're going to give me a real fucking answer. Not some hollow bullshit. I need that so I don't one day kill you. Because I will, I can't see her like this Kaden -"

"I don't owe you shit Azrael. Let me leave."

"No! No. You really telling me they won? You're telling me the Aesir and their fucking mind games finally won huh? They broke you that it? That you're that fucking weak?!"

Kaden could feel that rage rising and rising.

"Careful with your words, doubt your mate wanted to come back to sweep your ashes."

"Yeah? You're going to fucking kill me? Fuck off. You wouldn't. Or maybe you would, but you can't face her. She isn't - I can't watch her slowly destroy herself. If I kill you she won't survive it -"

"Yes she will."

Azrael surged forward and shook him, gripping his collar.

"They won then? That it. The Aesir truly destroyed you there didn't they? Unir and Zaysn actually won is that what you're telling me? Is that really the legacy you want to have here in this Fortress? You survived by you're some fucking shell -"

Kaden wanted to kill him, could feel the urge burning and burning. But maybe it was see those eyes, Elianna's eyes meet his. Maybe it was still able to smell her on his clothes that had him finally exhaled and just ask one question.

"Will you tell her what I say?"

Azrael froze and stepped back.

"No. No provided you're fucking honest with all of it. No Kade, I won't."

@siderealxmelody

The rage floods through him, burning. Every fiber inside of him feels on fire, like he cannot escape the skin of his body, like every piece wants to explode in a way that will leave only ashes behind in this entire fucking realm.

He wants to yell and rage. He wants to scream. He wants to make every single being tremble and break and shatter. Ice-cold stare turns on Azrael, and Kaden can barely seem to hold himself back at first, his fingers curled tight into fists, the tendons and muscles in his arms straining as he holds it back.

Keeps it down.

Silent.

Tries to calm the raging, tumultuous seas that are roaring inside of him, that haven't silenced in too long--

But at the same time, Kaden is also exhausted. He refuses to show it, refuses to let that weakness out, but clinging to these edges, digging the claws in to grab onto whatever he can to maintain even the tiniest hold, the smallest grip on control that he has--that keeps him from ripping it all apart--

It's truly, completely exhausting.

Kaden's drowning in her scent, in Elianna. Just that little bit of touching her, of having her near him, and he's already spinning. Losing it. It's why he pushed her away, why he made her hate him.

He had to.

Because Elianna would kill herself trying to save him--

When there wasn't anything left to save.

❝ You said it. Elianna loves so deeply, so completely... ❞ The words are rough, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to break through the skin. To let Kaden focus on that physical sting, rather than anything else. Rather than the flood of memories, of feelings, that always tried to drown him whenever he let himself get too close to her.

❝ She'll try and find what we were. Who I-- She'll try like hell to bring back the male I was before, and she'll end up killing herself to do it, because she won't give it up. What I might want, what I might still feel-- ❞ Kaden shakes his head, the stirring in his chest, that possessiveness wanting to rear up, to twist free; he digs his nails in harder, droplets of blood slipping over his hand.

❝ I can't make it like it was. I can't be like I was. So if that's them winning-- fine. Whatever. They fucking won. In some way, at least. I don't know... At this point, I don't fucking care. ❞

Turning, Kaden stalks away, having to put some distance between him and Azrael. Needing just that little bit to clear what he can of his head. Maybe. If it's even possible. The steadying breath doesn't help, the distance barely does anything, and the roaring in his head hasn't quieted much at all even as he'd opened up. Even as he'd tried this talking with him, tried being honest-- for once--

Kaden sighs.

❝ Whether I still love her or not, whether I still want her or not-- None of it matters, Azrael. None of it. ❞ Because it's too different. He doesn't even know if it can be called love anymore, or if it only a possessive want, a primal instinct that says Elianna is his and no one else's, a raging ownership, a control that he can barely wield, barely manage to understand--

❝ The male she loved did die. Centuries ago. Every single piece of him stripped away... ❞

And I can't get him back. And she won't accept it, if she knew of that lingering little desire. Of that lingering little instinct. If she knew, she'd destroy herself trying to rescue, to find, to save something that didn't exist anymore.

[arty-chase]

Who Made Me a Villain (4)

[Masterlist] [Ao3]

(Part 1) (Part 2)(Part 3)(here)(Part 5)

-----

Gotham Academy is the most prestigious school the city has to offer. With a rich history since its founding in 1863, it has seen many students pass through its halls.

Currently, school break has ended and students return back to their education. They chattered about their holidays and excitement filled the air over seeing their friends again.

They didn’t know about the storm that was going to disrupt their peace.

The doors slammed wide open. Illuminating the girl wearing a pink hoodie that was definitely against the school dress code.

No one paid her any mind.

When the bell rang, students reluctantly headed to their classrooms.

—-

Mr. Myers was a perfectly ordinary English teacher who had the lovely opportunity to teach at Gotham’s most prestigious education institution.

Currently, he was taking attendance for homeroom.

“Rei Yukimura.”

“Here.”

“Rebel Without-a-Cause.” The teacher paused and looked again at the last name written down on his list.

“Rebel Without-a-Cause” he repeated with a tinge of confusion and settling fear.

“Here.” Came from a voice in the back. Looking every bit of the picture of a delinquent student with combat boots both propped up on the desk and customised school uniform that goes against every school dress code was Rebel. The teenage maniac killer from France who is also the daughter of Joker and Gotham’s newest problem.

Everyone in the class turned to look at her. Upon meeting her gaze, they looked away for fear of drawing attention to themselves.

Mr. Myers, a born and raised Gothamite with nerves of steel, said, “I wasn’t aware that I was getting a new student.”

Rebel hummed before answering, “Well, the paperwork wasn't finalised until this morning.”

She dared him to challenge her.

Mr. Myers, a born and raised Gothamite with self-preservation instinct, didn’t take the bait.

“Well then, let’s begin the class, shall we? We won’t have trouble here, right, miss Rebel?”

“No. No. I’m just here to learn. Psych ward is not a good learning environment.”

“Very well then. Let’s start homeroom.”

Mr. Myers turned back to the whiteboard.

—--

Batman and Commissioner Gordon met on the roof of Gotham Police Station.

“The strangest thing happened today.” Gordon began and turned to face Batman. “Rebel went to Gotham Academy.”

“Hn.” Batman grunted. This was news to him and caught his interest. Tim had dropped out of the place years ago and Damian refused to mingle among the ‘low-minded morons’ in ‘prison for children’.

“Apparently, she had enrolled herself there. Caused a bit of panic among parents when they found out. But she has done nothing bad as of yet.”

“How is she enrolled?” Batman asked, “Wouldn’t the school board deny her entry?”

Gordon sighed, “According to some ‘anonymous’ tips, Rebel had threatened most of them with blackmail. She sent proof of the incriminating evidence she had on them that none of them want being leaked to the press.”

“Hn.”

“It’s a headache. We have tried to arrest her but she pulled out some bullshit loophole law from years ago that she found that basically says that we can’t arrest her while she is on Gotham Academy grounds during school hours. That law is still in place to this day so our hands are tied unless the city council gets on changing it and you know how long the process takes.”

“Hn.”

“In addition to that, she has signed a contract that says that she promises to not cause any physical harm to the teachers and students. Or else she would be expelled. That contract has incredibly detailed circumstances where she would not be to blame if there were some injuries on a student or staff member in an incident involving her. In addition to that, she could continue her schooling online if she happens to be in Arkham. The frustrating bit is that all those conditions she set out were all reasonable. She had Harvey Dent, wearing a mask to cover his uglier side, come in as her lawyer when she signed the contract.”

“Two-Face had his lawyer licence revoked.” Batman said.

“Again, due to some technicality, it is Two-Face who doesn’t have the right to practise law. Harvey Dent still can. And it was Harvey Dent who was in the meeting. Or so Rebel claimed.”

“Hn.”

“The law bends to exactly fit Rebel's wishes and we have no clue why she wishes to go to school.”

“I have an idea.”

Gordon waited.

Batman stood there silent.

“Well, what is it?” Gordon asked, annoyed by his silence.

Batman pointed behind Gordon. The Commissioner turned around to see a pink dot in the distance, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

Gordon turned back around to see that the vigilante had disappeared. Probably chasing down Rebel.

—--

Rebel walked out from the fast food joint, humming with her goods in one hand. She expertly parkoured one-handed onto the rooftop. She set down the bags of food and reached for her backpack.

A few minutes later, a blanket is laid out with paper plates and soft drink cans nearly arranged on it.

There was a thud signalling the arrival… of who she wasn’t expecting.

Rebel turned around and her forehead creased into a frown.

“Mister Bat.”

“Rebel. How was your first day in school?”

“Fun.” She replied. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Hn.”

A non-answer.

“Relax. I am not going to kill any of them-” Rebel realised why Batman was worried about her going to school. Her track record of murdering classmates.

“I suppose my past history does make people nervous about me attending school. I promise that I am in a healthier state of mind now. You can check with Dr. Fenton.”

Rebel tried to reassure the vigilante. Everyone she knew had asked her for the reason behind her latest decision to go back to school. The paranoid Bat was probably the same as everyone else. Wondering if she would cause another school massacre.

“I am not worried about that.” Batman said, cutting off her babbling.

“Huh?” Rebel gave him a look of surprise.

“You wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble of making an air-tight contract with many conditions that would backfire on you if you ever make the slightest misstep.”

“What if it is all just a ruse? What if I am just biding my time? What then?” Rebel challenged.

“Then, I will personally drag you back to Arkham into the cell with maximum security.”

“Do it then.”

“Not until you give me a reason to. I believe some people need second chances.”

“You have given my biological father many chances and he has never changed. What if I am not that much different from him?”

“You are not your father. You are someone independent of him. You make your own choices.”

“Still a criminal though.”

“But not a murderer.”

Rebel lets out a dark laugh, “What makes you so sure that I have never killed before?”

“I have kept an eye on you since you set foot in this city. When you get angry, you lash out and take it out on empty places. You ease your boredom with pranks and heists. In all of your plans, you had considered the civilians and they were all left unscathed. And I know that you are not fully set on what you want to do.”

“Maybe I just don’t like getting blood on my clothes.”

“Emily Campbell.” Batman said. The name didn’t ring any bells.

“Who?”

“She was the girl you saved from an explosion which you caused.” Batman explained.

“Oh, the Tik-Tok girl. She was a stupid girl standing there to record a video for five minutes of fame. I am not a monster who is going to let someone die by their stupidity.” Rebel remembered that she was a villain not a hero anymore.

“Besides, it’s more fun to see themselves being humiliated by the audience they were trying to impress.” Rebel finished.

“Most villains wouldn’t care enough to save her but you did. And you rescued her.” Batman pointed out. “You convinced yourself that you are some evil person because that’s what people told you that you are.”

“Stop psychoanalysing me!” Rebel said angrily.

Batman was stubborn in letting her know that she was wrong.

“Even if they die, you visit their graves with flowers. You carry around a gun filled with blanks because you can’t handle the thought of killing someone. You wear a mask to distance yourself from your true nature because you hate…” Batman trailed off, realising his mistake a bit too late.

“Myself.” Rebel finished calmly. The calm before the storm.

“I hate myself. But self-loathing is a very common thing in our lifestyle. Along with the guilt with each person you cannot save. Another person you failed. Another name to remember and etched into your heart. It’s worse if you knew them. It’s devastating if you care about them very deeply.”

Rebel had another thing in common with her father. She knew just how to get under Batman’s skin.

“Enough.”

He would not admit that his voice was slightly shaky when he said it.

“No. You fucking started it and it’s my turn to psychoanalyse you.”

Rebel was a vengeful angel on a warpath. Intend on leaving the earth scorching with her wrath. She was out for his blood.

“You break every promise you made because you convinced yourself that it’s for the greater good. That only made all the relationships you have so strained and you feel alone. Once you realise that you are alone, you decided that it was the best outcome and continued on carrying the weight of everything like you are Atlas. Like you are the titan that can hold up the sky. When the reality is that you are not a god, you are just a human who is too paranoid to trust anyone and pushed everyone who remotely cared about you away for your stupid self-assigned mission!”

Batman knew all of this. He had spent many nights thinking about it. He was self-aware enough to admit to himself that Rebel was right and on point for everything she said. But he didn’t say anything to refute it.

Because Batman knew that Rebel was not talking about him and that was the worrying part.

Rebel didn’t speak for a while and just waited for him to argue back.

When he didn’t, she scowled and rubbed her eyes.

“It’s the dust.” Rebel said, louder than needed.

Batman continued to say nothing and reached into his utility belt for a packet of tissue and held it out to her. An olive branch and an apology.

She took it and faced away from him. He politely looked away.

Her phone beeped and she took it out to read the message.

“Looks like Lay’s not going to be coming. Some trouble came up.” Rebel reported when there was no need for her to do so.

Batman thought about what to say but he had already pushed her too much for today.

“For what my opinion is worth, I believe that you will do the right thing when it comes down to it.” was what he ended up going with.

Rebel scoffed. Although she looked thoughtful about his words.

As Batman was about to grapple off the roof, she said the one word he was hoping for.

“Wait.”

Batman stopped, the arm with the grappling gun still raised.

Rebel fidgeted in her spot, hesitation written all over her.

“I… I thought about it. Whether I should tell you or not. Even before you chased me here.” Rebel started. “And you were right. I don’t want to go through with it.”

Batman put his grapple gun away.

Rebel gave him a look that was a bit difficult to decipher. 

“Here’s the deal. You do this one thing for me and I will call it off.”

“What’s the catch?”

“I need you to keep an open-mind and try to believe that I am not making things up. This is the context of what I was going to do.”

Batman would admit that he had been slightly curious about her past. He does the typical background check on her like he did with all of his Rogues but not as in-depth. There was always something off about what he had gleamed.

He was expecting neglectful parents or being outcasted for being strange.

What he got was completely different.

Evil butterflies. Teenage superheroes who were given a responsibility too big and way over their heads. Magic jewelries that could grant wishes. The city being attacked on a regular basis because someone had a bad day. The world nearly ending a few times. Said magical jewelries given out to other teenagers, one of whom was Rebel.

That last confession had confirmed his theories about who had taught her to fight.

“I have never heard about it.” Batman said. He was not trying to point out that she was making this up but it was bad if this had never appeared onto the Justice League’s radar.

“I assume it’s because the threat was mainly contained in Paris and the akuma battles rarely lasted for more than a day. Most people don’t know an attack happened until way later. I was there with Ladybug and the rest of the team when Hawkmoth got defeated.”

“What happened to him?”

“Ladybug dealt with him.” She answered. “And… I was in contact with Ladybug’s civilian identity afterwards. A few months later, she told me that she met Giovanni Zatara.”

“Zatara? I’ll have to ask Zatanna to confirm.”

“Yeah.” Rebel appeared nervous for some reason. “Can you not… look for Ladybug? I have caused her enough trouble.”

“Why wasn’t she there at your trial?”

Rebel’s shoulder slumped. “The Miraculouses used to be protected by this super secret society and a few months before my trial, they took the Miraculouses away and wiped Ladybug’s memories. As for the rest of the team. They were out of the country, pursuing their careers so they didn’t know this was happening and it all went down fast.”

He felt sympathy for the girl in front of him. He was mostly convinced that the story is true. His only worry was that she might be lying about how involved she actually was.

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

Rebel sighed. “I don’t agree with what Ladybug did for Hawkmoth.”

Batman waited for her to elaborate.

“I- she let him get away mostly scot free.” Rebel confessed. “Back then, I thought it was the right thing. The most peaceful resolution. We get the Miraculous back and he gets his wife back. The whole reason he wanted a wish was to bring her back. Happily ever after, right?” She sounded choked up.

Batman stepped forward and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I know I sound a bit selfish, wishing for him to suffer when he is happy with his life and I am not doing well with my life.” Rebel continued.

She looked up with determination. “I want you to arrest Hawkmoth. That is the deal. You catch him and I will stop what I am going to do. But if some of the others want to continue regardless, I can’t do anything about it. I can only give you my notes so you can counter them.”

“I assume Hawkmoth had caused you some hurt. If you are going against Ladybug’s decision like this.”

“He was part of the reason I had a falling out with my old classmates. I couldn’t give a concrete reason why I was skipping out on our hangouts for akumas. It was so easy for that two-faced lying bitch to get into their heads and-”

Rebel stopped and tried to calm down from her rant.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. In. Out.

She steeled herself and continued.

“The thing is I saw him on the news the other day. Celebrating his wife’s birthday. It’s fucking selfish of me. He didn’t get to suffer the consequences of his actions. I am here in Gotham as a known criminal while he is acting like he is god’s gift to people with his appealing bland designs. It’s kinda late but I want him to get the consequences he deserves.”

Rebel looked at him. “Is it pathetic of me to ask this of you?”

Batman mulled over the issue. “Why are you asking me to do this?”

“Hawkmoth’s secret identity was connected to my murder trial even though he didn’t know that I was one of the superheroes that interfered in his plans as Hawkmoth. I don’t want it to be seen as me trying to get back at my victims.”

“He’s one of the parents.”

Rebel nodded.

“Yes. You are a smart guy. You would be able to figure out who he is. Given that you believe that I am not making the entire thing up.”

“You rarely lie, Rebel.”

“I lie all the time.”

“You are not a very good one. So it is easy to tell when you are not.”

“Fuck.”

“I will verify what you said first.” Batman said. “I will come back later. Hold your plans off for at least a week.”

“I am not that good of a person you think I am, Mister Bat. The only reason I haven’t done him in is because I don’t ever want to step back in Paris if I can help it.”

“I have one more question for you.”

“What is it?”

“Why did you go back to school?”

“My personal reason why?”

Batman gave a slight nod.

“I suppose you can call it a desperate attempt at living a ‘normal’ life.” Rebel answered.

“I see.”

“Be good.” Those were Batman’s final words before he grappled off the roof.

“Remember who you are talking to, Batman.” Rebel mumbled into the night as she popped open a soda can.

----

(Part 5)

------

Taglist:  @toodaloo-kangaroo, @iloontjeboontje, @buginetye, @angelwreckedd, @anoires-blog, @ever-since-i-was-young, @shutupandactuallylisten, @its-maemain, @vel-vee, @kashlyn, @officiallydarkgeek, @jayjayspixiepop, @cmouse, @transheso, @thecrazyfantrolls, @just-a-random-girl-loves-anime, @maddiesupdates, @the-dumber-scaramouche,

[adlamu]

I'm always down to hear a ghost story :)

okay, so! for some context, the row of houses within the hq grounds were pulled down stone by stone from their original street and rebuilt stone by stone in the grounds as a preservation thing - everything else is 100% purely original within the parc padarn grounds (like the hq building, train line, and quarry hospital).

when i was growing up it was the place for school trips and my mum worked at the quarry hospital museum for several years so i was over there a lot - moreso when all of the museums became free, because it was something to do and i liked going to work with mam.

i've had multiple experiences, mostly in the quarry hospital, then in gilfach ddu most of them were in manager's apartment, y caban (the quarrymen's cafeteria on-site), and 2/4 of the houses - specifically the Nid Oes Bradwr (there is no traitor) house and the 1960s house.

quarry hospital:

i picked up a phone handset of a landline that hadn't been connected in 80yrs at the time (and could not be connected because it was old-fashioned 1920s pins) and heard a dial tone.

witnessed two apothecary drawers open by themselves.

heard men's voices talking in the empty ward room before opening time.

saw indents in two separate beds as though someone were lying on and sitting on them.

strong smell of fresh blood (it normally smelled of years of dried blood & cleaning product) in the examination room.

footsteps up and down the hallway when it was just me and my mum in the building.

heard two Heavy doors open and close by themselves after closing when all the staff, me, and my sister were all in the staff room - we all heard it and we all investigated to find nothing.

got told to 'get out' of the examination room by a very distinct male voice when it was literally just me in there and no one else but mam in the building.

outside morgue shed having stench of fresh blood - it hasn't been used in well over 100yrs by then.

outside morgue shed also having a great sense of Fear inside (when it wasn't locked, you could go inside) and me and three separate people heard 'help!' in a heavy welsh accent while we were in there.

outside morgue shed whilst with my mam i heard someone ask 'am i dead?' and i looked at mam who said 'what d'you mean are you dead?' all in welsh.

manager's apartment:

saw a faint/whispy image of a girl in the closed off, inaccessible kitchen, stood by the stove.

smelled strong, fresh pipe tobacco smoke in the sitting room.

saw two keys on the piano being pushed down by themselves but no sound came out.

heard a heavy-accented welsh woman's voice say 'welcome' in english when me and my sister were the first ones in amongst a group of english tourists.

y caban:

heard a man's voice say 'hogyn Jos bach wyt ti?' (little jonesy's boy, aren't you?) in a completely empty caban because me and my sister were the only two in the area and she could smell heavy pipe tobacco - our great-grandad worked there and was referred to as 'jos bach', apparently.

saw one of the clogs at the hang up move to the other end of the area by itself.

saw one of the coats' collars pop up by itself - followed immediately by another coat's sleeve moving upward by itself.

smelled a very distinct smell of fresh bread (this is before they put food in the canteens).

saw one of the benches move by itself - in front of me and my sister, two american tourists, an english family, and a german couple.

nid oes bradwr house:

the feeling of being glared at in the upstairs when speaking english.

seeing a shadow in a Very lit living area that felt >:| before i spoke to my mam in welsh - specifically about the traditional big bible they had on the table.

seeing an english tourist get ponked by cheese w/ Nobody near the cheese (which was in a closed off section to stop people getting at the cheese).

hearing 'gad lonydd i'r tân' (leave the fire be) in a man's voice when the room was full of women.

witnessing an english man turn & apologise to nothing 3 separate times in one visit because he'd been poked in the side.

hearing heavy footsteps upstairs when it was closed off.

1960s house:

strong, Strong smell of toast in one specific part of the kitchen - there was no toaster in there at the time and it smelled fresh - food & drink are not allowed inside any of the houses.

hearing running water in the bathroom - none of the houses are connected to any plumbing.

seeing a dress in the washroom be inspected by something - the hem was moved up and dropped.

four of the toys in the teenager's room moved in separate intervals while i was talking to a friend, in welsh, about how that was the kind of room my taid would have had in the 50s.

saw records in the teenager's room move like they were being flicked through.

saw the bed in the teenager's room get a Huge indent like someone sat down in it - you cannot go into the rooms, the doors are blocked off from the waist down and there was no one in there.

the adults' room smelled very strongly of cheap perfume but all the lady's stuff on the dressing table were Very clearly empty and sealed.

hearing faint music coming from upstairs when the upstairs was blocked off... Several times.

being pushed in the back by nobody when i said 'swn i'm yn rhoid gwyrdd 'na efo'r llechan, de' (i wouldn't put that green with the slate) to my sister.

hearing 'diolch' (thank you) in a woman's voice when i left the house through the back door with a friend of mine last time i visited in 2022, when it was 'four at a time' bc covid rules at the time when i automatically said thank you (as though i were leaving my nain's or smth) - the friend is american and the couple ahead of us were english and had already left the area.

and that is all the stuff i remember experiencing lmaoooo

[punishcrime]

there is a couple of things to do on this blog. might be iconless for a while (between comissions and all, i have no time to make icons for myself lol). but a few high notes.

like in some comics, shown by the scare toxin, jason's death is still bruce's biggest fear. even with jason back, it's still there.

jason's death affected him more than his parents because that was his son and he had the power to stop it and couldn't.

bruce put the joker in a body cast (as mentioned in UTRH) for six months through a beating. in some adaptations he also knocked some of the joker's teeth.

depends on the harley and the adaptation but in the dce.u she was there when jason was murdered (which is why i always headcanon she is protective of kids). bruce doesn't hold her as accountable for what happened more than she is a reminder it did happened.

jason' room is locked up. bruce pretends he doesn't know alfred goes in to clean it once a month and alfred pretends he doesn't clean it.

legally, jason was the first child bruce adopted. while dick was his ward, jason was the first he adopted.

i focus heavely on him and jason and the death in the family + under the red hood aspects because it's one of batman's darkest periods and fits dce.u to the glove.

in some verses, he and selina have a child, like in canon named helena.

by the time post snydercut, bruce has ace, the german shepard. it was mostly giving to him as a therapy dog.

he was raised both a catholic and jewish (through martha's family as we know). however, he doesn't believe in god or is religious. he does celebrate christmas, at the request of the children.

in the future, we add terry mcguinn.is to his roaster of chidlren (ejem).

i'm always iffy about dami.en's existence so treat with a grain of salt.

both tim and stephanie were robin for a while in the timeline but by the flash, bruce left the idea of a robin on the gutter.

dick is nightwing and barbara was batgirl but is now oracle. the killing joke happened.

[stealingyourbones]

Older Brother Danny Phantom

During the last year that Alfred worked as a secret intelligence officer for England, he was tasked to infiltrate and dismantle a fake ghost hunting branch of the US government. This fake branch that called themselves the Ghost Investigation Ward who was attempting to set up camp on English soil.

During his infiltration using a false identity and credentials, Alfred came across a boy named Phantom. He was the GIW’s “most prized catch”. Alfred’s heart ached as he saw the boy get hauled back to his cell day after day. With each day the boy sported more and more injuries from the GIW’s cruel “experiments”.l (Alfred knew damn well what they were doing to the boy was just short of torture and nothing more.)

Seeing the boy get hurt day in and day out, Alfred was more determined than ever to tear this place apart brick by brick. Soon enough, Alfred found enough evidence to prevent the GIWs from ever setting up camp on English soil ever again. After that, the British military invaded the place and took care of the workers while Alfred worked on freeing Dann, which the GIW’s files informed him was actually a boy named Daniel Fenton. The GIWs completely obliterated his hometown and reduced it to rubble. He had no home to return to and was expecting to just live in the ghost zone for the rest of his life. Alfred wouldn’t let that stand.

He made the rash decision to raise the boy as if he was his own. He later got hired by The Wayne’s after the butler Jarvis’s passing. Danny stayed in the manor with Alfred in the servant quarters. He wasn’t shown to the public and as far as the world knew, Alfred had no family.

Then the tragedy of The Wayne’s occurred on that fateful night. Martha and Thomas Wayne were murdered right before Bruce’s very eyes.

Danny helped Bruce learn to cope with his trauma and searched the Ghost Zone for his parents. (He came up empty handed. Bruce’s parents didn’t have a strong enough drive to become ghosts. Bruce appreciated the gesture none the less.) He and Alfred taught Bruce how to fight. He still went on his training journey all over the world but he knew a tad more before his travels than without his ghosty older brother.

Danny doesn’t really do anything as Phantom in Gotham. He’s done with fighting. The GIW capture convinced him that the only thing that would stop those bastards from hunting him was to destroy the Anti-Ecto acts and to dismantle the organization piece by piece.

Danny went to university and got a double major in computer programming and forensic science.

During the years that Bruce was away training, Danny was cracking down on the GIW and managed to successfully expose and fully dismantle the fake government organization.

Danny refused to premiere in Gotham as “Phantom”. He’s much rather leave his fighting days behind him and instead when Batman first came to the scene, he was the guy in the chair. Helping Bruce through an earpiece and assisting in putting the pieces of a crime together with the batcomputer.

He does help Bruce with the intimidation factor though. A slight spell to make him blend into the shadows a tad more than a normal person would, a small charm to make his movements seem twitchy and inhuman, a tiny incantation that made Bruce’s eyes glow a bright white, small spells to help make Batman less human and more a symbol of fear.

When the first Robin came around, Danny welcomed Dick with open arms as an uncle figure. Casting charms on Robin to let him glide and make chittering sounds that are impossible to make with human vocal cords.

He helps Jason and when the boy comes back, Danny immediately knows that something is off and collects the boy before he gets whisked away by the League of Assassins. He and Alfred teach Jason how to use a firearm at Jason’s request and non lethal rounds become Jason’s preferred weapon.

Danny positively adores Tim. He reminds Danny of himself when he was a teenager. Now in his mid to late 30’s, he recalls those years with a fondness that was definitely affected by rose tinted lenses. He takes him under his wing and teaches the boy about magic and how to integrate it into technology.

Damian instantly attaches himself to Danny the second they first make eye contact. Danny is obviously the most powerful person on the household and respects Damian in a way that surprises the boy. Danny knows Damian’s type well and he, along with Dick, help Damian adjust to the Bats code of vigilantism.

When Danny meets the League, it’s because Klarion summoned the Ghost King. Apparently The Ghost King was a Lord of Order but commonly evil aligned. They all are fearful with what’s to happen besides Batman. His shoulders relax when he hears what’s about to happen and informs the League to let Klarion finish his Ritual.

The League thinks that Batman has gone mad but Batman insists. They follow his orders and watch as Klarion calls the Lord of Infinite Realms to the mortal plane.

Danny appears in full Ghost King regalia. Danny positively radiates power in an absolutely terrifying manner. He notices Klarion and frowns. Looking around, he perks up when he notices Batman and Nightwing next to the various League members.

The League is extremely confused that this all powerful god of a being excitedly smiled and waved towards them. That confusion was nothing compared to a few moments later where the King of the Undead started talking to Batman about what was being made for dinner today. That and Tim finally managed to get the wrist portal to work. Batman is silent and simply silently nodding at the appropriate times but Nightwing is happily chatting back and forth with Danny as the Leagues jaws are on the fuckin floor.

Klarion doesn’t know what to do honestly. He thought the Ghost King was Pariah Dark, not this lanky inhuman looking figure who was sitting crisscross in the summoning circle and waving his hands animatedly to talk with Nightwing.

Klarion yells to The Ghost King to stop talking and to fight these fools. Danny then stops and the temperature drops a solid 30 degrees. He pauses for a few moments and oh so slowly turns around to Klarion. His eyes now blading with green fire, his limbs extending and gaining extra joints, his teeth growing more and more elongated and sharp. He looms over Klarion and tells him to kindly fuck off and to never talk to him, his brother, or his nephew ever again.

Klarion is fucking terrified as Danny just fully shifts into his true form and looms over the Witch Boy. Klarion hastily agrees and leaves in fear of getting fuckin evaporated by this being that is much more powerful than him.

The League is freaking out because “Nephew?!?!” “Brother?!?!” What?! How on earth was the fuckin ghost king related to Batman?

Flash asks Nightwing and Dick just smiles and goes “he was adopted” and that was that. The League sees Danny more often now. Be sometimes pops into the Watchtower to watch the stars, to help out during watch duty, to check in with the batfamily that is in the watchtower. Sure Shazam and John have an adverse reaction to Danny Initially but they eventually just accept that this all powerful ghost lord is just there to talk to his family.

[igotanidea]

The Fear: Jason Todd x Fem!reader part 3

part 1

part 2

A/N: Please, don't hate me for taking it slow :D :D And let me know if anyone wants a tag.

When her phone rang Y/N was halfway through her little science project. She spend last two months trying to come up with some crazy formula that would be the cure to the new version of the latest found virus. Still futile, but every other attempt brought her closer to the success.

“Oh, get lost…..” she muttered with zero intention and zero willingness to pick up, yet still glancing at the screen. Dick Grayson. Oh, ok. This probably wasn’t a social call.

“Dick? Hey there boy wonder, been a while” she answered, still hoping the bats weren’t in any trouble. Grayson was charming as usual, but his cheerful, flirting tone did not make her lower the guards down. And that instincts quickly turned out to be right when Tim intercepted the phone and simply explained Jayson got into trouble. That was all she needed to know, no more questions necessary. She made them a promise when she left Gotham.

“I’m on my way.”

 Y/N knew the boys for quite a while. She wasn’t born in Gotham but for inexplicable reasons her family moved there when she was 10. Her father, much like herself now, was a scientist who was fascinated by Scarecrow’s fear gas and made it his personal mission to crack the formula and/or find the antidote. Of course, he failed miserably, being exposed to the extreme amount of toxin himself and as a result – going crazy and ending up locked in the mental hospital. Y/N was 12 at the time. Her mother went through a nervous breakdown because of what happened to her husband and a few months later ended up in the same ward at the same hospital leaving the poor girl alone.

Hm.

Poor girl was smart enough to escape the claws of foster care for three whole months, just because she was way too smart for a kid her age. She knew where her parents kept the money, she was overly familiar with the way Gotham used to function, what places to avoid and what facilities were somewhat safe. She learned all of that through careful observation. And she had her father’s chemistry and science books and research so it was enough to keep her occupied and not get into any trouble. She was attending school, being the quiet, silent student, keeping her amazing brain and mind at bay just to avoid anyone’s attention. Being invisible was the only way to stay out of radar. Also, that little girl was dealing with pain, loss and rage. She hated Scarecrow for obvious reasons and took her father’s mantle in finding the antidote to that freaking gas.

After said three months however, during one of her experiments, she had a little accident and the little explosion she caused, resulted in covering her house in the cloud of chemicals. Fortunately, they weren’t detrimental for human health, unfortunately the blast was big enough to alarm the neighbors and to make two vigilante show up at her door. Batman and Robin took it upon themselves to inspect the place, since the cloud was green – the same color as the fear toxin, so they had reasons to believe Crane was involved in whatever happened. When they saw a little girl, only a few years younger than Robin (Dick at the time) they were shocked. Or at least, Dick was, since Bruce would never resort to something so petty as “shock.” After a long conversation, batman was ready to leave, but surprisingly Dick opposed to the idea making a point of why Y/N mustn’t be left alone, and what could happen to her and her extraordinary skills in the foster care. Somehow, this was convincing enough for Bruce to take the girl under his wing. After all, she could have been useful.

They revealed their secret identities to her and quickly figured that she would be the best imaginable addition to the team. Even if she wasn’t interested in field op and was not qualified for that, her behind the desk work was invaluable. She put hours and hours of work to create chemicals and mixtures for Dick and Bruce to use on patrol. She came up with the antidote to Ivy’s poisons. She developed and enhanced the gadgets. And yet, her mission and purpose was still to be fulfilled. Slowly, the bats started to call her “The Chemist.” Tacky enough to keep her safe.

She stayed when Dick left and became Nightwing.

She was there when Jason was appointed new Robin.

She wanted to leave when he was killed by the Joker. It was too much for a fifteen year old girl who was infatuated with the boy. Even if she never cried. Never. After all that happened to Todd she became cold, a bit vicious, more guarded than before. If it was anyone else, Bruce would get concerned about the risk of her becoming a sociopath, but Y/n never showed any sign of falling into mental illness. If anything, she became more focused, more observant, more vigilant, more dead-seton defeating all the Arkham freaks running around Gotham. With silent weapon – poison, toxin, whatever. For two years she was distant and unapproachable by anyone, except Dick and Alfred. The situation changed when Tim arrived at the manor. His observational skills, workaholism and insight were perfect complement to Y/N’s ambition and passion. They became the best of friends, forming a real brother – sister bond. The one she never had before or after. Damian who came last, accepted her, but they were both struggling to open up to one another.

She was finally getting though her past when magically, after five years some new villain appeared in Gotham.

“Red Hood?” she frowned “but isn’t it what Joker used to call himself before?”

“Yes.” Bruce nodded

“So?”

“So? “ now the Batman was frowning, girl’s condescending words did not fit in the situation.

“What do we do? Do we  use any of my mixtures on him? Do we tranquilize him? What’s the big plan, Bat?”

“Me and dick are coming after him. You’re staying here.”

“What’s new?”

“We’ll let you know if need for any of your toxins arises….”

The rest of the story is probably known to all of you. You know, the Lazarus Pit, the resurrection and the dramatic exposure of Red Hood’s real identity – Jason Todd himself. Only he was not himself, at least not the one she knew. He was more aggresive, more violent and unpredictable. And even more emotional then before.

One night, when she was walking home from work he just grabbed her from the street (of course scaring the shit out of her) and in some crazy, angry, unhinged words confessed to being in love with her. And then he kissed her.

But she was smarter than fall for him again and fought against her own heart. After all, being a chemist she knew and saw better than anyone what was the effect of Lazarus Waters on his organism. And from then both Y/N and Jason were dragged into crazy circle of pushing and pulling each other away.

Up to the point where she couldn't take it any longer and left.

Leaving him heartbroken. Utterly defeated.

Sad part was that he broke her first.

But Y/N was not completely heartless. She still stayed in touch with the boys and promised them, that whenever they needed her she would always come. Even if the wound of parting ways with Jay was still fresh.

part 4

@pinksirensong

@shadow-pancake9

@lwtmonster91

@your-local-cryptid87

@@princessbl0ss0m

[elizabethemerald]

A Shade Darker than Red: Part 5

Previous Part

Danny and Jason trained frequently in the Ghost Zone. Of course their “training” was more accurately called “playing.” Tag, catch, hide and seek. They were games, mostly for kids, yet they still taught the new ghost about his powers. Jason learned how to fly, how to turn invisible and intangible, and how to create ecto blasts. Danny also taught him a lot about both the lore of the Infinite Realms and Astronomy. 

He talked several times a week with Jasmine about his life in between training sessions and lectures. He talked about his father being a criminal and his mother being an addict. He talked about losing her and having to live on the streets. He talked about becoming Robin and how magical it was for him. He eventually was able to talk more about his first death, about being betrayed and abandoned, then coming back, feeling like he came back wrong. He still couldn’t remember any details about his second death and Jazz insisted that it wasn’t unusual and that it was just his brain and his core trying to protect him.

It felt… strange. Comfortable. He felt loved and cared for in a way he hadn’t realized he missed and needed. He wondered why he hadn’t gotten any therapy when he first became Robin. Did the others need therapy too? It frustrated him that this was the first time he felt someone was really putting in the effort for him. Almost like he was actually worth that level of effort. 

More and more Jason was finding that the strange siblings that were Danny and Jazz actually cared for him. Loved him. Welcomed him into their little family of two and while he missed his other family and wanted to see them again, he felt good. 

He had no way of knowing exactly what was happening in Gotham after his death. 

.

A sick kind of tension hung in the air. Each of them set in their own thoughts. They were, first of all, Bats and thus detectives. Each had investigated in their own way, using their own skills and contacts. Then they had come together and compared notes, which all pointed to one horrible conclusion. 

It was Killer Croc, strangely enough, contacting Red Robin that was the final stroke. He had found a body, disposed of in the Gotham Sewers where he was known to roam. Croc was a known cannibal and had eaten more than a few corpses that had fallen into the sewers, making work easier for the city’s mafias and harder for the Bats. But he proved that he wasn’t as much of a monster as others assumed when he recognized the body and brought it to the surface. 

Dick was filled with fury as he once again stood before the dead body of his brother. He wanted to run off in a rage, he wanted to beat Bruce to a pulp like he had done with Joker. It was Damian who stopped him. Damian, who knew he had even more blood on his hands than Jason had, feared that if Bruce beat Dick in a fight that he would be the next one to disappear. 

Instead they stepped back and they planned. Batman had his paranoia, and he had trained it into all of his wards. They could be just as paranoid as him, and combined they were the best tactical fighters and strategists in the world. There was a reason one of the Bats ended up as the de facto leader of most teams they were on. Combined they could match Bruce wit for wit. 

Their planning reached its peak when they were all sent a communication from Bruce. Each of them were expected for a meeting in the Batcave. Team meetings weren’t rare in of themselves, but all of them at once was out of the ordinary and had them all tensing up. Clearly, Bruce knew they were on to him. 

Emergency plans and contingencies were made. Superman was called and asked to keep an ear on Gotham. Flash was on speed dial with instructions to extract them before the first ring had completed. Each of their contacts were instructed on where they would be and how long they expected the meeting to go. 

They each took turns denying the meeting request and submitting an alternate meeting location and time. They argued back and forth about who had responsibilities they couldn’t postpone or who hated which location, just like they usually did, however this had an additional reason. They couldn’t allow Bruce the chance to set up a location to his advantage, or some place with limited escape routes. 

Finally, after much arguing back and forth, which Stephanie especially excelled at, Damian cut them all off angrily with a demand that they just meet in the game room of the manor. Barbara planned on calling in from the clock tower, as much as she hated not being able to be there, so that Bruce couldn’t put up another signal Jammer. 

The others entered the game room a few minutes before the meeting started. Bruce was already there, but Cass had been there even earlier to make sure he didn’t tamper with the room. Alfred came in and served them all tea, then after a signal from Damian stayed, with his back to one of the walls, watching over the family and enjoying some tea himself. 

“You all have been avoiding the cave, we still need to patrol the city and-”

“Shut the fuck up Bruce.” Dick snapped, causing Alfred to raise an eyebrow. “We know about Jason.” 

“Yes, Jason has been missing for several days now and-”

“We know you killed him.” The sharp words silenced Bruce and Alfred leaned forward in surprise. 

Tim threw a packet of papers down on the table. 

“You had Fox create a jammer, specifically designed to work against the trackers we use.” 

“You forgot, Father, that I was raised by the same assassins that trained you. I recognized the signs of you attempting to hide the scent of blood on you.” Damian snapped. 

Cass signed her observation next. “You: not worried about Jason. Knew where he was.” 

Barbara spoke up from her spot over the video call. “You did a good job hiding your digital footprint, but you couldn’t hide everything. And when you and Jason disappeared at the exact same time? We connected the dots.” 

“Croc found Jason’s body in the sewers. Said he owed Red Hood enough not to dispose of the evidence.” Dick growled the words out, fury still written in every line of his body. 

For the first time an emotion crossed Bruce’s face, just a hint of annoyance before he wiped it away. He always treated Killer Croc like a mindless beast, and now he was realizing he had miscalculated. Alfred looked stunned. 

“Master Bruce I-, Bruce-, Mr. Wayne-, How could you?”

“Red Hood had taken numerous lives, and his criminal enterprises were only growing.” Bruce finally said as if he were reporting on the Riddler or the Falconies, not his own son. “I had given him enough leniency, enough chance to step away from the path of crime he was one. When he refused, it was high time that Red Hood was brought to Arkham, where he couldn’t hurt anyone else.” 

“And then you beat him to death! Jason, Robin! Stop acting like he’s some common criminal!” Dick shouted. 

“I determined that it was highly likely he would respond to my attempt to bring him into custody would result in violence. So I came prepared.” Bruce’s voice was monotone. Controlled. 

“And you specifically attempted to hide all signs of your murder?” Damian asked, pain clear on his voice even though he tried to hide it.

“I was simply planning for contingencies.” Bruce said. “Red Hood would escalate to violence. I planned accordingly and met him in kind. I of course knew that I would not be able to completely hide Hood’s transgressions, so I ensured I had the proper time to present the evidence here. Which is what this meeting had been about, if you would like to get to it-”

“Are you shitting me Bruce?” Dick was on his feet. “You harp all the time about your precious line, about how you can’t ever kill, and then you murder Jason? Your own son?” 

“Red Hood was never my son.” Bruce finally showed real emotion, rage painting his face. “My son died at the hands of the Joker. And a twisted monster came back in my son’s body. Now that monster is gone.” 

Dick was shaking in fury, and looked half a second from diving across the coffee table to try and strangle Bruce. It was Damian standing that stopped him. Damian was shaking as well, though for a different reason. 

“I have killed more people than Todd even tried to.” Damian said, his voice thick with emotion. “It is clear if you have taken to extrajudicially executing whoever you feel that I am no longer safe in the Manor. Richard, would I be able to stay at your apartment in Bloodhaven? I will be sure to pay my share of the rent on time.” 

Dick swallowed thickly, but nodded. 

“Of course, Baby Bird. That’s what family is for, taking care of each other. No matter what.” 

Damian gave Dick a stiff bow before turning to a clearly thunderstruck Alfred. “I hope the care of my animals will not be too much of a burden until I can arrange for their transport to a new domicile?” 

Alfred gave him a nod, fury and grief carved into his face in even measure. 

“Of course, Master Damian. I will do my utmost to ensure they have the best care. Do you need any assistance packing?” 

Damian shook his head and Dick followed him out of the room, taking a moment to shoot one last glare at Bruce before he left. Tim stood next and gestured to Duke. 

“Do you want to bunk with me? It would cut down on your commute to GU.” Tim said. 

Duke shook himself and nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He turned to Bruce. “There was a time I used to look up to you. You can say that your son died at the Joker’s hands and never came back all you want, but I need you to know, today is the day you pushed the rest of your sons too far.” 

Both boys left, Tim wiping tears from his face as he wrapped an arm around Duke’s shoulders. Barbara out to the two girls who remained in the room. 

“Team Batgirl sleep over here at the Clock Tower?” She asked and Cass and Steph both rose together. Cass stared down at Bruce. 

“I killed once. Never Again. You’re lucky.” Her mouth worked as she signed, as she tried to contain her emotions. Steph immediately wrapped her arms around Cass. She spit on the ground at Bruce’s feet. 

“I became Spoiler because my father was a murderer. I didn’t expect I would end up working under another murderer.” 

The two girls left arm in arm. Cass silently sobbed as her family broke apart, the man she had looked up to so much had betrayed her and crossed the one line she considered sacred. 

“Mr. Wayne, I think it is high time I tender my resignation.” Alfred said, his emotions once again hidden by his British Precision. “Consider this my two weeks notice. Since the manor will be without proper staffing, I would suggest you find somewhere else to stay until trusted staff can fill the open positions, perhaps the Watchtower would be best for you.” 

He turned away, then hesitated for a moment, before he turned back to gaze at Bruce, his grief now fully visible on his face. 

“You’ve been as good as a son to me, ever since you came under my care. I’ve treated each of your wards as if they were my own blood, as if they were my own grandchildren. I have loved each of them in my own way, just as I loved you. I never agreed with your strict adherence to your Rule. I’ve long thought that Master Jason was right and you should have put the Joker down like the rabid dog he is.” 

Alfred took a deep shaky breath and walked away to the door. 

“Even with my willingness to take a life to protect my family, or to avenge them, I still would never kill one of them, no matter what they had done. That is the love I have for my family. You are fortunate you once enjoyed that love too. Goodby Mr. Wayne.” 

Alfred turned off the lights to the room as he departed. Barbara signed off soon after and immediately sent the video copies both digitally and physically across the world as a form of insurance in case Bruce ever decided to target any of the rest of them. 

Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight, Batman, was left… alone… in the dark of his empty house, staring at nothing as fruitless plans and empty contingencies spun uselessly in his head. 

.

Far away, and in a dimension that was just next door, the Ghost King sat on his throne as he listened to the supplications of two of his citizens. He was alone in his throne room with the two ghosts, any other supplicants or citizens of the Realms were elsewhere. 

“Please,” They begged. “Please. Our son has lost his way. We know you can’t reach him, but please, watch over our grandchildren. He’s already sent one on his way to you. Please, they still have so much life to live, and if he continues on this path it will throw our city into chaos.”

King Phantom, High King of All Ghosts, King of the Infinite Realms, nodded his head. His crown flared brightly as he swore to watch over the grandchildren, both blood and adopted of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Their words confirmed his ideas and Jazz’s theories about their newest charge and for the wishes of the Waynes and the protection of Jason Todd, Danny Phantom would watch over the city of Gotham and its heroes. At least those that were still on the path.

[radiance1]

Some more of my hc of PD and FK's relationship? Sure!

Okay so bear with me here cause I just woke up so I might not remember everything but! What I thought up is that Pariah Dark, being the Ancient of War and Fright Knight, being the Ancient of Fear is that both of said concepts are very intertwined with each other. War leads to Fear and Fear leads to War. Which is partly the reason why FK is in PD's service, which you already know lawl.

But anyways! If Fright Knight were to betray Pariah Dark, at least in this specific headcannon, Pariah Dark wouldn't really be that upset over it. Mildly annoyed at worst and viewing it as a bit of an inconvenience at best. Mostly because he knows that, instinctively, Fright Knight will make his way back to him in time or even PD himself will seek him out though being the stronger of the two PD can curb those feelings better.

Which also leads into another aspect, strength. It's pretty simple, actually, War is strong, stronger than Fear and as such Fear submits to him. Doesn't really have much to do with their concepts and moreso a bit more of might makes right like, since War is stronger he's the one in charge and allat.

There is also some knight like loyalty in there. Since, yea, Fright Knight is a knight and Pariah Dark is a king, but that loyalty also isn't really absolute since, well, FK's concept doesn't really cover that so while he's loyal he still does have those brief betrayal periods.

Their very concepts feed into each other, which makes 'Where War went, Fear followed.' Well, true lmao! Of course, Fright Knight can stray from Pariah Dark as seen in this post, but he will always come back, eventually.

This can even dip into the Ancient of Darkness Pariah Dark hc too! Since Darkness is one of the primordial fears (iirc) it could basically be the same there too lmao!

Right so mooooving on!

Also yea, everyone would undoubtedly have questions for Tim/Red Robin about him just freely giving off information. Which makes me think... does Batman (or anyone in the fam for that matter) know that Tim is the ward of Fear? Or, heck, that's he's Tim's physical caretaker and not just someone his parent's hired to take care of Tim?

Mmmmmaybe Tim forged some stuff to have FK be his legal caretaker? Or would Tim still be a legal wayne? That could change sum stuuuff.

Anyways.

Of course Tim is defensive and angry on his friend's behalf! That's one of his first friends! He isn't going to let any disrespect slide or make them uncomfortable! If it plays into his ward of Fear aspect then that's really just a plus honestly.

Tim, officially, does not have a new caretaker.

Tim, unofficially, does have a new caretaker.

A large, large man with long flaming purple hair that was capable of touching the floor if it didn't move like fire with sharp glowing green eyes and a neutral, if a bit of a resting bitch face, expression on his face.

Comparatively, he was not dressed oddly. Nothing but a white compression shirt, grey sweatpants and a pair of black sandals. The only thing odd about it was the sword constantly strapped to his waist, though Tim ignored it when he saw the man using it to chop ingredients.

Fright, he called himself, and Tim never asked if it was his actual name or not. He was just glad someone came over as constantly as he does.

He doesn't know where the man goes at night, after making sure he's tucked into bed and asleep, but he never pried. Mostly because he wasn't supposed to know that, and he doesn't want Fright to catch onto the fact that he was constantly sneaking out at night either.

So they'll both keep their secrets.

===

Fright Knight was at a loss with himself.

His master, Pariah Dark, had been once again released from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep and he wasted no time to return to his side. Even with his previous betrayl.

The events that followed were unexpected.

His master did not continue his eons long war with life. Though it had long since turned silent with his imprisonment, it was still brewing under the current of 'peace' that the Ghost Zone fell into.

Fright Knight knew that well.

So, what exactly was he supposed to do when his master returned to his time as naught but a humble farmer and started to rebuild the bridge he had long burnt with the Master of Time?

He felt... conflicted.

Of course, reconnecting with the Ghost of Time was a good thing, and he has been subject to witness just how much passion they had for each other during days long past.

But his master picking up a life that was not one honed through blood was always an odd thing for him to experience. Two peas in a pod, as some would say they were.

War and Fear.

Where War went, Fear followed. Rivers of flowing blood with storms of fear promised was something too tempting for him to resist.

Fear was a sword, and he was War's blade.

So it was not something easy for him to adjust to when War settled down into peace and sought prosperity instead of his namesake. Of course, he, as always, adjusted regardless of the situation and followed his master in his newest endeavor.

It was much harder to preserve a life, than it was to end it. They both came to realize. On his master's part, farming was something he pondered over and donned for a brief time eons ago, the new methods of today clashing wildly with what little he knew of the activity before War sung to him again. For Fright Knight, he had not a single nail's worth of experience in the act, never having had an interest like War did and as such, never learned.

It felt rather odd to use his blade to cut gifts from the land, but if he replaced them with images of enemies long since snuffed, it wasn't exactly hard.

He could not stay there for long; however, it was just too... different, from what he was used to. The Ghost King knew this and told him he was free to be left to his own devices so long as it did not affect the rules the Master of Time had set for them.

Or rather, War. But as Fear was in his service, he was not exactly exempt from said constraints, either.

So he wandered, keeping to his 'human' persona he was told to set for himself here. He was thankful that these beings called Meta's existed as no one gave him more than a second glance.

Though if that was more something to do with his height he did not know.

He came upon a city, one of shadows and filled with curses in numbers that even made him pause in slight bafflement. Lady Gotham, the city's spirit, brushed against him as soon as he stepped foot within her haunt, and it did not take long for them to reach and accord.

Fear was allowed to stay, so long as he did not do anything she did not permit. He was fine with said rules, after all, what was another constraint compared to those set by Time itself?

He had a favorable view of this city, just the ambient fear alone made it worth stepping inside. It was better than War's attempt at peace, though it was nothing due to the being itself he was just... used to being surrounded by fear.

Then he met a human child by the name of Timothy Drake. A meeting by chance and nothing else, but he did need something to do by Lady Gotham's suggestion.

So he became the boy's 'caretaker' though if he were a good one was something he could not comment on.

He did not need sleep, his new ward did, so when night fell, he always stepped out of the city to go back to his master and reappeared the next morning.

The thing about his new master's attempt at peace, was that he was quite willing to give away the gifts he received from the land. Which was helpful, considering he had no idea how to acquire money in this new age.