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adultswim2021 · 7 months

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The Venture Bros. #43: "Handsome Ransom" | October 26, 2009 - 12:00AM | S04E02

Listen to me, you mother fucker, I am talking. I don’t necessarily set out to recap an episode’s entire plot. It’s my downfall that for certain shows, like this one, I get sucked into recounting every single thing, because it’s a thorough way for me to make sure I’ve supplied all the context needed for some frivolous tidbit I MUST tell you. I am always in a thorough way, to my detriment. Really, this blog mostly just exists so I can keep track of my progress while I do this watch that I really could just be doing privately. There could be less bad stuff on the internet if only I had the restraint.

Handsome Ransom is the one where the Monarch attempts to hold the Venture Bros ransom, but Hank (and not Dean) is rescued by Captain Sunshine, a Superman style guy who people talk about. You see, it’s popular opinion among the general public that Captain Sunshine is a pedophile. When a random guy on the street sees Captain Sunshine flying around with Hank, he snarkily makes an insensitive joke to the effect of “I wouldn’t let him around my kids!” causing others to laugh knowingly.

Captain Sunshine takes Hank as his new ward, believing him to be a homeless orphan. Really, Hank was just mad at his family, and took the out when Captain Sunshine misinterpreted the situation. In one really creepy scene, we linger on Captain Sunshine whispering to his Alfred about issuing a bottle of lube to Hank, who is instructed to rub it where the sun hopefully won’t shine.

It’s genuinely troubling; I’ve watched this episode with people who seemed almost pissed off that the show was seemingly going into Happiness territory. The show even goes to commercial before letting us in on the misdirect: turns out it’s just so the Wonder Boy outfit will side on easier when Hank goes down a chute that apparently dresses him as he slides to the Sunshine mobile.

Basically the sitcom-style mix-em up of this episode is that Venture thinks Monarch still has Hank in his custody, who bluffs that he does have Hank to get a ransom from Venture. They play a game of tet-a-tet that eventually leads to all parties concerned at Captain Sunshine’s house. At this point we discover that he’s a local newscaster, and his news team are also secretly superheroes, which is such a fun idea.

The Monarch has a really twisted moment where he winds up in the Wonder Boy outfit and taunting Captain Sunshine. I forget if I said this, but Monarch killed Sunshine’s previous Wonder Boy. It’s actually mentioned in an earlier episode! The joke-to-lore pipeline is real! I get to say that again! Anyway, that's a big part of the episode: Captain Wonder's psycho attachment to the idea of Wonder Boy no longer being dead.

Okay here’s some stuff I really love in this episode: the “honkey” exchange between Hank and Monarch in the opening scene. Venture complains that Hank called him a honkey and the Monarch laughs and asks “did you really?”. This is honestly in the running for one of my favorite moments in the goddang show. I also love the joke about Sunshine throwing the Monarch into a prison yard as retribution. Monarch walks on account of Sunshine’s ignorance of due process. This episode also plants the seeds for a joke later, where Hatred finds out that Billy Quizboy is 37. You’ll certainly remember that Hatred is a (reformed?) pedophile, so he'd really like a little guy.

Speaking of that: the commentary track (and the Go Team Venture book) makes it very clear that Captain Sunshine is not intended to be an actual pedophile. He’s just perceived as one by the public, and is oblivious to this fact. I guess this is parallel to Michael Jackson except for, you know, that guy probably was one?? Right?? Is that crazy for me to say??? That guy probably fucked those little kids.

Jackson and Doc also point out that a vital thing about Hatred (other than the pedophilia): which is that unlike Brock, he’s game for anything. He gets heat stroke in a spider hole and paints himself like a hundo to try and help Venture. Brock would never!

Another great commentary tidbit is that they were watching the episode on a burned DVD-R which they made originally to send to the network for internal reviewing purposes, and they always make a barebones menu and add an annoying song looping on the menu. This episode’s song was Steal My Sunshine by Len.

They also sing the praises of Kevin Conroy, who voices Captain Sunshine as well as Batman from Batman: The Animated Series. I never really watched that show, because I sorta shunned action shows at a really early age, but I do remember getting sucked into watching an episode once or twice and thinking “this is actually pretty good”. Can you blame me? Anyway, I have to respect that guy or else people will get pissed. He died!

That’s Jackson’s dog in the live-action bit. Hey, speaking of Jackson (I started the paragraph this way just to jam in the dog bit): The concept of the Wonder Boy memorial being a golden statue of him in a motorless side-car was a gag left over from The Tick that went unused. I learned that from the book. In fact, I didn’t even recognize that as a funny joke until I read that. Like, what a pathetic monument.

Did I explicitly say that this is very easily among my favorite episodes of the series? It’s just so goddamn funny. Sometimes this show fails to come all-the-way-together, and that’s a shame, but this is pretty goddamn perfect.

EPHEMERA CORNER:

youtube

Adult Swim in a Box DVD (October 27, 2009)

This was a weird one. This was a box set collecting previous season/volume set releases of various Adult Swim shows. The North American release included:

Aqua Teen Hunger Force: Volume Two

Space Ghost Coast to Coast: Volume Three

Moral Orel: Volume One

Robot Chicken: Season Two

Metalocalypse: Season One

Sealab 2021: Season Two

The Australian release does what the North American release should have done: they used all first volumes for the shows. They also swapped Robot Chicken and Metalocalypse for Frisky Dingo, Squidbillies, AND The Brak Show. It came out in 2011, I think (I already closed the tab that had this information)

Both versions included a PILOTS disk, which was eventually sold on the Adult Swim webstore as a stand-alone disc (which I bought) included the following pilots:

Totally for Teens

Cheyenne Cinnamon and the Fantabulous Unicorn of Sugar Candy Fudge

Korgoth of Barbaria

Welcome to Eltingville

Perfect Hair Forever

Very annoying for them to include Perfect Hair Forever, even though it was picked up as a TV show. Shoulda included Lowe Country with Lowe commentary. Hell, they should make every movie and TV show in the whole world have Lowe commentary.

You’ll notice only two of those pilots haven’t been covered here yet. I’m going to cover them at another time, in early 2010, as part of my award-winning coverage of Burger King’s Big Uber Network Sampling.

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #the venture bros.#Youtube

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ukus-so-much-potential · 2 years

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All in My Head; Junior Year, September, Rated T

Alfred’s eyes are fixed on Mr. Kirkland, but he’s hardly listening to the lesson being taught. Sometimes he thinks it might be some dream because at the end of last year, when Mr. Kirkland finished his student-teaching semester, he had told all the students that he would probably not be back, but it was such a pleasure to work with all of them and Alfred had only fantasized about the young teacher magically being back at Alfred’s school a million times over the summer.

He’d fantasized about a lot of other things too: like Mr. Kirkland’s piercing green eyes and his sexy English accent and how he smiled when he praised Alfred for being a “smart lad.” Alfred’s brain is tireless and very creative and with not much else to do over the summer, he’d taken all his observations of Mr. Kirkland and spun them into detailed, elaborate, ah... hormonally-charged fantasies of having a very inappropriate relationship with the English teacher.

And now he’s in Mr. Kirkland’s... Arthur’s class. Again. When Alfred had thought he might never see the man again.

The same girls that had been so flustered by Arthur before seem to have settled down... or at least they aren’t giggling and whispering to each other.

But Alfred hasn’t settled down. If anything... oh fuck. He shifts in his seat and tries to tug the hem of his hoodie down over his lap. Yeah, he hasn’t settled down at all. If anything, his feelings have only gotten stronger.

“Alfred.”

He blinks, wondering if he heard Arthur’s voice only in his mind or not.

“Alfred Jones,” it’s more stern.

Alfred snaps out of his reverie only to see Arthur giving him a cross look to match his exasperated tone. “Uh. What? Sorry. What?” Alfred says, smacking himself internally. Great. Now Mr. Kirkland is going to think he’s slacker... or at least isn’t as smart of a lad as he’d given Alfred credit for.

“Would you care to share your inner musings or would you rather join the rest of us in the here and now?” There’s a little bit of humor in his voice.

Alfred still blushes bright red and sinks slightly into his chair. “No. I mean yeah. I’m good. I’m here. Sorry Mr. Kirkland,” he mumbles.

He manages to pay attention to most of the rest of the lecture.

As the bell rings and class is dismissed for lunch, Alfred realizes it’s pretty warm, it is only early September still, and his hoodie could have better use at the moment. He tugs it over his head and grabs his backpack and heads toward the door.

“Alfred.” Arthur’s voice stops him, it’s softer than before. “Stay back a moment please.” He’s standing behind his neatly organized desk. He has unbuttoned his fitted vest, it looks like he’s loosened his tie a little, and he is unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. “Christ, this room is a sweatbox,” he mutters.

Shit, Alfred really fucked up. He stops in front of the desk, clutching his hoodie and mentally pleading for any kind of divine mercy. “Um, listen. Mr. Kirkland, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to zone out. Swim practice is really early and I didn’t sleep super good last night. I won’t zone out again, I promise.”

Arthur chuckles a little. “You’re sixteen, Alfred. Don’t make promises we both know you can’t keep. It’s alright. It happens, but you were so out of it there that it had me a little concerned.”

Alfred’s heart rate picks up.

Arthur rolls up his sleeves. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Alfred is most definitely not alright. He swallows around a lump in his throat, his gaze latched onto Mr. Kirkland’s forearms--both of which are embellished with extensive black ink. The tattoos, which Alfred’s mind can’t seem to resolve into actual images yet, extend over Arthur’s elbows and up under his sleeves. Fuck. Seriously? Fuck.

Arthur glances down and then winces self-consciously, mercifully misinterpreting Alfred’s stunned reaction. “Ah. Yes I know it’s not exactly typical to see an educator this heavily tattooed,” he says. “I try to keep them covered during school hours, but I didn’t realize this classroom would be so much warmer in the afternoon.”

Alfred manages to shake himself enough to smile. “Nah. I mean, yeah it’s not typical and all, but it’s nice to see some adults are actually cool.”

Arthur looks relieved. He laughs. “You make me sound old. I’m not really that much older than you.”

And Alfred is a hundred percent certain that Mr. Kirkland didn’t mean anything by that. It doesn’t stop his brain from doing what it had been doing all summer.

“Alright, I’ve taken up enough of your lunchtime, go on.”

“Ha. Okay. Thanks, Mr. Kirkland,” Alfred’s mouth is dry. He leaves the room, stopping outside to breathe cooler air. On the one hand, Mr. Kirkland returning to the school to teach now seems like a lesson in being careful what you wish for... but on the other hand, Alfred thinks, there’d been something there... right?

Alfred turns the conversation over and over in his mind as he walks down the hall and by the time he reaches the cafeteria, he’s convinced.

There’s definitely something between him and Arthur.

#ukus #teacher/student au #so much potential au

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 6 months

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Month 1

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/6GRTWpL by Pi3d_Pip3r A morning talk sets Danny off by accident. Words: 4344, Chapters: 3/3, Language: English Series: Part 5 of Stowaway Danny Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Danny Fenton, Alfred Pennyworth, Duke Thomas, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Relationships: None Additional Tags: Danny Fenton-centric, Bruce is there for a second, But everyone else at least has speaking lines, Out of Character, Don’t Know How to Write In Character, no beta we die like dick grayson, which is to say, We die by accident, I feel like it’s getting worse, Miscommunication, Kinda?, No one misinterprets words but there is still like talking fallout, not serious though, He just needs to walk it off so he does, I Tried, also, Abrupt Ending read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/6GRTWpL

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the caped crusader #the dark knight #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

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sirens-drafts · 2 years

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apology letter, hand-delivered

i’m really sorry.

my actions caused unintended harm and consequences.

it was because of me that you suffered.

i didn’t mean to break your heart.

i didn’t even know it was in my hands to break.

it’s like i was distracted, living my life,

when you asked me to hold this,

and i, like good friends do, gave you my hand,

in which you placed your heart.

who the fuck does that dude?

i’m minding my own business,

and you give me your biggest vulnerability,

something with immense fragility,

out of nowhere. what the fuck?!

i startle. it shatters. i’ve broken your whole world.

a little warning would’ve been nice?!

you tell everyone how i toyed

and played with your emotions;

i am a cruel and sinister little lady

behind my saccharine facade.

i don’t even know how i could have avoided this.

all of this is just miscommunication.

all i wanted to do was be a friend.

all i get now is an adult pulling me aside

and making me apologize.

for what? the crime of friendship?

i apologize.

i have wronged you, or me, or everyone,

i can’t tell who’s hurt anymore.

who stuck the knife in first?

a mystery for only the greatest sleuths —

the kind in novels and movies,

agatha christie and sir arthur conan doyle,

alfred hitchcock and not me, apparently.

i’ve tried every trick in the book (and cinema),

and my conclusions are always inconclusive.

i can never narrow it down right;

i chase the red herring

and return to the drawing board.

you’ve misled me for the last time, i think.

the red herring is me

and maybe, just maybe,

the clues were right in front of me all along,

and the culprit was you.

my bad —

it was always you, wasn’t it?

this all started with you.

my intentions were clear,

but misconstrued.

i am not at fault for misinterpretations.

you do not blame shakespeare for his dialect,

so why blame me for mine?

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry you got your feelings hurt from being a dumbass.

i’m feeling sorry for you,

because it sucks to go through what you’re going through.

but i’m not sorry for you.

because i did nothing wrong

and i think it’s time i accepted that.

#vent poetry #poetry #what inspired this is actually so stupid #but shhhhh let’s not talk about that

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

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Secret’s Out

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Bruce was looking at his emails when Y/N arrived at the table.

She was breathing heavily and her hair was a bit messy, just further proving she had rushed to get there.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she huffed embarrassingly. “My shoot ran over and every one was moving so slowly.”

Bruce smiled. “Y/N. Relax.”

Then he stood up to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

The two of them hadn’t seen each other in over a month. Y/N had been traveling for work constantly. And between the vigilante life and Wayne Enterprises, Bruce was running on 2 hours of sleep on the daily.

“I need a drink,” Y/N finally sighed after she got situated.

As if on cue, their waitress dropped Y/N’s favorite drink in front of her.

Y/N eyed Bruce with surprise.

He just shrugged.

Sometimes Y/N forgot how much her father noticed literally everything.

“Thank you,” she told the waitress.

“You’re overworking yourself,” Bruce said with a disapproving look.

She rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re not one to talk, Bruce.”

“You deserve a vacation. I’ll pay for it. Pick wherever you want. Bring Jason. Or some friends.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Bruce…”

It was a warning.

From the very start of their unconventional father-daughter relationship, Y/N had made it clear that she could not be bought. And Bruce spoiling her made her extremely uncomfortable. Even now, she still tried to at least split restaurant checks with him. Bruce always won those battles though.

“I’ll take a vacation when you do,” she finally countered.

That sure shut him up.

“Hey, I actually brought you something,” Y/N changed the subject as she reached for her bag.

A moment later, she lightly placed a manila folder onto the table.

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he reached for it.

As soon as he opened it, he froze.

“I had to clean out some stuff and put things into storage,” Y/N explained. “I found all my mom’s photos. I figured I could make copies of some childhood photos for you.”

Bruce’s silence made Y/N nervous.

“If you don’t want them, that’s totally fine.” She started to reach for the folder out of Bruce’s grip with awkward embarrassment. “It was stupid–”

But Bruce quickly pulled the folder closer to him and stopped her from taking the photos from him.

“Thank you,” he announced.

It made Y/N quickly sit back in her chair, caught off guard by his sincere reaction and how he’d immediately become protective of the photos.

Bruce awkwardly cleared his throat. “Thank you, Y/N.”

He repeated to make sure she understood how thankful he truly was. And Y/N suspected the throat clearing was to hide his emotions.

Now she watched as Bruce slowly went through every picture. He took in every detail with a soft smile.

These weren’t just photos. These were all of Y/N’s memories that Bruce missed, that he could never get back. And he was savoring all of them.

Then Bruce paused and was fully smiling now.

“What?” Y/N asked.

She didn’t know why all of this made her so nervous.

Bruce didn’t say anything as he lifted a photo and flipped it to show her.

It wasn’t from her childhood.

It was a black and white photo of Jason. A candid from when he had escorted her around the slums of Gotham for her most recent gallery show.

After months of thinking about it, Y/N finally had decided she wanted to frame it and hang it somewhere in her apartment.

Y/N’s jaw dropped with embarrassment and she ripped it from his hands.

“I was developing some photos at the same time as I was making the copies. Must’ve gotten mixed up in those,” Y/N explained too quickly, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze.

It made Bruce happy to know that Y/N didn’t have the same inability to love someone and let people in like he did. It was a relief that she didn’t isolate herself from it like he had. If her mother was still alive, Bruce would thank her for it. But if Y/N’s mother were alive, he would’ve never known about Y/N in the first place.

Their entire dinner was spent with Bruce looking at the old photos. He had at least two questions for each one. Some of them Y/N didn’t remember being taken. But most of them came with stories or a loving memory.

Y/N talked for most of the meal. But that’s exactly what Bruce wanted.

Furthermore, Bruce had nothing of value to update her on. Batman business had consumed his life as of lately, and he had made a promise to never involve Y/N in any of it. And Jason seemed to be on the same page when it came to his other life as Red Hood.

Both men seemed determined to keep her safe and away from it all.

Two hours later, Bruce was paying the check and helping Y/N into her coat.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he muttered as they started walking out.

Y/N had learned by now to give up on those small battles. Jason was the same way when it came to making sure she got home safely.

As they made their way to the exit, Y/N caught a few stares from other patrons who were still eating.

“Do you ever get used to it?” She asked her father in a low voice.

“Get used to what?” He asked, genuinely unaware of what she was getting at.

“People gawking at you.”

Bruce glanced around and unintentionally glared at anyone who was staring at Y/N.

“It’s good that I’m seen in public…for obvious reason,” he hinted in a quiet voice, obviously talking about needing the cover to continue his life as a masked vigilante.

Once they were outside, Alfred was already waiting at the curb with the Rolls-Royce. He greeted Y/N with a hug and a kiss to her cheek before opening the door for her and Bruce.

When they got to Y/N’s apartment building, she said her goodbyes to Alfred. And Bruce walked Y/N all the way up to her door.

Even though Y/N insisted it was overkill and she could get up the stairs on her own just fine, Bruce had seen too many terrible things in this forsaken city. He could think of thousands of things that could happen to Y/N between the car and her front door.

Once Y/N realized that Bruce’s paranoia came from experience, she stopped trying to stop his chivalry and overprotective ways. She finally understood that Bruce had seen things that would prevent her from ever sleeping again. So if walking Y/N to her door gave him a little peace of mind, she wasn’t going to take that away from him.

Y/N turned to Bruce when they reached her door. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“Of course. I’m glad we could spend some time together. Thank you again for the photos.”

Y/N didn’t realize that Bruce was about to hang every single one around Wayne Manor.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug. “Get home safe.”

——————

Y/N woke up wrapped strong arms, her body overheating slightly.

When she had come home from dinner last night, Jason had already left for patrol.

He hadn’t woken her up when he got back home, just proving how exhausted Y/N had been these past few weeks.

But it was the continuous buzzing vibrations of her phone that woke her up. When she brightened the screen, she saw that she had dozens of text messages and three missed called from Bruce.

“What the fuck,” Y/N whispered as she started opening them.

But they were all about the same thing.

Everyone had sent her similar articles from various gossip websites or news outlets.

BRUCE WAYNE’S NEW GIRLFRIEND IS FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHER Y/F/N Y/L/N

BRUCE WAYNE’S FLAVOR OF THE WEEK

IS Y/F/N Y/L/N USING THE PRINCE OF GOTHAM TO FURTHER HER CAREER?

All of the headlines were joined with photos of Bruce and Y/N having dinner last night. Apparently other customers at the restaurant had snuck photos of Bruce greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Y/N could see how it would be misinterpreted as romantic and not familial or platonic. But it still made her sick to see the photos twisted in such a way.

Then there were paparazzi photos of them getting in a car together. Of course there were none of Bruce dropping her off and them going their separate ways. That would be just too convenient for the two of them.

Y/N’s stomach dropped with panic.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she gasped without realizing it.

Jason immediately woke up. “What is it?”

Y/N ignored him and called Bruce.

“I’m handling it,” was how Bruce answered her call.

“Handling it? How exactly?” She challenged. “We can deny the rumors all we want. But everyone is going to keep tabs on us now, and they’re going to see us together again.”

Jason grabbed his own phone.

One of his brothers must’ve sent him a similar article because he rubbed his face in annoyance, finally understanding the situation.

Nothing like your girlfriend being rumored to have a relationship with her father, who was also your mentor and adoptive father.

“Y/N, it will blow over. It always does,” Bruce tried to calm her down.

“So what happens when I get photographed with Jason? Huh? They’re going to just say I’m cheating on both of you with each other or some fucked up shit like that.”

Bruce was silent, because they both knew she was right.

Y/N glanced at Jason, who was already waiting for her gaze.

She took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe we should…Maybe we should just tell the truth.”

“You’ve never wanted that, Y/N.” Bruce tried to argue.

And he was right.

Y/N was terrified of being associated with the Wayne family. People would start believing she secretly built her career off of nepotism that no one was aware of. She also didn’t want that type of attention from the media and the upperclass of Gotham.

“I don’t think we have any other choice,” Y/N finally answered.

Jason reached for thigh and gripped it, trying to offer her some sort of comfort.

“Y/N, are you sure about this?” Bruce asked slowly.

“No. Not at all. But I’d rather not have the public think I’m dating my biological father.”

“OK,” Bruce sighed. “I’ll talk to my publicist today.”

“OK.” She bit her lip before adding. “Just…tell them the whole story.”

“Y/N, if you’re worried how it will make me look, don’t.”

“But I am worried about it, Bruce. They’re going to drag you for being an absent father. And none of that is true. They’re not gonna understand.”

“I’ll call you later with an update,” he told her softly before hanging up.

Y/N tossed her phone to the foot of the bed in frustration.

Jason watched as she buried her face in her hands.

“You OK?” He asked as he rubbed her back.

“No,” she answered honestly.

“Come here.” Jason pulled her into his chest.

There was no fight from her as he cuddled her tightly.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” she groaned into his shoulder.

“I know. But maybe it’s for the best,” he tried to reason with her.

“And what happens when they catch wind that I’m dating my father’s adoptive son? Huh?”

“We’re not actually related, Y/N.”

She pulled her face back so she could glare at him. “Yeah! We know that! But you do understand that people are going to see it that way, right? Like we’re gonna look like some fucked up incestual couple to them.”

“I don’t really care,” Jason finally told her.

“You don’t care?” She scoffed.

“No,” his answer and confidence didn’t waver. “I don’t give a fuck what people say about us, Y/N. If exposing the truth means we don’t have to think twice about going to events or even just going out to dinner, then I’m all for it. I’m sick of hiding our relationship.”

Y/N blinked. She never considered that their subtle relationship bothered him in any way. She was always a strangely private person, so it felt normal to her. But clearly Jason had been wanting to be a bit more public with their relationship.

“What if this changes everything?” Y/N whispered, not meeting his eyes.

Jason smirked at that and gripped her chin, lifting it up so she would look at him. “Some paparazzi and trash tabloids aren’t going to change how I feel about you, Y/N.”

Y/N laughed lightly at that.

“Maybe we should leave Gotham for a bit,” she offered. “Bruce won’t shut up about paying for a vacation for us.”

Jason nodded. “I think that sounds like a good idea. You’ve needed a break for awhile now.”

“Well…where do you wanna go?” Y/N asked.

“Doesn’t matter to me. As long as you’re there.”

She rolled her eyes and hit Jason in the face with a pillow. “God, you really are a sap.”

Y/N appreciated Jason always being able to make her feel better and feel supported.

But even he couldn’t stop her from wondering...

What would life be like as a Wayne?

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Father of Mine – Bonus Content

#father of mine bonus content #father of mine #bruce wayne x daughter #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #father!bruce wayne #dad!bruce wayne #dad!batman #batdad #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #red hood reader insert #red hood x reader #batfam #batboys

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dannyphantom-justiceleauge · 3 years

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I have this belief that in stories/continuities where Batman is written has a bad parent, it's a case where he's read every parenting and childhood trauma book and is following the books to the letter, but grossly misinterpreting it. Teens need jobs/activities to build responsibility? "Vigilantism." Self-defense training helps troubled kids feel empowered? "Here's how to defeat Bane." Get to know them? "Know their every move before they make it." Batman just confidently: "I am doing this right."

oof but also valid. Bruce hasn't had much reason to interact with children until he started adopting them. and his main remembered father figure was a butler who let him train to be a vigilante. like Alfred is great but Bruce is not a mentally healthy adult and i don't think Alfred has done much to get him healthier in that regard. he knows to give reminders for rest and meals and stuff, but i don't think he particularly see's anything wrong with their whole superhero business. maybe because he himself was pretty metal when he was their age. either we not many people are aware enough or sane enough to have the full 'don't make teenagers superheroes' argument with these guys and even the kids go into it thinking it's a fun adventure until it's not.

the sad is i don't think bruce would ever do anything to these kids that he wouldn't do to himself. but he's so fucking brutal to himself and doesn't seem to recognize that he's messed up, that he doesn't even realize he's hurting these kids. - Hestia

#batman #dpjl

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everyonewasabird · 3 years

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Brickclub 3.3.7 ‘A bit of skirt’

She foresaw some affair of the heart, more or less illicit, a woman in the shadows, a rendezvous, a mystery, and she would not have minded sticking her beak in it. Savouring a mystery is like being first one in on a scandal; holy souls are not at all averse to such things. There is in the secret compartments of bigotry a certain taste for scandal.

Mlle Gillenormand isn’t Madame Victurnien, but she’s going an uncomfortable distance down that road. Trying to unearth other people’s illicit secrets is never a good look in this text.

It’s another way this half of the book is revisiting the first with more nuance. Madame Victurnien had a sad history, but she ruined Fantine’s life on purpose, and that defines her. The stakes are much lower here, and Mlle Gillenormand is much less successful. Her bad impulses don’t do much harm--which is both a blessing and a curse, as it’s part of her absolute powerlessness.

“Are you sure that your cousin does not know you?"

"Yes. I have seen him; but he has never deigned to notice me.”

Marius is, in fact, absurdly proud, but I don’t think that’s what's going on here.

Instead, Theodule is reading Marius’s perpetual abstraction as pride, the same way people misinterpreted Fantine. It’s such a subtle callback, but it’s so on point. Marius has a much more fortunate social position than Fantine and much better luck, but his ability to read the world around him isn’t any better.

I’d say I'm on Team Marius-is-autistic, but that might be too obvious for anyone to disagree with.

Marius’s and Cosette’s relationship is a lot of things, and many of those things are pretty questionable, but they don’t fall into each others’ lives at random. Between their similar backstories, Marius’s resemblance to both Valjean and Fantine, and possibly even Cosette’s resemblance to Marius’s mother, Hugo set up a lot for them to bond over.

The Alfred line is hilarious, and I love it. It’s also a callback to the Tholomyes chapters:

However, we will remark by the way, everything was not ridiculous and superficial in that curious epoch to which we are alluding, and which may be designated as the anarchy of baptismal names. By the side of this romantic element which we have just indicated there is the social symptom. It is not rare for the neatherd’s boy nowadays to bear the name of Arthur, Alfred, or Alphonse, and for the vicomte—if there are still any vicomtes—to be called Thomas, Pierre, or Jacques.

Theodule feels like he’s wandered in from some other book: cheerful, shallow, interested in girls and money and looking fashionable, but also blithely decent to people. And he has no ability to comprehend Marius at all.

There really are only a tiny handful of neurotypical characters in this book, and Theodule might be the only one who's not a villain.

#brickclub #lm 3.3.7

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secondgenerationnerd · 3 years

Text

Hey, y’all!

So someone asked in the comments of my big “Batfam PowerPoint night” post if I would write a fic about that.

I will not lie, I hate giving presentations. I’m good at giving them but I hate giving them.

So! As a bit of a compromise, y’all can send in requests for certain presentations. It’ll likely be the title page and maybe a slide or two more (depending on the presentation. Dawn Allen’s is getting the whole damn thing 😂😂😂)

If you want to request a character that’s done more than one presentation (i.e. Mar’i, Jon, Irey, Jai, etc), just specify which presentation!

I haven’t don’t YJL yet but if y’all want to request a character from that team, go for it!

I will link all the posts I’ve done here, with a few edits:

Batfam

Superfam

Flashfam

Omega

Epsilon

Now the topic changes/added topics:

Colin- “God Doesn’t Hate Anyone: Most Misinterpreted/Taken-out-of-Context Bible Quotes”

Bruce— “Things I Never Thought I’d Hear My Children Say”

All Bruce’s kids— “Bruce in ‘Dad mode’”

Helena (with help from Alfred)— “My family as Cat Memes”

Reyes siblings—“Which of Us Has The Cuter Redhead”

Lian— “Why Friends to Lovers is the Best Trope”

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thatsamericano · 3 years

Text

Confidant by Accident

Pairings/Characters: America/Romano, Lithuania POV.

Ratings/Warnings: Teen, only for cursing. No warnings other than mild angst.

Word Count: 1838

Summary: After America rejects Romano’s offer of leftover lasagna in favor of a chocolate bar, Romano needs to vent to someone. Lithuania ends up being the perfect sounding board.

A/N: Takes place right after this week’s episode/Chapter 72 of Hetalia World Stars. Will be up on AO3 soon.

Lithuania was too busy helping America move heavy cardboard boxes to say anything when Romano appeared in the doorway. He could only glance over as he was setting down a box and wonder why Savino wouldn’t just walk into the room instead of barely letting his head peek in through the doorway. He was acting shy, which wasn’t like him at all.

But then it started to make sense. Savino was worried about Alfred working too much, though he hid his concern by bragging about his two-hour lunch break. (Which was frankly excessive, in Tolys’s opinion. Not that anyone had asked him.) When America admitted he hadn’t really sat down for lunch in a long time, Romano offered him homemade lasagna. Making that particular meal took a while, and Lithuania was a little surprised Romano would spontaneously offer it to America. Even if it was leftovers that he couldn’t finish himself.

America was surprised too, and Romano misinterpreted his reaction. By this time, Tolys was moving another box, but he didn’t have to see Savino’s face to hear how his voice got quieter and how he almost sounded hurt, as if America had rejected something more important than leftovers. Lithuania frowned as he set the box down and glanced back and forth between them.

Alfred thanked Savino for his offer, but he didn’t seem to pick up on how bothered Savino was. It wasn’t out of any ill intent. Tolys had been living with Alfred with a while, and if he had learned one thing about his employer, it was that he often seemed to miss the social intricacies that seemed so clear to others, especially when he was focused on something else.

Right now, he was focused on brandishing a chocolate bar. He pulled the chocolate bar seemingly out of nowhere, winked, then chomped into it in a way that was strangely… flirtatious? It was almost like he was trying to impress Savino, either with the mere fact he had a chocolate bar or the overdramatic way that he ate it. Lithuania didn’t understand how either of those things could be impressive, but it seemed to be working on Romano.

Savino was enraptured by Alfred’s odd display. His eyes were wide, his lips were parted, and, most tellingly of all, a reddish blush formed on his cheeks. But by the time America was looking at him again, Romano’s mask was back in place. He smiled weakly at America as he left the room, and once he was gone, America sighed fondly.

“Vinny worries way too much, doesn’t he?” He went back to his “multi-tasking,” which was clearly just trying to do too much at once. Currently it involved talking on the phone, doing paperwork, and attempting to eat a chocolate bar all at the same time.

Lithuania continued the single task America had assigned him. He grunted as he lifted a particularly hefty box. “About you especially.”

Alfred hummed in agreement, and Tolys caught a glimpse of his face as he passed by with the box. America’s expression was inexplicable but not something Lithuania had never seen before. Despite the person currently berating him on the phone and the mountain of paperwork he had to complete, Alfred seemed almost blissful. He’d seemed blissful a few weeks ago, on a much slower day, when Lithuania had caught him sitting next to the couch, where Romano was taking his customary afternoon nap. His hand was inching towards Romano’s hair, but when he heard Lithuania’s footsteps, America whirled around with a panicked expression on his face and insisted that he’d only been checking to make sure Savino was breathing, since he’d gone awfully still for a second. He wasn’t watching Savino sleep or considering playing with his hair, because that would’ve been creepy and weird, and Alfred wasn’t a creepy weirdo, okay, Tolys?

Back then, all Tolys had been able to do was nod even if he knew Alfred had been lying. Now, all he could do was puzzle over America’s odd behavior as he kept helping him move boxes.

Tolys stretched his stiff, aching muscles after he’d placed the last box. “I’m done moving the boxes, Al.”

“Really? Thank you, that was very helpful.” America was working his way through a large stack of paperwork, but he managed to look up and give Lithuania a sincere smile. “You can take a break for a while now if you want. You’ve earned it.”

“What about you?”

The phone rang again, and Alfred shrugged before he picked it up and answered with a cheerful voice that belied how exhausted he must truly be. Lithuania knew America couldn’t be convinced, so he left the room and made his way towards the kitchen.

Romano was at the stove, scraping lasagna out of the pan and muttering to himself. When he got closer, he could hear that he was ranting about America. “Fucking idiot, won’t even let me take care of him. Then he has the nerve to wink at me and eat his mass-produced, shitty chocolate, which is not even half as nutritious as my lasagna.”

Lithuania grimaced. “Hey, Romano.”

“Hey.” Savino cast him a tired glance. “You want something?”

“I, uh, know I wasn’t the person you actually offered leftovers, but I think America’s gonna be chained to his desk all day. I figured you wouldn’t want all that food to go to waste.”

Savino snorted. “There’s enough here for two Americas. Get yourself something to drink, and I’ll fix you a normal-sized plate.”

“Thanks.” Lithuania poured himself a glass of wine, which was what Romano usually took with his lunch, and yawned. “Man, I’m beat.”

“You guys have been really busy today, huh?”

Lithuania smiled faintly at the tinge of concern in Romano’s voice. “Yeah. Alfred’s been way more swamped than me. He can’t even end a phone call without someone else calling him five seconds later.”

“He should have put me on the phone, so I could tell them to fuck off and leave him alone.” Romano got a fork out of the drawer, set it on the plate, and handed the lasagna to Lithuania.

Lithuania chuckled as he walked towards the kitchen table with his glass and plate. Romano followed him. “I don’t think that would lead to good business relations,” he teased.

Romano huffed in annoyance. “It might lead that idiota to eat an actual goddamn lunch for once in his life. He can’t subsist on fumes and chocolate bars forever.” Lithuania sat down at the table, and Romano sat across from him.

He took a bite, chewed it slowly, then swallowed. “Romano, Alfred… he wasn’t trying to insult you. He loves your food. I’m sure, if he wasn’t so busy—”

“That’s not the fucking problem, okay?”

“Okay.” Tolys knew that, especially with Savino, sometimes it was better not to push. Forcing the issue would only make him more defensive. For the next several minutes, he only heard the scrape of his fork across the plate, his own chewing, and wine sloshing in the glass as he sipped it between bites. The silence was awkward, but Lithuania could endure it.

Eventually, Savino broke. He put his elbows on the table, gripped his hair in his fists, and started talking. “Sometimes, Fredo frustrates the hell out of me. I can’t hate him, but I hate the shit he does.”

Obviously, he didn’t hate Alfred if he was giving him a nickname and offering him leftover lasagna, but Lithuania wasn’t tactless enough to point that particular absurdity out. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “What does Alfred do that bothers you?”

“It’s what he doesn’t do. He looks at me, but he never really sees me. Ever. I’m around the guy practically 24/7, and somehow he’s too oblivious to pick up on the fact I fucking—” Romano paused, then shot Lithuania a look that communicated everything his fear refused to let him voice out loud. “That I care about him.”

Lithuania thought over everything that had happened today, and everything else he’d noticed since Romano moved into America’s house. “I think Alfred cares about you. But sometimes, he cares about you so much that he can’t see you caring about him too. Like today, with the chocolate bar. He would’ve probably preferred the lasagna, but he had something else to eat, and he didn’t want to make you go out of your way for him.” Or the fact that in his own clumsy, bizarre way, Alfred had been trying to flirt with Savino when he winked at him and bit into that chocolate bar. The fond gleam in America’s eyes as soon as Romano left the room, that was often there when Savino wasn’t looking directly at him. The way Alfred instinctively pulled Savino closer if they were walking through a dark, narrow street after spending the evening at a speakeasy. The fact that he would’ve sat beside the couch, gently running his fingers through Savino’s hair and watching him sleep if Tolys hadn’t walked into the living room at the exact wrong moment.

Care didn’t cover how America felt, and even love, that word Romano refused to say, paled in comparison. Devotion was the closest term, and it was growing steadily every day. But that devotion was concealed and unspoken, and it wasn’t Lithuania’s place to say anything for America. Even if today had made it abundantly clear that Savino reciprocated those feelings, despite his occasionally prickly demeanor.

Gradually, Romano loosened his grip on his hair. He put his hands down in front of the table and sighed.

“Why the hell did he whip out the chocolate bar, bite it, and pose afterwards? Showy asshole.” Romano was blushing again and avoiding Lithuania’s eyes, but he didn’t seem quite as troubled as before. He didn’t sound particularly irritated either.

Tolys shrugged. “You’d have to ask him. I can’t read Alfred’s mind.” He could put the clues together, and the clues all added up to one conclusion. But that conclusion, inconveniently, wasn’t his secret to share.

Lithuania finished his meal, and he carried his empty plate, fork, and wine glass to the sink. “Thanks for fixing lasagna for lunch. It was delicious, and it was a nice thing for you to do.”

Romano had gotten up at the same time he had, and now, he was standing near the broom he’d left by the pantry door. “Thanks for talking to me about stuff,” he said quietly. Savino was clearly embarrassed by their conversation, and by what he’d nearly confessed. Lithuania knew he couldn’t make a big deal out of it. Forcing the issue would only make things worse, not better.

“No problem.”

Savino smiled genuinely, if not joyfully, when he carried his broom out of the room to sweep elsewhere. Tolys cleaned the dishes and fork he’d used, and he resolved to put this matter out of his mind until Savino (or perhaps Alfred, at some point in the future) needed him to be a confidant once again.

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scpnightwing · 3 years

Text

whumptober 2021: The Bone Road (1/31)

By night, Robin was his partner in crime, but once the sun rose, all Dick could be was a mirror of his tragedy, haunting his halls and asking for more than Bruce had in him to give.

{The early days of Batman and Robin, and the many mistakes therein) [on AO3]

Chapter One: “You have to let go” | Barbed Wire | Bound

Every day, between three o’clock and five o’clock, Dick would take his schoolwork into the unused sitting room at the very front of the Manor. It was the sort of room they would have taken guests to, if they ever had any, and although Alfred kept it spotlessly clean, it had a bereft air to it; a car left to rust in a garage, a piano silently gathering dust, a performer without an audience. A purpose left unfulfilled.

Much of the Manor was that way. Even after living at Wayne Manor for four months, it still struck Dick as absurd that there were only three of them in that great big house, with its endless rooms dedicated to overly specific things that none of them seemed to do.

There was a music room, but he had never seen Alfred or Bruce pick up an instrument, despite his suspicions that they both probably could play something.

There was a games room with several pool tables and a darts board and cupboards full of old board games, the likes of which Dick had never heard of, but even Dick soon tired of trying to play snooker by himself.

The ballroom particularly offended him. Why on earth would any house need its own ballroom, and if you were going to have a house with a ballroom, then you may as well use it. He had been scolded by Alfred for skidding across its marble floor in his stocking feet, and when he had asked if they would have Bruce’s birthday party in there, Alfred had only nudged him back out the door.

Dick didn’t know the word excessive yet, but he recognized its definition when he saw it, and such a grand house was, in his eyes, utterly wasted on three people, especially when two of those people spent their evenings skulking through the city’s poorest places only to come back to such opulence.

The dissonance of that made Dick uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t quite put into words, not that he would have shared the thought even if he could, afraid that his discomfort may be misinterpreted as ingratitude. He was, it felt, always one wrong word away from being as superfluous to his new guardian as his many neglected rooms.

Dick perched in the window seat, scattering his books and worksheets around him to create an illusion of studious diligence, and began his daily vigil. In the last four months, he had scoped out only a fraction of the front-facing rooms, but he had decided that this one had the best view of the winding driveway up from the front gate.

All the better to spot when Bruce’s car arrived home.

He chewed on the end of his pencil, half-listening out for Alfred’s footsteps, his cue to look appropriately absorbed in today’s math problems. Alfred was still trying to find Dick’s level, and he had finished the worksheet so fast that he was a little offended at where Alfred had set the bar, so low on the ground that Dick could step over it. At least that freed him up for when Bruce got home.

Not, Dick thought glumly, that Bruce was likely to give him much more than a perfunctory hello before he hid himself away in his study. He bit harder on the pencil at the thought. Four months in his house, and two months since he had first declared himself Robin and saved Bruce from the infiltration in the cave on Halloween, yet Bruce seemed to only have time for him when they were wearing masks. Once they were simply Bruce and Dick again, masks hung up until the next patrol, all the camaraderie of the night seemed to fall away.

It stung in a way Dick didn’t quite understand.

It was quarter to five before the gates at the end of the drive parted for the sleek black Lamborghini Bruce favoured, and Dick hurried to the vestibule just in time for Bruce to walk through the door, shrugging off his coat.

“Hi Bruce.”

Despite this having become a daily occurrence, Bruce still looked surprised to find Dick waiting in the entryway, or perhaps he still wasn’t used to having someone other than Alfred in the house. He managed an absent little smile.

“Dick, how was your day?”

Dick dogged his steps into the main hall.

“Boring. I could answer the sums Alfred’s giving me in my sleep! Was work okay? You look all tired.”

“It was work.”

He always said that, like it was an answer in itself. Dick had no idea what it was he actually did when he went to the Wayne Enterprises building, or how it was any different than what he did when he holed up in his study for hours on end, but Bruce never offered any more details and Dick wasn’t sure if it was nosy to ask.

“Are we gonna go out tonight?” Dick asked instead, jogging a little to keep up with Bruce’s longer strides. “I finished all my schoolwork, and I’ve been practicing my leg sweeps.”

“Not on Alfred, I hope,” Bruce said, but nothing more, and Dick’s stomach sank.

They were coming to the study door now, and as Bruce opened it, he looked down at Dick with that same absent smile he gave reporters and waiters and everyone else who didn’t really matter.

“Why don’t you go see if Alfred needs any help with dinner? I’ve got some calls I need to make.”

Dick darted forward as Bruce made to shut the door.

“Actually! I, erm, had a little trouble with the last question. I don’t really understand how Alfred explained it. Could you help me with it?”

It wasn’t that Bruce was cold, necessarily, but to a boy who had grown up surrounded by doting, affectionate people, the absence of outright warmth from him was glacial. Dick’s heart thundered as he waited for an answer, a little part of him irritated that so small a request even needed to be questioned.

“I thought you said you could do those sums in your sleep, hm?” Bruce said lightly, but he at least had the good grace to look a little guilty as he gently nudged Dick back from the doorway. Dick stepped back, the worksheet crumpling in his fist. “Sorry, kiddo, I was stuck in meetings all day so there’s a couple of important calls I need to return. If you’re really struggling, I’m sure Alfred could help you. Why don’t you head down and ask him? He won’t mind.”

It was fortunate Dick had experience shamming smiles for the crowd, as he did just that now, feigning indifference as he was gently but adamantly dismissed.

“Sure. Sorry for bothering you.”

“…You weren’t bothering me, Dick. I’m just busy.”

“It’s okay. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Dick was halfway down the hall, shoulders hunched and bottom lip caught between his teeth, when he heard a weary sigh from behind him.

“Wanna try that leg sweep out on me later before we head out?”

Dick instantly lit up, spinning back around to grin at Bruce.

“You’re taking me out with you?”

“For a little while, at least. Alfred’ll have my head if I keep you out ‘til morning, but considering you don’t have to be up for anything special, we can get a couple hours in together. But only if I finish these calls, okay?”

Dick knew a bribe when he heard one, but if it meant he could suit up and spend time with Batman later, then he could bear a few more lonely hours.

They fit together better in the masks than out of them. Never exactly verbose, Batman at least made an effort to keep up a stream of conversation with Robin, having spent the last two months of training instilling in him the importance that they communicate effectively with one another. The drive into Gotham always meant at least fifteen minutes of Batman briefing him on what cases they were looking into, or if there was nothing live at the time, the plan for their patrol route. Unlike Bruce, Batman encouraged questions, and despite his surly countenance, he wasn’t afraid to play along if Dick tried to joke with him.

More than the excitement of protecting people, it was that brief window of time where Batman would speak to Robin that Dick looked forward to the most, well worth the odd punch he didn’t dodge fast enough or the overtired, pinching headaches the following morning.

That didn’t mean Batman couldn’t be just as cold as Bruce, of course, and for all that he would play the straight man for Robin in the privacy of the car, once they were in the field, there was no room for levity or, more importantly, disobedience.

Dick perched on the lip of the warehouse roof, his fingers curling around the cool cement as he watched the shadows of men moving below. The arms shipment had come in as expected, but that wasn’t all that was passing through the docks that night, and Batman had slipped off to the neighbouring dockyard to investigate the chain of cars they had seen driving in through unlocked gates, leaving Robin to watch their original targets. The time to strike was slipping away as they loaded the last of the crates into an idling van, and Dick’s feet were itching to spring forward.

Not without Batman. That instruction had been delivered with a firm hand on his shoulder, which meant Batman really meant it.

“Batman, they’re getting ready to leave,” Dick whispered, index finger pressed to his ear piece. “Are you almost back? We’re gonna lose them!”

There was a fuzzy silence on the other end before Bruce’s voice came though, breathy and almost drowned out entirely by a flurry of gunfire.

“Robin, go wait in the car for me.”

Order given, the connection immediately went silent, and Dick’s heart thundered in his chest as he waited for more, for a chance to hear that background noise again and assure himself that it wasn’t gunfire, that Bruce wasn’t getting shot at alone over there.

Dick touched his ear piece again; “B, are you alright?”

Nothing, not even static.

Down below, the rear doors to the van slammed shut, the men climbing up into the front seats. Dick teetered at the edge of the roof, torn between seeing through the night’s work and doing as he was told. He groaned quietly as the van pulled away, its rear lights growing smaller down the long stretch of road, but he stayed where he was, double tapping his ear piece to switch to the other channel.

“A, I’ve lost contact with Batman. Can you get through to him? I - It sounded like there were guns.”

More silence, but the dull crackle of interference in the connection told Dick the line was live. Distant clicking as Alfred typed at the computer, before, “Bear with me, Robin, I’m accessing the cowl-feed.” More silence, heavier, telling. “…Batman has been outnumbered. It appears he has been hit.” Dick had never heard Alfred sound afraid before, but there was certainly a difference in his voice as he spoke now. “Robin, return to the car. I’m sending a tip-off to the GCPD.”

“What good will that do?!” Dick demanded, pacing the edge of the roof with fistfuls of cape bunched up in his hands. The van had long since vanished from sight, and all his focus was on the distant, dark dockyard where Bruce had disappeared to. Outnumbered, potentially shot, and there had been so many cars heading in that direction. What had Bruce been thinking, engaging when there were so many?! It was the exact thing he told Dick to never, under any circumstances, do. The hypocrisy of it only fanned the flames of Dick’s frustration, and his pacing took him across the roof in the direction Bruce had gone, the complete opposite direction from the Batmobile.

“The sound of sirens will send them running, which will give Batman the opportunity to remove himself from —!”

Alfred’s line cut out.

“Agent A? Are you still there?” Dick switched channels again. “Batman, can you hear me?!”

Perhaps if either of them had answered Dick then, he would have done as he was told and gone back to the car, but if he were being honest with himself, he had already been planning his running leap from the rooftop before Alfred’s line had gone dead. He couldn’t even enjoy the moments of free-fall as he usually did, too consumed with the mental image of Batman at the center of a circle of men, all pointing guns at him.

He was halfway to the other dockyard, sprinting through shadowed alleys between the warehouses, when Alfred’s voice returned.

“Master Ri — Robin, that is not the direction of the car.”

“Did you get through to B?”

“…No. The situation has escalated, and… well, I have alerted the GCPD to a disturbance, but I fear their arrival will not be timely enough to prevent further harm.” Dick didn’t waste breath on answering, crouching at the corner of a building and surveying the open space between him and the chain-link fence ahead. It was topped with barbed wire, stretching as far as he could see in both directions, and there was no convenient hole in the fence to slip through. Only over. “Robin… Batman has been restrained, and it appears to be their intention to throw him into the harbour.”

Dick’s chest clenched, a light-headed fuzziness washing over him. The picture in his head changed from Batman surrounded by guns to Batman sinking into darker and darker waters, bubbles rising from his mouth until they stopped.

“I - I can help,” Dick said, or perhaps it came out as a question, uncertainty thick in his voice. He didn’t realize until Alfred spoke again that he was waiting there, poised at the corner of the building, for permission to move.

“It will be a very narrow window of opportunity,” Alfred began, any trace of that earlier fear absent now, firm in his focus, “You are not to engage the miscreants, Robin. I will guide you to a safe location to hide, and only when they have submerged Batman will you enter the water to sever his bonds. You will then both be free to swim to safety. Is that understood?”

It was reminiscent of a briefing from Batman himself, and Dick wondered how much of Batman’s no-nonsense attitude was cribbed from Bruce’s own experiences. Dick found himself nodding, though Alfred couldn’t see him.

“I don’t have anything to cut with, though. Br - Batman said I can’t have weapons yet.”

“…Batman should be suitably armed, though he will be unable to reach for his tools at the moment. From your current location, head straight until you come to Warehouse Three. We will need to be careful to keep you out of sight from that point on.”

It was all the permission Dick needed to dart forward. As he neared the fence, he reached up to unclip his cape, wrapping one of his hands completely. His momentum fed into his leap, and he sprung up the fence, clambering hand over foot to the top where he used his enshrouded hand to flip himself over the barbed wire. Though he felt the sharp press of its points, the cape was reinforced enough to withstand the pressure, and as he touched down on the other side, there wasn’t a single tear.

He clipped the cape back on and made for the warehouse with the big off-white ‘3’ painted on its side.

Following Alfred’s directions, Dick soon found himself crouching behind a forklift truck, peering from behind its massive wheels at the scene ahead. There were a lot of people milling about the open yard. Not the scruffy, poster-child sort of thugs Dick had spent the earlier part of the night watching, but the sort of people who hid their guns in suit jackets and blended into the crowd when the police went hunting. Besides them, there were other people, and Dick's chest ached at the sight of them; kids, mostly, no one quite as young as Dick, but kids nonetheless. They were being inspected one-by-one by some of the more expensively dressed men, their hair rubbed between forefinger and thumb, their jaws pressed open to expose their teeth, their hands turned over under torchlight.

Like show dogs.

“The police are on their way, Robin,” Alfred gently reminded him, no doubt checking Dick’s lens feed and seeing exactly where he was looking. “No such sales will be going through tonight. We must focus on reaching Batman.”

Dick nodded jerkily, and with difficulty, he tore his eyes away from the line of dull-eyed children awaiting inspection.

At least now he understood why Bruce had broken his own rule and jumped in when so badly outnumbered.

A distance away from the men and the children was a fenced-off area where the boats offloaded. A boat was already growing smaller across the bay, no doubt having completed its inhumane delivery, but though the boat was gone, there was still a gaggle of people at the water’s edge.

At their centre was Batman, ensnared by loops of thick, dock-line rope from his shoulders to his waist, arms pinned behind his back. Dick touched the side of his mask and his lenses zoomed in on Batman’s face. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open behind the cowl, but his mouth was slack, lips parted.

“He’s out cold?” Dick asked, and though he knew the answer, he very much wanted Alfred to tell him otherwise.

“He took a bad knock to the head. The cowl bore the brunt of it, but the attack damaged the cowl’s in-built security. We didn’t realize until one of those people,” it sounded like a different, fouler word in that tone, “attempted to unmask him, and the emergency shock affected them both.”

Dick zoomed back out and belatedly noticed there was at least one man unconscious to the side of the group.

“Good,” he said, more than a little vindictively. “I’m going in.”

“Wait!” Dick froze, still hidden behind the forklift truck. “Tell me your plan of action.”

“I’m gonna go left and keep to the shadows, back around the side of the warehouse, and climb the fence there where they can’t see me. Then, I’ll wait until the police come and these guys all get scared off so I can untie Batman and hide us until he wakes up.”

There was a contemplative silence on the other end of the line, and Dick waited for a thorough critique, for Alfred to propose problems for Dick to counter as if this were a logic puzzle assigned for homework, but in the end, there was only a resigned sigh, and, “Please be careful, Robin.”

The plan lasted as long as it took Dick to get to a part of the fence where he could climb over unseen. That was when the police sirens approached, sending the group into a panic. Startled by the noise, Dick’s foot slipped on the chain-links as he was halfway over the top, and he thanked whatever gods were watching over him that he had thought to lay his cape over the barbed wire, as that was all that protected him as he lost his balance and tumbled down over the other side. The cape itself wasn’t quite as lucky, one of the barbs embedding in its weave, and as Dick grabbed at the cape to right himself, the wire snapped, plunging alongside Dick and his torn cape.

Dick hit the ground with a muffled yelp, glancing in the direction of the group guarding Batman. They hadn’t seen him yet, but they had heard the sirens, and Dick watched the moment they decided to cut their losses and shoved Batman’s bound, unconscious body over the edge of the dock and into the dark waters below.

“No, no, no!” Dick jumped to his feet and made to move forward, only to be jerked back by his ensnared cape, losing his footing completely. With a frustrated grunt, he unfastened the cape altogether and ran ahead without it, uncaring if the fleeing goons looked back and spotted him diving into the water after Batman. He had barely sunk by the time Dick reached him, but even as he clung to the concrete lip of the dock with one hand and tugged at the tail of the rope binding Bruce, he couldn’t keep Bruce’s head above the water. Beneath the sound of the enclosing police sirens and Dick’s own frantic splashing, he heard a splutter. “B, are you with me?!”

The weight at the end of the rope slackened as Bruce came to, instinctively kicking his legs in the water. With his arms bound, however, treading water was the best he could do, and the weight of the Batsuit was pulling them both down. Dick managed to scrabble up the edge of the dockside, sopping wet and trembling from the cold, and with his feet braced against a bollard, he put his all into pulling at the rope, so thick he could barely get his hands all the way around it.

“Robin —“

Dick couldn’t tell if he heard Bruce’s voice through the comms or out loud, but the sound made his heart soar, uncharacteristically reedy as it was.

“I - I got you, B! Hang on!”

Even as he said that, the sole of his boots slipped against the bollard, too wet to gain purchase, the weight pulling against him too strong. He felt the first burst of pain in his shoulders and couldn’t quite bite back the gasp, white flashing across his vision. The rope just kept slipping, and inch by inch, Bruce sank deeper beneath the surface. For all that he kicked up, the water was splashing over his face, into his mouth, his words a gurgle.

“Let go,” Bruce managed before he disappeared beneath the water again. Dick scrabbled desperately as one of his feet slipped off the bollard altogether, and without its leverage, he staggered forward, dropping to his knees and getting dragged across the concrete towards the dock’s edge. He still pulled as hard as he could, feeling the strain like a taut wire across his back. Bruce’s head broke the surface again, only long enough for him to spit out a mouthful of water and exclaim, “You have to let go, Robin!”

If he let go, Bruce would sink. The ropes were bound so tightly around his torso that Dick had no hope of getting his hands under to free a batarang.

Dick sacrificed some length of the rope to scramble back across the ground, grabbing what he could of it to loop around the bollard. The loose knot wouldn’t hold for long, but he knew he had no hope of pulling Bruce up, no matter how hard he tried. Already, his hands were red raw from the rope, and every twitch of his arms brought a lash of pain all down his back.

Desperately, Dick cast his eyes around, a part of him hoping that one of the fleeing criminals would have dropped something useful. A knife would have been a blessing, but no such luck. There was nothing in their wake but the sound of squealing tires and a line of abandoned and traumatised children. The police cars were trying to block the gates, but several of the black cars had already broken through the barricade.

Nothing, there was nothing! Behind him, Dick couldn’t hear any splashing anymore, and panic seized him like a hand around his throat.

A flash of yellow caught Dick’s eye; his cape fluttered in the wind, still caught on broken link of barbed wire.

Dick barely gave the idea a second’s thought before he was sprinting back towards his cape, gathering the material in both hands and wrapping it around the end of the barbed wire. Like unfurling a cotton reel, Dick ran and pulled the chain of wire with all his strength, throwing himself back as hard as he could to separate the barbed wire from the top of the fence. It sprung off jerkily, resistant to Dick’s yanks, and his cape could not hold up against the strength of his grip.

Barbs broke through the material, biting into the meat of his hands. He barely felt the metal sinking in, so focused on pulling down a long enough chain that it would reach Bruce. He couldn’t even feel the pain in his shoulders anymore, mindless of anything but how many seconds had passed since Bruce had last broken the surface of the water.

Tearing away the cape and clutching the end of the length of barbed wire in his bare, bleeding hands, Dick dove back into the water. Bruce was still fighting the pull of the water, legs kicking and lips pressed shut. Dick pushed aside the fleeting thought that his kicks were getting limper, looping his legs around Bruce’s waist for leverage as he began hacking at the topmost rope with the sharp barbs.

Blood blossomed through the water as he worked, his lungs beginning to burn.

The rope was just so thick! The sharp edge of the metal was fraying it, but slowly, too slowly, Dick’s frantic pace staggered by trying to move through water. Bruce was going to drown, and he was going to watch it happen, utterly useless.

As if sensing his growing distress, Alfred’s voice returned to his ear.

“Keep going, Robin. You’ve almost gotten through it. Just a little more.”

Alfred’s air of calm, however forced, was a balm to Dick’s nerves, and he doubled his efforts even as dark spots began to dance across his vision. He couldn’t feel his hands at all any more, just focused on moving his arms, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. So intent on his task, he didn’t notice when the barbed wire finally bit through the last thread of rope, the other bands wound around Bruce going slack.

Instantly, Bruce’s struggle redoubled, and it was Dick who went limp in the water, legs losing their grip around him. The next thing Dick knew, he was on his back on the dockside, hidden behind a storage crate with Batman crowded over him. He was wheezing too, swaying where he knelt, his cape so drenched that it dripped like rain over Dick.

“B… ‘kay?”

Bruce pressed a hand down over Dick’s mouth just before footsteps ran past their hiding spot. Only when their footsteps receded did his hand fall away, but only so that he could pick Dick up as if he were a baby, hoisting him up against his shoulder before running from the cacophony of the police surveying the scene behind them.

Each stride jostled Dick badly, the missing pain returning with a vengeance. Hanging over Bruce's shoulder, he raised his hands to his face and winced at the state of them, lacerated from fingertip to wrist. Blood oozed so thickly that Dick could smell it, and his stomach roiled, only made worse as Bruce leaped a gap between berths and the damage to Dick’s shoulders made itself known.

Bruce set him down gently when they finally made it back to the car, setting him atop the bonnet and pulling a ribbon of bandages from one of the pouches on his belt, thankfully waterproof. He didn’t say a word as he carefully wrapped Dick’s torn hands, nor when he pressed two tablets against his lips to help with the pain.

It was only when Dick leaned forward, catching Bruce’s wrist between his two bandaged hands, asking again, “Are you okay?” that Bruce looked him in the eye.

Dick didn’t need to see past his cowl to recognise Bruce’s disapproval.

There was a part of him that dared to hope he was wrong, that perhaps Bruce might be grateful that Dick had helped him, might even compliment his resourcefulness in finding a way to cut through the ropes.

That hope died as Bruce said, “I told you to go back to the car.”

And that was it. He rounded the car and slammed the door shut behind him, the engine idling while Dick swallowed his hurt and slipped off the hood, fumbling with the door handle between his bandaged fingers.

Quietly, Alfred said over their direct channel, “You did well, my boy.”

They were the words he was desperate to hear, but from the wrong man.

#whumptober 2021 #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne #dick grayson #i haven't posted a fanfic in over six years ;;;#each chapter incorporates at least two if not all three of that day's whumptober 2021 prompts #and the story follows Bruce and Dick's early days together #aka: Dick is grieving and lonely and Bruce didn't sign up to be a father #(except he kind of did)#enjoy!!

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theblindgoddess · 3 years

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So I started watching Gotham because I saw that @ameba-from-space started watching it and I decided to give it a try.

This show. Is way better then I thought it would be! The acting is good, the writing is ok most of the time, the plots make sense, and the characterizations of almost all of the characters are beautiful! The only problem I have with it is the love triangle they have going on with Jim Lee and Barbra, but that’s mainly because I know that Jim and Barbra will get together in the end and have Barbra Gorden as a daughter so it feels weird to invest in Jim and Lee’s relationship because I know it will end, but then the end of season one happened and know I have no clue whats going on with Barbra, to me it seems like the Jason dude brainwashed her a little bit, but who’s to say.

Here are some of my thoughts so far

the speech Jim gave to Baby Bruce in episode one, some of the best writing I have ever witnessed. However wrote that, deserves a medal and a raise

Jim not being a redhead is throwing he a bit, but he still looks like a young Jim Gorden so I can live with it

Watching Baby Bruce and Alfred interact, oh my goodness you can see where adult Bruce gets his everything from! Like, Alfred was having a rough time adjusting to parenthood, and part of that is because he is an emotionally constipated adult that is more stubborn then a mule. Like, in this show, Alfred only becomes the emotionally competent grandpa that we know and love because either a) old age loosens the constipation or b) he had to raise Bruce Wayne and that boy needs to be told outright what someones emotions are towards him or else he will misinterpret them.

Nygma is very clearly on the spectrum and I feel bad for him because he is working in an environment that is not good for his mental health. The climate of the G.C.P.D. is constantly grating against Nygma and however he views the world until it got to the point where he accidentally killed someone and then had a mental break as a result. Not only that, but if he were to go get help as soon as he could he could probably heal from this, but he won’t because he is scared and the cracks in his mind keep getting bigger and soon it will be to late for him to heal.

Baby Bruce is also probably on the spectrum as well as having some form of OCD (fun fact, often times if someone has one mental illness/handicap they could also have others. Many cases of people with some type of OCD are also somewhere on the spectrum). That child has only one friend that is actually his age, all of the other people that he could consider his friends are adults, he has no idea how to interact with people his own age. It is also clear to see that he has always been crazy, and I don’t think this boy would survive losing another loved one.

When we first met Bullock, part of me did not think that I would like him. But a different, wiser part of me knew that eventually I would, because there is this type of character who always starts out as a not nice person who you don’t like but then as time goes on and we learn more about them while they might not be any nicer we still don’t hate them as much, and just about every time I find one of these characters they always end up as one of my favourites. I like to call it the Bakugo effect.

I finished season one last night, I am currently at episode six of season 2, and if Galavan so much as looks at my Baby funny I will break the walls of reality just to hurt him. Do not hurt my Baby!!!

#gotham #jim gordan #batman #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth

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is-it-art-tho · 4 years

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Summary: What happens when two of the most emotionally damaged members of the Batfam are tricked into spending quality time together?

Damian and Jason have complicated histories when it comes to family and revenge, but a Father's Day card could help them start to work through it.

____

“You didn’t have to come,” Jason pointed out, trailing his fingers along the wall of greeting cards.

Damian scowled at a New Year’s card with a drawing of Superman on the front being pulled into the air by a balloon over the caption Up, up, and away to a new year! It was infuriatingly nonsensical. Why would the alien need a balloon if he could already fly?

“Pennyworth insisted. And I was under the impression that this was going to be some form of surveillance operation. It seems he didn’t find it necessary to disabuse me of that notion before we left.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed as he recalled the pleased slant to Pennyworth’s mouth as Damian had gotten in Todd’s car. The younger boy had assumed it was because Alfred would get to have the house to himself for the afternoon. Now he suspected a much more nefarious motive.

Jason chuckled. “Played by the old man, huh? Anyone who thinks Bruce is the master manipulator hasn’t met Alfred.”

“Tt. I wonder what I have done to upset him.”

“Hm?” Jason plucked a card from the wall and skimmed it. He chuckled at whatever it said.

“Pennyworth must be fairly irritated to have set this up. Obviously he knows how we feel about each other.”

At that Jason raised an eyebrow, putting the card back in its slot and grabbing another. “Oh yeah?”

“Of course he does.”

“And how do we feel about each other?” There was a subtle lilt in his voice; Damian could see the older boy fighting back a smile.

His jaw clenched. “Stop acting like a fool. You know the status of our relationship.”

“Thought by now you’d realize it’s not an act. I really am just an idiot.”

Damian scrunched his mouth together, but continued with forced calm. Meanwhile a woman pushed her cart past them slowly, clearly eavesdropping as she pretended to examine the envelop options.

“We are colleagues. That is all. Otherwise, we stay out of each other’s way.”

“Right,” Jason agreed as he flipped open yet another card. This one had Green Lantern grinning on the front and saying something that Damian couldn’t see around Jason’s fingers. “Why do you think that is?”

“What?”

“The whole ‘staying out of each other’s way’ thing. Why is it like that with us?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, I’ve got actual beef with Bruce, Dick-wing, and Replacement. Or at least, I did. You, on the other hand,” he glanced at Damian now. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” Damian echoed incredulously, his voice grating under the strain of keeping it at least somewhat moderated. “Since the moment we met, you have made it abundantly clear that you want no part of me. Most of the time, you refuse to even look in my direction. You set the terms of this relationship, and I have accepted them. That, Todd, is my deal.”

Damian’s face felt hot, and it took more effort than it should have for him to slow his breathing. The nosy woman was openly staring at them now.

Jason blinked at him, his eyebrows arched in surprise, then looked back at the wall of cards. His expression reverted into something smooth and inscrutable, but his ears had gone red.

“Hm,” was all he said in response, exchanging the card in his hands for yet another.

Damian, on the other hand, felt as if his head might pop, and Jason’s lack of reaction was only making it worse. Now on top of being inexplicably angry, he was also embarrassed. Compared to Jason’s calm, he looked like a child throwing a tantrum in a store.

He was also embarrassed that Alfred had tricked him into coming here for a reason he apparently did not understand, and that Damian had also apparently misinterpreted something about the dynamic between him and Jason. All this time Damian had thought he’d understood the rules of engagement between them. Now it seemed as though he had been mistaken; that fact burned in his stomach like acid.

But Damian knew what he saw. He had not made up the aura of revulsion that had initially wafted off of Todd in waves whenever Damian had come around. He had not imagined the surreptitious glances of rage or disgust, the loaded silences between them. And he would not let Todd try to make him think that he had. As if all this time he’d been playing make-believe like some foolish child.

“What are you even doing?” Damian spit. For the first time, he noticed that Jason was looking at Father’s Day cards.

The older boy offered a delayed and distracted, “What?”

“What are you doing?” Damian repeated slowly, emphasizing each word.

Jason looked at the card in his hands before looking back at Damian, the blush in his ears intensifying. There was an edge in his voice when he retorted, “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re browsing Father’s Day cards, which is odd seeing as how you don’t have one.”

Jason recoiled, and Damian relished the wild fury that flared in his eyes – the break in his vexing calm. The younger boy found himself bracing for a physical attack; the others would never be so reckless in public, but from what he’d seen of Todd, this boy was careless and unpredictable enough to launch into an all-out assault right here in the pharmacy.

But then the fury faded into something barely restrained, and he muttered,“You’re lucky you’re still just a brat and that I don’t pummel children.”

“I am not a child,” Damian snarled, trying not to cringe at how utterly childish that response sounded on his lips.

“You’re an infant. And I’m sick of looking at you. Go wait in the car.”

Although he wanted nothing more than to do just that, part of Damian despised the fact that it would now look like he was taking orders. He stood there, weighing his dignity against his overwhelming desire to be elsewhere, until he caught the flash of ire in Todd’s eyes again and decided that the consequences of his defiance would not be worth whatever satisfaction he might glean from it.

He stalked out of the pharmacy, ignoring an employee’s too-bubbly farewell as he slammed open the door and marched toward the old, definitely-stolen Jeep in the lot. It wasn’t until he yanked on the locked passenger door that he realized he’d forgotten to get the keys, and he threw his head back and screamed a curse that would have turned Alfred to stone.

There was no way he was going back inside now, so he found himself sitting on the curb, his arms crossed tightly around his knees as he glared at the asphalt.

A few minutes later, he heard the chime over the door, then the crunch and shuffle of boots on pavement followed by the sound of the car doors unlocking. He got in without a word and glowered straight ahead.

Beside him, Todd got in empty-handed and started the car, but they didn’t move right away. The following silence felt like a precursor to something, and Damian was glad he hadn’t yet put his seatbelt on. Adrenaline bubbling up in his chest, he slid his hand over to unlock his door, ready to make a quick exit.

At last, he chanced a glance in the older boy’s direction, expecting to find unbridled fury and perhaps even murderous intent. While Todd did still looked incensed, his unnaturally green eyes burning a hole in the windshield, he also looked oddly wounded and confused. The expression was enough to distract Damian from his escape plan, and he paused with his hand on the plastic nub of the lock.

Jason muttered something, and Damian asked, “What?”

“I said ‘I don’t hate you.’ I mean, I do – I did. But it was never personal.”

“That doesn’t make any–”

“Would you just shut up? I know, okay? I know it doesn’t make sense. Just let me–” Jason exhaled loudly, running his hand over his face as he tipped his head back into the seat.

When he spoke again, it was with his eyes closed and his hand still resting over his mouth. “I’m trying to communicate. Just work with me, all right?”

“Tt.” But Damian fell silent, allowing the older boy to continue.

Jason at last let his hand drop, his eyes slipping open so that he was staring at the stained and scuffed cream-colored ceiling. “When I first met Tim, it was like I’d been punched in the face. I don’t know how much you know about me and my… history, but even when I was Robin, Bruce and I never completely agreed on how we should handle things. We got along most of the time, but we argued a lot. He thought I was too aggressive, I thought he was too soft. He thought I was impulsive and reckless, I thought he had a stick up his ass.”

He paused. “Butt. Don’t tell Alfred I cursed in front of you. Anyways, we were just so different. The poor kid from Crime Alley and the billionaire CEO. It shouldn’t have worked, but when it did, it was great. And when it didn’t…”

Todd paused again, his gaze becoming distant and… pained, Damian thought. Not a sharp, lancing pain, but something dull, like an old bruise.

“Then I died and I came back and there’s this new kid– the new Robin. For some reason, I’d gotten it in my head that Bruce would just retire the role all together after me. As if he cared enough to do something like that.”

He smirked, but there wasn’t an ounce of joy in it; it was a sour twist of his mouth that reminded Damian of poison.

“So, there he was. Robin 3.0. And he was good. Like really good. I was a good Robin, Dick was a good Robin, but Replacement.” Todd shook his head in rueful appreciation. “The kid is a genius. He’s like a mini-Bruce. Even Dick was never like that. Apparently he even figured out the whole secret on his own when he was like fourteen or something?”

“Thirteen,” Damian corrected quietly. He, too, often found himself impressed by Drake’s mental acumen, even if he’d never admit it aloud. Damian was sharp, but he’d had to work for years to get like that; for Drake, it just came naturally. Watching him solve a puzzle was like watching a prodigy at their craft. There were connections that Drake could make that Damian knew he never could, no matter how many years of training he got under his belt.

“What are you getting at?” he asked, perhaps more sharply than he’d meant to.

“I’m saying, that when I first met Tim, I hated him. Like really, genuinely hated him. But it wasn’t him that I was pissed at. It was what he was. He was everything I never was and could never be.”

“Smart?” As soon as Damian said it, he regretted it. He could never figure out why he was like this, always throwing barbs even when he didn’t really want to. It was like a reflex, and he again braced for the equally reflexive response he expected from Todd.

Instead, the older boy barked a laugh. The sound was as genuine as it was sad.

“Yeah, that. But mostly, when I saw him I saw someone who was more like a son to Bruce than I ever was. And a way better Robin. They just fit together. Rich kid to rich kid. Like puzzle pieces. Then I met you. My worst effin’ nightmare.”

Damian bristled. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I hated Tim because he was like Bruce’s actual son. How do you think I felt about you?”

Any quick retort died in the younger boy’s throat. He swallowed and frowned at the glove compartment. “I fail to see how my biological relation to Father has anything to do with you.”

Jason sighed. “It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. But I look at you and Tim and even Dick and all I can think is, ‘I bet Bruce would kill for them.’”

He chuckled wryly. “Jesus, it sounds even more effed up out loud.”

And again, he lapsed into a heavy silence, this one so cold and absolute that Damian hardly dared to breathe.

After some time, when it was beginning to feel as if Jason wouldn’t speak again, Damian cleared his throat and said, “Obviously, I was not there when you had your… incident.”

Jason scoffed, perhaps at Damian’s choice of words, and it rankled him, but Damian continued as if he hadn’t noticed.

“But I have heard stories from that time, and the time shortly after. From what I understand, your death was not insignificant. It nearly killed him.”

Jason seemed to be working hard to maintain his sardonic grin; he was failing. “Is that what they told you?”

“It’s what I’ve gleaned. And after living with Father for several years, I don’t doubt that it’s true.”

“Tell me something,” Jason said, his eyes searching Damian’s thoughtfully. Any trace of humor, false or otherwise, was gone from his expression. “If someone killed you tonight, what would Talia do?”

Damian stiffened but said nothing. He knew the answer and he knew that Todd knew as well. His mother would be enraged by his failure, for certain. She would talk grandly about how Damian was no longer her concern since he’d chosen to be with Father, but the same day she would unleash utter destruction upon everyone responsible. She would lay waste to them and their families and salt the earth at her feet. His killer would know the full wrath of the League of Shadows, and the last thing they would see would be the tip of his mother’s blade.

Damian knew this implicitly, but the knowledge did not inspire any feelings of love in him the way Jason apparently suspected. The younger boy did not feel flattered by this assurance. If anything, it made him sick.

“Father does not grieve in blood,” Damian said at last, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. “He isn’t like us.” Damian didn’t know if us meant himself and the League of Shadows, or him and Jason. Perhaps both.

He’s better, is what he wanted to add, but instead Damian continued, “And vengeance is not always love.”

He thought again of his mother. The same woman who would wage a war on his behalf had also nearly killed him dozens of times herself. The fact that both of these things could be true at once still made his head spin.

Jason gazed out the windshield for a moment before offering a simple, “Hm.” It would have sounded dismissive, but Damian could see the consideration in his eyes.

Outside, the sun was tipping into late afternoon, and shadows were creeping longer and longer across the ground. Damian watched two birds dance together in the air. At first it looked like they were fighting, but then they landed side by side on a powerline, so close their wings were nearly touching.

His finger worried at the plastic lock as he built up his nerve.

“I don’t hate you either,” he offered, and he was grateful that his umber complexion a least somewhat camouflaged any flush that might be creeping into his face. Even staring out his window, he felt Jason’s eyes on him.

“You should.”

“I don’t.” He took a breath. “Where I come from, love is earned. Every day you must prove yourself worthy of it and every day is another opportunity to lose it. The slightest failure could cost you everything.”

He forced himself to continue quickly, outpacing the memories he felt rushing to meet him. “That is the mindset I arrived in Gotham with. My first few years with Father were marked by that conviction. It made sense to me. Dick and Tim are worthy combatants. I understood why Father would offer them his affection. But you… All I knew of you was that you had failed.”

At that, Damian’s head swiveled to look at Jason, realizing too late how his words must have sounded. The older boy was rigid, but he didn’t look angry.

“I didn’t mean–”

“I get it. It’s okay.”

“No,” Damian insisted sternly. “It is not. I was raised to believe that to die in battle was the ultimate failure. But that was wrong. Like much of what I learned back then.”

When Jason didn’t say anything, Damian continued, “I heard stories about how you were when you first returned. How you hurt Father and the others over and over again. I know about Father’s attempts to reach out to you and how you turned your back on him for years.”

Damian could feel the temperature around Jason dropping, as if the older boy was turning to ice at Damian’s side, but he continued, feeling now as if he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. The words flowed out of him, unfiltered and unrelenting.

“Your grievances against him were so numerous and severe, it didn’t make sense to me that he would still love you. And yet he did.

“Meanwhile, I live in constant fear that I will inevitably prove them right. That I’m not worthy of…” Damian’s nail carved into the hard plastic of the car lock as the words hitched and stuck in his throat. He swallowed.

“Who?” Jason asked quietly.

“What?”

“Prove who right?”

My mother. My grandfather.

Everyone.

Me.

“That’s not the point,” Damian answered. “I resented you and your unearned love and and how absolutely oblivious you seemed to be to that blessing. Even now, it is clear to me that you fail to recognize how fortunate you are.”

A few years ago, Damian would not have been able to say this without lacing the words with venom. Now he was able to say them plainly, though something in the center of his chest still ached.

“You know it’s not like that with you, though, right?” Jason confirmed. “That whole earning and losing love thing– Bruce would never make you do that. You’re his son.”

“As are you.” Damian forced himself to look Jason dead in the eye then, and Jason held the gaze for a beat before looking away, his ears once again going red.

“You do not see the way Father looks at you,” he explained. “It is like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.”

Jason was speechless for a second before muttering, “Whatever you say, kid,” as he put his hands on the wheel and backed out of the parking spot. When they hit the road, the older boy switched on the radio, and Damian was grateful for the blanket of sound to quell any further discussion.

He sunk into the seat then, oddly exhausted, and turned around in time to watch as the two birds on the wire took off towards the clouds.

*********

“Just admit it. You killed him, didn’t you?” Tim asked, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair. “You finished the job.”

Damian’s eyes flicked up from his book to glare at the boy across the kitchen table. This particular joke had been going on for over two weeks, and while Tim’s attempts at humor were never amusing, this one was particularly grating since it also managed to twist Damian’s guts into guilty knots.

No one had seen or heard from Jason since he had returned Damian to the manor after their disastrous pharmacy outing, and now all the younger boy could think about was everything he had done wrong. He never should have been so transparent; he never should have been so cruel. In retrospect, he could concede at least that much.

Damian typically preferred to apologize with his actions rather than explicit words, and he’d thought that he had managed to convey that while he and Jason were in the car together, but perhaps the older boy had not seen it that way. Perhaps he’d been waiting for a formal apology, and now that so much time had elapse, they had finally fallen below even the status of colleagues – not quite enemies, but certainly no longer allies.

Damian straightened in his seat, setting his shoulders. If that was the case, then so be it. He was the last person who would ever weep over a burned bridge. The loss would be inconvenient – Todd had proven himself a useful aid in the field at times – but it was not as if they had ever been particularly close or worked together often. If Todd wanted to move on, then Damian would do the same.

He returned his attention to his book, but after a few seconds of rereading the same sentence over and over, he slapped it on the table with a frustrated sigh and took a sip of his lukewarm tea.

There was distant knock at the front door followed by some muffled conversation between Alfred and whoever the other person was. A moment later, Damian shouted as a plastic bag rocketed into the side of his head and fell to the floor. He whirled toward the source, but all of his rage evaporated into blank shock when he saw Todd leaning in the doorway, a fading bruise on his cheek and a butterfly bandage over his eye.

“You like those, right?” he asked.

Damian blinked down at the bag on the floor. Reese’s cups.

He nodded.

“Good. You and I are patrolling together tonight, got it?” Jason’s tone was decisive, leaving little room for disagreement. Two weeks ago Damian would have bristled at it, but for once, he felt he was reading the older boy correctly, and for all Jason’s gruffness, Damian was certain that this was not an order, but a request.

He nodded again, and Todd’s mouth twitched at the side.

“Wait, you disappear for two weeks and come back with free candy?” Tim exclaimed. “Where’s mine?”

“Get your own, Replacement,” Jason shot back, disappearing back through the door and shouting, “Bruce! C’mon, I wanna kick your ass in pool. Sorry, Alfred…”

Damian ignored Tim’s dumbfounded stare as he bent to pick the candy up off the tile. His chest suddenly felt warm and buoyant, and he lingered out of sight below the table for a second longer than necessary as his lips curled into a tiny smile.

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