#like i know that gotham can house more than one British man at a time but still

[luxaofhesperides]

those who serve.

Running away from Amity Park—from his entire dimension—Danny takes refuge in the streets of Gotham. It's hard, suddenly being a homeless teenager in such a crime-ridden city, but it's better than dying a second time.

Enter Alfred Pennyworth, a kind old man who works as a butler who, for some reason, has decided to befriend Danny.

His future is still up in the air, but he's hopeful that things will work out. After all, Alfred isn't getting any younger and someone needs to help him with his butler duties. Danny's just the right person for the job.

Or: Alfred Pennyworth sees a homeless teen who looks like he'd fit right into the Wayne family and decides to take matters into his own hands. It's not like he's just going to leave this very sad, possibly meta teenager alone when there's more than enough space in the Manor to house one more child in need.

read chapter one on ao3 or below the cut.

Technically, Danny doesn’t exist. 

He has no papers, no records, no family in this dimension. It’s a blank slate, a fresh start where he can be anything he wants. That doesn’t change what he is, however, and Danny is just another lonely child living on the streets. 

In Gotham, he’s not a hero or a threat; he’s just another nameless face passing by, another teenager with no support system and no future. Just a figure clinging to the alley walls, head bowed and hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. It’s not great, far from it, but it’s better than the alternative where he—

—parading around in the corpse of our son! How dare you! Wearing his face won’t save you from what we’ll do to you! Leave Danny’s body so we can bury him, leave him! I’ll tear you ap—

This is better, is the point. Out of the frying pan and into the crime ridden streets of Gotham. Not quite a fire but close enough.

No one is hunting him down in this dimension, at least. He’s ignored and left to his own devices, wandering the streets only when the sun’s gone down and slipping into grocery stores after hours, invisible, to get a few things to eat. It sucks that he’s resorted to stealing to survive, but at least he’s surviving. 

Survival is the entire reason he ran from his own dimension, after all.

He’s been here for two and a half weeks now, getting acquainted with the streets. Every day is spent hiding and trying to endure the crushing loneliness and grief of losing his entire life. He’s still half alive, yes, but the life he lived has gone up in flames, torn to pieces under his parents’ attacks. He can’t even blame them for it; under the circumstances, with the limited understanding they had, it’s only natural that they would try to kill him after discovering that Danny Fenton, their son, died two years ago.

Understanding doesn’t stop the sting of betrayal, doesn’t soothe the ache of being chased away from his family, but it’s something. 

It’s all he has, these days.

There’s no one to hide from, no one who knows him at all, so Danny wanders, more ghost-like than he’s ever been before. People give him a wide berth at night, never making eye contact and walking by faster. 

Save for one, of course. One person, at dawn, who always seems to find him no matter where Danny’s wandered that night. 

He introduced himself as Alfred Pennyworth. The British accent caught Danny off guard enough that he stopped and turned to face the man, who stood a few feet away, umbrella held over his head. 

“Are you quite all right, my boy?” he had asked. “I have a spare umbrella if you would like to keep from getting any more soaked.”

It took a few tries for Danny to find his voice after a week of not speaking a word. “No,” he rasped, barely audible over the rain, “I’m fine.”

He walked away without another word, thinking that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Alfred returned dawn after dawn, never staying longer than ten minutes, trying to make small talk with Danny. 

Danny, for his part, had no idea why this random British man had decided to make friends with a homeless teenager, but figured that he was just a lonely old man with no family left. That, Danny could understand. So he’d stay for a bit, listening to him talk and occasionally replying, then say his goodbyes when more people began to emerge onto the street. 

Two and a half weeks in, Alfred finally asks Danny for his name.

“Why?” Danny asks, shifting where he stands. He doesn’t exist here, but it doesn’t stop his instinctual need to run from anyone who goes looking into him. The GIW don’t exist here, no one is hunting him down. There’s no information about him in this dimension that can be used against him. It’s hard to remember that, not after he’s spent the last few years trying to keep ghost hunters from finding him. 

“I feel it’s rather rude of me to speak to someone I have never properly greeted,” Alfred says. He always speaks so calmly, as if there’s nothing in the world that can shake his composure.

I don’t exist here, Danny reminds himself, I’m safe. 

“Danny.”

“Danny,” Alfred repeats. “A fine name.”

“Thanks? It was my first birthday present.”

The stupid comment makes Alfred smile, just a little, so Danny calls it a win instead of beating himself up over having zero control over what his mouth says. 

There’s more movement along the streets now, Gotham beginning to wake up with storeowners getting ready for the day and morning shift employees heading out to let the night shift go. It’s just about time for them to part ways until the next morning, and Danny’s resigning himself to another day of loneliness. 

His short conversations with Alfred are really all he looks forward to. It’s nice to hear about the man’s time in England, his work as a butler, his opinions on American cuisine and the like. He never presses for a response and he doesn’t try to dig for more information about Danny. Just talks to him, then says his goodbyes. 

“I’ll let you go back to your day,” Danny says, pushing off of the wall he’s been leaning against. “See you around.”

Alfred nods once. “Very well. I do hope you get some rest today, Danny. You always look very tired when we talk. I hope I haven’t been keeping you from sleeping.”

“Oh, not at all. I just have insomnia. Better to have some company than just lay around wondering why I can’t sleep, you know?”

“Indeed. I shall be off then.”

“Yeah, alright,” Danny says. “I’ll see you tomorrow once you somehow track me down again. Are you sure you don’t have magic?”

Alfred shakes his head with a small smile. “I am quite positive I do not have magic. Perhaps we simply have similar ideas about where the best places to walk are.”

“Sure,” Danny says, drawing out the word. “Whatever you say.”

Truth be told, the first few days, he was scared that Alfred was somehow tracking him down. For what, Danny didn’t know. Maybe he wanted to harvest Danny’s organs? Sell him to an evil scientist to be experimented on? Induct him into a mob?

Alfred didn’t do any of that. He just showed up, talked for a few minutes, then went on his way. He never followed Danny, never asked strange questions, never did anything besides chat about his life and his work as a butler. 

It honestly was fun to listen to. It’s clear how much Alfred cares for his employers. Before meeting him, Danny had never really thought of butlers beyond being an outdated job for people too rich to do their own chores. Now it’s interesting, learning all the things a butler has to do and why Alfred chooses to do them. 

He still doesn’t have a favorable opinion on billionaires. Too many bad experiences for him to view them is any unbiased light (thanks for that, Vlad, but eat the rich either way); still, it’s nice to know that this family looks out for Alfred. They give him a place to live, a family to live with, a reason to stay. 

It would be nice if Danny could have those too, in any way that he could. He’s at the end of his rope, struggling to stay and not surrender himself into the Zone and be done with the living realm entirely.

Even his Obsession isn’t enough to sustain him. There’s no one to protect here; honest to god vigilantes patrol the streets of Gotham to keep it safe. Danny isn’t needed here. 

There’s no place for him at all.

Already, his mood is plummeting and all he’s done is take a few steps away from Alfred. It doesn’t bode well for his future, whether that’s what’s to come in the next few hours or the next year.

Sighing, Danny ducks his head back down and begins his search for someplace to bunker down for the day. There are quite a few empty buildings around, newly constructed but not yet in use. He doubts there’s any security installed yet, so he should be safe to settle in and catch some sleep before the sun goes down. 

Just as he turns the corner, he hears someone running. They’re behind him and he tenses, ready to disappear so they can’t get him. 

It’s not Danny they go to. It’s Alfred.

“Hand over your wallet if you want to get out of here alive, old man!”

Shit, Danny thinks, spinning on his heel to get back to Alfred. He rounds the corner to see a mugger jabbing a gun at Alfred’s temple. He looks angry, nearly shaking, and there’s a strange shine in his eyes.

Drugs? No, not important. What’s important is that Alfred is standing still, as calm as ever, with his hands lifted in the air. 

“Hey!” Danny yells, sprinting towards them, “Back the fuck up before I rip your tongue out!”

Fear and anger push him on, his Obsession whispering protect protect protect in his ear and he closes the distance between them.

The mugger barely has time to move the gun away from Alfred’s head, and no time at all to point it at Danny, before Danny tackles him, slamming him onto the ground. He rips the gun out of the mugger’s hand and tosses it carelessly to the side. 

“Don’t touch him,” he hisses. Faintly, he’s aware that his features are shifting, becoming a little less human. The snarl building in his chest has his teeth sharpening, bared in warning. 

The mugger trembles beneath him, thrashing weakly. “Alright, alright! Just lemme go! Let go!”

He doesn’t want to. Danny wants to hurt him for daring to go after Alfred, the one good light in the dark, the only person Danny cares about in this dimension. He wants to make this man regret his choices, make him terrified for the rest of his life, break every bone in his hand so he can’t ever pick up a gun again. 

A hand drops onto his shoulder. 

“That’s enough, Danny,” Alfred says. His voice is stern and Danny can’t help but listen, effortlessly pulled out of his adrenaline fueled rage. His humanity returns to him. “There we are. Come now, my boy, stand up.”

He stands. The mugger scrambles to his feet and runs away. 

With the danger gone, Danny can think clearly again. He takes a few deep breaths and locks his ghost-half away as tightly as possible, keeping the cold in his chest buried deep. It was good for scaring away a mugger, but he doesn’t want Alfred to think he’s a monster. 

He can handle a lot, but not that. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking over Alfred for any injuries. There’s no telling that was done to him before Danny got the mugger away from him. It may have only been a moment, but Danny knows very well how quickly a moment can change a life (or take it away).

“Quite. In fact, I am sure you are in worse shape than I am, at the moment.” Alfred gestures downwards and Danny follows his gaze to his knees, where his already worn jeans have new holes in them. His knees are skinned from how hard he slammed into the ground, a dull ache he hadn’t noticed until it was pointed out to him. 

“It’s fine,” he says, “I can barely feel it.” 

Alfred gives him a hard look, as though he thinks Danny is lying; he’s not, the pain is barely there. He’s had a lot worse in the past. He can handle skinned knees easily. 

“Well,” Alfred says, “Thank you for coming back to help me. If there’s anything I can do to pay you back—”

“No. I don’t… I didn’t do it for payment. I don’t need anything.”

“I would like to—”

“No,” Danny interrupts again. “No payment. I just did what was right. Don’t make this a big deal, please.”

Alfred sighs. “Very well,” he concedes, looking more tired and worn than Danny’s ever seen him. “I shall not keep you any longer. Until tomorrow, Danny.”

He looks as though he expects Danny to take the out, to leave immediately. Danny shifts, not meeting his eyes as he doesn’t move. 

“I’ll walk with you,” he mumbles. “So no one tries to hurt you again.”

Danny’s worried that Alfred will insist on going alone, that he’ll have to go invisible and follow along when he isn’t wanted, but Alfred is kinder than that. Alfred doesn’t refuse or insist he go on his own. No, he smiles and thanks Danny for his consideration before taking off, making sure that Danny walks besides him rather than behind him.

They don’t talk much. Alfred seems to know that Danny isn’t much for words at the moment, sticking to his side and constantly surveying their surroundings for any danger. He walks confidently through the streets as though he wasn’t just held at gunpoint, carrying on with his morning with the same stubborn spirit that keeps most Gothamites from giving up on their city. 

Alfred visits a small bakery first. They’re not yet open, but the owner props open the door when they arrive, waving them in.

“Alfred!” she greets cheerfully, “And I see you have someone new with you.”

She looks expectantly at Danny, who shifts uncomfortably under the attention. He can’t get his voice to work, can’t figure out how to get the right words out.

“Ah, yes,” Alfred says, smoothly drawing her attention off of Danny. “This is Danny. We often talk in the morning and he has decided to accompany me today.”

“I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Yurica. Alfred and I enjoy some tea together in the mornings before starting with our days. Why don’t you join us?”

“I don’t… mean to intrude,” Danny manages to say before Yurica waves off his hesitant refusal.

“Nonsense! Any friend of Alfred is a friend of mine. Come, come, let’s get the two of you seated. You’ll get the first picks of the day, once I get the last batches out of the ovens.”

She leads them into the bakery, past the kitchen and upstairs into a small sitting room. Danny follows them, unable to leave without seeming rude. He joins Alfred on the couch, awkwardly perched on the edge as Yurica bustles around, disappearing down the hall. 

Distantly, he hears the sound of running water and a stove top being turned on. The clinking of cups follows, along with the opening and closing of cupboards. It almost sounds like home, when Jazz was setting herself up for a long study session to make sure she’s prepared for college. 

Without noticing, Danny relaxes back into the couch. He keeps his eyes closed, just listening to the movement around the building; it’s soothing white noise that chases away the constant ache of loneliness he’s been carrying these past few weeks. 

“Quite the relaxing home, isn’t it?” Alfred asks. 

“You come here every day?”

“Not every day, but a few times a week. We’re old friends and are often up before anyone else. It’s nice to catch up for just a few minutes, especially at our age.”

He wonders if this is what it feels like, spending time with grandparents. He never met his own, could never relate to the kids who were always excited to spend time with their grandparents over the holidays, eager to be part of a bigger family. It was fine, before, when it was just him, Jazz, and their parents. 

It was fine. 

It didn’t last.

Yurica returns a few minutes later, carrying a tray full of cups and a teapot made to look like a fat cat. The sight of it makes him smile, almost distracting him from noticing the way Yurica and Alfred share a Look. 

“Here we are,” she says, setting the tray down on the table. She lays out the cups before Danny can offer to help, pouring out fragrant tea with a steady hand. “Cream? Sugar?”

Alfred adds cream to his own cup while Danny shakes his head, quietly thanking her for the tea. 

He cradles his cup in his hands, savoring the gentle warmth while Alfred and Yurica chat. He tunes them out, letting their voices fade into background noise. 

This is the most relaxed he’s felt in months. It’s sad to think about, so he tries not to, but it lingers in the back of his mind. 

Time passes without him noticing. Danny sips his tea until his cup is empty, then sets it down on the tray. That seems to be a cue that Alfred was waiting for, long done with his own cup, and he stands, thanking Yurica for her hospitality. 

She waves it off with a smile before Danny can echo the sentiments, then ushers them downstairs, where trays of freshly baked pastries fill cover the counters of the bakery’s kitchen. 

“Here, take your pick!”

Danny’s about to refuse when she shoves a paper bag into his hands. “Go on,” she says, “Take what you like. I always offer to friends and I find refusal to be rude.”

Now that she’s said that, Danny can’t keep refusing or he’ll feel awful. Alfred is already picking out a few pastries himself, so Danny trails after him, taking three pastries that look good. It’ll be enough to tide him over for the next two days, so he won’t have to steal any food. 

“Thank you again, Yurica,” Alfred says, “It’s always a pleasure to chat with you.”

“Oh, you’re always such a sweet talker,” Yurica laughs. “I’ll see you again soon, Alfred. And you, Danny, are welcome here whenever. Even without Alfred. My doors are open to you.”

Yurica is kind. She sees him in all his scraggly, worn down glory, clearly homeless and with nothing to offer her, and she doesn’t turn him away. Instead she welcomes him in solely because he’s here with Alfred. 

It’s enough to have him blinking back tears, ducking his head so they don’t see how much this affects him. 

“Thank you,” he manages, then hurries to follow Alfred out the bakery. 

Yurica waves at them from the door as they make their way down the street, then goes back in to continue preparing for the day. 

Alfred walks around some more; he informs Danny that he has no errands to run at the moment and no one else to visit. Danny follows, keeping an eye out for anyone who might think Alfred is an easy target. He barely pays attention to where they go until they enter an underground parking garage. 

The weak lights and stillness of the garage, along with the fact that it’s almost entirely empty, makes a fissure of unease race down his spine. This would be the perfect place for Danny to be knocked out and taken away; no witnesses, no help. 

But Alfred wouldn’t do that. Danny wants to believe that Alfred wouldn’t do that. 

He stops when Alfred pulls out a set of keys from his pocket. A black car in the back corner of the parking garage unlocks with a quick flash of the headlights. That is… an expensive looking car. It’s not an obvious luxury brand or anything, but it’s high quality and clearly made for people with money. 

Guess being a butler pays well, Danny thinks. 

Alfred opens the door, but doesn’t get into the car. Instead, he looks to Danny.

“Will you be alright, Danny? If you’d like, I have a first aid kit in the car that we can use to tend to your knees.”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks, though,” Danny says, trying to keep from tensing up too obviously. 

“And you have a place to stay?”

“Sure do,” he lies. 

“If you ever need help, you are welcome at Wayne Manor.”

Danny nods, intending to never go to the manor. He’s not going to risk another rich person trying to either 1) kill him or 2) make him their son. No way. Not in this dimension. 

Alfred looks him over, then nods. He gets into the car, offering Danny a quick goodbye. Danny lifts a hand in return, then leaves the parking garage, holding his bag of pastries close to his chest. More people are starting to fill the streets, starting the day, and Danny still hasn’t found a place to hide until night. 

He’s kept Alfred safe during his dawn walk. He’s safely delivered Alfred to his car so he can drive to wherever he needs to go.

There’s no point in him sticking around any longer. 

Hood up, Danny hurries down the streets, ducking into alleys to avoid being seen by people. It takes half an hour to reach the empty buildings he was considering before, and then just a minute to go invisible and fly up to the roof. The door going inside is locked, but a little intangibility goes a long way. 

Danny makes himself comfortable in one of the many empty rooms, back to the wall, and pulls out one of the pastries. It’s not as warm as before, but it’s still soft and flakey. The glaze on it sweetens the bread and it’s the best thing Danny’s had since he first arrived in this dimension.

This can’t go on, he realizes. 

All this squatting and stealing. It’s just not sustainable. He’s been acting as if he’s died again, left to haunt the streets of a city he doesn’t belong in. He’s spent all his time either sleeping or wandering, wallowing in his own misery.

No more. This is a second chance. 

There’s no ghost hunters. No GIW. No need to be a hero when so many already exist, willingly taking on that burden. Here, Danny doesn’t exist, which means he can be anyone he wants to be. 

And in order to live this new life, he’ll need a job. He’ll worry about school once he’s able to save up some money and find a place to live. 

Step one to getting his shit together: find a job that will take on a homeless teenager who doesn’t legally exist.

He’s already got one in mind; Alfred does keep offering to help in any way he can, and he’s made working as a butler sound fulfilling. 

Serving isn’t quite protecting, but it’ll be close enough that he can satisfy his Obsession. 

The pieces are falling into place. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes this plan. 

He’ll ask Alfred about it when they next meet. Everything else can wait until then.

(“Are you sure you’re okay, Alfred?”

“Quite,” Alfred says, smoothly stepping away from Bruce’s fussing. “Danny scared the mugger away before he could do anything.”

“I’m glad he was there. Are you sure I can’t go meet him? Thank him in person?”

“You’ll only scare him away, I’m afraid.”

Bruce sighs, reaching for his cup of coffee. “What about as Batman?”

“That will only be worse, I’m sure. Not everything can be solved by putting on a mask, Master Bruce.”

Tim enters the kitchen, drops a tablet on the table in front of Bruce, then collapses into his seat with a groan. “I can’t find anything on him. Are we sure he’s real?”

“I assure you he is very real, Master Tim.”

Tim lifts his head to give Alfred a bleary, assessing stare. “I know we always rag on B about his adoption problem, but he got it from you. You’re not going to stop until you get this Danny guy into the Manor, right?”

“It’s either that or setting up a home for him in Gotham.”

“Bring him here,” Tim says with a yawn, putting his head back on the table, “Now I’m curious about him, too.”

“I shall do my best, Master Tim. I shall do my best.”)

[dehydrated-turtle]

//warnings// 16+, nsfw, mdni

//contents// Jason Todd x Reader, transmasc reader, robin!jason, underage?? (its not where i am), vaginal sex

//synopsis// First time invited over for dinner and a movie at Wayne Manor by your boyfriend, Jason Todd. - wc: 3.2k

//on ao3//

Being sophomores in highschool, you find it a wee bit odd that you’ve never seen the inside of your boyfriend, Jason’s house. You’d think by now he would’ve invited you over for a sleepover or maybe just dinner. You think maybe he’s just scared of what you’d think of him afterwards because he does live in Wayne Manor. But you know this and don’t look at him any different so what’s he hiding? 

One fateful day however, he actually asks you over for dinner and a movie, he says he has a private theatre at the manor so no need to get dressed up all fancy. He offered to actually have you sleep over and the whole deal, he was super ecstatic about it, almost giddy. What changed? 

Now you’re packing an overnight bag with Jason waiting on your bed, on his phone. He says that Alfred is going to pick you both up and take you to the manor, whoever that is. He seems so chipper about all of this, practically jumping off your bed once you declare you’re done. He rushes you down to and out of your front door by pulling your arm, down the steps and into the ridiculous limousine–apparently–waiting for you and Jay. 

“Hey, Alfie! How ya been??” 

“Very well, sir. Not any different since I last saw you merely 3 hours ago.” The old british man said before putting the car into gear. 

“I am so happy Bruce gave me the OK to actually bring you over!! Also one more thing but I’d rather show you than tell you.” He remarks while smiling ear to ear. 

“What’s got you all excited?” 

“You’ll see.” 

It doesn't take long before you’re pulling into a long and winding driveway which you can only assume is for Wayne Manor. It gets very suddenly eerie like you just entered an actual Tim Burton film. The trees scattered along the property look quite old and twisted. Although it looks cold, somehow it seems welcoming. You see the warm lights coming from inside the manor as you pull up to the front steps and get ever so nervous as you realize that you’re ‘meeting the parents’ for the first time. But like he read your mind, Jason put his hand on your thigh and rubbed little circles with his thumb to calm you down. You looked up at him and his reassuring eyes met yours with a tender smile. 

“Trust me, he’ll love you.” 

You do trust him, with your whole heart, so you take a deep breath and just smile back and nod. 

The car comes to a smooth halt–Alfred’s a good driver c’mon–and you start to gather your things back up to get out. You were about to reach for the door handle when you saw Alfred at the window, pulling open for you. You step out of the vehicle with your overnight bag in hand, looking up at the enormous castle-like building that towers over any of the hundred year old trees around it. Jason came around to your side and grabbed your free hand and squeezed it three times before leading you up the steps and through the intimidating wooden doors. 

On the other side of the oak, stood a tall and handsome man that anyone in Gotham could recognize in an instant as Bruce Wayne. For a billionaire, he sure looked quite humble and sweet with a charmingly warm smile as he offered his hand out to shake. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” he remarks as he shakes your hand gently but with intention and a firm grip nonetheless. 

“Uh.. ditto.” You mutter out, starstruck and at a complete loss for words. 

“I’ll get Alfred to take your bag up for you.” he smiles, yet again. 

“Oh no, it’s fine I can take it, really it’s no problem.” 

“Ok well you and Jason go get ready for dinner, shouldn’t be long.” 

Jay took your hand again and dragged you through the long and seemingly unending hallways that were shining with gold detailing and picture frames of family. It was all so beautiful, you had no clue why you hadn’t been invited before. You come to a halt at a door which you assume is Jason’s room as he opens it revealing a very tidy bedroom. Everything was put away and clean but it was clear that it was his room due to the posters on the wall, stacked bookshelf with all of his favourite books, bedsheets that didn’t match the decor like the rest of the guest rooms they past, and of course Jason’s schoolwork spread out on his desk. You drop your bag on the floor next to his bed while he rushed by you to flop on top of it with a heaving sigh. You laugh at him before he pats the bed, beckoning you to join him. You jump up with him and snuggle into his chest while just resting above the covers. 

“So, why did it take so long to get me here?” 

“Oh, B was scared that you’d find out about his ‘demons in the basement’” 

“Isn’t it ‘skeletons in the closet’? And what changed?” 

“No, B quite literally has demons in the basement. Well, maybe more like bats. And, he finally gave me the ok to show you them.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” you remark with a chuckle, looking up at him now. 

“Maybe we should wait until after dinner, I hear Alfie coming.” 

Just on queue, “Good ear, sir. Dinner is being served in the main dining hall, gentlemen.” 

You both rush behind Alfred, almost stepping on his heels, eager for dinner made by the man, the myth, the legend himself. Jason has always bragged to you about Alfie’s cooking and baking skills, now you get to see them for yourself. He opens the doors to the dining room and you spot Bruce sitting, ready to eat already. 

“Sit across the table from me ok?” Jason said as he saw how you were scanning the room. 

“Ok.” the room itself was beautiful, the same gold trim as the rest of the house but the seats had a deep blue velvet finish to them that perfectly matched the tablecloth with more of the gold accents. The warm light coming from the chandelier and the candles set along the tremendously long table along with Bruce’s signature smile were all so welcoming. You pulled out the chair to the left of Bruce who sat at the head of the table while Jason took his seat to his right, across from you. Almost immediately after you were seated, a couple of people wearing uniforms came out of what had to be the kitchen with dishes with silver lids on top of them. They had placed one in front of each of you then proceeded to lift the lid. A puff of steam came out of each of them, followed by an intoxicating smell, a cocktail of spices and fantastical scents. What appeared from under the steam was a perfectly cooked steak with a side of green beans and butternut squash. 

“Anything else, Master Bruce?” 

“Uh, maybe some soda for the tykes?” 

“No problem, sir.” 

Dinner goes by quickly, with the amazingly cooked food and the smooth and easy chatter it was tremendously more enjoyable than it was nerve racking. Your nerves were also settled by the soft eyes of your boyfriend reassuring you from across the table and the touching of your shoes together underneath it. As soon as you took your last bites, Bruce threw his napkin onto the table. 

“Alright, I promised Jaylad that I’d show you something real special.” You just looked at him confused then over to Jason who was almost jumping for joy. “C’mon, follow me to the batcave.” 

“Batcave?” you asked but no one responded as you followed Bruce across the manor to an unsuspicious looking grandfather clock. Bruce opened the glass window and turned the hands to 10:48 which made a small click within it. He then pulled it out of the wall, it acted as a door which led to a dark and cold stone staircase. You held Jason’s hand as he practically dragged you down the narrow and steep steps. You quickly came to a very, very, very large cave with so much stuff it was hard to take in all at once. One of the first things that actually processed through your brain was the costumes on the wall, Batman and Robin. “What is this?” you say, utterly confused. 

“The batcave.” Bruce replies. “I’m Batman, Jason here is Robin. I thought it was finally time that you should know, Jason goes on about your forever, only thought it right. Plus he begged me for an hour.” 

You went straight back to your starstruck state as you looked around the cave, trying so hard not to touch anything. All this was very hard to take in but the excitement trumped the worry while you and Jason just blabbed on about things that started to make sense. Bruce had left to do god knows what but really just to leave you two alone. 

“Wanna go get ready to watch a movie?” he asked once the tour of the cave was over. 

“Sure!” 

Jason took your hand again and led you back out of the cave. He really loves to hold your hand, just to know you’re there, following him, making sure you’re safe. The two of you travel to the other side of the manor, swinging your hands between you as you walk. He squeezed your hand three times and looked into your eyes with just pure happiness, his secret is out. One that he didn’t want to keep. He’s ecstatic. 

You get back to Jason’s room, you both change into some comfies, you in one of Jason’s stolen hoodies and some pj shorts, and Jason in an ironic batman tee shirt given what just happened and pj pants. After a quick pit stop in the kitchen for snacks you head to the theatre which is near the back of the manor. 

You go straight to the front of the theatre, the best spots in the house with your arms full of snacks. You sit down beside Jason and lay out all the snacks on your laps. The two of you collected popcorn, swedish berries, fuzzy peaches, doritos (original and sweet chilli heat), root beer, coke, and some maltesers, a nice big box of them along with two blankets. 

“Alright, what movie do you wanna watch? We have literally everything, not kidding.” 

“Ooh, how about Back to the Future?” 

“YES!! Alright I’ll put it on.” 

He grabs the remote on the armrest next to him and turns on the projector at the back of the room. He turns on the movie and while the opening credits start to play, you pull your blanket over you and open your drink. 

The movie continues to play, you both laugh and yell at Marty for doing dumb shit. A while into the film, Jason reaches for your hand on the arm rest between you and takes it up to his face and kisses the back of your palm. You look over at him in wonder but he just gives you a radiating smile. He then leans in for a proper kiss which you reciprocate passionately. He places his hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer. After the kiss breaks, he places a soft but obviously needy kiss on your jawline and more along your neck, leaving a trail of slight hickies behind. A moan escapes your lips, small and wispy but he still heard it and felt it from the vibrations of your neck against his lips. His hand starts to wander down your body, resting on your thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb which makes you unbearably wet very suddenly. 

“Jay…” You whisper against his hair, so low that only he could hear it even if there were people in the theatre. Just then Jason snaps his head up abruptly. 

“Is this going somewhere?” He asks, like he was genuinely curious.

“Um, I hope so?” 

“Perfect. Then we’d better get out of here, not so sure Bruce is keen on having our bodily fluids in the theatre, he does come here often. C’mon, let's clean up and take this to my room.” 

So you do just that, pack up all the snacks and blankets and quite literally run back to Jason’s room. Laughter filling the halls the whole way across the manor. What must Bruce think of these hooligans? 

You rush into his room and look around cluelessly for a place to put the ridiculous amount of shit you have carefully balanced in your arms. 

“Just drop it on my desk.” Jason pants out while shutting the door with his foot as his hands are also full. “There’s nothing important there anyway.” 

He comes up beside you and drops his armful down beside yours before looking up into your eyes with the kindest smile you’ve ever seen a human bear. He leans in hesitantly with his eyes half lidded, looking at your lips before connecting them to his in a soft kiss. He let a gentle moan leave his lips, almost a whimper and barely audible but just enough for your boxers to be soiled. You both make your way to the bed, shuffling and trying not to break the kiss as you do so. 

It all started to happen so fast, dropping pants, pulling off shirts, getting onto the bed, kissing, kissing, and more kissing. Jason offered to take your binder off if you were comfortable with it, you said yes as you aren’t uncomfortable with what you have and don’t really mind your boobs, they just get in the way. So, he pulls off your binder and throws it on the floor and just ogles at your naked figure for a short second, making you blush. He starts to trail kisses from your collar bone, down your sternum, all the way to your pelvic bone where he places a singular kiss while looking up at you with those puppy dog midnight blue eyes, shining against the silver light of the moon coming in from the window. He places another small peck on the crook of your thigh while his fingers wander gently along the skin of your other thigh, teasing you. 

“You know… I’ve never done this before.” He remarks, hesitantly. 

“This being…?” 

“Sex.” 

“So I’m your first?” 

“Yup.” 

“Honestly, that’s kinda hOT-” you yell out as Jason takes your clit into his mouth and starts to swirl his tongue, not at an insane pace but just enough to be surprising. He snakes his arms under your legs to get a hold of your waist, keeping you in place while he works your cunt. Your moans get louder as he starts to go faster. 

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” 

“I’ve watched a lot of porn.” he replies, out of breath but nevertheless goes straight back into it as soon as he finishes his sentence, before you could even laugh at him. He thrusts his tongue into your hole and curls it up repeatedly making your back arch and throw your head against the thousand pillows holding you up. You look down at him to see his eyes are on you, loving and gentle, a beautiful juxtaposition to his ravenous actions. You run your fingers through his raven hair which used to be perfectly placed, now dishevelled. Honestly, you think it looks better like this. 

You feel one of his hands remove itself from its place on your hip, you feel it prod at your folds, teasingly before being pushed in further. He makes sure to go very slowly, drawing it out as long as he can before pumping them ever so gently, curling them up into the sweet spot. He moans against your clit making you whimper at the sensation of the vibrations that are sent through your body, tingling down to your fingertips but resonate in the pit of your stomach, you can feel it bubbling and boiling over. 

“Jay… I-I’m gonna cu-um, fuck…” You mutter out and the hand in his hair starts to push him down further. 

Hearing your words, his tongue flicks on your clit harder and faster, same for the fingers buried deep in your cunt, almost reaching your cervix. His free hand massages your hip and upper thigh in an effort to sooth you while you start to shake and your muscles tense. He can feel you clenching around his fingers as you moan his name along with a river of profanities, cumming for him. 

“Such a good boy for me.” he says, kissing your inner thigh before resting his head on it and looks up at you lovingly with a soft smile while you pant, coming down from your high and sweat drips from your forehead making your hair stick to it. 

After a while of just sweet nothings, Jason slithered his way up to face you and whisper even more sweet nothings in your ear that just made you wetter. You could feel his tip leaving a trail of wet along your thigh as it drags against the skin. 

“Jay… I need you. Please?” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He sits up between your legs, pumping his length a couple of times before lining up to your lips and pushing in slowly but surely. He makes sure that you are comfortable, making sure you can take it. His dick was very much on the large side for what you would think a teenage boy would have, and yet he stretches you out so good. His fingers trace along your skin so gently as he starts to pump, hitting your cervix with every thrust. You moan out his name, begging for more. Your legs wrap around his waist, forcing him to go deeper, if that’s even possible. 

The sounds of skin and heavy moans coat the walls of the room, making the air heavy and damp but electric. The smell of sex and sweat filled both of your noses and swirled in your head making you drunk on it. It was all so exciting and beautifully messy. Beautifully human. Jason buries his face into the crook of your neck, whimpering against the flesh making it hot with his breath. You could feel his dick twitch inside you as you run your fingers through his hair and play with it carelessly but gentle. He leaves bruising kisses where he rests his head. His hips stutter ever so slightly before he whispers into your flesh that he’s going to cum. 

“Please don’t pull out… I’m on birth control, it’ll be fine.” 

All he said in response was a whimper and a final thrust of his hips, pouring his white rivers into your canal. Pouring his heart out into you. He collapses on top of you with a huff and a gentle laugh. He squeezes your body so tightly that you fear you can’t breathe but nonetheless you laugh with him, kissing the top of his head. 

“Hm, I think I love you…” he whispers.

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 4 (6-16): Reverse batfamily | Hugs | Soulmate

Warnings: Canon typical violence, major injuries, background character death, ✨angst✨

Note: this one ran away from me. It got a mind of its own. If I had more time, this would be so much longer. I've always wanted to write a reverse batfam story with Damian's perspective. Please enjoy.

---

Damian has only spent a month living with his blood father, and he's felt nothing but miserable this entire time. Somehow, life has managed to become even more stressful and exhausting compared to living within the League of Assassins. He... understands why his mother felt he'd be safer here for the time being, but at least, back in Nanda Parbat he knew what he was doing and what the rules were.

He's not sure where he stands with his father. It's obvious that his father doesn't know where he stands with Damian either. Damian, his entire life, had grown up with the knowledge of Bruce Wayne being his father. Batman. Caped Crusader of Gotham. Hero. Bringer of Justice. His mother's dearest, most precious love after Damian himself. She spoke often of him. Highly. Only when alone and no one else to hear them. His father isn't exactly on high standings with his grandfather nor other high ranking members of the League.

Yet, his father knew nothing of him until the day they met. His mother brought him to the streets of Gotham, lured Batman to their location, and introduced them there. His father seemed visibly shocked under that cowl at the information of having a son, yet he didn't question it.

Damian didn't know what to expect after his mother left him for his own safety. He didn't know all too much about culture outside of the League. He was, of course, taught the basics to blend in with American society—as well as other countries—if the need so came, but other than that... He didn't know what to do with himself when he first stepped in the manor to find only one servant and a new home empty of anything to fill his time. The cave where his father operates was locked to him from the get-go.

His father doesn't seem to trust him. He explained the situation to the servant, and then sent Damian off with the servant to find a room with the warning that if Damian "did anything", he'd regret it.

Damian's hardly seen his father since. When he's not working as a CEO, he's out as Batman, and Damian sits in the manor all day and night running out of ways to keep himself entertained.

Sometimes he sees his father at supper, but he doesn't ever start any conversation. Damian doesn't start any either, thinking it's purposeful. He doesn't ask about Damian's stay, or if he's comfortable here, or anything. He doesn't update Damian on any new information about his mother and the league. The only words he speaks to Damian are gruff good nights.

Miserable. It's miserable. He doesn't understand why his mother is so in love with such a miserable man for company.

He doesn't speak up on it, however. If his father is anything like his teachers or his grandfather, questioning him or speaking out of turn will just get him in trouble. He'd like to keep his stay at a tolerable level of misery, thank you very much.

So he doesn't say anything to his father, even though he's itching to go out with him at night to... to do whatever he does. He's seen the television, Superman has a kid fighting with him in Metropolis. Why can't Damian do the same with his father as well? He can wear a mask and change his name. He can easily defend himself, even against this country's love for guns.

He still doesn't say anything, and he spends the days miserable.

-o-o-o-o-

It's the butler, Alfred as he has insisted many times during his stay (Damian humors him by calling him by his first name, being as he's the only one to speak to Damian in this drab house), who suggests school a few months after coming here.

"School," his father says blankly, looking at Alfred like he's lost his mind.

"He's a young, growing boy," Alfred says. "It's not good for the lad to be inside all day like this."

Damian sits at the dining table, stiff like he's stepped on a landmine and is now waiting for it to explode. However, he can't help but look up at his father through his lowered eyebrows to meet his sharp gaze. School... doesn't sound like something that would be any fun, but... but anything to get out of this manor sounds almost heavenly.

His hopes fall when his father shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."

And something inside Damian snaps just a little. "Dangerous for who?" He demands, slamming his hands on the table. "For me? Or for the other children?"

His father looks stunned, and Damian's stomach drops as Alfred's eyes widen as well.

He's running out of the dining room before anything else can be said.

He's messed up. He's definitely, royally, messed up.

-o-o-o-o-

Punishment for yelling at his father doesn't come like he expects it to. A week goes by, and there's not a single word of his outburst.

It sets him on edge. It fries his nerves. It makes him jumpy and paranoid and frightened at every shadow.

So much so that he finally decides, one day, to pull the sword hanging above the library entrance off the wall and practice with it. It's heavier than what he's used to back in Nanda Parbat. British history is in the shape of the blade, but he still wields it and practices rusty moves on it until he's sweating in the middle of the library. Usually training makes him feel better, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets.

He gets so frustrated that he imagines enemies surrounding him. He imagines the warmth of blood splattering against his skin as he swings. The taste as it touches his tongue. Their screams of death. He gets so deep in this trance that he doesn't notice he's broken something until the sound of crashing glass reaches his ears; he's swung right through a glass display case, the unprotected remains of a signed classic novel resting inside.

His heart jumps when the door opens to see what the commotion is about, and he drops the sword like it's hot when Alfred is the one to poke his head through.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Alfred gives him a long look, and then he sighs. "Come fetch the broom with me, and we can clean this up."

"Will you tell father?" Damian asks slowly. He can tell it's a loaded question when Alfred pauses and purses his lips.

"Not this time," he says finally, after a few heartbeats. "But I do think it's time I speak with him about some other things. Come along, the quicker we clean this up, the quicker I can get you a cup of tea to stop you from looking like a frightened racoon."

-o-o-o-o-

A few days pass, and his father invites him to follow after dinner. Out of everything Damian expects to come from this, being led into the batcave through a grandfather clock in the study wasn't one of them.

"You can train here," his father said, showing him a massive room in the cave filled to the brim with practice tools of all kinds. Dulled swords, throwing stars, bo-staffs, and straw dummies to name a few. There's locked cases on the far side of the training room, of which Damian suspects are full of much more sharp, dangerous, and fun tools.

No matter. He's already feeling his blood shake with excitement at the thought of finally getting some proper practices again.

"You can come down here only when myself or Alfred are here to supervise you," his father explains. "Nothing here leaves this room, and if anything breaks you tell us immediately."

"Can I start now?" Damian asks, barely managing to hold himself back from running towards the closest, one-handed blade.

His father, surprisingly, nods. "I'm going out, and Alfred will be down to help me with the computer. He will be in charge."

Damian can't stop himself from smiling. Finally there's something to do in this house. Feeling hopeful, he decides to ask one more question.

"Can I go with you? One day?"

Silence is his answer for a few heartbeats, making Damian suddenly fearful that he shouldn't have asked that. Then, his father sighs.

"We will see."

-o-o-o-o-

A few more days pass before they do see. He suspects Alfred must have had another conversation with his father, because he approaches him one night and offers to spar.

It's done in full concentration, not a single word exchanged between the two. Both are too busy studying the other's fighting patterns to say anything.

It's now that Damian realizes what his mother meant whenever she spoke about his father's advanced martial arts. It's brutal and expertly executed. It's only a matter of time before he's pinned. He's disappointed in himself, but not surprised to end up losing.

But not all is lost. He can tell his father is impressed when he releases his pin and tosses Damian a rag to wipe off his sweat.

"We need to talk to Alfred about getting you a suit."

-o-o-o-o-

The suit Alfred makes him is made of the strongest, thinnest material Damian had ever seen. It cannot only be Kevlar, because it would be heavier than this. It must have been created by his father himself, or one of his associates.

Whatever the case, he's in awe by it. Alfred is a master of every craft, it seems. He's managed to create the suit to Damian's submitted designs to the T, only making subtle changes here and there where sketches don't match up with reality.

It's mostly black, because according to his father white isn't a good color to go with in Gotham. It's understandable, as much as Damian dislikes it. He's always liked wearing whites and tans for his outfits, accenting here and there with greens and blues to bring out his eyes. Black is such a boring and dull color, but this, he supposes, he will have to deal with.

And it's not all black, at the least. Just the bits around his shoulders, cape, hood, sides, and legs. On his chest, however, is a splash of dark maroon, as well his boots and gloves. His belt is yellow, like his father's, and filled only with smoke pellets, a grappling gun, and a hanging pair of sticks that triple as escrima, a bo-staff, and nun-chucks. Not his preferred weapon, but his father doesn't seem to be very trustful with him and sharp ones yet.

He goes out into the city, out of the manor, for the first time in what feels like forever. His father keeps a sharp eye on him, reminding him every two seconds to not kill anyone, but Damian doesn't mind too much.

He's just happy to be out, and to finally get glimpses of what his father is truly like outside of the stories of his mother and the silent dinners.

He's ruthless, but not heartless. Strong, but not abusive. He prioritizes justice, above all else, and teaches Damian that even the criminals deserve it. The victims get saved, and his father leaves the criminals to be picked up by the cops to be brought to rehabilitation or wherever else they must go.

Damian's careful to remember these teachings, even though he doesn't understand them. He's been raised to think the only thing bad people deserved was punishment, but after taking down a bank robbery, his father researches the names of the robbers and finds that the bank keeper was blackmailing them to give him money on top of the loans they already had with the bank.

The bank keeper was trying to pay off the gangs to protect the bank from other gangs.

So on and so forth.

Gotham seems to be a big cycle of abuse, with no one willing to end it.

Well, no one besides his father.

It doesn't make sense to Damian why his father would try so hard to stop it, but he can at least respect it.

For now.

-o-o-o-o-

Everything goes almost fine until it doesn't.

For the first time in almost half a year, Damian finds himself separated from his father and Alfred. There's a new big bad in Gotham, a man with half of his face burned off by acid. Two-Face, he calls himself. Harvey Dent, his father informed before he left Damian behind to fight him alone.

"This is personal," he said.

And Damian didn't listen. He wanted to see what a real fight was like in Gotham. These petty bank robberies and classic muggings were getting boring and repetitive. He didn't mean to get so close.

His father was in a standoff with Two-Face, and on a stroke of bad luck one of the goons spotted him watching.

"It's Red Bird!" Shouted the goon. Red Bird is the name Gotham had started to call him by in the papers.

A group of the goons charged after him, the rest kept by Two-Face and his father, sneering as they separated his father from helping with their guns and a baby hostage.

And maybe it was seeing the child in Two-Face's arms that made him see red. Maybe it was the disappointment in himself for being spotted. Maybe it was simply all the pent up frustration that's been building without his knowledge since he's gotten here.

Whatever the case, he fought back a little harder than he meant to. What he was supposed to. He brought most of the goons down to the ground, clutching broken bones and bloodied gashes. His old training kicks in, and he goes to hit one of his opponents in a specific place that would kill them.

"RED BIRD!" His father shouts angrily over the commotion.

And Damian stumbles, stopping in his kill-path. His father sounds disappointed and upset and- and Damian almost disobeyed his orders and his father saw it immediately.

Then, before he can be fearful or horrified or confused, his own skull is hit hard enough that the world fades to black.

He wakes up with his arms tied behind his back and his entire person disarmed. His father stands at a makeshift pair of gallows, another man besides him. Both are hooded.

Two-Face flips his coin and asks Damian heads or tails. He says tails, and saves his father, but the other man hangs.

Then, Two-Face beats Damian with a bat, to the point he can't see straight, and the pain drags him back into unconsciousness. The last thought he has is that he's failed. He's disappointed his father, and he must have disappointed his mother as well if she hasn't come back for him yet.

He's failed.

-o-o-o-o-

He wakes in the batcave's med-bay, his entire body numb. He can only lay there with a tube running up his nose and needles in his arm, listening to the machine besides him voice his heartbeat. Vacantly, he can hear arguing voices outside his door, one of a woman he doesn't recognize and the other of his father.

He closes his eyes when the arguing gets too loud, but opens them sometime later when it stops and someone enters the room.

His father stands in the doorway, his face looking more raw and vulnerable than Damian's ever seen it.

"I thought I lost you," is all he says before he runs to the cot and grabs Damian's hand. The one not in a sling, he realizes. He's so numb he didn't even notice he had so many bandages and casts on him.

Not that he focuses on that for long. In fact, all he can focus on is that his father is clutching his hand like a lifeline and whispering over and over how sorry he is.

"I should have been better," his father rambles. "You're not like Jon, you don't have powers. I'm so stupid for letting you out there- I almost got you killed- your mother is going to murder me-"

Damian doesn't even know what to say. He's so flabbergasted by the actions of his father, that he just lays there as his father continues.

"I knew I wasn't cut out for this. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a dad. I tried my best to keep you safe, make sure you didn't get yourself into danger- and I fucked it all up. I don't know what I'm doing, Dami. I don't know- I'm sorry-"

And this continues for a little while longer until the door opens again, revealing Alfred and the woman who must have been yelling at his father before. She has gray hair, curled up like a loose afro around her head, revealing her old age. Behind her glasses, her eyes are sad. Together, Alfred and the woman approach the bed, and the woman lays her hand on his father's shoulder.

"We need to check his bandages," she says.

His father nods, wiping quickly under his eyes before he stands up. She gives Alfred a look before she leads Bruce out.

It's only Alfred and Damian for a moment, and Damian releases a breath.

"He's not going to let me out again."

Silence.

Then Alfred comes to his side and looks at the bandages. "I will talk with him. First, let's get you healed up and properly introduce you to Miss Thompkins."

-o-o-o-o-

Red Bird does go out again, once he's healed up. Alfred's talks with his father do wonders, it seems, as life at the manor has gone back to lonely and miserable—what with his father avoiding him at every chance. But he goes out again, swinging into the night with his father silently beside him having just finished retelling him every rule he must follow.

Damian intends to follow them. He doesn't want to lose this. He's come so close to losing this.

He hopes... That maybe... If he follows the rules... Things will start getting better again.

They fight crime like normal, going their normal routes and working silently by each other. By the time it's time to go home, Damian's feeling more alive than he has since Two-Face beat him with the bat.

Before they can return to the manor, however, a familiar signal is lit in the sky by the police department. His father stills and Damian watches him carefully. His father has been careful to keep him out of the business that comes with that signal, even before Two-Face.

His father sighs, then gives Damian a hard look through his cowl.

"Behave," is all he says before they're on their way to the police station.

There's a man on the roof. Commissioner Jim Gordon. He gives his father a greeting, then pauses when Damian steps out besides him.

"Decided to finally introduce us?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Just when I thought Red Bird was off the streets for good."

Damian bristles, but his father sighs. "What do you need, Commissioner?"

"Apparently a college teacher went insane and poisoned his students with a gas that made them see their deepest fears. Professor Jonathan Crane. It sounds like something you'd handle quicker, and I can get you the files we have on him after you explain to me why you're still letting a child run around in tights. Especially after you told me he was quote un-quote, 'alive but out of commission'."

"I don't see why it's your business," Damian hisses before he can stop himself.

"Red Bird," Batman scolds, and Damian falls quiet.

His father looks at the Commissioner with a hard look. "He's my responsibility, and I will look after him."

"There were rumors he died, Batman," Gordon argues back. "Two-Face bragged about it all the way to Arkham. He had blood on his face."

His father stiffens his jaw, then says through gritted teeth. "I will never allow something like that to happen ever again. If you want my word, I will give it in saying if anyone like Two-Face tries to hurt him like that again, I will make sure they regret the thought before it can happen. Red Bird will continue to be with me where I can watch him, and you will respect that. Trust me, it's safer for all of us this way."

He looks down at Damian, then almost smiles.

"He will sneak out himself anyways, eventually. Or I won't hear the end of it from a mutual acquaintance."

Damian finds himself smiling back. It seems getting on the good side of Alfred was a good decision on his part. And he's right in the former statement as well. Damian is sure he'd eventually get bored enough of being left behind and go out to prove himself without permission. Red Bird... It's too good to give up. He can't lose it.

It's like a staring contest between Gordon and his father for what feels like an entire minute, but eventually Gordon gives up with a sigh.

"Don't know how you do it. The wife's starting to talk about having a kid... I can't imagine a little one of mine running around doing the things I do, let alone what you do."

He brings a cigarette to his mouth, then pulls out a file with his free hand. "Take the case."

Batman steps up to do as was told, but before Gordon let's go, he gives his father a hard look.

"You better keep your word," he growls, "because if anything happens again to that kid, I'm holding you responsible and I'll bring you in for child endangerment myself."

Batman nods. "I'm counting on it."

-o-o-o-o-

Eventually, the topic of school comes up again.

Which of course brings up the topic that no one actually knows about Bruce Wayne's son. Damian's been kept a secret this entire time, unknown to the public.

"We'll tell them that your mother and I met at the end of highschool, and we have kept you a secret ever since. Due to your mother's weakening health, we decided it would be best for your future to have your custody turned over to me and the mother wishes to remain private. Then, we can-"

"Wait," Damian interrupts. "You're going to let me go to school?"

His father pauses in his verbal plans, then nods.

And suddenly, Damians jumping from his chair with joy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck without thinking about it. However, the second he realizes his action, he attempts to scramble away with horror. He's never hugged his father before. But things have been so good, civil even, to the point where they can be in the same room and have conversations about the weather or the recent sports game or even about a new cartoon Damian found on TV.

But they never hugged.

Afraid he's pressed boundaries, he pushes away, but he doesn't go far before a hand wraps around his shoulder. Damians left halfway on his father's lap where he sits, looking at him with anxiety churning in his stomach and an unreadable expression on his father's face.

Then, gently, Damian's pulled back in so now arms are wrapping around his back. His father's hugs are soft and warm, Damians learns. The opposite of how he fights. Yet he feels so safe and protected that he doesn't resist the action.

"This is really happening," his father says in a whisper. "I have a son. I'm really a dad now. I... I promise I will be better for you. From now on. I'm sorry for how I treated you... In the beginning. I was scared. It's no excuse, but I promise you, I will be better."

And he is. They get ice cream after and then watch a movie before going out as Batman and Red Bird.

Time passes so Damian starts school and makes friends. He meets Clark Kent and his son, Jon, and makes a best friend. He grows older, and happier, to the point he no longer misses the League of Assassins. To the point when his mother does finally return to see him, saying the danger has passed...

Damian tells her he wishes to stay with his father. She smiles, and hugs him, and says that she's proud of him. She promises to visit him as often as she can after they share a good cry.

She leaves, and visits, and time moves on a little more.

Until one day, years later, they notice a kid with a camera following them around and taking pictures. Then, the same kid admits to knowing about their civilian identities when confronted.

His father searches the kid up when they get back to the manor, and after some digging it's revealed his name is Tim Drake and his parents are neglectful and strict.

Damian sees the same look in his father's eyes as when he first told the public he had a son named Damian Wayne, and he gets the feeling the manor is about to get a little more crowded.

This, he thinks, is about to get interesting. It's been awhile since life threw a curve ball. He just didn't expect this one to come in the form of a little brother.

And life goes on.

[frasier-crane-style]

Watching Snyder League

-Diana literally vaporizes a guy armed with nothing but an assault rifle.

-Also, these have gotta be like the dumbest terrorists. Their plan:

A. Send multiple armed gunmen to take hostages.

B. Stall for time

C. Set off a suitcase bomb on a one minute countdown (why not just set it off immediately? It's In The Script)

You have a suitcase bomb--just park a car somewhere, set the timer, leave it in the trunk, and walk away. You can kill as many people as you want without losing any of your own guys.

-Superman's scream sends out five separate shockwaves. Which makes me think the guy's milking it, personally.

- I'm amused that both SOP for the Amazons is having, like, fifty people standing around guarding the Mother Box. AND that they don't ramp up security after it wakes up.

- And there's this system of burying the Mother Box.  Which 1. seems like the only way to get there in the first place is to teleport in. What good is this system against a teleporter?

2. It takes six guards to suicide themselves by knocking down pillars, which seems like--in five thousand years, you couldn't come up with something where you just pull a level from twenty feet away?

This is the problem with the Amazons. They're all women, so none of them go into STEM fields.

- It's also real weird that this Bruce Wayne doesn't even try to hide that he's Batman. He just walks right up to Aquaman and goes "hey, Bruce Wayne, I'm also Batman." And remember, he's getting the Justice League together entirely based on a hunch. At least in Josstice League, there were Parademons all up in Gotham.

- And should I even bother to ask why Darkseid's people can't just bring three new Mother Boxes to Earth? Are those the only three? If so, you'd think they'd try to get them back sooner. Like, A LOT sooner.

- Okay, this was supposed to come out one year before Infinity War, but still, it was pretty obvious what Marvel was doing with Thanos and the Infinity Gauntlet. They had to know they were inviting comparisons.

-I love the implication, tho, that Darkseid just lost track of the Mother Boxes and just... no one realized they were back on Earth. And they have Parademons that can specifically sniff out the Mother Boxes. 

-And if Superman dying was such a momentous occasion that it woke up a Mother Box, why not the Old Gods dying? Why not Ares dying? Wouldn't that have left Earth just as undefended?

-I have no idea why any of this is happening a couple years after Superman debuted and then died and not in, like, 1446.

-Are the Mother Boxes like finicky computers? Do you need to turn them off and on again? When Superman showed up, did they shut down for real, and then he died, so they came back on for real? Is it like a Windows 95 thing, where you can't JUST turn the computer off, you have to go to the start menu and press Shutdown and then wait for it to close up shop?

-It’s so weird that this is supposed to be a Dark, Mature Adaptation For Adults! And it doesn’t have the same basic logic you’d get from an episode of Power Rangers. 

-So. Much. Daddy issues.

-Please stop letting Ezra Miller improv.

-They cast like the gayest man in America to play the one guy with a love interest.

-Diana: "I lost someone I loved once." Well, twice, but who's counting?

-All those reshoots and they couldn't get Amber Heard to knock off the British accent?

-Why is Desaad, of all people, Darkseid’s dragon? Is it just because they were rifling through all the Fourth World saga to find the few guys with scary names instead of Granny Goodness or Virman Vundabar?

- And they really play up Darkseid appearing to Steppenwolf, but we've not only already seen him in the big flashback, we saw him get his ass kicked by Zeus of all people.

- And the whole thing where Steppenwolf is part of Darkseid's 'family' really isn't helping the Thanos-Nebula-Gamora comparison.

-It's weird to introduce Darkseid as the guy who was already beaten once. Wouldn't it make more sense that Steppenwulf was the guy who lost, and that allowed Darkseid to take over, and now he's trying to redeem himself for his defeat? Or that Darkseid was never defeated at all, but someone stole the Anti-Life Equation from him and hid it on Earth? Something. Instead, it’s literally just randomly burnt into the crust of the Earth, Darkseid discovers it, then forgets all about it for reasons the movie doesn’t get into despite being four damn hours long.

-It’s only the central plot, whatever, forget about it.

- Pretty sure Kal eye-lasered a couple Army guys to death after he was resurrected, not that he ever gives a shit.

-Third big reveal of Darkseid. Come on, you've shown him three times now. We've heard him talk.

-And this does the same thing as Josstice League with Superman being more powerful than the rest of the JLA put together. Here, he even no-sells Steppenwolf's axe. He just lets it hit him and it doesn’t do shit. So Doomsday could kill him, but Steppenwolf can't even scratch him. And yet Wonder Woman seems pretty evenly matched with both, if not outclassed by Steppenwolf.

-Barry Allen spends the whole climax running in a circle. And he fails at it! Dude's really retarded when he doesn't have Team STAR Labs cheering him on.

-He also casually travels back in time to undo his side getting a Game Over, which makes you wonder how any conflict in this universe can ever have any stakes. Say what you will about Endgame, but at least they explain why time travel can’t solve every problem they ever have.

-Hell, the Mother Boxes can bring people back to life. The example used is literally “it can turn smoke back into a house.” Why not bring Joe Morton back to life? He did a good job in T2, c’mon.

-Speaking of, according to TV Tropes, Ray Fisher got to come up with his own backstory for Cyborg (”I don't praise Chris Terrio and Zack Snyder for simply putting me in Justice League. I praise them for EMPOWERING me (a black man with no film credits to his name) with a seat at the creative table and input on the framing of the Stones before there was even a script!”), which makes it kinda hilarious that this movie’s characterization of Cyborg is that he’s a genius sports hero who also loves helping out the underprivileged.

-AND his big conflict with his dad is that Silas Stone was never there for him, as literally represented by there being an empty seat next to his mom at Vic’s big sportsball game. So apparently the black experience is indistinguishable from Austin Powers In Goldmember. Who knew?

-What else? It's weird that the narrative tries to put some importance in Martha Kent, but then in her big scene with Lois, she's really Martian Manhunter (not kidding) and when Superman is resurrected, he hears encouraging words ONLY from Jor-El and Jonathan. All she really contributes to the story is hugging Superman after he comes back.

-Also, Batman spends a lot of time in the climax shooting people with a rifle. They're bug people and it's, like, a Halo rifle, but still. You can tell Snyder's just chomping at the bit to have Batman carry around a Colt Commando.

-They give no shits about secret identities in this, so why do they still bother with putting a shitty distortion effect on Batfleck's voice? He has a pretty good Batman voice outside the suit, but once he puts it on, he starts sounding like he's giving a blowjob to Daft Punk.

-One of the movie’s, like, four cliffhangers is Lex Luthor telling Deathstroke about Batman’s secret identity, because Deathstroke has a private vendetta against Batman and is out to get him. Of all the Bat rogues who are solely motivated by taking out Batman--why choose Deathstroke, the guy that’s just a mercenary for hire, to characterize as simply hating Batman? (They also imply Batman took out Deathstroke’s eye and THAT’S the big feud between him and--guys. C’mon. This was really supposed to be a whole movie of Deathstroke getting revenge for his eye?)

- The movie ends with them making Wayne Manor the JLA headquarters--God, just tell me if secret identities matter or not.

-Did we really need two ‘beyond the impossible’ scenes back to back, one for Cyborg and one for the Flash?

-Oh, it’s not Arkham Asylum, it’s ‘Arkham Home For The Emotionally Troubled.’ Was this supposed to be one of those Arrowverse things where they call it Starling City for a while, only to rebrand it Star City because that’s somehow better than just calling it Star City in the first place?

- "[Snyder] also said that the reason Darkseid lost track of which world the Mother Boxes were left on was because he was gravely injured and their forces sent limping away, and upon returning to Apokolips had to fight a civil war for the throne (possibly the event hinted where Steppenwolf betrayed him), wherein their records were lost." Imagine having a movie four hours long and not explaining the fucking backstory.

[mrs-daddyissues]

considerably

~ C H A P T E R  I ~

~ Masterlist ~

Pairing: Alfred Pennyworth x OFC

Series Summary: Sarabi Nichols is Bruce Wayne’s life long friend that aids in creating weaponry and making outfits. When she was younger she had a thing for Bruce but now her taste has aged. Considerably. Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce’s guardian and butler is more her style now. Despite this knew found liking, Sarabi feels trapped. She can’t talk to Bruce about it and clearly can’t mention it to Alfred. The only person she has is her best friend, Claudia. Sarabi has to fight the things she feels for the older man because he could never feel the same way back, right? 

{Normal} Playlist

{Slowed+Reverb} Playlist

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of kissing

Word Count: 1475

Author’s Note: 

I apologise that this part is kinda boring. This bit is mostly expositional, so you guys know what’s going on. I promise the rest of the chapters will not be like this.

The trees passed by in quick succession. Each tree made up of bright green leaves covering the sky from the road like a blanket. 

Though she had been up this way many times before, the serenity and peace she felt at the sight of the trees was surreal. 

Sarabi Nichols had spent the past 12 months discovering the beauty of Europe. She went to Italy, France, England, Spain and Switzerland. She flew 1st class, stayed in boujee hotels and got all the best treatment because of her life long friend Bruce Wayne. 

Bruce insisted on paying for everything no matter how big it was. With his billionaire status, it seemed like nothing. He knew Sarabi was stressed and needed time off, so he gave it to her in the only way he knew how. With luxury and in expense. 

Despite loving the stunning aesthetics of Europe, she missed Gotham. She missed Bruce, she missed Claudia, she missed Alfred and she missed her home, 

Sarabi had lived with Bruce for as long as she could remember. When Sarabi was only 6 her parents were killed by the infamous Clown Prince of Crime, Joker and left her as an orphan. She hated foster homes so she broke out and lived on the streets of Gotham. 

Bruce came into contact with her when she attempted to steal from his house at the age of 13. He took pity on her and adopted her. Even though he is about 15 years older than her, she saw him as a friend rather than a father.

Sarabi had to admit to herself that she used to have a little crush on Bruce. She knew it wasn’t just because of his money or good looks, it was because he saved her life. If he hadn’t taken her in then it’s possible she’d be dead on the streets or worse rotting alive. 

The crush never turned into anything. They kissed once when she was about 20 and Sarabi loved it. She had never kissed anyone and to her, it was the best thing she’d ever experienced. She didn’t feel any fireworks like her bestie Claudia said there would be but she felt warm. Claudia advised her that no fireworks or sparks meant no connection. Though the comment hurt, it slowly registered with Sarabi. 

She loved Bruce but not like that.

Claudia Flynn was her only friend other than Bruce and Alfred. Claudia was the most optimistic, joyful person Sarabi had ever met. There was never a dull moment with her. Claudia was supportive of everything Sarabi did but also told her when something wasn’t a good idea, like with Bruce. Claudia was outspoken, confident but also encouraging. 

Her other friend was Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce’s butler and weapons maker. Sarabi spent most of her working time with Alfred in the Bat Cave making weapons and such. Alfred was catty and opinionated but sure as hell funny when he made fun of Bruce. He usually muttered things under his breath and the British man helped get the jobs done quicker. He was also a gentleman always holding the door open for her and making her tea. She and Alfred got along perfectly. They talked pleasantly while they worked and made jokes about anything and everything, especially when those jokes were about Bruce.

All of these thoughts filled her head and before she knew it, Sarabi was at Wayne Manor’s gates. As soon as her driver made it to the front door Bruce came running out with Claudia at his heels. 

“Sarab! I’ve missed you so much!” Claudia pushed Bruce out of the way and threw her arms around Sarabi. 

“I missed you too but you didn’t have to push Bruce like that,” Sarabi wrapped her arms around Claudia’s neck as she attempted to grab her luggage bag. 

“He can handle it,” Claudia retorted with a smirk and Bruce feigned hurt.

“No Claudia that hurt,” Bruce pouted his bottom lip and Sarabi chuckled.

“Suck it up you little bitch,” Claudia let go of Sarabi and grabbed her backpack.

“Wow, that hurts my feelings,” Bruce stalked his way to Sarabi, still holding a shit-eating grin. He wrapped his burly arms around Sarabi and squeezed her tight.

“I miss you, Sarabi,” Bruce let go and picked up the rest of her bags.

“Thank you, Bruce. My own superhero,” Sarabi and Bruce laughed at the inside joke as Claudia looked on perplexed. 

The three walked Sarabi’s stuff up to the front door that was being held open by none other than Alfred Pennyworth. 

“Miss Nichols, welcome back,” Alfred greeted in his suave, British accent. Sarabi looked up and felt her stomach flutter. It was a strange feeling, one she had never felt before but it was good. She had never denied that his voice had always echoed through her head. It was just so perfect. It was charismatic but mysterious. A new thought popped into her head about Alfred but she pushed it out immediately, hoping her cheeks didn’t flush.

“Alfred how many times do I have to tell you, just call be Sarabi like everyone else,” Sarabi composed herself and watched the older man’s lips curl into a smile.

“Well, I am not like everyone else, Miss Nichols,” Alfred closed the door behind the trio and led the way to the kitchen.

“That is for sure,” Bruce commented and everybody laughed.

The rest of the night was spent by the fireplace catching up. Alfred constantly brought in wine and food whenever one of them wanted it. Claudia drank any alcohol offered while Sarabi was cautious. 

“Claudia, slow down,” Sarabi grabbed the shot out of her hand and placed it on the floor.

“You’re not my mother,” Claudia snatched it back and downed it quickly.

“You’re such a fucking child,” Sarabi rolled her eyes and sipped her beer.

“You two done arguing?” Bruce called from the kitchen as he grabbed another bottle of Jack.

“Possibly,” Claudia and Sarabi fell against each other in a fit of giggles. Claudia snorted on accident and they cackled louder. 

“Master Wayne? Do you want me to set up the guest room for Miss Flynn?” Alfred also kept a close eye on the group to make sure they didn’t set the place on fire.

“Yes Alfred, thanks,” Bruce walked back into the kitchen with the bottle of jack and Alfred rolled his eyes.

“Better get the Advil ready for tomorrow morning too,” Alfred whispered to himself as he walked off to ready the guest bedroom.

“Got some more to go around but not for you, Claudia. You’ve had enough,” Bruce poured himself and Sarabi a drink, watching as Claudia angrily sipped her wine.

“I would like some please,” Claudia quickly grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it. 

“Claudia! For fuck’s sake! You’re gonna be vomiting all night!” Sarabi pulled the bottle from Claudia’s mouth as Claudia tried to grab it back.

“No, that’s enough,” Bruce pulled Claudia back to a sitting position and watched her eyes flutter closed.

“I’m gonna have a small nap,” Claudia closed her eyes and Sarabi and Bruce withheld their laughter as she flopped on the ground like a fish out of water.

“Alfred!” Bruce shouted as quietly as possibly. Sarabi marvelled as Alfred practically appeared out of nowhere. 

“Yes, Master Wayne?” Alfred was clearly annoyed by their antics and just wanted to sleep.

“Can you help me carry Claudia up to the guest room?” Bruce grasped onto Claudia’s hands and beckoned for Alfred to move closer.

“Aren’t you the superhero?” The British man mumbled loud enough for them to hear.

“Yes and weren’t you an SAS soldier?” Bruce rebutted as he grabbed her hands and Alfred grabbed her legs.

“Yes like 30 years ago,” Alfred and Bruce hoisted her up and Sarabi snickered at Claudia’ swaying form.

Bruce was back pretty quickly with an annoyed Alfred.

“Anything else, Master Wayne?” Alfred breathed a sigh of relief when Bruce answered no.

“Goodnight Master Wayne, goodnight Miss Nichols and welcome back,” Alfred bowed lightly and walked off.

“Goodnight Alfred,” Sarabi waved as he strutted off.

“How has Gotham been, Bruce?” Sarabi asked in the light of the fire.

“As bad as ever. There seems to be way too many criminals these days,” Sarabi frowned as she noticed Bruce’s tired eyes.

“Well if all else fails, you have Claudia to be your trusty sidekick,” Sarabi raised her eyebrows in a goofy manner and was thankful that Bruce laughed.

“I guess she could scare the men away,” Bruce shook his head as he laughed.

“She scares everyone away,” Sarabi rested her head on Bruce’s large shoulder and felt herself fall asleep.

“Night, Brucey,” Sarabi quipped as her eyes closed.

“Night, Sarbi,” Bruce placed his arm on her shoulder delicately and the two of them fell asleep, curled up in each other’s arms.

<<INTRODUCTION<<  ~ ~ ~  >>CHAPTER 2>>

[delusionland]

long ass hcs that feature interracial batfam dynamics ( tw racism, mentions of this blog typical abuse )

my bruce is a ace bi trans man and alfred is a bisexual old queen so when it comes to gender & sexuality---this team of adoptive fathers has the game down. the kids always know it’s fine to be lgbt. bruce&alfred help them with vocal training if they want it. they have literally multiple billions of dollars for any gender confirmation surgery, hrt, doctors, tho therapists are sort of off the table. (reasons to become robin: free top/bottom surgery whats better than this.) it feels easy to come out to them, even bruce, bc brucie has always been public about being trans, and you ALWAYS know brucie before u know batman---and what a shock that is, this nice lgbt man who is wonderful & sensitive in every way is actually a bastard--and alfred is. well he’s camp as all hell. you don’t even really have to come out to bruce or alfred tho. one day u just go ‘i want u to buy me something’ or ‘i’m bringing my girlfriend / boyfriend home’ and bruce takes out a hundred dollar and alfred puts out his hand, and bruce goes ‘who is it.’ and if it’s who alfred thinks it is, he wins the bet LOL.

but when it comes to race stuff. bruce falls flat on his ass. don’t get him wrong. if you fuck with his kids in public or where he can see---he has ur job and ur life on the line, he will fucking ANNIHILATE ur career & ur livelihood. lose ur fucking house & probably get the shit kicked out of you for writing a shitty tabloid article about the new kid of color in a suit at the latest gotham gala. bruce has so much trauma from tabloids as the most publically out trans person from the SIXTIES, and he’s not letting that happen to his kids without brucie AND batman eviscerating them. it’s a bit of a ptsd response, in truth, but the only person who can really ‘cancel’ you in this world is bruce fucking batman wayne and he fucking will do it!!!!! don’t TEST him or his kids. ( several publications have gone out of business just bc of this shit and bruce refusing to stand for it. tmz and p/erez hilton and fuckin pie/rs morgan do Not Exist In The DC Universe Any Longer LOL )

but when it comes to connecting with them on that level, being the white parent that connects them back to their culture & mentors & friends of their own ethnicity after their parents of color die (or were just never around in the case of my jason & cass), he doesn’t really know what to do.

when bruce interacts with his children---in his best moments, it’s about HIS interests and hobbies and what he thinks a father should be, and its very. tvland in a lot of respects. it’s what HIS father would do in his mind---fishing trips, movie nights, fatherly advice, and his father was all about apperances and died when bruce was very young, so it’s like. bruce doesn’t have the best roadmap here, and then when u add interracial family dynamics on that and the ways white richness has insulated bruce---it gets harder to connect with his children on that level.

alfred on the other hand---is rich only by association and skimming off the top, and is only high society because he was an aesthete poor british kid from liverpool that wanted to be a shakespearean actor when he became a butler like his similarly poor father who sent money across the pond. he gets poor kids more than bruce does---but he’s also, just a better person and father and more willing to meet these children in ways they need him to meet them. alfred learns how to cook romani food with and for dick, writes down the recipes with him so he’ll have a piece of his family forever. alfred learns WITH cass & jason for fun how to speak mandarin & cantonese bc u know. why not. they pretend it’s for him or for fun as  well, but they never have to say ‘its embarrassing when other asian people think i know their language but i don’t and i feel like an idiot.’

there’s a disonance, always---between bruce & his children and alfred and his children. it becomes bruce is the ‘public dad’ and the dad they want to be a dad when they’re older---but at the time, bruce is kind of like a big brother and boss that is not emotionally mature enough to actually raise them beyond tvland affectations and cliches. alfred is the one that does the actual paternal & maternal instincts, that connects with them as a true caretaker---but just as alfred enabled bruce all his life, alfred often enables his other children more than he should. the thing that seperates bruce’s childhood from his friends, truly, and the way he is raised under the wayne household----bruce never got the discipline he needed, and the batkids get too much from bruce that alfred just kind of has to bandaid up the emotional wounds.

in a way alfred views that as his fault as well, though. if he had raised bruce better---maybe bruce would be a better father.

alfred has a hard time seeing bruce as anything other than a son, though. likewise, he ALSO views bruce & the batkids more as siblings than adult & children. just like bruce will always view his children as extensions of who he was when his parents died and the little boy & happiness he thinks he lost---alfred never stops thinking of BRUCE that way, as the little boy he was when alfred met him, to everyone’s detriment.

[hateswifi]

Rising from the Ashes: Of Surprises and Christmas

So this is Part Ten here is to my Master List and Part Nine. Literally posting this from the only places I have LTE in school

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

The next morning they, Kagami and Marinette, leave because Audrey wants to spend the day with Chloe and since their relationship isn't the best Marinette decided to give them time. She drops her bag off at Master Fu's house, luckily for Marinette, her wig and contacts disappeared as she transforms into Ladybug around midday and sits on the very top of the Eiffel Tower. She sees Alya at the bottom of the tower, so she checks the Ladyblog.

@theLadyblog

'Ladybug is back in Paris! Maybe she came back for Christmas, who is she here to see? Is she here to spend it with a boyfriend, Chat Noir or Viperon maybe?'

She sighs, shutting her yo-yo. She sits there until her stomach rumbles. She flies across the roofs to Master Fu's house. "Would you like me to cook dinner?" Marinette asks, detansforming. 

"That would be wonderful," Master Fu said, sipping his honey lemon tea. 

"I can make a quiche if that's ok," Marinette said, looking at Fu. He nods in agreement. "What type would you like?"

"Feta and spinach please," he said, taking another sip. She quickly starts making the quiche in silence. When it was done she knelt at the table with Fu. "I'm sorry that I don't celebrate Christmas."

"It's fine, Master Fu. It doesn't matter to me, at least I'm spending Christmas with someone I see as a grandfather," Marinette says, taking a bite. 

"Why are you running from your problems?" Master Fu asks.

"Damian, my recent boyfriend, found out I'm Ladybug, but I don't want him to get hurt because of me," Marinette explained, eating another bite.

"Ahhh the burden of the guardian, but Hawkmoth's reign of terror is over. You just need to be wary of your identity. If you trust this Damian then you shouldn't worry about it," Master Fu explains, taking his plate to the kitchen.

"Thank you for your wisdom master," Marinette said, placing the plate in the sink to wash later.

"I'm going to retire to my room. You may make yourself comfortable in the guest room, you know where it is," Master Fu said, sliding his door shut. After Master Fu retired from being the guardian, he sold his massage parlor and moved to a house farther from the middle of the city and changed it to be more of a traditional Chinese house. She went to her room and went to bed, feeling tired.

The next day was Christmas, she gave Master Fu the scarf she had made him. They had a nice tea together and before breakfast, she changed into her red dress, wig, and contacts, knowing that she would go visit her parents' grave later. She made pancakes, an American breakfast Dick recommended, and they ate in a happy chatter. As she was cleaning up from breakfast a knock came from outside. When she opened the door, Damian her prince stood there. 

"Marinette? Is that you?" Damian asked, stepping forward.

"Prince? Why are you here?" she asked, stepping back to let him enter.

"I asked you to spend Christmas with me didn't I and to finish what the phone cut off. Angel, I’m in love with you," Damian said, hugging her.

"Marinette, who's at the door?" Master Fu said, coming to the door.

"Master Fu, this is Damian," she said, introducing them. "Damian, this is Master Fu, he's like a grandfather to me." 

"Nice to meet you, sir," Damian said, bowing to him out of respect.

"You too, young man," he answered, bowing back.

"I was about to visit my parents, would you like to come, prince?" Marinette asks, putting on her jacket and scarf.

"That would be lovely," he said, holding out her hands.

"Bye, Master Fu, I'll see you later," Marinette said, closing the door behind her.

"So I got to know, why did you run and why are you wearing a wig and contacts? Also, why are you talking in a British accent?" Damian asks, looking her in the eyes.

"I'll tell you when we get there also right now my name is Ann," Marinette said in a British accent just like whenever she talks as Ann. "But what are you doing here? I thought you wanted to spend Christmas with your family."

"That's true but after hearing what you told Superboy, I was so angry at him. Then when you called from Paris I had to come and see you. I also had to tell you that I love you," Damian explained, kissing her head. "I flew out here last night around eleven. I got here this morning around six-thirty."

"How'd you find me though, no one knows of Master Fu," Marinette asked.

"Well I heard you talk about Chloe and you mentioned she was the daughter of the mayor of Paris. I found out where she stayed and she recognized me because of your description. She told me where you were and I found the house from GPS. I didn't want you to think I didn't like you, Angel," Damian said, stopping the walk to hug her.

"Damian, my prince, I love you, but when I heard that you knew my secret I freaked out because for the longest time I had to keep my secret. If I didn't I would've had to give up Tikki. I thought the rule still applied so I ran home to get advice from Master Fu. Dami, I don't want you hurt because of me being a superhero," Marinette said into his shoulder, she then broke away from his grasp and looked up at him. "Wait you said Superboy talked to you. Why would he talked about my problem, unless he was your best friend, Traffic Light boy." She said with a smirk.

"Angel, I knew you are smart," he smirked, leaning down towards her. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. After that, they walk in comfortable silence.

"We're here," She says solemnly. She then leads him to the three snow-covered graves. "This is my mama and papa and that," she points at the third grave. "is supposedly where I lay dead."

"You are perfectly alive though, how do they mess it up that bad?"  Damian asks, angrily.

"I was invited to a gala as Ladybug, my parents went home partway through the gala. When they got home something caught on fire and it killed my parents, but since I was out as Ladybug and no one knew where I was they thought I was dead. They thought the fire had burned my body. I couldn't explain where I was and grief fogged my decision so I ended up playing dead," She explains, shuddering at the memory. "You ready to head back to Fu's?"

"If you are, I am," he said, taking her hand. They walk back to Master Fu's house and its twelve already by the time they arrive. 

"Master, I think I'm going to go back to Gotham," She greets with a bow. 

"I had a feeling that would happen, so I made you tea in to-go cups," Master Fu said, placing the two cups on the table. 

"Ok let me grab my stuff quick, I bet we can be there before the manor is awake," she said, walking down the hall towards the guest room.

"She realizes it's six o'clock there right and it's a seven-hour flight, right?" Damian asks, looking at the short man. 

Master Fu lets out a laugh looking up at the boy. "Who said anything about flying?" he asked.

Marinette walks back in her wig and contacts packed away and wearing glasses. She kneels and hugs Master Fu. "Damian, could you hold the cups for a minute?" She asks, he takes them and she calls Kaalki's transformation, now Mare standing in front of them, she takes a cup from his hand. "Ready?" he nods, dumbstruck. She calls full forth then looks at Master Fu. "I'll be back for Chinese New Year." She then beckons Damian to follow her. 

"Aww we didn't make it before they woke up," Marinette says, looking around the living room of Wayne Manor.

"Demon Spawn, I thought you were in Paris?" Jason says slowly, looking at the two.

"Oh, I just was," Damian said, sipping his tea. "Mar would you be able to tell Fu that his tea is great." He asks as she detransforms. 

"Of course I can," she answers, holding his hand.

"So we're not going to talk about how they just walked out of a portal from Paris?" Dick asks, sipping his coffee.

"Oh yes we will, but right now we're doing presents," Bruce said, handing out the pretty presents.

"I have presents for you guys, but they're all at my apartment. Can I give them to you the next time I see you?" Marinette asks sitting down on the couch beside Damian.

"Of course Angel, but you didn't need to get us anything," he said, kissing her head. They open all the presents. Marinette didn't receive anything but she didn't care happy enough just being in Damian's warm embrace. He rubbed small circles into her shoulder, he could not be happier than he is right now. That happiness would have lasted longer if Dick hadn't taken a picture and posted it on Twitter.

@GraysontheDick

'@realDamianWayne thanks for not losing this Sunshine. The Angel and Prince are dating to those who couldn't figure it out. : )'

@GothamOfficailNews

'@realDamianWayne, @realJaSonToDd, @GraysontheDick @BruceWaynetheOffcailMan @TimDrakeConfirmed when will we get a face reveal? When will we get a name or interview? Who is she and how'd she affect the Waynes this much?'

"Dick!" Damian screams, glaring at his brother. "Seriously another picture! You didn't get her face in it right?"

"Why does it matter if I did?" Dick challenged.

"Dick, please tell me you didn't," Marinette said, looking at him with puppy dog eyes.

"I didn't Sunshine, but why does it matter?" Dick asks.

"Maybe some people don't want to lose their privacy," Tim tried, taking a long sip of coffee.

"That and I'm supposed to be dead," Marinette said.

"They are perfect for each other! Damian has been dead before," Jason laughed.

"What does he mean you've been dead before, prince? Marinette asked, looking at Damian.

"I got killed by my clone that my mother made of me and was revived by my grandfather in the Lazarus pool," Damian explained.

"You weren't supposed to say anything," Bruce deadpanned.

"Jason shouldn't have said I had died," Damian retorted.

 "I came as soon as I saw the picture," Jon says, bursting through the parlor door.

"Thanks for blabbing, by the way, Jon," Marinette called over her shoulder.

"Oh come on! How'd you know it was me?" Jon pouts, jumping over the back of the couch to sit.

"Seriously, you're asking how I knew even though you only take off a pair of glasses. Amidtitly it took me teleporting to Paris to notice, but I did," Marinette smiled.

"One week, no not even one week of dating and she already figured it out? Where'd you find her from?" Jason asks.

"Paris," he shrugs.

"That's not true, Titus found me in Gotham Park," Marinette corrected. They had breakfast together, well lunch for Marinette, and watched Christmas movies together until a bunch of people showed up for Christmas dinner. The Kents. and Diana showed up. They all ate roast beef for Christmas dinner.

"So if Jon is Superboy, that means his dad is Superman and his mom is Wonder Woman?" Marinette asks, leaning over and whispering in Damian's ear. He laughs.

"No, Superman and Wonderwoman didn't get married, but they're good friends just like the rest of the league," Damian whispered back.

"Damian, I was surprised when Jon told me that you got a girlfriend," Clark said, cutting his roast beef.

"Clark!" Lois said, elbowing his side. "But it is true, dear and such a pretty girl too." 

"Titus found her," Damian said, scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate.

"You had your dog fetch you a girl," Clark laughed.

"No, he just tackled her. Then I bought her breakfast as an apology," Damian explained, holding her hand under the table.

"Oh my gosh, it's Diana right?" Marinette whispers into his ear.

"Yes," he whispers back. 

"Care to share the secret," Dick whispered in her ear. He got throat punched for surprising her. "Sun... Sunshine, that hurt!"

"Sorry you surprised me!" she said, rubbing his back as he coughed.

"Perfect!" Lois says, clapping. "A girlfriend that's as dangerous as himself." The rest of the dinner went on without a hitch. No one else got hurt. The Kents brought apple pie with vanilla ice-cream and Diana brought cookies. Lois and Clark adore Marinette. 

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

Tag list (Open):

@northernbluetongue @melhuney @ladysblackcat @sturchling @otaku4312 @g-arya @smolplantmum @bluefyoto94 @echpr @moonlightstar64 @thesunanditsangel @cutechip @heaven428 @elmokingkong @kass-is-weird @niza13149 @urbanpineapplefarmer @ginamarie1512 @chocolatecatstheron @iggy-of-fans @crazylittlemunchkin @komatsuna-yuki @weird-pale-blonde-person @ellerahs @sinnamonroill @daminett4life @queenmj10 @indecisive-mess-named-me @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo @lizziejay

[crazyfreckledginger]

Damian Wayne x Reader - "Claws Are Coming Out"

When Damian’s brothers find out that he likes you, they tease him endlessly but still help him try to get you to like him as well, what no body expected, however, was that the cat you rescued, Montey, who loved you unconditionally also felt very protective of you and cockblocked the two of you, not wanting you to like Damian. Will you manage to return his feelings?

Requested by anon: “ I think the asks are open if not ignore this but I was hoping that u could write about Damian liking this Colombian girl that rescued a cat when she was ten. The only problem is that the cat is very protective of her so he (the cat is a male named Montey) doesn’t like Damian. Also could u make the girl nice. I’m sorry if I seem to specific it’s just that I’m the rules it says to be specific and I wouldn’t mind if u changed parts. U don’t have to write this it you don’t want to. Thank u.”

A/N: I didn’t include the Colombian part because I want as many people to identify as they want so I kept it neutral, hope you like it! 

"We're nearly there, sweetheart,"

Despite her protests, her father still thought it was safer for her to stay at one of his friends houses.

And this friend of his happened to be Bruce Wayne. They met at a meeting, having had an accord with each other at Wayne Enterprise in order to cut down at the waste they were producing.

After a year or so of knowing each other, they merged their companies, finding out they had the same aims and morales.

Thankfully for (Y/N), she didn't have to meet him regularly. The girl found him too intimidating, was it because of his demeanour or position of power? She never knew -- and she didn't want to stick around too long to find out.

Even as an adult, he couldn't help but rub the wrong way off of her.

And yet now, here you were, going to spend the week with him and apparently, his sons when her father doesn't trust the neighbourhood enough to leave his daughter there. He made sure the house was secure, but he didn't want her walking out alone there to and from her work, if something happened, he wouldn't know until her parents got back.

"Please come back soon," the girl's eyes softened as her father tapped his fingertips lightly against the wheel, fixating the Wayne Manor gate gradually opening.

"We will baby, just hang in there until then, I know you don't like Bruce, but trust me, he's a good man. Although I suspect he's hiding something from me," he trailed off, deep in thought. He soon snapped out of it and followed the path before parking the car.

The girl released a breath as she got out of the vehicle. This place looked even bigger from outside the car.

"Welcome, Master (L/N), and you must be Lady (Y/N)." A British accent voice beside them. She peeked around the trunk door, her fingers tight around her suitcase as her father moved to him.

"Alfred, it's great to see you again!"

"Come, Montey," the girl whispered before closing the trunk. The small furball purred, jumping up the backseat and crawling between the small opening before it pounced on her chest.

Effortlessly, she caught her trusted friend and kept him securely in her arms.

Her other hand grasped her suitcase and she dragged it behind her towards the beautiful marble stairs.

She watched as her father casually pressed the car key, only glancing momentarily to make sure the boot was closing automatically.

"It's nice to meet you," (Y/N) gave the butler a polite smile even if she was becoming increasingly anxious at the unfamiliar environment.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you as well," He returned the smile, "my name is Alfred, and I am Bruce Wayne's butler. This way please." He opened the door wider and escorted the pair in. (Y/N) was taken aback from the splendid chandelier hanging over the beautifully paved hallway.

"I noticed to have a cat with you Miss (Y/N)," he stated.

"Yes I do, I'm sorry if it gives you more work, I'll make sure he stays tidy, he makes me feel more comfortable," she blurted out. The older man chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"I assure you Miss, it is no worried at all. Master Damian is quite fond of animals as well, I merely wanted to inquire about it's name," he sent her a reassuring smile.

"Oh," she sighed in relief, blushing a little bit of embarrassment, "his name is Montey,"

"A name that fits him well," he praised.

"I can show Miss (Y/N) to her room, I understood through Master Bruce that you have a plane to catch. I assure you, your daughter is in good and safe hands," the butler nodded.

Already, the woman started to feel at ease. Alfred started to slowly wash away her uneasiness. He seemed very reassuring.

"Thank you very much Alfred," your father grinned before he turned to his daughter.

"Stay safe for us alright, we won't be long, we will pick you up was soon as we're back,"

"Alright," (Y/N) breathed out, hugging him tightly. She watched him as he pulled away from her, waving at her before parting, disappearing behind the closing door.

"Are you always this scared?" A cold voice spoke bitterly from a high place. Her eyed peeled towards the grand staircase, seeing a slightly familiar face at the top. He had a scowl on his face, he seemed to be in permanent disgust at every thing that was within eye shot.

"Master Damian, watch your manners," Alfred scolded, grasping the girl's bag despite her protests and marching up the stairs and giving a disapproving look to the blood son.

"I get nervous in areas I'm unfamiliar with," she replied softly, hugging the cat tightly. She didn't want to get on anyone's bad side so soon after arriving -- not that she really wanted to be. Either he was acting spoiled because of this wealth or something happened to him for him to become so cold and distant. She learned to try and understand people before judging them. She had Montey to thank for that. If she didn't find him in the state he was in when she first found him, she could never have understood why he kept his distance and scratched anyone who got so close.

*****

And that is how the both of them met. They were close for countless months now. He was also going to Gotham University, which is why she was sure she had seen his face before, and, despite the different programs they were on, they still managed to make time for each other. Over the time they spent together, Damian noticed how his feelings for (Y/N) were slowly morphing into something more than friends -- but he didn't want to act on it, he didn't know what the outcome could be.

"Awwwww does little demon spawn have a crush~" Jason ruffled his hair annoyingly.

"Quit it or I'll kill you!!" He slapped his hand away and readjusted his hair.

Dick grinned at the pair, chuckling, "you'd be cute together, she's sooooo sweet,"

"Grayson!!" He grunted, "Don't you have other people to piss off??"

"Why? Because she's going to be here any minute now?" Tim snorted. Damian glared daggers at his older brother before they all pulled away and acted nonchalantly once the door opened.

"Oh hey guys, what are you up to?" (Y/N) beamed at them as Montey jumped down at her feet.

"Hey bud," Jason crouched down to scratch the kitty's neck, who purred happily in response.

"Hey (Y/N)," Dick and Tim waved before grasping Jason's collar and pulling him away to another room.

"What's up with them? Are they okay?" The girl inquired, confusion written all over her beautiful face.

"Nevermind those idiots, come," he grasped her hand, blushing slightly upon contact and dragging her up to his room. Montey hissed aggressively, racing after them. Damian let go before the kitty could attack him from being too close to the girl.

*****

"So you can't carry it out in any order? It has to be respected otherwise it wouldn't work?" Her eyed peeled away from her notes.

"Wait show me see again," he leaned over her book. He gulped when her nose accidentally brushed against his cheek and he tilted his head slightly to face hers. They were so close, their breathing mingled together. (Y/N) blushed shyly, not being able to look away from his perfect jawline and his slightly ajar lips. Daringly, he captured her lips in a hungry kiss. A surprised gasp was swallowed by Damian before the girl slowly brought a hand up to his cheek to kiss him deeply. Smoothly, he pushed the books off his bed and sunk her back into the mattress to hover over her body.

Her palms pressed against his chest as he straddled her hips to have better access to her lips.

A content, shy breath escaped her as his lips trailed down her neck. A low growl echoed through the room.

"D-Damian," she gasped.

"Hmm?" He pulled away. The sound didn't stop, he was sure it came from her. His eyes followed her finger to a familiar furball on the floor. Fur was up, uncontrollable hissing followed by bearing claws.

An angry meow tore through the room before he pounced on Damian.

Surely he anticipated that giving Montey food wouldn't last forever? Did he plan it in the first place? No, he couldn't be that smooth.

Could he?

Comments, votes and feedback improve motivation, writing and publishing, so it is in your best interest to leave some! :)  

Want to be tagged? Let me know in which ever way you are the most comfortable with!

Tagging: @lumifuer @ijustwantmyshipstobehappy @plethora-of-things @xlatinaaxx @lostnliterature @batette @pythiaaa @schweeeppess @gearsinice @mizmahlia @tina8009 @alex--awesome--22 @disa

[heartslogos]

mafia!verse: hunting season

“When I get my hands on you, I’m going to rip your brain out through your nose,” Todd snarls. Damian lets out a beleaguered sigh.

“Ah yes, because the threats of physical violence are definitely going to entice the other party into cooperation and revealing themselves to us. Brilliant, Todd. Absolutely stunning.”

“You,” Todd points at Damian, “You can shut it, because you’ve just been sitting here making faces at me for the past half hour.”

There is an argument, in regards to development, that asks whether a person’s essential character and persona is determined by their genetics or by the environment in which they come to find themselves being raised in.

And while Damian may have been born into a life of organized crime, and raised with the knowledge that he is the heir to two ignoble houses, he was not born or bred in Gotham City, United States of America.

Todd was not born into a crime family, but he does have the benefit of having been born in Gotham and raised in Gotham. Twice over, even. If you count the experience of being, legally and logistically, dead to the world.

And Jason wears this Gotham brand of propriety like a second skin.

Damian rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to slouch. Pennyworth’s disappointment in Damian’s wrinkled clothing aside, he enjoys getting under Todd’s skin by behaving like — in Todd’s ever so vivid words — the poshest prick in America since America was a British Colony and spelled color with a u.

Todd walks out of Damian’s line of sight, still threatening whoever it is he’s talking to. Father only said they couldn’t use threats of physical violence on their current collaborative project. Such limits cannot be applied to their other business affairs.

There are some things that can be handled only with force.

Though Damian is of the opinion that using crude, but descriptive, promises of bodily harm are crass and a sign of the truly weak. This is an opinion that he and Todd clash on often. If one is going to use physical force there is no need to vocally describe it to your enemy. And there are other ways of using words to be intimidating other than such color pieces of prose that describe exactly where a person is going to shove their fist and to what extent.

Todd, of course, believes that such descriptors are — somehow — part of the convention. As if skipping them would be some great and deep social faux pass. how such waste of breath and time can be anything other than such is beyond Damian.

And the logical route of just doing the act rather than talking it up is beyond Todd.

Damian has long since learned his lesson about attempting to teaching old dogs new tricks, and Todd will never break through Damian’s superior upbringing which surpasses a very low standard of basic politeness and civility in the face of the uncouth.

To put it simply, Todd is beyond hope and Damian isn’t going to cave in to appease him.

Damian listens to Todd’s voice moving, growing louder and softer, as he paces.

He taps one of his earbuds.

“Brown.”

“Is he finally gone? Fuck, he can talk forever.”

“Fortunately not,” Damian replies, slowly standing up and moving towards Todd’s computer. “Knowing him he’s going to get fed up and hang up when his threats — predictably — don’t persuade his intended target into presenting themselves for whatever torture he’s come up with. Make this fast, Brown. I have better things to do than play your errand boy.”

“Trust me, you are real low on my list of people I’d ask to do things,” Brown huffs, “But Cass is out of Gotham for the next few days, and Tim and Jason are on the outs.”

“There was a time where they weren’t on the outs?” Damian’s eyes flick to the hallway Jason walked through before quickly turning back to the blank screen. Damian slips the receiver into the USB port. “How are you going to get in?”

“Dont doubt O’s programming combined with Tim’s hardware,” Brown says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“The screen remains blank.” Damian checks around the laptop. “Nothing has turned on.”

“Chill, I got this. If you keep questioning it I’m going to tell O that you thought she couldn’t hack Todd.”

Damian would point out that if there is any fault in this plan of Brown’s, it’s probably from Brown’s plan not Oracle’s tech.

“How do I know when it is done?” Damian asks, keeping a careful ear out for Todd. “I don’t need Todd being a nuisance with my business. Bad enough that Grayson’s here.”

“Yeah, how’s that going by the way?”

“Terribly, and I would thank you not to inquire further. It’s family business.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but I am family.”

“It’s immediate family business.”

“Damian. I dated one of your brothers and I’m currently dating one of your sisters. It doesn’t get more immediate than that, bud.”

“Brown.”

“It’s done.”

Damian snatches the USB back and stuffs it in  his inner pocket, quickly returning to his seat, cutting the communication between himself and Brown.

Todd comes back in less than a minute later, looking ornery and as exasperated as Damian feels on a near daily basis.

“I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Damian waves his hand, “Yes, and?”

“Which one do you want first, dumbass?”

“Bad news.”

“It looks like the Replacement’s plan to squeeze our new examples for why you don’t fuck with guns in Gotham is working.”

“And how is that bad?” The sooner this plan gets underway the sooner it completes. And all the sooner Damian can stop having to play nicely with his siblings. The sooner Damian can stop playing nicely at all.

Todd’s mouth flattens. “Bad because it looks like rather than do the logical thing and swing towards their illegal businesses to offset their losses, it looks like they’re about to launch a rebellion on us while they’ve got something left to lose.”

Damian groans, covering his face with his hands. “And there is good news to be expected from this?”

“Well. If they attack us first, not even the old man can say shit to that,” Todd says, “Then it’s hunting season.”

[bluboothalassophile]

Happy Birthday!

Jason had missed a single person in his self-imposed exile; and he would sooner boil his tongue in hot oil than ever admit it. Because admitting it would mean that he was welcoming the fucking Bats back into his life again, and he was not. No. No he was not. He would not deal with Bat-drama of any sorts for a third time in his life. He wasn’t foolish enough to do that; despite being stupid enough to get caught by little bird after stealing her mind.

However, he was already east coast, and he was kind of needing to pass through Gotham on a lead, so he kind of didn’t have a problem with doing a bit of evasion and spying. It wasn’t like it could be harder than what he did as Red X and besides, it wasn’t like Bats would be expecting him so they wouldn’t be looking for him.

Which was what he told himself as he lay there scouting the layout of the Manor through his scope.

Dickhead was still in San Fran, Baby Bird and Demon Spawn were here though, and he watched as Alfred handed them their lunches and loaded them into the car. Selina was there, pregnant, waving off Bruce who was on the phone. Cass and Steph appeared as if by magic, and received a scolding about running before they were handed lunches and herded into the car. Jason smirked, this would be so easy.

He watched B wave off Selina and Alfred before getting in the driver’s seat and starting down the drive. Selina waited a bit before she darted for a motorcycle, leaping onto a bike, grabbing a helmet and racing out the gate. Alfred stood there looking aloofly vexed and Jason took that moment to move. He was swift, sneaking onto the property via the old oak, looking around he saw the motion sensors he had hacked earlier to do this visit. Pausing he waited a moment, watching the grounds. There wasn’t much in the way of staff here, never had been, but there was enough to make him pause.

B always had a few gardeners on hand but that was it.

Not sensing or seeing anyone he made his way for the house, getting to the kitchen door he almost yelped when it was opened by Alfred, who raised a grey brow at him.

“If you are finished with your attempt at sneaking, you might come in for a spot of tea and biscuits,” Alfred said primly.

“Heyya Alfie,” he smiled.

“Master Jason,” Alfred’s lips twitched a bit, but he let Jason in regardless. “I must admit your skills have vastly improved.”

“Thanks,” he nodded.

“I would not have known you were here, if it were not for the date,” Alfred remarked.

“Well…” he started but then shrugged. “Hear from Bazza and Dave Boy?” he asked taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“They have sent words, for both of us,” Alfred smiled as he handed Jason the envelopes.

“I…”

“These are from your family, and this is from me,” Alfred said.

“Hey now! Today wasn’t for that!” Jason protested.

“Pish-posh,” Alfred dismissed as he put on the kettle. “I believe that we share the date,” he said kindly.

“I brought this,” he smiled as he produced the package. Alfred blinked twice at it. “It’s not stolen, I bought it,” Jason promised.

“My my, aren’t we coming up in the world,” Alfred mused dryly, though a smile was tugging on his lips.

“Yeah-yeah, do you ever gripe on Dickhead for creating the persona to begin with?” Jason asked. He was a bit put out that Alfred thought he was a thief by his own merit (he was, but he didn’t create Red X).

“Many a times, Master Bruce and I have both thoroughly scolded Master Dick for his brash decision to create and lose the Red X persona, though I must admit you have grown into the role a little too well,” Alfred said sitting at the table.

“Yeah, well, little bird smashed that job to smitherines,” he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Hey, have they figured it out yet?”

“No, not for a lack of trying,” Alfred said ruefully.

“Too bad none of them have thought to check your footlocker,” Jason grinned.

“Since that incident they should not have access to it.”

Jason grinned hearing that. It was truly an accident on his part, about four weeks in living in the Manor, on a night he couldn’t really sleep, he had decided to sneak around. This was shortly before he found out about B being Batman, and naturally that was a night B was out as Batman and Alfred was manning the helm of intel and comms. This was before Babs did it, and before she was Oracle. Jason’s snooping had uncovered an old military footlocker, and opening it he had uncovered much about Alfred Pennyworth. There was a shit ton of metals, along with many photos, including one of a beautiful woman, and Alfred with three men; two of whom he knew. There were other things in there as well, treasures that mattered to Alfred; his mother’s pearls, his father’s cufflinks, his fiancée’s ring, a few mementoes from places he had been, a gun, a knife, his birth certificate; revealing his date of birth, along with his American citizenship, and British citizenship; several passports, and a few other pictures.

Today was Alfred’s birthday.

Today was his birthday.

And it had made Jason feel; when he was a child; so much closer to the man he had come to think of as a grandfather. Alfred had been mad at him; for pawing through his things, but Jason was incessant about knowing more about Alfred. His apology was a birthday gift to Alfred literally a week after the incident (though B obviously hadn’t known it was Alfred’s birthday gift Jay had bought that trip). And that had lead to him getting to know the stories behind the photos, being introduced to the few remaining living friends Alfred had, to seeing the butler in a new light; Jason never wanted to be like B, he wanted to be just like Alfred.

“Happy Birthday, Alfie!” he grinned.

Alfred smiled a bit as he slowly started pulling open the wrapping paper; the job was a bit disheveled because Jason had done it on his motorcycle. A chick in car over had obviously digged it as she rolled down her window to flirt with him about it.

“You can just rip it open like a normal person!” Jason teased, getting up when the kettle started whistling. Prepping the tea; Alfred’s favorite he grabbed the appropriate biscuits with the tea and sat at the table.

“It’s marvelous Master Jason,” Alfred smiled at the gift.

“I saw it a while back, thought of you and bought it,” Jason admitted. The pocket watch was something he had bought years back, when he had first escaped from the League of Assassins; before he had gone to the All-Caste. When he had held hope of returning home, only for that to be shattered. He couldn’t even kill a gasoline soaked Joker, and B had thoroughly replaced and upgraded from him; so what was the fucking point of even trying to come back. But he had bought that pocket watch; for Alfred, and before his life was shot truly to hell.

“It is beautiful,” Alfred said checking it out, pulling it out of the box with care.

“I’m glad you like it!” Jason grinned happily at the knowledge he had pleased Alfred.

“I have something for you as well,” Alfred admitted, pulling open his jacket and pulling a thing, rectangle box from his jacket.

Jason tilted his head a bit at it, but accepted the gift as well, he opened the box, moved aside the tissue paper and blinked several times at what was in his hand.

“I… I can’t accept this Alfred,” he sputtered dumbly.

“It was going to be your sixteenth birthday gift, as you are the only one with an appreciation for such things,” Alfred said crisply as he served them tea, Jason blinked a few times. Looking back at what was in the box he slowly reached in and pulled it out. It was a knife; not particularly beautiful, it wasn’t even particularly threatening to look at.

It was an old Fairbairn-Skyes, simple, and beautiful in it’s lethal use. It was something Jason had always admired in Alfred’s footlocker, he had loved it actually. It was a great fighting knife; it was the knife Alfred himself had taught Jason to use in a fight. Bruce hadn’t approved of that, but Alfred said a knife could save his life. He was not wrong. All of Alfred’s training, for knives and guns had actually saved his life in various situation since his death. They had never been skills he needed before his death, as B would never permit a thug to do real harm, but after his death they were skills of survival. Life was truly: Survival of the Fittest. Ra’s and the All-Caste had loved Darwin obviously.

“I…” Jason stared at the blade which had saved Alfred so many times in his youth, and then back to Alfred.

“You have many knives, I have no doubt, but I remember you being particularly fond of that one, and as no one; other than Master Damian; would have the appreciation for the blade, it should go to you. Saved my life many times,” Alfred said fondly.

“Why not give it to the bat brat?” Jason asked, carefully pulling it from it’s old leather sheath; which had been cared for and repaired many times.

“Master Damian’s affinity for blades is not to care for, but to use. He has a blatant lack of care for his weapons; including his own sword.I would rather the knife have a proper home, than to be used and discarded.”

“I… thank you, Alfred,” Jason smiled. Sheathing the blade he strapped it to his right thigh. It was the best gift he had ever received.

“So where to next, Master Jason?” Alfred asked as they started eating the cookies; well biscuits. Brits named shit weird; like bullocks; what the hell were bullocks!? Jason jolted himself from the thought and looked thoughtfully at Alfred. He could always tell Alfred his plans, Alfred wouldn’t tell B, no matter what.

“I’m heading to your neck of the woods actually, I got a lead on Talia,” he said.

“And why are you tracking Miss al Ghul?” Alfred asked dryly.

“Well… for starters, she’s a lying, no good, double crossing bitch who put me in a demon’s crosshairs; as well as putting me on the Bat radar; of which I was not on before I might add!” Jason grumbled sourly.

“And where exactly are you heading?”

“Well I thought to head for Inverness, and work my way from there,” he admitted.

“I see.” Alfred nodded.

“It’s not like she can hide from me forever Alfie! She trained me so I know she’s bound to slip up,” Jason promised.

“Well, I will have Bazza and Dave Boy meet you, they would love to catch up to you,” Alfred remarked.

“Uh…”

“I will also be requiring the number of the mobile Miss Roth was so kind to provide you with,” Alfred stated.

“Uh… sure? I can take international calls on it, I think. I think even interdimensional calls and texts because Constantine called me earlier,” Jason said.

“I will try not to take offense that you took the liberty of providing the number to Mister Constantine and not myself,” Alfred remarked.

“Actually, little bird programmed the damn phone, not me, though I’ll happily take your number,” he grinned. Alfred took the phone and put in his information, Jason also suckered Alfred into a photo with him, saving it as the contact photo.

“I gotta go, I have a plane to catch, Happy Birthday Alfie!” he smiled as he stood.

“It is always a pleasure to see you, Master Jason,” Alfred caught him and pulled him in for a rare hug, holding tight before letting him go.

“See you around.”

“You will be texting me when you land, Master Jason,” Alfred warned.

“Of course, I have to text the Queen anyway!” he grinned and darted out the door as he made his way off the property and to his bike.

[redjaybathood]

perspective

Chapter 3 on AO3: In which Bruce delegates some parts of investigation, and in order to do that, he has to face the past.

In times like this, Bruce feels Tim's absence very acutely.

There's just no one in Gotham bold enough to snipe Penguin in his own borough when he is surrounded by police, and leave not leaving a trace and not attracting attention. He has to look farther away.

His first thought is the same as Barbara's. It's too convenient a coincidence that Penguin is killed just as he is arrested for selling experimental guns. So looking into the origin of those guns is the first thing he should do. The problem with this theory, everyone knows where the guns were designed. It was a small Japanese R&D firm that went under when the contract with the British Military fell through and was swallowed by Luthorcorp during its expansion in Asia. Bruce doubts the corporation stopped any and all illegal activities just because Luthor himself was the President now. But it certainly cleaned up its act. And dealing with the Penguin? He was a household name here in his hometown. But for the global black market, he was a small fish. If the new management of Luthorcorp was negligent enough to allow this kind of short-term gain, long-term PR nightmare, they would have seen a lot more cases like this in the past few years.

He can not exactly rule it out, still, but spending too much time on it seems... Self-indulgent, considering who the new CEO is. Now, if Tim was still with him, Bruce knows he could have trusted him to look at the case from this angle diligently and without prejudice. Stephanie, however... He admires her gumption but this is just above her level.

Perhaps, he could outsource the leg work to another energetic and stubborn young woman he knew.

He calls Vesper.

They didn't part their ways amicably. Bruce designed it this way. But he knows she will come like he knows Sasha would get back, leave her new assignment if he ever asked. That's why he won't. Sasha still holds some feelings toward him while Vesper, by all means, moved on in her life. She did not get a new boyfriend but she did branch out to more traditional journalism. Wrote quite a scathing expose on Robin. He wonders if it's jealousy. If she knows. So the dinner date they will have serves more than one purpose.

 If she actually shows up, that's one point toward Vesper figured it out. If she asks him questions, it will be another.

She doesn't, though.

First of all, Vesper declines his invitations. 

"If you want to apologize to me," she snorts into the phone, "Don't you think it would be more than fair to come to me, for a change?"

It is. And so he goes to the upper part of the Coventry. The area is still rebuilding after the No-Man's Land, but the duplex Vesper lives in seems to be in a good shape.

"I thought you had a penthouse," he says instead of a greeting, smiling. It's a softball, thrown to gauge if she plays or let it fall on the grass. 

Vesper chuckles.

"You remember that awful earthquake two years back? And No Man's Land and all that?" she waves him in, locking the door behind him and squeezing past him and down the hall, to a kitchen. She expects him to follow. "Well, the building with my apartment in it was destroyed, thankfully without me in it."

"Insurance? Savings?"

"Insurance, yes, it was a pain to actually get them to pay. Barely covered the cost of this humble abode," she says. "You would think that the housing market plummets after a cataclysm like this but no."

She smiles at him like she's telling a joke. Hands him a glass of wine. He smiles back, as though he gets it, when, in fact, they both know he doesn't. Not really.

She looks beautiful like this, in the soft lights of her kitchen, sitting right across him on the other side of kitchen islands.

"You never told me," he said. 

Then, after the cataclysm but before the bridges were cut off from the mainland, they saw each other, very shortly, yes, but still. Come to think about it, he doesn't know where she disappeared to, either.

"Why, what would you do?" she says. "Offered me to move in? Please. I was... optimistic, maybe, but I wasn't delusional."

She changes the topic rather abruptly. 

"By the way, I'm not making dinner," she says, narrowing her eyes on him. "We're ordering, and you're paying."

They do, and it's just a pizza from a nearby place.

"I said I'm a girl of simple tastes, didn't I?" she comments. 

He recalls their first not-really-a-date, in a diner after a late-night radio show. Yes, yes she did. And every time she invited him somewhere, it was to a zoo, or a public garden, or a walk in the park. Something simple and engaging. It's him who booked tables at fancy restaurants, bought tickets to opera and took her to exclusive parties. After all, how she could be a part of his cover if they weren't seen together?

It's a wonder he had to stage a scene to get her to walk out.

When the pizza is on the way, she looks at him, crossing her arms.

"So, let's hear it."

"I'm sorry, Vesper," Bruce says sincerely. He lays his hand above hers. "You deserved better."

"Damn right I did," Vesper is finding this funny, somehow, based on how she's smiling and huffing. It should be a good sign but Bruce doesn't think it is. "But what exactly are you sorry for?"

"For cheating on you."

She makes a noize like a buzzer on a family show when someone says a wrong answer. 

"I told you I didn't care about that. Want to try again?"

He tries not to frown. Yes, she did.

"But it still hurt you."

She rolls her eyes at him.

"That's not what hurt me. It's you faking it again, only instead of a headache, you had three girls in a jacuzzi. If I was moving too fast for you, if there was someone else, if you wanted to break up, you should have used your words, you know?"

He smiles sheepishly. Sometimes it works.

"I'm not particularly good with it. Words. Feelings. And there wasn't anyone else. Well, I mean, no one serious."

"What about miss Bordeaux? I saw her looking at you, and me, more than once."

"Sasha? God, no. She was my bodyguard, it wouldn't be... ethical, from either of our sides. And when the feelings became a problem for her, it was well past you and me. She resigned then, actually."

"Smart girl," Vesper says with a kind of longing like she would have liked to be as smart as Sasha, in regards to Bruce. She straightens up. "So what then? Come on, the only reason I'm allowing you to apologize is to get some closure. If it wasn't some other woman..."

"It wasn't you, either."

It's true but it sounds false. She snorts and drinks from her glass.

"So, "it's not you it's me" route, then? As far as closures go, it's a shitty one."

"But it is me."

"Yeah," Vesper says, looking at him pityingly. "I know. Question remains, what changed? What do you want now, except to make amends? I doubt you want to take up where we left off."

"Nothing changed," he says. "And everything did. I recently lost some people - they are not dead, nothing like that, just... moved away. We are not in contact anymore. It made me think about things. How much of people leaving is my fault. If I drive people away."

"You do," Vesper says. "You can be very charming when you want. So if anyone ever leaves, that's your choice, not theirs."

Bruce can't find anything to say to that, for a moment. He expected her to argue, to console. He is acting vulnerable, soft, relatable. It should have worked. It was his ultimate weapon.

But instead, her words strike him like a punch from Batgirl, for some reason.

"And I thought about other people I drove away," he continues as planned after all. "About you. I found myself missing you. Not - not romantically. But..."

"You want us to be friends," she says. She has a smile on her face again. It's more ironic than sincere. "God, Bruce, can you be more of a cliche?"

Bruce smiles in return, shrugs and waves his hands.

She sighs. She looks like she is going to regret whatever she says next but she is going to say it regardless.

"Alright. But you are on a trial basis, and I expect the no question asked full money guarantee."

It's a lovely evening after that. They have a lovely dinner. She tells him about her second job at the newspaper. She asks about what really happened when he was trying to get Gotham the help it desperately needed and why it failed. She doesn't have her recorder out but she warns him that she may be quoting him in the future if she gets enough material to write the article for the three-years anniversary of the earthquake. He doesn't mind.

He can barely wait until he can bring up the topic that concerns him.

"By the way," he says. They are in her living room, now, which is not much of a room at all. He's sitting beside her on the sofa, each of them has a wine glass in hand, and he's caressing Vesper's hand with a finger slightly. "You are not covering that horrid business with Cobblepot, are you?"

"I do, actually. You did see my today's article, right? It was the front page. What?"

Bruce slips: he frowns in displeasure slightly when she mentions that, and looking like he's criticizing Vesper's opinions is not very helpful.

"Not as much, but I heard about it. Seems like a fair share of the female population in Gotham hates you right now."

She snorts, taking her hand away and fixing a stray hair lock from her bun.

"Right, if I am a woman then I need to just accept other women doing stupid things, or I am a traitor to my species."

"True, doesn't seem fair. But I can't recall you ever questioning if Batman should be allowed to exist, and he failed quite a few times."

He's baiting her It's not elegant but it should work. Vesper looks at him, rolling her lower lip between her teeth, contemplating her response.

"The easy answer to that," she says at last. "Is that I'm not going to write about him at all before we have any footage of him actually existing. Or any other solid evidence. Before that, he's just an urban legend, and I'm going to leave it to Vicky Vale. And Robin was very conveniently caught on photo."

Which is another thing Batman has to talk with Stephanie about. But, hopefully, prolonged exposure to Batgirl will make her more careful in her ways, so he let it be for now.

"And the truth?" he says, making sure to incline his head to bring himself a little closer to Vesper and smile a little.

She turns away.

"The truth is, I don't care about Batman. By all witness accounts, he's a grown-up man. Able-bodied, without a day job, most likely, or he wouldn't be able to operate as long as he did. So probably well-off, too. If that's how he prefers to spend his life, it's a GCPD problem, not the community one. It's different, for women."

"How so?"

"Look. The only one who has it rougher than low income, young girls in Gotham, is if they are low income, young girls of color. Girls face the same dangers as we all but it's harder for them to keep themselves out of dangerous situations. They are most likely to do the bulk of household work because if they have parents, they are probably working overtime or a second, a third job to make ends meet. Add to it the general attitude towards girls and education, we get lower grades, fewer chances of getting into college, even less of a scholarship. Their job prospects are worse because anyone would rather hire a man, or a boy, or at least a grown woman, for any entry-level job. Even among criminal activity, not much open to them. Unlike the Black Mask, the Joker, or, hell, even Penguin, Poison Ivy, Queen, Catwoman, they all work alone. And like hell any of men would even consider hiring a woman as a henchman. Mafia has pretty strict gender politics as well. What's open to them, basically, is making up their own gang. Which sounds fun and feministic, right? Only not really, because all the territory is pretty much spoken for at this point. Any square mile of turf, every corner is going to be fought for tooth and nail. And you would think in such a chauvinistic structure as GCPD, the rates of police brutality against women would be lower, comparatively? But actual data on rape and assault in custody says otherwise. What's left? Ah, yes, street walking. Escort, if you manage to invest in yourself or just naturally gifted. Do I need to say why it's a really dangerous career to be in? Everywhere, not just in Gotham. But... Especially in Gotham."

She takes a pause to breathe. Bruce uses it.

"But really, isn't it good that we now have a female Robin? For girls to aspire to something... Something good?"

Vesper looks at him in disgust.

"God, that's just such a Brucie Wayne thing to say! The only thing they will aspire to, at this rate, is to how to be tragically and brutally murdered, and/or sexually assaulted. Gotham does not respect women, Bruce. Gotham swallows them whole."

"Batgirl is active for two years now. There's also Huntress, Batwoman..."

"No matter how good you are, one day you just going to lose the fight. Accident, mistake, or just the other guy stronger than you are. A trap, or overwhelming force. That's true for Batman, too. Only the worst thing he has to fear is a simple bullet to his brain."

Bruce looks away. He regrets asking the question, now.

Vesper, however, continues.

"And I really, really don't want to have to write about Robin being caught by this or that scumbag and, I don't know, drilled to death. Because of course, scumbags need something to sublimate their sexual disfunction with. And even worse, write about some other girl making a suit for herself, being inspired, being hopeful, trying to make a change but ending up in the morgue. And that is exactly where they would end up."

"This does sound concerning," Bruce says. "So, perhaps, you will understand why I don't want you to look further into the Penguin, or in Luthorcorp."

Vesper grimaces when he says that but then does a double-take.

"Wait, what? What it was about Luthorcorp?"

Bruce holds his hand out placatingly. 

"Nothing! Forget it. Allegations of her father being tied to a terrorist organization were never proven anyway. And you saw how much good she did to Metropolis? She's one of the good ones. Even Lois Lane sings her praises. Well, praises for Lane, anyway."

Which is one additional reason not to include Clark in the investigation. The other being, Batman does not ask for help.

"Alright, Bruce," Vesper murmurs into her glass. "If you say so. Now, how about you tell me what the hell happened with that artist and the garden?"

The rest of their evening is uneventful. When he gets back to the Manor, he gets another disapproving glare from Alfred.

He tries to explain.

"I'm not placing her at risk," he says. "Talia won't try anything with a member of a press investigation her. Not in Metropolis."

"You have underestimated miss al Ghul before," Alfred says. "But I believe in this instance, you are right."

"So why are you cross with me again, then?"

"When you were out, you missed a call from Tim Drake. Miss Brown answered the phone. She left in tears."

"If Tim was being rude to her, I fail to see how it is my fault."

The glare loses its intensity. Alfred turns away, and this somehow is even worse.

"Indeed, sir. I cannot think of a thing the young man would be upset about."

"If he is upset, it does not mean he's allowed to take his feelings out on other people." Especially when the situation is his own fault anyway.

"That is true," Alfred says, leaving him alone. 

Bruce wants to punch something.

He goes out on patrol. Perhaps, some gang members heard something about a new gun for hire in town. He would love to persuade them to share the news.

[jinmukangwrites]

New Perspectives

Batfamweek2020 Day 4 / De-ageing / @official-batfam-week

Summary: Sometimes crazy villains can get lucky shots. Damian just wished the lucky shot hadn’t hit Grayson, his current mentor and Batman. This complicates things quickly.

Might expand on this someday? Hmmmm. This week is giving me too many opportunities to try my hand out on stories I’ve been wanting to write >.<

AO3

-o-o-o-o-

“We’re almost there,” Damian says, trying not to pay too much attention to the boy behind him that’s clutching his stomach so he doesn’t fall off the cycle. The boy doesn’t respond, just clutches harder as Damian takes a sharp turn into a hidden and underground entrance to the cave. He doesn’t know if this tunnel had existed back when Grayson was Robin, but judging by the shocked gasp that vocalizes behind him: it didn’t.

The going after is just a few moments that are hardly worth remembering. The boy behind him is completely silent, and Damian’s sure if he turned around and looked into his eyes, all he would see is a cloudy, confused fog blanketing his normally lively electric blue irises.

Grayson is, understandably, “out of it”. Damian feels out of it. The night started off like any other; he and Grayson put on their uniforms and Batman and Robin emerged into the streets to fight crime and do good and all that ridiculous nonsense. However, it turned out someone wanted to attempt to make their villainous debut that night, some man with way too much knowledge in technology and what it can do to the human body. A bank robbery turned into a standup, the burglar ripping off his ski mask and leather jacket to reveal a ridiculous domino mask that appeared to be made out of felt from a lowly stock supermarket and an even more ridiculous costume that appeared to have been put together from a green-man suit and a mess of glued on scrap fabric and pipe-cleaners.

“It is I!” He had screamed, wielding a gun like device that looked straight from Halo. “Reverser! Batman and Robin! Tremble before me!”

Damian would sooner tremble to Condiment Man; which is another way to say no way in hell.

He was easy to take down, unfortunately he had gotten a few laser-like shots from his gun but he ultimately went down like a bag of bricks when Damian swiped his temple with a well placed kick from his heel. After he restrained the miscreant with cable ties he turned around, expecting the normal bout of praise Grayson loves to give him, only for his eyes to widen in shock as he sights three children who were not there before the battle.

Each child, a girl and two boys, swimming in adult clothes and all looking very dazed and confused.

He didn’t recognize the first two, but he did recognize the bright blue eyed one with raven hair and tan skin looking down at the mess of Batsuit around him with a far-off look and a frown on his lips. Damian didn’t hesitate, he just darted forward, gathered up the kid and the suit, and pressed the button on his belt that would summon his cycle.

He forgot to grab the weapon that did this, but he sent a message the commissioner’s way explaining the situation with the other two children and the weapon that did it. Damian will drop Grayson back at the manor and let Pennyworth deal with him while Damian went back out to retrieve the only key to reversing... fixing this mess until the Reverser woke up from his concussion.

The child thankfully has enough sense about him to clutch onto Damian as he drove, and he thankfully didn’t fight Damian forcing one of his own extra masks on his face and only gave minimal resistance to Damian stripping him of the Batsuit and shoving him into a various selection of clothes he definitely didn’t steal from a near-by dry cleaner that Pennyworth will be none-the-wiser of.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

So, now, he comes to a screeching halt in the cave with the Bat-suit stuffed in a bag around his shoulders with Grayson hanging on just behind in borrowed clothes and a borrowed mask. He spots Pennyworth rushing down the stairs up to the manor with a visible amount of concern on his face, but Damian ignores him for now as he gets off the bike and drags Grayson off with him by a hand gripping the... younger boy’s bicep. Damian tries not to think about how the tip of his middle finger and his thumb are close to touching or how the borrowed mask looks way too big.

Grayson cannot be more than seven or eight years old at the moment. He’s so small compared to Damian, and Damian cannot be more than two years older. Damian doesn’t know how young Grayson started his career fighting Gotham crime, but Damian secretly and truly hopes it wasn’t this young. It wasn’t this small. Which is rich, because Damian’s been fighting since he could crawl.

Knowing his father, it was probably this young. This small.

Grayson stumbles to his feet and groans, bringing the hand that belongs to his freed arm to his eyes and rubbing at them, making the mask covering his identity grow slightly askew. Damian tuts as Pennyworth finally arrives, mumbling a British expletive under his breath that Damian will not address because the old butler will very stubbornly and effectively deny. Besides, Grayson is more important.

“What happened?” Pennyworth asks, bending down—knees cracking and Damian fights a wince—to grab Grayson’s cheeks to keep his head still long enough to peel off the borrowed mask. Damian lets go of Grayson’s arm to return to his bike.

“He got hit by something that reverted him to the age of a child,” Damian says simply. “Watch over him while I visit the precinct to retrieve the weapon that did-“

“No alone, you’re not,” Pennyworth snaps and Damian frowns. Grayson has yet to show any kind of familiarity with Pennyworth, but as Pennyworth stands up to give Damian a hard stare, Grayson wraps his thin arms around the butler’s hips and buries his face into his lower leg. A pathetic show of a child needing affection. Grayson is clearly still very out of it. Damian must fix this, and quickly.

“I’ll be fine,” Damian argues back and Pennyworth’s lips dangerously thin. Damian fights back a nervous swallow. He quickly found out Pennyworth was no one to be trifled with, after calling him a servant and getting an intense scolding from his father, he had been careful since to treat the elder man with tolerance. It was then that he noticed the lethal way the butler moved. He was a soldier, a dangerous one before this. A soldier hardly ever forgets how to not be dangerous, even in old age. Tolerance turned into respect.

And fear, of those stern eyes and scolding lips that thin before they go for a killing blow.

“You will go to the precinct tomorrow. Mr Gordon will not lose the weapon in eight hours. You need rest.” Pennyworth puts his hand down at the top of Grayson’s unruly mess of hair. Grayson has yet to emerge from his clinging grasp on Pennyworth’s leg. “You both do.”

Damian huffs angrily, jerking his body away from his cycle with a growl. He knew the battle was lost the moment the butler told him no the first time, but Damian is more stubborn to give up the first try.

“Alf...” a small voice says and Damian has to fight jerking his head down to the small kid who’s released his clinging just enough to look up at the older man. “‘m tired...”

“Of course, Master Dick,” Pennyworth says, a warmth in his voice that Damian has never heard directed his way. Pennyworth looks over at Damian one last time with a stern eye before he expertly unwinds Grayson’s grabbing and spindly arms to bend down and place his hands on Grayson’s shoulders. Grayson wobbles slightly and blinks sleepily and Pennyworth tuts. “We will head to bed immediately. Do you need to be carried?”

Damian bits his lip as Grayson gives a jerking shake of the head. He looks dead on his feet, Damian wouldn’t even have asked, but Pennyworth just nods and stands tall, offering a single gloved hand.

“Hold my hand then, you’ve had a long night.”

Grayson nods and grabs Pennyworth's hand, taking steps along the butler’s strides much like how a newborn deer would as it tries to keep pace with a buck.

Damian hears a tiny “where’s Bruce?” as the pair make their way towards the stairs out of the cave. Damian reluctantly follows close behind, curious as to what answer Pennyworth is about to give.

“He was held up at work, young man,” Pennyworth says back, helping Grayson up the first stair. “Will you be alright with just Zitka?”

“Yeah...”

“Very well, are you hungry?”

“Nah...”

Pennyworth’s mindless questions for Grayson’s well being quickly become background noise to Damian’s thoughts as the trio walk into the study. Damian closes the door in the clock behind him and the two other occupants of the house quickly turn a corner and begin to leave Damian behind.

He decides to quickly retreat to his room while he lets Pennyworth deal with the dazed miniature Grayson. Grayson hadn’t noticed Damian there and he inquired the location of his father, which makes this situation feel already leagues out of his abilities to even attempt to help the tiny version of his mentor. Damian needs to sleep, because the sooner he sleeps, the sooner he can leave the next day and get the weapon and hopefully interrogate Reverser or whatever his birth name is because honestly Damian refuses to call him by that idiotic name for much longer.

He doesn’t stumble into his room, just like how the weight of the situation doesn’t hit him like a truck and cause him to flop on his bed with a verbal sigh. He doesn’t turn in his sheets so he’s facing the direction where Grayson’s room is and he definitely doesn’t focus his hearing on the quiet and muffled murmuring of Pennyworth coaxing the child into bed.

None of this happens because no one is around to see nor hear him do it.

If a tree falls in a forest, and all that.

He will fix this, he thinks, closing his eyes as Pennyworth’s footsteps retreat down the hall.

-o-o-o-o-

It’s close to four in the morning when Damian wakes again. Confused because he’s trained his body to always sleep in till at least six, he slowly brings his arms under him and lifts his body up so he can effectively look around the room to maybe spot whatever disturbance woke him up. There’s nothing but shadows, no light illuminating from the window because of the twilight before morn. His furniture is all where it should be, and there’s no unknown forms where there shouldn’t be.

He lays back down on his bed again, eyebrows drawn together and very awake for no reason at all. Strange, he hardly ever wakes up before he’s trained his body to unless he specifically plans an early rising with an alarm.

Perhaps the manor life has been getting to him, maybe his body is deciding to have a little fit about the time zone difference between this place and the desert he grew up in.

Nothing to cause worry, for sure.

Then; he hears a tiny pitter-patter of feet walking quietly outside his door.

Perhaps this was the disturbance he was looking for. He silently slips from his covers and tip-toes to his door, waiting for the footsteps to get a bit further from his room so he can quietly open the door without being noticed. He pokes his head out and blinks at the almost pitch blackness of the wing hallway to see a small form turn a corner towards the stairs that lead to the main floor of the manor.

The realization washes over him like those blasted artificial waves at that pool Grayson forced him to go to on a rare weekend off for the older man. He glances down the other end of the hallway towards the direction of Grayson’s room, knowing it is now empty, before fully exiting his room and quickly rushing down the direction Grayson had gone without making a single noise.

What could a shrunken kid be doing this early in the morning? He was practically dead on his feet the night before. Damian’s almost shocked that he’s up before noon let alone sneaking around the manor. Damian is just lucky that Grayson as a child isn’t as good at sneaking as his adult counterpart. Worst case scenario, Grayson could have exited the manor and left to the streets of Gotham all before Damian and Pennyworth could notice.

He pokes his head around a corner to find Grayson just reaching the bottom of the staircase. He watches as he looks around the large room before taking off thankfully not towards the front doors. A small inkling of worry fades from Damian’s conscious as he quickly rushes down the stairs just in time to see Grayson disappear through the halls into the doorway of the kitchen.

Curious, Damian sneaks closer and pokes his head in to see Grayson already struggling to jump on the counter and open a high up cupboard, pulling out a box of frosted mini-wheats and hopping down to place the box on the counter. Damian has to resist a snort of amusement as the child then carefully opens the fridge door, recoiling from the light of the fridge ever so slightly and blinking squinting and close to teary eyes from perhaps exhaustion, to drag out a gallon of milk and shove it next to the cereal. Grayson then heads to another counter and hops up again with practiced movements to open another just for his hand to freeze when he meets the sight of glass pans and fancy decorative serving bowls.

“Huh,” Damian hears Grayson huff. “Alf reorganized.”

He’s looking for the bowls. Damian places his hands over his mouth to stop an embarrassing giggle. This is all so amusing. Grayson had gotten up at four in the morning to steal a bowl of cereal. He wonders if he still does this as an adult and Damian just hasn’t ever noticed, but then he shakes his head because it’s ridiculous to think that first of all, an adult man sneaking under Pennyworth’s nose to get cereal and second of all, that Damian wouldn’t notice.

Grayson opens the next cupboard closest to him just to huff again when he meets the sight of spices. There are many cupboards in the kitchen, and the poor shrunken man is on the opposite side of the room where the bowls actually lay.

Damian wonders what he should do. It looks like Grayson is simply just hungry and might even go back to bed without suspecting a thing. Damian isn’t sure how much he remembers, but if the way the other boy is slowly starting to growl with each cupboard he opens, muttering things like “Alfie really outdid himself this time” and “doing this just because he doesn’t want me sneaking food at midnight” and even “watch. He probably hid the bowls in his room this time” with growing frustration was anything to go by: not much.

Damian shouldn't make his presence known if Grayson woke up with munchies thinking he was back to eight years old. Back then, it was only him, Pennyworth, and his father all living in the same house. To Grayson, he’d probably just be some random ten year old kid who broke into the manor or something.

He should go wake Pennyworth, he decides as Grayson calls out in victory, pulling out the first bowl he gets his hands on. He steps back, but of course it’s that second Alfred the cat decides to make himself known by tripping Damian up. He hadn’t noticed the feline standing curiously behind him, but Grayson definitely notices Damian’s call of alarm and Alfred’s yowl and hiss as he runs away. Damian lands on his rear with a thump and next thing he knows, Grayson is standing a few paces away, holding perhaps the first long and weighty thing he could find up as a weapon. Unfortunately, that item is a rolling pin. A hit from that, even from Grayson’s skinny noodle arms, would leave a mark, especially with Robin training.

“Who are you?!” Grayson hisses, holding his rolling pin of doom out in front of him at an awkward and wrong angle for optimal self defense. On instinct, Grayson has lessened his abilities to appear as an actual child who’s been startled, not a trained vigilante that could use a paperclip as a weapon if need arises.

Damian slowly holds up his hands in surrender and rises to his feet even slower. “I’m not going to hurt you, Grayson.”

Damian almost curses his instinct to call the boy by name, but Grayson doesn’t react. It’s then that Damian remembers that he’s the first adoptive son of the elusive Bruce Wayne. Everyone in Gotham knows his name, more so than Todd, Drake, Damian himself, and especially Cain. However, what Grayson chooses to get angry at is the rest of the sentence itself.

Grayson raises his weapon higher and Damian follows the action with his hands, keeping his gaze firm on Grayson’s eyes.

“Tell me who you are or I swear I’ll-“

“Master Richard John Grayson,” Pennyworth suddenly gasps from behind, startling both Damian and Grayson out from their heated glaring contest. Damian hadn’t noticed the man, though Pennyworth is often unnoticed when he wants to be. He’s sure the older man has startled his father himself a few times from his silent walking.

There’s a thunk of a rolling pin falling to the ground and Damian watches as Grayson stares wide eyed at Pennyworth, mouth slightly open in shock. At first, he thinks it’s because Pennyworth used Grayson’s full name, signifying how angry he is, but when Pennyworth steps forward Grayson takes a startled step back. He looks like he’s about to dart.

Something else is wrong, and Damian realizes just what when Grayson lets out a shocked whisper.

“You’re... you... Alfred, you look old...?”

Pennyworth sighs and kneels down on the ground, holding out his bare hands. He’s in his nightgown and a little hat and nothing more. It looks like he woke from bed in a cold sweat and grabbed the nearest garment to be decent enough before tracking down his target. Grayson takes a slow step forward and grabs Pennyworth’s hands with his own, and after a tense moment of the two of them staring at each other and Damian feeling like he’s intruded on something private, Grayson relaxes.

“But it’s you. You’re old... but you’re you.”

“The one and only, lad,” Pennyworth says with a somber smile to his voice.

Suddenly, Damian is in the spotlight of Grayson’s attention once again when their eyes meet. “You’re old,” Grayson repeats softly, almost to himself as he looks Damian up and down as if he’s assessing a threat. Which is good, Grayson is young and should always assess threats, but it hurts that he’s on the receiving end. “And you’re new... Alfred, what’s going on? Where’s Bruce?”

“Richard,” Pennyworth says, dropping the honorific, which is very rare for him to do, “do you remember anything from last night?”

Grayson’s eyebrows come together, making him look even more like the child that he is. It makes something in Damian’s chest tighten. He wonders if he’s ever looked that small. “I... no... a... a light..?

Clearly, thinking too much is giving the younger version of Damian’s mentor a headache. Pennyworth takes pity on him by letting go of his hands and transferring his grasp onto both of Grayson’s arms in a steady hold. “I was hoping we could ease you in once morning came,” Pennyworth says with a sigh. “Sadly, it seems we must explain things now. Master Dick, please put the pin away and finish making your bowl of cereal then go upstairs to join Master Damian in the study, I will be right up after I make us all some hot chocolate.”

Grayson nods slowly and Pennyworth gives him a small pat on the arm before standing up and preparing the milk before anyone could say anything else. Damian feels the hairs on his neck rise and he re-meets Graysons studying gaze. Damian clears his throat and takes a step back—careful this time to not trip over any cats—and forces something that could maybe pass as a smile onto his face.

“Yeah,” he says smartly, before turning tale and retreating up towards the study before Grayson could say anything.

[tessatechaitea]

The Invisibles #2

This cover isn't as catchy as the pop hand grenade.

It's probably appropriate that I'm reading a comic book about a rebellious group throwing as many wrenches as they can into the machinery of the status quo right now. Also I would have said spanners instead of wrenches but I don't want to confuse the people who don't watch thousands of hours of British panel shows on YouTube. For no one particular reason but maybe a whole lot of them, I have an anecdote about the Santa Clara police. I've already told the story in my review of Batgirl #10 from July 2012 but I'll reprint it exactly as I did then because it's pertinent to understanding that cops are violent jerks. "About fifteen years ago [twenty-three years ago now!], my friends Paul and Tony were coming home from a club. As Paul was dropping Tony off at his house, they noticed some kids breaking into Tony's car. Tony called the police and Paul gave chase tackling one of the kids. They were probably around fourteen or fifteen. Paul didn't do anything but hold the kid until the cops showed up. When the police did show, they told Paul that they'll take the kid in but guaranteed almost nothing would come of this. They even suggested that if Paul had roughed him up a bit, it might not have been so bad. So yeah, Batgirl. You're doing the work the police would love to do but can't because they'd lose their jobs. Rough up the car thieves, put them in the hospital, and they might decide crime has too high a price to pay. I'm not saying I agree with the violence that the cops are willing to overlook. But I am saying you're a tool of the system." When I told it back in 2012, I got one small detail wrong: the hilarious assumption that the cops would lose their jobs if they did the violence themselves. Oh, I was so naive eight years ago! I mean, I still knew it was bullshit that the cops were suggesting one citizen do violence to another one! And I was also pretty facetious in my take because I was speaking directly to Batgirl for some reason! But I was encouraging her not to be violent like the cops! Don't do their immoral dirty work for them and also probably for that bastard Batman! Imagine that the job description most commonly associated with your job is "to serve and protect" and you think it's okay to tell an adult male to beat up some kids? Just fucking imagine what kind of an asshole you'd have to be. Now imagine that you weren't the only asshole; everybody you worked with felt the same way. Or, at the extremely very least, felt like they couldn't reprimand you or disagree with your methods because it would be a risk to their lives. Here's another thing to imagine! Imagine having a job and believing without a fucking doubt that everybody who has the same job as you should never be criticized for not simply doing a bad job but for murdering people while on the job. Just fucking imagine. Here's one last thing to imagine: imagine purchasing my cribbage-based RPG. I know it's only available on Amazon but try to ignore that they're capitalist monsters this one time and support my first uneasy footsteps into the world of publishing. I promise I'll figure out a better way at some point. It's just I hate all the marketing and distribution and graphic design and business bullshit; I just want to write the fucking thing and somehow get it in the hands of people who might enjoy it.

Remember the good old days before Fox News when we thought mind control propaganda would have to be subliminal?!

Obviously the guy speaking is schizophrenic. His description of anxious, terrifying thoughts having to come from another source rather than your own mind is pure schizophrenia. It's why they're always obsessed with mind shielding or satellites on the moon or neighbors beaming microwaves into their living rooms. I can't imagine how terrifying it must be to be detached from your own thoughts, unable to recognize that it's your own internal monologue whispering terrible insults to you on a constant basis. At least when I hear a voice in my head say, "You're fat," I know it's my own mind reaching the conclusion that maybe I shouldn't have eaten the whole pint of Ben & Jerry's. Having escaped from the young dystopian novel of a school system last issue, Dane McGowan is now living on the streets with herpes. It isn't long before he teams up with Mad Tom 'o Bedlam, an old homeless man who acts crazy and maybe is crazy but not as crazy as he acts, if you get what I'm saying. Do you? I sometimes don't get what I'm saying at all. But I keep saying things because sometimes I'll say something that makes me think, "Hey! You're not as stupid as your mother screamed you were every single day!"

Remember the good old days when the protagonist of a story could have multiple flaws and be really unlikeable without immediately calling into question the beliefs of the author?

Seriously though, this kid is a fucking cock. He's all bluster and anti-establishment and violent and homophobic and all because his mother withholds love and his dad is absent. He's trying so hard to be above the status quo and be this unique anarchic individual who does what he pleases and yet he's simply another lousy stereotype. Tom and Dane see a young woman chased through the streets of London by some guys blowing trumpets and dressed as if they're on a fox hunt. Tom grabs Dane and they make a run for it because Tom knows all about the secret hazards of the hidden side of London. The huntsmen capture the young woman and presumably kill her since one of them also says to cut her breasts off. That's some of that old ultra-violence that we knew would have to show up in this book. It's sort of a cultural call back to the works that probably helped inspire this story. Tom and Dane wind up in the secret catacombs of old London where they scrape some blue mold off of a wall and smoke it. Tom also gives some of that history you expect from Morrison, like how he made sure Gotham was understood to be the "Village of Goats." Man, that was the best thing he ever did for Batman continuity. Dane believes he hallucinates a word on the wall — Barbelith — and some aliens coming for him. He passes out and regains consciousness above the streets back in London. But now he has a scar on the back of his head and he sees airships in the sky that weren't there before. Being that I spent my formative years watching The X-Files, I understand when somebody has been abducted and implanted with a chip that allows them to see the secret strings turning reality into some Other thing's puppet theater. Tom shows Dane a few more magic tricks and Dane finally realizes the man is nuts in a way that makes a lot of sense to him. So he finally agrees to be an Invisible. That's when he wakes up with the Fox Hunters ready to give chase. But that's for next issue. The Invisibles #2 Rating: A. This issue was better than the last issue which was already a good issue. You might have realized that because I gave last issue a "B" and this one an "A". That's sort of how the grades work. I don't really care about grading or rating the comic books I read. I just want a history of my thoughts on them so that when I'm 80, I have some way to entertain myself (assuming the Internet and electricity and leisure time are still extant things). And it's not like this is a review that would help sell this comic book anyway! Who's going to rush out and find old copies of The Invisibles just because I said I liked them? The most disappointing part of this whole project is that I don't have every issue of this series. I'm so fucking annoyed with 23 year old me right now.

[madamnrosmcrta]

JAMIE CHUNG? No, that’s actually ISOLDE ROSMERTA from the MARAUDERS ERA. You know, the child of MINA ROSMERTA (NÉE LEE) and CHARLES ROSMERTA (BORN PARK JAE-HO)? Only 31 years old, this HUFFLEPUFF alumni works as a LANDLADY OF THE THREE BROOMSTICKS and is sided with THE NEUTRALS. SHE identifies as CISWOMAN and is a PUREBLOOD who is known to be INDECISIVE, GULLIBLE, and STUBBORN but also GENEROUS, COMPASSIONATE, and OPEN-MINDED. — &&. ( SAM, EST, YOUR THEY/THEM, 24. )

character parallels: molly weasley ( harry potter ) + sandy olsen ( grease ) + marge simpson ( the simpsons ) + sookie stackhouse ( true blood ) + joyce byers ( stranger things ) + james gordon ( gotham ) + ginny weasley ( harry potter ) + lorelai gilmore ( gilmore girls ) + scott mccall ( teen wolf ) + lily aldrin ( how i met your mother ) !!

THREE HEADCANONS

— ❝ 01. Isolde’s father and mother escaped to the United-States after a big fight with their families, two very powerful pureblood families that had always been in competition with one another. The Lees stood for everything the Parks stood against, and vice versa. Therefore, after deciding to abandon their families and build a life of their own, a choice that was far from easy for either of them, they moved to New York City, New York, at the age of twenty. It was then that Jae-Ho changed his name to Charles Rosmerta, cutting all ties from his family, and though Mina kept her name, she did take the same surname as her husband. Two years later, they had Isolde, and five years later, after they had Isolde’s younger sibling, they decided to move to the U.K., after having met a man from there, through Mina’s job at the MACUSA, who promised them an even better life situation there (which meant a lot, considering they had a pretty awesome life in New York City thanks to good jobs and money sent by the one grandmother on Mina’s side who approved of their love). There, Charles would get a chance to establish an inn, a dream he’d always had but had never gotten the chance to think seriously about due to the expectations his family had for him since they were a very prominent pureblood family, and having an inn simply wasn’t good enough. In the UK, the little family bought the Three Broomsticks, and lived in a house a little bit outside of Hogsmeade. Mina got a job at the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and became a very important member of the department. Meanwhile, the Three Broomsticks did extremely well under Mina’s dad’s ownership, and the family never lacked anything. Truly, Isolde had a very comfortable childhood, and though she wished she could have gotten to know her extended family at some points, the more she grew up, the more she realized they weren’t worth it. They had given up on her parents, and as someone who adored Charles and Mina, Isolde just couldn’t forgive that.

— ❝ 02. When Isolde was twenty-three years old, her parents decided to move back to New York City, so that her mother could become an ambassador for the British Ministry of Magic over there, and so that her father could retire for a little while and concentrate on art (which, I forgot to mention, but he used to paint on the side, but never had much time for it). When leaving, which was a painful separation for everyone, Charles gave the keys of the Three Broomsticks to Isolde and told her she could either sell it and keep the money to invest in something else, or run it herself. To be completely honest, Isolde did hesitate for a while. She had been working at a book shop in Diagon Alley at the time, but had bartended at the Three Broomsticks in the past, and the place meant a lot to her, so… She ended up deciding to run it herself. The ownership was switched from her father to herself, and Isolde started making little change by little change to the place. It became a bit less sophisticated than it had been when her father had owned it, but a bit more homey. She made it a place where everyone would feel welcome, and ended up having customers from all sides of various conflicts. She treated them all the same, but there was a zero tolerance policy for violence and disrespect. Whilst she did not take a side in the war, having close friends on both sides and not wanting to lose them, she did lean heavily on the Order’s side, convictions-wise. Still, she remained neutral, as it was the easiest thing to do for her.

— ❝ 03. It tears away at her. Knowing what’s right, and yet remaining neutral. Problem is, she loves too much. Loves some people on both sides, and it would break her to choose some over the others. Still, she tries to help in little ways. Subtly lowering the price of rooms for Order members, smiling less sincerely at Death Eaters, and some more. Thing was, she believed in individuals, not causes. She thought that some people could be saved; that they wouldn’t remain bad people for the rest of their lives. Maybe it was silly and childish, but it was the way she felt. She wanted to save the world, but to do that, she couldn’t take a side. And that made sense to her. 

MORE

Has a younger sibling who’s five years younger than Isolde. I’ll send in a wanted connection for them soon!

Lesbian af.

Loves trying out new cocktails, though she hasn’t changed the drinks menu of the Three Broomsticks in a while now.

Loves muggle wine, but would never serve it in the Three Broomsticks, as she knows it would cause a lot of problems.

Is just so... Generous. Warmhearted. Kind. Which makes the whole neutral thing a bit strange, but thing is she can’t find it in herself to oppose someone so openly. Especially not when she loves people on both sides, and thinks minds can be changed for the better. I don’t know if I’m making sense, because Isolde is strong; she just doesn’t like confrontation. And she believes there’s good in everyone, which is problematic in and of itself, but hey! She’s far from perfect!

The whole “doing nothing in a situation of injustice is just as bad as acting for the injustice” just really unsettles her. Like, that whole idea... Fuck. It’s just, so, I don’t know. She knows it’s true, but that doesn’t make it any easier to claim a side.

Just wants people to feel welcome in her establishment! Still, she doesn’t tolerate violence or disrespect in the Three Broomsticks, and isn’t afraid to kick patrons out.

+ ABOUT PAGE !! + PINTEREST BOARD !! + CONNECTIONS !! (COMING SOON)

[audreycritter]

dinobite

This is for @starknjarvis27 who donated to @cerusee‘s GoFundMe.

CECverse, Kiran Devabhaktuni, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne. Gen!Fic TW: Gore, emergency medical treatment.

***

The towering pines groaned in the mountain breeze. The branches, thick with needles, caught the wind and kept it from sweeping across the rubberized picnic table nestled in a tiny clearing off the main path. Kiran Devabhaktuni finished off the homemade protein bar he’d pried out of a wax paper wrapper and unscrewed the cap from his steel water bottle.

“Still think we’ll make it back to the lake house before dark?” Timothy Drake-Wayne asked, looking up from the zipper he was wrestling with on his backpack. The pack was next to Dev’s own on the table, where they’d lined them up when they sat to take a break after the steepest part of the climb.

“Bloody hell, Timothy, it’s not like you’re afraid of the—”

Dark.

Everything was dark.

Dev’s entire body rebelled against the paradoxical sensation of moving faster than he’d ever moved before, and absolute stillness. It went on for long seconds, enough for his shrieking mind to be convinced he was dropping dead of a stroke right in front of poor Timothy. Flashes of light went in and out and something was clamped uncomfortably around his head, and he was bone-deep freezing while his blood boiled in his veins.

This was hell, this was the hell his British grandmum had terrorized his child-self with when she found him drawing pictures of Kali at the kitchen table.

Lakes of fire, she’d whispered, sliding him a biscuit. Weeping and gnashing of teeth without end.

Then, it stopped.

Dev was on his hands and knees, trying to gasp and puking into the helmet that covered his face. He ripped it off with trembling fingers, his muscles too limp to fling it away. He let it drop, splattered visor and all, to the bronzed grass. With a gasp, he sat back on his folded legs and tipped his head back at a pale gray sky.

“Bloody...fucking…”

“...without warning. He...help right…”

Words went in his ears and prodded his brain in fragments.

“What,” he finally managed, twisting.

Then, he was scrambling to his feet and patting his side where his emergency kit should have been hanging, and ripping his jacket and shirt off because the kit wasn’t there.

Batman was on his back, the ground beneath him stained with blood. His chest armor was torn in half, and part of the upper pants were shredded. Blood pulsed up from jagged wounds in his side, his chest, his thigh with every irregular beat of his heart.

The thigh needed attention first. The blood there was a shade of red that made Dev certain an artery had been nicked if not torn, and the sluggish rate now meant it had been long enough to reach dangerous levels of blood loss.

“I need my kit,” he snapped, leaning his weight into the folded over shirt pressed against the leg wound. In his peripheral there was a swoop of red cape and then an ear-cracking pop.

The black kit was dropped at his side.

“Open it,” he said, numb to who he was barking orders at. “Antiseptic, nylon 8-0, 75 needle, approximator clamps, saline, irrigation syringe. You’ll need to manage the syringe.”

Superman had the items out faster than any explanation of location Dev could have given would have been, even if half the contents of the kit were now scattered across the golden bladed grass in his high-speed search.

The tear in the artery wasn’t complete but it took ten sutures to close. His hands felt heavy while he worked— they were responsive and accurate, just weighed down. The blood irrigated from the artery with swishes of saline seeped away with a weirdly sluggish pace that Dev couldn’t risk being distracted by at the moment, but seemed off in a way he couldn’t immediately determine.

When the artery was closed, he moved on, methodically working through the visible problems in order of most dangerous to least. A lot of it would need further treatment later, but couldn’t be handled in the field beyond just patchwork care.

It felt like mere minutes swollen to fill long hours later that he sat back to survey the various sutures and dressings, his gloved hands dripping with beading blood.

“Now we sodding wait,” Dev said, peeling off the gloves. “Until I’m sure he’s stable.”

“I said, earlier, that I’m sorry,” Superman said. Dev’s medkit was repacked already. “I didn’t have time to warn you. I didn’t think he’d survive being moved. I left Tim a note. And I broke your car window getting the kit but the League will replace it.”

“Eh,” Dev said, waving his hand. The travel wasn’t exactly pleasant but he thought the effects had worn off. The car window was bound to get broken sooner or later, in Gotham.

He studied the broken edge of Batman’s armor while also double checking the dressing on a rough gash across the man’s scarred abdomen. “What happened, anyway? This doesn’t look like the usual gun, fire, or brick.”

It looked an awful lot like some damage Killer Croc had done once, actually.

An awful lot.

He squinted and then whipped his head around to look, just as Superman was replying.

“I think it’s some kind of panther and bird hybrid.”

The corpse of a long animal, with matted tuffs of blue fur, lay belly-up on a dozen feet away. Dev had been too focused to notice it before. A black tongue lolled out of its mouth, its rows of long teeth dark with blood. It had crumpled brown wings splayed beneath it.

“That,” Dev said, swallowing, “is a dragon.”

“We don’t know what the local literature calls it because, well, there isn’t one.” Superman frowned. “I killed it after it attacked him. He’s going to be pissed.”

“Is it from...space?” Dev asked, glancing at the gray sky. The cloud cover was so thick he couldn’t see the sun, but the light was diffused somehow and it didn’t seem particularly overcast on the ground.

“I mean, yeah,” Superman said, as if surprised. “Technically.”

Dev couldn’t have felt more upside down if Superman had grabbed his ankle and hauled him a hundred feet into the sky. His hands were buried in the bronze grass and he was firmly on the packed earth except he had a sneaking and sickening and thrilling suspicion it wasn’t…

Earth.

The distant trees, now that he actually looked at them, had strange shapes and colors. Some of them curved in unnatural ways.

“This isn’t South America,” he said faintly.

“No,” Superman said. “It’s a small planet named J983-7 in the databases and as far as we can tell, it doesn’t have any native species that have developed language yet— it’s an early evolutionary phase, relatively speaking.”

Because he was sitting on the ground and not in a chair, putting his head between his crooked knees did very little, but Dev put his head between his knees anyway. He breathed, in and out.

“The helmet,” he choked. “That’s why the…”

He’d been in space. Superman had flown him through vast and endless, sodding, bloody, fucking space.

To another planet.

“Shite,” he exhaled.

“Are you okay?” Superman was crouched beside him.

“The blood…” Dev said, forcing himself to lift his head. “The blood was weird. My body is too heavy.”

“The planet has a magnetic field of 0.80 gauss offset by the one-third rotation speed, because of a dense lodestone core. We were here taking some readings—”

“Brain surgeon not rocket scientist,” Dev joked weakly.

“Liquid has a reduced flow rate here,” Superman said.

“That explains the slowed blood loss,” Dev said, studying Batman again. Batman’s breathing had evened out from the concerning stutter it had been while Dev had sutured a deep laceration above his hip.

Focusing on the injured hero was easier than looking across the foreign landscape. He liked space, and in theory liked the idea of traveling around space— but this was too sudden. What if something attacked Superman? What was he vulnerable to in this system? How long would they be stranded trillions of kilometers from home?

His head was between his knees again before his breathing turned into harsh gasps. He forced himself to count each inhale.

“Are you alright?” Superman asked, from nearby.

“Fine,” Dev ground out between his clenched teeth. “Bloody brilliant.”

“I’m sorry for the shock. I know it’s a lot to take in,” Superman said, sounding like someone who had maybe possibly forgotten just how much it actually was to absorb.

“Eh,” Dev said.

When it was easier to breathe normally again, he lifted his head and looked around— the dragon-creature’s corpse, the bronze grass, the corkscrewed trees. He held a hand up experimentally and felt more acutely the increase in weight, like a thick blanket had been thrown over him.

“Reduced oxygen levels via blood flow don’t appear to be causing any immediate problems,” he said, his brow creased while he was thinking.

“The atmosphere has increased air pressure,” Superman said.

Dev shifted to check on Batman and noticed that Superman was holding Wayne’s hand. He staggered up and moved close enough to check pulse.

“Like a hyperbaric chamber,” Dev said, more as a question.

“Something like that,” Superman said. “We were here doing preliminary testing to see if the planet is viable as an incubator location for some struggling species. Contained, of course. He’s opposed to the idea but came along to humor me. I think he’s going to be even more opposed now.”

“What?” Dev was content with the pulse rate and he sat back. “You don’t think he’ll bloody go all-in now? A sodding fuck you to the entire planet?”

Superman laughed, a startled bark that grew into something relieved. He tipped his head back toward the sky, eyes closed, and sighed.

“No,” Batman mumbled, making Dev jump. “Risk...invasive...too high…territorial...predators. Life finds...way.”

Superman sighed a second time. “I know. Don’t quote Jurassic Park at me. But I needed to try. The uh, thing that attacked you…I may have accidentally snapped its neck.”

“Dammit,” Batman said hollowly.

“Like a chicken,” Dev said. “You know how I feel about dinosaurs, mate. I couldn’t have worked if that thing was still breathing nearby.”

“Oh,” Batman said, his mouth beneath the cowl curving into a pronounced frown. “You’re...space.”

“I wouldn’t bloody go that far, but I am something of a masterpiece, I agree.” Dev nodded, hoping his calm humor kept Batman from rousing too much. He was also hoping that it hid the screaming spike of fear prodding every cell of him after realizing that a dinosaur-like dragon-adjacent creature meant others like it might be nearby.

Batman groaned, but he was seeming more lucid, despite injuries.

“Let’s leave before you kill something else, Kal.”

Dev nodded to Superman’s questioning look and he climbed to his feet and scooted back while Superman talked quietly, and apologetically, to Batman before picking him up.

“Hop on,” he said to Dev, when he had Batman in a bridal carry.

“What? Your back? Now?” Dev asked, startled. He knew, cognitively, that Superman wasn’t human— he’d even seen him do incredible things in person. But it didn’t absolve the dissonance of being asked to climb on another man’s back while he held hundreds of kilos of friend and armor and gear.

“Unless you’d rather wait here alone until I come back,” Superman said. “Get your helmet.”

Dev grabbed the helmet and his medical kit, spared the two seconds to swipe an alcohol wipe along the visor. It wasn’t clean exactly but it was better than nothing.

He was prepared to look at Batman and make some awkward joke, directed at the cowl and face mask Superman had attached to it, but the second his arms went around Superman’s neck, the entire universe blurred.

Then he was in the Watchtower medical unit, leaning over a sink and willing himself not to puke again. The bag was at his feet.

“The straps,” he choked, “should not survive G-forces like that.”

Superman, near Batman on a gurney, shrugged. “I don’t know how it works. It’s not for lack of trying, either.”

Washing his hands with warm water from the faucet was a normal, grounding activity that had the right weight and tension to it. Dev hooked up antibiotics and a unit of blood, got an IV into Batman and checked dressed wounds again.

That turned into sedation and tugging off the cowl and strapping on an oxygen mask. Abdominal surgery couldn’t wait, after all, and it was hours later that he sat down on the other side of the medical unit, content Wayne was in the clear.

Superman, looking an awful lot more like Clark Kent now, disappeared with a muttered apology and excuse. He came back ten minutes later with a steaming mug.

“It’s not as good as A’s, but I’ve heard you like tea,” he said, handing the cup into Dev’s eager hands.

“Bloody hell,” Dev exhaled, closing his eyes when he took a sip. “You’re my hero.”

“I hear that a lot, but normally, I do a little more than making tea before people say it,” Superman said, with a tired smile.

“He’s going to be sodding fine,” Dev said, fingers wrapped around the mug. He nodded toward Wayne. “He’s a stubborn bastard, and he’s had worse— this year, even.”

“I know,” Superman said quietly, but Dev didn’t miss the way Superman’s shoulders relaxed.

“I don’t want to move him again for at least a day,” Dev said. “But you don’t have to stay, if there are things you’ve to do. I swear on my naanii’s grave I’ll stay where I have clearance.”

“I’m busy but not too busy for this,” Superman said. “Do you need anything? Food? I could get a pack of cards.”

“Thanks, mate, but I don’t eat paper.”

Superman gave him a sharp look. Dev fought the impulse to wither under that alien, superpowered disappointment even in jest or exasperation.

“This is why Tim gets along with you,” Superman said evenly.

“Food,” Dev said, with a grin. “Anything’s fine. And I’d love to play a hand of rummy, even if I know I’ll lose.”

“You shouldn’t think so little of yourself,” Superman said, in a gentle reprimand. “Even if you will lose.”

Dev laughed and shrugged. “I know my limits as a mere mortal when against Superman. I can’t compete against x-ray vision.”

“I don’t cheat!” Superman exclaimed, sounding more like just Clark Kent than he had in hours. “Dev, I don’t cheat.”

“I guess you’ll have to let me win a hand to prove it,” Dev said sweetly.

Superman narrowed his eyes. “I think that’s emotional coercion.”

“Is it bloody working?” Dev asked. “I’ve been taking lessons from Wayne’s kids.”

The laughter carried back into the room from the hall and a few minutes later, Dev was eating a sandwich while Superman shuffled cards.

“So,” Superman said slowly. “How did you like visiting your second planet?”

“Bloody brilliant,” Dev said. “I rather enjoyed that the dinosaur was already dead.”

“I thought you said it was a dragon.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Dev said. “The moment you mentioned Jurassic Park.”

“Would you like to see a planet with real dinosaurs?” Superman offered kindly, dealing out cards.

“That sounds an awful bloody lot like a threat,” Dev said, frowning. “I take it back. You don’t have to let me win a round.”

Superman’s smile was bright and reassuring and without guile. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he said.

In silence for a moment, they studied their cards; Dev checked on monitor readouts for Wayne and satisfied everything was normal, went back to his hand.

“Thank you,” Superman said. “For, well…you know. Keeping him alive.”

“Anytime,” Dev said casually. “It’s my sodding job.”

“I think it’s been more than just that for a while,” Superman said.

Dev thought of the things he’d seen and done the past few years and considered arguing with that assessment, but he moved his cards around into an approximation of order.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It bloody is, at that.”

[lfthinkerwrites]

High School AU: An Inauspicious Start

Superintendent al Ghul sits in on a PE class and meets Neil. Neither goes well.

By 9:15 am, all of the School Board had arrived at Gotham Academy and had begun their tour of the school. Oswald Cobblepot, Veronica Vreeland, Lucius Fox, Oliver Queen, Sofia Falcone, and Thomas Elliot joined al Ghul, Bruce, Gordon and Strange and the group was right now sitting in on Selina Kyle's morning gym class.

Selina wore tight gym leggings just for the occasion.

"I start off the students with basic exercises before we start our sport," she explained to the board as her students did their calisthenics on the blacktop in front of the softball field. "I change it up every four weeks. Right now, we're about two weeks into our softball unit."

Bruce nodded. Selina, along with Harvey, was one of the faculty members he had no real issue with, except perhaps for her taste in friends. Strange, however, had as little regard for her as he did for everyone else. It had occurred to him that al Ghul's visit was a perfect way to clean house. "Wasn't your last 'sport' billiards?"

"Billiards?" Vreeland asked. "You were teaching children to shoot pool?"

Selina shrugged. "Pool's as much a sport as volleyball or golf. Frankly, the kids enjoyed it a lot more than golf."

"I don't see the issue in teaching the children games like billiards," Bruce defended. "As long as there was no gambling going on."

There had been, but Selina wasn't about to admit that. "Of course not. I'm a dedicated professional. I'd never dream of corrupting my students like that," she purred. She didn't miss Bruce flushing a bit at her tone. Or the fact that al Ghul had noticed Bruce's flush and was now watching him like a hawk. Selina smirked a bit. As much as she didn't like the idea of serving up Bruce to al Ghul, she liked the idea of her or her friends being transferred even less. If she had to pit Bruce and al Ghul against each other to ensure that didn't happen, then so be it. She clapped her hands together. "Ok kids, line up against the fence!" Her students ran up against the fence and faced the adults, waiting for her next instructions. "I'm going to count you off. All ones will be infield, all twos outfield. All clear?" Selina counted them off and the students took their places in the softball field. Selina turned her head and gave Bruce a nod. "Would you like to throw out the first pitch?"

al Ghul interrupted Bruce before he could speak. "No, I believe that we've seen enough for now. We should get going." His tone was final and the principals and school board members moved to obey him. All but Bruce. He rubbed the back of his head and looked apologetically at her.

"Catch you later?"

Selina chuckled, then grabbed ahold of his red silk tie. "If you can."

Bruce smiled a bit, but the moment was interrupted by al Ghul's harsh yell. "Wayne! Are you coming? You're the one who insisted on bringing us out here!"

Bruce glared a bit but moved to follow al Ghul. Selina gave him a wink as he left and delighted in the dark look on al Ghul's face.

The tension between Wayne and al Ghul was palpable as the group entered the main school building. "I think we should visit choir next," Gordon suggested. "Neil's class is just down this hall, room 302."

"Very well," al Ghul said. "Perhaps a bit of music will put everyone in a better mood." Gordon breathed a sigh of relief, then guided the group towards Neil's classroom, passing by Tetch'sand Dent's classrooms.

"What kind of teacher is Harris?" Cobbepot asked. "I've heard rumors that he doesn't speak, he only sings."

"Those rumors are greatly exaggerated," Gordon said, allowing himself to relax a bit. "Honestly, Neil's one of the more well-behaved teachers here. This is room 302. Let's drop in." Gordon opened the door and the group filed in, just in time to hear Neil singing a song to his eager students. Gordon smiled a bit and enjoyed Neil's voice.

"Hey pal, feeling blue? Don't know what to do? Hey pal, I mean you! Yeah! Come here and kill a President!"

Gordon slapped his hand against his forehead. God. Damn it. "What!?" al Ghul shouted.

Undaunted, Neil continued. "No job? Cupboard bare? One room, no one there? Hey, pal, don't despair-You wanna shoot a president?"

"Neil!" Gordon shouted. "We've talked about this! No Assassins!"

Neil stopped, then stamped his foot. "But Gordon!" he whined. "You promised we could do Sondheim for our Fall concert!"

"Yes, I did," Gordon argued. "But not Assassins! Pick something more family friendly! Do Into the Woods or West Side Story!"

Neil crossed his arms and glared at Gordon, ignoring how increasingly uncomfortable the school board members were becoming. "I don't want to do Into the Woods or West Side Story! We always have to do Into the Woods or West Side Story! What about Sweeney Todd?

"Neil, if I'm not going to let you do Assassins, I'm sure as Hell not going to let you do Sweeney Todd!"

"What about A Little Night Music?" Cobblepot suggested. "There are numbers in there that aren't as risque-"

At that suggestion, Neil slowly turned to face the group. They as one stepped back when they noticed that his eyebrow was twitching. "If I," he seethed through clenched teeth, "Have to sit through 'Send in the Clowns', one more time, I will do something not nice!"

al Ghul stepped forward then. "Stop this right now!" he demanded. "You're behaving like a child! You will do as Vice Principal says, or I will personally make sure you won't be putting on any concert ever again!"

Neil's reaction to this wasn't what anyone expected. At first, his face turned bright red. Then he burst into tears. "I give so much," he sobbed. "And I ask for so little! I try to bring joy in people's lives by singing, and I'm told to shut up! Choir and drama don't get even half of what the athletics department gets, and I can't even choose what kind of music to put on! It's not fair!"

The principals and school board members looked at each other, no one quite sure what to say or do. Finally, Vreeland walked up to Neil, putting a hand on his shoulder. "There, there," she said. "I'm sure we can come to some kind of compromise."

"I never wanted to be a teacher anyway," Neil sniffled.

Gordon was instantly on edge. "Neil," he warned.

"Oh?" Vreeland asked, plying right into Neil's hands. "What did you want to be?"

Neil grinned in triumph. "I wanted to be a lumberjack! Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia!"

"Is he really doing this?" Fox asked Wayne.

"Yes," Wayne sighed. "Yes, he is."

"With my best students by my side!" Neil continued on. "We'd sing! Sing! Sing! Oh, I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay! I sleep all night! I work all day!"

On cue, his students joined in. "He's a lumberjack and he's okay! He sleeps all night and he works all day!"

Vreeland slowly backed away. "My God. He's insane."

"I think we've seen quite enough," al Ghul seethed. "Let's go." The group walked out, leaving Neil and his students to their singing. As soon as Gordon had shut the door behind them, al Ghul turned on him. "And you say that man is one of your better-behaved teachers!? That doesn't fill me with any confidence about the rest of the faculty whatsoever!"

Gordon wished he hadn't downed the last of his aspirin that morning. He had a feeling he'd need it. "Let's stop by Mr. Goodman's history class."