#me making myself cry after pitting the batfam against each other

[kikithecoconut]

Men Can Be Killed

Dick Grayson || Bruce Wayne || Jason Todd

Word count: 985

A/N: um. yeah so this happened. i am very tired i am unsure that it all makes sense but i had a very good time writing it!! so enjoy,

The beating of drums were rhythmical. The way he fought with his escrima sticks was rhythmical, but the way his fists beat against the face of the Clown Prince of Crime was anything but. It was messy, it was uncoordinated and it was dangerous. 

He’d knocked out several of his teeth, and now the facepaint that was so  prominent on the clown’s face was flaky and cracked. His usually vibrant red lipstick was now a dark, thick red where teeth had been pushed down his throat and the skin of his lips tore, and his usually white face was now flesh.

It made him realise that the Joker was just a man, and men could be killed.

Jason had just been a boy, and boys could be slaughtered.

Lying to his father wasn’t something he’d like to make a habit of, but Dick could not justify killing the Joker to him when it tore down everything the Batman stood for. Until the day his brother died, Richard Grayson did not kill, but morals became unstable, he found, when you’re standing in front of your little brother’s killer. It had been an immediate reaction, the clown hadn’t even been allowed to laugh before Dick pushed off towards him.

 “The asylum was too kind to you,” he said softly, but rage dripped from every single word, “my father was too kind to you.” 

“He should have killed you- he should have fucking killed you-” Dick raised his arm up, prepared to swing again.

It would have hit, if that black, gloved hand hadn’t closed around his wrist and held it there, in the air. The air was his domain; he was the Robin, a Flying Grayson, once upon a time. But here, he was out of control. 

“Enough.”

Batman’s voice had been a constant in his life since he had been twelve years old. It had been the voice of the man who took him in, the man who soothed him on nights where it had been too much. The right voice, the voice of justice in a city of chaos. He’d followed it blindly. He was the beacon in the night, in the dark, and he’d stumbled towards it like a blind man. To him, Batman could do no wrong. He was a saint.

Dick did not lower his arm, and so Batman flipped him onto his front, his knee on his back. He held him there, like a cop arresting a crook, arm held back, his head turned to the side so he could still breathe. He wasn’t a crook, though. He was a brother, a son; drowning in a sea of grief. It held him down, suffocated him.

“I’m doing him justice, I’m doing what you couldn’t-'' He spat, struggling against his fathers grip. His mask was slipping down his nose. It never did sit right after Jason broke his nose during training once. Bruce’s free hand moved to tenderly push it back up. Dick thrashed against the movement. Tenderness was unwelcome in this situation.

He couldn’t see the Joker anymore, but he could hear the wheezing from the man. His ragged breathing, his coughs and splutters. He should’ve killed him faster. Why did he draw it out?

Because the clown had tortured his brother like a bad movie. It had dragged out for longer than it should have, then ended abruptly. A bomb, tearing apart the warehouse and his brother along with it. He often wondered what Jason’s last thoughts had been, if he’d been conscious enough to have any.

“This isn’t justice,” his father snapped, “this is revenge. We enact justice, this is not what we do, Di- Nightwing.” Bruce had called for backup - Jim Gordon - on his way to the scene of the crime. He could hear the sirens now, he just had to talk Dick down, keep him down until the car arrived. “Do you have no shame? Do you not feel- You let Jason die, and now you’re letting his killer walk free again.” Dick’s words struck true in the heart of Bruce Wayne. Did his code truly preside above all else? “If either of us killed him, we’d be just as bad.” “Jason was a kid, he was just- he should’ve been doing homework, reading those fucking books he loved- he should still be doing that now. If we killed the fucking clown, we would not be just as bad.” Jim Gordon’s car pulled up at the scene, and the commissioner stepped out.

“Cuffs,” was all the Bat said to him, and, because arguing with a grieving man who could easily snap his bones was not a good idea, Gordon handed them over. He assumed they were for the clown, they were always for the clown. From whatever street back to Arkham.

But he watched Batman put the handcuffs on the wrists of Nightwing, and watched as he removed the kid’s weapons and laid them out on the ground, and then as he hauled him up.

“Take him to the station, put him in a cell. Just keep him in there, Jim.” He instructed, taking Dick to the car and pushing him in the back. “This was not the way.” He said to his son, before closing the door and walking to the Joker.

He cuffed the clown, and practically dragged him to the batmobile. The back of the car opened up, the seats presented themselves. Bruce put the now unconscious Joker into the seat and closed up the back. It was the quietest he’d ever seen the clown. It gave him a moment to really wonder what a Gotham without the Joker would be like.

Something settled deep in his gut at the thought, something unpleasant.

What was a hero who couldn’t bring down his biggest enemy permanently?

A coward, he supposed. That’s what Dick would scream at him.

Tomorrow.

Arkham came first, Dick could scream tomorrow.

[hoeimaginethis]

Not Good Enough | Peter Parker Imagine Part 1 |

Anonymous requested: Can you please do a DC and Marvel crossover imagine where reader is a part of the batfam, and she's like super self-conscious. And then the avengers need their help and she is crushing on Peter (Parker) and her brothers like unintentionally make fun of her and she gets super embarrassed and runs away? Idk that might be super confusing. I can do that! I made the reader 18 (so is Peter in this) and Bruce’s actual child, and Damian’s full sibling, meaning she was trained by the league, contributing to the self-doubt she has. I hope I portrayed the self-consciousness of the reader right. If you ever feel like you need to talk to someone, you can always talk to me xx Also this is going to split into 3 parts. I can’t help myself. It’s becoming a problem.

Summary: Life as a Wayne child was hard, made harder by the Avengers sudden need for you.

Warnings: Swearing, self-degrading talk, self-conscious reader, asshole paparazzi, unintentional bullying, I think that’s it?

Living in a family like yours made things more difficult than you’d care to admit. Being one of the children of Wayne put you in the limelight, something that you hated. While your brothers weren’t exactly fans of it, they weren’t reported about in the same way.

The media reported them as they would all male celebrities, they glamorized everything they were doing made them seem amazing, and they were. But they reported on you in a different way. You were pitted against them, made out to be some sort of terrible person, they made fun of what you ate, what you were wearing, who you hung out with. It was a nightmare, and your family couldn’t seem to care less about it.

Tonight seemed to be one of those nights when the paparazzi were in a frenzy, Tony Stark was in town, looking to meet up with Bruce Wayne for some conservation thing. So when you stepped out of the restaurant to go home, after saying goodbye to your friends, someone was waiting for you.

“Y/N! Y/N! Over here! Are you sure you should be eating things like that? It’s pretty unhealthy and you kinda look like you need to go on a diet as it is.” On and on this guy went, following you and taking as may photos as he possibly could. His questions had you choking back tears, not wanting to seem weaker than you already are, and you kept you head down. Pulling out your phone, you tried calling each of your brothers but none of them picked up. It wasn’t until you decided to call Alfred that you got an answer.

“Miss Y/N, how was your dinner?” The friendly old man asked, and you could hear chatter in the background. Distinctly, Jason and Damian fighting about something and Dick trying his hardest to break it up.

“C-can you come get me? Paparazzi are following me, and he won’t leave me alone.” You muttered into the phone, loud enough for Alfred to hear you but soft enough so that the man screaming questions at you couldn’t hear.

“Yes, miss. Of course. I won’t be long, just try and avoid him.” And that was the end of the conversation. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ignore the questions being flung your way.

“Are you pregnant? You seem to be gaining weight.” “What do your brothers think of this?” “Where are you really from?”

You couldn’t escape the questions, but it wasn’t long before Alfred pulled up in the car. He ushered you into the backseat, closing the door firmly, before climbing in and driving away. You couldn’t stop the tears as they rushed down your face, replaying the words the man had been throwing at you.

Maybe I am fat. Maybe I am worthless. I could probably stand to lose a few pounds. You were trapped in a vicious cycle inside your own head, unable to escape. Even when Alfred pulled up at the manor and you climbed out, listening to everyone greet you, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything back to them. You heard their questions about your night, why were you crying, who did they have to beat up, but you could form an answer.

You trudged up the stairs to your room, shutting the door and leaning back against it. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks and you couldn’t stop the sobs from escaping you. You heard more questions, knocking on your door, your father asking you to let him in, but you couldn’t. You didn’t move for hours, even when the tears had stopped, you still couldn’t bring yourself to move. But you were forced to move when your brothers barged into your room, telling you that you were needed down in the Bat Cave. You nodded and each of them left, leaving you to get dressed into your training clothes in peace.

As you approached the Cave, you heard voices discussing something. Peering over the ledge, but remaining hidden, you saw the Avengers standing across from your family, everyone looked tense and on edge, before your father spoke again.

“No. She’s not going.” His voice was gruff and final, and you knew they were talking about you. From your position, you could see Tony Stark roll his eyes at your dad.

“She’s just as good as any of you, if not better, and we need someone to help up train. Who better than an ex-assassin better than the three we already have?” He asked, gesturing to three people who stood off to his right. A woman and two men, one of which had a metal arm.

“She’s not going, she’s staying here.” Dick fought back, widening his stance, as if he was expecting an attack.

“Shouldn’t the choice be hers? I mean, it is her life. She’s a n adult who can make her own decisions.” Captain America spoke up next, taking a small step forward. You agreed with the super soldier. It is your life, why are they discussing it as if you didn’t exist.

“No. She’s my child, it’s my decision.” Bruce shook his head, glaring at the man in stars and stripes.

“And yet you let her younger brother, your youngest child, make the decision to go off to the Himalayas by himself. When he was ten.” The woman with red hair, Black Widow, snapped.

“She’s not good enough, she can’t go.” Jason snapped, making you gasp and giving away your position. They all looked up to see you and you could see the horror plastered on your family’s faces. You scoffed and shook your head, turning and running away, ignoring their calls of your name.

You sprinted to your room, grabbing your back pack and threw yourself out of your open window. You landed and rolled before standing and taking off again. You were the fastest in the family, and the best at hiding so you used this to your advantage, sprinting off into the woods and disappearing, the one thing that Talia and Ra’s taught you that you were best at.

“Y/N!” You heard their calls for you, but you wouldn’t reveal yourself. You couldn’t. You knew you weren’t good enough, but hearing it from your brother? That just made the reality so much worse.

You could hear the unfamiliar voices of the Avengers calling for you and you were half tempted to show yourself to one. A kid, probably about your age, decked out in a red and blue costume walked passed, making you hold your breath. But you were too late, he saw you. Reaching out you pressed your hand to his mouth, whatever he was going to say now muffled by both your hand and the mask. You shook your head franticly, and he seemed to get what you meant.

“Please don’t say anything. Please.” You begged in a harsh whisper. He nodded and you slowly removed your hand, staring up at him.

“Do you want to come with us? Help train us and then you can come home?” He asked as quietly as you. You stopped for a moment. Did you want to go and help train ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes’? You slowly nodded, yes you did.

“Okay. We should probably tell the others, right?” He asked and you stopped.

“I-I can’t look at them right now.” You stuttered, looking down at your feet. You felt weak, but his hand came up under your chin, making you look back up at him.

“You don’t have to. I’m Peter, by the way.” He held his hand out for you to shake and you took it with a small laugh.

“Y/N. Y/N Wayne. Nice to meet you, Peter.” You smiled. You couldn’t see it but you knew he was smiling under the mask.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”