#robin 4

[dickkorylov3]

Batkids being asked "Why does Batman show the lower half of his face?" And the answers are actually pretty accurate 😂😂

If you like RobStar and other DC shananagans on the regular, why not follow me?? 😊🤷🏾‍♀️

[madge-nius]

here is some fanart I made based off @cosmicpoutine ‘s Stray au!!!

[touchebozo]

uhm. stephanie brown. curly hair stephanie brown agenda. gift for a friend but wanted to share here too !!!

[peculiardiction]

@aug-kissed week 1: indirect kiss

They are so cute together……🥰

[mylifeingotham]

[ilovedagain]

A short story about Damian Wayne and what colors mean to him.

"Maybe we should speak in a simpler way," the therapist said to the artist. After thirty minutes of stony silence, she was still trying to get the artist to say a word. "Talk to me about colors. What does blue mean to you?"

The artist's first thought was Richard. A man in black and blue who flew through the navy night sky, untethered by gravity. Skin mottled the same black and blue underneath his clothes. He tried to hide from everyone, burying his hurt deep. As if, perhaps, if he couldn't see it, others wouldn't see it too. He would guard his emotions, guard others—the fool—but he wouldn't guard himself.

"Guardian," the artist finally said about blue. He could talk about colors. He re-crossed his arms for the third time, aware of how obvious his discomfort was but unable to help it.

He knew how to face judgment, harden his heart and list his failings to superiors. But the therapist was nonjudgmental, asking him about colors, and he never learned how to guard against someone without ulterior motives.

"What about yellow?"

The artist swallowed. Yellow was the color of the cape he tried to steal from a boy who needed it as much as him. It was a flash of brightness in an unforgiving world where he had to fight dirty and vicious to earn his place. At least, that was the world before everything changed. Before the world softened around the edges and suddenly he was the dark, unforgiving one.

"Regret."

The therapist hummed. A soft, melodic sound beneath the crashing waves in his ears. Maybe she could hear how loud his heartbeat was because she didn't push him to elaborate. "Pink?"

The artist almost smiled. Pink was the tongue of his cat, stuck out in her sleep.

"Cute."

Unlike him, the therapist didn't hold back her smile.

"Black?"

That was an easy one. The color of mystery. The color of the void in his life; the empty space beside his mother. That void captured his younger self's mind, always wondering what the void was like. What it would make of him. The hard part was saying aloud, to the therapist, what it meant to him.

"Father," he said, and immediately regretted his honesty.

She nodded, not making a big deal of it.

"Red?"

The artist exhaled deeply. He thought of many things. The red of his eye-veins when he was stressed. The red blotches of blood blooming like roses on a white bandage wrapped and wrapped around a head wound, vaguely bouquet-like. The red-chested robins he found in his father's gardens and fed seeds as he sketched their innocence.

The red helmet of a man, who was really a boy, desperate and different from his family. Living despite all the odds saying he should be long dead by now.

"Life," the artist said. He let his arms drop, suddenly drained like a nurse had drawn a liter of his blood.

"Green?"

The artist froze. He stared at the therapist, wondering about her angle. Did she know where he came from—his hometown and its lifeblood? Was this the goal of her little game of colors, how she would finally glean his thoughts about his childhood home?

When he was a young boy, in a kingdom of sand and gold, green was everywhere. The green fields in a greenhouse of extinct plants. In the green eyes of his mother and grandfather, the very same eyes as his own. And in the green pools that restored life, a miracle he beheld almost daily.

He would stand before those miracle waters, anxiously waiting for his loved ones to emerge, contemplating mirages and how it must be a lie to restore life after death. And yet, his pets had survived a plague, his mother had survived a stab wound, and his grandfather had survived cancer. He was a child who believed he was lucky.

"We're finished here." He stood and left, fifteen minutes before the end of the session, disregarding the therapist's soft-spoken plea to wait.

Richard greeted him in the waiting room with a smile that vanished when he saw his face. He sprang to his feet, abandoning the magazine unceremoniously on the chair, and matched Damian's brisk pace out of the building.

"What happened?" Richard took a shaky breath when Damian ignored him in favor of speed-walking to the parking lot. Richard placed a hand on his shoulder as they reached the car. He bent his head to meet his eyes, but Damian stubbornly turned his head away. His eyes were so, so blue. "Dami, what happened?"

Damian knew, and he knew Dr. Dinah knew, that refusing to discuss that color spoke volumes, more than anything he had said during the session.

"Home," Damian whispered, feeling like a child crying on his first day of kindergarten. "Please, I just want to go home."

They didn't converse during the car ride home, though Richard stole glances at him, his unspoken words palpable in the silence. Damian fled to his room and spent dinner there. He was too restless to sleep and too exhausted to study. Tugged between the urge to fight and to freeze.

Like how all roads lead to Rome, he ended up painting. He set up an easel taller than himself and began mixing colors until he had every shade of green. He thought about home. His old home, the one in an unforgiving world where death was both constant and impossible, where pain was as abundant as gold, but at least the world made sense. The strong survived, and the strongest conquered. They even conquered death.

The scene he painted was a view inside a tower. Stone walls stretched up into infinite flights of stairs, with assassins lined up in rows on each level. The pool at the bottom cast a thick, green hue over the darkness. But the pool was an afterthought; the focus was on the walls of the tower.

He knew those walls well. They were made of bulging rocks that lay unevenly. When they were bathed in a green haze, Damian couldn't help but think they resembled cancer cells under a microscope. And that was precisely how he painted them: a tower with walls like tumor cells, splotches of assassins in the darkness, and the gaping green pool at the bottom.

Poison. Green is poison.

[rosaemoux]

Comics have lots of Tim and Steph teamups, lots of Cass and Steph teamups and even some Tim and Cass teamups. Where's Cass Steph and Tim teamups? I feel like depending on the timeline it would be very awkward but also fascinating to watch it happen. Like a trainwreck. Those three need to operate at the same time right now.

[a-drewid]

Stephanie Brown my beloved

[damthosefandoms]

oh robin stephanie brown how i love you. talk about girl failure

[wind-in-the-grass]

Edited version of the panel bellow to make it more banner friendly

[tardigradetheking]

Yes the killing joke is misogynist. That's been done to death.

Would erasing the killing joke erase the misogyny in it? I suppose. But you'd also be erasing Oracle. Which was the direct and original counter to the killing joke. You would be erasing the fact that the most influential and dangerous person in DCs earth being a disabled woman.

Would you get her back as batgirl? Yes. But at what cost? The erasure of the bat girls that come after.

Cassandra Cain a compelling well written disabled woman with a deep inner voice swept under the rug.

Stephanie Brown a compelling strong willed character who never cowtoes to Bruce's bs. Someone whos batgirl run, to my understanding, was a prolonged love letter to the character and apology to how she was treated and would continue to be treated by executives.

barbra gordon batgirl is a place holder, a road block against better characters and a shackle against the strong character she could no should be

[madge-nius]

Cass does not understand flirting

[touchebozo]

I LOVE PUFFY HAIR STEPHANIE. SPREAD THE PUFFY HAIR STEPHANIE AGENDA. I LOVE HER SO MUCH... I LOVE STEPHANIE BROWN!! robin stephanie is such a cutie...

[axeofsuns]

Anyone got comic recs for Stephanie Brown specifically, I don't care if its Batgirl spoiler or robin Please

[theofficialdailyplanet]

thinking abt dceased and how damiens last words & the words that birthed a universe were "thanks jon"

[mylifeingotham]