#too dead to do al that...

[beeduoo]

wonderful

[bluerosefox]

In Luminous Green Glow.

Another TaliaxDanny idea

So we knows those AU where Danny pops out the Lazarus Pits and meets like Damian or Jason.

What if, due to time travel shenanigans or even dimensional reasons Danny pops out of the Lazarus Pits when he was investigating it (maybe he's CW apprentice and helping keeping the Zone in check) and while looking he suddenly gets a sword put to his neck and a voice, a very very spine tingling smooth voice, saying

"Who are you. And how did you find this place."

Out the corner of his eye Danny could see a woman (or if time travel, teen! Talia) around his age and ooooh boy the Fenton 'I love a woman that just might kill me' genes are totally kicking into high gear.

[coffeepilled]

one of the biggest reasons why alfred is so smiley, goofy, happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care during the 19th through 21st centuries, (besides deciding since before 1776 that he was going to be completely contrarian to arthur in his outlooks) is that he’s been through the wringer for the past hundred years already. give the guy a break!

spending your formative years (or the country equivalent of a ‘childhood’, anyway) educating yourself deeply on politics, fighting for independence, then fighting again to keep your nation together, and then trying to expand throughout the rest of the continent, while dealing with crazy winters and starvation and swathes of diseases… well.

alfred grew up with the expectation of perfection under england, and even after becoming free he still had to raise himself by the bootstraps. help create a government with his people, for his people, and hope and pray to whatever deity was out there that america could survive. and those first 100 years certainly were not sunshine and rainbows — pictures of alfred’s youth show everything except smiles. he wears melancholy expressions that don’t suit his face.

battling for your place on the world stage is hard enough, but to become a self-made, global superpower on top of it? alfred grows in spades, and by the time the industrial revolution comes around, and his house is the most bustling on the entire planet, and the gold rush comes and goes— that constant work and isolationism has paid off. he loosens up a little. he can smile now. relax a little! eat in excess knowing there will always be food on the table.

that’s when he finally gets to live out the years of childlike ease he never truly got to indulge in: to laugh and be merry without a care in the world. momentary ill spell during the great depression aside, the great wars later only solidify america’s place as the strongest in the world. the other countries wouldn’t dare admit it, but alfred’s self-proclaimed epithet of ‘hero’ is not without cause and reason, and not without hard proof. (and besides, he deserves a little gloating after all this time, doesn’t he?)

ivan had threatened his status in the hierarchy for a while there, and 45 years of foolhardy, workaholic america stepped out of the shadows again. but again, alfred surpasses the literal and proverbial soviet wall. and this time it isn’t just the world he has in his palms, but outer space, too — he has the moon and the stars and a damn space station.

finally, on top— finally, he doesn’t have to battle tooth and nail just to survive. instead, maybe he’ll set a whoopie cushion on françois’ chair at the next meeting, or order everything off the mcdonald’s menu tonight just ‘cause he can, or maybe even get matt to film him doing some outrageously ridiculous parkour—

that’s the beauty of it: it’s enjoyable to let go, act as immature and carefree as you want, knowing you’re at the top of the food chain. the others have gotten used to boy scout america, to the silly superhero alfred — they’ve definitely forgotten how scary and smart and cutthroat and frankly bloodthirsty he is when he gets serious. the america that lies asleep beneath the surface, the sleeping dog that you’d better hope you don’t wake up.

and, hell— his people chose him. his people left the other nations for him. left their homelands to stay at his house. that’s a testament to the unshakeable empire he’s built up, right? the others should be following his lead.

so he’ll act as he pleases, screw all the manners and customs and old-world european way of doing things — the freedom-loving rebel bastard that he still is, deep down.

al’s earned it, after all!

[winepresswrath]

I'm shrieking. how could I ever have been bored by my beautiful princess hae soo?

[permanent-box-at-sheephead-races]

@brooklynsleader hey

conlon

hey conlon

are youse uh

youse cool wit me maybe goin ta coney tomorrow? had a good day at the tracks an since its the weekend felt like havin a treat.

[boxwinebaddie]

Hi Nina! I'm sorry you're feeling so low :< and I know you're not really up for answering HC questions, but whenever you are I was just wondering: Are all the chars genderbent in TKAK?

hello, sweet pea! you are so wonderful, thank you for checking in. <3

feeling fresh as a daisy! or a wound. haha, jk! :)

i am going to try and pull myself up by the laces of my new pink docs, put on a brave face, be kind to myself and take it easy if i can. i truly hope i do not get verbally eviscerated today, but you never know.

anyways! *rises from the deepest and darkest throes of my depression to answer this tkak question bc i am insane* hskdlasks

to which i will also say...No, Actually? for starters, i just think it would be super complicated to try and flip-flop quite literally everyone ( plus i already left randy/sharon/shelley as their respective south park genders ) but i also think all the other characters just...work the best as their OG genders? ( save for the ones that May change them )

for example, in tkak, the main three...

( does not include kenny because kenny is princess kenny, who is, ofc, a girl in tsot/tkak and uses she/her <3 ily princess kenny mWAH )

...are butters, stas and craig. :')

i fucking love them so much, ohhh my god.

ODD SQUAD RISE!!!

stas really did...

…round up all the weird lil misfit kupa keep boys lmao.

so butters, stas has been looking out for since they were little bc he's very meek and soft-spoken. the kk boys are really, really cruel to him, bully/beat him up often, generally give him hell. so stas gives it right back usually! not with her fists ofc! she's a pacifist <3 ( though i do think she could beat all of their asses lmao ) and just uses her words.

she is very convincing, forthright and is a natural born leader tbh. so the boys usually fuck off when she comes around and once they go, she checks on butters all concerned, sighs gently, then checks him for broken bones and bruises. he is her special guy, who Does start in tkak as butters but, as we know, all my butters are just marjorine in a misleading boy font ( ew ) so keep your One Eye out for that. ;)

so stas will not throw a punch but...craig...Deeeefinetly will lmao.

because of the undiagnosable medieval autism, people think craig is really weird bc he's super quiet and when he does speak, it's in a monotone and hes usually super rude/out of pocket. ily craig. but yeah, no, he will beat ur ass, frfr. he cracks his knuckles and all the rowdy lil gang boys are like ahhh hell no!! RUN! & think he is a freak.

stas likes him v much tho <3 :* also bc craig is super mega gay and was the one boy who Didn't proposition her hand in marriage. they do think about getting betrothed a lot just to avoid the mess of their parents constantly trying to get them married off haha. btw he is still rogue!craig and pickpockets/pilfers things often. stas does shake her head at him 25/8 because Tis Dishonorable, Craig! which is seriously ironic given her current situation, but when he does steal wine and stuff from the tavern cellar...she does not refuse it. lmaooooo.

speaking of being super mega gay tho, in tkak, wendy is gwendolyn :) she just goes by wendy, stas is uhhhh...Enchanted by her. helppp. wendy is constantly like messing up her hair, gives her The Business but thinks its endearing that she's always running amok with all the boys in her dad's pants & once made a joke ( it was a lil too real tho ) abt how if she were Going to take a husband, she'd hope very much that they be like stas and that it really is a terrible shame she's a girl.

WHICH???? HELLLLOOOOOO???? anyways stas is like Ohh My God not impure thoughts abt women and temptations of the flesh AGAIN!! fuck my entire life lmaooo!!! stas has had a rlly stressful long haul lowkey gay crush on wen since they were little kids, its such a mess, & craig Regularly makes fun of her for it BOO!!! she's all blushin and sputterin like Shut Thy Mouth Tucker Before I Put Mine Lips Upon Yours!!! and does chase him around making crazy kissing noises w/ craig retching like STAY BACK DEMON LMAOOO!!!

anyways....live laugh love tkak, stas n the boys n gwendy.

-uncle nina, who is un-sadgirling to answer this ask.

p.s. please note that quite literally every stas/wendy interaction goes something like this:

stas being like Oh God She Approaches, How Doth My Hair Look? and craig says...like you haven't washed it in three days time. and shes like FUUUUCK but butters is like it is Fine, stas! just be emboldened in your words!! tryin to smooth out her shirt n shit ohhh my god. then wendy gets there like good evening, craig, butters...

anastasia ;) and stas is like HJSjahahaha! smood schmeving smendy ( RIP she could not speak ) ft craig abt to lose it laughing and butters trying to shush him but lmao it gets Worse bc then stas tries to save it all like your, uh...frock looks rather Fetching in the moonlight! particularly the bodice NOT THAT I WAS LOOKING UPON IT ( heelp ) it just fell within my eyeline & i thought to tell you it was...Pleasing?

( ohhhh my god stas please ) and wendy was like -squints fondly- ah...well, thank you, stas? i think? truly, i was not at all troubled by its appearance and composition, but i am glad you find it, erm, pleasing? to your...honorable and unwandering...eyes? either way, i shall sing the seamstress your high praises and see you all on the morrow. <3 but before i depart...wendy legit leans in and stas is abt to throw up i'm not even joking bc wendy is sooo close to her face...

...then just pulls a leaf out of her hair like i found this nested in your hair and thought you might wish it banished from you and stas is like AHAHAHA YES WOW MANY THANKS SEE YOU ON THE MORROW GWENDOLY--and like leans back to try and look cool and eats shit on a barrel SMHHHHH and craig and butters are making fun of her so hard like yOuR fRocK iS veRy PleAsinG SchmEndoLyn and stas is like ohmygodddd shutupshutshutSHUTUUUP ALAS!!! i am Ruined boys! that was more despairing than death! a hundred times worse than HELL! later, i shall craft a sword and Fall Upon It, but for tonight, craig, please tell me you have procured some ale. i wish to drown my endless sorrows in it ;-;;; IM CRYING GIRL FAIL STAS!!!

[chibishortdeath]

So much happening in the world and in my personal life at once and I am completely unable to do anything about any of it. I am completely exhausted. I need to move out, but I can’t.

I’ve been stuck with a headache for a few months.

[anemxvisions]

//finally getting characters that don’t like the Traveler right off the bat, don’t trust them and kinda are very blatant in using them for their own gain....ofc fandom hates them and says they’re horrible

[soldatrose]

Caesar: Alma del gran Pompeo⎯

Me, immediately:

[eileennatural]

the ending of fma 03 was crazy i can't believe ed's cursed to live out his life in post WWI germany with his DAD. that's insanely funny trick for god to play on him

[al-coded]

almost 4 am and still in lab doing a lab report. im just going auto pilot at this point

[spectraspecs-writes]

EXCUSE ME??????

[esyra]

After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

[astroflowershop]

I am yet again thinking about the Activism (2024) vs Activism (1980) post.

[jyoongim]

begging for some alastor x reader crumbs where Al leaves dead things on reader's doorstep as gifts like a cat does. "Oh that sinner has eyes with reader's fave color, they would surely love to have that" "why the fuck is there ANOTHER corpse on my fucking lawn?!"

This is a more fluffier request and it is very short.

Hope you enjoy <3 ;)

Alastor might have been a sadistic psychopathic maniac, but he had some surprising aspects to him.

Like how he left you gifts.

You blinked in surprise at the tiny box held to your face.

Alastor was standing before you with a smile on his face, mirth dancing in his eyes “Al? What’s this?” You asked taking the box.

”Oooh just a little something I thought you would like. I pulled a few limbs to get it just right” he laughed.

Inside was a pair of ivory earrings. They were beautiful.

You pouted, putting the earrings in “Al you didn’t have to get me anything” you tucked some hair behind your ear, smiling

”How do they look?”

”They suit you quite well, my dear”

How were you suppose to know the gifts he was leaving you were poor sinners?

You were a picky eater, even by cannibalistic means. You didn’t like the fatty parts, finding them too greasy and often upsetting your tummy. Many butcher shops haggled an arm for the really good stuff. You had a preference for internal organs, but hated spending so much for it.

Your nose had picked up the scent of blood in the hotel. You ended up in the kitchen, and the sight before your eyes made you giggle.

Alastor, in a bloody apron, arm deep in a carcass, disemboweling it. He had set aside most of the delicacies. You watched as he occasionally ate a slab of meat as he worked.

You figured he was gonna make dinner so you left him unbothered.

You normally didn’t eat around everyone at dinner, just because of the looks you got from your preference. You usually ate when everyone was done and out the kitchen.

Alastor placed a bowl in front of you, grabbing your attention.

You could have cried; innards and they smelled divine.

And the blood was even drained.

”But Alastor what will you eat?” He smiled at you stuffed cheeks, confusion peaking on your brow

”I already ate my fill, you should have the finer bits”you happily slurped an intestine.

In many ways, the red demon was more like a cat than a deer

”Alastor! What the fuck!?” Vaggie scolded 

there were five dead bodies outside the hotel and Alastor was bagging them up.

”Alastor! Why are their dead sinners outside the hotel? We are trying to save sinners not have them killed!”

Alastor smiled “They are for a gift”

It took you a while to figure out that Alastor was gifting you sinners to show he could provide for you.

It should have creeped you out…

But you were a sucker for his little gifts.

The Radio Demon could be a sweetheart…in his own twisted way

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Eyes

Dp x Dc Crossover Writing Idea

“Red Robin!”

When he backtracked to find the owner of the voice he was a bit surprised to find a young boy, maybe eight years old if he had to guess, dressed in a red sweatshirt that dwarfed him and a pair of gym shorts that had seen better days.

Not many Gothamites called out to the vigilantes, a silent agreement to stay out of their way and not to look too closely. This kid however stared up at him with bright blue eyes unafraid of getting the Red Robin’s attention.

A fan?

Before he even opens his mouth, the kid gives him a small, hopeful smile, eyes shining with something that reminds him of himself when he was that age and following Batman and Robin with his camera around his tiny neck.

“I brought you a gift,” the boy say with nervous excitement. He enthusiastically swings off the backpack he had on to dig through the contents, taking his eyes off the vigilante and showing his unwavering trust that nothing bad would happen to him while Red Robin was here.

The boy pulls out what appears to be a jar wrapped in newspaper, the worn page ripping in some spots to show the clear glass underneath. Small hands present it like it’s Red Robin’s birthday (which it wasn’t).

He takes it cautiously, the kid hasn’t been hostile but this was still weird, and pulls it closer with enough space so if it’s a bomb it doesn’t blow up in his face.

It’s got weight to it and the slight sloshing tells him it’s filled with liquid. He carefully unwraps the ‘gift’, keeping his eye on the boy who stands waiting anxiously.

Tim almost drops the jar as soon as he sees what’s inside. Only his reflexes from over the years held on and his expression turned neutral.

A pair of eyes sit at the bottom of the jar. The orbs were crudely extracted, tissue floating around them like a mane of hair around a head.

He turns the jar to see the irises and… he knew these eyes. The slimy green is filmed with death, but he recognized these eyes from the number of times the owner locked them onto him, the cruel possessiveness they possessed when they gazed at him. Never again apparently.

Tim doesn’t speak for a while, not knowing what to say, but also thoughts racing too fast to form any proper sentences.

“Do you like it?” The small, nervous voice interrupts those thoughts.

What an innocent question on an equally innocent looking face.

“How did you get Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes?”

The teasing chatter over the comms immediately hushes into shocked silence.

“I took them from his body, so you knew he was dead. I burned the rest so you don’t have to worry about him coming back again. The Pit there is gone anyway,” the child explains easily, not fazed in the slightest from the words he speaks.

“Grandfather is dead?” He hears Damian whisper over the comm.

So many other questions were flying through Tim’s head. He looks the kid over again.

Black hair and blue eyes. In any other situation the kid might have been a possible Wayne adoptee. He’s not a clone from what he can see though. Despite the coloring he doesn’t really look like any of them. Pale skin like Tim, but has freckles. The same kind of nose as Damian, but wide, round eyes. Jaw kind of like Jason, but his body shape is too narrow. Bright, almost icy blue eyes like Dick, but eyebrow shape is flatter. Lip shape like Bruce, but from the kid’s anxious lip biting he could see the faintest trace of dimples.

“Who are you?” He asks instead of the other million and one questions.

The boy blinks almost like he wasn’t expecting the question. He’s cheeks color pink with blush as he grins widely.

“I’m Danny!” He introduces cheerfully like he didn’t just hand a vigilante a jar of eyes.

“Hi, Danny,” Tim greets almost dumbly. “Want to tell me why you gave me this?”

Danny scoffs his shoe against the pavement in what appears to be embarrassment.

“Well, I know when you ask someone for something, it’s nice to give a gift or something. Like I did something nice for you so maybe you’ll do something nice for me?”

He takes a moment to absorb that child-like reasoning.

“So you want me to do something for you and you thought I would like Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes in exchange?”

Danny studies him and fidgets with the large sweatshirt sleeve.

“I just thought you would like proof. Like the whole ‘bring me the heart of my enemy’ kind of thing. Do you not like it? I couldn’t just take a picture ‘cuz I didn’t have a camera with me, I know you like photography. I can do something else for you if it’s not enough,” he offers worriedly.

Tim freezes.

“How do you know I like photography?” He demands.

Danny tilts his head curiously.

“Because Tim Drake likes photography,” he says like it’s obvious, “and you’re Tim Drake.”

Well. This is less than ideal.

“Red Robin, take him back to the Cave,” Batman instructs over the comms.

Yeah, he was getting there.

“Do you know the other’s’ identities?”

Danny nods and hums affirmatively. Tim waits.

“Oh! Yea. Batman is Bruce Wayne. Robin is Damian Wayne. Red Hood is Jason Todd. Nightwing is Richard Grey-“

“Okay. That’s enough.”

Tim glances around the empty alley they were standing in, checking to make sure no stray people heard. Luckily they were truly alone.

“Danny, do you want to come back with me?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. The kid was coming back regardless, it would just be better if he went willingly.

Unsurprisingly, the kid lights up like a little sun at the offer.

“Really?” He nearly shouts in excitement.

“Yeah, kid. I parked my bike a few blocks from here. You ever rode a motorcycle before?”

Danny shakes his head, nearly bounding on his toes.

“Not in this lifetime.” And wasn’t that odd wording? “Are we gonna grapple there?”

“Think you can hold on?”

“Yeah!”

He kneels down so the boy can climb onto his back and lock his arms around his neck and hook his feet together around his torso. Danny is worryingly light as he stands.

The kid is the picture of an excited and overeager child as they carefully fly over rooftops and then drive back to the Cave. Even when they park inside the safety of the Batcave, Danny’s eyes are filled with child-like awe and wonder, so curious and chattering with questions and wild imagination. It would be cute, endearing even, if the jar of eyes wasn’t sitting heavily in his pocket.

Alfred came down not too long after their arrival with a tray of healthy snacks and some waters. Danny happily munches on the apple slices as he wanders around where Tim can see him.

The rumble of the Batmobile can be heard almost an hour later after Tim has to tell Danny not to touch the weapons for the fourth time. The kid’s attention is drawn to the sleek black vehicle as it parks by Tim’s bike. He trots over with wide eyes as the doors open and Robin exits, then Batman.

Unfortunately, Dick is in Bludhaven and Jason is visiting Roy and Lian this week. Cass and Steph were gone as well and Duke was sleeping. It was just the three of them and this kid with Alfred as the only buffer.

Danny stares openly, curious, as the duo makes their way over to the computer where Tim has claimed his sit.

Tim turns the jar that he set on the table so the eyes are facing them and slowly leans back again, suddenly very tired. Damian flexes his hands into fists tightly while Batman is very still.

“Hi,” Danny chirps like nothing is wrong, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Batman takes a measured breath. Robin glares down at the child, but remains silent for now.

“Who killed Ra’s Al Ghul?”

Danny blinks blankly.

“Nobody.”

“You’re saying he just dropped dead?” Damian sneered in sarcasm.

“Death took him,” the child says simply as if that explained everything.

“How?” The word is demanded and emphasized.

“Like Death takes everyone. His expiration was overdue.”

Bruce frowns and Damian almost snarls.

“I demand you start making sense!”

Danny glares back in offense.

“I’m being very clear! Maybe you should ask better questions!”

The twelve year old growls at the smaller child and Batman has to place a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from attacking.

“Danny?” Batman questions after a tense moment.

The boy’s arms are crossed in irritation, but he blinks out of his glare to stare up at the man.

“Yea?”

“How do you know our identities?”

“Oh, memories.”

Danny looked like everything he said made sense and it was driving Tim up a wall.

“Memories,” Bruce repeats.

“Uh-huh,” Danny nods confidently. “From the Lazarus Pit.”

A jolt goes through Tim as he recalls what the boy said earlier about the Pit.

“Didn’t you say the Pit was gone?” He asks before Bruce could continue his line of questioning.

Danny turns with a bright smile as if he was proud Tim remembered.

“Yea! Well, gone from this world anyway.” Tim was concerned. “I took the memories from it before sending it back where it belongs.”

“Okay. How did you know how to ‘take the memories’ and send it back? Back where?”

“I was born from it. Duh. It went back to the Realms or I guess you’d call it the Afterlife,” Danny actually rolls his eyes as if they should already know this.

“Born from it?” Damian asks with a wavering voice, hidden well from the child but not from them. “Nothing has ever been born from the Pits.”

“That you know of.”

And wasn’t that the kicker.

“So, to clarify, you come from the Pits. You know who we are because you took the memories from said Pits. Death took Ra’s because his time was up. And you took the eyes from his corpse to give to me because you thought I would like it as a gift so I would do something for you.”

Danny positively beams.

“This is why you’re my favorite!”

Damian grinds his teeth harshly.

“What is it you want Red Robin to do for you?” Batman asks in strangled hesitation.

“Oh!” Danny perks up like he remembered and hops over to Tim with pleading hands. “Can you please make me an identity? You’re really good at all that stuff and I was hoping you could find me a family. Someone to adopt me. A nice family, with a bed and family dinners and a dog. I always wanted a dog.”

Tim has the sudden urge to scream.