thecorneroffanandfiction - Tumblr blog

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

OMG I FOUND THE HOODIE HERE!!

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

betrayed by his own meat…

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

Cottleston, cottleston, cottleston pie...

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

my armenian father getting angry at a squirrel

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

We should be fine as long as we do not reblog bread.

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

The Roomba That Screams When it Bumps Into Stuff

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

kill the shift manager in your brain

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

Kind of hard to believe there was once a time where a legitimate genre of post was "my mom says if this gets 2k notes she'll buy me a doughnut" and everyone would just. go ham

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

I hate moving with a burning passion of a thousand suns. I am stuck in hell. Hell is a cardboard box that I must build and fill myself while I contemplate the best ways to move an electric piano up a flight of stairs. Hell is going through everything that I own knowing it’s more than I need and yet knowing that no one will want what I have. Hell is having textbooks that I needed to get rid of like 3 years ago. Hell is moving, moving is hell. Also my room now smells like cardboard from the boxes. Hell is a cardboard box.

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

don’t let anyone on this website call you cringe they literally have a tumblr account

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

[thecorneroffanandfiction]

We can't ibuprofen our way outta this one boys