#Gothamites are few exceptions

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

in your fic how do you think social media and the general public feel about timothy?

like how do they feel about him from dolly parton-elon musk

is he a poor little meow meow or super hot or the most hated man in existence?

Tims social media presence is very "LA influencer" because its an easy formula for him to mimic, and keeps up appearance as everyones like 11th fav nepo baby and private school graduate.

The closest to "Just another guy" you can find is on his alt account only netizens have put together where he reblogs chess contrevorsy and reviews of local theater shows and opera recordings. Or likes his "friends" social media.

Sure he has lifestyle fans, and people who find him super attractive- but Tim "values his privacy" to an extreme and turns up his smug asshat to an 11 which when dressed in a gucci suit instead of his preferred grunge skater fit- it raises some brows enough to ignore him.

Hating him is either hating what he represents or a memed "Fuck you Gwenyth Paltrow" vibe

When he was younger absolutely he had people who hated him for what he represented just as they hated his parents. But then they died and he had a very public incident demanding the police reopen the case after it was ruled a murder suicide

Since then its always been a walking on glass sort of scenerio. Yes hes just another bland east coast influencer, yes hes filthy rich and a "nepo baby" ceo, but outside defaming tabloids of public benders and what not- everyone just pitys him

People know his name, but its not one that comes to mind. Some people like him, most just feel- apathetic?

Its that kind of pathetic "You cant be mean to the brutal orphan" tabboo surrounding him, the same that hovered around Bruce for so long but wore off when he got older. Timothy isnt older yet though, so outside some older generations with enough audacity or Gothamites who breathe tragedy and dont give him an excuse, hes stuck in a limbo.

[kieran-granola]

You know how there's a subset of martial arts Tiktok where people post short vids of them doing a quick routine/choreography?

People in Gotham post blurry clips of the Bats, and a few martial artists challenge each other to reproduce the moves. One vid goes viral and more people start to give it a try, including non martial artists, who just meme with the choreography/try to imitate some moves just in good fun (and whoa some dancers and gymnasts do surprisingly well)

It naturally gets back to the Wayne brood, except, of course, the real challenge for them is to fail in a believable way.

---

Tim, on camera: "I was nearly good enough for the Olympics, surely I can do that...? Let's find out."

[cue footage of him falling down, cartoon-style, right as Damian was walking by and getting both of them drenched in Dami's smoothie]

---

Jason sees the compilation someone made of Bruce's ridiculous attempts at reproducing the moves (Tim and Steph roped him into their shenanigans.)

Two days later, a video of Red Hood goes viral: it's him condescendingly explaining how to throw a punch and challenging Bruce Wayne to do it properly because "no Gothamite should be so shit at fighting"

Bruce is verklempt when he watches it, because some of it is word-for-word how he taught baby!Jay

---

Tim gives Damian blurry, grainy footage of Black Bat to imitate. After that, Dami spends days hounding Cass for training because he nearly broke his nose tripping over his own feet.

---

Dick flawlessly lands a flip in front of all the others with "ASSERTING DOMINANCE" written on screen before winking at the camera.

Right before the video cuts, Tim's voice can be heard saying, "Whatever, your ass is still flat compared to Nightw—"

[trianglegoddess]

Feral McGee™

It starts with the Joker. 

His goons picked up Tim Drake. Not specifically because it was Tim Drake, he just so happened to be in the Joker’s neighborhood, and we'll, he can't pass up that opportunity now can he? 

Except Tim Drake is watching, along with the rest of Gotham, at the Batcomputer. He’s nursing a broken foot and has been put on monitor duty until he's cleared for field work again. 

The guy looks enough like him, though. Black hair, blue eyes, and bags under his eyes for days. He's also got the same lean sort of build like he does. 

It happens like this. 

The Joker is doing his monologue thing where he explains whatever twisted game he's come up with this time. He takes up the majority of the screen, so nobody can see Not-Tim behind him, not until the big reveal. Then he covers the screen again, getting up close and personal, before stepping back. In those quick few seconds, Not-Tim is no longer sitting there tied to the chair. 

Someone off camera lets the Joker know, and he whirls around, confused as the rest of Gotham. 

And then Not-Tim comes in with the steel chair. 

Or, well, a crowbar, but the reference holds up. 

He takes out one of Joker’s knees before punching him in the face. The Joker drops like a bag of stones, out cold. 

Then he looks towards the camera. 

“Hey there. I'm not really sure where I am, but also if he was after Tim Drake, he got the wrong guy. I'm not him, I'm just some dude. Anyway, I'll just-yep-” he carefully steps over the unconscious Joker, gives the camera a little wave, and then leaves. 

Batman and Nightwing enter shortly after, with the Joker and his goons out cold and tied up. The knots were complicated enough where, in the end, the police resorted to cutting the ties off of them so they could be properly cuffed and taken to Arkham. 

“A constrictor knot,” Batman tells Nightwing as they watch the villain be taken away. “Often used by sailors to temporarily tie things together to keep something in a bag, or to hold something to glue it back together.”

“Huh,” Nightwing says, scratching the back of his head. “Go figure.”

—

The next time it happens, it’s the Riddler. 

He’s laughing, giving his riddles to the Bats and recording himself to all of Gotham while his victim, one of the Wayne brats, hangs over a vat of something. From a distance, he looks like Tim Drake, or maybe a lankier Dick Grayson. And he’s not the only victim, they’re all scattered across the city, but he thought an important figure such as a Wayne should be under the Riddler’s direct supervision while he enacts his schemes. 

While the Riddler cackles and plots and waves his cane around, in the background all of Gotham can see the figure escape. Several Gothamites recognize him as the kid from before, who clocked the Joker. They all watch with bated breath as he sort of wiggles his way out of the ropes holding him up. Once he’s free, he climbs the rope and gets himself down safely. 

Gotham holds their breath as the kid casually walks up to the Riddler, who’s mid-rant. He politely taps him on the shoulder, and as the Riddler is turning around, the kid clocks him just as brutally as he had the Joker. He’s down with one punch. 

They think he’s going to say another sort of awkward goodbye, but instead he pats the Riddler down until he finds a piece of paper tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Right,” the kid says, looking at the list. There’s a lot more static overlay now, and several wonder if it’s damage to the cameras. “Uh, the Clocktower, the Docks, and-” he squints at the page for a moment-”Mama Nacaroni’s? What the fuck is that? Anyway, uh. See you later, I guess. Oh! And we’re at the Gotham Arena. Have fun with him, I guess.”

The kid tosses the paper off to the side before the camera cuts to black. 

Just like last time, everyone is out cold and tied up. The Riddler himself is sporting a pretty bad shiner, but well deserved nonetheless. 

“Stop it,” Red Hood tells him. Batman just looks at him, and though Hood can’t see the top half of his face, he can tell that his eyebrow is raised. “You know exactly what I mean, B. Put the adoption papers away.”

“Hn.”

—

After that, it sorta becomes a game. The rogues of Gotham are no longer after a Wayne, or after anybody who holds any kind of social status like usual. They’re all going after this one kid, all determined to be the one to hold him. And each one is televised. 

Mr. Freeze freezes him in a block of ice, but due to the cameras glitching out, nobody can really see how he got free. They do, however, see the kid suplex Mr. Freeze. It should seem impossible, given his lanky figure, but he evidently has more muscle than he’s originally let on. 

Two-Face gets a hold of him, using chains and some power-dampening cuffs just on the off-chance that he’s a meta. They all watch as the kid leans down, pulls a bobby pin out of his hair, and picks the locks on his cuffs. One punch, and Two-Face is down. 

Gothamites are going wild for the kid. They’ve dubbed him Feral McGee™ (an online poll, of course), because every time he goes in for the punch he gets this feral look in his eyes. Also, just the fact that he casually goes up to these rogues and takes them out with all the casualness of doing something incredibly mundane? Incredible. The Gothamites are eating it up. However, despite the video evidence, nobody has been able to properly identify the kid. They know he has black hair and bright eyes, but any time he gets near a camera, it’s like there’s this weird, sort of warped quality the camera takes on. It doesn’t usually calm down until the fight is done-as one sided as they usually are-before he awkwardly skedaddles away.  

He gets kidnapped by the Penguin, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy (though that was more just a friendly chat than anything), Mad Hatter, and the Riddler again. 

And then the Joker escapes. 

It’s no surprise as to who he’s going to go after. 

Due to one too many careless goons, they manage to find their way to the Joker’s hideout pretty quickly. This time, it’s all Bats on deck, and they all hide away in the rafters as Feral McGee™ is hung over a vat of acid. His whole body is tied up, hardly a single inch of exposed skin to be seen except for the neck up. 

They watch the goons, they watch the Joker, and they watch Feral McGee™. 

The Joker is monologuing, practically begging the bats to come find him before the timer runs out. When it does, the kid gets dumped into the vat of acid. 

Despite these stakes, the kid seems to be only mildly annoyed. 

“Fuck this, I have homework I still need to finish,” they hear him say. 

They all watch, amazed and confused, as the kid starts gnawing through the ropes. Human teeth shouldn’t be able to do that so easily, but one bit after the other, and soon enough the kid’s got himself freed enough to just climb up the rest of the rope. When he’s at the top of the crane holding him up, Batman lets down a rope and pulls the kid up and out of danger. 

“Oh, cool, you’re all here,” the kid says casually, as if meeting the entire Bat Clan is just a normal Tuesday. And then he pulls out a notepad and pen and hands it to Red Hood. 

“Can I get an autograph? You’re dope as fuck, dude.”

Red Hood has to look away and hide his face in his arms for a few moments to not give away their location with his laughter before signing. And then, one by one, the others do as well. They pass along the kid’s notebook with shit-eating grins and barely contained snickers despite the fact that the Joker is still right below them. Even Batman signs it, after his children don’t stop hounding him about it. 

In their distraction, they didn’t see the kid sneak away. He’s far away from them now, nearly right over the Joker. Danny waits, though, until the Joker has turned around as the timer almost runs out. They watch as he snickers at Joker’s flabbergasted look. The Joker comically looks back and forth and under objects the kid obviously isn’t under. However, before he can do or say anything else, the kid drops from the rafters and right on top of the Joker. He crumples to the ground, unconscious. The kid, however, just brushes the dust off of himself. Despite the fall he took, there isn’t a scratch on him. 

When the bats join him, they give his notepad back to him, barely able to contain their laughter at the absurdity of it all. The kid, too, joins in the camaraderie, laughing and joking along with them as Batman secures the Joker. 

“Okay, okay, but I gotta ask, dude,” Red Hood says at one point, looking at the kid. “How do you keep getting kidnapped?”

The kid just shrugs. “I get distracted easily. And I’m sleep deprived, so you know. Social awareness is kind of at an all time low right now.”

“Why are you sleep deprived?” Nightwing asks, barely hidden concern in his voice. 

 “Finals are kinda kicking my ass right now. Especially this dumb English homework I have. You guys wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh, lucky for you,” Red Hood says, wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders as he walks them out of the warehouse, “I happen to know a lot about English. So, it is Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

As they walk off, Batman calmly watches, though the rest of the bats can see his jaw twitching. Nightwing comes up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

“If you don’t adopt him, I will.”

“Hn.”

[somnoir]

Bats and Phantoms - Part 5

Part 4 | Masterpost

Jason and Phantom

Danny has noticed a pattern ever since he punched the Joker to death.

He's lost multiple things over the course of the past few weeks. Once, his laptop was smashed to bits during an attack by Bane (he really should have Tucker reinforce all his electronics). The next day, there was a new Wayne tech laptop on his counter.

When he visited his favorite cafe, his usual orders were paid for the next month. The barista refused to tell him who bought his month's supply of Living Dead. She was smiling a little too much in his opinion (he'd have to ask Tucker for a background check on Chelsea now. He liked her, but damn him if she was working with the crime lord.)

Danny knows very well that Gothamites either mug people or get mugged. And yet for the entire time, he hasn't gone through that BS... At all. It's almost nice.

He's done his best not to get caught up with the Bats, except for the fucking Red Hood. He tries to stay low, knowing that the Bats—especially Batman—was very strict on his no-kill-rule. Red Hood in the other hand... Unfortunately, he can't escape the bastard if all he wants to do is follow Danny around and gift him the most random shit. But if he's gonna deal with the Red Hood, then he's going to use it for good.

In other words, he was going to let the man feed him with godly food that he'd never been able to have. Danny's a decent cook but the Red Hood was almost godly when it came to cooking.

"You're never gonna leave me alone?" Danny doesn't even turn away from his laptop once he hears Red Hood slip into his apartment, shamelessly crawling through his window. He's so fucking sure there's a bunch of containers in his arms or maybe a reusable bag, but there's a bunch of containers. Filled with food.

"Someone's gotta keep you fed." Red Hood softly hums, passing Danny from where he was sitting on his floor while his dry eyes were watching instruction videos. By this point, Hood might be playing Tetris in his fridge with the containers. (Danny hopes there's chicken in there)

He doesn't move, doesn't want to.

Red Hood pokes his cheek.

Danny grunts in reply.

His cheek is poked again.

He might just bite the guy's hand off.

"Go away."

"Eat and then sleep."

"Perish."

"C'mon now, darling. You gotta take a break or whatever the hell you're studying for will go away."

"I will stab you."

But apparently, Red Hood isn't intimidated by his threats, already picking out one of the containers, heating it up, and then proceeding to make Danny suffer from the scent of something chicken. He's so hungry, he's sleepy, but he has exams! He has deadlines! A part of him wanted this handsome and sexy crime lord to pamper him but he'd drown in that contaminated ecto (Lazarus) than admit it.

And then his laptop is confiscated by a crime lord. Danny suddenly finds himself sitting on the Red Hood's lap and being forced to eat. At least the man isn't feeding Danny himself.

He was just enjoying the chicken casserole, sleepily trying not to stab a fork into his mouth while Red Hood has his hands on Danny's waist, caressing and cooing at him to keep eating.

The next day, he wakes up in his bed, tucked in, and the scent of freshly made coffee from his kitchen.

(God, his siblings are going to make fun of him for this)

Jason likes Danny. He'd actually tell himself that he legitimately adores the tired and unhinged college student. He wants that crazy little shit like he's gonna blow up the world if he doesn't. Because he wasn't just Joker's killer. Danny Fenton unknowingly became Jason Todd's avenger, the one person to actually avenge the second Robin. And he's just...

The infatuation would have been almost selfish, if not for the fact that Jason grew to actually fall for Danny after making sure the young man was okay. He's done his best to keep Danny away from the Bats. He didn't need Batman fucking this up for him.

Danny was so... strange. In a good and endearing way. He was dedicated to his studies, and tried to live his life but helped when he could. He's seen Danny stop by crime alley a couple of times just to help feed the kids, just to hand over blankets and what seemed to be his old clothes that nobody would be wearing. He was kind, and brutal if he wanted to be. Aside from the Joker, Jason had witnessed Danny almost drown a man for trying to kidnap a meta child in the same alley. The bastard was left for dead but survived when someone dragged him out.

Oh, Jason was in love. Horrifically so.

Honestly, he was kinda screwed at this point.

He's pretty happy that he doesn't share a class with Danny. If he did, he might not be able to focus on the lecture knowing that the very thing that calms the pits inside him was so close. The possibility of getting lulled into sleep was pretty high. But their schedules didn't even align and he barely saw Danny on campus. But he'd be lying if he wasn't trying to catch a small glimpse of him.

It's one of those days that he doesn't try looking for Danny when he's got some papers for Lit. But this was different.

Riddler is a maniac, even when he tries to be harmless. Anyone who failed to solve his riddles sometimes got blown up. Gotham U ends up becoming one of his targets. Jason just so happens to be there, waiting, watching, unable to operate out of his suit. The Waynes were not the Bats. They tried not to be to keep their identities face.

He needed to keep everyone away. He needed to keep them safe, even as Jason Todd. Fuck.

Riddles. Riddler liked his riddles, plagued the city with them. Barbara's voice is in his ears immediately, reciting Riddlers gods damned questions.

"I hold dreams cast by the desperate and bold,

My heart is silver, my whispers cold.

I’ve seen generations, yet I do not age,

A quiet witness to joy, love, and rage.

Though rooted in stone, I endlessly flow,

Reflecting the sky and the world below.

Look beneath where wishes sleep,

There lies a secret, dark and deep.

What am I?" Babs' voice is shaky, just a bit before she's hardened steel in seconds.

Jason cursed under his breath, trying to figure out the riddle. They weren't stupid. They've done this before and Nygma's Riddles were hard just for them, especially Tim and Bruce. But even so, Jason was raised by Batman. He could do this.

The words were complex, the poetic nature was irksome. But Jason took just a couple more minutes before he's identifying the answer.

"A fucking fountain. Gotham U has three of those." Jason responds immediately, sucking in a deep breath as he quickly evacuates his classmates and urges them out the building. "East, north, and south."

"Red Robin and Orphan en route to the south fountain. Robin and Nightwing to the east." Oracle quickly says, "Batman to north. Signal and Spoiler are evacuating everyone from the building. Hood, get out of there—now!"

No can do, Babs, he thinks to himself and goes running to the northern part of the campus. Batman can't do shit alone, even if he insists on it. They've learned not to let him.

He arrives before Batman, already rummaging through the fountain for the fucking bomb. If it was beneath the fountain then he'd have to destroy it, but if it was already attached to the water? Shit.

One second later, he's trying to find anything to destroy the cement, and then another passed. Jason is staring at a strange young man, white hair, green eyes—it reminds him of the descriptions of Wraith and Specter that Damian and Dick repeated. He blinks, meeting eyes with the maybe Ghost Hero. He flinched, looking into glowing Lazarus—a purer hue—eyes. "The bombs under the fountain?"

"Uh... Yes!"

The ghost nodded, phasing his hands through the fountain and a second later, he's dragging out a bomb. Fuck, it only had ten seconds to spare. Both of them stared at it, wide eyed as they panic on what to do. But the stranger doesn't seem to pay too much attention and proceeds to swallow the bomb.

"WHAT THE FUCK—"

An explosion—muffled and small—boomed through the courtyard and Jason stared at the smoke and flames covering the ghosts head. A coughing fit is heard through the smoke and the stranger is waving it away, whining about the horrible taste of burnt food.

Lazarus eyes look back at him, blinking before offering Jason a radiant smile. "Sorry about that! I'm Phantom, by the way. Was just passing by when I heard about the bomb." He offers Jason a hand, still smiling.

"Oh, uhm... Any relations to Specter?" Jason immediately asks, trying not to die from his own stupidity. Way to go Jay, immediately interrogating another guy that makes the pits all mushy and warm.

Fuck, fuck fuck. Was he going to fall for everyone that calms the pits? Fuck, he didn't want to cheat on Danny (Jayyoudelusionalidiotyou'renotevendating.)

Phantom tilts his head, before he's laughing loudly. "You've met my little sister?"

"No, but she saved my brother from a kidnapping."

"Is that so?" Phantom smiled, clearly amused. "Well then, I must bid you adieu. I can see that your city's knight has this all handled."

Just then, Batman drops just behind Jason. DAMNIT, B! GO AWAY!

Phantom just glances at Batman, amused before he takes Jason's hand and pressed a light kiss to it. Cold lips pressed against his hand and he's immediately blue screening. Fucking shit, this was the exact same scene he's read in those books about the heroine getting saved by the mysterious man who'd later on be her sexy enemy/lover. FUCK!

Phantom goes back to speak, but all Jason heard were a couple of trills and chirps, a language he couldn't understand but... It felt familiar.

"Ȋ̵̢̨͍̹̺̼̜͉̳͍̮̠̯͙̤͈̥͔̰̤̐͐͜ͅ ̴̡̤͔̪̠̗̤͉͙͓̥̺̗̎͒͒̔̎̑̀̑͜͝w̷̧̖͍̝̹̤̪̞̭͎̞͓̟̪̗̱͕̑̃̃̓̀̔̀̆̋͒͛̂͜ͅi̴̧̢̧̡̡̩̻̗̬̦͉͎̮̠̤̬̪͇̖̦̘͚̟̪̠̠̪̣̪̖͇̤̣̱̪̺̩̘̼͐̇̂̂͛̿̀͗̃͑̔͋̈́̐̽̿́͊̃̄̿̄̊́̔͘̕͜͠͠͝ͅļ̴̨̢̢̨̡̢̫̘͍͉̞̝̙̹̘̜͎̩̟̰̹̙̟͉̳̯̹̫̼͉̬̯̼̪̖̿̒ḷ̸̨̱̫̣̪͖̤̩̖̮̙̋͛͆̓͜ ̴̨̨͉̩͉̠̖̖̫̠̬̥̮̲̦͙̦̜̱̺̠̫̤̫̐̑͂́̇̆̐̋͂̈́͘ş̷̛̘͎̬͙̖̜̞̗̣͍̲̒̎̈͋̄̄͛̑̈́́̌̐́͋̃͑͑̈͛͋́̂̂̂͂̈́̌̄͊͂́̓̆̎͑̕̚͝ȩ̶̛̝̮̳̭̘̪̰͚̗̖̪̤̟͊̃̐͛͆̄̀͊̄̓̒͝͠e̶̡̢̧̨̢̨̢̛̞̖̤̲̱̯̘͇̖̹͖̻̱̜̼̹̠͙̺̞̽͌̍͗̿̒̃̍̆̽̓͂͗̽̈́̀͝ͅ ̵̽̕��̢͔̦̹͚̱̝̪̗͜ỷ̵̛̲̘̟̭̬̩͇͖̮̉͋̑̽͂͛̆͆͂̃͋̀̎̆̑͊̃͛̐́̄̊͗̄̾͋̈́̕͝ỏ̶̖̹̦̭̱͇͔̲̝̜̹̹̗̗̮̪̗̬̥̜͍͉̻̍̍̈́̓͊̍͑́̀̈̇̄̐͐̔͛͌̊̀́̈́̍͑͆͑͒̈́̅̌́̄̉́̇͐̒̈̍̀̎̽͝͠͠͝͝ư̴̢̡͕̯̱̫̗̠̪͓̻̜̪̣̞̟̩͎̗̜̹̯̮̱͎̳̖̹͙̖̬̖͕̙͔̲͊̾͂̓̓̀͆̂̏̀̅̀̉̉͊̈́̅̎̍̇͋̽̿̒̓͐̄͛͊̄̉̽̏͛̋̓͗̍̎̆̒̄̕͘̕͝͝͠ͅ ̷̦̰͈͒̀̆̓̈́͑̂́̇͌̑͒̿̐̈́̅͋̎̄̎͒́̒͒̈́͊͛̚̚͠͝͠͠n̷̢̢̦̟͎͚̹̜̜̞͇̝̲̦̻̩͖̦̮̅̌̔̌͛̅̐̈́̋͌̂͋̈̋̎̈́̈̾̊̊͌̽̿̂̐͆͂̌͐̅́̌̚̚ȩ̵̨̧͔͔̩̭̦͈̪̟͉̦͚̘͚̥̰̰͓͓̤͉̫̳̜̲̲̖̘̜̮̠͉̪̤̤̮̣̫̼͓̦̣̤͖̘̹̉͐͗͆͆̉̐̂̀̄͑͑̄̈̒̀̈̀̀̎͘͜ͅx̶̝̘̼̟̜͎̲̪͎̥̖̠̼̀́̎̔͂͂͐̀̓̓̾̏̅̀̌̐̌̀̑̆̃͝͠ţ̵̢̭̫̫͇̟̣͓̲̦̩͉̞̞̳̬̞̘̙͈͓͈̺̱̮̮̘̠̤͔͍̼̼̳̳̳̦̼̣̼̹͍́͐̍͒͆̎͒͊̊̎͛͑̅̿͂̀̍̎͐́̋͛͗͗́̄͒̾͒͆̏̀̀̽͑͌̓͗̚͝͠͠͠ͅͅͅ ̷̨̧̡̮̝̜̟̠̦̳̼̝̭͖̭͚͎̦͕̦̩̺͓̺͚͈̺̤͋͌̔̏̒̾̓̈̅̃̑̏̓̂̚̚͜͝t̸̛̳̯̻͙̼̳̤͎̦̙̟͌̊͋͐̐͊́̑̈̽̎̎̾͂̓̉͆͗̐̇̏͋̕̚͝͝į̵̡̖̠̝̬̠̲̞̩̼͖̦̺͎͖̺͉̘̦̜̜̬͇̠̗̠̬̥͕̭̙̜̳͕̯͈͔̫̤̝̲̫̥͑̃͋̇̊̈́̍̈̉̑͛̈́͌̓̈̈̀̚͜͝͝͠͠ͅm̸̡͓̦͗͗̉͗̒̈́̂̆̿͒́͆ȩ̷̡͍̙͇̫͖̣͙̝̣̣̻͕͈͍͎̣̹̟͓̲̔̀̎̓͘͘͘͠,̶̢̨̨̧̧̢̖͖̠̲̞̮̘̮͉̩͔̭͕̻̝̤͚̻̭̘͈̮̥͉͎͙̜̭̿̿̆̑͗̌̈̈́͛͋̂̑̆̄̈́͋̈͐̑̍̆͂͆̂̌̍̅͊̍̌̓͘̕͝͝ͅͅ ̷̦̦͚̞̖̖̗̎̋̐́̍̆̾̑̾́͌̔́̀̿̀̓̂͒͐̑̋͊̒̈̕Ȑ̴̢̢͉̟̠͍̲̠e̷̢̡̢̡̡̨̨̢̨̛̝̰̪̠̥̠͓͍͔̗̩̯̺͕̬̮̳͎̩͈̼͕͙̯̟̦̺̣̠̺͔̓̉̈́̈̀͋̂̂̈́̆͑̏̅͌̌̂̓́̐͒̈͒̅͊̀̑̂̿̐̂̒̆̓̂̐͗̚͜͝d̶̢̧̛͇̙̰̺͉͔̼̘̩̟͎̖̪̻͖̥̳̠̣̖͎͈͓̳̯̤̲͔̻̱̝̿̈́̆͛́͛̆̄͛͒̿̈̊̉̈́̆̃̒͋́̽̒͐̀̃̑̂̔̋̈́̍̀̀̐̅̄̇͝͠ ̴̡̡̧̡̟̥̟̝̮̟̘̯̺̳̗͚̮̭͍̘̰̭̹͈͈̱̦͎̝͍̺͎͕̼̝̼̝̦͋̾̏́̐̍͌̍̋͒̕͜͠ͅḨ̵̡̧̧̤͓̖̺̭͕͉̖̝̲̖̙̣̳͚͙͚͇̙̼̻͖̺̼͉͖̞̤̞̝̭̂͐̒̑̓͂̈́́̉̽̇̀́̌͂͑͜ͅͅǫ̶̨̢̧̳̠̱̻͉̦̳͚̜͓̭̯̳̘͕͎͍͖̟͖̹̞̤̘̣̖̰͓̙̩͍̻͖̘͚̠͕̗͍̮͙̼͍̪̰̾̂͌̓͗̃̀͗̈́̚ͅõ̸̧̨̡̢̧̡͎̺̭̬̼̱̟̝͔̲̣͖͍̭̜̣͔̠̗͍̯̣̬̮͚̔ͅd̸̡̹̠̹͍̝̜̍̈́̄̇͋̈́́̈́̈̎̎̀̉̍̎̔̋̒͒̔̒̇͐̀̀́͌̊̉̓͌̕.̴̛̛̛̫̹͍̯̟͓̒̀̈́̑̈̏̓͊̽̈́͊͗͒͌͌̏̌̔͌̏́̄͊͒̽̏̏̏͆̅̐͋̐̿̿́̐̈͐͗̊̏̔̚͜͜͝͝"

(Later on, Danny gets one hell of a tongue lashing from his siblings for eating a fucking bomb. At least Red Hood comes to visit with some dessert to make the flavor of bomb go away.)

[garbagewith-a-cherryontop]

Do gothamites know about the Waynes’ weird cat? Like I feel like with the fact that people go to their house for Gala’s there’s a big chance of at the very least rich socialites running into Snitches. Idk how you picture Danny but I can imagine him just pranking random rich people at a Gala held at Wayne manor.

Like at first the Waynes try to keep him in a certain part of the house but they look away for a literal second and he’s just, gone. Meanwhile elsewhere in the manor some poor unfortunate, unprepared soul is having an Encounter with a capital E while looking for the bathroom.

'News About The Waynes' New Demon Cat' has definitely showed up in the headlines more than once, what with Steph regularly terrorizing the local Cat Lovers Community. Those that arn't busy questioning Vicki Vales' sanity either think it's all a very alaborate (and weirdly specific joke), or they full heartedly belive it. Gotham's already weird, a demon cat or two is to be excepted at this point.

Pets arn't allowed at Galas, so very few people have actually seen Snitches in person. Though not for a lack of trying on Dannys' part.

The first ever Gala hosted with Snitches in the manor ended with at least half the guests needing therapy. And Bruce had to bribe the press into blaming it all on fear toxin. (Scarecrow was very confused by the sudden spike in notoriety but he wasn't complaining.) Now there is at least one person keeping an eye on Snitches at all times whenever there's a sosial gathering. Not that it helps. All you have to do is blink and the damn thing vanishes.

Witnessing a Wayne jogging out of the room, holding a partly hairless cat, is almost expected at this point.

Whoever Danny decides to terrorize is mostly random. Tripping people, walking through solid objects with only one witness, eating off of plates while invisible. Anything that will make them look suspiciously at their drinks and than discreetly pour the rest out into a vase or potted plant.

Old creeps on the other hand... as well as young creeps, nosy reporters, assholes, or just anyone who acts/looks a bit too much like Vlad don't leave the Gala unscathed. Bit in the ankle, clawed in the face, tumbled down the stairs, saw something unspeakable in the bathroom that wasn't just their own bland reflection, the list goes on.

People don't go looking for the bathrooms anymore. And on more than one occasion has someone brought a priest as their plus one. Some have even tried handing Bruce the business cards/phone numbers of exorcists or others within the occult who can help. In fact, Steph has started collecting them! It's Snitches victory wall! :D

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Afterlife, But It's A Bar

[discontinued, feel free to add on]

It was weird. Not wrong, alarming or dangerous type of weird. Not good or comforting either.

Just plain weird.

It all started a few days ago, on Wednesday, to be exact. On a rare occasion, Jason was patrolling outside of his territory ("cover for me, I have a date" my ass, Replacement), and he spotted something out of place. A neon green, almost toxic colored sign that read "Afterlife".

Honestly, who names a place like that? But judging by the placement and design, it was a bar, and Jason could almost appreciate the irony. Maybe it had a slogan along the lines of "our drinks will send you beyond the lines of life and death" or something. But at the same time, it could be interpreted as "alcohol can and will be the death of you," which, technically, is not the best PR campaign for a bar.

Jason decided to visit the place anyway. He was curious about the implied death joke, sue him.

Of course, he didn't visit immediately. He was still on patrol, and he just heard the sound of gunshots to the west. Not to say that the place was quiet.

(Oddly quiet for a bar in Gotham, now that he thinks about it)

Anyway, the next day, he went there not as Red Hood but as Jason Todd, an ordinary civilian who decided to grab a beer in the evening. Only to not find the place.

He couldn't have just miss it - he remembered the street, he knew the building, he was absolutely fucking sure where the "Afterlife" should have been. He searched the whole block nonetheless, and then proceeded to check the whole area, but to no avail.

Damn, it seems like he can't get to the afterlife both literally and- the other literally. Yeah, he might be having too much fun with the oddly chosen name for the nonexistent bar.

It didn't exist on the maps and internet either. At this point, Jason was contemplating the idea of it being a hallucination or a dream. He even checked the recording on his helmet from Wednesday night, but the whole time he was in the area, the video was filled with interference and static.

Weird. Slightly suspicious, but Red Robin, who's been patrolling the same area for weeks before him, never reported any interferences, so it probably had something to do with his helmet and not the area in general.

On Thursday night, he purposefully went there right after patrol. And the nonexistent bar suddenly existed again! The same neon green sign, the same quiet street around it.

Seriously, what is this mysterious fuckery?

Now, if he was a Bat, he would have reported this to others and investigated, lurked around in shadows, and approached with caution. If he was a Robin, he would have still reported and then straight up marched in there and saw how it goes.

Alas, he was Red Hood, so he decided to watch for the bar guests and see just who the hell goes in and out of the place.

And there was the next weird thing.

No one was going in or out. Jason sat there for a whole hour, and not even one person entered or left the building. Despite the muffled sounds of music, voices and laughter coming from the place.

The final kicker was the fact that after some careful questioning and dropping hints, Jason found out that no one except him ever saw the "Afterlife"'s sign. No one's even heard of it, both the Batclan and the Gothamites.

The fuck?

So he did the next logical thing. He brought the smartest member of the Bats with him. Tim owed him anyway. Might as well use it now instead of later.

Friday night proved two things: one, Tim was still his favorite to work with out of all the bats and birds, not questioning anything as to why Jason is asking him to check out a bar, and two, Jason just might be going insane.

Tim couldn't see the "Afterlife" even when Jason pointed at the sign from not further than ten feet. The irony of the stipid name was not even amusing anymore.

Tim didn't ask any questions after this experiment, and Jason didn't want to admit that he is losing the grip of reality, so they ended up simply parting their ways after. Can the Pits cause brain damage? More damage than there was in the first place, that is.

Now that he thinks about it, the color of the sign is really similar to the Lazarus waters. He should have noticed it sooner, but in his defense, who would look at the bubbling pool of toxic waters and think, "Oh, that would make a dope neon sign"? Apparently, the owner of the "Afterlife".

The color might be just a coincidence.

...no, in the world he lives in, coincidences like this just don't happen. Besides, Jason doesn't believe in shit like fate or destiny.

So, here he is, on Saturday night, standing in front of the door to the Afterlife. It would have been funny if it wasn't so weird. What's even more weird is that the closer he gets to the door, the less nervous he feels, like the place is radiating some calming aura. Wait, no, scratch that, Jason is so not calling it a calming aura for God's sake. That sounds just like those homemade witches with their crystals, tarot readings, and whatnot.

He's going to call it... tranquilizer vibes. Yeah, that's better.

He takes a deep breath, getting ready to see whatever it is on the other side, pushes the door open, and walks into the bar.

...

Whatever he's been expecting to see, it's not this.

[seoafin]

ship of theseus (V) pairing: dick grayson x black widow!reader warnings/tags: word count: ~7.5k

please heed warning tags here

“He’s staring at you.”

You don’t take your eyes away from the spreadsheet open on your computer as you log in returned books. Four books are going straight to the ‘on hold’ pile. Now that The Oresteia’s been returned, you can keep it to the side for James, a highschooler at Bludhaven High who comes in biweekly to prepare for his SAT because he lacks steady internet at home. He wants to go to Gotham University on a competitive scholarship named after some rich gothamite. “Hm.”

Lucy giggles. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see her twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Despite the smile on her face, she grits out your name. “Aren’t you going to say hi?”

You slowly drag your gaze up. Blue eyes overtake yours instantly. Objectively, he’s attractive. Devastatingly so even. You take him in, assessing him with a glance. Clean shaven, with a sharp jawline and full lips and joyful eyes so blue they stand out in stark contrast to his tanned skin. There’s a flirtatious curl to his lips, but not so much crass as it is friendly. Inviting. Like he could make you the most important person in the room just by looking at you. And he carries himself with the confidence of a man who knows it all too well.

You stare at him blankly until the high resting smile on his face slightly falters at the edges.

You return your attention to the monitor. 

Lucy’s grip on the armrest of your chair tightens. “He’s coming,” she rushes out, with a note of reverence in her voice. “He’s walking over. Oh god, he’s so hot. He looks like he smells good. He’s got to be single, right?” She straightens.

You don’t plan on finding out. You rise from your seat, and grab the nearest stack of books to be shelved.

There’s three books in your arms. Alice in Wonderland, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and The Little Prince. You’re systematically rearranging the middle shelf of books, when someone approaches from the other side of the stacks. You can see his face through the gaps of the books. You don’t stop. 

“I haven’t seen you around,” the man says casually, head slightly cocked to the side. The blinding smile is back, revealing pearly white teeth. “I’m Dick. Are you new here?”

It’s not flirtatious as you had been anticipating. He sounds genuinely curious. It doesn’t mean anything. Before you find yourself focusing on the cadence of his voice, the rhythm of his breaths, and the dilation of his pupils, you shelf a book. No more, you think. Not anymore.

Be friendly , Fiona, the head librarian had hissed to you hours earlier. The parents are complaining you’re unsociable.

“Yes.” It had taken a chance job opportunity, a twenty minute hack job, and a fake degree, and you had somehow managed to swing the job interview by playing up your enthusiasm for the dewey decimal system and how you didn’t mind working overtime. What else did you have to do.

“Thought so. I check up on a few kids here, and thought I haven't seen you around before. New to the city?”

You give him a once over, taking in the lax posture, and easy smile. Except. You can tell his weight is evenly distributed on both feet; ready for fight at a hat’s drop. He had walked towards you swiftly, steps light, while also conserving his pace. The gait of a man who thinks quickly on his feet, and moves even faster. His body is subtly angled towards the exit, either suspiciously shifty or keen on observing the people walking in and out of the library. 

Not a cop. Not even special services. Something more. 

“Yes.”

He nods. “I moved to Bludhaven myself a couple of years ago. I’m from Gotham.”

If the man is daunted by your monosyllabic responses, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he seems completely at ease with this one sided conversation. You straighten a few books, and rearrange a couple of books on the wrong side of the shelf. 

There’s a few heartbeats of silence.

He drums a few fingers on the shelf from the other side of the stacks. “So, you like books?”

Only a sliver of his face is visible. You meet his gaze through the singular empty gap in the shelf, just narrow enough for The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Dark blue. You think of the sky just before a storm, and the ocean you tried to drown yourself in.

There’s a look on his face as he regards you. Calculating, amused, and fascinated all at once. It reminds you of her so much you can’t look away. It reminds you of her so much you almost ask him to stay. 

“No.” You slot the book in place, removing his face.

2.

You’re being followed. 

You clock it as soon as you turn the corner. Petty thieves looking to make an easy penny. You’ve never experienced being mugged before. You suppose walking around with a famous six foot something super soldier around the streets of New York practically guaranteed criminals away. You’re almost tempted to let them take your wallet. It’s nice being a normal person. 

Bludhaven is a city of suspicious character. When you first arrived in this world, you had discovered cities by names you didn’t recognize. Gotham. Metropolis. Star city. Central city. Vigilantes abound, protecting their individual cities. In your world, you had observed your government try to enact a law regulating super powered individuals, and the ensuing civil war. You don’t know how these vigilantes would feel about such a thing. But perhaps the group calling themselves the Justice League bypasses it all anyway.

Your google search for Bludhaven’s vigilante yielded easy results. Pictures of dubious quality to pictures shot with professional cameras unearthed a man in skintight spandex. Black with some sort of bird stretching across his chest down his finger stripes. Nightwing. You perused it all: reddit threads dedicated to tracking the movements of vigilantes, facebook fan groups speculating different identities, twitter users liveblogging hero sightings. 

Not so much different from your world. Though your heroes didn’t care much for hiding their identities. Peter was the exception. Except, Peter always seemed to be the exception. 

Out of all the cities in the United States, the general consensus seemed to be that Gotham was the most crime riddled, with its own set of depraved villains that had everybody but the Gotham born and bred wondering why anybody lived there.

Bludhaven, Gotham’s sister city was separated by a forty minute drive on the freeway and boasted the same impressive crime rate. You had chosen this city to be your home. Strange, and bleak, but interesting. Which is why none of this comes as a surprise to you. It’s 2am. You had bid James a goodnight, watching him get onto his bicycle and speed away like hell was on his wheels. You suppose he didn’t want to stick around these streets at night. Now you are walking the full forty minutes to your apartment, right next to the water you’re sure doubles as toxic waste. 

You slip into an empty alleyway with a dead end. You hear footsteps following. Three men. One of whom is slightly drunk. You turn just as they fan out, surrounding you.

“Hey there missy,” one of them says, saggy, patched jeans and a greasy shirt. He smiles, revealing a chipped tooth. “Lovely night, eh?”

You stare at him. 

“This one doesn’t seem like much a talker,” the one to your direct left says. Bald. He leers at you. “But I’m sure I can get some nice noises out of you. Where d’you live sweetheart?”

Another one laughs. There are pit stains on his dirty white button up. “In fact, why don’t we all have some fun?” He eyes your bag, but he leans on one side of his body. The drunk one. “We’ll make this nice and easy fer ye. Just hand yer bag over—” out of his back pocket he pulls out a 9mm handgun “—and let’s have a nice time at yer place.”

“I’d rather you shoot me,” you intone.

The three exchange a brief look of disbelief. 

The man with the gun tightens his grip, an ugly snarl building on his face. “I don’t think you understand me—” 

There’s a movement in the darkness behind the men. You don’t bring attention to it by not looking. Then a glass bottle shatters on the ground, and a wide eyed blonde girl stares at the four of you in shock, before taking a step back. She looks like she just stumbled out of the nearest dive bar. A college student.

The man swings around, pointing the gun at the girl, whose eyes go very, very wide.

“Well, well, looks like we’ve got another one.”

“Um. I. I. I can give you my wallet.” The girl fumbles with the purse at her side. Her fingers are shaking. “I have money. I can—”

“Shut up.” He’s still pointing the gun at her. The man to your right looks uneasy. The one on your left grins, staring at the girl’s bare legs in her leather miniskirt. Nothing good can come from a look like that. “Get over here.”

The girl flinches. “I—”

“He’ll shoot you!” The bald one cackles. He saunters over to the girl, body locked tight. “C’mon sweetheart, we’ll give you a good time. Promise.” He slides a hand down the girl’s bare back before pushing her towards your direction. 

The man without a gun has her wrist in his hand, her body trembling in his grip. “Just stay still,” he mutters, annoyed.

You don’t move a muscle because you know the man is trigger happy enough to shoot. The appearance of a younger, much more frightened girl has emboldened him. Now, he’s serious. You should have taken these degenerates out on the street. Your mistake.

“We can go to my apartment,” you say quietly. “Without the girl.”

He snorts. “Why have one when I can have two?”

You watch as an epiphany hits his face, and know what he’s about to do. All you need is two seconds. No time to think. One gun.

You hesitate. Normal. You promised yourself. No, you promised her. No, she promised you. No more. Just us . Except there was no you without her. There is no you without the blood on your hands. You feel your stomach curl. No more, you told yourself. No more. 

In the next second, the man has the college student in his clutch, arm pressed to her neck, as he holds the gun to her head. To you, he says, “Take off your shirt.”

The relief cuts against the despair, so stark it snaps you back into the correct mindspace. This, you can do. 

You unbutton your shirt. It drops to the ground.

“That’s more like it,” baldly groans, coming up behind you and pressing his body against yours. He smells of something rancid. 

The girl is crying silently now, eyes pleading with you. You don’t think your gaze conveys much comfort. She closes her eyes. You look to the third man, who doesn’t meet your gaze.

“Don’t leave me waiting now,” the man grins. “Pants too.”

Your pants join your shirt in a crumbled heap.

A whistle right behind you. An arm snakes around your waist, fingers playing with the edges of your panties. “ God damn! Think I need this one on her knees. Let me take a go with her first. You went first last time!” You let him roughly shove you to the ground, on your back. Rocks dig into your skin. 

“Oh god,” the girl whimpers, crying harder. “Oh god.”

He forces your legs open. The man unzips his fly, shoving down his pants. You wait. Until he gets close enough that you can put him to sleep. 

“Shut the fuck up bitch,” he grinds out in her ear. “Just wait until your turn and—”

Two things happen at once. An escrima stick slams the gun out of his hand. It skitters underneath the garbage disposal. The girl is let go of, and she drops to her knees as a blur of a man dressed in black lands a kick straight to his chest, sending right to the ground. The man is ripped off of you. Nightwing throws him into the nearest brick wall, hard enough that you hear something crack, and punches him until he’s unconscious on the ground once more.

The girl stands on shaky legs, and runs out of sight.

The third man starts to run after, but Nightwing catches up easily, slamming a baton into the side of his face. You see blood and a tooth that gleams in the light, both landing somewhere in the dark.

You rise from the ground.

“— scum like you who have nothing better to than—”

“You’ll kill him.”

Nightwing stops, one hand clenched around the man’s shirt, the other bloodied fist raised high in the air. His chest is heaving, but not from exertion. The domino on his face makes his gaze indecipherable. 

In all the pictures you’ve seen, there’s usually a smile on the vigilante’s face. An air of joviality that surrounds him, so that you can discern it, even in pictures. It’s uncharacteristic of a vigilante that operates out of a crime infested city. You think this is a sight he must see often enough. A drunk man, a half naked girl. The anger surprises you, even though you shouldn’t. You know good people exist. 

Nightwing lets go of the man, who falls in a pool of his blood. His fingers curl shut, knuckles briefly going white.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he tries casually, trying to infuse his tone with good humor. There’s a smattering of blood across his cheek. It falls flat. “Are you alright?”

The concern is real. He doesn’t approach, as if you’re some easily spooked horse. It reminds you that you aren’t wearing clothes. 

“Fine,” you say, turning back to your crumbled clothes. Nightwing glances away as you redress, shifting on the balls of his feet as if he doesn’t quite know what to do. His body language is taut, torn between outrage and the need to comfort. He hides it well. You can tell he’s still angry. Angry enough to punch out a few more teeth. 

“The police are coming to get them,” he says solemnly, jaw tight. “I won’t let them hurt anyone else.”

“Thanks.” You rarely have an opinion on the police on a good day other than useless.

You walk away, expecting him to disappear into the shadows or the rooftops or whatever the vigilantes of this world do. Instead, he follows.

At the foot of the alley, connecting to the main street, the girl is crying into her knees on the curb.

You debate on letting good samaritan Nightwing handle it. You’ve never been good with comfort. You can feel his gaze bearing into the back of your head, and know he’ll likely follow you home. You also can’t help but feel…responsible.

You sit down next to her, leaving enough space not to overwhelm her.

“That was scary, wasn’t it?” You say softly.

She lifts her head, tear face puffy. “That was awful! I’m so sorry,” she chokes out. “They were going to—”

“There’s no point in focusing on the what ifs. You’ll drive yourself mad.”

She blinks at you. Her lipstick stained lips warble. “How are you so okay?”

Because there is nothing a man could do to you that hasn’t been done to you already. That you had been opening your legs for men since you were a child. That it’s much easier to be afraid of things you don’t know. You know men.

“I’m not,” you lie, looking her in the eye, “but I will be.”

Nightwing slowly sits down on the opposite side of her, making himself smaller. “Do you have anyone that can take you home?”

She wipes her face with her arm, nodding. “My friends are coming in a cab now,” 

He breaks out in a smile. “That’s good. I’m Nightwing, what about you?”

She giggles, albeit tearily. “You can call me Julie.”

The two make light conversation until a cab pulls up.

“ Omigosh Julie, are you okay?”

A crowd of coeds exit out of the cab. 

“Guys, I’m fine. I’m literally fine. It’s okay!” The girls crowd around her, but more than a few glance at you and then, much more interestedly, Nightwing.

Minutes later, Julie and a couple other girls are waving out the window as the car drives off. Nightwing grins, waving back until the two of you are alone, once again. 

You stand. Nightwing clears his throat. “I can walk—”

“No need,” you dismiss, knowing you’ll be followed from the rooftops anyway. “I’ll be fine.”

He hesitates, pressing his lips together in clear disapproval. You trace the lines of his face in the dark, that familiar runner’s build. “If you say so,” he musters up cheerfully.

There’s a smothered twinge of annoyance. All these ghosts, all these memories. Everything you want to forgot. Tonight is not a good night. “She would’ve been fine. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to her.” That is the truth.

You watch the steel line of his jaw, and you wonder if you’ve hit a nerve. But Nightwing’s voice is exceedingly gentle. “Julie’s not the one who was—”

“Better me than her.”

You hold his gaze in the dark, daring him to say more. 

Then you turn on your heels and walk away.

3.

The restaurant is nearly closing when Dick rushes in. Your server, a college student by the name of Kimberly, who had given you a free glass of wine on the house after you appeared to have been stood up, glares at him. Dick winces.

Approaching your table, he eyes the appetizers and plate of food the servers had heaped upon your table in pity. There’s only you and one other table, a group of friends towards the end of the room. You calmly appraise him. 

“I am so sorry,” Dick says, genuinely upset. “I know there’s no excuse. I had a—family emergency. And by the time it was over, I realized I completely forgot—!”

From the host stand, Kimberly shakes her head in pure judgement, eyes narrowed.

You can tell he’s avoiding weight on his left side, and favoring his right. Bruised ribs, and maybe even a leg injury. 

He clears his throat. “How long have you been here?”

You shrug. “Four hours, give or take.”

Dick blinks, taken aback. “And you stayed?”

Why had you stayed? You had stayed because you had been curious. You wondered if he’d come. You knew firsthand fighting crime could easily become a priority, overtaking everything else in life. It left no room for a life outside it. Some people threw themselves into the life, some people left it for love. Dick Grayson, you think, chooses both. 

“I had nothing else to do anyway.”

He winces again, looking apologetic enough that Kimberly stops glaring at him from the entrance of the restaurant. “Oh god. I’m a dick. No pun intended. Please let me make it up to you.”

He awaits your response with the apprehension of a hostage waiting for a gunman to pull the trigger. You stare at him in silence, as he looks uncharacteristically fidgety.

“Okay.” You stand. “Let’s go.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Right now? I mean, you’re not even going to throw that drink at me?”

“I can if you want to.”

He raises both hands up, a relieved smile teasing at his lips. “I deserve it, and I would definitely understand. Can I say you’re taking this exceptionally well?” He has a dimple. The girls in the back crane their necks to see him, giggling. Even Kimberly looks less apprehensive. 

You incline your head. “I’m reserving judgement.”

“As you should,” he agrees cheekily, offering you his arm. 

The restaurant is about to close as Dick pays for your meal, tipping Kimberly generously, eventually winning her over.

The two of you go to Dick’s favorite pizza joint down a couple of blocks. You’re not as hungry, but you take a square slice to go. Dick talks about himself easily enough. So easily, that not many people would notice how he carefully side steps here and there from revealing too much information. He talks about growing up in a circus. Then with a billionaire after his parents’ deaths. His childhood with Bruce, and eventually wanting to step away from Gotham to become his own person. Not so different from you. You understand the need to step away from everything.

He’s a beat cop, not necessarily out of any love for the job. You don’t ask him why. You can gather it has something to do with an investigation. A more personal one. This is when you’d usually play the role of an interested date and ask all the right questions. Except right now, you find that your curiosity is organic. Genuine in a way you usually aren’t.

You tell him a sanitized version of the mundane life you’ve made up for yourself. You grew up in New York. When your parents died you were shuffled around from one foster home to the next before aging out of the system. A ghost of a grimace flickers across Dick’s face at the mention of the foster system.

He believes you. You haven't given him a reason not to.

Dick has siblings. Bruce Wayne’s adopted brood of children. Siblings, Dick happily goes into details about. You tell him you’re an only child, and ignoring the whiplash of phantom anguish, like vines wrapping around your heart.

By the end of the night, Dick drops you off at your apartment. If he was a mark, you’d kiss him and bring him back to your bed. You don’t kiss him.

You leave him there, on your doorstep. 

4.

Dick is staring at you hard enough that you can’t bring yourself to keep quiet. 

“Is there something on my face?”

He breaks into a smile, but worry lines the corners of his eyes. “Can’t I admire my girlfriend?”

Girlfriend doesn’t imply a permanency you remind yourself. 

You lean back into Dick’s couch, and put down the remote. Something’s bothering you , you’d say. Except that would imply knowing something’s wrong. You watch as he draws a breath, just before the tense lines of him soften, and feign ignorance.

“Lucy told me you've been calling out regularly,” he says lightly. “Feeling better?”

You think Lucy should learn to keep her mouth shut. 

“Just a sore throat. On and off,” you reply. Last week, you spent the day tracking down the girl you had seen off into a cab with Nightwing. Julia Bell. A twenty one year at Bludhaven U whose sorority initiation that night had taken a turn for the worse. You were glad to see her in high spirits again after that whole ordeal. Apparently, getting saved by Nightwing himself made her a celebrity on campus.

Dick’s practiced smile turns a degree strained. “Just that?”

You look him in the eye and say, “Yes.”

He presses his lips together, jaw working as if the words won’t quite come out.

Dick is an exceptionally easy person to talk to in a way you’ve never known anyone else to be but one. A man you regarded more like a brother than a friend, whose devotion to his faith made talking to him feel vaguely like a confessional. You watch him carefully, for the nuances of internal conflict in the planes of his face. Whether to push too hard and reveal his identity or let you be. This the precipice of your relationship: how many lies will he take? How many until he won’t? 

On the other hand, you could tell the truth. It's been months since then. You had hoped it'd be forgotten by now, except it hasn't. You know objectively you haven’t exhibited any behaviors characteristic of sexual assault victims, because the truth is you were never in any real danger. Only Julia. In your previous line of work, in another life entirely, sex was commonplace, one of the many rules that governed the world you lived in. Another asset in your arsenal. 

On account of having had it so many times, your feelings on sex border a blasé indifference, except for the rare times you do want it. A passing pretty girl in the bar, the minister’s wife while you had been on an assignment in a southern methodist town, the one and only man you had ever wanted to be with intimately.

Well, not the only one.

You pick up the remote, turn back to the tv, and press play. Dick had been appalled when you told him you never watched 101 Dalmatians . You didn’t tell him the only Disney movies you were familiar with were all propaganda you were forced to listen to. 

Dick pulls you close into his chest, and you can pick up the slightly elevated pace of his heartbeat. Not enough to be worried, but enough to let you make an educated guess.

Forty minutes into the movie, and Dick is still making smart quips about this and that. But you know he isn’t paying attention. Not completely, when he’s still lost in thought. He hasn’t quite settled, legs tense as if putting effort into not shaking. You feel his fingers absentmindedly rubbing your shoulder. A livewire ready to erupt.

You pause the movie. 

It takes several seconds for Dick to notice. He blinks, eyelashing fluttering. You turn, sliding your palm against his cheek, and kiss him. His hands come to your waist, fingers curling into you, as he presses into you eagerly. Lips slotted against your own, you feel his breaths in your mouth, just before his tongue slides against your own. Bold without being overbearing. Not needlessly dominant. You like that. You feel a tendril of heat spreading to your panties, and feel slick gathering.

The Red Room took too much from you. Every small, unexpected pleasure is a victory. 

He’s a good kisser. It’s your last thought before Dick ruts into you, hard. 

“Bed?” He asks against your lips.

“Sure.” Bed, couch, floor, you don’t really care.

Dick rises, carrying you with him, movie forgotten. He’s stronger than he looks. In normal circumstances, you’d run your hands over his body, assessing. Now you just want to touch him. His is a body built for movement and agility. He had grown up an acrobat, and he’s clearly stayed the course. You’ve seen shaky videos of Nightwing executing flips and turns that should be inhumanely impossible. But he’s no mutant either. Just a flesh and blood human being. 

His lips are on yours as soon as the two of you enter his bedroom. The bed is soft against your back. You lose your jeans, and Dick tugs off his shirt, losing it somewhere in the darkness of his bedroom. Then the two of you are kissing once more, as if he can’t bear to be separated for more than seconds. Your hands trace his lean muscles, the various scars crisscrossing his body. You wonder how he explains his scars to an unsuspecting hookup or two, and if he’s waiting for you to ask.

You won’t. You’re past the need of trying to discern him with uncomfortable questions here and there. You’ll let him keep your secrets. You have too many of your own. 

With one hand, Dick pushes down his jeans, revealing briefs. Your lips quirk as Dick aims a lopsided grin at you while attempting to wiggle out of his pants. 

You push him down back on the bed, straddling him and pulling off your shirt. You hadn’t bothered with a bra. Dick’s gaze darkens, a heat in them that has a fresh wave of anticipation licking at your skin. 

You’re no stranger to a man’s gaze against your naked skin, but like the way Dick looks at you. Without claim. Just fondness. 

You press kisses to his jaw, and your hand sneaks down, lightly pressing the heel of your palm into the wet fabric of his briefs outlining his cock. He exhales, head tipped back, revealing his jugular, the bob of his throat. 

You haven’t killed a man in bed in a long, long time. 

Precum has gathered on the tip of his cock as you slide your hand down the length of him, rough without any lubricant, and squeeze. 

“Jesus,” Dick nearly wheezes, strong thighs bucking into your hand. “You’re killing me.”

You’re glad to know you haven’t completely lost him. You’d rather he lose himself in you than his thoughts.

One of his hands is splayed on your bare back, heated. It strikes you that you haven’t been with anyone in years now. Nobody has touched you since her death. You briefly close your eyes. 

“Are you going to fuck me?” You ask, his hardness filling your hand. You want him to, just as you want to get on your knees and work him into your throat until he’s whining. You want him to hold you down on the floor and fuck you until your knees are bruised. Until you dissolve into nothing. 

“Anything,” he says, and it feels like a promise. He gently tugs your wrist away, before flipping you back on your back, eyes glinting. “My turn.”

Dick’s hand traces the outline of your face, thumb pressing on your bottom lip. You draw two of fingers into your mouth, listening to his breath hitch in his throat, his eyes wide, and suck until saliva runs down his hand. Dick’s tongue is in your mouth as his fingers press into your cunt, opening you up. The tightness burns, and you let out a breath that sounds like relief. His thumb circles your throbbing clit.

The two of you briefly separate after a sloppy kiss. You break the string of saliva by licking your lips. Dick doesn't break from scissoring you open with deft fingers, accompanied by hot sparks of pleasure racing down your spine. You burn with want. Useless, useless, want. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, pretty eyelashes casting shadows on his cheek. “So, so, beautiful.” He looks at you like he’s never had another girl in bed. Flatterer, you think, with the highest regard. But you like that, being just another girl in Dick Grayson’s bed. A normal, boring girl. One he whispers flatteries to in the night because he’s a good man. You won’t do him the disservice of not believing him. 

You raise a hand to his nape, and bring him back to your lips. He sucks your lips, your tongue, swipes his tongue against your lip, all wet heat and need.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say quietly, intently. You want to feel him stretch you open. You want to feel his body drape over yours. 

Amusement fills his face. “We’ve got all night. What’s the rush?” He kisses your cheek. “You’re tight,” he murmurs, lips tracing the shell of your ear. “Gotta open you up.”

“It’s been a while,” you reply.

It’s the wrong thing to say. You know it as soon as it leaves your lips. You’re not used to saying the wrong thing. Never.

Dick’s fingers still in you. His shoulders go rigid, chest beginning to heave. You feel the spike of his heartbeat. The underpinnings of panic on his face. He’s seeing you on the ground, half naked, a strange man between your legs. 

“Dick,” you say. 

“I have to know,” he says, a touch too quickly. “I can’t just—” his eyes are wide, and very blue in the dark. “Do you want this?”

You look at him calmly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He looks torn.

First, you think: someone hurt this man, and you will make them pay. And then you think: it’s unfair that bad things happen to good people. You are different: you deserved everything you got. 

“Do you want me?”

Dick stares down at you, eyes blown dark with arousal. “I—Yes,” his throat works. “Yes.” It’s less a word, and more one raw noise.

He reaches over into his bed stand and quickly grabs a condom in his top drawer, sliding it over his rapidly hardening cock. You don’t bother telling him you can’t get pregnant.

Dick slides into you after pumping himself once, grip tight, and claims your lips once more. You exhale unsteadily into his mouth at the ache. You close your eyes as Dick rocks into you, effortlessly practiced, and too gentle. His fingers stroke your clit in synchronous movements, and you hook your legs into him to bring him closer. You’re dripping, and Dick lets out a small, awe infused huff of laughter that also doubles as a moan when he bottoms out.

“You feel amazing,” he says breathlessly, hand on your face, eyes peering into yours. Looking for assurance. Your hand joins his, fingers running over his scarred knuckles. 

This is normally the time you’d stare at the ceiling and go over every detail of your plan. What you need to take, what you’ll say to him in the morning, how easy it’ll be to disappear. How you’ll contend with her disappointment later. 

Then Dick pulls out enough that your body is immediately mourning his loss, and thrusts back in at an angle that has white edged pleasure turning your nerves alight. Your mouth parts soundlessly. You buck into him, and Dick shoots you a cheeky grin as he spreads your folds wider around him. You could kill him. But his hands are everywhere on your body; your thighs, the plane of your stomach, your breasts, teasing and pinching, sending heat directly between your thighs. 

An easy rhythm is established, and each push is made slicker and wetter. Dick adjusts his hips just enough that you’re throbbing, feeling pressure build in your gut. His hands dig into your hips, holding you down just the way you like it; and then his cock brushes that sweet spot that makes you see white at the edges of your vision, rocking directly into it. 

Something like a moan leaves your lips. Every pound of his cock makes you feel full, and slightly lightheaded: a flood of feelings that makes you feel like it’s all too much. You had forgotten that when it was good, it was good. It could be good. 

“Dick,” you breathe out, and his fingers are pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core.

“C’mon sweetheart,” he murmurs, without missing a beat, “you’ll come for me, won’t you? I want you all over my—”

You yank him down by the neck and kiss him. He moans enthusiastically. 

Dick thrusts in just right, and your body arches off the bed, feeling wave after wave of pleasure. You shiver, just as Dick slams into your body once more, as if he wants to mark you permanently. He exhales roughly in your ear, and you listen to him breathe, the thump thump of his heartbeat. You had wanted him to come in you.

He pulls off, making quick work of the condom. There’s a slight ache at the side of your neck as he collapses on his side and then his back, and brings you with him, arms curled around your waist, holding you to his chest.

“That was—” he breaks off. He absentmindedly rubs at your back. “Wow.”

The smallest movement at the corner of your lips has him immediately perking, shedding off all post sex exhaustion.

“That was a smile!”

You school your face back into neutrality. “No.”

“You can’t fool me. I know what I saw.”

You don't respond, laying your head on his chest.

He grins, a hand curling around your neck. You feel his fingers brush the spot of throbbing and you meet his sheepish gaze. A hickey. How mundane. You take him in, all swollen lips and tousled hair, and no hint of earlier ghosts in his eyes. This is a man whose entire being is rooted in touch. It could not be further removed from your own touch averse lifestyle. 

Later, when Dick is sleeping, you rise from his bed, slip on your clothes, and walk out his door. He has patrol in an hour.

You’re doing him a favor.

5.

You meet Damian Wayne for the first time at a park in Gotham. You are sitting on a bench, watching a surprising amount of ducks swim around the large lake.

Gotham seems to be a polarizing topic on social media, with many lamenting why anybody would choose to live in a city with villains as absurd as the condiment king and a murderous clown. And of course, the infamous vigilante Batman. The urban myth turned into reality. The city is a mixup of towering modern skyscrapers, and gothic architecture incorporating flying buttresses and gargoyles overlooking the city, and at the center of it all, is Wayne Tower, the highest building in Gotham. 

With the onset of winter, the sky is gray, giving the usual polluted air of Gotham an even more gloomy tone. Even the lake is freezing over on the edges. The cold numbs your fingers, and nothing can prevent the heartache that swallows you up whole. You think of her hand pressed to your heart, the both of you shadowed in the dark. Just the two of you. 

You stare out, waiting for it to pass. It always does.

You hear Dick call your name and turn to see him approaching with a boy at his side. Side by side, they almost do look related. Except Damian’s eyes are a piercing green, just a shade darker than hers. You look away, and stand.

Dick grins, one hand on the sullen boy’s shoulder. You maintain a safe distance footsteps away. No normal twelve year old boy carries himself like a soldier.

He narrows his eyes at you, and then turns to Dick, betrayed. “You are a liar Richard,” he grits out, “You told me you were taking me to the museum.”

You share the boy’s sentiments to a lesser degree. He isn’t the only one who’s blindsided. Though, you suppose you should’ve been expecting it. You had feigned ignorance to his pointed remarks about missing Gotham, and dropping in at the manor to visit his brothers.

“This is Damian,” Dick squeezes Damian’s shoulder in a show of reassurance, but you’re sure it’s more for your benefit. Be good, it says. Don’t do anything incriminating. “My youngest brother.”

The silhouette of the boy’s body gives you the image of a cat crouched low, tail dangerously swishing side to side. He looks like Mr. Wiggles, the feral cat who roams your apartment building as a free agent. You feed him occasionally. 

You don’t step closer. “Hello,” you say, not unkindly, and introduce yourself.

“Hello,” Damian repeats curtly, before crossing his arms, and looking away. 

“Aw, don’t be like that Dami. I am taking you to the museum! I just thought we could make it a fun day out!”

Only Dick could manage to put a positive spin on a forced bonding outing, and truly believe it. 

Damian scowls. “You’re delusional.”

You look to Dick who winks, clearly used to it. 

“This could have all been avoided had Pennyworth stayed.”

Dick squeezes his shoulder once more, in actual reassurance. “C’mon Dami. Even super butlers need their time off.”

Damian scrutinizes you once again, looking distinctly unimpressed. “Your romantic relationships are an exercise in futility Richard.” Then he walks off to crouch low and stare at the ducks squawking at each other. 

“Jeez, that kid.” Dick says, offering you a sheepish smile. “Surprise?”

“He’s definitely someone’s kid,” you say as Dick’s hands cover yours, thumb rubbing at your knuckles. You feel the first warmth of the day in his hands. It becomes easier to breathe. 

“I don’t have to come,” you say, softly. “Really.”

“He’ll get over it,” Dick replies confidently. “He’s just out of sorts because Alfie—our butler—is out for the week. Thank god Bruce is off—” he chokes, stumbling over his words “—out on a business trip. In Nepal. I was going to invite Tim, but he’s in San Francisco for the weekend.”

You accept it. “If you say so.” 

Dick drives you three to the museum in a Rolls Royce that would give a certain man made of iron car envy. Dick doesn’t even attempt to be subtle. You suppose in Gotham there’s always some notorious image to live up to. Lucy has started leaving you glossy covered gossip mags on the shared table in the staff room as if you care whichever supermodel of the week Bruce Wayne is dating. 

You glance at Damian in the back with the front view mirror. Sitting in sulky tempered silence, he glares out the window. You suppose you’re the unwelcome third party here. You know Dick has been busier as of late, some investigation as Nightwing he hides from you. Visits to Gotham have been sparser. 

You understand the childish resentment. Wanting someone’s attention all to yourself. Hating having to share. Wanting it to be just the two of you, forever. Then you grew up.

At the wheel, Dick is rambling about his coworkers, and how despite it all, he hates the fact that there are no Bat Burger chains in Bludhaven. 

Thirty minutes later, at the museum, Damian stalks off for the exhibit he had come for. 

Dick’s fingers slip into yours, and the two of you wander around the museum. Dick points out a few paintings here and there. Turns out, Bruce Wayne has an entire wing of the museum named after him, with a collection of Seurats donated straight from his own private collection, along with a handful of other French post-impressionist artists. 

The two of you circle back around to the exhibit Damian had come for. A photography exhibit. Surprising, but it seems Damian has an eye for art in all forms. You think of Peter, swinging around New York with a camera slung around his neck, and the picture of the sunset he had taken on top of the Statue of Liberty, and feel a knot in your throat. 

You tell Dick you’ll meet him after you use the bathroom, but instead make your way down the emergency exit stairwell until you reach a door leading you to an alley with garbage disposals lined against the walls. You figure Dick and Damian could use one on one time. So you’ll wait out the rest of the day here.

You pull out a box of cigarettes from your pocket, and the cheap lighter you had bought at a bodega before meeting up with Dick and Damian. You light the end and inhale. 

Not your preferred brand, because your preferred brand doesn’t exist here. You’ll make do, as you have. 

You finish your first cigarette, and then your second. You’re on your fourth when the door slams open, hitting the side of the building. Damian steps into the alleyway, car keys swinging in his grip. Of course. 

He freezes when he sees you, eyes momentarily going wide. In the next second, a trained composure settles over him, stance going on the defensive. 

Damian eyes your cigarette, unable to hide the distaste on his face. 

You stay silent, the two of you staring at each other. Your cigarette burns, warming your fingers as ashes fall to the ground and smoke wafts. You stub it out with your thumb, enjoy the dull flicker of pain from the nerve signals in your thumb that haven’t been burned off, and wait for him to speak first.

Damian scowls, as if understanding exactly what you’re doing. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” you lie, and watch him carefully. “I don’t think the cops will take too well to a twelve year old driving, no matter who his father is.”

He stiffens, as if your words have hit him square on the chest. He rears forward, fists clenched. “ You have no idea—”

“No. I don’t.” You don’t bother with fake sympathy. “Dick is looking for you. He was excited to finally spend time with you.” Are you going to hurt his feelings?  

Damian settles, anger dissipating. There’s a flash of uncertainty splayed across his face, but he covers it up, clicking his tongue. “You’re the interloper,” he mutters.

“That’s me,” you say agreeably. “It’s hard to hate someone with good intentions, isn’t it?”

Damian scoffs, crossing his arms, and for the first time since you met him, looks his age.

“...I’m keeping the keys.”

“Car accidents are the third leading cause of death. It’s estimated that 115 people die daily.” 

“Perhaps if the lung cancer doesn’t kill you first,” he sniffs. 

Charming.

You think of Yelena, for the first time in a long time.

You reek of smoke.

You don’t tell him you’d be surprised if it was lung cancer of all things that killed you. You’ve been subjected to chemicals, radiation, injected with strange substances, and experimented on. It’s made you hardy. You are exceptionally durable. 

Damian goes to open the door.

It’s locked. 

[tjmsteph]

my hot take is that tim drake should have stayed a 90s character and i mean it as ‘they should frame his stories in that specific time rather than modernize his older stories’ because it just works better. his origin story, for example, relies plenty on how it happens in the 80s.

him knowing that dick grayson is robin and batman is bruce wayne is impressive because we are talking about a 9 year old in 1985-ish finding info on a kid he saw once when he was a toddler, that came from a circus with dubious ties with the mafia, and his only proof was literally his nightmare-fueled mind! we know from the fact that he never saw dick grayson again before the footage of robin that dick probably wasn’t shown in tv that much, so he might had to dig through newspaper archives or, even then, archived footage kept god-knows-where of press releases regarding the flying graysons. because who could have been keeping tabs on some random circus family that died almost 5 years earlier? nobody knows what a big deal that night was, for the average gothamite that’s just a murder. the only reason for them to care could have been batman’s first public appearance but the public was still skeptical about that. safe to say, his story wouldn’t have been nearly as impressive if we were talking about some kid with an ipad.

being from the 80s also makes his subplot with the drakes and neglect far more interesting. because, let’s be real, as cartoonish fanon makes the drakes, they did canonically neglect tim… except it’s more complicated than that. the drakes only sending a postcard to tim every few weeks becomes a bit more understandable when you remember that they had no cellphones at the time and travelled plenty internationally, without counting that, sometimes, these archeological digs did not take place in electronic-accessible spots so they couldn’t just find a payphone to call tim whenever they wanted.

the way jack raised tim is also more ‘old school’ which would make total sense for a man raised in the 50/60s. it doesn’t excuse his outbursts of course but would make for a really interesting flaw to add on tim and jack’s relationship and tim’s characterization and stoic attitude as a whole. tim being lowkey classist as well would fit better here and it does more for his character, a kid that comes from a comfortable background learning that life isn’t quite what the safe bubble wrap of his parent’s wealth had shown him. throw in there the fact that they became canonically wealthy enough (though not ‘wayne’ wealthy) quite fast, being newmoney, owning a business of unclear purpose, and allows them to take up archeology as a hobby. also they somehow owned many apartments in the city, were able to afford a mansion in bristol and still not feel the sting of their expenses until robin 100.

finally, and this is more of a personal interpretation, i think tim being used to explore queerness in the late 90s/early 2000s would be far more profound than whatever ‘relatable teen shit’ they are trying so desperately to make him become, especially in a time when biphobia was so normalized you had episodes from ‘sex and the city’ just boast biphobic remarks like nothing. not only it would be a great way to distinguish tim from the crowd of 38738 patented young white queer boys dc has been putting on the frontlines of their pride specials, but it would do great for a framing of the lgbt community in another time and potentially educate the newer generations on the struggles of the elder generation.

[luxaofhesperides]

Childhood friends to lovers ; requested by @starlightcat04!

Duke’s grandmother lived in Illinois when he was a kid, years before he and his parents were captured by the Joker and the news of it sent her to a hospital that she didn’t leave until Death arrived for her. But before all that, before his life upended and tore itself to shreds in front of him, Duke used to visit her in the summers.

His parents didn’t want to leave Gotham, but they also didn’t want him to grow up there amid all the crime and rogue attacks. The solution was to drive down to his grandmother’s house, suitcase in the trunk, and stay with him there for a few days before they returned to make sure no one broke into their house. 

She lived in the outskirts of Amity Park, a town smaller than Gotham and much, much quieter. The change in scenery always blew his mind, and he spent most of his childhood summers running around the woods, accidentally scaring hikers. 

There were other kids in Amity, further in towards the suburbs, but he never got along with most of them, too strange, only here for a month or so, and carrying an awareness and sense of danger that all Gothamites had. 

He didn’t really have friends in Amity Park, except for one: Danny Fenton, local outcast due to his scientist parents'… everything. His only friend, a boy named Tucker, would always be gone in the summers as well, visiting family in Chicago and Pennsylvania. 

They gravitated towards each other, as lonely kids tend to do.

Danny helped make those summers fun, full of laughter and skinned knees and smuggled tech from the Fenton household to mess around with. They shared stories of their lives, comparing Amity Park to Gotham, arguing over superheroes and getting distracted each time by how cool heroes were. 

The last summer he ever went to Amity Park, Danny had gotten his first cell phone and eagerly gave Duke his number. Any time they weren’t together, they were texting until they fell asleep, phone still in hand.

The time they spent together was always limited, but Duke could swear that no one in the world knew him as well as Danny did.

He still misses him. 

They still text and call when they can, but it’s gotten hard over the past few years. Duke was caught up in foster care and searching for his parents and being part of the We Are Robin gang and then becoming the Signal. Danny, from what he’s shared with Duke, went through similar things of recovering from a lab accident and then having his town be overrun with ghosts, of all things, which had the government get involved and cause problems.

The few times they were able to find a quiet night where they could just talk and be Duke and Danny again were nights he always treasured, though they left an ache in his chest when it was over. 

It’s just been so long since they’ve seen each other in person. He doesn’t even know what Danny looks like anymore! And, sure, he could always ask for a picture, but it feels awkward. They know what they looked like before. And they’ve heard each other’s voices, know the basics of what’s going on in each other’s lives…

They still know each other, but Duke is all too aware of the distance that’s grown between them.

“Duke, seriously, what’s got you spacing out so much?” Steph asks, pulling him from his thoughts. 

He shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Just thinking. Sorry about that. What were you saying?”

“I was saying,” she says, “That you should do a road trip. Or just like, travel around. Check out college campuses. Enjoy your last summer vacation of high school! Trust me, you’ll want the break before going into senior year.”

“Just because you’re two years older than me—”

“Excuse me for trying to impart my wisdom! See if I help you again when I’m older and wiser.”

“Sure, Steph,” he says, “Whatever you say.”

She squints at him. “What’s with that tone? I’m being helpful right now!”

“Mhm.”

“Geez. I should have let Dick talk to you. Anyways, I already told Bruce that you wanted to do this, so he’s agreed to fund it.”

Duke jerks upright in his seat, nearly falling out of it. “You did WHAT?!”

“You’re welcome,” Steph grins, unrepentant. 

“Steph, come on. This is unnecessary. Isn’t it better for me to help out more in the summer? Train more, work with the team on stuff, you know, important things?”

“Duke.” Steph’s voice suddenly turns serious and he can’t help but give her all his attention. “Listen to me. Your life is more important. If Gotham survived when Bruce was the only cape around, then it’ll survive while you prioritize your life. And that means touring colleges to figure out where you want to go.”

“I could just stay here and go to GCU.”

Steph just stares at him, unimpressed, and he has to admit, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not gonna do that.”

“Just enjoy traveling around, okay? And if you want someone to go with you…” she nudges him with her shoulder, repeatedly, very clearly hinting at something.

“I’ll be sure to ask Cass,” Duke says, and Steph rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny that Cass would be a great travel partner. 

Their conversation comes to a halt when an alarm on her phone goes off and she drops her head with a groan. She grabs her bag and takes off with a quick explanation that she has to get to class, one she hates but is determined to ace just to spite the professor, and in no time at all, Duke is alone again. 

Without Steph providing him a distraction, Duke has nothing to do but read through his texts with Danny. It hasn’t been that long since they last talked; four days ago is nothing compared to the months of silence that went between them a few years ago. They’ve gotten better since staying in contact since then, and make sure to text at least once a week. 

It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.

He considers asking Danny where he’s planning to go. Maybe they could go to the same place together, live in the same apartment, be able to finally stick together. Not that it’ll ever happen; the more likely outcome is that they’ll be accepted into different universities, chose places closer to their respective homes, and still be far apart.

An idea begins to form in his mind.

They’ve had summers together before. Maybe they could have one more.

First, he needs to talk to Bruce.

He’s working from home, thankfully, typing away at a laptop in his office when Duke knocks on the door and pokes his head in.

“Duke,” Bruce smiles, pushes his laptop away. “Come in.”

“Hey. Steph said she talked to you about me traveling this summer?”

“Yes. She was very insistent that you go visit any universities that pique your interest. I’ve already agreed to fund everything, and I can take care of plane tickets and hotels as well.” 

Duke nods, trying not to look too nervous. “Yeah, so about that. Could I travel with someone? Would that be cool? Or is this a thing for me only?”

Bruce blinks. “I promise cost is not an issue. Adding another person won’t be a problem. Who is it?”

“Ah, no one you know. He’s a childhood friend of mine who lives in Illinois, and I’d like to spend a summer with him again.”

“Who is it?”

Oh boy. Bruce is definitely going to find everything he can about Danny and his family and start interrogating Duke about him. But if that’s going to let him travel the country with Danny, then he’s more than willing to deal with it.

“Danny Fenton, from Amity Park. The town with the ghost problem.”

Bruce leans back in his chair. “I’ve heard of them. The League discussed investigating it when the news first got out, but Constantine warned us to stay away due to risk of possession. It seems that the local hero, Phantom, has it all in hand.” Bruce nods, already thinking deeply about his next steps. “Alright, I’ll need to do some research. And send me a list of the universities you’d like to visit so I can plan your itinerary.”

“Cool. Thanks, B.”

Duke leaves as quickly as he can after that, letting out a relieved breath  once he’s sure no one is around to hear it. 

Step one is done. 

Now for step two: communication.

duke: hey, are you free for a call anytime soon? danny: yeah! we can call now if u want :)

Well! That was way faster than he was expecting. 

He all but sprints through the halls to get to his room and locks the door behind himself. It won’t do much to stop anyone from actually coming in, but it is a sign that he wants privacy. Once he’s sure no one is going to be listening in and interrupting, Duke pulls up Danny’s contact and hits the call button.

It rings twice before Danny’s picking up, greeting him with a cheerful, “Hey Duke! What’s up?”

“Hey Danny,” he replies, unable to help the way his voice softens with affection. “So, this is totally out of the blue, but if you could spend this summer going around the country with me, would you?”

“I mean, yeah, obviously. You know I’d do anything to spend more time with you! Why?”

Duke grins. While he was sure about what Danny’s answer would be, that didn’t stop him from worrying about a rejection. “Well. Bruce has offered to fund the entire trip and bring someone along.”

“Wait, seriously? You want me to go with you?”

“Who else? Dude, you know I love spending time with you, and I’ve missed you like crazy.”

“Oh my God, you’re serious. Duke! Yes, I want to be your travel buddy! Are you kidding me? In what world would I say no?”

“Hey, man, you can’t blame me for making sure. Are your parents going to be fine with that?”

Danny goes quiet, and Duke feels his heart drop. “Danny? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Danny says, followed by a bitter laugh. “They won’t care. I’ll just tell them I’m going traveling with a friend and that’ll be enough. They’re too busy to care much about what I do, these days. They probably won’t even notice that I’m gone, now that Jazz isn’t here to remind them that I exist.”

“How is Jazz, by the way? We could visit her.”

“She’s doing fine. Really loving Harvard. And I’d love that Duke. You’re the best.”

The mood of the conversation eases and they fall into the usual rhythm of catching each other up, chatting about their lives and any other thought that crosses their minds. It’s easy for the hours to slip away with Danny, and before he knows it, there’s a knock on his door as Alfred calls him for dinner.

He hangs up with a quick goodbye to Danny, along with a promise to send him the itinerary once it’s made. 

Somehow, news of his summer plans get out by the end of the day. Which means Steph blabbed and feels no remorse about it. The next week of Duke’s life is overtaken by nearly every trying to help him plan and prepare for his trip, while lightly interrogating him about Danny. By the time he was heading off to the airport, agreeing to take one of Bruce’s smaller private planes which was piloted by a man who definitely wasn’t Jason going by the name 'Todd Jameson'. Of course not, that would be silly.

(Duke sighed very, very loudly when he saw Jason waving at him from outside the plane. He should have expected the guy to take advantage of Bruce needing a pilot and teasing him about Danny.)

He can’t bring himself to be too bother by it, though, when it means he’ll get to be with Danny again soon. Duke would pay any price to be with him again, so this is hardly anything.

They set off with a wave from Duke and Jason flipping the bird to the rest of the family. And then Jason is up in the cockpit, blasting his playlist of songs from musicals, and Duke is left to wait impatient for the next few hours until they reach Illinois. 

The hours pass far too slow but also much too fast. Duke feels like he barely has time to prepare himself before they’re landing smoothly and Danny texts him to let him know he’s at the airport.

Jason sees him off before heading out to take a call from Roy, telling him to find his own way to his hotel. Duke barely pays him enough mind to say goodbye, grabbing his suitcase and hurrying into the airport, searching for the terminal Danny’s at. 

He doesn’t find Danny first. Danny finds him and slams into him like a freight train. It’s only his training that keeps Duke from toppling over, dropping his suitcase to hold Danny. They cling to each other tightly, as if they might never see each other again. Danny’s got his legs wrapped around Duke’s waist like a koala, and Duke would be happy to carry him forever. 

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Danny murmurs into his ear. Duke shivers, holding him tighter, and smiles.

“Yeah. I know. Man, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

“I think I can take a pretty good guess.”

Danny pulls away, dropping his feet back to the ground. 

Duke is finally able to see Danny for the first time in years, and he’s pretty sure he stops breathing for a solid minute. Danny grew up fine. He’s got the bluest eyes he’s ever seen, and soft black hair that’s a little windswept and messy, and his grin is as bright and beautiful as always. For a moment, Duke wants nothing more than to kiss him.

Then Danny steps back and the thought fades. 

“Ready to go? We’re going to UChicago first, yeah?”

“That’s the plan,” Duke says, falling into step with Danny as they make their way out of the airport. “Then a day just to hang out in Chicago before we head to Harvard.”

“Cool,” Danny grins. “Hotel first, though, right?”

“Yeah, man, catch up time is essential.”

Danny glances over at him, something unreadable in his eyes, but he smiles when he sees that Duke is already looking at him. “Let’s get going, then.”

Danny drives them in a car he apparently made himself, which explains why it’s a model Duke’s never seen before. It drives like a dream and Duke is very tempted to get Danny to make one for the Signal, maybe even wrangle up a contract to have him work with Batman Inc. 

They spend the two hour drive chatting and laughing as if no time has passed at all since they last saw each other in person. All the years seem to fade away and they’re just Duke and Danny again, spending another summer together. 

Check in goes smoothly, and the room Bruce has booked them is large, with two beds, a seating area, and a dining area. A glass door leads to a small balcony with two chairs and a fantastic view of the lake behind the hotel. They set both their suitcases on the luggage rack, and Duke only has time to turn to Danny to ask which bed he wants before he finds himself pressed up against the wall, Danny’s hands on his cheeks.

“Tell me if you don’t want this,” he whispers against Duke’s lips.

Duke doesn’t bother replying. He just leans in, closes the minuscule distance between them, and kisses Danny. It’s soft and sweet and everything he’s ever wanted.

Then Danny makes a small noise in the back of his throat and deepens the kiss. It goes from soft to heated and desperate and all consuming instantly. Duke slides his hands around Danny’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and thinks I never want to leave you again.

He’s completely lost track of time when Danny pulls back with gasp. They both take a few seconds to catch their breath, and Duke realizes his cheeks feel cold.

“Sorry,” Danny whispers, pulling his hands away. Duke catches them before they can go too far and holds them together.

“Sorry for what?”

“The frost,” he says, wiggling his fingers lightly. Duke glances down and sees that his fingertips are lightly coated in frost, spilling down his fingers.

“You have powers?”

“Came with the lab accident.”

“Man,” Duke says, “We have got to catch up properly. There’s a ton I haven’t told you.”

Danny laughs lightly, breathlessly. “Oh, for sure. But later. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for years.”

“Danny, baby, you can kiss me all night if you want.”

“I intend to,” he says with a bright grin.

What else could Duke do but lean in and kiss him again?

Nothing else exists in that moment except them. Duke is so, so glad he’s got the rest of summer to spend with Danny. He’s going to take him on dates in every city they visit. 

They’ve gone years without seeing each other. Duke refuses to let it happen again. Whatever future awaits them, he’ll do all he can to keep Danny in it. 

But for now, he’s got his cute childhood friend to kiss and all the privacy a hotel room can offer. He fully intends to make the most of it.

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

Gotham, but she’s actually a living entity and fully sentient. She may not be a physical thing beyond existing as a city, but she’s very much alive with thoughts and feelings and emotions.

Bruce is fully aware of this. He’s one of the few, if not the only, Gothamite who can speak to her. Think of it in the sense that Aerith can communicate w the Planet to a degree. That’s Bruce w Gotham.

And Gotham /adores/ Bruce. So fucking much. He’s essentially her child in all ways except for physical. It’s part of why Bruce is also so dedicated to defending her because he /knows/. She is intensely protective of him to the degree that when she knows he’s not at his best for a night or two, somehow the crime in the city…doesn’t vanish, but it’s certainly not enough to warrant Batman’s attention.

She’s also a bit petty about being ignored at times, not that Bruce does it often.

Bruce will literally talk to her like she’s a person right in front of him, and each of his kids, the first time they witnessed it, thought he was fucking insane. But over time, they learned that…oh. Yeah, no. He /is/ talking to someone, and even if they can’t hear the response, they know Bruce is getting one.

Gotham is also protective of the Batfam, but not to the degree she is of Bruce. When they get hurt, Bruce has the tendency to blame her (and himself) for not looking out for them better.

Bruce Wayne is dubbed the Prince of Gotham by the people, but he’s been chosen by the city herself as well

[ivorydragoness44]

Red Hood x Reader: Need

Word Count: 800 Warnings/Notes: Angst, established relationship, gender neutral reader, guns in holsters mention, comforting Jason. Summary: The Reader’s night takes a turn when Red Hood enters their home unexpectedly. Removing his helmet reveals his identity to the Reader for the first time, but they are more concerned about comforting Jason.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

  Gotham City, a place of lights, frights, and Gothamites. As the nighttime carried on, any late night activities and happenings went unknown to the only occupant in an apartment.   Curled up on the bed, you read quietly. If it was your first or fifth time reading this particular book, you would not tell. Only one other person would recognize if it was.

  A clicking and overall light rattling movement from the front door tore your attention from the page in front of you. In the quiet one bedroom apartment, it was the only noise.   Hopping off of the bed, you had a smile on your face. There was no ounce of fear, not when you knew who held the second key.   The door opened and closed. You had not looked up yet, as you were busy putting a bookmark between the pages of your book.   A few short footsteps sounded across the floor before there was silence.   Prying your eyes away from the pages you shut the book. You looked up, hoping to see the happily awaiting face of your boyfriend. The person you see instead, was not Jason.   Standing near the entryways was Red Hood. His red helmet was donned, with white eyes staring directly at you. He remained still with the exception of the rise and fall of his shoulders and chest.   “Um hi?” You observed him cautiously. His breaths were not even. “Are you all right?” You asked. Stepping around the bed, you walked over to him slowly.   “I…I had to see you.” His voice was altered by the helmet, but his words were not.   Stopping a few feet near him, your eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why me?”   “Because I…I need you.” His head hung low, almost completely blocking the red symbol on his chest.   Heart beating faster, you watched as his gloved hands reached up. In one smooth motion, he removed his helmet. Dark hair revealed itself, but one other feature caught your breath. White. That white streak of hair.   With upturned eyebrows, sad teal eyes looked into your soul, searching, pleading.   “Jason,” you breathed out.   “I’m sorry,” he said with tear brimmed eyes.   Taking two long strides, you reached him. Gently, you pulled him into an embrace. Kissing his cheek, you brought a comforting hand up to his head.   His helmet slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a thud.   “I’m here, Jason. I’m here,” you soothed, passing your palm up and down the nape of his neck to the back of his head.   Large arms encased your form and gloved hands latched onto your sides.   “You don’t have to tell me,” you assured. “I’ll remain here regardless.”   His tear stained face buried into the crook of your neck and breathed in deeply with a shudder.   “Everything’s alright…you’re here with me.”   You had never seen him quite like this. Not even including the obvious difference and surprise knowledge of the evening. Jason, your dear friend and boyfriend, was also the Red Hood. The Red Hood. And he entered your home completely suited up, but needing you for support and comfort. You would never deny him that, especially when he would do the same in return.   As he continued to sob into your neck, your heartstrings pulled. “Whatever it is, we can get through it together.”   To be so distraught, you could only imagine what could have possibly brought him to such a point. On how serious the situation was, you were not sure.

  “Let’s go sit down,” you suggested softly. Unsure whether he was injured or exhausted, you wanted for him to be comfortable.   Breathing in sharply, he nodded. A small whimper barely reached your ear despite your closeness.

  As you turned and lead him over to the foot of the bed, he hardly let you go.   Situating him to sit down first, you could not get a good look at him before he pulled you to his chest. He fell back onto the bed with you as his personal weighted body pillow.   Your legs nestled between his, thankfully. All considering his gun holsters. Ones that were not empty.   Nudging your head up, you felt his chin on the top of your head. As his breathing began to relax into slow calm breaths, you took one yourself.

  Definitely not at the moment, but maybe later into the night, even the next day, Jason might verbally reveal to you his heroic identity. That, and what had brought him to you in such a state. You certainly were not going to pressure him. Least of all in that moment. He would tell you when he was ready. For the time being, you would continue smoothing your hand over and through his hair. And maybe give him an adoring kiss or two.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading!

If you would like to read more from me, the pinned post on my blog, "Masterlist of Masterlists" has all of my other fanfictions and imagines.

Also, if you haven't seen my previous posts, I do have commissions open. I try to post about that regularly, but feel free to ask me about those :)

[gon-and-killuas-mother]

thesis statement: Batman's grapple hooks (and the rest of Batfam's) have likely left countless marks and scars on Gotham's architecture over the years, to the point of being recognizable and even cherishable to the average Gothamite

i had a thought and now i gotta rotate it in my brain for a bit bc i don't think i've seen it mentioned at all but it would be such good environmental storytelling!!

the Bats have been around long enough to leave behind physical "scars" around Gotham, yeah? sure, from their battles and various vehicular bumps and scrapes. but also?

especially from their grappling hooks!

think about it! the hooks have to grab something, though we're not supposed to really think about it bc it's fine, move along, look at how cool Batman can swing around! don't worry about what the grapple hook has grabbed, it's fine, it's LITERALLY fine!!!

but in general, the hooks probably grab onto balcony railings, concrete ledges, brick walls, etc etc. i'd imagine it's a pretty normal occurrence for a Gothamite to be taking a smoke break on the roof somewhere only to be startled when a grapple hook appears out of nowhere and latches onto the ledge. they don't even see whoever's using the grapple hook before it releases and disappears into the night, but at this point they can sigh and mutter "fucking Bats"

but the hooks have to be sturdy and sharp enough to dig into whatever surface is available and support the weight of whichever Bat is using it. so it would most likely leave behind some scrapes, scratches, maybe even punctures.

and since it's one of their primary means of travel, these marks are fucking everywhere. i bet Superman would have noticed them at some point, sees a whole city practically covered in various scrapes and thinks fondly of his best friend leaving a kinda "proof of life"

and there are certain spots across the city that the Bats tend to aim for more than others if that spot has proved sturdy and convenient enough in the past, so those areas get whole collections of hook marks (like, certain gargoyles, horizontal support beams on bridges, specific ledges on buildings along busier streets, etc)

so i can imagine folks taking pics of any scrapes they find and posting them like "guess Batman was here recently?"

oooh and maybe there are forums comparing different marks! you know how there's always someone on the internet with enough time and the right set of skills to analyze niche shit?

after enough pictures are posted online, one or more of those folks will be able to pick apart the differences and determine which type of grappling hook it is, and therefore which Bat it belongs to (larger, deeper scars are from Batman, small scars with certain wiggly patterns are from Nightwing and his acrobatic ass, scars that are fainter/shallower are from Robin bc he's still pretty small) as well as be able to spot "fakes" (like if some asshole used a knife or something to make it look like a grapple hook mark) and possibly even notice when the hooks get upgraded!

at first, after a few of the earlier posts, some of the posters might've found that the scrape on their balcony had magically "vanished"/been repaired. this would normally be a good thing, except this is Gotham, and the forum explodes with "DON'T FUCK WITH THE HOOK SCRAPES!!!" and folks absolutely offended that anyone (even the Bats) would DARE to erase marks that have, somehow, become so personal to Gothamites.

some days later, they post follow-up pics proudly displaying the brand new grapple hook marks on their rooftop/balcony/fire escape/etc, bc apparently the Bats are that nice??

Bruce says he doesn't get it, but after reading through the forum and seeing how excited some people in his city get about something that should be insignificant.... yeah, he gets so much shit from rogues and dirty politicians and whatnot that this bizarre kind of... love? appreciation? whatever, he holds onto it as a reminder that Gotham protects her own, and that includes him and apparently any evidence of his existence, and it helps him keep going.

(hey guys? this was supposed to be lighthearted shit and i went and made myself emotional over fucking grapple hook scrapes what the fuck)

so yeah, i'd love to explore this more as a method of environmental storytelling, especially from the perspective of some random Gothamite

[marinettesaltprompts]

kind of a continuation of “maribat but not really” but from Adrien’s perspective

When it was revealed that Adrien’s father was Hawkmoth, he felt numb. 

He remembers around that time he was coming to terms with Gabriel’s abuse of him for the past 5 years. It was hard to get to that point since he was the only family he had left but he couldn’t ignore what was right in front of him. 

Days before he had gotten his miraculous taken from him by Ladybug with her telling him that he was irresponsible and unworthy of it. So when it came out that his father was Hawkmoth, he really did think his life was over. He was aware how he was going to be looked at, he was the son of a terrorist after all, no one was going to trust him. 

He should have known that his friends would stick by him, even others in school and the staff stood by him. When interviewed they all said the same thing, that there was no way he had anything to do with Gabriel and around that time he was coming to terms with things they already knew, that his father was abusive. Even other well known figures were backing him up saying that it was an open secret among the rich and influential how Gabriel treated Adrien.

He was still taken in for questioning but only because it was protocol and they wanted to see if he could give them more insight on what Gabriel was thinking. When the Gothamite Bats were there uncovering everything they had already ruled him out of having anything to do with it, after it was discovered that Lila was working with Gabriel the school went under investigation. It didn’t exactly look good that a student was able to disappear for months and come back for one or two days causing trouble. 

They quickly fired and replaced a lot of the staff. including Mrs. Bustier and Mr. Damocules for being complacent not just with Lila but with a lot of things that went on in the school. It was an adjustment for the class to get used to their new teacher but after a few weeks they really started liking them. They were strict but fair and had no problem punishing those who bullied others regardless of their background. Another thing they had to get used to was Marinette being gone, more specifically how she left. Before she left she tore all of them down saying how they were all bad friends and how she couldn’t believe she ever had a crush on Adrien.

For a long time, It hurt how she left and threw away their friendship like it was nothing, but over time that hurt began to fade to the point that it didn’t matter anymore. They had all moved on and became successful in the careers they wanted. Although Adrien had never thought about what he would do when he finished modeling for his fa- Gabriel, he later found his passion for animals and decided to become a veterinarian. Despite their different paths, they all managed to keep in frequently meet up, usually to talk about their lives or making occasional humor with each other, their favorite being to tease Alya for her “Lila interview” she did when they were in middle school. She had taken it down immediately after the reveal of Lila’s true nature, and when she was going through her posts she had soon realized how none of what Lila was saying made any sense. It was a coincidence that it happened days before she was revealed to be working with hawkmoth. The whole thing with Lila made everyone pretty embarrassed for believing ridiculous lies, Alya especially since she posted and presented it as fact on her blog. Fortunately, Alya learned from it and became a better reporter for it, since she now triple checks her facts and no longer rushes into things.

Most of the group are either engaged or married, Adrien being no exception. After Gabriel’s reveal he was really going through a lot of emotions and feelings. His friends stuck by his side and he was in therapy, and through it all Luka was the one person he felt he didn’t have to say a word to and he would understand how he felt. They would sit in his room for hours, not a word spoken between them while Luka played with his guitar. He was a soothing presence in Adrien’s life, and sometimes that was what he wanted when he was feeling overwhelmed. A soothing presence to be around when Adrien didn’t want to talk. Somewhere along the way he realized he liked Luka but he also recognized that he wasn’t ready for a relationship. When he told Luka he respected it, acknowledging that he had to put himself first and that he would wait for him. A year and a half later when Adrien finally felt he was ready Luka was there just like he said he would, and the rest is history.

Sometimes he still thinks about Marinette, how she left, how she might be doing now. As they grew older a lot of things were revealed to him, like Marinette’s unhealthy obsession with him. At the time they were in high school when the girls realized and apologized for helping and encouraging her to essentially stalk him. It definitely added more context as to why they didn’t believe her about Lila. He hesitated telling the class about Lila because of a lack of evidence but also seeing everyone not believe Marinette. Knowing what he knows now, he understands why they didn’t believe her. It was common for her to glare or harass girls he talked to and frequently talked about the supposed future she would have with him. Looking back, when she told them off for not taking her side against Lila it felt like she was upset over them not blindly believing her.

He remembered she wanted to be a fashion designer but searching her up overseas didn’t get any results. He knows she’s in Gotham, but doesn’t call her parents often because of how busy she was. He only knows this because her parents had asked Luka when he visited the bakery. They knew about her not being friends with them anymore but not the reason. So, they asked Luka if he talked to her recently because she still seemed to be on good terms with him, hoping that she just talked more with him than them. Luka had internally winced at that, it had been years since he had a crush on Marinette and he moved on. He didn’t want to disappoint them but was honest when he responded that he hadn’t talked to her since she left. 

Overall Adrien couldn’t be happier, despite the hiccups in his life he managed to find himself surrounded by his friends like he first imagined all those years ago, friends they were all successful in the careers they wanted while he himself was engaged to the man he loved more than anything.

[the-deadrobin]

Jason Todd Headcannons

I will probably add more later, because I surely forgot a few.

Half of these don't make sense, but they're fun.

Jason is a huge Literature nerd and an even bigger Jane Austen fan. He's also a huge romance lover. But he likes the wholesome cutesy shit. (I also think he just loves poems) But even so, he likes Shakespeare especially the tragedies like Macbeth.

He is the only Bat Alfred allows in the kitchen. Jason used to learn to cook from/help cook with Alfred back in his Robin days. Thus he is a surprisingly good cook, second only to Alfred.

Jason smoked when he was an Alley kid before being Robin and he still smokes as Red Hood. He also smokes on rooftops while Bruce has his Galas and the press are all over it.

This one is kinda funny but I love the idea of the Wayne family being like the Kardashians of Gotham (just much more useful) and Dick and Jason are absolute heartthrobs. (I'm so going to elaborate on this with detail in another post)

The Bat-fam don't know about the all-blades, or the all-caste. Because the situation just never called for it.

Anesthesia or sedatives either don't work on him, or wear off him much faster than normal. Same with alcohol.

Being a Gothamite, a Bat, and trained with the League Of Assassins, I imagine Jason has trained himself to have immunity to poisons and toxins (mostly but not all) (I believe its called Microdosing)

Jason has that good old white tuft of hair. Whether from head trauma or the Lazarus remains a mystery.

Jason is dramatic as hell. And extremely petty too. Spite drives this man. He does everything he can (no matter how small or big it might be) to spite Bruce.

Most of his younger siblings don't prank him unless they're looking for all out war, in which him, Dick and Steph form an alliance and go batshit insane (pun not intended)

Leading me to my next point: Jason is very competitive.

He's also a horrible role model because whenever any of the siblings fight (namely Tim and Damian) he just makes shit worse and watches the chaos he helped create.

Jason is big on revenge. He has a list is all I'm saying.

Jason probably has claustrophobia (what with being stuck in a damn coffin and all that)

I think that all of the bat siblings (except Dick, because he has the Big Bro power) has a blackmail list on everyone in the house. But no one can seem to find blackmail for Jason just because Jason is so damn good at covering up what he does that even if it was obvious he did something, there'd be no evidence of it.

Which leads to the fact that I think Jason is an extremely good liar. And he uses that to make his lies really weird and borderline crazy but people still believe him because he's just so convincing. Like, whenever he lies to Bruce, Bruce just believes it. And the other batkids are in the corner like: what??? It wasn't even a convincing lie!! But then they find out about an instance Jason has pulled this shit on them and realise how believable it actually is. (And that was only when he was caught) but Jason never does this to Alfred, because no matter what Alfred can always catch his lies.

Jason regularly has tea time with Alfred. They talk about books, food, Jason's schemes to fuck with his family and Alfred secretly gives him ideas. But everyone else in the family aside from Bruce and Jason always think Alfred is this innocent old man.

Also one of my favourites is that Jason jokes about his death. A lot. Everytime he sees an opportunity he takes it. Bruce and Dick (and to some degree Tim) are so uncomfortable everytime he does it, but Steph and Damian find it the funniest thing ever. Duke has absolutely no clue why Jason keeps making these jokes about dying, because no one told the poor guy. Cass is as clueless as Duke and Babs is always caught so off guard by it. Alfred is always mortified but he doesn't show it because he knows its Jason's coping mechanism.

I wholeheartedly believe that Jason drops off the face of the Earth occasionally. He just goes completely off-grid, no one (except sometimes Roy or Steph) know how to contact him or where he went. Not a single bat can find him when he does this. And that half the time he's doing this, he's just going to the Fields Of All to hang out with Ducra and some monks, or having mother son bonding time with Talia. Then the other half he's either having a nuch needed vacation in the beach, or going on a extremely dark and broody conquest to solve a large case and ultimately failing into its rabbithole and never attempting to get out. (He hates to admit it, but it's a lot like Bruce sometimes)

When Jason is out as Jason Wayne he totally wears makeup. Either just foundation to cover up his scars, or when he's feeling it maybe some black eyeliner and eyeshadow for Galas. So almost nobody recognises him as Jason Wayne while he's in normal civvies and he can wander Gotham freely. (Unlike Dick, who has to style his hair differently, wear a cap, change his wardrobe and still gets paparazzis)

Jason regularly quotes book and poems and the only person who has a chance of understanding him is Alfred.

This whole tumblr post.

Jason died before the Internet became as huge as it is now. So, Jason is the least technologically advanced in the family. He's the equivalent of a grandfather. Barely can use a computer without yelling for someone. Goes into Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss mode upon realising the stupidity of the scenario. It drives Tim and Babs insane. More of that here.

Everyone knows he loves Wonder Woman. He has Wonder Woman clothes, a bottle, a figurine, comics, etc. Once, he got a small tattoo of her logo under his ear mainly to spite Bruce. (Because he has accepted that, that's half his life purpose at this point).

But secretly, under the Wonder Woman jackets and tucked in between the pages of the comics are Green Arrow shirts and bookmarks. Only because he knows Bruce notices these small things and it gnaws away at him because Jason has never touched Batman merch since his ressurection. Roy does the same thing but with Batman merch.

Jason and Damian met in the League Of Assassins and were pretty close before going to Gotham for entirely different reasons. No one in the family knows about this and always wonder why they can communicate so well without using a word. (They did that a lot while sneaking around Nanda Parbat so Ra's wouldn't notice).

Jason and Steph are absolute besties. They're a chaos duo who love tormenting Bruce and are practically bff soulmates. But it's strictly platonic.

He's the kind of guy who would unironically recite a monologue from Macbeth without a hit him, just to motivate his goons.

This post

Also this post

Also, also, this post (I'm sorry, its just these posts are on point)

This one too-

[gothamrumours]

Metropolis knows no pain

To the people of Gotham, as every single Gothamite and their mother knows Metropolis citizens are nothing but weak complainers who know 0 and I mean ZERO pain like "You have people poisonings the water supply that's so scary!??" Like of course we do its how we build an immune system or "Batman? Sounds like a villain to me!??" Like doesn't your richest man in you city feel to blow it up every time your literal God of FriEnDshiP ruins his boring day? Don't come for our hero.

Also on the note of your God why is he so destructive? Huh? Most our knight broke is a few windows and fans hearts cause he doesn't except fan art. Also our Richman is a lovable himbo who helps the city by making repairs to places damaged by crime and our knight. "Well our hero doesn't use child labor!?" Have you never heard of employment plus they get lots of benefits I believe since they have amazing tech and also everyone knows The Dark Knight's demon spawn children are happy to fight and rid the city of crime like once Spoiler smiled and said hi to the paparazzi.

"Gotham is full of criminal though" ya but most of those criminals have a PhD and are also doctors, what do you have aliens we have the best education 👏, also my rent is $250 a month and I have a loft studio, rent in Metropolis is like $3,800 for a small one bedroom apartment so what you if there's a bit of crime. Also the crime in Gotham is pretty easy to avoid like duh just don't do stupid or things that damage other people or plant's lives simple. Most of Gotham crime is either revenge, to help someone, gang related, or done by the joker.

Also Gotham has the least amount of crime related to race, sex or disorder. So next time you Metropolis snowflakes want to come complain about my city remember yours is worst by a long shot we just don't hide our issues.

Your Loyal Journalist,

Gotham Rumors

[garbagewith-a-cherryontop]

Wait in your opinion how would the battam reaction would be if Snitches is not a cat but something of uncanny valley monster you see in analog horror?

So sorry i haven't seen this before now! My ability to function took a hike and has yet to return. But to answer your question, albeit 20 years later:

I think they'd all be pretty apprehensive at first (except for Damain, the little shit), but after a few hundred failed attempts at getting rid of the damned thing (with no help from Damian whatsoever), they'd have gotten used to the constant feeling of forboding that follows the cat everywhere and just accepted their new "normal". They are gothamites after all.

Tim absolutely HATES the fact that the cat doesn't let him go more than 16 hours without sleeping and he is mourning the loss of several coffee mugs. But the cats speciel ability to get anyone into any situation DOES make for good blackmail material. He just wishes it would stop crawling out of his laptop screen whenever he hits the 16-hour mark.

Steph on the other hand, has learned to love her new partner in crime. Sending pictures of Snitches to unsuspecting cat lovers has become a favorite pastime of hers. Snitches is also helping Cass amp up the horror factor whenever she is sneaking up on someone. Either by staring directly into someones eyes for an extended period of time (literally, the clock goes slower) or screaming at a random corner unpromted.

Snitches makes for a pretty good cuddlebuddy as well, once Dick learns to ignore the feeling of tendons and bones that definently don't belong to a cat moving right under the cats skin even though Snitches is lying perfectly still.

Duke has taken to wearing sunglasses inside and never looking directly at the cat. The little guy is pretty alright once you ignore the horrors.

Jason has started showing up to family gatherings on time, because if he doesn't the cat hurls him through a portal. (Though sometimes it just does that anyway. Snitches has made it pretty clear he does not respect him.) The rest of the family has learned to abuse this and regularly invite him to things since he literally can't refuse. Although Snitches has started to bite him less, now that the pit has calmed down. Still though, getting your blood sucked out by a cat is not a fun experiance. The two keep a professional distance.

Bruce resently discovered that John Constantine (and any other magic user for that matter) is absolutly TERRIFIED of Snitches and has started using the cat as leverage in meetings with the JLD.

Damian is feeling very smug that Snitches got to stay (not that they had a choise). And although he won't ever admit it to anyone with opposable thumbs (unless they're a monkey or ape) he is really relieved that there is someone looking after his family when they are being stupid. Alfred can't be everywhere at once (ulike Snitches, who seems to have learned the art of duplication).

Danny thinks they're all morons (he is pointedly ignoring the hipocrisy) but watching Vlad get chased off the property was hilarious.