#He sees Gotham as a playground and not his home

[puppetmaster13u]

So thinkin more of Dragon Gotham, and once more, I am not drawing three separate dragon forms for Every gothamite ever. So I used Predict Morphology on Flight Rising to come up with general ideas/visualizations for each dragon form. So I guess have a Part 1 of that lol.

SO, first of all, each of these will be in the order of Alpha, Beta, Omega, though some characters might prefer one gender over the other, or not bother to change into one of these forms often. Anyway, enjoy.

Alfred Pennyworth

Jim Gordon

Bruce Wayne

Kate Kane

Lemme know your ideas and thoughts lol. I am also open to reblogs with goons and civilians. Pretty much original character Gothamites lol. Hood needs his Merry Men and the Goonion needs people in it after all lol.

[threestarsinline]

The Word of Your Body

Jason Todd x reader one shot

Summary: Jason comes back from patrol, but something is keeping his mind still somewhere out there. You're always there to bring him back and let him know he's safe. At home. With you.

Word Count: 5.8K

Category: Angst-ish because Jason is going through it but fluff because reader is there to comfort him

Warnings: Jason having a bad time

Author’s note: I know, I know, three fics in one year?? Who am I? Jsjksks truly an achivement for me, very happy and very proud hehe. Thank you for sticking with me and supporting my fics, I love you all. That said, enjoy!

It’s really incredible how much one can know about a person just by their body. From the way they move, to how they carry themselves, to the small gestures that they make in their day to day that reflect who they are, to the little telltale signs of how they’re feeling. A smile, a wrinkle between the eyebrows, a twitch of their hand.

And not just the movements of the body but you can also learn a lot from the singularities and marks that one has on their skin. A child with a scrape on their knee from running too fast on the playground. A chef with hundreds of small cuts on their hands from mastering the use of a knife. A ballet dancer with wounded toes. A painter with watercolors under their nails. A piano player with soft and delicate hands.

You can have a lot of information about a person just by observing them, knowing how they move and how their body reacts to things. A flinch from fear at the threat of danger. A shiver at the gentle touch of a lover.

That’s how you immediately know that something’s wrong when Jason returns from patrol. And you don’t even need to see him.

You’re reading in bed when you hear him come in. Always waiting up for him whenever you can. It isn’t difficult for you since you’ve always preferred staying up late rather than waking up early. Unless you have something to do early the next morning, you always wait for him to come home, to come to you, liking to see him as soon as he returns to make sure that he’s made it back to you safe and sound.

You either read or watch something on TV while you wait despite how many times he’s told you that you don’t have to wait up for him, that you should sleep. And every time you shake your head and say, “And go to sleep without you next to me? Never.” And every time Jason rolls his eyes at your stubbornness while his heart thrums in his chest at how much he loves you and then gently cups your face in his hands and kisses you softly.

And even when you can’t help it and you do have to go to sleep earlier or exhaustion wins over you and brings you to the depths of slumber without warning, Jason always approaches you quietly so as to not disturb you and kisses your forehead to let you know he’s home. If you’re on the couch he brings you to bed, and if you’re already in bed, he settles the covers better over you, just the way you like.

And those times you always smile in your sleepy state and unless he’s injured and needs your help patching him up, you follow semi consciously the sound of his footsteps around the apartment. The sound of the shower as he steps inside to rinse away the Gotham night clinging to him, the sound of rustling sheets as he finally climbs into bed with you, and are finally lulled back to sleep when warmth surrounds you as he brings you into his arms.

You’re no metahuman but you’ve developed a sixth sense for everything regarding Jason Todd. You would be able to easily spot him in a crowd of thousands after having just faintly heard his voice in the distance even if he didn’t have that white tuft of hair singling him out, all your senses zeroed in on him. It’s like your body and mind are always tuned to find him, like tweaking the dial of the car radio to find your favorite station and finding it on the very first try.

You have a master’s degree on Jason Todd and all of his movements, small gestures and twitch of expressions that he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing, you know it all by heart. You know that when the right side of his smirk pulls slightly at his cheek as he’s admiring you doing something mundane, he’s going to kiss you. You know that when he flexes his hands at his sides something is bothering him. You know that he’s going to laugh loudly and wholeheartedly when the sound makes his shoulders shake slightly before making its way up his throat, as if he’s trying to contain it but the laugh is so strong and spontaneous that he can’t fight it. And you know he’s in pain from a bruise on his ribs when he shifts his weight on his feet and a grimace appears on his face for just a second.

That’s how you know that something’s up when you hear him climb through your living room window and his steps don’t sound as if he’s trying to not make too much noise in order to not wake you up in case that you’re asleep, but as if he's trying to make himself as small as possible. It’s a subtle difference but it’s there. You know it because you’ve encountered it before.

Your worry only increases when in the next four seconds that it takes you to find your bookmark between the sheets and place it in your book, you don’t hear him move at all. He doesn’t come find you and he doesn’t call your name.

When you exit the bedroom you find him in the middle of the living room. He just stands there, shoulders hunched, red helmet gripped tightly in hand, head looking down, his hair falling over his forehead.

Something has happened. You don’t know what it is but your first worry right now is making sure that he’s okay. If he heard you come into the room he doesn’t show it. You take a couple of small yet purposeful steps towards him, making sure that they can be heard so that you can alert him of your presence, not wanting to startle him.

But nothing. He stays frozen.

You take a deep breath as your heart clenches at seeing him like this. It’s bad. Whatever has happened is really, really bad and it seems like Jason’s mind is still there. He’s not fully present with you right now.

But you know what you have to do. You have to bring him back here with you. Help him to separate himself, your loving, wonderful, and kind Jason from the horrors that Red Hood has to face every day.

You take another step in his direction. “Jason?” you whisper softly.

He doesn’t react. But he doesn’t flinch either. That’s good. He knows he’s somewhere safe. But he still needs to distance himself from whatever was out there. You finally come to stand in front of him, still not touching him. “Jay?” you try again while assessing him over, trying to pinpoint if he’s injured.

Again, nothing. But the hair that hangs over his forehead moves ever so subtly, almost in an imperceptible way, but you catch it nonetheless. The hair moved because he tilted his head in the slightest of ways. He’s listening to you. Knows that you’re there. You sigh in relief when you see his grip on the helmet lessen too. Good signs.

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

He releases a deep breath, slowly allowing himself to let go, the tension that his shoulders held not as tight as before. Leaving his body slightly, leaving him at your mercy. He’s saying, Okay. Satisfied at that and at finding that he doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, you nod. Then, you gently and very slowly take his face in your hands to look at him. His eyes acknowledge you for a split second but then his emerald gaze returns to the floor, and you feel a crack forming in your heart at the utter sadness, desperation, and despair that you find in it.

Still, you feel him melt into your touch at his cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home,” you offer softly.

He closes his eyes in response, reveling in the comfort that you bring him. Next, you take the helmet from his hand and set it on the kitchen counter before moving to the holster with his guns and very carefully unfastening its belt and leaving it all on the table. Helping him that way to step out of the Red Hood persona and everything that claws into it.

“Let’s take a shower,” you say, wanting to keep him informed of your every move. You take his hand and pull him with you towards the bathroom. He lets you guide him, fully trusting you but still not reacting to anything much.

You don’t ask him what’s happened. You don’t need to know. There are things that Jason doesn’t tell you about patrol. And you have no problem with it, knowing that he wants to separate those two parts of his life. But no matter what it is, you always let him know that he can come to you about them, that you’ll listen. That you’ll always be there for him. Always.

The other few times that you have seen him come home like this, slouched over and not talking much, you later learn, either by context from what you hear on the news and the streets, or by Jason directly telling you about it when he needs to let go and finally feels able share it, that the people he was after got away, that someone got hurt, or something like that.

But this time… This time something’s different. You have never seen him as bad as this. At least not from coming back from patrol. And it worries you. It worries you a lot and it kills you that you can’t do anything more than just be there for him. But it seems that that’s all that he needs right now so you settle on focusing on him.

From the guiltiness that hangs over him, tensing his shoulders and keeping his eyes down, and the distress and sorrow that you see in his gaze, you have a feeling that something terrible happened. Something that he couldn’t prevent. He couldn’t save somebody.

You can almost see how he’s replaying it in his mind, the shame and regret swirling in his head until they stiff all of his body. You need to reassure him, make him see how it isn’t his fault, how he did everything he could, and how he gave his all but how sometimes, despite how much you fight it and try to stop it, Gotham doesn’t let you escape the rot that runs through its streets.

Once you two reach the bathroom, you flick on the mirror light above the sink, casting you two in a soft golden light, not wanting to overwhelm him with the overhead one and its strong intensity.

You stand in front of him and help him take off his jacket before taking his hands in yours. He still doesn’t look at you as you take off his gloves. Once they’re gone, you take a moment to examine his hands, and you let out a sigh of relief at seeing that his knuckles aren’t wounded. Your thumbs softly trace the marred skin, small scars and irregular healing adorning his hands. You can’t help but bring them to your lips and press a long kiss to them, closing your eyes, trying to will away all the mental scars that they hold too just by the touch of your lips.

His hands, that could break bones but also mend and heal the most broken parts of yourself.

Despite what those hands either curled into fists or holding a gun could mean to other people, they’re precious to you. And one of the many wonderful parts of him. To you, they mean soft caresses while you’re laying in bed. They mean warmth when winter comes and he rubs them against your arms. They mean comfort, and safety, as he holds your sobbing body when you break down.

Their roughness both from handling dangerous weapons and using a pan to make you dinner. Jason Todd has a duality that still amazes you to this day, but you love all the multitudes that he contains all the same.

You then begin to remove his equipment. The chest armor, the knee pads, and any other protective gear, putting it all on the pile that you started with his jacket and gloves on top of the laundry basket to sort out later. Jason doesn’t move, only doing the movement necessary to help you undress him, like lifting his feet so that you can slip his boots off after having unlaced them.

But still, his gaze remains lost.

You set the boots to the side and get back up to your feet again. You walk around him to get the tub started for a bath, adding some oils and soap. You pass by him to exit the bathroom and grab some comfortable clothes for him after. Most of the time, unless it’s very cold, he normally sleeps shirtless with some sweatpants or even just his underwear during the hotter months, but you know that tonight he needs to feel covered, enveloped, protected. You begin to plan in your mind. A comfortable old shirt and sweatpants will do.

However, before you can even reach the doorframe and begin your walk to the bedroom, a hand wraps gently around your wrist. You whip back around, both surprised and glad at the same time that Jason has finally interacted with you on his own accord, this being the first contact with the outside world initiated by him. Another good sign.

You see Jason’s eyes fixed on your wrist before lifting his gaze to lock with yours.

Stay.

Your gaze softens and you take another step closer to him, almost being chest to chest. You lift your free hand to caress his cheek. “Of course,” you whisper. “I’m just going to grab you some clothes, okay? It’ll be five seconds.”

As you assure him, without realizing it, your thumb traces his cheek in the exact same motion that he has begun to rub soft circles into your wrist. He nods slowly.

“Okay,” you say and Jason releases his hold on you just enough for you to quickly slip to the bedroom. And just like you promised, you’re back just as fast, closing the door behind you so that the steam from the tub can warm up the room, starting to fog up the mirror too, and setting the clothes on the counter. And Jason still hasn’t moved an inch.

You stand in front of him again and delicately grab the hem of his shirt before looking up at him. And you don’t need words to understand each other. Can I?

Jason’s chin tips slightly. Yeah.

You slowly lift the shirt up his body and he raises his arms to help you. Once off, you leave the shirt with the rest of his discarded clothes. Then, with your hands in front of you so that Jason can see what you’re doing and anticipate your movements, you rest them on his shoulders and then gently slide them down his chest, feeling his well-worked muscles and creases from the scars on his skin.

Jason lets out a deep breath, the skin to skin contact grounding him. His eyes never leave you now, following every single one of your actions. And not because he needs to see what you’re doing in order to prepare himself, not anymore, but because you’re the only thing that seems real right now. The only thing tethering him to Earth.

Because to him, you’re his center of gravity. No matter how far he went, both in distance and into the depths of his mind, he will always come back to you.

You lean forward and press a tender kiss between his pecs. Jason shudders, feeling warmth, comfort, and light blooming from the spot that you kissed and extending through all of his body, from his torso to the ends of his limbs. Your touch like the first rays of sunshine after the coldest and longest night of the year in a frozen landscape, melting the frost and bringing everything back to life. Chasing away the Gotham chill clinging to his bones and the rigidness that holds him hostage. Replacing it all with you, just you. The warmth and safety that you provide.

Jason thinks that he wasn’t actually brought back to life all those years ago, just went through some kind of purgatory on Earth again until he reached his very own personal heaven. You. And he still has no idea what he did to deserve it.

Then you help him out of his pants until he’s standing in his underwear in front of you. His back is hunched, making him lean towards you but this time it’s not because of all the negative thoughts hanging over him, but because of the pull that you have over him, your gravity drawing him in.

You round him again to check the temperature of the water in the tub, though this time, Jason rotates his body to follow you, like a sunflower chasing the sun. Satisfied with both the water’s temperature and quantity, you close the tap.

“You want me to get in with you?” you ask, not minding that you have already showered for the day. Jason nods.

You nod to yourself and peel the shirt of his that you wear to sleep off your body, leaving you just like him, wearing only your lower underwear. And even with how exposed you two are, you’re not vulnerable. The air in the room thick not only with humidity but with the intimacy between you two. A kind that can only come from honest love and a complete feeling of trust.

But the air isn’t humming with electricity like in the other situations in which you two find yourselves with as little clothing as right now. Instead, the air is lulling, like a soft and warm wave gently rocking your body when you lay with your eyes closed in the sea. Comforting and lightening.

You discard both your final pieces of clothing and step into the tub, holding a hand out to Jason so that he can step in in front of you. When he joins you, you two finally sink your bodies in the warm and bubble covered water. You lean back at the edge of the tub with Jason between your legs, his back pressed to your chest, his head resting on your shoulder and your arms draped over his chest, all of you surrounding him, enveloping him, protecting him.

Even though the tub is relatively big, considering Jason’s huge frame, it wasn’t exactly meant for two, so you’re a mess of tangled limbs and warm bodies, but you can already feel Jason relaxing against you. You kiss the crown of his head and he finally closes his eyes.

You two lay there for a while, enjoying the hot water and letting it wash your worries away, the scent from the lavender oil that you used hanging in the air, calming your minds. You’re glad to see how the bath is helping Jason to let go of the events of the night, the remaining tension that clung to his body stripped by the water, and the memories from the night relegated to another place as you see the crease on his brows disappear as you draw gentle caresses on his chest.

You grab the shampoo bottle and start to wash Jason’s hair, working the roots and massaging his scalp to help him relax even further. Soon, hundreds of tiny white bubbles replace the sight of his black locks. You work on his hair longer than necessary but you can see how much it’s helping him, his breathing becoming even more deeper and slower. The only sign that he hasn’t fallen asleep, the hand that settles on your knee at his side.

You then rinse his hair, his white streak majestically poking between the black again. With a sponge you start to wash his body where you can reach, his shoulders, his upper arms and torso. When you’re done you maneuver yourself to sit in front of him, facing each other now. As you start to wash the rest of his arms, you see in his eyes that his thoughts are beginning to slip away, the events of the night calling him again. But you’re not having it. Nothing is taking Jason away from you tonight. Your goal, making him focus on you and only you.

“Can I tell you a story?” you say softly, your voice and the soft splash of water at the slightest movement the only sounds in the room.

Jason just shrugs his shoulders slightly. You nod as you focus on passing the sponge over his hands.

“It’s the story of a boy and a girl. About a wonderful boy and a girl who couldn’t believe her luck,” you begin. “One freezing winter afternoon, the girl slipped on some ice and the guy caught her by the waist, saving her from a pretty hurtful fate, though she almost brought him down with her. She apologized profusely as her cheeks warmed not only because of the embarrassment but because the man who’d caught her was the most handsome one she’d ever seen. But in her haste to step back from the stranger to try and save some embarrassment, she slipped on the ice again and he saved her once again.”

Jason can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. Because the story that you’re telling isn’t just any story. It’s your story. The story of how you met.

He wonders how you always knew exactly what to say. Hell, you could just be reading the grocery list out loud and he’d think that you deserved a Nobel Prize in Literature just because it came from you.

The sight of Jason’s smile pulls your lips into one too, and it warms your heart just like his worried gaze had done to your cheeks that very first day.

Both of you remember that day as clear as day, though neither of you could have ever anticipated how important it would be, how it had changed the course of your lives. You can still perfectly recall how he had cleared his throat awkwardly after catching you for the second time and his You alright, miss? How breathy his voice had sounded, as if something had taken his breath away, his heavy lower Gotham accent that had both surprised you and stirred something within you, and how vivid the green in his eyes was.

Just as bright as it is now as you continue the story. The shine that was always there whenever he looked at you.

“She had been pretty awkward, and she still can't believe how she’d managed to pull the kindest and hottest man in all of Gotham, the world even.” Jason snorts and you throw him a look, telling him not to question you because if there is one universal truth in this world—apart from the fact that a single man in possession of good fortune, must be in want of a wife—is that Jason Todd is the kindest and most gorgeous man that you have ever met.

“Though later he would reveal that he had found her nothing but endearing, despite what she might say about her awkwardness,” you continue.

Something about you already drawing him in. But just as quick as it all had happened, the moment passed by, and you two went your separate ways. Though not for long, because some time later, another afternoon, you were walking home when a running figure turned the corner and clashed into you. As you took a couple steps back to stabilize yourself you realized that you were head to head with the Red Hood. Which was strange since the sun was still setting and he had never been seen other than at night.

Jason hadn't planned on starting patrol so early but Tim had tipped him that some guys that he was after were having a meet up and Jason decided to give them a little surprise. Though that plan flew out the metaphorical window in the room of his mind as soon as he saw you again.

He had tried to forget the encounter in which he had saved the most beautiful girl that he’d ever seen from tumbling to the ground, and just as it seemed like he was about to succeed (not really, but at least manage to push the encounter to the back of his mind instead of your soft voice plaguing his every waking moment), he ran into you.

He stared at you bewildered, not believing that it was you, the sweet girl from the ice, and he was at a loss for words.

“Sorry,” you had said and at the sound of your voice he finally came out of his daze and shook his head.

“No need, it was my fault." He tilted his head. “You okay, miss?” You nodded, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine at how similar he had sounded to your ice savior, his voice ingrained in your mind. And as much as Jason would have loved to stay there with you for a bit longer and hopefully learn your name, he had to get going, so he apologized again and you watched as he left.

And that should have been it. But somehow, it seemed like the universe had other ideas, crossing your paths later once again. And then one thing led to another and here you were now, sharing laundry and rent. Who would have thought? Certainly not you, when those strong arms caught you and you had no idea that they would become the place where you would feel the safest in.

Home.

Jason keeps listening as you finish recalling the start of your relationship. “And so their adventure together began. The clumsy girl from the ice and the boy that despite his rough exterior, had the gentlest, bravest, most selfless and most beautiful heart that she’d ever come to know.”

You finish the story with an enamored smile on your lips, the sweet memories fueling even more your love for him. A love and reassurance that you hope you have been able to convey in the story.

Jason sits in front of you with a small smile of his own, his heart beating golden light through his body, the love that you put there. His body finally relaxed and at peace, your hands holding his.

But then the smile falls from your lips as you see his eyes glass over. And even before he starts to tremble you pull him into you, wrapping your arms around him, his face hidden in your neck, his own arms snaking around you, holding you tight. And as the first tremors shake his shoulders, the first tears start to fall.

And you hold him through it. Taking everything that he needs to let go of in stride.

Because without the armor that he had built to keep his emotions at bay, swimming in the guilt and regret, once he finally relaxes, accepts that he’s safe and allows himself to be vulnerable, the dam breaks. And all the feelings come tumbling over.

The impotence. The sadness. The failure.

He’s not outright sobbing, the feelings working slowly but surely through him one by one. His body trembles slightly, a few tears falling onto your shoulder and a couple of sniffles here and there.

“I- I couldn’t-” He shakes his head and keeps silent once again. The first words that he’s said since he came home. The cracks in his broken voice forming ones in your heart. It stings more than salt in an open wound. You hold him as tight as you can. It’s like he needs to exteriorize these feelings and his body is allowing him to, but his voice can’t even go further than repeating that phrase over and over again. You shush him gently, letting him know that he doesn’t need to force himself to say anything. You’re here for him and that’s all that matters.

“It’s okay. You did everything you could, Jason. You’re a good man,” you whisper, trying to soothe the torture that he’s submitting himself to. But he shakes his head even more vehemently at your reassuring words and beautiful thoughts of him. Right now they don’t make any sense to him with how much he failed tonight. He’s not brave. He’s not kind. And he certainly isn’t good. He doesn’t know how you can say all of those things about him when he couldn’t-

You feel his internal monologue with how the time between his trembles, tears, and sniffles stretches. He’s lost in his head again. Thinking instead of feeling.

“Jason, hey, no. Stop,” you whisper gently but firmly. You unwind your arms from around him and take his head in your hands, holding his forehead to yours, looking into his eyes though his gaze avoids you.

“You are good. You’re kind, stubborn, funny, brave, determined, sarcastic, gentle, and loving. You’re all of those things. And sometimes things just go wrong and you can’t do anything to prevent them. You didn’t make any mistakes tonight, okay?” You don’t actually think that he can do anything wrong but you keep that to yourself. “Not being able to prevent something bad doesn’t make you any less of a good person.”

You can see how the thoughts race in his eyes.

“Jason. Look at me.” He finally locks eyes with you. “You know I’m not good at lying so listen to me when I say this. Whatever happened tonight is not your fault. You can cry. You should cry. You have to let go of everything that is storming inside you. What I’m not letting you do is convince yourself that you’re not good enough. Because you are, you hear me? You are.” You can’t help the tears that begin to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“I love you and I’m always going to be here for you for whatever you need, okay?” As a tear slips from your eye, Jason nods and hides in your neck again, letting his tears flow again. Letting himself feel. You envelop him in your arms once again.

“Okay,” he mutters against your skin. You sigh in relief and start to trace long shapes on his back.

You two stay there for a while, until both of you stop crying and his breathing returns to normal. And then you stay a little longer, just holding each other, Jason letting himself get lost in your soft skin and soothing scent, finally, finally, letting the night go. At least for now.

And then even a little longer, until the water turns lukewarm and a chill runs through your bodies.

“Want to go to bed?” you ask softly, threading your fingers through his hair, brushing away the damp strands falling on his forehead.

He nods slowly, lifting his head from your neck. “Thank you,” he whispers. You shake your head and he knows what you mean, You don’t have to thank me, I’d do anything for you.

“Come on,” you say and get up, offering him your hands. He takes them and gets up as well. You let the tub drain and step out of it, Jason following you. You quickly wrap Jason in a towel and then do the same with yourself. When you're done, he takes one of your hands gently and, while looking deep into your eyes, he kisses your knuckles. Thank you.

This time your gaze softens and you rest your hand against his heart. Of course.

After drying off you put your sleeping clothes back on and when you see Jason with the briefs that you brought already on and reaching towards the sweatpants, you gently swat his hand away. Let me take care of you.

He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step away from his clothes. Yes, ma’am.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need me to patch you up?” He doesn’t seem to have any injury but you want to make sure. He shakes his head. You arch an eyebrow. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s tried to lie to you about that. He nods, extending his arms so that you can examine him, showing how he doesn’t have any wounds. You wait for a beat before nodding.

You help him get dressed and all the while his fond gaze follows you. He’s sure that the best feeling in the world is being taken care of by you. That sunshine feeling blooming again in his chest. You’re so bright and he’s just so- No. He’s promised that he isn’t going to think like that anymore. At least not more tonight.

He follows your directions as you make him sit on the toilet and watches as you comb his hair. But then he can’t help but close his eyes at how relaxed he feels under your care. When you’re done you kiss his forehead and he hums as you run your hand through his hair. When he opens his eyes again, you’re extending a hand to him and he takes it without hesitation.

You turn off the bathroom light and guide him to the bedroom. You climb into bed, your side always the furthest one from the door, no matter where you are, at home, at the manor, or traveling, Jason makes sure of that, and you open your arms, inviting him into your embrace. Jason gets into bed, laying half on top of you, and wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck, your legs tangled. You drape the covers over you both, practically burying yourselves under them and wrap your arms around him, protecting him from anything that could hurt him. Your very own cocoon.

He gives your waist a slight squeeze. I love you. You kiss his hair in return, hugging him even tighter.

And as you hold him tight, the two of you know that what happened tonight out there would still haunt Jason despite all your reassurances. But just as you know that, you also know that you’re always going to be there for him. To love him and care for him. So, for tonight, Jason lets himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of your heart. Each rhythmic thump thump telling him, I got you, you’re okay, I love you, over and over again.

Just like for you with him, your arms the place where he feels safest in. Home.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #31

You and I, we’re not the same.

Imagine dis…

Corrupted ectoplasm is always the main reason why Jason had a pit rage. I know it was because he was dumped in Lazarus' pits when he was found wandering around.

What if I offer you guys another reason why he rages so much?

…

Lady Gotham is devastated by her little squire, her beloved child laid to rest. The little boy used to play around her alley as if it was the best playground he ever played in. The little boy whom she shielded personally with her shadows to hide from those who wished harm to her child. The little boy who shines the brightest when he laughs, and that good-for-nothing pest killed him. 

If she had enough strength within her city she would have already dragged that clown’s soul to the deepest and darkest place of her realm but couldn't. She needed whatever ectoplasm and strength she had to bring him back. Her Dark Knight is getting reckless by the day, gone the knight that would protect and see the goodness in this cesspool of a city, was replaced by a man who is still grieving for the loss of his child and taking it out on everyone but mostly himself. 

The boy rose and could dig himself out but his father didn't find him, someone else did.

That day Lady Gotham wailed in devastation. Every Gothamite felt and heard something, from the people who had hidden in the deepest of corners of her city for protection to the labyrinths that hold countless undead Talons all of whom simultaneously shivered as they all seemingly heard a mother’s scream that had just lost her child again.

…

It was assassins that had found him that was true but they didn't find him in his grave, they had found him wandering around with instincts and muscle memory as his only tool to survive. At first, Ra thought that he was the missing link, the key to everlasting life but after countless research and experiments thought that Jason Todd was a fluke in the greater systems. Seeing that Talia’s leverage on her beloved is about to be disposed of, she immediately throws Jason into the pits as it may have not raised the dead but he is alive enough for the pits to heal.

When Jason Todd was dipped into the green glowing waters of the Lazarus pits they didn't see it…

They didn't see the way the pits seemed to split Jason Todd in half. As if answering a man or a father’s prayer.

I need no other child as long as mine can split themselves in half.

At that moment, deep within the deep waters of the pits, there were two. 

One who looked far too different from what he looked like before, a body that had been fixed by the pits. 

One who had been left behind, the body of a teen who had been too malnourished.

The pits split Jason Todd apart, while the other one started to gasp for air and began swimming to the top, the other continued to sink into the endless pit.

No one was there to witness it but as the other one sank deeper a portal manifested behind the sinking Jason Todd swallowing him whole as if there was no one else.

…

Jason knew the moment he woke up in the middle of the Lazarus pit, was rage. RAGE for naively believing his birth giver yet she had given him to the Joker for safety, RAGE for not being avenged by his father, RAGE for being replaced before his body even turned cold… 

rage for something, MISSING?!?!?!!?

Jason knew that there was a part of him missing, maybe it was the once young innocent naïve child that loved theater, perhaps it was the once hopeful child to help their home into something more, but it was because deep down he knew that there was something wrong with him.

He had memories missing or even spotty and blurry at best. He knew he used to help Alfred around the kitchen but the feelings and the details behind such core memory vanished. The sense of joy and utter happiness, when DAD Bruce bought a first edition book that he had been eyeing for a while, the fear and dread to open and read, said book in fear of damaging his first ever gift.

He knew that if the rest knew of it he would be kicked out, just when they were both trying to mend their broken bridges. So he kept it all in memories and emotions that should have been present are gone as if someone had cut through him and dragged those out.

But it all clicked in one normal night during patrol.

…

He was just swinging from one building to another when he felt it, a pulse, calling out to him. Every inch of him is screaming to follow it as if something is begging him to go, so he does.

Upon arriving at, his former rundown apartment. Where he and his mom, Catherine, once shared and called home. 

Slowly entering the said apartment there he saw his old room where he and Catherine slept while cuddling when she had drugs out of her system. 

A teen, looks exactly like him, same eyes that have the same shade of blue that the butler managed to capture before his death. The shape of his eyes, the way his hair was styled, the way he looked at Jason as if he was in danger.

But the moment the two of them met their eyes something clicked inside them.

They are each other’s half…

…

Jason and Danny, after he introduced himself which made him a bit confused and so that there would be no mix-ups seeing both of them are technically Jason Peter Todd, both began exchanging stories to each other seeing that even though they have no idea how and why they were separated better yet they don’t know how come Danny traveled to the past to be raised normally.

…

As Danny begins to narrate his story Jason can’t help but let his mind wander here he is. Talking to a version of him if Joker didn’t happen. A smart and innocent version of him that has a loving family, and haven’t have any blood in their hands. The perfect son, something Bruce would be ecstatic about. He is ruling over Crime Alley using every dirty trick in the book. Yet a version of him became the perfect vigilante, despite death wanting to do good and see good in everyone. 

I am the sinner, and you are the saint.

…

I am the sinner, and you are the saint.

Danny thought as he in turn listened to his other part, he knew that that Jason the one in front of him was the one who made it out. While he merely drifted at the bottom, Danny felt envious of Jason despite the two being the same person just different experiences. Yet the moment he regained Jason Todd-Wayne’s memories he can't help but laugh at fate for pulling their strings. A billionaire who wanted to be his son, eccentric parents, dying once again with no mom nor dad within sight… He was laughing deep within his room when he got his memories back. 

Even Clockwork looked at him with pity? Sympathy? sorry? He doesn't care when the ghost visits him for a timely visit.

Here he is looking at the version of him if he ever came back to Bruce. The father had yelled at him about not wanting teenage rebellion from him. When he remembered his memories it was already far too long when the League of Assassins had him and Bruce already had a shinier Robin, a perfect son and the perfect brother to Richard Grayson. So he didn’t reach out despite remembering each code that could verify his identity. Each secret and each whisper that only Jason Todd knew and experienced.

So he stayed, stayed with a family that practically raised him a family that neglected him and their biological daughter. But in the end, he still died, for their cause, he may be considered a trained individual but fought humans, not immortal-like beings that seem to have their version of madness.

His parents whom he grew to love and care for parents despite their shortcomings, still opened him up and explored his insides when they learned the truth.

It made him chuckle, he just never did learn, did he…

He escaped, running from one city to another, never staying for too long as many heroes despite their dislike of him when Grayson made his hatred known for him, learned and still watched him grow into a young teen.

So when he was living from one state to another, to avoid detection, lose his trail, escape his hunters, going back to his training as Robin as well as the memory of being a street kid deep within Gotham’s dirty alley. So when he first entered the city boundaries, Danny could feel it, the way Lady Gotham immediately welcomed him.

He heard it all, how Red Hood controlled crime, how he staking his claim on Crime Alley that even the Bats had forsaken. How within his rule was better than any gang or leader who did try and control that section of Gotham.

Danny can’t help but feel envy, here his other self doing good to the place where he crawled from. His other being the vigilante who made a change, has the drive to fight and protect, the drive to dirty his hands to ensure that the kids in his territory live a somewhat normal life. So when he made eye contact he knew that he was the sinner.

So here he was talking and listening to a grown Jason Todd of him. It made him cringe the moment he saw him, it made him think of Dan, the way he stood, his expressions, and even the tiniest of details. The anger, if Danny and Jason never met again despite one knowing of the other’s identity.

…

If one looked from outside of their little bubble one would see two beings. Who truly understood, acknowledged, and accepted each other. No matter how different the two are, one would comment that they look like soulmates, who gravitate toward each other and readily accept each other’s edges. One would whisper that the two are brothers, who support each other and rely to each other.

No matter, the Gothamites muttered, Gotham never have felt more content and at home than the day they saw Jason Todd, the supposed right-hand man of Red Hood, and Danny Nightgale, the Gotham’s guardian for the children. Talking and spending time to each other.

Now, if only Batman and Co. stop sneaking in to take a glance at their new resident.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[wordborne]

All for Us

Jerome Valeska finds someone new to torment.

That someone is, unfortunately, you.

TAGS: Jerome Valeska/Reader, alternate universe, unhealthy relationships, bad decisions, canon-typical violence, major character death, eventual smut, Jerome can only be classified as nuisance to lover. CHAPTER: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 /8

It was weird making meals for two.

But there you were, in front of the stove, listening to music because you wanted to, buying plates because you needed them. And it was… nice.

Strange.

But oddly nice.

The doorknob jiggled to your right and in came Jerome, throwing something heavy and gray your way that you barely managed to catch before it hit the floor and you realized what it was.

A gun.

A loaded gun.

“Turn the stove off, sweet cheeks. We’re gonna play a game.”

You had a bad feeling about it.

The weather was ice-cold, seeping into your bones as you followed Jerome around, holding your jacket closer to your body. He strutted around, grinning, ignoring the city around him as if it was just the two of you on the streets, followed by a heatless sun. The gun felt heavy in your pocket, dread sitting just below the pit of your stomach as Jerome moved into a secluded forest area before suddenly turning around, holding his arms out as if that would give you a clue of what kind of game he wanted to play. He scoffed.

“You,” He said, taking a step forward and poking your chest. “Need to learn how to shoot.”

The dread was building higher as he took the gun out of your pocket, forcing your hand to close around the cold metal before stepping aside, lazily pointing to a nearby tree.

“Go on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“And I don’t want to come back to see your brains on the floor. So, shoot.”

He said it so simply. As if it was a guarantee that, one day, the doorknob would wiggle for someone other than him. That you weren’t as safe as you thought you were.

But it was true.

How many maniacs were running rampant in Gotham? How many more would come out after seeing just how easily Jerome turned it into his own little playground, bound by ever-shifting rules? It felt wrong. To hold something so dangerous in your hands. You could picture them in your head, covered in red and sweat after a home invasion just like the ones your neighbors had to withstand.

But you’ve held him, said the little voice at the back of your head. He was worse than a gun. He’d done so much damage. Killed so many for reasons that still eluded you. And you felt so secure around him. Warm. Whole. But he was cold. Oh so cold. It was in the dullness of his eyes, even if they had a fiery sparkle as he watched you carefully, flicking from the gun to your face. Waiting patiently, for once. Seeing how your face contorted when you realized how right he was. 

Those thoughts made the gun feel heavier and your head lighter as you held the weapon with shaking hands and squeezed your eyes shut as you pulled the trigger. The recoil caught you off-guard as the sound echoed through the forest, scaring off the birds and watching as they cawed away like an ominous black cloud above. Jerome let out an exasperated sigh and, once you opened your eyes, you noticed the mount of dirt on the ground far into the right, the tree standing proud and tall still. He got behind you, squaring your shoulders. Unlocking your elbows. Pushing your knees apart to a wider and sturdier stance. 

“Shoot.”

“No.”

It was useless and so fucking pointless. You did nothing when he first popped into your life, what made him think it would be any different with someone else? That you’d, magically, find the guts to end a life as easily as he did? 

What you didn’t expect was him getting right in front of you, cold gun pressed to his head as he stared at you with the most serious expression you’d seen in his life.

“Shoot me.”

“What?”

“Shoot. Me.”

His hands closed against yours, eyes boring into your soul. There was no amusement. No sparkle. Just a strange sense of pending doom as he repeated the same words over and over again. Drilling them into your skull. Forcing your fingers around the trigger just a little righter every time. Making your head spin. You said no a million times and, by now, you were screaming it, tears prickling your eyes. A haze fogging your brain.

And then you heard the bang.

It was deafening. Scorching hot as the tears that rolled down your face. The tree was hit, a branch hanging on by a thread. And, on Jerome’s face, a trace of red where the bullet had grazed his cheek. And he laughed, tossing the gun behind him and grabbing your cheeks, the sparkle returning, like embers brought back to life.

“That’s my girl.”

The praise felt hollow. Sickly sweet coming out of his lips. You felt breathless, still coming undone as he cooed and smeared them across your face. You wanted to slap him for doing that. To yell at him for everything he’d ever done to you up until now. But you couldn’t. All you did was find comfort in his arms. In the ‘there, there’ and half-assed way he held you as he patted your back.

“Don’t make me do that again.”

“I will.”

Maybe it was a promise. 

Maybe a threat.

Only time would tell. 

[angelofthenight]

Last Man Alive

(Dano!Riddler x Reader)

(Link to list of chapters)

(This will be a short series that goes through the events of the movie but Edward has a completely different motive)

Warnings: Edward is a yandere, Dark themes, Stalking, Non-Con touching, Restraints, Hyperventilation

(She/Her pronouns, YN has tits)

Word Count: 2.7k

(R/n) = Roommate’s Name

(B/n) = Boyfriend’s Name

~

It was almost half past 11 on Halloween night in Gotham City. The gray sky that reigned over the streets quickly darkened to a black blanket with very few stars. Criminals and delinquents and offenders lurked through the night as if it was their playground with no rules. All the kids trick or treated uptown where it was safer, more protection from the creatures of the night. But in hindsight, every citizen in Gotham was a creature of the night.

(Y/n) stayed home. Rejected all party invitations from friends to instead remain in the safety of her home. It was an average sized apartment that was a few stories away from the roof. She felt safer near the middle since criminals would have to climb to get through her windows. She wasn’t too close to the roof but farther away from the lobby. Although she often feared her apartment's placement in the building wasn’t the best place to be if there was a fire.

But she nonetheless felt safe in her apartment. She never felt her safety being threatened especially due to the fact she had a roommate. But tonight her roommate and best friend for 15 years, (R/n), decided to accept the party invitation for Halloween night so her presence was absent in the living room where (Y/n) stood watching a Halloween movie.

She texted her boyfriend, (B/n), over an hour ago about her situation and invited him to come over so they could have a date night. He was more than happy to come spend the night with her so he texted a response saying that he’d be over as soon as possible.

But that was over an hour ago. And they only lived 4 roads away from each other so it wouldn’t even take half an hour for him to make it to her. She couldn’t sit due to her anxiety from him not answering her texts of making sure he was driving safely. So she stood straight as she tried to focus on the Halloween themed movie on the TV screen, her hands clutching onto her phone and waiting for the feel of the vibration from a text. But she felt nothing. Her heart rate quicked in her ribcage but she kept her breathing to a normal pace to try to calm herself down.

It just didn’t help that they lived in the most dangerous city in the country.

She started to not like the feel of her phone against her sweaty palms anymore so she stepped over to the coffee table to set her phone down. A glance evolved into a stare at the framed picture of her and her beloved boyfriend on a date night. (Y/n) was smiling brightly with her eyes squeezed shut and her nose crinkled as (B/f) was smashing a big kiss on her cheek. You could see a smile on his lips against her cheek.

The picture beside that one was a photo from the drop of a roller coaster at her favorite theme park. She was laughing with one hand high up in the air with her hair pushed back from the wind. (B/f) was clutching onto her other arm with his eyes closed tightly and his jaw hanging open from screaming. She sighed at the adorable memories before she turned to walk back to the spot she was originally in.

Until a body suddenly slammed against her back which was enough force to send her straight to the floor. She felt like she almost had a heart attack but felt the body still near her. The person sent them both to the ground when they tackled her. She fought against her curiosity to look at her attacker so she could waste her time on a scream and trying to pathetically scamper away. Her eyes never filled up with tears so quickly and her lips quivered over shaking hyperventilation. Her attacker crawled after her and roughly pulled her by both her claves closer to them.

She screamed again and tried to claw her way away from them until they took a seat on her waist. She sobbed as tears streamed down her cheeks, terror washing over her senses and her limbs trembling as if the temperature suddenly dropped to the negatives. She couldn't scream again as her inhales for breath got more desperate from the hyperventilation. She could hear her attacker breathe loudly, like they were nervous too, but the breath sounded muffled like they were wearing something over their mouth.

She felt sick to her stomach as fear paralyzed her body. Her attacker gripped onto her shaking body and turned her around to be on her back. She tried to fight back but the shock prevented her from using her strength. When she was rolled onto her back the appearance of her attacker caused more tears to erupt from her eyes and her throat choked out more sobs. Her attacker was a man in a murky green jacket with a white question mark painted on one side. His mask was a matching color with eye holes but his clear rimmed glasses were worn on the outside.

The mask prevented her from identifying him. She wondered which would be worse; someone she knew or a stranger?

The man’s breathing grew erratic, unstable, as he straightened his back to look down at her. (Y/n)’s mind jumped to him being a pervert and this was going to be a sexual assault which sent her into a panic. Refusing to be this creep’s helpless victim and object to project his sexual fantasies, she made another attempt of escape as she threw her hands up to try to push him away. The plan failed miserably as he caught her wrists and roughly pinned them down

She struggled against his hold, cursing her fear and shock for limiting her strength to a useless amount. The heavy breathing, masked pervert shifted so he was sitting on her thighs, preventing her from kicking, and forced her wrists under his knees to hold her down. She cried as she had to result to begging for her human right of freedom.

“Pl-please let me go.” She whimpered and sobbed through more pleads which fell on the perverts deaf fears. He looked down at her through his eye holes which revealed his wide eyes, like he was living his biggest dream. He still listened to her begging, like he liked listening to her voice but consciously ignoring what she was saying.

When she realized she wasn’t convincing him at all she went back to trying to free herself. But she couldn't free her wrists from under his knees. She began screaming again, begging for help from anyone who could be near. She sobbed and screamed as the pervert then reached into his pocket to pull out a roll of duct tape. Her eyes widened at this and she shook her head rapidly. “No, no, no. Please no. I’ll be quiet I swear! Please, please-”

He took a corner and began ripping a long piece from the roll. He gripped onto her hair to force her head up so he could wrap the long piece around her head despite her cries and please’s. He had the sticky part facing away from her but still wrapped it tightly around her head to seal her mouth shut. Her sobs were silenced and her screams were now hums, her red puffy eyes still drowned in terrified tears. She whined against the duct tape, feeling more hopeless each second and her mind on the brink of giving up and accepting her fate of either being assaulted or killed.

The pervert then grabbed one wrist at a time and pinned it in the same spot as before to tape it against the floor, this time the sticky part facing her skin. Once her mouth was sealed shut and her hands were bound to the ground, the pervert sat on her thighs again, huffing jagged breaths as he admired his work with an all-too-prominent blush coating his cheeks underneath his mask.

(Y/n) still cried and trembled. The pervert placed his hand flat on the floor beside her head as he leaned his face down to hers to view her up close, hunched over her like an animal about to feast on its injured prey. (Y/n) whimpered and flinched when his other hand reached up to push a few locks of her hair out of her face. Her breathing quickened from the fear as his gloved hand caressed the side of her face delicately. He swept his thumb under her soaked lower lashline to wipe the tears.

His hand glided past the duct tape around her lips, slowed down on her neck, then stopped at her exposed collarbone. Her loose t-shirt she slept in allowed him to sweep his hand around her chest for a brief moment before letting his hand travel again. His hand traveled to her side as the speed of his hand slowed down when he let his gloved knuckles glide down the side of her breast.

(Y/n) cried silent tears at his actions as her heart was beating faster than it would on a roller coaster. The masked pervert with glasses let both his hands glide down her hips and stopped when he reached her thighs. His hands hovered above the exposed flesh from her pajama shorts, like he was debating if he should actually touch them. His breathing got more heated and ragged which only made (Y/n) want to curl up into a ball from how unbearably uncomfortable she was. In his next breath he wrapped his gloved hands around her plush thighs and squeezed.

(Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut as she whimpered with tears and whined, not from pleasure but from the excruciating discomfort from the unwanted touching. She never felt this violated before.

The pervert continued to grope her thighs until a sound that sounded like heaven to (Y/n) emitted from the distance. His and (Y/n)’s heads pointed in the direction where footsteps could be heard from the hallway and a familiar voice singing the chorus to a Halloween song. It was (R/n)!

(Y/n) began screaming even though it was heavily muffled by the tape. But she kept forcing her throat to make as much noise as possible. The pervert panicked as he scrambled something out of his pocket. It was a small black polaroid camera which he pointed above (Y/n)’s thighs then snapped the flash. He shoved it back in his pocket even though the physical picture was still developing and preparing to come out. He hopped off from his straddling position and darted around the corner and into the dark hallway where most of their windows were.

The pervert stopped before he rounded it though to turn to (Y/n) still taped to the floor. He blew her a kiss before disappearing into the shadows.

Keys jingled around the doorknob before the door opened and closed. “Honey, I’m home!” (R/n) yelled in a sing-song voice before she started rambling about the party as she made her way through the room next to the living room. “Oh my god, you would never believe who showed up. Fucking Dennis Matthews. He made the biggest scene too when he showed up with no invite. And Vanessa, you know Vanessa, Bridget’s friend, told him off and it was the funniest thin-”

She stopped at the doorway of the living room at the sight of her best friend bawling her bloodshot eyes out with duct tape around her mouth and her wrists duct taped to the ground, her legs trembling. (R/n) refused to let the shock paralyze her as she gasped and ran to the kitchen for a pair of scissors. She grabbed the closest pair and ran back to the living room.

(R/n), still in her Sailor Moon costume, collapsed to her knees and carefully slid the blade under the tape around her mouth and cut it in half to let (Y/n) gasp for breath. (R/n) then cut her hands free and let (Y/n) rip her wrists from the floor, the skin around her wrists already turning pink. She flung her arms around (R/n) as she sobbed against her stomach. (R/n) clutched back onto her and rocked her as she whispered calming things to her.

“It’s okay now, it’s ok. I’m here, I’m here. I won’t let anybody hurt you.” She whispered through (Y/n)’s breathy sobs.

~

The two roommates sat on the couch with (R/n)’s arm around (Y/n)’s sagging shoulders once she finished explaining what happened. From the comfort of her closest friend, (Y/n)’s eyes dried and her cheeks were no longer wet but stained with streaks from the tears.

(R/n) looked at her with sympathy as she rubbed her shoulder gently. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. And I’m so sorry I didn’t get home sooner. But that creep is gone now, he’ll never lay another finger on you ever again.” (Y/n)’s frown twitched up a little before throwing herself back in her friend's arms, gripping onto her silk top tightly as she closed her eyes like it was rid of the memory of that pervert.

(R/n) rubbed her back as she started listing the things they could do that would make her feel safer. “We’ll start locking our windows and doors now, and I think we should start shutting the blinds. And instead of keeping our tasers and pepper sprays in our bags let’s have them in our pockets from now on. Just at least until the police get a lead on him or even catch him.”

(Y/n) felt so grateful to have a friend like her but separated from the embrace to look at her with sad eyes. “I want to go find (B/n).” (R/n) nodded and helped her to her feet. (Y/n) began walking to the coat rack until she looked down at her pajama shorts and quickly darted to her room to change. Not because it was freezing out, she just still felt so gross looking at the place where that asshole groped her. She pushed the door to her and (R/n)’s shared bedroom open and flipped up the light switch. The dark room was then lit up to reveal the yin yang but a breeze made (Y/n)’s stomach drop. Her eyes first landed on the open window beside her bed she last left open only an inch.

The masked trespasser came through her window. He was in her room.

She felt the panic rise in her as she quickly checked her and (R/n)’s separate closets to make sure he was gone. He wasn’t in the room.

She took a deep breath before snatching the pajama pants from her bed and replacing her shorts with them. That’s when she noticed the creases in her bedsheets from where the man must’ve landed once he got through the window. She grimaced like a sad, disturbed clown and ripped off her sheets in one quick pull. She was about to drop the tainted sheets into her laundry basket until she noticed another thing out of place.

The pile of clothes wasn’t in the right order and were spread apart like someone dug through them. Her frown deepened as she crouched down to see what he took. The basket only had two days worth of clothes so it was just her two outfits, 2 pairs of socks, one bra and… no underwear. He took her underwear.

(Y/n) wanted to throw up but reminded herself of what her top priority was at the moment, (B/n). she chucked the sheets into the basket and slammed the window shut, locking it, and closing the blinds. She did the same for every window she passed until she made it to the coat rack where (R/n) stood waiting for her. (Y/n) wrapped her arms around one of (R/n)’s as they exited through their front door and locked it before making their way to the exit in the lobby to get to their car to go straight to (B/n)’s apartment first.

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

BTAS Scarecrow and his Adopted Son

(Ko-fi Commission for MKP)

Jonathan had always wanted to adopt, and when the chance came to adopt a child, he chose a teenage boy who was about to age out of the system. This boy’s name was Chris, and he was a good kid but happened to deal with anxiety.

This interested Crane, as we all know how he loves fear. But, this was not a chance to experiment on a child, not in the way one would expect of him at least.  He had dreams of being a father, and hoping to pass on his work to a worthy successor. This was his chance.

Chris was weary of Crane from the start, as he had many adoptive parents bring him home and shortly there after, take him back. He figured Crane would be the same.

But Chris was wrong. Crane cared. He showed him early on about his work with fear toxin and Chris was enamored! You see, Chris was always a fan of science and to have a father who was the real thing (albeit evil) was like, a dream!!

So the two of them started working together, Chris learned new things every day and how to use the scientific method in ways he had never before considered.

And slowly the two grew close, as if they were related by blood. Chris love watching Jonathan work, and Jonathan saw himself in Chris, a young man in love with science.

Of course, they still fought now and again, but punishments usually ranged from cleaning the lab or not being allowed to watch discovery channel. These instances were far and few between, however.

As Chris opened up about his anxiety to Crane, they both realized that fear ruled their lives and that together, they could conquer it.

Chris realized soon enough that he wanted to be JUST like Scarecrow, he wanted to face the batman too! So, with Crane’s help they created a new costume and title for Chris. He shall now be known as the Plague Doctor.

The duo was like any other (evil) father an son at this point, and they wanted to face off against batman.

And of course, that mean beakers of toxin and a mask that breaths fear gas! This was going to be truly scary!

They knew Bruce Wayne would be attending a program in the park, and decided that kidnapping him would bring out Batman. This seemed like a reasonable plan, but they did not expect what was going to happen.

Hiding in the bushes that afternoon, they watched as Bruce Wayne gave a speech about the new kiddie land playground equipment. He cut a big red ribbon and everything. As soon as he was about to leave, they would strike!

What they didn’t expect, was that Batman knew their plans all along. It was so fast, like a nightmare! They followed Bruce around a building corner and next thing you know----WHAM POW OUCH!

Scarecrow was blindsided and Chris, worried about his adoptive father, was distracted and handcuffed before he even knew what happened.

Batman and Commission Gordon separated the frightful duo and scolded the young Chris. Of course, true to fashion and with love, Chris spat in their faces and promised to break his father out of Arkham.

Chris knew he would rescue Jonathan, and that they would be reunited. He was not about to loose the one positive and caring influence on his life, despite that fact that his father was a villain.

Chris and Crane would be reunited. and they would strike back.

There is nothing more special than their bond, it was something so strong that not even Batman can break it. Chris was loved and supported, and had finally found his home.

Crane had always been proud of his son, he was more than he could have ever hoped or wanted. He was like a miniature Scarecrow,  he couldn’t have adopted a better child. Together he would work with Chris to overcome his anxiety, and to become the next fear-fueled master of Gotham!

[artxyra]

Damian Acting Like A Teenager? Impossible.

When Damian entered the halls of Gotham Academy, the first thing he notices was the change in the dark atmosphere. It felt oddly kinder and more lighthearted. Everywhere he turns, there are whispers focus around the new girl. At first, he didn’t care about the gossip, well, that was until he met her.

It was an unusual encounter, something that he would look down on.

It was the passing period, and she was running down the halls in a hurry as he was walking to his next class, one that he didn’t particularly care for; they bump into each other, causing a standstill in the halls. Everyone wondered how the dark prince would react to their newly dubbed princess of sunshine. They expected a yelling match, which, of course, occurred, but what they didn’t expect was an eventual best of the worst of alliance ever made.

Several months passed since the two had met and several weeks since the blooming of Damian and Marinette’s friendship, and not a single student could say that there weren’t surprised.

The moment Marinette had broken down any (and all) walls that the boy had placed, she was able to make the stoic teen become his age. It started small with a joke here and there; then it progressed into card games followed by video games. To this day, Damian swears that he’ll beat her at a shooting game at one point, to which Marinette would respond with a laugh and an over-the-shoulder wink. The young Wayne swears that he has never blush a day in his life, but the photographic proof on Marinette’s phone says otherwise.

The school soon became accustomed to being Daminette’s playground. At first, the teachers were opposed to the idea, but after seeing how slightly more open Damian has become, they slowly agreed to the concept of allowing the duo to have less strict rules. That and they didn't want to be sued by the Wayne family.

Which now brings us to this moment: Marinette swings on a swing set while Damian practices his form with a katana; don’t ask how he managed to get it past security-- cause there is no answer.

“You know, maybe we should do something wild?” Marinette thinks aloud, looking up to the sky with a mischief smirk on her lips.

Damian doesn’t turn to her; he only sets the blade down to his side. “What mayhem do you have in mind?”

Marinette giggles uncontrollably.

Let’s assume that whatever Marinette had in mind would rule the yearbooks for years to come.

~☾★☽~

Since his partnership with Marinette, Damian has been hiding his characteristic change at home. Surprisingly, it was simple. A few death threats here and there, maybe sneaking out moments every so often. No one at the Wayne cared enough to pay any attention to it. It only then became a shock when Damian left for school along the lines of being late. Alfred had offered to take him to school to which Damian declined and got onto his “normal” motorcycle and speeds off.

“Does anyone else seem to think that Damian is acting strange?” Dick asks, pipping his head down from the ceiling. He’s on the chandelier again. Poor Alfred, maybe Dick should dust the chandelier for him as an apology.

Tim walks in with a large, filled to the brim, coffee mug in hand, “Which one?” He absently wonders, taking a long sip. The dark circles and bags around his eyes explain it all.

“I do concur with Master Richard; the young master has been acting somewhat strange for quite some time now.” Alfred appears out of nowhere, thus starting an array of concerns.

It wasn’t long before Jason came in shouting demands with the head of the household trailing behind him. Alfred reprimands Jason for the yelling as he hands Bruce a cup of coffee.

Not caring enough about the conversation and looking like a madman, Jason shouts, “Look, I can’t explain it, but we’re going to need Demon Spawn for something huge.”

“Uh, why would we need Baby Bird?” Dick asks, dropping onto the floor and twisting his body. “Not that I don’t mind getting Damian involved.”

“Look, there’s no time to explain,” Jason facepalms and begins to push everyone towards the door despite the lack of proper wear they have on.

After several protests and one change of clothes, the Wayne household now stands in front of the gates of Gotham Academy.

“Is it me, or does this place look less you know Gotham-y and full of life?” Tim ponders, narrowing his eyes, as he takes a long sip from a to-go coffee cup with Red Robin’s emblem.

“No, no, Timmy, I see it too.” Dick whispers as Jason struts past the gates and onto the school’s property like a man on a mission.

Bruce sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Come on, let’s go get your brother so Jason can stop being Jason.”

Tim shrugs before passing the gates himself, with Dick following him.

Upon entering the school, they could immediately see that it was either a passing period or free time from the number of students in the halls. Some student dared to pull out their phones while other whispers amongst themselves.

Bruce makes his way to the attendance office, where the attendance assistant, Joyce, resides sitting at the desk.

“Hello Joyce, I’m here to pick up Damian. He has a, uh, dentist appointment this evening.” Bruce speaks, hoping that she wouldn’t catch the lie.

“Well Mr. Wayne, Damian is, uh…” After lingering in her thoughts, Joyce turns to someone besides her. “Do you know where Damian Wayne would be at today?”

“Try the art room.” A feminine voice answers, followed by a series of typing noises.

Joyce turns back to the Wayne family and smiles, “He should be in the art room; it’s down the hall to your right, you should not miss it, as it’s in the only hallway that has a series of artwork posted on the walls. Before you go, please sign here."

Joyce hands Bruce a sign-out sheet, to which the man signs and ushers his wards to search for his youngest.

“They’re so screwed.” The same feminine voice speaks, causing Joyce to break out laughing.

It took a total of four different locations for the men to find the youngest Wayne.

First, they went to the art room like Joyce’s co-worker told them to do.

When they got there, Damian wasn't there, but the teacher did show Bruce a couple of Damian's artworks. Bruce couldn't help but feel proud.

While looking around the room, one of the art students told them they last saw Damian playing Pokémon Go near the gym; he was trying to catch a legendary Pokémon that spawned there.

So, of course, after an awkward eye contact with one another, they walk to the gym. Once again, Damian wasn’t there but a different student in his stead. He tells them that Damian was making ice sculptures out of ice cream at the cafeteria. The student then goes on to explain that Damian had some wicked skills with a knife.

Jason, with wide eyes, practically shouted at the student that he was crazy and that Damian would never, and he means NEVER would do something that stupid. The student shrugs it off like it was an everyday occurrence. It was Dick that had to hold Jason back from thrashing the teen. Bruce then apologizes to the instructor for their disturbance, as Tim walks casually behind Dick carrying Jason.

By the time they got to the cafeteria, it was damn near empty aside from a few students still eating. There were no signs of ice cream or the tools that would go into making an ice sculpture. Tim had to ask a few students to see if Damian was in here at some point in time. One of the workers overheard the question and answered him. Evidently, Damian was there earlier making sculptures out of ice cream before handing it out to students.

When they asked the question that has been slowly driving the four insane, the worker replies with: “Upstairs racing on these old colorful scooter board down the halls."

After three locations and no Damian, Tim wanted nothing more but to have a mental breakdown, and he would have if it wasn’t for Bruce holding him up and taking his coffee away.

So, they quickly found themselves on the second level of the school. There was no sight of Damian Wayne, though there were wheel tracks smudged into the flooring.

“Are you kidding me?” Jason shouts out into the ceiling. Thankfully, there were no students in the halls to hear it. Well, that might have been the case if it wasn’t for a teacher to open their door and shh the male. It took every bone in Jason's body not to show the teacher his middle finger.

After a beat of silence and walking down the hall, they overhear a familiar voice.

“Angel, you are desperately in the wrong here. The bear only wears one color, so it has to the color red.” Jason stops dead in his tracks and turns to railings.

The voice was too good to be true.

Looking over the staircase, they find an alcove, and sitting in it is none other than Damian Wayne himself, but he’s not alone.

“I’m telling you, Wayne. Pooh’s favorite color is yellow.” The female answers before taping her fingers as she makes her points, “He loves honey, which is by default a yellow color. He's never seen with a yellow background, and if yellow didn't clash with his fur, he would definitely be wearing it.”

“I disagree. Winnie the Pooh has been drawn on numerous of occasions with red items, not yellow. Case in point, the red balloon, his shirt." He counters. The conversation continues with banters and statements; whether it was true or false is up to debate.

This was not happening.

Tim.exe has stopped working.

Jason.exe has stopped working.

Jaws dropped, a low groaning sound.

They cannot be witnessing this. The most deadliest of the Wayne’s is currently arguing about Winnie, the motherfucking, Pooh’s favorite color.

Bruce has no words. He's practically in the same stance as his middle children. Dick, on the other hand, pulls out his phone and begins to record what remains of the conversation.

No one dares to move or utter out words. This version of Damian is the apocalypse. Nothing in the world is okay.

Slowly, the four Waynes exit the school; no one saw them leave.

Legend has it that Damian never went home that day despite being excused from his classes. When he had returned home, his family didn't utter a word to him. He was meet with either a profusely blinking, unwanted hug or laughter, as they were still in shock at what they just encountered. It wasn’t until a couple of months later that all hell breaks loose. Damian had introduced the family to Marinette.

----

A retouch version of Request #2

[britcision]

okay so I love Constantine actually getting it 10/10 yes excellent

lemme tell you what else I love:

Constantine isn’t there for the first meeting. Maybe it’s Billy, maybe it’s Zatanna, maybe they just decided John’s a shit diplomat and should not be allowed near the meetings cuz he’s demon catnip (Constantine agrees)

and whoever is there, well, they’re trying to be delicate. To be nice, since Dick and Duke have tackled Jason and dragged him away from the confused Ghost King before he can fucking jump on him

(Danny assumes they are just keeping the meeting on track I suppose that’s fine we can have an introductory brawl later but it’s nice to see the baby’s family wrassle with him ☺️)

and the Bat is gonna wanna know EVERYTHING, of COURSE, but our poor magic member (I’m gonna say it’s Cap’n Shazam specifically because it’s funny to me) is just breezing right on past THAT kettle of fish

just quickly clarifies for Danny that Hood doesn’t speak for the League (so they don’t get invited to the ghost brawl that is sure to follow - bats read this as Hood Fucked Up)

and on they go with the talks, Hood firmly dragged all the way back to Gotham

and dear sweet Billy, once they’ve left the king, hurries to explain that it’s cool, Jason’s not in trouble, but Jason has started something he’s gonna have to finish

combat is super important socially in the realms and Jason has challenged the Ghost King so that fight is gonna HAVE to happen now cuz if Jason doesn’t go back the king might follow him home

Bruce asks a super unfortunately timed question about what it means to challenge the Ghost King and the Wisdom of Solomon chips in with the least helpful “well the throne is passed down by combat a real challenge for single combat is to take the throne” but DOES NOT include that Jason’s not done the whole thing

so the bats think Jason’s challenged the ruler of another dimension to a death match, because why wouldn’t it be? Clearly you get the crown by killing the king (Maybe research on old challenges to Pariah include grisly Ending stories)

Jason’s fucking down with this, he’ll kick this guy’s ass and be the new king, why the fuck not

Danny, meanwhile, shows up to his playdate like a giddy kid he’s not met many baby ghosts and is very excited finally someone is babier than him

Jason goes hard immediately and Danny matches him, very proud of this good scary baby ghost he’s such a fierce fighter uwu

the bats are freaking out, Danny just found Jason in a random part of Crime Alley so they’re trying to get close enough to watch but Danny’s flying it’s not exactly a stationary fight… did Jason just fly too

did you see a grapple did Jason just launch his ass off a building and fly to the next one????

what the FUCK since when can Jason fly Dick is mad jealous

the fight lasts for HOURS Jason’s powered by pit rage and Stubborn Bitch Energy and Danny’s basically wagging a finger at him

Bruce calls in JLDark for help, how can they call this off, it hasn’t damaged the city yet but they can all see that Jason doesn’t have a chance. Clearly when the king gets bored…. It’s over

Constantine shows up, asks what the fuck is going on, is shown the fight and also notices shit is up

asks how the hell Hood and Phantom even met, he doesn’t read paperwork

Dick explains the punch and what Cap’n Shazam told them and Constantine just. Breaks down laughing

cuz yeah Billy was definitely right, it was accurate, it just didn’t have the most important thing: context

Jason walked across the playground and pulled the King’s pigtails and they’re best friends now, this is just ghost bonding. Someone text Jason and let him know

(maybe Jason’s getting frustrated but also weirdly feeling less and less angry the longer the fight goes on, he’s literally burning the pit rage as ghost fuel and ends up feeling significantly better despite having his ass kicked)

Red Hood's King -- DCxDP prompt

Everyone does this whole 'Jason sees Ghost King!Danny and immediately feels 'this is my king' ' and it's all awesome

But I think we can agree that Jason has... a small problem with authority figures.

So Hood meets Phantom -- maybe a summoning, a Justice League thing, what ever.

And gets that 'this is my king' feeling.

Jason, who has been fighting the pits for years and now suddenly has ANOTHER 'lets magically fuck with Jason's emotions' thing, is not going to be easily overwhelmed by a need to bow down and is not going to take this calmly.

Everyone is stunned into silence when, in the middle of whatever thing they are gathered to deal with, Hood stalks up to Phantom, punches him in the face saying "I don't have a fucking king." and walks out.

Discuss

[butwhyduh]

Starlight and sunsets

Jason todd x reader

Warning: blood, violence, alcohol, smut, cursing, child endangerment

Part 5/6

Masterlist

“Killer Croc is detected in north Robinson Park. There are… now 4 reports of 911 calls in the area. Be careful and do not engage, Robin. He is highly dangerous and will literally try to eat you,” Barbara said to the new boy wonder.

“Not a problem. I’ll survey to see if we can find his location better,” Tim said in his comms.'' No need to get killed tonight,” he said with a little laugh before wincing. That probably wasn’t very tasteful to say.

“Keep on your 6, Robin,” Oracle replied. “Spoiler is on the other side of the park. Let’s get a locale on Croc so Batman and Nightwing can round him up.”

Tim walked across the roof of a building across the street from the park. It wasn’t enough to look in the depth of trees that ran towards the center of the park. He hated giving up his strategic location but he would never see anything this way. He slunk down to walk in the shadows of the trees.

————————-

“Batgirl, come in,” Oracle said in your earpiece. You sighed.

“Look O, I’m not working tonight. I’m three sheets to the wind with a bottle of Jack on my roof. Unless someone’s had a bike shoved up their a-“

“Okay, I get it,” she interrupted. “I will count you as busy. But it would be really great if you could look into the file of missing persons I sent you. Batman and even Nightwing are a little busy rounding up the rouges. And since you’re staying home for the night…”

“They aren’t Jason. He didn’t kill them,” you replied bluntly.

“I didn’t- I did not think Jason did this,” she sputtered. “I just need a detective on it.”

“Fine, I’ll give it a peek.”

“Thank you. I’ve got to go. Robin and Spoiler are reconning Robinson Park for possible Killer Croc sightings,” she said.

“Croc? You have the KIDS on it?” You asked sitting up. Your buzz all but disappeared. “That’s way too dangerous.”

“I know. But they are just watching and not engaging,” she replied.

“I’m on the way,” you said, standing up quickly. Your head swayed. That was not great for Batgirl work but those kids were in danger.

“Woah, I thought you were drunk,” Barbara interjected.

“I am. But they don’t know how he works. And they’re going to get hurt. Where the fuck is Bruce? This is his shit,” you grumbled sliding on your suit.

“He’s out by the pier putting Penguin in cuffs right now,” Barbara said.

“Well he’s too far away. Where’s Nightwing?”

“Helped him catch him. I’ll have him come to the park. Robin hasn’t even found him yet. You really don’t need to come over if you’ve been drinking. It’s a bad idea,” Barbara pushed.

“Yeah, so is every idea. Send me the address O.”

You were drunk enough to realize you shouldn’t drive but luckily there was a bus that was coming through that would drop you off a few blocks away. Sure people stared at batgirl on a bus but it wasn’t exactly new.

—————————-

Much like every other part of Gotham, the parks were one step below walking nightmares on the best of days and Robinson Park was particularly nasty. Creeps and criminals, poison Ivy’s plants, and any other death traps set up were awful. And with rogues on the loose and apparently children going after a literal human crocodile, this was basically hell.

On the outside, the park looked like a normal park with shitty playground equipment, poorly cut grass, and the errant bush that someone planted in hopes to beautify a trash can. But that was simply the edge of the 4 acre park. As you moved farther in the grass turned to trees and thick brush. It was large enough to lose Killer Croc if that was any gauge of size. Like Central Park’s crackhead little sister.

Tim moved farther into the brush, his eyes peeled for any movement. He hated this park. He grew up far from this side of town but his interest in Batman taught him that this park was a frequent criminal stop. His breath came out in puffs in the night air.

The Gotham city Reservoir came into view. The largest water treatment center in all of Gotham that treated around 80% of all freshwater was a big deal. A few smaller criminals had tried to threaten to bomb it since Tim became Robin so Tim had a basic understanding of the building.

Massive cylinders filled with dirty water were cleaned before moving down the line to huge cans of water that were fine filtered to be safe to drink and use in Gotham. And at night, it looked like black pools of danger. Killer Croc could be hanging out at the bottom of one of these things for all Tim knew. He didn’t want to, but he knew he had to climb up on each one to look in them if he really wanted to know if the criminal was actually there.

Tim began to climb up the ladder that led to a gangplank over the water.

————————-

Barbara called Dick. “Hey, can you hurry to Robinson Park? Robin and Spoiler are tailing Killer Croc. Batgirl is currently drunk but going over there to rescue them and Batman is still on the other side of town,” she explained.

“Oh shit,” Dick said. “I- okay,” he said hopping up. He was hoping for a quick nap since he’d been awake for 36 hours but this couldn’t wait. He threw his suit back on and chugged an energy drink before racing out the door.

————————-

Stephanie found the treatment plant only a few minutes after Tim.

“Hey Boyfriend, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” She asked in her comms, having arrived on the opposite side of the plant.

“I’m not- we’re not-“ Tim sputtered before calming down. “Having to climb up and look in?” Tim had already weighed the risks. High chance of being attacked if Killer Croc was in there but very low chance of him being there and Batman would be mad if they left a stone unturned.

“Yep. This is gonna be a bitch. I’ll look in mine if you look in yours,” she said. Tim rolled his eyes before agreeing. He gripped the metal bars that were cold even through his gloves. Steam could be seen coming off the water that was unnaturally still in the Gotham night.

The top of the vat had a thin gangplank with metal railing. Tim carefully climbed up. He slipped a hand in his utility belt to grab a flashlight just as he heard Stephanie quietly say “shit this is deep.” He flipped on his own light and looked in the water. It did look much deeper and the light did a piss poor job illuminating the pool. Tim would have to walk the entire top to see inside. He walked across slowly while shining his light.

The water rippled. Before Tim could do more than think oh shit, a clawed hand wrapped around his ankle and yanked. He clung at the railing to keep from being pulled under. Tim vaguely heard Stephanie curse and run towards him. It didn’t take much more pressure before he felt a sickening pop as his leg dislocated. Tim screamed.

“Robin!” Yelled Barbara into the comms. Tim was in no place to answer. Stephanie was scrambling over to rescue Tim and his grip was waning. He knew that if he let go and went under, he was a goner.

“Robin and Spoiler in danger at the Gotham City Reservoir and any vigilante nearby requested for immediate support. This is an emergency,” Barbara called over the broad comms.

“Fuck!” You said as you ran down the street from the bus stop. You were 5 minutes out.

Across town Bruce froze in fear. He was nowhere near the kids. He was going to lose another Robin. He dropped everything and raced towards the park. Bruce ignored the fact that he was a good 10 minutes out.

Dick was grappling between buildings but he wasn’t close and he was so tired. It would take at least 15 minutes or more to get there. But he pushed himself to the point of burning his lungs to go faster.

Stephanie grabbed Tim’s leg and pulled it and it felt like he was stuck in cement. His breath came out in great huffs as panic began to set in. Stephanie grabbed one of Tim’s throwing stars and started chunking them in the dark water and whatever had him.

You saw the kids fighting over the reservoir pool and tried to move faster. This was giving you flashbacks. You couldn’t save Jason. Now Tim and probably Stephanie were going to die too. You grappled across the remaining area before landing on the gangplank.

Tim’s leg was momentarily loosened in Killer Croc’s grip and you jumped over. It was a common tactic to make the victim feel they had gotten away before attacking again.

With no time to think, you acted.

—————————-

Years ago

“This is a tool! Not a weapon!” Bruce yelled. “If you use this, it could kill. Never use your grappling gun as a weapon!”

You leaned up on the floor of the cave, panting.

“You’re only pissed that I beat the record for this simulation,” you quipped. Bruce’s eyes flashed at you.

“That’s the fastest way to get someone killed, playing with equipment,” he snarled in a quiet deadly voice. Your young bravado quieted under his gaze.

“Geez boss, never a weapon. Got it.”

————————

Now

You shot the gun in hand, pointing it right at the crocodile’s face. He moved in the last second and the point buried into the flesh of his shoulder. Croc immediately let go of Tim’s leg as he bowled in pain. Both you and Stephanie quickly pulled Tim over the side and down to the ground away from the pool.

He looked bad with pale skin and eyes closed into a grimace. His leg had an unnatural angle where it was dislocated likely at the hip. But Tim was alive. And an angry crocodile man was climbing out of the pool, harpooned with your grappling hook. Blood ran down in black sheets.

“Fuck,” you groaned when you didn’t feel any weapons. You were drunk and forgot your shit. Stephanie handed you her retractable bo staff. It wasn’t near good enough. Stephanie stood protective over Tim while you prepared to fight the villain. This situation was so bad.

He jumped from the pool’s edge towards you and you swung the stick only to hit air as a man threw himself against the beast causing them both to fall back into the pool. Bruce was in the tank.

“No!” a voice came from behind you and Dick ran up the ladder and leaped into the pool. Violent water splashed as both vigilantes fought. You climbed up the ladder right as Dick surfaced with the grappling hook handle in hand. You took it from him and yanked hard. A spasming groan sounded loud enough to hear underwater and Bruce surfaced. You yanked the rope again before wrapping it around a sturdy pipe.

Dick pulled Bruce from the water. He was bleeding heavily from gashes across his chest and looked close to fainting. Killer Croc thrashed but couldn’t seem to slip the grappling hook from his shoulder. You asked Barbara to call the police through the comms.

“Fuck! Bruce, stay awake,” Dick commanded as he pressed all the bandages from Stephanie and Tim’s kits against Bruce’s wounds.

“I’m fine. How is Tim?” He said weakly.

“Good,” the boy equally lied.

All the same, all 3 of you helped the pair into the batmobile and Dick drove them to the cave where Alfred fixed them back up. Bruce needed a full bag of blood and a ton of stitches and Tim had some pretty strong painkillers before his hip was relocated.

“Steph, you have really pretty eyes,” Tim slurred. You looked away so you wouldn’t laugh. “So pretty. Just like Kon’s. Can you be in love with 2 people at once? Because you both; I’m so gay for you.”

“Wow,” she said. “You are Gonna have to come out some other time but right now, sleep.”

“Yeah, pet my hair. You’re pretty,” he said back. A few strokes of her hands in his hair had Tim out cold.

You moved to leave.

“Batgirl, a word,” Bruce said from his bed. Dick had gone to take a shower and Alfred was fixing a snack. “Tonight. You were drinking. And then you put on your suit. That was reckless.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Robin could have died if I wasn’t there,” you spit out incredulous.

“And anyone could have died because you were altered. You shot Killer Croc with your grappling gun which is also not allowed. He almost died tonight because of you. Either you follow the rules-“

“You can shove the rules right up your ass-“

“Or you can give up the suit,” he finished just as Dick rounded the corner dressed in a fresh set of sweats and drying his hair. “I won’t have someone willing to kill on the team. I can’t have someone who works drunk on the team-“

“Then FUCK your team. You want the fucking suit?! Here’s the fucking suit,” you said unzipping it right there and stepping out in your sports bra and underwear. “I’m not batgirl and I’m not listening to a piece of shit like you any more.”

“You leave and you’re done,” he warned. “Do you even regret almost killing a man tonight?”

“I regret so much shit that I could fill a book, but right now Bruce, I regret nothing,” you said coldly before walking out the cave. Dick offered you the towel and you shrugged it off. A nice cold bike ride would calm you down anyways.

—————————

A month after Jason died

You sat in the cold pew, rain was pouring in Gotham again. It was pretty much empty in Saint Mary’s. A few abuelas prayed near the candles lit in rows to the side. An alter boy scurried around doing odd jobs. And you sat, staring at a statue of the Virgin Mary holding Jesus after he was removed from the cross. Tears fell from her eyes as she looked down on her son.

“This statue was commissioned by the original Father of this church when it opened in 1807. He wanted to capture her sorrow and what she sacrificed,” a man said sitting near you but not too close. You looked to see him in priest clothing.

“Hello,” you replied.

“Would you like to talk,” he asked plainly.

“I’m not Catholic. I’m not sure if it’s okay,” you replied.

“Everyone is welcome here. You can talk to me if you would like,” he said.

“My boyfriend went here. He used to go here before-“ you said before stopping. It hurt to say. “Before he died.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Can you tell me his name? I might have known him,” he said.

“Jason Todd.”

“Skinny fellow with black hair and always reading?” The priest asked after thinking a minute.

“Yeah, Jason loved to read,” you smiled sorrowly. “He liked classics. Could argue with English teachers for hours. I always told him he should be a writer when he grew up.”

“I’m sorry to hear he’s no longer with us. He was a kind boy,” the priest said. He appeared thoughtful before adding, “I have something of his that I can give to you actually.”

“You do,” you asked.

“Come with me,” he said and you followed him to an office. He opened a drawer with a key before grabbing a book to hand to you. It was an old leather tattered copy of Tristan and Isolde. You stared at the cover.

“He was reading it up on the ledge above the congregation one day and I happened to see him. He ran off and left this behind,” the priest told you. “It was only a month or a little more ago if my memory serves me right. He hasn’t been back where I could give it to him.”

“What’s it about?” You asked.

“Well, it’s an Irish tale about 2 lovers that were doomed. The soldier falls for the princess he rescues for the king but they can’t remain together. She has to marry the king and he marries another woman. But when he’s wounded by a poison arrow, Tristan calls for Isolde. He dies before she can get to him. I think she dies shortly after but it’s been a long time since I’ve read it,” he admitted.

“Oh,” you said, looking at the book again. “I regret not talking to him more. I didn’t know what he was reading before. Jason loved to read. I should have asked more about it.”

“”You couldn’t have known. Regret is common after a sudden loss. Things often feel unfinished. What would you do if you had time with him again? Would it be spent talking about books? There’s probably a lot you would add or change. That’s natural. But now you can only change the future. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, Thank you,” you replied before leaving the church all together. You went back to your place and wept while reading it. Jason has written a few notes in the corner of the pages and you sobbed as you felt his hand writing.

————————-

Now

You noticed the book as soon as you got out of the shower and sat on your bed. That was Jason’s. His name was written on the inside cover. You knew where he was staying and the chance that he was home was high. Just take the book over and talk to him. See him. Stop being a punk.

You tossed the bag in your backpack along with some clothes and got on your bike to ride over to his safehouse. As the early morning sun first peaked over the horizon, it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been earlier.

You paused before knocking on the door. What if he didn’t want you there?

“Who is i-“ Jason said, yanking the door open before stopping. “Hey. Come in,” he added, stepping out of the way while holding the door to let you in. You stepped into his safehouse. He was dressed in sweats and looked like he had been sleeping.

“Are you okay,” Jason asked as you sat on the couch. He noted that your hair was wet and the late hour.

“Well I quit batgirl because Bruce is a dick. But otherwise I’m fine. I have something of yours,” you said, pulling the book from the bag. Jason raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He had his own shitty opinion of Bruce but it wouldn’t help now.

“Tristan and Isolde,” he said, looking it over. “I lost this years ago. Alfred bought it for me. How did you- how did you find this?”

“At your church. It was right after you- you died,” you said, looking down at your callused hands.

“Oh,” Jason simply added, looking at you.

“Can I- can I kiss you,” you asked and Jason looked at you with a furrowed brow before nodding. You cupped his cheek before gently pressing your lips together. It wasn’t hurried or frantic. It was gentle and nice.

You kissed for a minute before turning your body towards Jason. You wrapped your arms around his neck and slid into his lap to get closer. His warm hands rested on your hips and he smelled so nice.

You moved your fingers under the hem of his shirt and Jason froze. You stopped your hands.

“What’s wrong Jay?”

“Nothing, I just- it’s,” he started before stopping. “I’m not the same as before.”

“Yeah neither am I,” you said, pulling back to talk.

“No. I’m….damaged. I died and you can see it if my shirt’s off. I don’t care. I don’t. But I don’t wanna freak you out,” Jason said, looking away.

“Im just so fucking happy you’re alive. I don’t care,” you said cupping his cheeks and turning his face gently towards you. “You’re here. For real,” you said, pressing your lips to his. “And I love you. I fucking love you.”

Jason huffed out a laugh while smiling at you.

“Can I take your shirt off,” you asked. Jason nodded while sitting back on his heels. You sat up and pulled the fabric over his head. You had prepared yourself for any number of gruesome injuries. But a huge ropy Y shaped scar that could only be an autopsy scar was not one of them.

“Yeah…” he said, motioning to it roughly. “A cool present I got when I came back. Apparently the lazareth pit doesn’t work well on postmortem injuries. I hate it.

“Can I?” You asked and he nodded. You ran a thumb along the skin before kissing his collarbone. Jason inhaled at that. “Still sensitive,” you said with a smile. You pushed him back on the couch. Your lips kissed at his pecs. They were much more defined than they had been before Jason had died. Of course they were. He was now a grown man instead of a boy.

Jason gasped and his hands clenched and unclenched as you kissed at his abs. Your mind was pretty well blown at how big he had gotten. Your short king was now so beefy. And he looked so good. You looked up at him while running your hand down to his belt line. You pulled your shirt off.

He stared openly at your chest. The boy who would blush at the sight of your bra was no more. Instead he pulled you on top of him while massaging your breasts with his hands.

“Do you have condoms,” you breathed as he sucked a hickey on your neck. It took a minute for Jason’s mind to catch up.

“Uh, no,” he admitted before pressing his forehead against yours. “I wasn’t really planning for anything, you know? I don’t,” he stammered as you continued to rub against him. “Fuck,” he groaned as he gripped your ass.

“You’re clean,” you asked.

“I’ve never- I haven’t- I’ve been a little busy,” he said with an awkward chuckle, still distracted by your movement.

“Never,” you asked softly. He looked up at you with red in his cheeks.

“Never. I shouldn’t ask but you…”

“I did. But it wasn’t this. It didn’t matter. Not like you,” you answered. “Since we can’t, can I?”

“What,” he asked but it soon became evident the way you moved down his body to between his legs. “Oh, yes. You can,” he said before gulping. “If you want.”

You pulled his pants down while looking up at Jason and that’s when he knew he was in trouble. He was beyond hard and had to take a deep breath to not cum just from you taking him in your hand and mouth. You were gentle with him, wanting to make the first time great.

Jason groaned when you swirled the head with your tongue. “Oh fuck me,” he breathed out while suddenly understanding the allur of sex. This was way better than the occasional jerking off to relieve stress. Sure he thought about it before he died but after coming back, Jason was truly a little busy.

Your mouth took him deep and then you swallowed around him and Jason’s head hit the arm of the couch as he arched. He trembled when you really started sucking him off and it wasn’t long until he was gasping out your name.

“I’m gonna- fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he moaned. You grasped his hand in yours while letting him finish in your mouth. Jason made incoherent noises as he came and his hips jumped. One hand moved to stroke your cheek softly. You let him go when his jerks moved away rather than towards you. Jason looked at you almost reverently.

He pulled you up and kissed you roughly and it surprised and excited you.

“Teach me,” Jason said, flipping you over to where you laid on the couch. “Tell me what to do.”

“Holy hell, okay,” you said before teaching him how to go down on you and he was an excellent learner. With both of you thoroughly spent, you fell asleep wrapped up together on his bed.

You woke to the sound of your burner phone going off. It had to be Barbara. She was the only one with the number.

“Hey, I know you had a falling out with Bruce but I have this case. I think it’s Pyg. There are missing kids. Please call me,” she said in your voicemail.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[citrinesparkles]

cat.

jason todd, eventually x gender neutral reader. 1,388 words. notes: this is part one of i don't even know how many and i cannot believe how wildly out of hand this got. this was a 500 word idea and it's gonna be at least three parts someone help (thanks to @angelz-dust for being so patient with me and encouraging on this!!! would never have made it out of the drafts without you <3) warnings: danger to kids, mention of a couple arguing, animal illness (spoiler alert: it'll be fine i Promise), a little (lot) different than my usual edit: part two here!

"let me be perfectly clear: if you even think about showing back up here, i will know, and i will make your life a living hell until i finally put you out of your misery. understood?"

"yes! yeah man i get it. understood."

"then i'd get going, if i were you." the man scrambled to his feet and bolted off across the playground, leaving jason to shout after him. "and warn any buddies you might have, too!"

he picked up the discarded knife and pocketed it. he then turned around slowly, hands visibly empty in a careful attempt not to scare the two kids behind him- well, careful not to make it worse, anyway. they, understandably, seemed a little shaken already.

"are you both alright?" he asked softly, slouching just a little to seem as harmless as possible.

probably would have been easier if they hadn't just watched him threaten someone.

the older kid- probably fifteen, if jason had to place a bet- nodded silently before glancing back at the little girl he was still hovering in front of protectively, who was just... staring.

she couldn't have been older than six.

"jazz?" the boy asked, voice tight. "are you hurt?"

he was ignored. "are you superman?"

the question, innocent and earnest and a little timid, made jason laugh. "not quite, kiddo."

she tilted her head like a curious puppy, furrowing her brow. "why are you wearing a jacket?"

jason glanced up at the boy, who seemed comforted by her mini interrogation. good.

talking was a good sign, too, so jason crouched down to meet her at eye level.

"because it gets cold out here!" he said, raising his hands up with a small wiggle of his fingers. "gloves, too."

"well, duh," jazz said with a giggle- a win, jason thought. "no fingerprints."

he nodded. "also helpful."

"and the hat to hide your face!" she said proudly, stepping forward a little to point at his helmet.

"wow, you've got the whole thing figured out, huh?"

"mhm! my friend ricky loves batman and his friends. he talks about batman and nightwing and spoiler and robin and red robin and red hood and batgirl all the time! they hide their faces like you, ricky thinks it's because of bad guys."

"they're kinda cool, huh?"

"nightwing's my favorite," she said firmly, as though it was something she had considered at great length and was fully prepared to defend.

"not red hood?" jason smacked a hand to his chest in mock hurt, shifting back dramatically. "i'm crushed, truly."

"no, ricky says red hood used to be an alien, but then got bored and now he annoys batman for fun instead. that sounds mean."

...well, okay, maybe he did annoy the big guy for fun a little. "that's an interesting theory, all right."

"ricky's got all kinds of theories. he thinks batman's a robot-" jason snorted- "and that nightwing was like pinochle."

"you mean pinocchio," the boy corrected quietly. "pinochle's what gramma plays."

"pinocchio!" she exlaimed, with a "ch" sound in the middle that made jason smile. "a doll that got turned human. that's how he does all the flips and stuff, he's got magic."

"hm, ricky seems like an interesting guy," jason said thoughtfully, making a big show of rubbing the chin of his helmet. "what do y-"

he was cut off by a loud, insistent meow, and jazz gasping even louder before taking off to the bushes.

"w- hey, don't rush off like that!" he said, shooting up off the ground as the boy sighed.

"there's this cat that she's been taking care of," he explained quietly. "the thing's got attitude for days but i think it's sick or something. jasmine's been bringing it little bits of tuna and chicken, but it's not like we can get it to a vet."

jason hummed. "why do you think it's sick?"

"it's thin, with its eyes all watery and sunk."

"might just be malnourished," he muttered.

"she's been trying to find it a home, y'know."

there was a wink-wink-nudge-nudge quality to the kid's voice that did not go unnoticed.

on one hand, it was good to hear something other than fear from him, but on the other... "what part of the tactical armor makes you think i'm an option?"

"the part where you just stuck around to check on us instead of running after that guy."

okay. maybe the quiet thing hadn't been so bad. the cocky 'amateur psychologist' thing was a little grating.

"you the real red hood?" the kid asked suddenly, shaking jason from his internal grumbling.

"what do you think?"

"i think you just saved our lives, and i wanna know who i'm thanking."

jason turned to him with a flourish. "red hood, baby saver extraordinaire. at your service."

"baby- dude, i'm seventeen!"

okay, so he would have lost his bet. "noted. still a baby, trust me."

"what are you under there, twenty something? whatever, grandpa."

jason chuckled, turning back to watch jasmine pet a small cat under one of the yellow lights littering the park. "you did well, looking out for her with that guy. you got a name?"

he scoffed. "would've been better if i'd kicked him between the legs right when he opened his mouth, instead of letting him get started on the whole 'what're you kids doing out so late?' bit," he muttered darkly, pausing for a moment before answering. "my name's jordan."

"well, jordan, what are you guys doing out so late?"

"mom works nights, and the neighbors were fighting. it was loud enough to wake jazz up, and it wasn't the kind of thing she needed to hear. i figured a trip to see her cat would be less awful than hearing them call each other things i wouldn't even call my friends." the breeze picked up, rustling the trees and catching on jason's jacket. "and then the asshole with the knife decided to make a bad night worse."

"is jazz your sister?"

"yeah, she's a good kid," jordan said, fond and warm. "sorry about the whole ricky thing, though. he's obsessed with those vigilante conspiracy videos and tells her all about them at school."

"no, no, it's fine. i can't wait to tell wing about his new origin story, he'll love that."

jasmine suddenly came bounding back towards them, grabbing their hands and yanking them to follow her. "c'mon, you need to meet cat!"

"you call it cat?"

jordan bristled subtly. "is there a problem with that, red?"

"no, no, it's an appropriate name. just making sure." jason waved his spare hand at his head. "helmet makes me hear things sometimes."

jordan opened his mouth, but his sister plowed right over whatever he was going to say, pulling on jason's hand again. "cat, meet... what's your name?"

"red hood."

"you can't be red hood!" she whirled around, indignantly putting her hands on her hips. "there's already a red hood in gotham. besides, you're not even wearing a hood, so it doesn't fit anyway."

jason turned his head to jordan, who was smiling- a good sign, but probably a bad omen for whatever he was about to say. "she's right, man. it's not a hood."

"tough crowd," jason muttered. "uh... then you can call me, uh-"

"bucket!" jasmine suggested happily, tapping his helmet. "because this looks like a bucket."

if there was one thing vigilantism had taught him, it was that sometimes you actually do need to pick your battles. this...

this was not worth fighting.

"sure, fine, whatever. hi, cat, i'm red bucket." he turned away from the kids- both of whom looked entirely too happy about the whole 'bucket' thing, he thought- and crouched down to finally look at the cat.

it did look a little sick, actually.

it was gray, and thin, and-

and now it was headbutting his knee like it was trying to push him over.

"cat likes you!" jazz cheered.

"sure does," jordan said pointedly. "isn't that interesting?"

jason opened his mouth, but his snarky comment died in his throat when the cat settled down right in front of him and blinked slowly up at him with a sweet tilt to its head.

...shit.

just- shit.

he sighed, standing up and looking back to jordan and his stupid, entirely-too-pleased-with-himself grin. "so, jazz," jason grumbled reluctantly, "where does cat live?"

[tanglepelt]

Danny was at least not being watched by a assassin. Which was good. But a bat? He wasn’t too sure that was any better. Sure he wasn’t trying to actively kill him.

But. The guy was a supposed crime lord if tuckers research was correct. Or at least an ex one? He was kinda confused on the whole thing. Tucker did say he had been seen working with the normal bats. Who he really wanted to avoid.

Sure he wasn’t an ecto-entity so the government couldn’t legally experiment on him. But he was aiding the ghosts. Which was a crime. So he really didn’t want to draw any attention to himself.

He didn’t Even have access to his tech. So he couldn’t out run a bat. Not when it was their home turf. He’s parents said he wouldn’t need it in Gotham. No he would be perfectly safe. Nothing was going to happen. Him having it would also be a breach of contract apparently.

The ones the GIW had just renewed prior to booting him out of Amity. Definitely not intentional to ensure he couldn’t protect himself. Which in fact made him more vulnerable. No weapons not protective suit.

He was only human.

This assassination attempt would have had his hide if he wasn’t so used to ghost attacking him. Before the peeler, which thankfully he got to sam in time he was just using a mask and a poorly made disguise. Then the fact the moment he realized the ghost would be a problem. He asked his mom to tech him how to defend himself and fight. She loved the time they had spent together.

So he may be human but he’s been facing the undead and unkillable for a year at this point. And ugh. Vlad. The minute he found out he was phantom he claimed he was just like his mother. The only good thing about the fruitloop was he now had so much experience finding hidden cameras and bug. Guns and knives. He just had to be smart about.

Danny knew he couldn’t just bolt. It wouldn’t work. He still considered it as an option. He could always activate his distress signal on the PDA ticket snuck him. Seeing as his parents took his phone away and gave them one that only connected to them. He was a bad influence according to them.

Red huntress wouldn’t make it here quick enough and would just out her as giving two cents about a ghost ally. They were very careful to ensure she only looked like a ghost hunter. Gave her more freedom to help ghosts secretly.

Well. He’d do what he does best. Improvise. Play it cool calm and collected.

Danny: do you agree with the governments plan to eradicate and kill an entire species from a different dimension? Your answer very much matters. As i for one don’t.

Danny: the government is very much trying to kill me at the moment. Like sure i broke into a government facility. It wasn’t the first time. I couldn’t just leave ember and boxy strapped to medical tables. I can honestly say it wasn’t me who broke in the four times after.

Danny: but seriously they were going to kill ember and boxy. Like sure ember can mind control ppl by singing. And boxy can control boxes. But that doesn’t mean they deserve to be experimented on.

Danny: and like sure the dimension kidnapped my whole town for two days. But what do you expect when someone steal ancient artifacts from a different dimension. We opened the portal into their dimension not the other way. So really. It’s not their fault they suddenly have a new playground. That’s just how they work. Have obsessions and what not to fulfill.

Danny: and i may of broken then laws. But the anti ecto acts make killing an entire species okay. So if that makes me a criminal so be it.

Jason for his part. Had turned his comms on. And hadn’t managed to get a word in. Yea. This was a big problem.

Dpxdc 180

Did Danny abuse the fact the GIW needed his parents tech. Yes of course. Danny not phantom seemed to be the trouble maker as of late. His parent threatened to withhold tech and blue prints from them if the GIW touched their kids.

Did he get caught breaking ember and boxy out of a government facility? yes. He expected the lecture he got.

The next jail break. It was not him. It was sam, Then the third. Also not him. That was Val… then it was Tucker. But not him.

The blame fell on him.

He did not expect to be shipped out of state. The GIW were happy to cover all costs. Even got him into a decent highschool. And had an apartment all arranged.

Gotham?

Not where he was expecting.

The assassination attempts. Also surprising.

Not so surprising. Tucker found out the GIW wanted to “silence” him. Offering a lot of money.

Of course his parents don’t listen. He is 15 perfectly fine to be all alone. Even if he is near some place with the nickname crime alley. Nope. He is just being dramatic. They tell him no one wants him dead.

[iphoenixrising]

DickTim Week Day 4: Dark!Dick and Vampire!Tim

So. So. *Steeples fingers* this may or may not be the fic for you. Yet another combination prompt because the people on the Capes and Coffee Discord are fucking enablers. You know who you are.

Warnings for: captivity, blood-letting, missing-in-time Bruce

The hidden bunker is outside the city limits of Gotham, a perfect place to stay off the grid.

Officer Grayson makes the drive with the radio on WKKG, All Gotham, All the Time. He moves his head to the beat of the pop song blaring over the line.

The outside of the abandoned gas station looks positively deserted and if they were any more rural, tumble weeds would be rolling around the decrepit gas pumps.

Officer Grayson parks around the back of the building out of sight and grabs the paper bags from the passenger side, holds his cup of coffee in the same hand, whistles to himself as he gets out of the police cruiser.

A complex locking system on a seemingly outdated walk-in freezer opens up to an elevator that is decidedly the newest fixture in the place.

He hums the chorus of the pop song from the radio on the way down, small smile on his face reflecting back at him from the mirrored doors.

The underground is a completely different world.

Apparently constructed to be a bunker, the basement is lead-lined and spacious with all processes set-up to stay off the grid, perfect for his needs. He has a separate power supply, a separate HVAC system, a security system with nearly imperceptible cameras to make sure no one, no one gets close enough to the property without alerting him immediately.

And he certainly doesn’t want anyone finding his personal mission here.

Officer Grayson puts one of the grocery bags down on a table littered with notebooks and read-outs he’d left the last time after he’d gotten samples. He sips on his coffee as he walks around the first room, lit only by the emergency lights at the top of the low-slung ceiling, and turns on the power, turns on the lights in the rest of the bunker.

The beeps behind him are the locks resetting on the elevator, the only way out.

Dick is still humming when he passes into the next room, blocked on either end with thick, metal doors complete with a complex locking mechanism and impressive alarm system. The many tables in this room are filled with laboratory equipment, a biotechnician’s playground.

Half-completed analyses are still running on the impressive screens mounted overhead, status bar at 68%.

Five-gallon buckets under the tables with black Sharpie denote chemical names with dates scribbled hastily below.

Dick sips his coffee as he looks up at the running totals, makes mental notes, compares previous tests and results.

It’s discouraging, but Dick just sighs to himself. Of all vigilantes in Gotham, he’s the optimist, and he knows that each failure will just bring him closer and closer to success. He just can’t give up.

Bruce is counting on them.

With his coffee and bag in one hand, he lets the analysis churn, and enters his code in the next door, then places a palm print on the pad outside. Leans down so his eye scan can be completed.

Unlike the other rooms, the lights come on the second the door fully unlocks and opens to allow Dick entrance.

The reason for that is to turn on the intense sun lamps to further weaken the figure strapped down to the gurney in the center of the room, strategically lessening the possibility of an attack.

Dick puts the bag and his coffee down on the only table in the room.

“Sorry I didn’t come yesterday. Rupert Thorne had a big shipment planned and we were up late tracking it,” his voice is light and cheery, his smile wide and white. He comes to the side of the gurney, takes note of the slight burning smell that always seems to permeate the room no matter how much he tries to avoid it by making sure there’s always something between skin and pure silver. Struggling dislodges whatever he uses, so the result is the smell of burning flesh.

He clicks his tongue in disappointment, looking down at Timmy’s closed eyes and painfully pale face.

His frown deepens when Tim Drake rolls his head over to face the wall instead.

Silver chains wrap his arms, legs, neck, and torso, rendering him utterly immobile. Holy relics hang over the gurney as an added safety measure. He’s completely naked under a flimsy sheet.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” He asks softly. “I’m letting Alfred pick up Dami so I can spend some extra time with you today.”

IVs are grotesquely hooked into each major artery, set on slow drain. The multiple blood bags hooked under the gurney show the slow trickle as the bags fill to a crawl.

Tim’s violet-blue eyes crack open a sliver, but he doesn’t look away from the wall, away from freedom.

“That isn’t very nice,” Dick’s tone stays soft, yet firm. “You know what I’m trying to do here.”

The sound of Tim trying to swallow is heard over the soft mechanical beeping, the hum of working equipment. “You know how important you are to this, Timmy. I don’t like how you keep refusing to be a team player.” Dick pauses just a moment, eyes narrow, “is this still about Damian being Robin now? Because you know how many times we’ve been over this.”

Tim closes his eyes again, a muscle in his jaw jumps.

“Well, I think you’ve been sulking about it long enough,” Dick brusquely throws the sheet out of the way to show IVs, burns, and the network of complicated blood vessels below deathly pale skin. “You knew even before you went to Iraq my choices were the best for everyone, not just you.”

Dick checks all the leads, makes sure the drip is slow. He doesn’t so much as lift up the solid silver chains and nudge them with the cloth he keeps underneath, the point of it is to try and keep Tim’s skin from burning, temporarily cauterizing his veins and killing the supply. The last time the chains were displaced this much, Dick had made the mistake of lifting one, giving Tim enough power to bare his fangs and lunge. Since then, the chains have stayed put, only shuffled around a little.

“And if you would have just listened to me and stayed in Gotham, you wouldn’t have been caught by vampires in the first place. You know that, don’t you? If you would have worked with us at home, Ra’s would have never taken that much of an interest and led them right to you. Heck, you might still be alive and have your spleen.”

Shaking his head in frustration at all the events from last year when Bruce’s body was brought back, when the Battle for the Cowl had forced him to raise his hand against Jason again and break his heart over Little Wing again, when he knew Tim didn’t need any more mentorship, didn’t need the support and encouragement Damian did after losing their father, and the ultimate decision to let Tim decide his own future after Robin, when seeing Tim six months after his disappearance as a vampire in a cape, all of it had made the choice on how to handle this situation.

How to fix everything that had gone so horribly wrong.

Do what he had to do, try disseminating the secrets of immortality so they could bring Bruce back.

And like this, Tim is going to help him do it.

“But it’s okay,” he’s back to smiling again, “we’ve worked past all that, haven’t we, Timmy?” Dick is satisfied all the leads are fine and the slow flow unimpeded. He steps back to the bag on the table.

In one hand is a pint of O Positive. In the other, a Krispy Kreme with sprinkles.

Both their favorites.

“C’mon,” he cajoles after taking a bite of his donut, “it’s one of Steph’s extra pints. I know you’re going to like it.”

He holds the oozing bag to Tim’s averted mouth and patiently waits, nibbles on his donut in the other hand.

“Why don’t,” and the tone is hoarse, faint because Timmy mostly doesn’t really talk to him anymore, “you just kill me?”

Dick pauses mid-chew, blinking down at the eyes filling with bloody tears, the hitch in the chest that doesn’t really move anymore.

Dick swallows the bite, suddenly more like ash than icing in his mouth. “You know I can’t do that,” is more harsh than he means. “We don’t kill. Not even vampires.”

“Then let me go.”

“Can’t let you go out and kill people either, Tim, and I need the supply for testing.”

“This is torture. This is fucking torture and you don’t even give a shit about me anymore–”

With a flick of his fingers, a crucifix falls right on Tim’s chest, and the screams are awful, horrible, but that is probably never going to outweigh the smell.

By the time Dick finishes his donut, Tim is weakly writhing in agony and the screams have died down to soft whimpers, mouth open to show those killer fangs.

He dusts his hands off and pulls on a glove from the Nightwing suit under his uniform, gingerly lifts the holy item off, grimaces when tissue and flesh stick to it.

“Kill me,” Timmy whimpers. “Just fucking kill me.”

Dick scoffs and takes the chance to lean down, presses his mouth to Tim’s forehead. “You know I can’t lose anyone else,” is the softest of reprimands. “Don’t worry. Once I just figure this out, we’ll get Bruce back and he’ll help us reverse the turning. Before you know it, this will seem like just a bad dream.”

Dick presses another kiss to each eyelid, talking softly against the deceptively soft yet immortal skin. “And when you’re back to yourself, we can be together again. I’ll take care of you just like I used to, promise.”

Dick leans back up with a small smile on his face and familiar fondness in his eyes. He holds the bag up to Tim’s mouth again, ignores the red tears streaming down the pale face. “We’ll get there, okay? I’m close to the answers we need. I just need a little more time. But, I have to have samples to work with, which means you to drink, Timmy.”

Like usual, the pink tracks down his face stand out starkly in the false sunlight when Tim finally gives in and punctures the bag with his fangs.

[blossomingimagines]

Icarus

Harley Quinn x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,703

Summary: Like Icarus she had flown too close to the sun and fell-- though you were certain the fall Icarus suffered from wasn't a descent into madness. It was unfortunate that she had always been your own sun. Always pulling you in no matter how far you may go to escape. You just hope you won't get too close this time. As you were sure this fall would be the greatest of all.

Notes: I saw this idea floating about and decided to give it a try. Hopefully it isn't too disappointing for you all. This is going to be left open-ended in case you all want more in this universe, which I don't know if you will. (You knew Harley Quinn before she was Harley Quinn. You were rivals, in whatever capacity, and she always beat you. Until suddenly you were her therapist at Arkham.)

I also got the idea from @kiraimagine. (Wanted to give credit where credit is due as this idea was a really good one and I enjoyed writing it.)

Warnings: Mental illnesses as depicted in Arkham.

The tale of Icarus was one that you were familiar with. How he had dreamed of something for his entire life and that had ended up being his downfall. Flying too close to the sun, despite the many warnings beforehand, and his plummet back to Earth. It was a tale that you associated with personally. For you were Icarus-- wanting something so bad that you would do anything to achieve it. No matter how far you would fall because of it.

Harleen Quinzel was your sun.

You had known her for most of your life. Meeting on the playground at the start of fifth grade-- you had tripped over something and ended up sprawled in front of her and her friends. Her golden-white locks pulled back into a loose ponytail as she stood above you. Her blue eyes mocking as she took in your expression. You had scrambled to your feet with fumbling apologies escaping your mouth. Your face became as red as the shirt she had been wearing. Despite your efforts, however pathetic they may have been, she had barely given you a second glance before walking away. Her ever-loyal posse following along like lap dogs. And, even as you turned to head back towards your friends, you couldn’t get her bright blue eyes out of your head. Making you feel like you were falling all over again. 

From then on a rivalry was born between the two of you-- whether you were aware of it or not. You were a person that wasn’t even in the same galaxy as her radar and suddenly you became the direct center of it. Whatever things you took interest in, Harleen always followed. Of course, it always looked like a complete coincidence that she ended up taking the same courses as you. Always excelling at everything she put her mind to-- you in a close second. 

Even as you aged, going from knobby-kneed kids to maturing teenagers, Harleen had made it her mission in life to always one-up you. To always make sure that she was around no matter what. The first day of your sophomore year had been a clear indicator of that fact.

The crowded hallways of Gotham High were roaring with life. From incoming freshmen that were trying to get their bearings to returning seniors that were establishing their claim as the rulers of the school. You just rolled your eyes at all the showboating that was going on as you made your way to your locker. A hand clutching on your bag as you were jostled for the millionth time by a football player. 

Finally catching sight of your locker was like a breath of fresh air. A small sliver of sanctuary that you needed within the bustling halls. However, as quickly as the happy feeling appeared it vanished without a trace at the sight of the woman leaning against the locker adjacent to yours. 

Harleen Quinzel-- in all her glory. 

Light blonde hair falling loosely past her shoulders. Painted lips pulled into a smirk as she listened to the jock standing before her. Though you could clearly tell she wasn’t actually listening. As her, normally sharp blue eyes were dull at the incessant rambling of the boy. 

Hoping that you could quickly open your locker and deposit everything before she noticed, you slowly made your way towards them. Seeing that she was still distracted by the jock, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. Glad that at least something was going your way today. 

You shouldn’t have celebrated so early. 

The moment you made contact with your lock a perfectly manicured hand appeared on top of yours. Your heart-stopping at the feeling of her smooth skin on yours. Your wide eyes meeting her devious blue as she smirked at you. Numbly you noted that they were once again the sparkling blue that you were so familiar with. Though you couldn’t find it within yourself to celebrate the fact. Not when she was leaning towards you ever-so-slightly. 

“Y/N,” she purrs. “I was wondering when you were going to show up. The school is not the same with my best girl gone.”

For a moment you actually think she cared for your wellbeing, but the glimmer in her eyes made you think otherwise. Your lips thin into a line as your annoyance grows. You didn’t think you had the patience to deal with her today. 

“What do you want, Harleen?” 

A faux look of hurt flashed across her face. “I’m wounded that you think I need something from you, Y/N.” Her other hand rubs your arm-- you try to desperately ignore the goosebumps that appeared because of the action. Though you were certain she was aware of it-- if the look on her face was anything to go by. “I was just wondering if you knew that we were both in the same AP classes?”

Your stomach drops at the news. Her devious smile only causes your nerves to fray even more. “How? I changed my schedule three times.” 

Harleen shrugs. “Looks like it was a match made in heaven.” 

You shake your head with a frown starting to furrow your brow. “No, I know you did something. There’s no way we accidentally ended up in the same classes again.” Your annoyed gaze meets her amused one. “Why? Why do you like doing this to me? Don’t you have better things to do?” 

At your questions, her smile falls from her lips. A sharp look flashing across her face as she leaned closer to you-- almost to the point of her nose brushing against yours. You wanted to take a step back but the hand on your bicep stopped you. You had never seen Harleen look so angry before. Even if she wasn’t completely showing you everything she was feeling. You could tell by the darkening of her eyes-- an almost desperate quality hiding underneath. 

“I think you know exactly why I do what I do,” she hisses. “You just refuse to see what’s standing right in front of you. You choose to be blind to everything.”

Her voice elevates slightly towards the end of her sentence. An almost shrill quality to her tone that you had never heard before. It causes a small wince to flash across your face. Your eyes glancing towards the other occupants of the hallway. You didn’t want anyone to be listening in on this… whatever this was.

Harleen, noticing where your attention had diverted to, seems to pull herself together as she takes a step back from you. Her hand finally releasing your bicep out of the death grip she had imprisoned it in. Though the same darkened expression in her eyes remained even as she smiled at you.

“But that’s no matter,” she continues in a calmer tone. As if her outburst had never happened. “Just know that until you realize what you’ve been blind to I’ll always be here.” Harleen inclines her head ever-so-slightly towards you, her voice dropping into a whisper. “Nothing will ever be better than that.”

Then she was gone. 

Only leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and the confused feeling in your very soul. 

Even now you still had no idea what she had meant. High school passed you by in the same manner as your other school years. In a standoff with Harleen Quinzel for the top student position, which she won by barely a point. Not that you were too surprised she beat you at that too. No matter how egotistical she may be, you could admit that she was highly intelligent. In another life, you could even see yourself being friends with her. If only life had turned out slightly differently for you both… 

College seemed to be the only reprieve you were ever going to get from her. So you were excited to apply to as many as you could. Wanting to have as many options to choose from as possible. Anything to minimize the chance of Harleen choosing the same one-- even if deep in your heart you wanted nothing more than for her to do just that. 

Learning at graduation that she was going to Metropolis for school had been a shock. As you had been deliberating going there as well. That was before your mother got sick and you decided to stay in Gotham, however. A fact that you didn’t think twice about sharing with Harleen. 

Sometimes you look back at the night and curse yourself for opening your mouth. 

The party was already in full swing as you stepped into the house. Loud music blaring through the speakers. The sound waves caused the very house to shake. It was lucky that the host of the party lived so far away from anyone else. It wouldn’t do to have the party shut down by what was left of Gotham’s police force. Moving deeper into the party, you bypass throngs of people dancing to the beat of the song and random couples that were lost in each other. Your eyes scan the room for a quieter place that you could just rest in until the rest of your friends arrived. 

Thankfully, the search didn’t take that long as you quickly found a relatively abandoned corner. You gratefully lean against a wall once you reach it. Thankful that you had been able to find a spot that you could hide away in. As the party scene had never been a place you thrived in. Rolling your neck, you try to get rid of some of the tension that had settled over your shoulders from the past few days. Things at home were only getting more complicated but you know you made the right decision in deciding to stay. Even if Metropolis would have been a hell of a lot nicer than Gotham. 

Movement from in front of you causes your eyes to widen as a solo cup is thrust into your hands. The flimsy plastic bending in your hands as you stared at the woman who had given it to you. Your mouth pressing into a thin line at the sight of her devious smirk. 

Harleen Quinzel, of course. 

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Harleen,” you sigh. “Why don’t you go hang out with your friends and leave me alone?”

Harleen pouts. “But you’re my best girl, Y/N. Why would I leave you all alone?”

“Because your friends are probably looking for you.” You try to offer in hopes that she would just leave you alone. You didn’t feel like hearing her gloat about getting the valedictorian spot. Her laughter was not the response you were expecting, however. 

“Oh, Y/N/N, what am I going to do with you?” She asks but you’re sure it was rhetorical. Though at your continued silence her eyes flash with annoyance. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

You sigh, Harleen and her mind games were not what you signed up for when you agreed to come to the party. “I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to be getting, Harleen. Maybe if you actually told me then I might.”

She grins at you. “Now where’s the fun in that?” Her head tilts ever-so-slightly as she appraises you. As if she suddenly realized that you were wearing a low-cut dress-- courtesy of your best friend. Her blue eyes shone with varying emotions that you couldn’t even begin to decipher. Though they soon snapped back up to your face as if she suddenly realized something. “But that doesn’t matter really. I’m certain you’ll figure it out when we’re in college.”

Her words make your stomach drop. “What?” 

“When we’re in college, Y/N.” Harleen drawls. “You know the place where we’re going to be going for the next four years?”

“What do you mean we?” 

Her laughter, once again, catches you off guard. “Didn’t you know? We’re going to be going to the same college. I heard through the grapevine that we both got accepted to Metropolis University. Go Sharks.” 

You frown, your next words coming out before you could even think. “But I’m not going to Metropolis University.” 

Harleen completely freezes at that. Her eyes turn razor-sharp as the smile falls from her face. “What?”

You gulp. “I’m not going to Metropolis University, Harleen. I was but then some personal issues came up so I’ve decided to stay in Gotham.” You shrug with a rueful smile pulling at your lips. “I’m going to Gotham University. So it looks like I’m going to be a Nighthawk and you’re going to be a Shark.”

The smile falls from your face, however, at the look, Harleen gives you because of the joke. Her expression darkened even more as each second ticked by. Only the call of her name from her friends pulled her attention from you-- though she seemed more annoyed at the interruption. Thinking about the quickest escape routes you could take, to hell with your friends, you begin to shift away from the wall. Only to have Harleen suddenly grab both of your forearms and yank you towards her. Your face almost smashed against hers as she held you. Her voice coming out in a low whisper.

“We’ll see about that.” 

Before you could react, her lips pressed against yours in a brief kiss before she was gone. 

Only the scent of her perfume and the feel of her on your lips remaining. 

You hadn’t been surprised that come fall she had appeared in your lecture hall. Her ever-present smirk flashing towards you as she took her seat a few rows in front of you. You weren’t even surprised that she had taken the same major as you. After all, you both had always been eerily similar in your interests in that regard. 

Sometimes you wish you had chosen something else. 

Anything else. 

That’s all that could run through your mind as you made your way down darkened halls. Your heels clicking against the floor with a resounding presence that almost made you wince. The faint moans of the criminally insane echo from deeper recesses in the building. You try to not tense at the sounds. Your armed escort led you down various halls and security checkpoints before you finally reached your destination. 

A door, plain as all the others, stood between you and the reason you had returned to Gotham. You didn’t want to, God did you not want to, but getting a call from Mayor Hill had changed things. You had met the man on several occasions and you had never even considered the possibility of him begging anyone. Hearing the desperate plea within his words flashed you back to a time when your mother was still alive. When there wasn’t a giant bat protecting the streets of Gotham. You hadn’t had the heart to decline.

Even if you wish you had now. 

Turning to one of the guards stationed at the door, you nod. Steeling yourself for what you are about to witness. Your back straightened as your hands tightened on the various files you were holding. Your resolve only wavering as you stepped into the room. Your eyes take in the large abundance of space that surrounds the single cage in the direct center of the room. A single figure entwined with silk in the middle of it. 

Moving down the staircase, you try to ignore the way the figure's burning gaze followed you. The intensity behind it is both so familiar and completely foreign. Standing directly before the cage, you finally are close enough to the figure to see the way burning blue eyes took in every small aspect of you. A familiar smirk began to make its way onto her face when she finally met your gaze with hers. 

“There’s my best girl.” A grin takes the place of her smirk. A sight that causes your heart to lurch in your chest. Yet another reminder of why you didn’t want to come back to Gotham. Why you never wanted to return to the place that had taken everything from you. “I was wondering when you were going to visit me.”

“Hello, Harleen.”

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

Who’s laughing now?

For the sweet @jokersqueenofchaos​ 🤡😈💝

Hope you’ll enjoy this gift!

Many will tell you that Gotham is a city riddled with crime. And they wouldn't be wrong: for many years, the city has been home to criminals of all kinds, from mobsters like Carmine Falcone to dangerous madmen like the Joker.

All had a common enemy: the man known as the Dark Knight of Gotham, Batman. 

But among these criminals, one woman stood out.

This woman was called (Y/N) (L/N), but the population called her "The Red Queen" because of the blood she shed to obtain her criminal power. People described her as intelligent, calculating, manipulative, impassive, seductive, and sadistic. For this reason, they compared her to criminals like Harley Quinn, Jane Doe, and Poison Ivy.

And like most of the criminals in Gotham, she hated Batman and wanted him gone.

However, one person didn't see it that way, and that was the Joker.

The Clown Prince of Crime was not happy that someone wanted to break his toy.

So he declared war on this newcomer who was beginning to encroach on his playground. Instead of being afraid of it, (Y/N) was amused to know that the Joker was out to get her.

Besides, she also had another ambition: to bring Gotham's greatest criminal to his knees.

And she wasn't going to hesitate to put obstacles in his way...

It is what the young woman did one evening when she saw the Joker and Batman confront each other for the umpteenth time. 

Determined to spoil her rival's fun, she armed herself with a bazooka and aimed at both enemies before pulling the trigger.

In a split second, two solid nets caught the Black Knight and the Clown Prince of Crime.

"What the hell is this? Who would do this to me?" the Joker snarled as he tried to shake off his restraints.

"Just ask our surprise guest!" snarled Batman as he glared at (Y/N), who stepped into the light with a triumphant smile.

"You again?" the psychopathic Clown ranted.

"I'm glad to see you too, dear Joker," the woman quipped.

"What do you want now, (L/N)?" asked Batman.

"What do I want? Simple: I'm a bad girl. And like all bad girls, I love to break other people's toys. And you happen to be the toy of this crazy guy in make-up! So you know what you're in for!"

The Joker broke free from his ropes and rushed at (Y/N) with a dagger in his hand:

"Come here, you bitch!"

"That you think!" sneered the woman before kicking the psychopath in the torso, sending him flying into the background.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Batman managed to free himself before confronting (Y/N). Unfortunately, the surprise effect was short-lived, and the young woman managed to hit the Dark Knight back. 

The Dark Knight knew that the woman known as "The Red Queen" was a formidable manipulator, but he did not expect her to be a skilled fighter as well. Every blow she dealt him weakened his defence. If she continued like this, (Y/N) would end up breaking him a limb!

Fortunately for the Gotham Knight, the Joker came back and attacked (Y/N):

"We're not done yet!"

Narrowly avoiding the stab, the young woman pushed Batman into a corner and faced the Joker:

"Come on, Clown. Let's see who gets the last laugh!"

With a terrifying laugh, the Joker went on the attack again and tried to wound his opponent several times, without success.

As the two enemies fought with unprecedented violence, Batman took the opportunity to neutralize and bind them.

"Untie me now, Batsy! Or I swear you'll regret it! And you too (L/N)!" the Joker shouted.

"Oh, stop whining! Anyway, it's all in the past, Batsy: once my lawyers get me out of jail, I'll take care of you and your clownish jerk!"

"Hey: watch out! You're next in line for a bullet in the head!"

As the two criminals bickered, the police arrived and took them to a detention centre, waiting to find what to do with them.

As (Y/N) and the Joker made their way to the prison, Batman wondered how this confrontation between his two enemies would end...

A few days later.

At the Black Mask club, (Y/N) was enjoying her freedom while sipping her favourite cocktail. 

This time, her lawyers had been particularly effective. She only spent one night in jail before being released on a mistrial. She smiled as she imagined the look on Batman's face if he saw her free!

As she thought of the Dark Knight, she also thought of the Joker, her new number one enemy. Since she hadn't been able to kill Batman because of the Clown, she had used her energy to undermine his influence on Gotham. But there was one element missing to ensure a complete victory over this psychopath.

Sad sniffles caught her attention, and she turned her head in the direction of the bar. She was surprised to see Harley Quinn sitting at the counter with her head in her hands! 

Her mind quickly came up with a new strategy: with a bit of luck, (Y/N) had the opportunity to strike a fatal blow to the Joker.

Sitting down next to Harley, the mobster asked:

"Are we having a bad night?"

The psycho barely looked up and (Y/N) saw a glint of sadness in the Harlequin's eyes.

Showing sympathy, she asked:

"Come on, talk to me: tell me what's going on!"

In a shaky voice - no doubt due to her alcohol consumption - Harley confessed:

"Mr J dumped me!"

Inwardly, (Y/N) was gloating: this news was the perfect opportunity to advance her agenda. She gently stroked Harley's shoulder:

"You poor thing! That's no way to treat your girlfriend!"

Harley replied:

"He says I'm useless, that I'm always in his way. But I do everything to make him happy!"

She shrugged wearily:

"But then, he's never happy!"

"What an ungrateful man! After all you've done for him, I thought he'd show you some appreciation!"

(Y/N) glanced discreetly at Roman Sionis, the owner of the place, who was also one of her business partners. He was sitting at a table talking with Victor Zsasz, his trusted henchman.

She knew that he hated Harley and that if he knew she was no longer under the Joker's protection, he would not hesitate to send Victor to kill her. 

Although Roman hated the Joker even more, and if he were not so afraid of him, no doubt he would have tried to kill him already.

Continuing to comfort the lonely psychopath, (Y/N) declared:

"You know, I think this breakup is a good thing for you..."

"Oh yeah?"

"Of course! I mean, if everyone finds out you're not his girlfriend anymore, things will go to hell! But you're lucky: I like you, Harley, and I need a strong woman like you on my team!"

At these words, Harley seemed interested:

"You... Would you want me to work for you?"

"Exactly. Unlike that crazy clown, I know when people are doing a good job, and I know how to reward them. You'll be free to do whatever you want, without worrying. And what's more, you'll be treated as my equal! So what do you say?"

Harley Quinn mused: sure, the offer was tempting, but she wouldn't want to betray her Pudding. Although, the latter had not hesitated to abandon her several times when he tried to escape from Batman. And then, (Y/N) seemed so kind. It was worth a try!

She nodded:

"It's okay. I'll go with you!"

"Great! I was sure you would do the right thing!"

"What do we do?"

"You go back to my place, sober up your vodka and get some rest. We'll talk about this tomorrow!"

She gestured to her bodyguard, who came into the room and she ordered:

"Take her away and tell Fred to drive her home. Tell him she is my guest!"

"Yes, ma'am. And you?"

She smiled.

"I'll stay for another hour or two. I have a conversation to have with Mr Sionis."

"As you wish, Madame."

As the bodyguard escorted a drunken Harley, (Y/N) rose from her seat and walked to Roman's table.

"Good evening, Roman dear!"

Turning around, the gangster offered her his most charming smile.

"(Y/N), my dear friend! Is everything all right with you?"

"I'm having a very nice evening. Oh, I almost forgot: good evening, Victor!"

"Madam (L/N)," the thousand-scarred killer replied.

"Why don't you have a seat, beautiful? What have you got to tell me?"

Smiling mysteriously, (Y/N) replied:

"It so happens, my dear Black Mask, that I have come to talk business with you."

This answer intrigued Roman, who asked:

"Oh yes? And what do you have to offer me?"

"I have a proposal you will be unable to refuse. And I know you well enough to say that!"

Roman put his martini glass on the table and sat up.

"I'm listening. What is this tempting proposition?"

"It has to do with the Joker and how he's going to die!"

Hearing this, Victor's and Roman's eyes lit up with a predatory gleam.

"You intrigue me, dear Red Queen. Tell me more!"

"If it includes me skinning him alive, I'm interested too!"

She leaned towards the two men and whispered:

"If you follow my plan to the letter, this Clown Prince of Crime will be history by the end of the week! Here's what we'll do..."

Five days later. Gotham Harbor.

Sitting on an empty can, the Joker was beginning to lose his patience: Harley had better not have brought him here for nothing! Otherwise, he'd cut her up himself! 

Adjusting the collar of his jacket, the Clown Prince of Crime saw Harley Quinn arrive.

"About time! You know I've been waiting for an hour?"

"Sorry, Mr J. But I'm sure what I'm about to say will make you happy!"

"Oh, really? And what could interest me to move?"

Smiling like a little girl who has discovered a secret, Harley replied:

"I know who's behind the Batman mask!"

Hearing this, the Joker clenched his fists to the point where his knuckles turned scarlet: how could that little weasel Harley have guessed his nemesis' biggest secret? 

"What do I care, you pest? It's none of your business!"

He snapped his fingers and ordered two of his henchmen:

"Teach that scatterbrain a lesson!"

But as Harley held her baseball bat tightly, ready to defend herself, several black cars appeared, and armed men got out, pointing their guns at the Joker and his men.

The Clown Prince of Crime turned to his ex-girlfriend and asked:

"Did you invite them?"

"Hell no."

He heard a familiar voice.

"No need for Harley to tell us anything to find you. Just follow the sound of your voice!"

The Joker turned and saw Roman Sionis getting out of his limousine, followed closely by Victor Zsasz.

"Well, if it isn't Sionis. What are you doing here?"

"Let's say I'm here to settle a case. And that Mr Zsasz here would like to add a new scar to his collection! I figured you'd fit the bill!"

The Joker laughed.

"Say you want to kill me, that's all!"

He gave his most menacing look.

"You wouldn't dare, you rich brat! You need me to run your business, but I can do it without you!"

"But you're not irreplaceable either, you psychopathic clown!"

The familiar female voice pissed off the Joker: all that was missing was that bitch! 

And (Y/N) appeared, surrounded by three bodyguards. Her confident walk and triumphant smile did not say anything good...

"What are you doing here?"

"Guess, if you're as smart as you say you are..."

The psychopathic clown thought before answering with a laugh:

"You want to get rid of me too? I guess neither you nor Sionis are smart enough to understand that I am Batman's greatest enemy and the greatest criminal Gotham has ever known. None of you can do anything against me."

He shrugged.

"But since you're here, you might as well distract me! Guys, gut these three jerks!"

No response. The Joker turned to his henchmen and saw that they were standing still.

"What are you waiting for? Attack!"

Suddenly, his men collapsed one by one, and the psychopathic Clown found that they all had knives in their necks. How could this be?

At the same time, men and women dressed in black with masks over their faces appeared.

(Y/N) smiled:

"Tell me, dear Mr J., did I ever tell you about my Shadows? You see, Ras Al Ghul has his assassins, the Court of Owls has its Talon, and I have my Shadows. They are remarkable and efficient assassins who are loyal to me."

"So what? You're going to send them to gut me?"

"No, I'll leave that pleasure to my ace card."

The Joker raised an eyebrow:

"Your ace card? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You'll soon find out: it's right behind you!"

No sooner had the Clown Prince of Crime turned around than he felt Harley's baseball bat hit him hard in the jaw.

"Wow, right in the face!" laughed Roman.

"Sure, boss!" sneered Victor.

Falling to the ground, the Joker looked up to meet Harley's dark gaze. In that instant, he knew Harley was his enemy, and she would show no mercy. The Joker knew very well who had turned his Harlequin against him, and he had to admit it was a good move. It would be funny if he was not in mortal danger...

Another blow from the bat in the ribs and knees abruptly pulled him out of his thoughts. Coughing in pain, the Joker heard his ex-girlfriend say ironically:

"So, Mr J., do you still think I'm a scatterbrain?"

(Y/N) walked over to the Joker and pressed her foot against the psycho clown's ribs, making him wince in pain.

"I wanted to thank you for this priceless gift, my dear Joker. By kicking her out, you have deprived yourself of a valuable ally. Now, if you'll excuse me, Roman and I have a bat to shoot! But I'll leave you in good company!"

She turned on her heels and left, calling out:

"Harley, Victor, I leave him to you! Have fun!"

As she walked away with Roman, the Joker saw Harley and Victor approaching and smiling menacingly at him.

Knowing that he would not escape unscathed, the psychopathic Clown braced himself for Harley's next swing of the bat:

"So, Mr J., who's laughing now?"

What was certain was that tonight, the Joker would not be laughing...

Thanks for the reading!

I hope you enjoyed the story!

Please don’t hesitate to give me reviews or likes!

Take care of you! 🥰😘😍

[miss-choco-chips]

Favorite color

Ever since he was born, his world was filled with colors, a beautiful rainbow at his fingers. He’d look down at them at night, or when his parent’s leaving made him want to cry, or when a horror story told by a classmate in the playground scared him half to death, and find comfort in their silky touch and bright hues.

He was seven when he learned the meaning behind them. And the blaring lack of red signaled the first, but not last, heartbreak of his life.

Blue, green, purple, black… and bright yellow. A teacher, a missed opportunity, a first love, life and death… and friendship. No eternal love for Tim, it seemed.

Well. He hadn’t really expected any different. Who would love him forever, when his own parents didn’t?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He had forgotten it, and it escaped his notice for many years. Until one night, following Dick Grayson as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, when he noticed his purple string moving in synch with him. Pointing towards his hero, the boy who had given him his very first hug that night at the circus. His First Love, his Not Meant to Be.

That night, Tim packed up early and went home. He just couldn’t stand the red uniform contrasting sharply with his purple thread.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Dick left, he thought maybe now he could go back to his old habits, to run the streets looking for flashes of the new robin without the baggage of avoiding to look at his own hand.

No such luck.

The green made a whole lot of sense when news of Jason’s death reached him, tough.

It wouldn't be the last night he’d cry himself to sleep, holding the frayed ends of his fated Almost.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Becoming Robin was both easy and painful. Comfortable, because the blue string pointing him towards Bruce meant this was always supposed to happen; heartbreaking, because it took a kid dying. Because Tim might not have a romantic soul mate, but his hands, that had made a green string break to grant him access to the blue path, were stained red nonetheless.

Wearing Robin’s red, with all the hurt and bad memories it carried, felt like a subpar punishment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Meeting his Yellows almost passed his awareness. In the middle of a crisis, every adult missing, no mentor to guide him, he couldn’t exactly spare a thought for the kids looking shellshocked at him, each other and their hands.

After, when Young Justice was officially formed, he firmly avoided looking at Bart, Superboy and Wondergirl. Their eyes followed him, pleading, but he’d learned no good ever came from strings that weren’t red.

And the red in his soul wasn’t from love.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Despite himself and his best efforts, they grew closer. Life or death situations had that effect on people, after all.

His own reluctance, which had in turn provoqued Kon’s anger, Bart’s dejection and Cassie’s confusion, slowly began to crumble. He was helpless in the face of their unrelenting friendship.

The strings grew shinier, stronger, healthier, the yellow a stark contrast to frayed (dead) green, cold blue, distant purple. Scary black.

Tim still despised the rainbow in his fingers, but… he could maybe withstand the sparks of yellow he’d catch from the corner of his eye, knowing just who were at the other end.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It wasn’t exactly team training. Greta, Anita, Cissie, Slobo and the others didn’t join them, for whatever reason. It was always the four of them, leaning on and learning from each other.

When Kon’s strength frustrated him, when the world around him seemed to be made of bubbles and sea foam, Tim stayed late at night every weekend to help. Every spare moment directed towards coaching him, again and again, through exercises he had to come by himself (Clark was no big help, here), until exhaustion made his muscles tremble and Kon’s anger had burned out from frustration to soft acceptance that he just wasn’t like the rest. Until he could hold still and let Superboy trace the side of his jaw with a careful finger, and exchange proud little smiles when his face remained unbroken.

Bart being raised by video games had the expected outcome; he had little to no practical, day to day life knowledge. He was the closest living thing to a Looney Toon. Which was fun and good when crime fighting, his crazy ideas often saved their ass last minute, but unacceptable if integrating him into society was to be considered. So Tim would take him out, hand in hand so he didn’t forget himself and ran on his own, to leisurely stroll down busy streets, arcades, schools, libraries. Talk to people in parks and visit recreational centers, barter with street vendors and ask the little boy selling flowers on Jump Street how his mother is doing. Whatever Tim could think of that would soften Bart’s cultural shock.

In that regard, Cassie was a godsend. With her own attentive mentor, and raised like a normal girl until she obtained her powers, she was the most well balanced member on their team. Tim had started to feel a little restless (how can he help her, how can he convince her to stay…), when he noticed her frustrated, sad face whenever Donna was mentioned on Tv, when any reporter or older hero compared the two Wonder Girls. Familiar as he was with imposter syndrome, Tim would rest his arm around her shoulders and turn to the rest of the team, loudly reminding everyone to ‘speed up guys, Cassie here’s already done with her training routine’ or slump tiredly against her while complaining about ‘how immature they are, I can’t deal, thank God you’re here to remind me competent people do exist’.

It was familiar, to help them along. To nudge them forward and watch their backs as they went, firmly making their way towards being the awesome men and woman he knew they’d become. Lending a hand here and there, working on steading their foundations, so he’d be remembered fondly when they inevitably took off and went on with their lives.

He was used to that, to looking for ways his fated people would want him around. Being a good brother to Dick, an eager student to Bruce (a good mourner for Jason).

What he wasn’t used to was reciprocation, though.

Tim had learned how to fly from the best, from Dick Grayson himself.The boy with no powers that looked at gravity and laughed, sayed “thanks, but no”. But there were some things only a true meta could experience, ways to move his body just so, to take advantage of wind currents to either speed or slow his movements. Kon also visited him in Gotham, unknowing or uncaring about its meta restriction, risking pissing off Batman himself just to spend time with Tim.

There was Bart, kind, cute, friendly Bart, who would stop eating and playing around to drag Tim to the training grounds and run laps around him, as silently as he knew how. Making Tim used to fighting against someone quicker than him, lighter on their feet. To count incredibly soft steps even when they made no sound, and use other senses to pinpoint exactly where the next hit was going to come from. And after they were done, there was always a warm smile and some sweet treat (always different, as if Bart was determined to figure out Tim’s preferences by trial and mistake), the new knowledge and delicious prize worth the dirt in unmentionable places.

As stated before, Cassie was an absolute godsend. But it wasn’t just because she was easier to deal with than the rest. Or because she understood the pressure he had on his shoulders, being raised in the shadow of two incredibly renowned heroes. When Tim’s position as leader had been taken away (after Bruce’s plans for taking out the league became known, and ‘what if he has the same for us’), she took him aside. Hugging him, promising him the team’s anger was going to pass, that she could see why those contingencies might be necessary, that even if she was officially in charge, she’d always defer to him when it mattered. Her trust in him and his heart was unshakable, firm as the arm he’d put round her when self doubt arose its head.

(It wasn’t supposed to be this way; if they reciprocated, they didn’t owe him, and then how was he supposed to keep them close? To convince him to stay, to love the boy with loveless fate?)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Jason was unexpected, but Tim couldn’t hold it against him. Even there, bleeding out in the Tower, he felt… at ease.

His predecessor was back. Bruce’s son was back. The prodigal Robin had returned, by some miracle. Tim’s shift had come to an end; even if he died here, he had succeeded in keeping Bruce sane, and now that the real deal was in town, Jason could take over and everything would go back as it should have been. Everyone (B, Dick, Babs, Alfred) would be happier. Maybe they’d mourn him, for a bit, but with such a joyous occasion as a beloved one returning home, it wasn’t like grief could stay for long.

Someone yelled, near. Warm hands shaking as they touched his face infinitely careful, small fingers intertwined with his in a very familiar hold, a strong and slender arm around his back as he’s being held in a half hug. Cries, pleas, demands.

And while nothingness claims Tim, drags him to a well of black, yellow still clings to his eyelids. A touch that keeps him warm even though unconsciousness is supposed to be so cold.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Death and life. Damian.

Tim can see the first one, what with all of the brat’s attempts to end him. It’s the second one that has him stumped.

He knows not all strings go both ways. His purple one, for example; even if Dick was Tim’s first love, everyone and their mother knew Babs’ was his. Dick had a string pointing towards Tim, but it was a mentor-student one. Same as the one he and Bruce shared. Jason, too; Tim’s side of the string was the green of Almost, while the former Robin’s color was black (Tim taking his place as Robin, and being the only one in the family offering his hand again and again despite his murderous actions, was in some poetic sense the death of an old role, and the birth of a new family dynamic).

Damian, though… Well. He was almost sure they had the same color for each other (how else to explain such dangerous rage), but really, unless the kid was willing to share, it was only suppositions for now.

His only comfort remained the three beams of light, of a yellow almost golden in its healthy shine.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Tim changed his suit following Conner’s death, everyone thought it was an homenage. A way to pay tribute to a hero that was his closest, dearest friend. A way to never forget (as if he could, ever, with the lifeless line of pale beige, once yellow, dangling from his twitching finger).

They weren’t wrong, but it wasn’t just that.

Red had always pained him, in a deep, almost forgotten place. A thorn on his side, scratching against his heart. For the longest part, yellow had filled him to the brim, until hurt and yearning had no place inside him. With Kon’s warmth missing, red bleed in the place between Cassie and Bart, despite their best efforts to close ranks and keep it out.

Their sad eyes followed him during the funeral, knowing what the color meant to him. Just how much he was hurting himself, right now. But, lost in their own grief, there was little to be done.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

By the time Tim got the call about Bart, he already knew.

He ignored the ringing phone, holding a sobbing Cassie in his arms, both desperately clutching at their only remaining yellow string.

Between the two of them, color like blood seeped.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Every so often, when Ra’s voice in his ear became too familiar for comfort, where lines draw in sand begane to erode and blur, he’d raise his hand, eyes locked on the three yellow strings, and watch as Cassie’s moved, disappearing end pointing always in her direction.

He was fairly sure that, wherever she was, she was doing the same. Reminding herself he was alive as well, hadn’t left her behind.

Her absence from his life was necessary, finding Bruce a priority, and the red of his new suit (his new name) was proof of just how deeply it all ran. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t yearning for her lighter color.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They were back, and he was hiding.

He wanted to run to their arms, hug them and never let them out of his view, far from where he could protect them (keep them). He wanted Kon’s hand on his face, delicate despite his strength, un-trembling when Tim’s own would softly join it on his check and held it there; Bart’s fingers between his own, too steady and constant for the boy who didn’t know how to sit still; Cassie’s arm on his waist, his own on her back, as they shared the weight of the world in their shoulders.

And because he wanted so damn much, he couldn’t do it.

He was covered in red. His first love discarded him, his Almost died so Tim could have his Teacher, his Life and Death was so heavily focused on the last bit… his hands lacked red, but oh, how much he leaked of it in his soul.

He couldn’t let them die again, be stained by his twisted fate; even if it meant he could’t hold them close any longer.

Letting go was more painful than holding on, but he was used to it by now.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They find him. Of course they do; even without Kon’s senses, they all have beams of gold pointing them towards him, like Dorothy’s yellow brick road.

Tim knew it, was ready for it. And as such, had prepared the words that would push them away, to where it was safer.

Or so he thought.

“We are not leaving you.”

“Who cares about fate? You are ours, Rob.”

“It’s been long enough, Tim. Time to come home, we are done waiting.”

He denies them, shakes despite his usual iron clad control over his body, heart wrenching painfully at their decided expressions.

“You don’t understand. I’m Red Robin now. I’m not… I’m no good for you.”

“I could literally snap your back with the flick of a finger, shut up with that ‘I’m dangerous’ bullshit.”

“Yeah, even Bart could be dangerous given the right circumstances, you aren’t the only one here to watch for. It doesn’t mean shit to us.”

‘

“That’s right, I- wait, what do you mean ‘even Bart?”

“Not the point, Imp.”

They don’t get it. He takes his mask off, wants to give them a good look at his eyes, to read his emotions there and finally realize what’s wrong about him.

“Almost all my strings have something to do with death, or were touched by it. Don’t you see it?” He raises his hand, despite knowing they can’t see his strings, only their own. “I have no red here, only blood. I can’t… I’m not safe to love. I’ll never be loved.”

Kon snaps, something he had rarely done since their Young Justice days, hands on Tim’s shoulders, seemingly torn between shaking him and pulling him close. The latter wins.

(As it always does)

“This is love, you idiot! WE love you!”

Tim chokes on something (saliva, his own breath, emotions). Gasps, tears coming to his eyes unbridled.

He feels two pairs of arms joining the first one, a cocoon of warmth and unconditional love forming around him.

Bart’s sad eyes watch Tim from under Kon’s hug. “I don’t have red either, Rob. Romantic, platonic, filial… who gives a fuck”, he shrugs, before hiding his face against the red of Tim’s uniform. Uncaring of all it represents for him or perhaps doing his best to defy it.

Cassie just holds them all in the circle of her own embrace, forehead to the back of Tim’s head. Her hold is the tightest, and he just realizes- she lost all of them, didn’t she? To death and grief, all too far to touch, and now that they’re back in her arms, there’s little chance of her ever letting go again.

“Love has more than one form, Tim.”

He shudders in the middle of this weirdly emotional dog pile, and thinks. About Bruce and Dick’s pride when they successfully taught him something new. Of Jason’s reluctant smile when Tim first tugged him along to some joined patrol, sneakily edging him closer to the family with every interaction. Of Damian, who would often look down at his own hands (and Tim would honestly kill someone to know just which color the young boy had for Tim) and then at him, with something like hope in his green eyes.

He thinks… yeah. And this one…

(He gives up, closing his eyes and snuggling deeper into Kon’s chest, knees buckling but staying up thanks to his three rays of sunlight holding him in place between them.)

This one’s shape might just be his favorite.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

No Matter What

Read here on AO3!!

Summary: 

Bruce figures out that his son isn't straight from an early age.

That doesn't make him love him any less.

- Eight Years Old -

Bruce is finally starting to get a hang of this parenting thing.

The first few months were rough, there’s no disputing that. Bruce lost track of how many times he panicked and called Leslie Thompkins whenever Dick burst into tears over something and Alfred wasn’t home. Not to mention all the times when Alfred would leave Bruce on his own for dinner, insisting that one must learn how to raise a child without a butler to help. Bruce fed the kid burnt chicken nuggets and garlic bread for two nights straight. Now, though? Bruce is immensely proud of how far he and Dick have come. He’s even taken to attending PTA meetings, if only for the free coffee and doughnuts. He hears the front door open right on time, then wet boots hitting the floor. Dick had a half day today to make room for meet-the-teacher night later. Bruce isn’t looking forward to spending two hours sitting in a chair made for eight-year-olds, listening to a teacher in plastic pearls talk about an elementary schooler’s oh-so challenging curriculum. At least he’s only got the one; he has no intention of having more kids after Dick. Bruce busies himself with his mostly unburnt slice of toast, one ear trained on the footsteps through the foyer accompanied by unceasing chatter that Bruce has grown quite fond of over the months. “—and then they let us outside for recess even though it was raining, and I went on the swings and my hair got all wet and it was so cool.” “That explains the muddy clothes,” Alfred says. “Sorry, Alf. I’m not immune to mud puddles.” “It would appear so, Master Dick.”

The two of them enter the kitchen, Dick working his elbows out of his yellow rain slicker to reveal the school uniform beneath. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes bright. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, champ. How was school?” “It was awesome. It was raining all day and at recess there were a ton of puddles all over the playground and a million worms. I didn’t touch them though, ‘cause the teacher said not to.” “What snack would you like, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, taking Dick’s discarded raincoat and folding it over his arm. “Can you do ants on a log?” “Coming right up, sir.” Dick heaves himself up on the bar stool beside Bruce, his sock feet kicking against the lower cupboard. Bruce spreads marmalade over his toast. “Tell me more about school. Any fights today?” “Nope,” Dick says proudly, flashing his gapped teeth. Dick and another boy got into a scuffle on the first day over a comment about whether Dick’s parents being from the circus meant they were part monkey. It’s a miracle Dick only gave the kid a nosebleed and didn’t break anything. The principal let Dick off with a warning since it was his first time at a normal school, but Bruce has a feeling the only reason he wasn’t expelled was because his guardian is the most powerful man in Gotham City. Bruce had a stern talk with Dick when they got home about the importance of controlling one’s actions. Traveling the world in a circus train car doesn’t do much to help one’s impulse control. He also banned Dick from watching television for the rest of the night, but Dick’s crocodile tears swayed him to balance it out by letting him have ice cream before dinner. That’s good parenting, right? “I even made a friend,” Dick says. “Oh? What are they like?” “His name is Caleb and his desk is right next to mine, so we talked during reading time. Then he gave me some of his chocolate during lunch and we played on the swings together at recess.” “Ah, the wonders of childhood friendship,” Alfred says from where he’s slicing up a celery stalk at the other end of the counter. He sounds relieved, and Bruce finds himself matching it. Dick has been at Gotham Elementary for almost a week and hasn’t made a single friend until now. Bruce can’t tell if that is more because of Dick’s circus background or because he is a tan-skinned boy with the barest of Romani accents attending a predominantly white private school. Sometimes (all the time) Bruce loathes being associated with Gotham’s high society. If you’re not white, straight, and rich, you are automatically shunned in their minds. “He sounds great, Dick.” “Yeah! And he’s got really pretty eyes too. I can’t tell if they’re brown or green, but they’re sparkly like glitter.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You must like him a lot.” He takes a bite of his toast, making eye contact with Alfred over the boy’s head. Alfred doesn’t react but for a twitch of his mustache. Dick nods, focus switched over to the plate Alfred slides in front of him. Dick takes a celery stick and picks off the first raisin coated in peanut butter, licking it off his thumb. “I hope he talks to me again tomorrow. Alfred, can I bring an extra snack to lunch tomorrow so I can share it with him?” Alfred smiles. “Of course. I will pack a second cupcake in your lunchbox tomorrow morning just for him.” “Thanks, Alf.” Dick goes right back to eating his ants on a log, cheerful as ever, completely unaware of the swarm of question marks buzzing around in Bruce’s head. Huh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Eleven Years Old - Bruce gets home from a three-hour business meeting, his sandpapery eyes aching to close and stay shut for...let’s go with ten years? That should be enough. He loosens his tie and prepares to go upstairs to his bedroom where he’ll spend the next decade of his life hibernating, until he sees his ward on the living room sofa. Dick is lying on his stomach with his face buried in a throw pillow, as if he’s waiting for the sofa to swallow him whole. Must have been a bad day if he’s not sliding down banisters and flipping over chairs like usual. Sighing, Bruce goes over. “Dick? You alive over there?” “Mmph.” At least he’s conscious. Bruce sits on the arm of the couch, shaking Dick’s thin shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.” “Mmph.” “Bad day, then?” Dick nods. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dick shakes his head. Bruce sits back with a frown. “Alfred?” he calls. Alfred pokes his head in. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce gestures to their anguished preteen. “It would seem that our lad had a rough day at school. He wouldn’t tell me what, but I’m making his favorite casserole for dinner. Hopefully that will perk him up.” Bruce turns back to Dick, who hasn’t moved. “C’mon, Dickie. Sit up so I can see your face.” Reluctantly, Dick forces himself upright with one last groan into his pillow. His hair is mussed, standing up on one side. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He sits back against the sofa, miserable. “Better.” Bruce prods Dick’s ribs which earns him a giggle, goading the kid into sliding over a few inches so Bruce can sit beside him. Dick leans into his side immediately and Bruce puts his arm around him. “Now, tell me what’s got you down.” “I want to transfer schools.” “How come?” As far as he’s known until now, Dick has loved middle school. His childhood took a bad turn when his parents’ ropes snapped, but preteen life is at a good start. Until now. Dick’s gaze is trained on his sneakers, kicking them where they hang over the edge of the couch. “Some kids in my science class were talking crap about me.” “Don’t say crap.” “Can I go to a new school? Please?” “What did those kids say about you?” Dick picks at a dime-size hole in his jeans. “They called me gay,” he says quietly. Bruce tightens his arm around the boy, his heart panging. Of course someone had to bully Bruce’s kid. As if his life hasn’t already been hard enough without stupid teenagers making it worse. “I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just talking to my lab partner, and the guys at the next table over started whispering about us. Then they started throwing papers.” “Did you tell the teacher?” “No. But I know she noticed. Everyone did. She just didn’t do anything about it.” That sets Bruce’s blood to a boil. Teachers have a responsibility to protect their students, no matter what. What gives her the right to turn a blind eye to bullying, just because a couple of students might not fit the agreed-upon standards of “perfect” upper class society? “I’ll set up an appointment with the principal,” Bruce decides. Dick’s eyes get wide. “Bruce, no. Please. It’s fine, really. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal.” “What did you do when it happened?” Dick shrugs. “Nothing. My lab partner stopped talking to me, so I just asked to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the bell rang.” Bruce sighs. Middle schoolers are the worst, every last one of them. (Except for Dick, of course; he is perfect.) “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Kids can be cruel—especially at your age, when they start learning new words that they don’t understand the way they should. They think some words are insults or something to be ashamed of when they’re not. Most kids grow out of this. Too many don’t.” “People suck,” Dick mutters. “I don’t even know why they were saying all that stuff. I’m not...I’m not like that” Bruce bites his cheek. He’s going to have to be careful about this. “Dick, do you know what being gay means?” “Duh. It’s when two guys date each other. I’m not stupid.” “I know you’re not stupid. But gay can mean a lot of things. Men can like other men, just as women can love other women. Like Kate, for instance. Then there are bisexual and pansexual people who love all genders, and asexuals who don’t like either.” Thank god Bruce thought ahead and read some LGBTQ+ research books all those years ago when he first began to suspect that Dick wasn’t heterosexual. “And transgender is when someone doesn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Sometimes people feel more like a man, a woman, neither, or both.” “...Okay?” “I just want to make sure you understand these things, because part of being a respectful person means respecting others for who they are. And if you don’t completely understand the label they identify as, then it’s your job to try and understand it the best you can.” “Why?” “Because too many people in this world judge others for things they can’t control, and that’s not right. No one should have to feel like they were born wrong. And I want to make sure you know this, that way you can be better than those who choose to hurt others for things they can’t control.” “Does that mean the guys who made fun of me are bad people?” “I’m sure they aren’t. They might just be confused because they don’t understand that being gay isn’t anything bad or dirty. The people in this part of Gotham...they don’t accept a lot of things. They think that being queer or a person of color means you don’t deserve respect, and that’s wrong. It was wrong of those kids to tease you and your lab partner the way they did.” Dick nods slowly. “I’m not gay.” “I know. I just want you to be aware of these things. And if you ever have questions or need to talk, you can always come to me.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “Even when other people are nasty, remember that I love you no matter what, got it?” Dick shoves Bruce’s hand away and smoothes his hair back out, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Thirteen Years Old -

What’s the difference between a growth spurt and a shark? 

Dick doesn’t have any sharks. “We’re home!” Dick announces. He and Alfred stumble into the house, their arms filled with all kinds of shopping bags. With Dick shooting up half an inch nightly these days, he’s growing out of his clothes at a rate even Bane would gawk at. Bruce and Alfred can barely keep up with the kid. “Want to see what I got?” “Show me, pal.” Bruce sets aside his tablet and pushes his reading glasses up on his head. (He does not have poor vision, thank you very much. Leslie just made him get a prescription as a precaution, that’s all. He’s still young by anyone’s standards, just ask Selina.) Dick starts pulling clothing out of the boutique bags, showing off every one of his new sweaters and pairs of Alfred-approved jeans. After ten minutes that Bruce desperately tries to look interested during, Dick pulls out what looks like a t-shirt that’s been sliced in half horizontally. The fabric is bright pink with a chibi whale on the front. “This one is my favorite,” Dicks says. His grin is blinding. Bruce stares for a long moment, his brain a lagging computer drive. “What is it?” “It’s a crop top. You know, like a belly shirt?” Memories from Dick’s Kim Possible phase flash in front of Bruce’s eyes. “Alfred let you buy that?” “Yeah?” Dick’s smile flags. He lowers the crop top, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not...like it?” “You were supposed to get winter clothes, Dick. For cold weather.” “So?” “That’s clearly something you’re supposed to wear during the summer.” Dick pouts. “But I like it.” He holds it up against himself, twisting this way and that like an amateur model. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re not leaving the house in that until springtime.” “Oh, so Robin can wear tiny shorts in the winter, but Dick Grayson can’t wear a harmless crop top? I smell hypocrisy.” “Yes, because Robin has thermal leggings and a built-in heater in his uniform.” He looks back at the pink monstrosity, at Dick’s pleading eyes. “I would be open to negotiations if you’re willing to wear a sweater under it.” “That’s not how fashion works, B.” “I don’t care. You can wait until it gets warmer out to wear it.” “You’re such a drag,” Dick whines. He lifts his dozens of shopping bags and goes to leave, then turns right back around. “What if I wear a jacket over it and promise to keep it closed whenever I’m outside?” Bruce considers that. “Fine. But not below fifteen degrees, got it? And if I see you outside for even five seconds without the jacket, I’m confiscating the Xbox. Deal?” “Deal.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Fourteen Years Old -

Something is different about Dick today. You’d think his boots were made of helium with the way he floats through patrol, and then smiles into his late-night milkshake like it did his homework for him. Bruce sits beside his Robin on the roof of Wayne Tower, silent for as long as he can bear before he can’t hold it back any longer. “Did anything interesting happen today?” “Huh?” Dick looks up as if Bruce pried him and his thoughts apart with a crowbar. “You’ve been...different. Happy.” “Am I not usually happy?” “No, you are. Just seems like you’re...extra happy, for whatever reason.” A blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. He sips his chocolate shake and shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a good day. Nothing special.” Yeah, and Bruce is a goddamn unicorn. Still, he knows better than to pry where Dick doesn’t want him. It’s a delicate thing. “If you say so.” “I got a hundred on my English essay,” Dick offers. It’s a start. “Was that the one on Grapes of Wrath?” “That was last month. We’re on Animal Farm now. It’s not my favorite.” “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Orwell either. Shakespeare was okay, but I preferred his tragedies over his comedies.” “Of course you did.” That makes Bruce laugh. He’s not worried; the two of them are high enough that no one can hear it. Bruce even has his cowl down, his face exposed to the cool air. “They had quinoa burgers at the cafeteria today.” “Mm-hm.” Dick is dodging something, beating around whatever bush he wants to talk about. Bruce can be patient while he figures it out. “And I spent some time with Barbara after school.” “Oh?” “Yeah. We walked home together and we took this old path through the park. Then we kissed.” Bruce chokes on his milkshake. He coughs, his sinuses burning and eyes watering. When he recovers, he says, “That’s...that’s great, chum.” “Yeah.” Dick can’t stop smiling, a true schoolboy in love. “And she asked if I wanted to patrol with her tomorrow night, but I said I needed to check in with you first.” “I don’t see why not.” It’s not like Bruce hasn’t patrolled without Dick before. Sure, he misses the company on the few days a week he’s alone, but he’s not about to deny Dick the thing he clearly wants. “You sure? You look...freaked out.” “No, no. That’s...great, that you kissed. Congratulations.” Awkward. He’s so fucking awkward. Stop being awkward right now. He doesn’t know why this is messing with his head so drastically. Bruce has listened to Dick moon over girls for the entirety of his pubescence, talking about them like they’re goddesses he’s forbidden to look upon, Barbara included. And Bruce has seen the way Dick and Barbara interact with each other in between muggings, always talking with their heads bent close like they’re the only two people in the world. Who would have thought Batman could be a third wheel? “I’ve liked her for a while now, but I didn’t know if she liked me back and I was too nervous to ask.” Dick’s face goes even pinker. “Kissing her was cool.” Part of Bruce’s brain jumps at the realization that, holy shit, Dick just had his first kiss, my little boy is growing up, what a milestone. The other part is far less happy about this new development. Yes, Bruce has seen Dick win brawls with men three times his size. He can fly the Bat-jet on his own, knows six languages, and is even leading his own superhero team. And yet, all Bruce can think is, no, not my little boy, he’s just a baby, Batgirl is corrupting his innocence and She Must Be Stopped. With great effort, Bruce holds it all back. He’s read the parenting books, he knows that it’s important to be supportive when they’re at this age. “Good to hear. I’m happy for you.” He pats Dick on the shoulder. “Thanks, B.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Sixteen Years Old - “Hey, Bruce? Can I talk to you?” Bruce doesn’t look up from the metal flakes he’s testing. “What is it?” “I can come back later if you’re busy.” “No, I’m just analyzing some samples. I’m looking for residue from one of Zsasz’s blades.” Dick steps forward, tentative for once. “Need any help?” “I would like for you to come out with whatever it is you clearly need to tell me.” Dick snorts quietly. “Nice phrasing.” “What?” “I think I’m bisexual.” Bruce turns around, forgetting about the samples entirely. Dick’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes skipping between everything that isn’t Bruce’s face. At sixteen years old he’s finally tall enough that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Bruce anymore. “You...think?” “I am. I’m bisexual.” “Okay.” “Is that cool with you?” The question shocks Bruce. “Of course it is.” Did Dick honestly think this would change anything? Has Bruce done something wrong, made Dick think that he wasn’t loved unconditionally? Dick squints, appraises Bruce’s reaction. “You knew, didn’t you.” “No.” “Bruce.” “I knew a little bit.” Dick rolls his eyes. The tension slips from his shoulders. His arms uncross. “Of course you did.” “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Language,” Bruce chides, more out of habit than anything. “And do you realize how often you would come home after elementary school complaining about stupid pretty boys?” “That was just me being dramatic.” “I’m not disputing that. But they were still crushes, pal.” “I figured you thought it was just a phase.” Bruce shrugs. “Maybe for the first few days. But trust me, I have known you liked boys since you were a kid.” “Then why didn’t you just say so? It took me years to figure this all out, and you’re telling me you’ve been sitting on this info the whole time?” “Because this is your truth, not mine. I knew that you would tell me about it when you were ready. And you have.” Dick is clearly fighting a smile. He bites his lip instead, runs a hand through his mop of black hair that not even Alfred can wheedle him into combing anymore. “Well, I’m heading to the tower for the night, so don’t wait up, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.” He goes to leave, but Bruce stops him. “Hang on. Why choose now to tell me?” Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets—an obvious tell. “No reason. I just...wanted you to know. Just in case.” “In case of what?” “Oh, you know.” Dick waves his hand in a gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Life happens. People meet each other. You know how it is.” Bruce’s soul implodes. “You have a date?” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “Real detectives rely on evidence, not theories.” Dick winks. “Tell me who it is. Are they a civilian? A hero? Do they come from a respectable family?” If it’s Roy Harper, Bruce might have to bury a body tonight. Especially after learning about Harper’s drug problem. Dick is too pure for someone like that. Or—heaven forbid—that Wally West kid. Dick is already walking away. “See ya, Bruce!” “You come back here, Richard John Grayson! Do I know him? Does he know your father is Batman?” Dick’s cackle echoes around the cave. “It had better not be a speedster!”