#I wish Lazarus and YOU the best ^◡^

[yourubersawcrit]

oh a random rant yes?

i'm working on a fully fledged skilltree for one of my borderlands ocs (to be specific, lazarus the prodigy) and so far i have:

an action skill that's basically the chocolate milk item from tboi but with guns

1 aurelia reference

two Gay(tm) action skill augments

genji overwatch's deflect skill

an undertale reference in a skill that utilizes ffyl

Hey. I love you <3

[cottagecore-moss-king]

Not so Artificial Intelligence Part 2

When Bruce finally managed to get the time to look at the file Danny had added to the bat computer, it was almost patrol, and the rest of the family was filling in to get ready to head out. Even Jason had shown up, but that was probably just because he was bribed by Alfred with leftovers from dinner. Bruce couldn’t really blame him, Alfred’s food was the best in the world, but he does wish that he would show up more often just to hang out with him and his siblings.

Bruce sat in the bat-chair, graciously labeled with a sticker from a recent prank by Stephanie. She had gone around and labeled everything in the bat cave, but added the bat suffix in front. It had taken forever to find most of them, but he allowed some of them to remain. 

Finding the new folder was easy, it was labeled FROM DANNY, and left in the middle of the screen. Clicking it open and sipping his fresh coffee he glanced at the first document. The folder was full of notes, pictures and videos, but all of the previews were white, green, or black. 

Bruce started to read through the document, and chocked on his coffee at the contents.

Hello Batman and family, I hope this reached you before they do. I didn’t bring this up just incase you knew and were supportive, but how you act and how contaminated you are I will assume you do not. There is a Government Law that declares any being that has come into contact with enough or creates ectoplasm as non-sentient and non-sapient, but at the same time malicious {Abbreviated the AEA}. We are to be turned over to the GIW to be experiment upon and exterminated. This is literal torture, and I have gathered as much evidence as me and my friends could without being caught. I beg you, please be careful if you decide to take these people down. From what is on here, I think that Lazarus Water is a form of corrupted ectoplasm. Also, anyone who has died and come back to life no matter what are counted, and anyone with godly blood within them. Please Please, save us. My parents are the leading “scientists” which is bullshit, and they’ve already tied me down once. I can’t go through that again. Please, Amity and the Infinite Realms need help. If you don’t help us, I’m scared we may be forced to go to war, and I don’t think you can win against the godly dead. 

Please, I’m begging you - Danny Fenton {King Phantom}

“You good B?” Nightwing asked strolling over casually. He didn’t know how to answer, how was he supposed to say ‘Oh yeah, just found out that the government calls us non-sentient\sapient, and we are to be experimented and slaughtered. Also if we don’t stop them our worlds probably going to fall and we’re all going to die a painful death.’ That’s a fun conversation to have.

Clearing his throat he finally spoke up. 

“Red Robin, Oracle, I need you to help me sort through these, Nightwing, get the Justice league ready for an emergency meeting, call the Dark too. Look at this.”

“Are we sure it’s real though? It could be a prank,” muttered Oracle, though even she doubted her words.

“Even so, the threat is there and we should certainly look through this, and that means the League needs to know.”

Batman carefully mourned the loss of a peaceful evening, and his coffee, he was going to need to leave that at the cave, he had an image to keep. 

Nightwing wasn’t smiling anymore, Robin looked concerned, and Red Hood was openly gawking at the screen.

“I’ve called the emergency meeting, you three sort these files out, I’m calling up the JLD now. Guess we should warn Constantine to bring a couple extra bottles huh.” His joke fell flat, but Bruce wonders if he should bring some alcohol and coffee with him, image be dammed. 

“Wait a second, godly blood included? They fuckn’ shittin’ on Diana!”

“That’s what your concerned about Todd? Not that the we both fall under these parameters, along with Father and the rest of the collection? I will go fetch Thomas from his chambers, he will need to suit up to follow us to the watchtower.”

“Good idea Damian, tell him to hurry up. Everyone else, in the Zeta Tube, Alfred, you can stay here if you want.” Bruce gathered his laptop and moved the file over, copying and sending it to Tims laptop as well. 

“Thank you master Bruce, I will wait for the younger masters then I will be up shortly. Run along now.” Alfred excused with a bow, but even his face was shadowed in worry and thinly veiled anger. 

“See you in a bit Alf.” Dick replied, inputting directions to the watchtower in and doing a quick headcount. 

With a flash, the dark gloomy cave was replaced by fluorescent lights and the steel infrastructure of the watchtower. Hopping off the platform another flash of light appeared, and Aquaman stepped out. The group filled out as Aquaman politely greeted them. Making their way to the nearest meeting room, Batman and Red Robin began to set things up as the gathered heroes began to sit. 

“Hey Nightwing, what’s with the meeting, you never call for an emergency meeting, Blüd rarely has big threats.” Flash mentioned as he zoomed into the meeting room, last as always, and began to dig into his waffle plate. Where he got waffles from, Bruce didn’t want to know, they weren’t serving waffles in the cafeteria today, or yesterday from leftovers. 

“This isn’t just Blüdhaven, it’s all of the united States.” He worried, checking over one final time to make sure everyone was here. A collection of the main heroes from the Justice League, they’d need to figure out who counted as ecto-contaminated before throwing people around, and Constantine, Zatanna, and Deadman were gathered to represent Justice League Dark. At least he assumed Deadman was there, as a chair was pulled out and labeled for him. At least they wouldn’t have to race to find him, they could tell him just to stay up in the watchtower if things got bad. Finally, Robin and Signal rushed in, signal tiredly rubbing his eyes and his helmet in Agent A’s hands. 

“As some of you know, a person got stuck in the batcomputer a couple months ago. And was only recently released.” Murmurs and imputed questions rose around, and Nightwing promptly ignored them. 

“They left behind a file for us, and we were looking through it and discovered many hidden crimes from the US government. They have taken and labeled a whole species and group of people as non-sentient and non-sapient, and have been experimenting and committing genocide on them.” Again, a chorus of questions and yelling went up, and Nightwing had to take a moment to pause. A glance at Martian Manhunter reviled a stone cold face, quietly waiting for more information. 

“Oh god… what is this?” 

[venuslarkspur]

Teen Hero Shenanigans

Part 1

Jon My Love, There’s A New Batgirl.

Summary: Your Damian’s Twin Sister, after arriving 3 years after your brother so you never excepted to take the Robin mantle, until your brother runs away and you volunteer to take his place. Damian eventually returns and you are discharged from the role, after bottling up your anger you decide to go solo by running away and stealing the Batgirl. But your not alone, your sort of boyfriend joins you. The main problem is the boyfriend in question is your brother’s best friend, Jon Kent.

Pairing: Just Jon Kent x Batsis!Reader on this one. Mentions of platonic Jason and reader.

Notes: it’s not proofread so I’m so sorry if there’s any mistakes 😭 - Please read the prologue if you haven’t already <3

Warnings: Undertones of Misogyny, mentions of Talia being overprotective, Teen Runaways.

Words: 1.4k

————————

You weren’t sure if you had heard your father right, all you knew right now is that you had to get as far away as possible. You ignored your father calling out to you and ran out that office, you felt your dinner coming up. You clenched your stomach and your mind relapsed. It brought back bad memories from your time with your grandfather, being pinned against Damian and being chosen as the inferior twin. That’s why you weren’t the heir, that’s why you weren’t Robin first. And that’s why your currently sprinting you way through the house, Cass had called out to you and you felt dreadful for ignoring her but you couldn’t take this right now. You were displaced, again.

Yet one thing led to another, and suddenly you were stood in the bat cave, staring at all the costumes behind the glass. There were so many, but only one caught your eye. Barbara’s purple and yellow Batgirl costume. Maybe it was the Lazarus Pit trauma talking but suddenly your picking up the nearest object and smashing the glass, suddenly your putting the costume on and grabbing your phone from your room. Suddenly you’re jumping out your window and hopping the fence; you wished you’d had at least told Jason or even Cass what your game was, but it’s not like there would be much explain; your instinct just acted for you. And it felt good to hop over buildings in costume and punching a few noses on the way, as of right now you were snapping off your boyfriend’s window lock, and your feet hit the ground with a creak. Jon wasn’t there but you looked at the time on your phone which read 18:05, he must of still been having dinner. So you waited for 5 minutes and in true Wayne family fashion sat there on his bed, reading one of his textbooks; until you heard footsteps outside the door but continued on reading.

The door opened and you sat up straight and met eyes with the person you’d hoped to see, “Y/n? Is that you?” Jon eyes widened, many questions floating around his head. You slipped the mask off and got up and met him, “We need to whisper, and shut the door please.” You tried to say as politely as possible, he got the message and gently shut the door. “I heard…so it’s true that Damian’s back.” He inferred as you led him to sit down with you on the bed, you sat down and took his hands in yours. “I was happy but judging by this costume, did Batman fire you?” You nodded at him and looked down in shame, but he quickly brought your chin back up. “He told me I was discharged, but I’m sure that’s just a gentler term for fired.” You sighed, and as mad as you felt you saw this as an opportunity to join his lips to yours for what might be the last time. You slowly moved in and connected your lips to his, he sensed the urgency and moved in as well but didn’t quite understand the rush.

You stayed that way for a while, but slowly moved away as he popped another question. “What’s actually wrong?” He asked and you felt bad because right now he looked like a sad puppy, but you couldn’t drag him down with you. Not to mention you had to be more careful with Damian’s return. “I’m sorry but I think I’m gonna tough it out on my own for a while.” You took your hands away from his and instantly missed the warmth. He looked at you as if you’d just told him his whole family died. “You’ve actually lost it if you think I’m letting you go off on your own.” He took his hands back into yours. “If think you need to do this- I’m not gonna act like I’m not happy about it but if I can’t stop you I’m gonna join you.” You both stay that way for a while, and reality sinks in at last. “I can’t let you, your parents won’t forgive me not to mention Damian will feel so betrayed I’m just not sure..” you whisper as if not wanting anything to change but it’s already too late, everything’s changed.

“Sorry Batgirl you can’t stop me, I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you, not to mention the wrath of your brothers, jeez..” He blushes and on a more serious note you accept his proposal. “Okay we can set up base at the outskirts I think, I know a place.” You stand up and reapply your mask, he follows and asks “Are you nervous?” You grin and if you could look at yourself right now you’d probably remind yourself of your twin brother. “Nope, nobody’s taking us down and if they try they won’t try and come back for another round.” You give him one last peck before sliding past the window sill again. “Gather what you need, speak to who you need, I’ll be on the rooftop when you’re ready.” You smile at each other before slipping onto the roof without a sound.

You made a point to ignore the countless notifications on your phone, only messaging Damian with an unhelpful “Im okay.”

————————

You knew just where you both wouldn’t be found, it probably would of been ideal to just ask to make your team but not only would that expose your relationship, it would also make family reunions really awkward. You weren’t really thinking at all, you knew a warehouse you could operate from for the time being. It was where you and Jason trained for a bit, you had fond memories of being taken for ice cream afterwards and a ride on the back of his bike. It was nice to have someone look out for you, so much effort went into training Damian when you were young children, your grandfather tried to believe in you but knew ultimately Damian would be the heir. Which created so many insecurities, well right now you weren’t much better running off with his friend but as you saw it you needed to pave your way as well.

Talia hadn’t even wanted you to leave, you had to run away to escape your overly pampered life; and it took Bruce insisting you stay to get her to return home; but she still promised you’d eventually return to her. As much as you had wanted to lecture her on her overly protective behaviour you also wanted her approval. Sure she would be happy you were rebelling against your father, but would she approve of you doing it this way? Would she approve of Jon? Who was currently flying you both to the warehouse. You wanted to be validated, and that you hated the most.

You didn’t feel like being alone tonight either, you knew there was an abandoned flat above the warehouse, but you and Jason had never gone up there. But you didn’t mind if it was a 1 bed situation, if anything it would help to have someone to hold. Worse case scenario you’re both found sharing a bed and your brothers will lose their shit. As long as you both are fully clothed at the time, nothing too bad should happen.

And it felt like the most natural thing ever, patrolling together, the thugs being confused and wondering when you two became an item. Turning them into the nearby police station, avoiding cctv and returning to your new makeshift home as if it was the most normal thing ever. You had set up your own mini crime alert on Jon’s laptop and found ways to charge your devices. You even managed to spruce up the warehouse and upstairs apartment a bit, thank goodness Jon was raised normally and knew how to cook because you couldn’t cook to save your life.

But naturally your respective families began to put the pieces together, and soon enough Oracle was watching.

Taglist: @waterwyne @venusmorning

(If you want to be added please let me know <3)

(Part 2 is out.)

[hello-eden]

Wish Bubble : T!Danny

The further they went into the Wish Bubble the more uneasy they got. The town was normal. It seemed to be the afternoon. there were people they didn't recognize on the walk up to where they assumed Talia was stuck in the mind control of the bubble.

it wasn't what they expected for her Wish Bubble. It was a very tall building with large blinking signs with words they couldn't make out on the top. They walked up to the door and knocked.

Taila opened the door and she was not at all dressed how she usually was. instead of her hair undone it was in a thick bun on the top of her head. instead of a full black bodysuit she was wearing jeans and an oversized icy blue sweater. Instead of her lazarus green her eyes were the same color of blue as her sweater. instead of superiority on her face it was Joy.

“ there you are I was scared you're going to be late to the party” she stepped out of the way of the door motioning for both of them to come in “ Dami sweetheart, go get the presents from upstairs they're in my room” 

Damian stalled for a moment confused on whether he should go before deciding it was probably the best to listen to her orders for now. as Damien went up the stairs Talia turned to the door and closed it.

”is the work emergency over” Talia said as she turned around back to him and grabbing his hand “my sister and the twins are going to be here any second and they were really looking forward to hang out with you on their birthday” 

Bruce paused, confused on what to say. This was her wish bubble; they were in a large obvious family home. even in the doorway there were photos up on the wall. Most of them contained Talia and Bruce as well as three children that were the perfect mix of both of them.  There were even a few of his other children like a photo of what seems to be Jason's high school graduation and Dick moving into college.

“hellooo” Talia said as she waved her hand in front of his face “ you tired?” Concern was written onto her face. 

“yeah just a little tired” Bruce said back at her.

[somnoir]

Prodigal son beyond Time - part 2

Part 1 | Masterpost

Damian first met his great uncle Danyal when he is three years old. His mother says he's met him long ago, when he was but a babe with a memory too fuzzy to remember. But the man before him is his grandfather's favorite child. The son that scowls at his father as he cradled Damian in his arms.

"What have you done?" His uncle scowled, a gentle hand pressed against the back of Damian's head. "He's a child!"

"Danyal!"

"You weren't like this with me." Danyal spat, keeping Damian in his arms and pressing his lips towards his nephew's forehead. Damian notes how cold his uncle's skin felt like, but more welcoming than that of his grandfather's.

"Danyal, he is to be trained like a proper Al Ghul." Grandfather said, frowning at Danyal.

"You trained me like a proper Al Ghul when I was older than him!" Danyal immediately protested, "He's three!"

"Danyal—"

"Ukht, I understand that you wish the best for your son but this is not it." Danyal immediately said, looking apologetic for interrupting Talia, but went back to glaring at Ra's. "I've tried to tolerate the fact that you handle an assassin league, father but this? You taught me to be loyal to the family. You taught me to cherish the family, you're blood—why the fuck aren't you giving the others the same treatment you gave me?!"

"Because they are not you!"

Damian doesn't recall what truly happened that day, but he does remember how his uncle's eyes went from soft blues to the same shade that the Lazarus pits glowed.

Damian remembers everything going dark.

Damian grows up differently.

He continues on his training, but everything is kinder to him. The world is kinder when his uncle is home, having tea with grandfather and overseeing his training. Mother loves him and uncle Danyal the most, claiming that they are blessings to her life.

Grandfather is quieter nowadays, almost docile with his uncle around.

It's a little more peaceful. The assassin's continue to train, to fight. But their reign of terror fall upon those that are corrupt and destroying the world. It's one of the compromises uncle Danyal and grandfather have led too.

Damian grows up differently.

Damian's arrival to the Bats' lives was unprecedented and quite confusing. He was a child raised by assassins, a child raised to become the next leader of the league. But he was... Strange. Strange for that kind of standard. 

Damian was rather sociable, hostile but not downright murderous towards them. 

His uncle did make sure that he had friends in the league.

Ra's had been utterly ecstatic to find out that he had two more grandchildren while Talia was quite pleased to know that she had a niece and nephew. 

Damian had a pair of strange cousins who snuck him out of training to go watch the stars, often getting them scolded, but it was worth it. Dante was older than Damian by five years. He was what other would call an angsty teen with how he often rebelled against his father. Meanwhile, Janelle—preferebly Ellie—was only a year older than Damian himself. She was a mischievous person who made sure that everything around her was swallowed by her own chaos. So when he entered the manor, suddenly struck with the reality that he had multiple siblings instead of just one elder brother, Damian knew what to do. 

Murder was not the answer. 

But by the words of his gracious uncle and the wisdom of his excellent cousins: fight your siblings like a feral child but defend them by being even worse to others. 

So Damian's first act as Dick Grayson's younger brother was to bite him. 

The undead were restless, rising from their graves or haunting their own corpses. It wasn't something they usually dealt with, forced to call upon magicians. 

But even Constantine was bewildered by just how cursed Gotham's lands were. To bring back the dead. Jason was a miracle but this was like an abomination, a literal zombie. 

No one really knew how to properly deal with the dead...

Well...

"My uncle would be willing to provide his assistance in this matter." Damian piped up, examining the contained zombies from a safe distance. All eyes were quickly drawn to him, bewildered and questioning. 

"I hardly think that Dusan would be suitable for this." Bruce sighed. 

Damian scowled, "Not him. My grandfather's first-born is whom I speak off. He is knowledgeable in the occult arts of the dead." 

"Damian... Ra's Al Ghul only has one son." 

"Untrue. Grandfather's greatest pride was always my uncle. He is precious to grandfather and ensures that no one knows much off him. I expected you and Drake to be aware of the first born." 

Tim stiffened, "They weren't rumours?! Ra's actually has some cryptid son?" 

Bruce, who had heard of the old tales of the Demon head's beloved heir, had always thought they were stories to scare the assassins. He's never seen the man, nor has he found any evidence of him in the league. 

Jason finally started paying attention, "So the league's golden boy can help? Dami, I don't think Al Ghul will even let his favorite kid anywhere near us." 

"You underestimate my uncle's love for me."

"You met him?" Bruce quickly interjected. 

Jason shrugged, "He helped me out back then. Patched me up when the pit madness got worse and helped me manage it. But his face was usually covered and no one really knew his name."

"Aside from myself, grandfather, and my mother." 

Bruce frowned, "Nyssa and Dusan don't know their brother's name?" 

"Grandfather says that they do not have the privilege of knowing his name. Mother was the first of his other children to have met my uncle."

"And what about you? You won't give us his name?" 

Damian scowled, feeling rather displeased with his father's choice of words. "Names are powerful, father. My uncle taught me this when I was young." 

Constantine narrowed his eyes, "You're uncle some kind of fae, kid?" 

"Watch your mouth, hellblazer. He does not like you." Damian hissed, having heard all his uncle's rants about the Laughing Magician, especially whenever he'd just randomly pick up Talia and walk around Nanda Parbat like she was a kitten rather than a deadly assassin. "But I shall call upon my great uncle and ask him for assistance. This matter with the undead shall surely pique his interest."

"Tell the old man I said hi!" Jason cheerfully added, sounding quite pleased to hear about the mysterious uncle. 

"No." Damian blatantly denied. As much as he loves Todd (and he will never admit that), he was not going to let anyone threaten his status as his uncle's favorite child. Over his dead body. 

Damian was quick to walk away from all of them, quickly retrieving all the materials he'd need to summon his uncle. Dark green paint for the summing circle, five candles, and an astrology book. 

"Bats... Why the hell is your son performing a summoning ritual? For a ghost of the realms too." Constantine's tone was strained, clearly disturbed and wary of Damian's actions. 

"Damian." Bruce warned but Damian just waved him off. He watched as Jason started lighting up the ut, humming an unfamiliar tune. 

"D'you think the old man will help us?" 

"Of course! Uncle adores me." 

"You think he'll give me his name?"

"I will gut you, Todd." Damian immediately responded with the most nonchalant tone he could ever give. 

Jason shrugged, before taking a step back. 

"Damian! Whatever you're summoning—" 

"I'm summoning my uncle, father. He's the best person to go to with these issues." Damian insisted, before muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

Bruce was startled when Constantine grabbed him, eyes wide and rapidly turning pale. "Why the hell does your son know how to speak the language of the—"

Fire burst forth from the circle, slowly morphing into an icy blast. 

"Dead." Constantine's breath hitched, "Holy shit, your brat just summoned the ghost king." 

Bruce grabbed Damian the moment a hand emerged from the blast of cold. He shoved his on behind him, suddenly feeling frightened as his entire body felt goosebumps. Fuck. Did Damian really just perform a summoning ritual for such a powerful being? He never expected for Ra's to brainwash his son into believing that such a powerful thing—

"Nephew!" 

Bruce blinked, suddenly blinded by the light. 

"Uncle!" Damian escaped from his grasp, rushing into the circle. Constantine practically screamed once Damian ran into the arms of what was supposedly his uncle and the ghost king. 

In front of Bruce was the most gorgeous man he's ever met. 

The floating hair that reminded him of snow and the green eyes that were purer than the Lazarus pits. He couldn't help but swallow thickly, blinking. Damian was held up by the ghost king, allowing the boy to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. 

"Hello, dami (my blood)." The king cooed, his pronunciation of the nickname much different from the shortened version of Damian's name. "I was not expecting you to call me. What's happened, my dear?" 

Damian hummed, but before he could speak, he was immediately interrupted.

"Long time no see, old man!" Jason yelled, waving his arm as if he wasn't in the same room as the king. 

"Jason! Hello! How are you? The corrupted ecto hasn't returned, has it? If it has, just tell me. I'll schedule a check up with Frostbite." The king quickly fussed, not minding the way Damian was baring his teeth at Jason. "Damian, behave!" 

Damian just seemed to whine, refusing to behave and opting to pestering the king. 

"I'm good, uncle. Haven't gone out crazy since you took me to the doctor." Jason smiled, already ripping of his domino mask to show that his eyes were green tinged with blue, not glowing green like the pits. 

"Good, good. But I really must know why I've been called." The king softly said, directing his words to Damian who was already trying to wriggle our his grasp. Gently, the king settled Damian back on his feet. 

"Right. Uncle, my father, Batman. Father, this is my uncle." Damian introduced, his tone hurried and a bit hesitant. 

The king, Damian's uncle, smiled at Bruce. "Hello there, Mr. Wayne. I've wanted to meet you for a long time." The king hummed, "My name's Danny, but the Al Ghuls call me Danyal." 

"Uncle!" 

"Hush, hush, Damian. I can give my name to anyone I want. I don't suppose that your father is worthy of it."

Bruce really should be more concerned about the fact that the king knew his name. 

"But what of the others?" 

"Little one, I sent Nyssa and Dusan letters ages ago. But rest assured, dearest Talia is still the first to earn it." Danny—Danyal—the ghost king softly spoke and patted Damian's head. "And... Oh, it's you."

"Your majesty!" Constantine enthusiastically greeted while Danny scowled. 

"Tax evading bastard." Danny huffed, shaking his head before promptly ignoring the tax evading bastard in question. 

"Damian." 

"The dead are rising."

Danny blinked, blinked again, before he groaned and shook his head. 

"Okay, sorry. That seemed to be caused by an error on my side. Some prisoners of my realms started a riot and some of them managed to break out. Some have most likely decided to overshadow their old bodies." Danny sighed, "I'll have this taken care of. Apologies for the inconveniences."

"These... Zombies have been wrecking havoc across my city." Bruce frowned, "They've been harming people."

"Vengeful spirits do that. They're criminals meant to be in prison. It's rare for breakouts to happen, in all honesty." Danny paused, just long enough to run his fingers through Damian's hair. "But if you wish to take charge, by all means. These are corpses being possessed by their own spirits and... Well... They're out of their minds. Not really considered revenants since the possession isn't quite permanent." 

"Alright, Bats. We've gotta make a proper deal here. His Majesty was summoned so we've gotta offer him something—" 

"That's not necessary." Danny immediately waved Constantine away, evident displeasure from the man. "The sigil I gave Damian was just to call me to him. No need for an exchange."

"Seriously?" Constantine blurted out. 

Danny just shrugged, "He's family. And my favorite nephew." 

Damian smirked, absolutely smug. "I am your only nephew, uncle."

"Mm... Jason's also my nephew." Danny chuckled softly, easily stepping out of the circle and removing it from the floor—leaving not a single stain. "Now... Shall we deal with the dead?" 

Bruce Wayne has made many bad decisions in his life, especially when it came to his relationships. Damian's ghost king of an uncle might be one of them.

Masterpost

[deadsetobsessions]

Once more the hallucinations hit, and once more I am here writing it out.

My brain is fucking terrifying and I want out, so bad. This came to me in the form of a nightmare.

Also, please don’t take the timeline into consideration, because I have no idea what’s going on. Again, nightmares and dreams tend to not have the best coherency when it comes to plot and timelines. The reincarnation doesn’t have a name, I was too busy feeling terrified. Shit in parentheses was how I experienced the nightmare. Everything else is just me adding sprinkle sprinkle.

——

Ra’s al Ghul.

Talia al Ghul.

Two names that she had been aware of, in the peripherals of her hyper fixation. Two characters meant to enhance the story of the Dark Knight. Side characters, on a good day. Perhaps, a main antagonist on a better day.

On a bad day?

Main characters. Real, living people. Real, living, breathing assassins.

Unfortunately, they’re her new family. One she remembered coming into, bathed in a pool of blood and screams.

She was not a baby.

She is now, a baby. The first of Talia al Ghul’s children. The eldest, once Damian al Ghul was born.

Swaddled in emerald green and gold silks, she was presented to a man with silver streaked hair and a receding hairline. He too, was robed in green and golds.

“A daughter, Talia?” He rumbled, the smooth Arabic flowing out of his mouth failing to hide the acrid disappointment. The child, past the haze of confusion of suddenly being deported from her own adult body into one of a helpless child, felt a stirring of irritation. It’s good she learned the language, because now she knew exactly how Ra’s felt about her. The child grumbled a displeased sound. Not that she would have ignored the fact that her grandfather was Ra’s al Ghul. (He smelled like moth eaten fabric and blood- but I think that was because my cat accidentally scratched me.)

“My apologies, father.”

“Do not tell the young detective of this. Had it been a son, perhaps things would have been different. No, a daughter would only hinder him.”

Talia bowed, hands tightening on her daughter. “May I raise her, father?”

“A resource is still a resource. Go ahead, Talia.”

“Yes, father.” Talia took the dismissal and bowed before leaving.

On her way back to the room with the reincarnation’s crib, Talia al Ghul stroked her daughter’s head.

“I wish you were born a boy, my daughter. I am sorry my beloved will never know of you.”

The reincarnation looked at her new mother. She’s young, the woman-child realized. A teenager.

“You’ll have to be useful, my daughter. Your grandfather is not so kind as to keep the useless. I… do not wish for your death,” her mother muttered.

Great. She got new life and it’s already in danger.

——

She learned to swing a knife. Swords. She learned and devoured the teachings. She learned to be useful.

But then they asked her to take the life of a man who did her no wrong.

Her baby blues clashed with her grandfather’s Lazarus green.

She was still young. A child.

“No.”

“No?”

“He did no wrong.”

“He failed, granddaughter.” Ra’s smiled down at her, patronizing. Cruel. “Perhaps you possess your father’s heart, and you are foolishly sentimental, as women and children tend to be. But in the end, you are an al Ghul and you will obey. Plunge in your blade and I will reward you.”

The reincarnation looked at the man kneeling in front of her, resignation and a hint of pity in what little she could see of his face.

She’s already died before. What did she have to be afraid of?

“No.”

They tried to beat the weakness out of her. It didn’t work.

——

The reincarnation stared at the mirror, left alone in an opulent cage of gold and emeralds and precious stones that meant little to her now.

Her hands traced her back, small fingers finding purchase in soft skin. Her mouth opened fruitlessly, noise refusing to escape. She still felt the burning magic, the brand her own blood had carved into her skin and soul because she refused to kill. The chains her grandfather had shackled around her with magic and cruel amusement.

She had killed him, in the end. Obey, or be punished. Her body had moved without her permission, the reincarnation a prisoner in a body that refused to do as she commanded. The knife swung, a life taken, her hands dipped in red.

She learned a valuable lesson that day.

There were things worse than death.

“This is an order, granddaughter.”

The Magic had flared a searing heat at her neck, forcing her to kneel on broken legs. Ra’s loomed above, authority in his voice. She was bound to obey, regardless.

“You will never speak another word of affection, you will never speak another word to anyone unless I allow it. Perhaps this will teach you of your folly, and your place in this world.”

The loss of her freedom and the fear that came with it was a bitter and devastating lesson.

——

Ra’s al Ghul was so much worse than what little she knew of him.

She was right to be afraid for herself.

Her mother had worried, when she’d withdrawn and refused to speak to her. Even if she could, the reincarnation would not have wanted to. The reincarnation had felt furious, back then, when she thought of Talia. Her mother who refused to protect her. Her mother, who claimed she loved her but refused to see the chains Ra’s wrapped around her neck. She who plied the reincarnation with a supportive hand but forced her into the fighting pits.

But, as the reincarnation stumbled out on bruised and used legs from Ra’s al Ghul’s meeting chambers where he had allowed his business partners to partake in her, she realized that Ra’s was a monster in a human’s body and her mother was a victim of his making.

The lesson Ra’s taught her that day was that if she was not useful, if she did not kill, he would take what was left of her and make use of her.

Hate flared in her heart, and the beginning of Ra’s downfall began the day he let her go from the chambers alive. Injured, but alive. Injured and violated, but alive and furious.

——

She carved her hate and rage and helplessness and fear in the bodies of the people he bid her to kill. Her silenced screams were expressed in the way she splattered blood, the way she covered herself in it. A killing machine first, a stress reliever second, and a child… wasn’t on the list of things she was allowed to be.

His enemies were felled, one after another. He gave her his approval, something she detested.

But still, she continued, bodies racking upwards, tens turning to hundreds, hundreds edging into thousands.

The red in her ledger became ichor and guilt. Her language became violence and obedience.

“You have become a sharp tool, granddaughter.”

She was a genius, after all. And now, she could not disobey. A blade that Ra’s believed will never point towards him. She kneeled. She obeyed.

“Thank you, grandfather.” Her words were only allowed to come out- without searing, terrible pain- when she was thanking him. She tried not to do it as often as he wanted. He thought he broke her when he read the obedience she carved into her body language.

But she never bowed. Never. Not to him. Never.

——

“My weapon could learn much from your granddaughter,” David Cain sat across from Ra’s, wine in their stupid goblets. How she detested the green and blacks he’s seen fit to dress her with. She’s dressed provocatively, not of her own choice. She doesn’t have much of those- doesn’t have much in ways of choices- these days.

She was twelve, and Ra’s al Ghul deserved to die.

“Her combat is a higher form of what my daughter has achieved. How did you do it?”

When Ra’s began to reply, she slipped away.

She found the girl. She found… the cage- the black box- the child was placed in. The child flinched from her when she opened the metal box, fear only easing as the reincarnation kept her body language neutral and kind. (It was pitch black, and about the size of like, a closet. No light. Only from whatever door the box had.) (Cass’ hands hurt from banging on the walls to be let out)

David Cain’s daughter, her mind whispered, the memories of another life once more making itself known.

“Cassandra.” She whispered, regretting it immediately when pain wracked her body. She fell to her knees as the punishment for disobeying an order slammed into her.

The girl looked at her in concern, but did not move closer. The reincarnation stared at this girl and saw a reflection of herself.

David Cain would be here for a month. She will free Cassandra in those days.

——

The weapon stared at the girl in front of her, kneeling in pain.

She did not understand.

-

The girl came back. Water. Food. Kind.

The weapon felt warm. The girl was quiet. No sounds. Good. The weapon knew the girl understood. The weapon thinks that the girl is a weapon too.

-

The girl comes back, again. This time, she makes a sound. It hurt her, but she did it again. The weapon understands when the girl points at herself and repeats the sound. The sound means the girl. The girl expects something from the weapon.

The weapon makes the sound, flinching to see if the owner will come to punish it. The girl purposefully sits, relaxed but vigilant… and protective. Of the weapon?

The weapon relaxed. It repeated the sound, pointing at the girl.

The girl smiles, in pain. But approval. The weapon feels- the weapon is warm, like under the blanket. Approval.

The girl teaches her to make sounds but the weapon communicates without it. It does not like the sounds, does not need them, but the girl seems to think it’s important.

The weapon likes the girl, so the weapon learns. They still understand through no sounds, through reading each other.

-

The girl comes back, silently. Secretly. The weapon does not notify the owner. The weapon feels- does not want to.

The girl- the girl with the sound- she says a different sound. Her body tells the weapon that it’s important, this sound.

And when the girl points at herself and says her own sound, then points at the weapon and says that new sound again, the weapon begins to understand.

The girl had given the weapon her own sound.

“Cass—n- ra.”

“Cass,” the girl said, and Cassandra understood.

“Cass.” Cassandra pointed to herself.

-

The owner wanted- wanted Cassandra to end a life. Cassandra watched the owner kill and gesture to the dead thing.

Cassandra did not want to.

When Cassandra is placed back into the pitch black box, she waited for the girl.

The girl came.

“Don’t want.” Cassandra clung to her, reading the welcome and the sadness in the girl’s body. Cassandra tucked her face into the girl’s shoulder. She is cold. The girl is warm.

The girl hugged her back. The girl understood. Sadness hardened into lines of determination. Cassandra felt… light. Felt hope.

-

Cassandra slipped away from the place, water in her pack for the dessert and money to run from the country. The girl stayed behind, seeing her off. The girl tells her to never come back.

Cassandra did not want to leave the girl behind, but the girl could not go.

“Be free, Cass.” The girl had whispered through the pain. “For the both of us.”

——

Her grandfather knew. He allowed David Cain to break her, not kill because she was of use to him still, as a lesson. She found that she hated his lessons. But, she hated his attention more.

And still, she could not regret. How could she, when Cass trusted her with what fragile hope she had?

So, she lets him beat her, and provokes him with smirks and fearless eyes because the longer he’s focused on her, the more time Cass has to run.

Then, he gets too angry, and insults Ra’s, whose eyes grew cold. Her grandfather gestured and while she usually hated the command that followed that gesture, she could not feel that hatred now.

She got back up, legs broken and arms twisted once more, and attacked David Cain.

Ra’s would not follow Cass. Not when she was not his business to deal with, and not when David Carin’s fury amused him so.

David Cain would not follow Cass. Not while she still drew breath. The reincarnation stood, and threw herself at one of the best assassins of the century.

She tore his throat out with nothing but her teeth. She felt, for once, not like a monster. Not even when Ra’s nodded in approval and ordered for David Cain’s broken body to be cleaned up.

——

She’s been granted a mission in New Jersey, once her months of discipline- of torture- ended. She does not get ordered to find Cassandra. She’s fourteen now, and as silent as ever. Her mother had adjusted to her silence by then- long ago, actually, taking it as a quirk her daughter had developed. She hadn’t been a terribly vocal child, after all. Talia praised her for being useful even as a woman- the self degradation something the reincarnation had no doubt Ra’s had insidiously trained into Talia- and for being loyal to Ra’s.

Sometimes, she hates Talia for being- for-

Never mind. She couldn’t afford to hate anyone else.

She killed her targets early, determination and wistfulness urging her movements into sharp . Then, she made her way to Gotham and slipped into the city of darkness- where her father was.

She watched as he hid in the shadows almost as easily as she did. She watched as he flew and glided with the younger Robin. (He was younger than her by a year. She checked.) He was free. They were free.

She wished…

As she turned away, she saw a child tumbling from the edge of a roof. It was an instinct she’d thought Ra’s had managed to bury after the months he’d spent making sure she killed only children.

She hated him.

She caught him, swooping in and tucking him against her side as she plucked him from the air and plopped him back onto the crumbling roof of Gotham’s slums.

“Oh, thank you! So much- are you a vigilante?” The boy asked, looking at her masked face. It’s a good thing she wasn’t exactly dressed like a regular League operative.

She shook her head. Her eyes fell onto his camera, faint memories rising once more. She had an inkling-

“I’m- uh- Tim!” The boy introduced himself nervously, edging away from her silence. “Thank you for saving me…?”

She nodded. She pointed to the camera, tilting her head.

“Oh- you… want to see it?” He clutched his camera closer. Oh, he did have some sense of self preservation. She wondered why a seven year old was allowed to roam these streets… but she did worse at seven.

She held her hand up and back up. The boy hesitated, and then showed her the camera. “Uh- I took pictures of Robin and Batman!”

They sat on that roof for hours, and she let Tim Drake tell her stories about her father and his son. Ward. Son.

She could tell that Tim didn’t have anyone to listen to him.

She didn’t have long until she had to go back or risk severe punishment, but… she could make time for Tim, to listen to him.

She wondered if Cass managed to escape completely. She wondered if her sister all but in name and blood learned how to smile.

——

Tim had never had a friend before!

She listened to him! And gave him hugs the one time he was brave enough to ask! And she seemed to like Batman and Robin as much as he did! No one who didn’t like them would listen to his endless rambling otherwise, right? (Tim was super skinny, like ribs poking out skinny. He looked like a sickly Victorian child and he was kind of cold)

“And then, Robin went like this,” he pantomimed the awesome punch Dick Grayson did on a Joker goon. “And the guys got knocked out just like that!”

His new friend nodded, looking interested.

“Sorry, am I talking too much?” Tim asked anxiously. He didn’t want to make his friend hate him!

She shook her head, and gestured for him to continue.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

His new friend was so cool! She even taught him how to throw a punch and to fight!

——

When she had to leave, she prepared Tim for it.

“Do you have to go?”

She nodded and placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair. Her other hand held a duffle bag with an assortment of weapons she carefully kept from him. (One of the blades still had guts on it, which, ew.)

“Try not to fall off anymore roofs, little photographer.” She said, smiling at his shocked look before leaping away.

“Wait, you can talk?!” He shouted at her back. She smiled a little wider.

——

“A son, this time.” Ra’s al Ghul’s voice echoed in his disgustingly flashy throne room. It rings of approval.

The reincarnation stood behind her mother, eyes cast downwards.

“Well done, Talia. I finally have a worthy heir.”

Damian al Ghul cooed.

The reincarnation was scared. But… she could not allow her younger brother to be trapped like she was. She’s fifteen now, a decade of slavery having worn her down and nearly broken her. But with her brother… no, she could not allow it.

She met her mother’s eyes and knew then that they agreed. Protect Damian, at all costs.

She ignored the sting of envy. So what her mother could not find it in herself to protect her daughter? So long as she protected Damian, it didn’t matter.

Maybe she didn’t matter. Maybe she wasn’t worth anything. Maybe- maybe- maybe.

She also ignored the seed of disgust she had for mother’s actions in conceiving Damian. She couldn’t do anything about it. Talia was also a victim.

A louder voice in her asked if she could really excuse that, when Talia had a choice and she chose to hurt and violate Bruce Wayne like that. She wondered if she could truly ever forgive Talia. She wondered if Bruce Wayne got therapy.

——

She stared at the tome in front of her, eyes blank. (Actually, she had no eyes. Like? Empty sockets, but then later she had eyes???)

The brand- the shackles- the chains could only be broken if Ra’s died. She wasn’t opposed to that. But if he died, so did she. She couldn’t even kill herself to get out, because the chains would be there even if she died. If she was revived- a high chance, thanks to the fucking pits- then the chains would still be there.

Perhaps… she could use the pits?

Her mind turned and turned.

——

“This is your ukht.” Her mother pointed at her. Damian stared up at her, and she melted. Her brother was too damn cute.

“Ukhti?”

She nodded as her mother smiled in joy. “Yes, habibi.”

She was better at hiding the pain, now. She was better at enduring it, too, that fucking burning feeling. She spoke more, but only to Damian.

It would not do for her brother to grow up not knowing how to receive verbal expressions of affection. Not like she did, in this life.

Still, it hurt to speak. But then, she had an idea, based on Cassandra.

She could not speak, but speaking wasn’t the only way of communication. She’ll teach Damian sign language- standard, as commanded- but also her own version. Yes, she could do it. It wouldn’t be hard.

She was a genius, after all, and creating languages wasn’t as hard as people seem to think.

——

Damian copied her, small fingers patting his hand four times.

She did it back to him. “I love you.” She tells him, with sounds and with motions.

He does it back, excitedly, because he had a secret with ukhti!

——

Sometimes, she dared not to touch Damian. She wants to ruffle his hair and give him hugs but the ichor on her hands reminds her to not get to greedy. She did not deserve it.

Not when her hands were stained with the lives of so many people.

——

Another mission.

She was twenty now, and not much closer to escaping her bonds. Though, once she hit her majority, Ra’s lost interest in her in that way. A blessing, even if she had to seduce his “business partners” into giving him better deals more often now.

She stops by Bludhaven. The Robin she watched so many years ago- six, by her count- had grown new wings and moved. She wanted to see if he could fly still.

He could. He flew as free- no, freer than his days as Robin.

She dipped away to complete her mission (nuclear weapon trading, really?) and swings back to see a spider trying to break the former Robin’s wings.

“No.” Nightwing whispered, staring upwards at the cloudy sky blankly. “Please, stop.”

She didn’t need to hear any more. She saw red, and dove feet first straight onto the spider’s head, knocking her out.

She picked up a near-catatonic Nightwing, and helped him to his apartment. She left Tarantula in the rain and felt zero guilt about it.

He changed mechanically, some kind of instinct keeping him from removing his domino, but it was a bit pointless considering she escorted him to his personal apartment.

She watched as Nightwing slipped into an exhausted sleep before leaving. She had a spider to squish, and traces to hide.

——

Dick wakes up, drained and exhausted. He… someone saved him.

He sees a scrawled note, handwriting impeccable enough to be a font, written with his pen. He picked it up from his table, and his eyes tiredly read the message.

“Don’t worry about Tarantula. Or your identity.”- A friend.

He remembered- the mask- the mask of the stranger that saved him vividly. He’d remember. And he’d thank them if they ever came back.

——

She was in charge of training assassins, these days. A year and a half later after Bludhaven, she was back in Nanda Parbat, and she’s devoured every magical tome she could get her hands on. They all say the same things.

Her assassins were trained well, and Ra’s praises her with more responsibilities as he followed the pit in his obsessions. Her mother began to splinter the group, not knowing that as Ra’s began his descent into madness, people looked towards her instead of Talia for leadership. They did not know that her unwavering presence by Ra’s side wasn’t voluntary but it is their true that she became his right hand out of pure skill. And flawless obedience, of course.

Then, someone new joins.

Someone with pit rage and empty eyes that goes rigid when she approaches.

Then again, most of the operatives freeze up when she walks towards them.

Her memories roar. A child.

He bowed, and her eyes followed the streak of white hair at the forefront of his skull.

She gestured at him to follow, and ignored the pitiful eyes the rest of the assassins gave to the kid- they act like her training was hard when she went easy on them (it was)- and led the kid towards the training rooms.

She knew who he was, even if her grandfather and mother didn’t think she knew.

Her… Bruce Wayne would probably appreciate his son being returned relatively sane.

But first, she had to beat the Pit out of him. Then, she could assign body guarding duties to him, in an attempt to protect him.

——

“Grandfather, I will take Damian’s punishment.”

“A whipping girl, granddaughter?” But he nodded anyways. He made Damian watch.

She kneeled and allowed the punishment. She couldn’t always protect him from Ra’s, but this she could do anytime. It’s not like she was unfamiliar with the torture. (The whip had barbs. Rusty. And they sprinkled salt.)

——

“I liked poetry….” Jason Todd tells her after a training session. “I think.”

“Sure. I’ll call you Grave, then.” Pain. But she was used to it.

He tilted his head, eyes going blank once more. She sighed. There went his memories again. (His eyes were blank and glazed. Like looking at someone you love and knowing they’re looking through you.)

——

“I would not trust her,” she says to the air, next to a Red Hood emerging from Talia al Ghul’s chambers. She could see it, the beginnings of Gotham’s new crime lord. But still, “Talia al Ghul is known for her lies.”

She pushed away from the wall. It was up to Grave if he listened. It was out of her hands now.

——

She’s twenty-five, and she’s helping Damian pack for his first meeting with Bruce Wayne.

“You must not tell him about me.” Because he’d come rushing here, and she had worked too hard to save Damian for her fool of a father to come and ruin all of that effort.

“I promise.” Her little brother said solemnly. Ukhti said it out loud, which meant it was important and she expected him to keep that promise.

The only other time he’d heard her speak was to tell him she loved him.

The reincarnation smiled and told him through their special sign language, to treat the current Robin with respect and to try his best to get the current Robin to pass down his title.

‘Robin is earned. They have different rules, over there. Try your best to learn those rules.’

Her brother was sheltered. She loved him, but he was spoilt and sheltered. Of course she was worried. Talia barely mothered him.

“I know. You do not have to remind me so often, ukhti.”

She smiled, and patted his head.

“Be safe,” she whispered. “I will miss you.”

Damian darted in for a hug. “Of course. Goodbye, sister. See you soon.”

She hoped not. It was hard enough to convince Ra’s that Damian would learn more under Bruce Wayne.

(She was locked in a small closet- like Cass- for about a week, because she brought up the idea first.)

——

She found it.

The answer to pit rage laid in an old, all but crumbling tome from Atlantis- answers “from a ghost.”

——

Bruce Wayne died. Months after Damian came to live with him. That- irritating- she sighed and worked with her mother to turn Ra’s al Ghul’s attention away from Gotham, lest he called Damian back in Bruce Wayne’s absence.

The little photographer caught grandfather’s attention. She stood vigil as he played chess with Ra’s. His interest in Damian wavered. Anticipation blurred in her veins.

She saved his friends. Her assassins. She let them go, telling them to wait for the little photographer’s plan. (Y’all miss girl had fucking bloody handprints on her pants like someone tried to grab it.)

The first few people who had an inking she might not be loyal to Ra’s… and it was them.

When her other assassins attacked Red Robin, she cut them down before they could touch him, helping him with a furious League of Spiders or whatever operative. She hated spiders.

“What…?”

“You’re a lot of trouble, little photographer.” She sighed. His jaw dropped.

“It’s you!”

“Go,” she cut him off. “Blow this place up. I left a surprise for you outside.”

——

“Owens?! Z?!” Tim trembled, exhaustion and shock and wonder hitting him at once.

“Heya, boss!” Z chirped. Owens helped Tim up while Z helped Tam. Pry walked around them, looking out for further threats. “The nightmare trainer let us go. She knew you, I think.”

Tim smiles, all shark teeth and zero hero. (In the background, the song zero to hero from Hercules 2, played in reverse.) “Tell me more.”

——

Damian grunted, bracing himself for the magical creature’s attack.

“Robin!” His father barked out, panicked. Damian hoped he’d survive-

Shhhlk!

He looked up and there stood his ukht. She bounded forwards, using the odd fauna of the magical plane to bolster her movements as she sliced the creatures apart with her swords, magic humming brightly as she cut through them… and the magicians attacking them.

“What- what are you doing here?” He asked. She greeted him, three fingers curled over her shoulder.

‘My question is,’ she signed. ‘Why were you here without a magical weapon.’

Damian sighed as father stepped in between them.

“Who are you.”

“Batman. Cease your excessive worry. I trust her with my life,” Damian snapped. He stepped around a shocked Batman, looked him in the eyes, and unsheathed his katana. He handed it over to his ukht, who took it with amusement.

‘See?’ His eyes seemed to say. Father tensed when his sister unsheathed her own blade and handed it to him.

‘Are you here for a specific reason?’ His sister signed to him.

“Uh, you gonna introduce us, little man?”

Damian sent the Flash a derisive look and ignored him.

“We’re looking for a magician. He set a squadron of demons loose into D.C. last night. He has a tower.” Damian added.

“Robin,” Father growled. “Who is this.” Damian shot him a look and turned back to his sister.

The reincarnation tilted her head. ‘Tower… it’ll have to be that way.’

“Could you take us there?” Damian asked. Truthfully, he could find the way himself. But he wanted more time around his ukht. She nodded and Damian straightened.

“I feel like we should be concerned that Robin’s friend just murdered a bunch of people.”

His sister glanced back and ignored them.

“Silence, incompetents. Speak another word against her, and Batman’s no killing rule will be applied creatively.” He hissed. (The fucking surroundings hissed with him y’all what the fuck)

He turned when his sister ruffled his hair (Superman muttered a super shocked “what the fuck.”) and Damian allowed it. He had missed his sister.

——

[thegaysinmyhead]

Obsession PT 2

Danny was freaking the fuck out. Considering he spent the last few weeks in a lab being picked, prodded, and vivisected, he feels like he deserves a little bit of a freakout. But trauma-related things aside, Danny was freaking out over this hot-as-hell baddie who saved him. Like, holy shit! This guy’s biceps were bigger than his head, and he would really really like to have his head placed between those thighs.

Holy fuck. His knight in shining red armor was going to fully kill him for how fucking sexy he was. That gruff voice? The tight muscle shirt? The beautiful cheekbones hidden slightly under his mask? Danny was going to die a second death and he wasn’t even going to complain, not if it was this guy doing it.

Danny was thirsting so hard he almost missed what the man was saying.

“–Red Hood. Answer my first question, why do the Pits react to you,”

Red Hood? The Red Hood? Ancients, Sam was going to froth at the mouth when he tells her that Red Hood saved him and was hot as fuck.

“I don’t know what ‘the Pits’ are, dude. The only thing that reacts like that to ectoplasm is more ectoplasm, and that’s the only thing that’s reacting to me. You’re like, constantly angry,” Danny grimaced at the fresh wave of hot rage.

Damn, he wishes there was more reacting to him.

“The Pits. Lazarus Water. The green shit you got all over the floor and my fucking hands when I carried you here,” The vigilante (crime lord?) growled.

Fuck that growl is hot. He wants Red Hood to growl like that in his ear, wants to know what he sounds like when those growls break into whimpers, wants to taste that growl–

“That’s ectoplasm, kinda makes up my whole body in this form so it’s not like I choose to bleed it. Trust me, I’d bleed regular blood if I could. Blood stains are so much easier to get out of my clothes,”

Danny could tell Red Hood was glaring at him underneath his domino, and he was gonna have a problem in his pants if the other man didn’t turn away soon. 

“Why. Do. The. Pits. React. To. You,” The vigilante growled out slowly, teeth clicking together in what sounded almost painful. Danny had no idea what he was supposed to say. The man in front of him had obviously died before and came back, but the ectoplasm felt more like a contaminated blob than a full ghost. He couldn’t even see the ghost core underneath all the gunk, even if he could feel it. Red Hood’s core felt…just as angry as when Danny felt it earlier.

How do you give Ghost Biology 101 to a pissed-off guy with a gun who probably had death-related trauma?

“So…I’m just gonna be as blunt as possible and hope you don’t shoot me,”

Red Hood glared harder, his core thrumming ANGER-CONFUSION-ANGER as Danny flipped to sit cross-legged above the couch. He pinched his face together to think about the best place to start, but realized the worst part should probably get put out of the way first. He did say he was going to be as blunt as possible.

“So, you died—” Almost as quick as he said it there was a bullet grazing through his shoulder and embedding into the wall behind him. Thank fuck for intangibility. The crime lord’s core thrummed louder, a garbled mimic of a ghost growl as green blinked behind red lenses.

“Yeah, I know how you feel man. Dying really, really sucks,” Danny murmured before lowering fully onto the couch. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

“–But, that’s probably the start of what I need to tell you, unless you’ve come in contact with glowing green water beforehand?” 

The vigilante grit his teeth, but shook his head no.

“Right, so. You died–and I’m not gonna ask or make assumptions about it! I get it. But, when you got pulled from wherever you were before…you didn’t exactly…come back all the way,” He finished his sentence with a murmur, but the silence of the apartment made sure it was heard easily. A deep frown etched itself onto Red Hood’s face.

“Come back all the way? What kind of bullshit is that? You’re dead or you’re not, even I’ve met ghosts and shit that proves that,” 

Red Hood’s met ghosts? Hopefully none from the Ghost Zone, they’d probably tear him to pieces in a ghost brawl with how weak his ectoplasm is. Might make this explanation easier though.

Danny wrung his hands together before shrugging awkwardly, “Not…exactly? Death is more of a spectrum than a black-and-white kinda thing. You can lean towards one side or the other, sometimes being fully on one side, but it’s supposed to be impossible to sit on both at the same time. That’s…kinda where I come in?”

The halfa shifted while looking anywhere but the crime boss in front of him, lips tucked into a silent whistle as his core hummed anxiously. Danny could tell Red Hood was getting impatient, but he didn’t expect to have to show a solid 12/10 hot piece of ass his human form right after getting away from a GIW base! Sue him, he needs a minute!

With a groan, Danny flung himself into a stand. He rubbed a hand down his face while chanting “Please don’t be naked, please don’t be naked,”

A bright light filled the room before Red Hood could react or question the mumbling, and when the light finally faded he blinked rapidly to get rid of black spots. In the place Danny stood moments before was an individual with black hair, blue eyes, and very very tattered clothing. The cloth (if it could even be called that at this point) looked as if it used to be a NASA hoodie and black jeans, and duct-taped red sneakers sat on the new man’s feet. Blood stains were covering most of the fabric, and the man sheepishly scratched the back of his head. A bright red blush was spreading across his cheeks to slightly pointed ears.

“Yeah, I kind of forgot the last time I was in this form. At least I’m not naked?” The new man (Danny?) said with a small smile.

“Wait, wait, wait–” Jason raised his hands in a stopping motion with a shake of his head, “–what the fuck do you mean ‘this form’?”

(Supposedly) Danny just tilted his head before placing his hands on his hips. He tipped his head up and pursed his lips in thought, “Well, that was technically my ghost form before? This is my human form… and oh jeez, I feel like I skipped like a hundred slides of the Ghost Biology PowerPoint,” Danny mumbled while hiding his face between his hands.

Jason slid a still-clawed hand over his eyes, frustration building, but surprisingly no green was threatening his vision. Small mercies, “Ghost? So, you’re a ghost?” he questioned slowly.

“Only half ghost…”

Jason took a deep breath and deadpanned, “How the fuck can you be ‘half ghost’,”

Danny looked like he swallowed a lemon as he went silent. There seemed to be a silent debate going on in the man's head as the thing in Jason’s chest rumbled with RAGE-FRUSTRATION-WORRY. Danny seemed to come to a decision as he finally spoke.

“Well…same way you did? Kind of a Schrödinger cat situation. Do you really not notice anything ghostly that you do? Like–hiding better than you ever did before, shadows clinging to you in ways that seem unnatural, attacks on you not hitting their mark even though you know they should have?”

Jason paused, shoulders tightening with tension. He never really thought about it, but those words stirred something in his brain. Bullets that should’ve definitely hit him dead on were usually explained away with the distance between him and the gun shooting at him, but the times he was barely holding onto a hiding spot and wondering how the hell he wasn’t caught? The warm embrace of Gotham at night when shadows were everywhere and he was swinging and jumping through rooftops? Jumps no normal human would’ve been able to make unless they were a meta? 

He knew the Pit had changed him; his eyes glowed green when he felt emotions too strong, his body filled out with more muscle than he knew what to do with, and he was straining the edge between trained strength and superhuman. Now…now he isn’t really sure what the Pits did to him…

“–And if I say I have? Noticed… ‘ghostly’ things I do?”

The black-haired man just gave him a bright smile, “Well, then that probably just makes it easier to accept what comes next,”

“What comes next?” Jason blinked.

“Yeah. Because, again, sir, your ectoplasm is rancid. Disgustingly rancid. I’m filtering as much of it as I can, but you need a doctor like yesterday,”

Jason could feel the frustration growing again. This guy just did not know how to give good explanations, “What do you mean you’re ‘filtering’ it?” He said through gritted teeth. His jaw suddenly felt like it was too small for his molars, and his gums burned worse than when his wisdom teeth needed to get removed. Danny just waved off his building anger.

“Exactly that, dude. I’m pulling the toxic stuff into me and pushing the cleaner stuff back to you. It’s not pure ectoplasm, we’d probably need to go to the Ghost Zone for that, but you should feel a whole lot better than you did before,”

And Jason…Jason did actually feel a whole lot better. There wasn’t an angry voice whispering in the back of his mind that he needed to spill blood, and he wasn’t fighting off an indescribable rage with every ounce of his willpower. He felt better than the best days of dealing with the Pit and then some. But what the fuck was a ‘Ghost Zone’? Danny must’ve seen the confusion from his frown because he was speaking again.

“–Shit, I’m really bad at explaining things, sorry. The Ghost Zone is basically where most ghosts, or ‘ecto-plasmic beings’ depending on who you ask, live–and usually–stay. The atmosphere is pretty much pure ectoplasm because everything there is made of ectoplasm. Like how everything alive here is made of carbon,” Danny waved his arms around awkwardly as he spoke, back squished tightly against the cushions of the couch. His fists were clenched white with nerves.

Jason nodded. That made sense…kind of. He was still wrapping his head around the whole ‘half-ghost’ thing, honestly. He was also wondering how the fuck that was possible and why this guy thinks he’s one.

“You said I’m like you?” 

Danny nodded, before thinking for a moment and shrugging, “Not exactly. I can tell whatever you went through never let you finish forming a core, but if your core does fully develop you’ll end up with ghost powers, probably. You’d also be able to actually filter the ectoplasm in your system, which means you won’t have to deal with all that junk,” he said while waving a vague fully-encompassing hand motion at him.

Jason squinted his eyes at Danny from behind his mask, but he couldn’t detect a single lie from the man. After a long moment, he sighed and slumped back in the recliner. He covered his face with one of his hands and murmured, “–And what’s a core?”

Danny froze before blushing and looking away in embarrassment. Jason doesn’t know how he knows Danny’s embarrassed.

“I’m…I’m just gonna pull up the Ghost Biology presentation. You got a laptop?”

Pt 1, Pt 3

Masterpost

[the-sinful-voice-witch]

Crimes against Stephanie Brown:

Getting only 24 issues of her run as Batgirl. I wish she had more, after all isn't Cass getting now a new run as Batgirl again?

Not appearing at the boy wonder comic when it was specifically Robins related and instead they put Barbara as Batgirl (like if you wanted a Batgirl use the fucking Batgirl who used to be a Robin).

Not being included at birds of prey with Cass and Babs.

Getting 2 heroes team projects with her included rejected. (In one she was with Supergirl and Damian, denying us that is a hate crime)

Not appearing in Damian's drawing of people who loves him when she is canonically the first big sister figure he had and she helped him be a kid and have fun.

Getting her character denigrated by Tim's bisexual actions like: dumping her without giving her a reason or having a proper talk, ghosting her for months, only talk to her after their friends force him to do it and then without warning or asking her introducing his new boyfriend to her and make her react like a fujoshi 13 years old wattpad writter saying that "the best day ever" Is meeting her ex' new boyfriend in the most cringe way ever.

The time they tried to erase her time as Robin and Batgirl in the new 52 reboot

Only let her be Robin for 2 months and was fired for doing something every Robin has done more than once.

Dying so fast in DCeased when she became Damian's Robin and never coming back even after Taliah said she would use the Lazarus pit on her.

Not having a visual reaction of Selina, Cassandra, Dick and Babs to her being alive.

Jason not mentioning her to rub it on Batman's face when he came back to life for revenge or mentioning her to black mask, what a wasted opportunity!

Never had the realistic representation of the trauma she should have after being tortured by black mask.

Never hanging out properly again with huntress (well I think they were seen together again once but not enough), Supergirl, Black Canary or Green Arrow junior after the reboot.

The fact that in my opinion she never got a proper apology from all the people that wronged her and treated her badly, like a lesser fighter, like she was a bother, like she wasn't made for vigilante life, I think I saw Tim apologizing to her but it felt shallow.

Not showing us Tim visually crying for her death.

Completely ignore how was her very first interaction with Catwoman, in which Selina was extremely kind and sweet with her only to screw it in the second meeting in her run as Batgirl and later in the new 52 reboot making Selina be a jerk to her.

Making Alfred be cold and dry to her in their first interaction, yes he later cries on her death and then he is very happy when she comes back and later he stands up to her against Batman's stupid tests but it doesn't erase the fact that he was mean to her when he met her and I think that was out of character with Alfred.

Her teen pregnancy arc, some people might think this was a way to make her character more tragic and deep but that pregnancy arc didn't bring anything good to her character because it was all about Tim not her and it makes my blood boil. This arc was just a cheap "easy" Way to make Tim and Steph become closer in their relationship by making Tim be there for her and taking care of her even though he wasn't the father and help her and that and I suppose it was also to make more dramatic her death telling Batman that she had a daughter and Batman be all like: "I'll make sure the baby never has to ask for anything" And then Steph dies... Seriously this is the one thing I wish they could erase from canon FOREVER, making Steph go through that just to make her deepen her relationship with Tim only for getting killed off and eventually dumped with everything she already had on her plate was CRIMINAL

Jason not meeting her properly before the stupid new 52 reboot and still not having the trauma and dead Robin talk with her.

[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.

[insanescriptist]

Cremation is just another fun(erl) service

So blaming random 4am thoughts that have been plaguing me all day for this

----

Jason woke to a bright room, thin sheets and the smell of a hospital embedded in his body.

First as always, assess. Hospital. No affiliation printed on the walls or anywhere. Private room, but small. That door looked like it led to a private bathroom. Generic flower picture, a mounted screen turned off. Really fucking bright sunlight from the windows.

There was no fucking way he was in Gotham then. Everything was too nice. Normal by standards outside of Gotham. There were blinds, not metal shutters. The walls were cleaner than Gotham allowed outside of Downtown and he could see greenery through the window.

Okay. So what had he been doing? Jason remembered and then wished he had his Jerichos to shoot himself with. Mystic Shit™. Okay. Okay. That was not one of his better ideas, but if he's recovering in a hospital, it worked. World saved.

So recovery. How fucked was he?

His skin looked so fucked. Which meant he had been worse. He's had time to recover and lose muscle tone in, going by how twiggy his arms were. His hands looked good. Clearly someone knew he cared about those if they went through the effort of restoring those.

Hmm, that was odd. No matter how much Jason hated the Lazarus Pits and all its by-products, it would have been a faster and more simple way to recover from near-death than the long incarceration in a hospital for a John Doe.

Jason wasn't sure if he'd been abandoned yet again by those who called themselves his family because he could, "take care of himself," or if he had been written off dead. Again.

Hospital beat the coffin by a long shot.

And it was with that cheery thought, a nurse -obvious meta human nurse- came in and burst into excited Japanese, because that was of course, his luck.

It's after the nurse and doctors leave that Jason loses his shit.

It looks like he's sulking in bed, but mentally everything in his head is exploding. Imploding.

Three. Fucking. Years. Coma.

Burn victim so bad they not only expected him to die in the first couple of days, but still expect it because of the infection risk his fucked up skin represents.

Still the conversation with the medical staff -of varying degrees of bizarre- was enlightening.

No, he has no idea who he is. Did he ever get anyone visit? How did he get here?

Of course some amnesia is to be expected. No, some of the nurses visited. No one knows how he got here.

Does he know what his quirk is? Uh?

Trauma blocked amnesia, the doctor mutters.

What's the last date he remembered?

Saturday. Maybe? The last year? No, I'm pretty sure my memory is shit and I'm trying hard not to freak out over not knowing anything. So could I get the year number?

And then there's the fucking year number. Once he got it translated into more normal terms.

Mystic Shit™ said fuck you to the future.

Except Jason knows this is not his future. Again, if it was, this would have been treated as a fucking inconvenience. Effective skin restoration goop -the proper name escaped him- was easily available to those with the right connections. A normal baseline human with 2nd and 3rd degree burns would be fine in less than two weeks with it, with nary a trace to show for it.

Thanks to the three year coma, his muscles were all atrophied as fuck, despite their best attempts at physical therapy. Because of all the burns and later burn scars and infections making it basically impossible to actually do fuck all about maintaining muscle tone until he was basically burnt skin and bones anyway.

He was so fucking weak now. It wouldn't last forever. He'd escape this hospital before he was discharged, before whatever "benefactor" showed up for whatever "purpose," he was suppose to serve now, as they had the medical debt over his head or was threatening his loved ones or whatever. If one didn't show up in the next week, he was losing his genre-savviness, because shitheads always wanted to claim shit, if it looked useful.

And Jason was used to looking useful, until he was no longer useful and they just didn't care. The amnesia made him less shiny, but Jason couldn't pull off the brain dead zombie imitation without actually being a brain dead zombie crawling up out of his grave.

So under the thin hospital sheets, Jason twitched his muscles.

Two weeks of emotional freak outs, watching the news, physical therapy and drugs Jason had had enough.

And he broke out.

----

Yeah, he regretted it almost immediately. Hard not to in the stupid paper gown, barefoot and bare ass.

Thankfully people were people, even with the plethora of meta humans he had seen, so it actually wasn't hard to find clothes. Someone left a hoodie in their car and Jason broke into said car. Put on the hoodie. Hotwired the car and drove off.

Somehow for being in the fucking future by two centuries and change, cars really hadn't changed. More evidence of Mystic Shit™ slamming him sideways.

He drove to the next town over, picked another direction, drove some more. Parked the car near what looked like a chop shop, negotiated the car for some money. He probably got ripped off, but better than nothing.

He walked to a corner store, bought some flip-flops after bullshitting an excuse that his had broken. First aid stuff. You know, for his feet. Hair dye in three different colors, because Rose Wilson could pick out a bad dye job at a hundred meters and so Jason learned how to dye his own hair properly so as to avoid her mockery, only to get mockery (affectionate) anyway.

It was a mix of instinct and lifelong observation that let him find an empty apartment quickly. He stole some sweatpants and passed out on the bed.

----

The thing is, Jason doesn't regret his crimes like Bruce thinks he ought to do, with a massive pity party and flaming self-hatred and punching criminals instead of shooting them. He hates the necessity of doing crimes, even if that crime is a net gain to society, but that's why all his serious crimes are premeditated. He's homicidal, not a psychopath.

Not Pit-mad either, no matter what the rest of them might have thought.

Again, he's homicidal, not a psychopath. And when he doesn't have to be some sort of costume soldier to be discarded by family for the disgrace of disfiguring the memory of a dead boy? He's actually chill and boring.

That is to say, he crashed at that apartment for three days, felt progressively more like himself, especially after the dye job -white hair all over, now a solid and boring black- but it still didn't change all the other issues the Mystic Shit™ inflicted on him.

This body isn't actually his. Too young, scars not right where the burns didn't fuck him over. Thankfully his existing coping mechanisms for dysphoria work and it's shoved to the side.

It's also a shit body. Not even a month out of a three year coma with inadequate -by his standards- of medical care. It's weak and building muscle to do everyday civilian shit, is going to take months to do. Pushing as hard as he did during the escape wrecked him the next three days. Jason may not know what's going to happen, but with his luck, it's going to suck and training is preparing to make it suck less. The only certainty he's got is that his skin or lack thereof is going to kill him from infection if he doesn't fix it.

He's got no legal identity here. Which basically puts him back onto familiar ground of legally dead.

Beyond the lack of paperwork, he's got a lack of funds. He also has no easy target to steal funds and equipment from, even just for fun.

For more disadvantages, he's in a different country, with different laws and a whole different culture. He would be climbing on board a fucking plane to Gotham, if it existed in this world, for some familiar ground.

He really is the unluckiest Robin. It also means he is also the most prepared Robin.

---

The first six months after waking up in this mockery world of heroics were the absolute worst.

He started at one foot in the grave and crawled out of it before the casket could really eat him alive. Jason had experience in casket busting. He didn't wanna repeat it.

He still didn't know who he was -in who was he inhabiting- but it wasn't like Jason had a lot to go on. 'His' quirk was thermo-manipulation, most obviously in the blue fire he could call to his hands but he could do some ice too; it was thanks to Duke's light and shadow manipulation that he had even tried for the duality. He had white hair. Presumably Japanese heritage but quirks had really erased or blurred a lot of racial lines. Also presumed dead and young.

Access to the Quirk Registry took some doing, but again, not everyone followed basic computer security, much less what it took to keep someone bat-trained out of their systems. Again, for nearly two centuries in the future, a lot of the technological development had stagnated. Searching through the Quirk Registry hadn't yielded any result but none of his other methods had struck anything either. And he had looked at the recently dead and/or presumed dead. Sure, he had some leads that looked viable, but he wasn't going to follow those up yet.

He had fixed a few of his most pressing issues the past six months. His ignorance of the local area, the local and national politics and so on. This world supported and had an entire industry catering to making child soldiers and sell their image and reputation to make money and more child soldiers that called themselves Heroes.

His weak ass body no long cried doing daily tasks and only hated him after working out. Yes, Jason was pushing it but he was well aware of how months of preparation could mean shit in the face of seconds.

His infection risk was severely reduced after quick research bender let him make the most generic knock-off brand of the skin restoration goop in a shitty homemade lab. Did it fix his skin being patchwork fucked in places? Some. He wasn't going to get feeling back properly, but at least he looked more normal. Maybe with enough moisturizing he might look a little less Frankenstien's monster.

He also had a cash inflow. It wasn't great, but it supported his apartment. And the second set of papers. And the 2nd apartment.

Which meant in grand old tradition for Jason, time for him to bounce to the next apartment and come up with a new name.

[glittering-moonlillie]

My Beloved (Damian Wayne x Reader)

Word Count: 2740

Warnings: None

Summary: Not knowing how to express his feelings any other way, Damian resorts to calling you pet names in his mother's tongue in order to air out his pent up affection.

“Habibti, can you hand me the yellow frosting?” Damian was in deep trouble - absolutely terrible, hideous trouble. 

“Of course!” You reached over to your left and handed him the buttercream, the arabic pet name flying over your head. 

In his language, Habibti was a sign of endearment given to your lover, usually meaning something along the lines of My Love or Darling - but to you, he was utterly convinced that you believed it was a form of belittlement similar to Idiot.

Of course, Damian was too afraid to correct you and he was not sure if you would believe him if he tried. He would rather keep it a sweet secret to himself, even if his fragile heart was practically leaping its way out of his rib cage to expose itself to you. 

“You know, if you want to call me something mean at least make it so I can understand you.” You laughed, a noise that would certainly haunt him late at night when he was alone and longed for your presence. 

“But it’s much more fun seeing you like this.” You scruched your nose, your forehead creasing with the movement. Your lips were parted but no words came out. It was an adorable look he had grown to love despite how dorky you appeared. 

You retaliated with a poorly placed handful of orange frosting along his cheek, your lips twisting into a pout that only served to make the fantasies of kissing you worsen. 

Orange was an obnoxiously disgusting color but he would bathe in a lazarus pit full of orange frosting if you wished it. 

He ran his thumb along his cheek and licked away whatever frosting was there. Alfred’s special buttercream frosting really was to die for. Damian enjoyed the way your eyes slightly widened, relishing in the fact that it wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else. He liked to think that the scarlet decorating your face was because of him being undoubtedly sexy, and not the fact that it was because it was a hot summer’s day. 

“You’re staring, ya amar.” He smirked. “And I believe that cookie has way too much frosting, it looks like Picaso threw up all over it.”

Ya Amar had to be Damian’s second favorite pet name for you, translating to my moon. He often recalled the way his mother praised the moon for its beauty, treating it similar to a guiding life force. More than anything, Damian wanted to be the sun that illuminated your countenance - to be the man who kept you steady and loved you even if you just saw yourself as a clumpy rock. The name suited you perfectly. You were his beautiful, crated moon with star imbued eyes and a body that reflected the power of an inescapable black hole. 

“Hey, are those cookies almost finished? B wants them set out within the hour-” Tim walked in, his under eye bags accentuated further with the distasteful dark blue sweater he threw on. 

His brother paused, rolling his eyes at the state of the dining table. Damian hoped that the kitchen disaster was enough of a distraction for him not to notice the lovey-dovey eyes he assuredly was giving his best friend. 

“We’ll clean it up, Tim. Sorry about that.” You replied quickly. “But most of the cookies are done, Damian still has a few to finish though.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning wildly like the Cheshire cat. 

“Just don’t get distracted flirting with each other, I don’t want to deal with an irritated Bruce.”

“Shut up, Timothy. At least we aren’t aggressively making out like how you and Conner were at the last gala.” Damian shot back. 

Tim frowned. “I’m too tired to deal with this. Try not to explode anything, okay?”

Damian waved off his brother and went back to decorating one of the cookies for the large event at Wayne Manor tonight. It was a charity event to raise awareness of the increase in homeless population on the streets of Gotham, and alongside the event, his family was hosting a soup kitchen for any struggling person on the streets. Along with a hearty, full course meal, they would be served one of the cookies being decorated by the two of you. 

Although Damian’s father normally did not allow any friend’s to charity events, you were always an exception due to the fact that if you weren’t there, Damian would blow a gasket and murder someone if he was in a suit for too long. Your presence beside Damian was often looked over when you were both younger, but now that a few years had gone by plenty of journalists speculated the possibility of “a secret blooming relationship.” 

The common theory circulating around Gotham was the idea that his father was disapproving of them being together since you were a “commoner,” therefore excusing the lack of concrete evidence of the relationship existing. Damian had found the notion completely ridiculous; even if his father disapproved of you in that context, that would not stop him from loving you the way he always dreamed, consequences be damned. 

You treated the whole situation with carefree ease, giggling at the awful pictures and wack job theories concocted by 40 year old men looking to sell half-baked news. On one hand, Damian was pleased that the unwanted attention did not bother you, but deep down he also felt a pang of poison seep its way into his bloodstream. Was the idea of being his lover that much of a joke? 

The clicking of a phone keyboard brought him back to reality. Damian peered over your shoulder and saw Safari pulled up.

 “What ever are you doing, habibti?” 

“I’m trying to decipher what you are calling me.” You said. “Can you repeat that last word for me, please?”

The youngest Wayne felt every single pour in his body drip in sweat, excess saliva pooling in his mouth. Perhaps if his blood was functioning properly, then he would have found a better response other than a simple no. 

It was very rare for Damian to be properly caught off guard. He should have thought that you would have looked up the words he was repeating, should have come up with a game plan instead of looking like a strangled goose. 

His first instinct was to snatch the phone away and cut it up with the plastic, buttercream decorated knife. Damian could pretend to be possessed by a ghost and buy you a better phone with specially installed programs that inhibited your ability to look up any Arabic term. Yes, that was a wonderful idea-

“How are there zero search results?!!” You exclaimed, turning to him. “Did you make up a language or something? Why are there absolutely zero results??”

Damian looked at your phone again. You certainly took some liberties with the spelling of the pet name, letting him relax into his seat. It was nowhere close to how the word was spelled. He couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Why are there two y’s in the word?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Well maybe if you told me the other 20 languages you spoke I’d get somewhere.”

For the next 15 minutes, you angrily punched in 17 different ways to spell Habibti, all massively incorrect and leading to nowhere. You eventually threw your phone on the ground with a huff while he cackled. 

“This is so unfair. I demand restitution for the amount of time I have lost thanks to you.” Damian hummed.

“I can’t give you back those missing minutes, but I can pay you back with your favorite meal and my full attention tonight.” 

You pretended to ponder over the offer, but Damian knew you could not say no to Alfred’s cooking. “Okay, fine. But only because I love Alfred’s food and nothing else.”

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

The moon peered over the horizon, the stars twinkling like falling fairy dust on a navy blue canvas. Hundreds of Gotham’s richest filled Wayne Manor, most of which were dressed with gaudy colors and bedazzlements, with feathers and overpriced jewels. 

Damian was dressed in a dark green suit, one that Alfred had picked a little while ago. He was fully aware of the lustful stares he was given by the woman (and some of the men) there but he could care less. There was only one person he cared about impressing and that said person was “discreetly” stuffing themselves with a plate full of food in the corner. 

As an attendant of the Gala, you were in a stunning dress that fit every single curve of your body marvelously, all courtesy to Stephanie who helped you pick out the dress to begin with. Heat rose to his cheeks and he began fumbling with his tie. 

Damian was not the only one there to notice your beauty either. As you were trying to polish off your plate of food, several men had made attempts to woo you onto the dancefloor. Thankfully you declined all of their advances - Damian was not sure what he would have felt if you did. If it weren’t for the hundreds of other people present, he would have unquestionably sliced off the suitors hands if they tried to touch you again. 

“Ya Helo, you look…” His throat clogged as you stared up at him. “You look stunning…”

Damian was convinced that your smile was the brightest thing in the universe; he was also sure that it could cure any bout of irritation or sadness possible. 

“About time you showed up! Are you done flirting with the 70 year old women yet or does your dad want you back in there?” You poked his chest, the touch feeling like an electrical transfer. 

“You know that I would never flirt with those women back there, Habibti. My dad just wanted me to manipulate them into giving more of their money to charity.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he clasped it and brought it closer to his heartbeat. Your hands were a pebble compared to his own and yet they still managed to fit perfectly together like Incan architecture.

“I-I…” You looked away with a crooked smile. “I know that, obviously. I just wanted to tease you a bit!”

When you turned towards him once more, he noticed the way your eyes trailed down his visage, strawberry lips parting ever so slightly. Your laughter died in your throat. The scene felt like the ridiculous romcoms he analyzed from time to time while you were over. All he had to do was lean in a little bit closer and his dreams would be fulfilled-

The tight grip of someone’s hand seized his arm, effectively pulling him away from his darling. The movement caught Damian off guard (the second time that day). There was only a select handful of people who were able to sneak up on him like that…

“Mother.” Damian seethed, turning to gaze upon the woman with a cold glare. “What are you doing here?”

Fitted for the occasion in a sleek black dress, Talia crossed her arms and matched her son’s glare. “Is a mother not allowed to visit her son, especially when he has not messaged her in months?”

Damian stood in front of you, his hands slightly raised in case Talia decided to activate her mother bear mode. Talia’s eyes furrowed, her lip pursing. 

“How about you and your little friend follow me upstairs. You can tell me all about how you two met.” She suggested but her voice made it sound more like a threat. 

Damian hated how your smile disappeared and was replaced with an apprehensive grimace. He reached for your hand and squeezed. 

“Dami…” 

“It’ll be alright habib albi…” He whispered, squeezing your hand once again. As the three of them climbed up the stairs, the soft tune of the violin faded into nothing, not even background noise. 

“Mother, I find this hardly necessary. Could you have interfered in my life some other day?” Damian groaned. 

“Of course not, my son.” Talia shut the door of the room they entered. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to meet the girl who stole my beloved’s heart.”

Damian’s heart dropped. “I- what?”

“Y-you must be mistaken. Damian and I…Damian doesn’t like me like that!” You stuttered out with nervous laughter. 

Talia raised a single eyebrow. “I find that extremely hard to believe considering what I heard him call you.”

Fuck. Damian mentally slapped himself. He should have known that his mother would have heard him call you that. The pet name was just so natural to him, slipping off his tongue like sweet honey, he forgot that his mother would have been able to understand. 

You tilted your head towards Damian then back to Talia, reflexively playing with your hair. “I…maybe you misheard? He calls me these made up names, they really have no meaning.”

“Wait, so he has not told you what they meant?”

“No, he refused to tell me and when I looked it up, there were no search results.” You said. 

“Mother, please-” 

Talia raised her hand to silence him. “I can’t believe you have been lying to her, Damian! I have raised you better than that. She deserves to know that you are calling her Love of my heart and Darling in Arabic!”

You snapped your head towards Damian, who was internally screaming a colorful variety of cuss words towards his mother. He expected you to look horrified and slap him away, to run for the hills and never speak to him again. 

Instead you had this beautiful awestruck look in your galaxy-filled eyes. Your face was a deep crimson.

“Dami…” You hesitated. “Is this true?” 

The hopeful tone in your voice was as intoxicating as a few shots of bourbon.  

Damian imagined that the day he confessed to you would be atop a starry hill with perfectly blooming jasmines and evening primroses. He would pull you into his arms and whisper his love for you when the moon was at its peak, ending it with a kiss if you let him. It would have been perfect, if fate allowed it to be.

However, there were no starry hilltops or sweetly smelling fragrances - no moon that would peer over them and give its blessing. But you were there with him, an arm's reach away. As long as you were there, wasn't that all that mattered?

Damian glared at his mother, who was in the background with a smug smile, pretending to not overhear the conversation. When she didn’t get the message, he cleared his throat as loud as he could. 

“Fine. I suppose I’ll leave you to it - but I expect you to message me afterward since I did the hard work for you.” Talia sauntered her way out of the room, leaving you and Damian alone.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dami…” You glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Were you really secretly giving me pet names in Arabic?”

Reaching for your hands, Damian pulled you close to create a few inch gap. “Yeah…I wanted a way to show you how much I…how much I loved you without you figuring out.”

You giggled, the vibrations of it causing his heart to flutter. “You’re a dork, you know that? I would have reciprocated your feelings no matter what, but it would have been nice if you had told me sooner.” 

Your finger trailed down his neck to his collarbone, leaving a trail of lightning in its wake. “I demand more restitution for the time lost.”

Damian hummed, pretending to think of the perfect solution despite him already having one. You edged closer to him. 

“How about,” he began, “I kiss you until your lips are as blue as this night sky?”

But before you could respond, Damian already brought his lips to yours.  The dreams and fantasies he had did not live up to the actual softness of your lips - the subtle taste of raspberries filling his senses. 

Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “Shouldn’t we go back to the Gala?”

Damian looked back at the door, contemplating how mad his father would be if he ditched the rest of the party. It was waning closer to midnight anyway and he could just say you were tired. 

He turned back to you, his smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “He’ll be fine. Besides, I would rather be with you than flirt with 70 year old women.”

Your attempted giggle was covered with the rougher press of his lips against yours, causing you to fall backwards onto the guest bed. After years of calling you Habibti, now he could finally say it without you thinking it was an insult.

Damian is a simp with huge dimples. Fight me.

[brucewaynehater101]

How dare you refuse to pay my therapy bills after the torment you’ve cause me 🥲 Anyway turnabouts fair play.

TW: dead body, resurrection (probs others it’s like 2 am so it’s time to get morbid in ur inbox :p)

I feel like if any of the bats tried to dip Tim in the Lazarus pits, something Tim has explicitly said multiple times that he doesn’t want to get dipped into then maybe young justice would have to intervene on Tim’s behalf.

Tim is obsessed with doing things perfectly and that includes things pertaining to himself. If he’s not coming back right then don’t you dare bring him back.

So i’m imaging Jason getting ready to dip Tim in the pits, after his obligatory mental breakdown about it, only for a blur to suddenly take Tim’s corpse away.

Then young justice has to deal with the fact that they have one of their best friend’s corpses with them that they’re just hiding from the bats. Probably having to use one of Tim’s contingencies to stay away from them while dealing with the emotion turmoil of everything that they’re doing.

Then there’s the question of just what exactly they’re going to do with Tim’s body. Do they keep playing keep away from the bats with Tim’s body until it fully decomposes. It would usually never work but maybe with Tim’s contingencies they could pull it off.

Or should they destroy the body so throughly that there’s nothing left to be dipped in the pit? Are they going to cremate their best friend knowing that they’re going to stop their friend from every coming back.

They would want Tim back and love him even if he ‘came back wrong’ but they have to respect Tim’s wishes. He would forgive them but they know that they would ruin Tim’s life if they ever put him through that.

Or maybe it’s a secret third option where they’re all scrambling to find a way to bring back Tim with no consequences. They’re all diving headfirst into cults, magical/cursed items, healing methods from the future that brought back the others or they’re reaching out to other planets and universes.

Nobody in young justice was mentally sane about other members. They’re all ride and die about each other.

Yay!!!! "Payment" for my therapy, lmao ^^

If YJ knew Jason was about to dip Tim in the creepy lime juice bath, they probably would intervene. I'd also imagine other Bats would as well.

You've listed 3 options for YJ post corpse-napping:

Keep away/hiding Tim's body until it decomposes (or until he comes back himself)

Destroying/cremating Tim's body

YJ finding an alternative solution to bring Tim back

I like the au/hc that Tim has a contingency in place in case he dies before he is supposed to. I don't mean this as Tim having plans for how to deal with his death (like his will), but as in Tim having a way to come back to life. It is, for obvious reasons, untested and not certain. Still, Tim might have a plan for that.

Therefore, YJ would either wait for Tim to come back or try to figure out another option just in case.

Either way, unless Tim explicitly told them DNR (with the R being revive/resurrect in this case), YJ is gonna get their bird back. The whole band will get back together for this cause (or at least provide support/aid where they can).

Just YJ desperately keeping Tim's body from the Bats as they try to revive him and keep that gods awful Pit juice from him.

[glamourscat]

you’re now my new friend so im gonna complain about some fans🤭🤭🤭

THE OTHER THING I WANT TO TALK ABOUT IS tim isn’t weak????? its canon damian says “drake is stronger than i like to admit” or something like that but the idea is that tim is canonically strong i mean cmon he’s a bat??? i saw something that another writer wrote and i really don’t want to disrespect but she(?) wrote something like tim couldn’t do the ‘jacked and kind’ trend. HE CAN HE HAVE TO IF HE COULD NOT HOW CAN HE BE A BAT HE HAVE TO BE STRONG

and he’s really smart like i don’t even now how to say it but its conan bruce think tim can even be smarter than him and damian says tim is the smartest!!!

i mean i get it tim isn’t the most popular robin but he’s really great but tiktok and tumblr makes him look like an idiot who’s just soft??? HE IS NOT his story is really interesting if you just read instead of making him look like some weak thing.

and bcz of the misinformation people just don’t like tim😭😭😭😭

and i don’t even want to talk about coffee addiction LIKE PLS STOP THIS MADNESS

ps:i probably made grammer mistakes sorry🙏🏼 AND i would like to send some asks when im more awake😭😭😭 it’s 3am rn

Don’t worry about it ahaha. Me and grammatical errors are like this 🤝🏻. Also, if you’re comfortable with it, let’s be moots 😭. I honestly need more people to yap with about Tim.

and yes ofc! Feel free to send more asks about Tim whenever u wish :)

Now, onto what you said. YES, YES, AND YES AGAIN. Thank you! I’m going to be honest here, I think Tim’s mischaracterization as “weak” boils down to the fact that many people see him as a twink……. The amount of art, both drawn and written, where he is depicted as this frail little thing that can’t think for himself and is weak and shy is too big. I mean, are we looking at the same character?

When I see people butchering Tim’s character, it’s clear to me that they haven’t read the comics. I’m not saying you need to read ALL of them—that’s just absurd considering the number of runs there are. Just the main ones could be beneficial. You know, having a general idea about the character.

He was trained by Bruce (and we know Bruce’s training is anything but easy), Nightwing and lastly, Lady Shiva herself. He has mastered many unarmed styles of fighting, including Leopard Kung Fu, Savate, Judo, Capoeira, Karate, Dragon Kung Fu, and Bojutsu.

He might not be a tank like Jason (side note: let’s remember Jason is the way he is thanks to the Lazarus Pit, because he was malnourished growing up, which stunted his growth). Just because Tim isn’t ripped and has a leaner build doesn’t mean he is weak. Nor does it mean he is stupid. His IQ is 142, and he is cited as the most analytical of Batman’s proteges, with detective skills on par with Batman himself. Like you said, BRUCE HIMSELF says he believes Tim is smarter than him in some ways.

And on the coffee addiction—that’s so funny to me because, if I’m not wrong, he drank coffee ONE time in canon, someone made it his personality, and everyone ran with it 😭.

I just can’t. Honestly, Tim is a skater boy. A punk at heart, who listens to bands like Oasis and Green Day. He is absolutely obsessive at times, loud and opinionated. He is a child prodigy and grew up rather isolated. Then his mother died. He and his father got into deep arguments because of his job as Robin. He stopped, then started again. His father died, and he found his father’s dead body while wearing his Robin uniform. He escaped Bruce for about a month, forging a fake adoption certificate from a FAKE uncle he made up because he didn’t want to be taken in by Bruce.

He feels like he is a burden and still keeps that sentiment, which was incremented when Damian joined the family and took his spot as Robin, leaving Tim feeling hopeless. He became Red Robin, lost his best friend (or something more) and went absolutely insane trying to clone him. He can’t handle loss for shit. The same thing happened in his Red Robin run where he ignored both Nightwing and Steph, who tried to stop him from following his unhinged plan of finding Bruce, who was presumed dead but Tim thought was alive. To save his loved ones, he willingly jumped from a building while injured, almost dying.

This, in my eyes, is anything but weak.

He is my unhinged bisexual gremlin. Love him so much

[beatrice-otter]

What's your expert opinion on the idea of Jesus and John being in a romantic relationship?

Never heard of this one before! But I'm pretty sure it's wishful thinking and projection.

I'm assuming that it's based on the whole Beloved Disciple thing? For those who aren't familiar, In the last several chapters of John, there are several references to a Disciple Whom Jesus Loved. He's cuddling with Jesus during the Last Supper, he's there at the feet of the cross (and Jesus tells him to take care of his mother Mary as if she was the disciples' own mother), he's one of the first witnesses to the Resurrection along with Peter and Mary Magdalene, couple of others. Traditionally believed to have been John, though Lazarus is also a strong contender. (Lazarus is the only person in the Gospel of John who is explicitly named as someone Jesus loves.) And then there's also the theory that "the disciple whom Jesus loved" is a code for a reader-insert, because it applies to all Christians. We are all disciples (students) of Jesus, and he loves all of us.

Anyway, in the Last Supper the Beloved Disciple is "reclining on/at Jesus' breast/bosom/chest" and artists portray this as everything from sitting next to him to John's head in Jesus' lap. And any of these would be legitimate possible interpretations of the text.

But the thing to remember is that modern Western culture is very weird about men touching each other. We basically don't have any platonic physical contact between men, except for a quick hug with a backslap for Manliness. So there's a lot of things that we look at and go "aha! this must be Queerness!" and it's things that the culture in question would have thought was normal for men to do. Even if the guy really was lying with his head in Jesus' lap, it wouldn't necessarily be sexual ... and the Gospel author could just have meant they were sitting close together with the disciple in a favored seat. (In Luke 16, Jesus describes someone in heaven as being "in the bosom of Abraham" using a very similar phrase; I don't think he or the Gospel's author meant that being in heaven is having sexy cuddles with Abraham. Hilarious though that would be.) (You know what else is funny? Traditional Christian art about "the bosom of Abraham."

If you're looking for queer people in the New Testament, your best bet is the Roman centurion and his slave/servant. In Greco-Roman culture, being a male who was sexually penetrated was emasculating and made you lose massive status. So men who wanted male lovers would seldom have a lover of equal social status. Upper class men would take lovers from among their servants/slaves, and everyone would assume that the servant was the one being penetrated, and since the servant had less status to lose, that was fine. (The power dynamics involved are really awful.) Anyway, the centurion comes to ask Jesus to heal his slave--and makes kind of an elaborate production of it, so the slave must be really important to him. And he uses terminology that was sometimes applied to any slave ... but could also be used in reference to a rich man's low-class lover. It's circumstantial, but enough to make one wonder. (Jesus, by the way, heals the servant immediately; if there is queer subtext there, Jesus doesn't care.)

Because I can't not, here's some Bosom of Abraham art. We'll start with the ordinary:

and move on to the ridiculous:

(why do all the people look like babies in this one?)

[disorganizedkitten]

Yes hi hello, I'd love to hear ur thoughts on the al ghul children

Hi yes hello I'd love to talk about them

I am so weak to assassin children you have no idea so anyway

The Al Ghul Children. Are so freaking TRAGIC and I can never get over them

So you have the baby generation which is Mara and Damian and Athantasia; then the original generation, which is Dusan, Nyssa, and Talia.

Attie straight up doesn't exist in most media but in the game(?) where she does she's Damian baby sister who was kept a secret until he couldn't go back to being with the bats. I think about her all the time. What did she know about Damian growing up? Did she ever want to meet him? How many times did she sit in the middle of the night and wish for her brother to do something unforgivable so he could come back? Or was she glad he was gone? The league canonically pits their kids against each other, did she grow up resenting him? Or, even if she liked the idea of him, did she resent him anyway for being the child who went to Bruce? Did she take up Damian's place in the duels with Mara?

Athantasia isn't used nearly enough for her potential she is blorbo-shaped.

And then Damian! Itty bitty baby boy with a sword and issues. I think so much about how he's naturally soft but he can't be because of circumstance. How many quiet moments were lost to blood, how long did it take for him to learn what a genuine human connection felt like? What if he never did? I've been around humans I love since I was born, and I still sometimes feel absolutely disconnected from them. How much superiority is covering for insecurity? We've seen him make friends, Maps, Colin, Jon, as the three I actually care about, and he likes them. Did he make friends in the league? What happened to them? Or did he just, for lack of a better word, imprint, on other assassins?

In a complete other fandom I'm propagating biting as a love language and Damian has that vibe too.

and MARA

Holy fudge Mara also sends me; being constantly raised not only as a weapon, but being told you're the second best weapon and that maybe you can gain more prestige if you beat your cousin in a deadly duel, except even if you do win you know you will never get the recognition you're trying for because his mother is favored and your father isn't

Were she and Damian ever close, or as close as they could get? Did they plan how to lead the league when they weren't trying to take each others' eyes out, did she ever meet Attie, did she take her anger on Damian out on Attie, is the red streak something she does to hide a lazarus streak or is it natural from her dad? Can she see out of her other eye? Where did she see herself in the league before Damian deserted? Is she close to her teammates in the fist or are they just the prettiest canon fodder Ra's could send?

Is there a part of her that is as relieved to be hunting Damian down as it is angry, because at least fighting him is familiar?

The older three also make me Feel Things but not as much as the kiddos.

Nyssa apparently survived the holocaust? And then Ra's murdered her kids and then repeatedly killed her and dropped her into the pits for... something? I don't remember if I ever learned why that happened, but it did and it's so horrid? Drove her to insanity, surprise surprise. I recommend Misericordia and it's sequel on ao3 if you want to cry over Steph, Damian, Talia, and Nyssa. And then the Nyssa Al Ghul & Tim Drake Tag, if you're feeling adventurous. I don't even know the NAMES of Nyssa's kids and that makes me incredibly sad.

Would they have gotten along with the other three? Would they have taken them and ran? Or would they train them, keeping their bloodline strong, and just quietly know that these are their cousins and they're so proud?

And Talia gets rewritten every other writer but there are so many options when characterizing her and they're so much fun. But also everyone else deals with her so jumping to the next one. I think Talia is also the youngest? Don't quote me on that

Anyway last al ghul I think too much about is Dusan. I can't remember if he's the oldest or the middle child but despite being Ra's' male heir he straight up got sent away because he has albinism? And then he fought his way back into his father's ranks under an alias? He went so far for approval and he's still overlooked, and his kid is considered second rate, even though he's personally considered to be terrifying?

How long did it take him to come back? Why didn't he stay away? Does he ever regret it, now that he's back in the league?

i just. There are lots. and lots. of thoughts about them. And I'm sure there are more al ghuls hiding somewhere for me to lose my everloving mind over but I haven't met them yet

the inherent hate of someone who has everything you think you want battling with the inherent love for someone who has gone through the same horrors you have

[suchathrilltobeagirl]

Good Wednesday afternoon Katie!

I read the first 4 chapters of your book, “Night and Day” through our library on-line program. I’ve ask for the e-book through our library & currently they haven’t gotten it as of yet, so I have it on hold when they do. I’ve been reading and looking through your posts on TUMBLR and find you very fascinating and enjoyably captivating. You are very pretty in your womanhood, Katie. But then again “why wouldn’t you” since the truth is that is who you truly are. Your countenance is radiant and shines from your spirit.

Your story is similar to my story starting out. I was born as an unexpected and unwanted accident since my birth mother was unwed at the time and soon parted ways with my birth father. I was given up at birth to my real parents who lovingly adopted and wanted me. But as I learned to walk and get into mischief as a little boy things just didn’t seem correct. And I quickly learned for any one of unknown reasons that I shouldn’t share my female truth with anyone including my loving parents and six year older sister. My closet became my haven all of the time I was raised under their roof and religion. But I loved my mother’s and sister’s closets best and found excitement as a “little girl growing up”.

I am “an old Kansas gal” now still very much internally but not physically. That in and of itself is a long-long story with both disappointments and also now piece in old age knowing who I am and not worrying about anyone else knowing. If that makes any sense!

What to me that matters eternally is my secured relationship with my Lord and my God. You quoted a happening to one of my favorite women in the Bible in John’s account starting in chapter 8. Yes Jesus saw for “who she was” and embraced her as His child. I do believe in my heart that even though she wasn’t named then, that she was “Mary of Bethany”, the sister to Mary and Lazarus.

I can go on forever truly being a babbling old woman, but I hate to think that I may bore you to tears. I have joy in finding your sight and reading a number of your thoughts and seeing your heart being revealed. Hopefully we will have more moments to share together if you so wish.

“God bless you Katie!” “Heather Caroline Huffman, a girl Jesus loves!”

Wow, Heather, thank you for such a lovely message. I cannot have enough sisters, I love your 'babbling'! Welcome to my family!

I hope you like the rest of my story, once you get a chance to read it! I hope you will come back and tell me what you thought of it.

Your life and mine are stories of yesteryear ... had we been born 20, or even 30 years ago, we would have whatever support we needed to truly become the girls we are. Life is so unfair!

Don't be a stranger!

Love Katie xxx