#Jason is trying so hard to be a supervillain

[megamindsupremacy]

It’s so funny that Tim is the Most Likely to Become a Supervillain of the Batfam. Like I agree, this is definitely true. However Jason is Right There and he’s trying his BEST alright?

[ghostly-penumbra]

What I need of the DPxDC "Bruce confuses Danny for one of his kids and accidentally kinda kidnaps him" is to have Danny's parents go absolute apeshit at someone taking their baby boy! their little guy! the most wonderful, most specialest boy ever!

and now whilst Bruce is just realising what's going on and trying to give Danny back, Jack and Maddie already went through half his rogues gallery looking for who could have taken their son! the villains are in shambles! the GCPD doesn't know if they are supervillains too since they are only targeting OTHER supervillains but anyway they Can Not Restrain Them

Danny sees that and just groans and sinks his head in his hands, defeated, and then hears all the cutesy names they are calling him with and wants to die (again) on the spot "our baby boy! our darling bombon! our little starlight!" (ok, he likes that one), "our sweet, sweet little boy!"

in the end, Danny is reunited with his parents, whom get fined for property damage and attacking cops (it was the cops' fault. acab), and they are hugging Danny and grumbling about the fine ("what did they expect? what parent wouldn't tear down the world for their child?" Jason, looking pointedly at Bruce: "yeah, what kind of AWFUL parent wouldn't?"), but they are understanding enough with Bruce, as it was a mix-up and Danny didn't say anything until later out of awkwardness (they judge his parenting if he cannot recognize he wasn't his kid. no matter that they cannot recognize Phantom as THEIR kid)

they leave, happy and relieved, and Bruce hopes they never really turn to supervillainy

once Jason finds out Maddie beat Joker to half an inch of his life (that clown is hard to kill!), he sneaks into their RV and adopts himself into their home. because i said so

[morverenmaybewrites]

Lessons on Love | Jason Todd x Reader

What lesson about love are they still trying to learn?

Asked by @/citrussaurus

Literally everything. 

I think that Jason’s experiences have shaped him into someone who has quite an unhealthy view on love and relationships: the lack of a positive example of a healthy relationship during his childhood years, the confusing (but not entirely loveless) relationship he had with Bruce Wayne, and eventually his years of rage and isolation as the Arkham Knight. 

By the time post-Arkham Knight rolls around, Jason has a deeply unhealthy view on love and relationships.

And yet, despite this, I feel like he craves this. More than that he’s starved for it. 

I think a part of him hopelessly, desperately wants to be held dear. He wants a place to belong, someone to belong to. 

And it’s his great tragedy that he doesn’t know how to ask for it and more importantly, he doesn’t know how to receive it. Sometimes, Jason loves so quietly that it’s hard to see it as love –because God knows that no one in his life ever taught him to properly communicate. 

I picture the way Jason seeks affection like a starved street dog: there’s a hunger to it, a thirst.

(After all, if you have spent your whole life being starved of something, isn’t it only natural to seek it out, even if it’s just the bare scraps? And here you are, willing to give him your whole heart.)

But there’s also a sort of tension, then animal instinct to flee after being kicked more than several times for it.

I picture him as always perched at the edge of things: waiting, waiting for the inevitable moment where the rug is pulled out from under him, when the affection you had always so freely given will suddenly be withheld, and he will be left starving again, a hole at the center of him that he has no idea how to fill.

(But oh you are worth the fall.)

But I always think of him as physically perched on things, especially on the early days of your relationship: the edge of towering skyscrapers, hovering in your doorway just barely stepping into your threshold until you finally have to ask him to come in, your windowsill, just barely keeping himself out of the rain. He’ll try to act relaxed, but really, he’s tense as a bird about to take flight. Always, always prepared for the moment where he’ll be asked to leave.

(And yet, and yet, all he wants is that you ask him to stay.) 

He doesn’t know how to show you affection, doesn’t know how to ask for it. All he’s ever known is how to make himself useful. 

(After all, useful things don’t get thrown away. Useful things don’t get asked to leave.) 

He’ll keep you safe, which in Gotham City is no small feat, keep the villains away from your door: from the small-time crooks who target regular civilians for just that extra bit of cash to the supervillains whose plans would likely involve you (and the rest of Gotham City) as collateral.

And at first, it’s eerie: the sudden silence in your life, the feeling of peace, of being looked out for. You have never gone so long without encountering some sort of mugger or been involved in a bank robbery.

Then perhaps one day, you’ll get a text from an unknown number, asking you to stay away from Gotham Square that day. When you try to call to get more information, it comes up as Unavailable. And perhaps a week after that, you’ll get a similar text from a different, this time telling you to avoid Bleake Island.

Perhaps you solve it quickly or perhaps, not at all and it takes you a while to put together the pieces: Jason has been keeping you safe. 

And when you decide to talk to him about it, he’s cagey, almost embarrassed. He won’t deny it, but at the same time, when you try to thank him or show you appreciate him, he’ll react with confusion. 

After all, keeping his loved ones safe is second nature to him. In fact, I feel like it’s the one act of love that all of the Bats are comfortable with. 

He’ll do other things for you too. He’ll get up and make dinner after a long day, despite having just come back from a grueling mission, he does the dishes without being asked, hell, he’ll sometimes even throw in a load of laundry for you–taking a an unexpected pleasure from seeing the way your clothes are mixed in with his, the simple solid domesticity of it, at how your lives have become so intermingled that he now has to separate your socks from his. 

In short, he’ll do acts that, while on the outside seem nice, would sometimes border on servile. 

When you try to show him how much you appreciate what he does, he’ll be even more embarrassed: there’s an odd tension around his shoulders, the slightest dusting of pink on his cheeks. 

(And oh, Jason hates the way he blushes, knows the way it discolors around the brand on his cheek, the way it doesn’t redden along with the rest of his skin, but instead stands out, ghostly pale.) 

So he’ll shrug it off, barely being able to look at you. Acutely aware of how strange and monstrous he looks.

And even more so, he’s painfully aware of the reason he’s doing these things. Not only because he wants to take care of you (and he does), but because it’s the only way he knows how to be useful, how to be needed. 

How to be asked to stay.   

[geevesthevieve]

Deleted scene/alternate opening from "Back to Back" ch. 2

The times when his brain betrayed him by flinging him back into that hell begotten warehouse were always at the worst possible moments.  

It started with him removing his helmet, which was also horrid timing. The filters had a nasty habit of clogging if not regularly cleaned out, which caused the thing to overheat. He’d been sweating as the stuffy air practically had him choking for the past ten minutes. So he’d taken the first opportunity he could and unfastened it, tucked it under his arm, and took clear, blessed breaths… Or as clear as one could at an old, musty factory left to decay with the useless ‘Keep Out’ signs doing nothing for the homeless and the addicts just trying to stay out of the cold or get their fix in peace. Clearing them out while they’d been doing a sweep for the latest wannabe supervillain’s traps that she’d left around this side of town had taken way too long and now Jason just really wanted a cigarette.

Then he heard the beeping. 

Maybe it was the tone or maybe it was how it started soft and got louder and faster with each tick. But Jason’s heart-rate followed suit, ratcheting up.

His vision darkened around the edges and the crumbling plaster and chipped stone became desiccated wood where he was barely managing to drag his mangled body across the floor, his shattered bones shifting as they scraped along the warped, splintered surface. Every fiber of him screamed. His mouth filled with the coppery tang of blood, shaping around nonsensical words that had probably been some pointless desperate plea to anyone that might be around to find him. 

The only reply he got was the ever increasing beeps.

“Hood! Get down!”

Louder and louder, high pitched, grating down on his ears. More insistent like it wasn't the only thing pulsating through Jason at that very moment…well, there was always the laughter. The maniacal laughter and the thud of metal against his ribs. 

It was going to stop soon and then the burning would envelop him. Blisters would form and burst in a matter of milliseconds. His eyes would melt and the world would go dark, but the lightless fire would continue to devour him. It would be fast, but it would take eons. 

“Jason!”

Then he’d be gone again.

Something hard slammed into his side, knocking him behind a pillar, right as the last beep sounded, and the blue and black figure that had shoved him to the ground blew past him as the bomb exploded.

It was bright and hot just like before, and then there was nothing.

Nothing.

Then… 

Ringing.

Piercing ringing replaced everything else, rattling against his skull, making him tremble. Jason blinked hard and coughed as more dust and smoke filled his lungs. He waved his arms in front of him and rammed his elbow into something hard, sending a tingling shockwave through it. He cursed, but his tongue tasted like chalk and dirt. He also was aware that he hadn’t even heard his voice when he’d spoken. 

Pushing past the raucous coughs, and spatting out the powdery taste in his mouth, he managed to somewhat settle the hard thrumming battering against his chest. The constant chiming continued going strong against his eardrums. He clapped his hands over the sides of his head and waited until other sounds started to wash the ringing further back. Then he opened his eyes again, letting them adjust to the new darkness. He squinted around for his helmet, but it was nowhere within his current view. There were only fallen columns and the crushed rusted machinery from whatever had used to be assembled here. 

Jason slowly eased himself up, dodging around the cracked pillar he’d been sheltered by, and gasped as a sharp pain shot up through his abdomen, along with a harsh creaking from his ribcage. His clanging head pounded, and the air hit an open wound at his scalp. He brushed his fingers along it and stared blankly at his bloodied hand when he brought it back around.  

He’d just had to take his helmet off.

Blinking hard, he again tried to do a scan for it in the rubble. It had his comms in it. He hated the little earpieces that went directly in his ear, but he was regretting not having one as a back-up. He needed to let the others know what had happened. Most of the bats were on the other side of the city. It had just been him and—

An icy wave poured down Jason’s back.

“Oh, shit.” He stumbled. He wasn’t sure if it was over some debris or just from his still spinning head. He just managed to catch himself on an overturned conveyor-belt—or what once might have been a conveyor-belt. He barely took the moment to clear the lingering vertigo that had his stomach flipping over too. Bracing himself on his elbows, his eyes raked over the landfill of a factory with much more fervor, the cold flooding through his veins with the force of a burst dam. “Dick!” He yelled out into the dark—screwing protocol. 

There was no reply.

Jason's heart thudded loud again, warring against the remnant ringing. There was enough awareness in him to recall his brother slamming into him. Dick might have actually been speaking to him before that, probably shouting at him to move or something before he’d jumped into action. A blur of the Nightwing suit being flung away seared across Jason’s mind’s eye.

“Dammit.” His chest rose and fell too rapidly. “Dammit!” Shoving himself off the conveyor-belt, he staggered over in the direction he thought he’d seen Dick fly.

---------------------------------

---This is just what the title says. It's from my fic "Back to Back". This was initially how I'd started the second chapter, but I realized it wasn't paralleling the first chapter like it was supposed to. So I scrapped most of it an kept some of the pieces. It's not much different. I just sort of skip this part and summarize it in the actual fic 😁 But I was going through a few things, while working on a few other new fics (I really hope to be able to post soon) and found this. So... figured I'd post it for fun!---

[necrotic-nephilim]

"How else am I supposed to learn if you don't punish me?" With Jason x Bruce ship pls 🙏

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

fucked up BruJay my beloved. this is. honestly more emotional whump than physical and the romance is implied, but i do like this piece a lot, even if i struggled with it a bit. have 2.2k of Bruce and Jason struggling to get along. enjoy <3

Sometimes, Jason did it on purpose.

He knew Bruce’s patrol route better than anyone. Which was by design. Jason wanted to know where Bruce was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with at all times. And really, Bruce didn’t seem to be stopping Jason from keeping tabs. None of Jason’s carefully placed trackers were removed, and Jason knew better than to assume Bruce had lost his touch. Bruce knew they were there, and he knew they were Jason’s.

So if Jason wanted to avoid Bruce, he knew how to do it. And when he really did want to get work done under Bruce’s nose, it was easy for Jason to dance around Bruce’s schedule and send him tail spinning just trying to keep up with Jason.

But some days, Jason didn’t want to avoid Bruce. He wanted the thrill of the chase.

So he got caught on purpose.

He picked a gang on the side of town Bruce always patrolled at this hour. He used the loudest guns he had with no silencers. He started the messiest brawl he could.

And he waited.

Jason didn’t have to wait long.

Like it always was with Bruce, the entrance was dramatic. Shattering glass as a large form with an unfurled cape descended from the skylight. Jason smiled under his helmet.

There were already at least half a dozen dead. The rest were running around like ants, either trying to get away from Jason or futilely trying to fight him.

“You’re late!” Jason shouted over his shoulder. He dodged a batarang thrown in his general direction. “I expected you to get here at least five minutes earlier.”

“Robbery a block away,” Bruce said brusquely. He turned to a few gang members with tire irons and shivs lifted, ready to charge Jason. “Run. Now.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

Jason raised his gun to shoot one. He wasn’t particular about who he picked. He knew it didn’t matter. The bullet wouldn’t actually hit them.

Because just on time as Jason squeezed the trigger, a batarang buried into his hand. He swore and dropped the gun.

“Enough, Hood,” Bruce said coldly.

Jason smiled under his mask. “Someone’s gotta clean up this city.” He lunged for another thug.

Bruce’s body was like a battering ram, slamming into Jason. He was heavy enough to knock the wind out of Jason, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Jason groaned, trying to throw Bruce off of him. When that didn’t work, he went for his belt, grabbing his kris dagger and flipping it around.

“Do you hold any value for human life?” Bruce demanded. He grabbed Jason’s wrist and pinned it against the ground. “These aren’t supervillains, they’re normal people down on their luck-”

Before Bruce could finish talking, one of the gang members bashed him over the head with a wooden plank. Bruce’s cowl was reinforced, but the little bastard had managed to hit hard enough to snap the plank clean in half. A grunt was forced out of Bruce and his whole body buckled.

Now that was just rude. Bruce was Jason’s meat, not some stupid punk’s. Possessive jealousy flared through Jason, watching Bruce wince in pain to a wound Jason didn’t give him.

“Yeah, they seem real grateful to their savior,” Jason sneered. He threw Bruce off of him and grabbed the gang member. A wiry thing, probably still a teenager. Jason twisted them around to hold his dagger against their throat with his fingers buried into their hair, holding them still. A horrified noise came out of them. Not that Jason particularly cared. He wasn’t the one stupid enough to try beaning Batman with some plywood.

Bruce was on one knee, looking up at Jason. “Don’t.” His fingers twitched toward his utility belt.

“You can’t stop me,” Jason taunted, pressing the blade against tender flesh until the person was squirming in his grasp and blubbering out incoherent pleas for mercy. “Hands where I can see ‘em, B.”

If Jason was anyone else, Bruce would’ve stopped him by now. A quick flick of his wrist to hit Jason with a tranq dart, was how he guessed Bruce would do it.

But he wasn’t just some rogue. He was Jason. And that made Bruce go still, actually listening to Jason’s demands.

“You’re just doing this for attention,” Bruce said carefully, keeping his whole body tense, but not moving it. “Let them go.”

“It’s working.” Jason shrugged, adjusting his hold on the stranger. “So can you blame me?”

“There are other ways to do it without-” Bruce briefly looked around the room at the bodies littered everywhere- “casualties. And innocent hostages.”

“Innocent?” Jason laughed. He turned to address the person he was holding. “Do you think you’re innocent? Why don’t you tell the Batman where these drugs were getting funneled.”

“I don’t- please, I just help packaging- I didn’t-”

Jason huffed in annoyance. “I’ll tell him for you. The middle school down the street. And if there was extra supply, the youth center just around the corner from it too. You remember that youth center don’t you, B? I slept there sometimes as a kid. It was warmer than the streets.”

Bruce’s mouth faintly twitched. His jaw was set. Jason could see him grappling with the rage of knowing exactly who these low lives were dealing to, while still wanting to tell Jason off for all the ugly murder.

How contradictory that nasty little moral code of his could be.

“Let them go,” Bruce spoke slowly, “and we’ll work together to figure out how-”

“Oh don’t even pretend,” Jason laughed. “Don’t pretend you would work with me for a second.”

“Let them go,” Bruce repeated. He seemed to pointedly avoid admitting to Jason’s point.

Jason let out a long hum like he was thinking about it. “I don’t know. What’s one more to my body count?” He started to press the blade.

Bruce moved inhumanely fast. He kicked up, knocking the knife out of Jason’s hand without hitting the gang member. His hands went for Jason’s throat and he managed to get Jason back on the ground. The gang member ran off, footsteps echoing until they were gone while Jason and Bruce grappled, trading punches and kicks until Bruce managed to pin Jason down. Blood was pouring from Jason’s nose and Bruce had human claw marks across his cheek.

Rough. Animalistic. Just the way Jason liked it.

“Why do you do this?” Bruce spoke through grit teeth. “Why do you make me do this?”

“Like you said,” Jason grunted, trying to twist out from Bruce. “I like the attention.” His struggles only got him pinned harder. Bruce forced Jason facedown against the concrete, with an arm twisted behind his back. Jason’s helmet was torn off and tossed to the side.

“I never want to hurt you,” Bruce actually sounded choked up about it. “Why do you have to take it too far every time?”

Jason would give anything to see his face, right now.

“Maybe I want you to hurt me,” Jason said. He looked at his hand resting against the concrete, blood still pouring out of the wound the batarang left. it was a bright, pulsing pain that danced across his reality, making his blood sing. He hoped it would scar. Another to add to the collection of ones he’d goaded Bruce into giving him.

“Why?” Bruce’s voice broke on the word. It was an ironic thing. How badly Bruce wanted to show Jason his mercy. His gentle side. And how badly Jason wanted Bruce’s violence. He wanted Bruce to fight Jason until Bruce’s knuckles were bloody and Jason was barely conscious. He wanted to feel Bruce’s violence down to the marrow.

Jason craned his head back to look at Bruce and smiled. “How else am I supposed to learn if you don’t punish me?”

Bruce stared. For a long moment, he was silent. Jason listened to his breathing like a lifeline. “You don’t actually believe that.” his voice was soft and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to concern.

Sentimental bastard.

“No,” Jason admitted. “We both know I’ll never learn.”

To prove his point, Jason grabbed a stray piece of glass from the ground and stabbed it into one of the weak spots on Bruce’s armor. It made Bruce’s grip loosen enough for Jason to roll free and try to kick Bruce in the face.

Bruce wasn’t fighting him. He only blocked Jason’s blows, and even then, let some of them hit. It was like fighting a brick wall. Hard and unrelenting.

It was starting to piss Jason off.

“Don’t be afraid to hurt me now, Bruce,” Jason said through grit teeth, throwing another punch. It sailed uselessly over Bruce’s shoulder when Bruce easily dodged.

“No.” Bruce’s expression was unreadable under his mask. “I’m not playing your game, Jason.”

“Damnit!” Jason could feel his anger threatening to take control. He kicked Bruce hard in the shin, forcing the man to his knees. Jason ripped Bruce’s cowl off. He wasn’t stopped by Bruce. Hard blue eyes stared up at him. Practically emotionless. “I know you hate me. I know you’re itching to rip my head off for…” Jason spread his arms, gesturing to all the bodies. “For this! For everything I’ve done.”

Bruce shook his head, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. “I don’t hate you, Jason. I could never-” He doubled over when Jason’s knee connected with his stomach.

“Well you definitely don’t love me,” Jason snapped, ice dripping from his tone. “If you did… if you loved me, you would let me have this.”

“Killing people?”

“Hurting me,” Jason corrected. He snatched his kris off the floor from where it’d fallen to. He stared at the blade. “I’m sick of your pacificism. I’m sick of you pretending you don’t crave hurting someone and pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“I’ve never pretended,” Bruce looked at Jason through careful, hooded eyes. “That want… that need has always been a part of me. I take too much pleasure in hurting people. Pleasure in believing they deserve it.” He studied Jason for a moment. “I never wanted it to consume you the way it consumes me. Because I know it’s something you can’t come back from, once it takes root.”

Jason hated it when Bruce waxed poetic. It was a whole lot of bullshit that meant nothing to Jason. It did nothing to fight the roar of rage building in Jason’s chest.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Jason asked.

He needed Bruce to say yes.

He knew Bruce wouldn’t.

Even if it was the truth. Which now, Jason wasn’t so sure.

Bruce was silent. He didn’t give Jason any answer, not even a change in expression. Bruce just pushed himself to his feet and looked at his cowl that Jason was still holding.

“I love you, Jason,” Bruce said. He grabbed the cowl, but Jason didn’t let go. “I want to help you. Please let me help you in any other way that’s not… this.” Bruce’s thumb brushed over the still bleeding gash on Jason’s hand.

Jason tightened his grip on the cowl. “I’m not giving you the free pass to sleep easy at night,” he hissed. “You can’t take back any of the scars you’ve given me. And we both know sooner or later, there will be new ones.”

Bruce tore the cowl out of Jason’s hand. Before putting it on, he started to reach out for Jason’s face, but seemed to think against it, hand abruptly dropping. He opened his mouth to say something. An apology, probably.

A muffled, crackly voice came from inside the cowl. A police scanner, by the sounds of it. Jason only caught the words bomb threat and hostages.

So much for Bruce’s attention.

“Come with me?” Bruce offered, pulling his cowl on.

Jason shook his head. “You know you don’t want me there.”

“I always want you-” Bruce cut himself off, seeming to realize how dangerously vulnerable his words were. “The offer to come to me will always be open, Jason. You know that.”

Jason’s fist curled and his blood dripped onto the concrete. “Go to hell.”

Like that, the intimacy was gone. Bruce put his emotional mask back on to go with his physical one and turned heel, walking away. Jason just watched him go, some part of him foolishly waiting for Bruce to turn back and say something. Anything. He could get any other hero to handle the bomb threat. He could spare Jason just a few more moments of arguing and fighting. Maybe even something more.

But of course, he didn’t.

[bigskydreaming]

And on the topic of how Dick might have reacted to the Felipe Garzonas case, especially when still on the outs with Bruce himself....

****

The way Jason Todd warily eyed the device in his hand, one might think it was an instrument of great and terrible destructive power, rather than just…his own personal cell-phone.

To be fair, he was Robin, and pretty used to the idea that even the most unlikely of things could be used for evil in Gotham. It could’ve been stolen and replaced at some point by a henchperson of Mr. Freeze, and using it could unleash some kind of cryogenic freeze ray that would turn him into a Robinsicle. Mad Hatter could be up to shit again, and dialing the phone at this very minute might mean syncing it up with a remote radio signal that would override his natural brainwaves and turn him into Tetch’s mindless minion of like…doom and stuff. Or…or…

Or sometimes, even in Gotham a phone is just a phone, and Freud is still a dumbass. And neither of the above possibilities had anything to do with why Jason was being a giant freaking pansy about entering the last digit of the phone number he would never ever admit to having had memorized for months now.

Nightwing had said to call if he ever needed to talk. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t actually want Jason to call, right? Like, its not as if Jason had remotely been expecting him to do that, so its not the sort of thing someone did just because it was ‘expected’ or shit. He was pretty sure. Rich people manners were weird though. Had to factor that in.

But Nightwing had also even made a point to say not talking to people about stuff was Bruce’s problem and that Jason shouldn’t let it be his problem too, and even though months ago Jason had been a starry-eyed dumbass who was totally drunk on the Bruce is the Bestest Kool-Aid or whatever, ‘Wing had definitely known what he was talking about there. So maybe he’d get it, and having this conversation with him wouldn’t be. Like. The actual worst idea in the history of ever.

Deductive logic said that Jason was getting worked up over nothing and there was no rational reason for him to be this nervous about dialing a fucking phone number. And he’d gotten pretty good at the whole deduction shit, given all the work he and Bruce had put into training his mind to view the world through entirely new paradigms, so Jason was pretty sure his math on that checked out. But on the other hand, Bruce was a hypocritical asshat that Jason was currently not speaking to, so what the fuck did he know about anything?

Aaaaand he was back to square one. Well damn. This was excellent. Very productive. Good hustle out there, Jay.

Sighing gustily, Jason flopped back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten used to how luxurious and cushion-y his ridiculously expensive mattress was. He’d gotten soft, he told himself. Then he scoffed at the idea that the past year and a half of rigorous Robin training and patrols had made him less tough than the pipsqueak he’d been back when living on the street, getting his ass kicked by bigger and badder on the regular. That hadn’t been hardness, that had been bravado.

But it had gotten him this far in life, so maybe there was something to be said for it after all?

Ugh. Decisions were hard. He objected on principle. He also really wanted to understand why he was this nervous…if he could literally fill the guy’s shoes and kick supervillain ass as Robin, what freaking sense did it make that he couldn’t even call him up on the phone?

Maybe you just know better than to ask him questions you don’t really want to hear his answer to, a smug voice said in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like Willis Todd, which was all kinds of weird and fucked up, cuz Jason was damn sure his abusive a-hole of a deadbeat dad had never said anything that insightful in his life.

Which meant it was his own screwed up subconscious - presenting in the voice of his not so dearly departed douchebag dad, no less - that had Jason reacting out of spite, entering the last number and hitting Talk, all while totally on autopilot. Because apparently we’re all making healthy life choices in this Chili’s tonight, Jason snickered somewhat hysterically while his phone rang once, twice, three times.

Ugh. Was he always this fucked up in the head and he just never noticed, or was it a side effect of running around rooftops in a cape. Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“Hello?” Someone said then, answering on the fourth ring. Jason sat bolt upright, his nervous humor vanishing as quickly and unexpectedly as it’d hijacked him in the first place. For all that he’d only actually interacted with the older man a few times, his voice was instantly recognizable. As was his slight confusion.

Right. Because why would Nightwing have the untraceable number of the latest burner phone Bruce had given Jason, when the ever paranoid Bat had him swapping out phones every freaking week? Duh, Jay.

“Uh, its me,” Jason said hastily, as if he could somehow catch up to and overtake the epically long ten second silence he let lapse before his mouth started making words again. “Jason?”

“Jaybird! Hey! What’s going on?” The older vigilante’s tone instantly morphed into one of surprised delight, so apparent even across the phone that Jason actually pulled it away from his ear and stared at it, as if that could explain Nightwing’s inexplicable giddiness. He’d literally only met the dude three times. Give or take a concussion he was forgetting about maybe? Weird.

Then again, the older man was a circus performer from birth. Might just be good at faking being super excited to hear from people? Whatever. Still weird.

“Uh, you said to call if I was ever having, I dunno, issues with Bruce I guess? So I kinda had a question? I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”

Just one question? Willis’ voice asked snidely, echoing in time with the rapid tripartite beat of Jason’s heart. Since apparently everything Jason said was trying to come out with a question mark attached to the end of it at the moment. Ugh, fuck you, subconscious, Jason thought forcefully, even as he ransacked the recesses of his mind for that bravado he was thinking about earlier. It had to be in here somewhere…

“No worries dude, I’ve got time. Hit me!” Nightwing said cheerfully. His lighthearted cadences were so at odds with the sweat suddenly breaking out on Jason’s forehead, the younger teen couldn’t help but wince in anticipation of its inevitable change once he got his actual question out. This was a bad idea, he decided, way too fucking late for it to make a difference. He had a hunch Nightwing wouldn’t be content to ‘just forget it’ or whatever even if Jason chickened out now.

So he took a deep breath, shrugged and did what Jason Todd did best. Said fuck it, put pedal to the metal, and drove at full speed for the metaphorical police barricade that was his way of picturing all the things telling him He Should Definitely Just Not.

“Do you think I’m someone who could kill somebody in like, cold blood?”

Aaaaand there went the lightheartedness. Well, he’d definitely stone cold killed that, Jason thought grimly into the silence that followed.

“Huh,” Nightwing said at last. “You’re gonna have to give me a second to switch gears here, Jay. I was kinda expecting something along the lines of ‘how do I avoid Bruce giving me the safe sex talk.’”

Jason flushed and nodded jerkily, not that the older man could see it. Still, it’d been enough of a workout just getting to this point. He didn’t trust what might come out of his mouth next if he kept trying to force it. Thankfully Nightwing didn’t make him wait too long before continuing.

“I think anyone’s capable of killing somebody in the right circumstances,” Jason’s predecessor began carefully. Except that was not remotely what he wanted to hear. Or helpful.

“I’m not looking for platitudes,” Jason grit out, not angry at the other vigilante so much as the whole fucked up mess and his inability to think about anything else at this point. “It’s just a simple fucking question. You’ve met me, do you think like, I’d be capable of just killing somebody or not.”

“I’m not offering platitudes,” Nightwing continued calmly, as if he wasn’t phased by the younger boy’s interruption or sudden aggression at all. “And its not a simple question at all. Speaking from experience, most people wouldn’t think of an eight year old as a cold-blooded killer, but that’s what I could have been if Bruce hadn’t stopped me from killing my parents’ murderer when I first tracked him down. And yet that’s still totally different from when I held a gun on Two-Face barely a couple years later, about to shoot him because somebody else told me to, and because I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me. Wouldn’t you agree those are two different situations and two different ‘kinds’ of cold-blooded killer? Context is kinda a big deal here.”

Huh. First off…what the fuck? Jason stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to hurry up the processing functions of his brain because, again, what the fuck? He was like ninety nine percent positive none of that had been in the Dick Grayson Is The Greatest and Here Are All The Reasons Why brochure he’d had read to him every time someone new found out he was Wayne’s newest stray, and like. Uh. Yeah, that part would have definitely stood out. Because once more, with feeling:

“What the fuck?”

Oops. That hadn’t been supposed to be out loud. Bad mouth. Bad.

Nightwing just did a weird kinda half laugh half sigh combo. Rueful, Jason would describe it, if he were describing it to someone else, which it kind of felt like he was, relaying the conversation to himself now that it’d taken a hard right turn into the surreal.

“Blindsided you with that, huh? Sorry, should’ve figured neither of those are the kinda stories Bruce would want to share with you. Then again, I don’t really have any idea what Bruce has told you about me.”

“Not much,” Jason admitted. Which was a major source of irritation, if he was being honest. The much sung praises of Dick Grayson came from literally everyone he met except for Bruce. Who usually just got a pinched expression whenever Jason brought him up, and a rapid subject change that was not nearly as subtle as Bruce seemed to think it was.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Nightwing sighed. “I hope you haven’t put too much stock in anything else you’ve heard about me then. I’ll admit to a bad habit of enjoying my mystique, so secondhand hearsay tends to lose my best nuances.”

Despite himself, Jason’s lips curved up and he let out a rueful huff of his own. “I mean, this definitely isn’t where I saw this conversation going.”

The older man chuckled. “Thought I was going to just assume the worst and chuck the book at you?”

“Well. Yeah.” Jason shrugged, even though he knew it wouldn’t come across. “Bruce did.”

Nightwing heaved an exasperated breath. “Yeah, that’s the thing about B. Sometimes, he’s great. Other times, he’s an ass. Its kinda an either or thing. He’s never really mastered the art of finding a midpoint between two extremes. Mostly because he’s never seen the point of aiming for middle ground.”

“Well its not like he’s ever really had to,” Jason griped. It just slipped out before he could stop it, leaving him feeling guilty for bad-mouthing B when he wasn’t around to defend himself. Especially since he knew Nightwing wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan these days. But he couldn’t deny it also felt good, in a way.

To his surprise, Nightwing just laughed. And not even in a malicious, spiteful kind of way, but almost relieved.

“God, thank you. You’d think that ‘hey, so my billionaire guardian kinda has entitlement issues’ would be a water is wet kind of revelation, but try saying something like that to pretty much anyone else…”

“And they look at you like you’re an ungrateful asshole?” Jason finished for him. Not that he’d ever actually tried saying that to anyone before, though he’d definitely thought it a time or two. But he could all too easily imagine the reactions he’d get, which was pretty much why he’d never gone so far as to speak the words.

“Yup,” Nightwing drawled, dragging out the p and popping it with emphasis. “And its not about being grateful or not, its just…there are some parts of everyone that just aren’t up for grabs, for other people to weigh in on or take charge of, you know? And a lot of people just don’t get that…because nobody’s ever tried it with them, or had to deal with expectations that…overstep, let’s call it?”

“Is that why you left?”

Jason winced the second it left his mouth. Too far. Definitely way too far, but he’d just gotten unexpectedly comfortable with the back and forth, and now he’d done the overstepping thing himself and was left with just dead air.

But ten seconds of heavy silence stretched into twenty, and went no further, as Nightwing sighed into his side of the phone again.

“The spiteful part of me wants to say it was more of a push than me just up and leaving,” he laughed again, but this time with unmistakable bitterness. “But even while that’s true, its not really the right answer to your question, because no matter how much of a clusterfuck that was at the time, its not…I mean, I knew at the time how to fix it. Where and how I needed to cave in order to make up with him and let things get back not quite to normal, but at least close enough.”

The pause wasn’t as heavy or tense this time, as Jason could almost sense the older man gathering his thoughts, trying to put them into words. He bit his lip rather than risk any more unexpected utterances escaping. This might not have been where he’d thought his phone call would lead, but now that he was here, hearing the answers to questions he’d wanted to ask for over a year and finding them almost comfortably familiar, he wasn’t going to risk distracting Nightwing or shutting him up for well. Anything.

“But it would have meant me caving. Settling in ways that I just…couldn’t. So in a way, yeah, I did leave, it was still my choice. And all of that was definitely a big part of it. I love Bruce, I do. I just couldn’t live with him anymore. Not without feeling like I had to give up my own autonomy and just be what he wanted. Or what he’d expected me to grow up to be, back when he first took me in. And as grateful as I am to him for that, I can’t honestly say I would have stuck around back then if I knew that was the price tag attached. I’m not…I don’t do well with people trying to force me to stick to one place, one thing. I was born on the road, you know? When I was a kid, I expected to spend the rest of my life living like that. Home was people. Not places. And so Gotham…its never fit me quite right, the way it does him, or even Barbara. Its not like I was miserable there, its just.”

“It wouldn’t have been your first choice,” Jason finished again, quietly. There was silence again for awhile.

“No. No, it wouldn’t have been. Not then.”

[era-the-witchy-birdkid]

DP X DC Prompt/Idea

Long time writer for the DC fandom (mostly Batman specifically Tim Drake joins the batfam early AUs and Titans Tower AU) on Archive, Danny Fenton also known as Astroboy2025, decides three days after his ‘Accident’ to create a Jason wakes up a Halfa in his coffin fic. He only does this to help himself process his emotions after well lets be honest his death and revival. And later once the ghost attacks pick up and he picks up the mantle of a hero as a way to covertly get advice/figure out on how to fight ghosts better by transplanting all his ghosts into Gotham for Fic!Jason to fight.

Danny wasn’t expecting much to come from this, he wasn’t expecting the fic to blow up in popularity for ‘creative storylines’ and ‘unique original villains with a ghostly flare to go against the ghostly Robin now named Phantom’ it was just a vent fic with a bit of wishful thinking on his part with Ghost!Jason and Bruce's relationship being so close (He ends up writing Jason getting hugs and affirmations that Bruce still loves despite all the ghost stuff that happening now whenever his Parents go on a tirade about how all ghosts are evil and need to be ripped apart molecule by molecule)

He definitely wasn't expecting his fans to find out about the real Phantom and figure out his identity from there. (Blame Penelope Spectra she had a history unlike the others in his rogues gallery with a bloody trail across America of sharply increase Suicide rates in more isolated smaller cites/large towns that was being tracked by Redditers that had hard stopped in Amity park just a few days before he dropped the chapter of Jason facing her himself)

While the Amity Park tourism to see a IRL Hero in action, and the Anti-Ecto acts Riots, as they would later be called, made by DC fans throwing a fit about the threat to the world’s first superhero were the lesser consequence in the grand scheme of things. Finding his fan Discord was a trip and a half especially since Tucker had to hack into it into the first place because his fans we're extremely protective of his secret ID and reinforced the server a crapton to be stronger then most banks.

While Sam was insisting on this being a horrible Idea and he should try to dissuade his thousands of fans from the truth of his Identy. Danny was just chill with it after the brief panic. And the Fan Discord was super helpful for getting Advce with! while the jokes that he was Batman Adoption bait was annoying the group was amazing for ideas on how to train his powers and advice on how to better fight ghosts. the Discord even make a Power list for him so he wouldn’t forget a power because he wasn’t training it. plus the comfort they gave after Circus Gothica was A+ even with the jokes about how the Batfam curse of clown trauma, despite matching the look as a human batman isn’t real so as much as his fans joke about him being the prefect Bat bait that will not happen.

To bad after a particularly nasty ghost hate rant in front of him in ghost form while being shot at by his parents that before the server would spawn 3 chapters of Family fluff in his fic, was whatched angrily by a fan who in a fit of annoyed rage said these words. “I really wish batman WAS real, then maybe you could be safe in your home for once”

unfortunately Desiree was out and about and heard the wish granted she had no idea who Batman was so went to read the DC comics after that. Good news the DC universe is so messed up as is that Desiree decided no twisting was necessary she’d just to bring everything to life. Bad news all the supervillains now exist along side the now existing superheros and Desiree is now Kaiju sized and now way to powerful for Danny to deal with alone... 

At least the now real Batfam are taking their sudden existence well? and are willing to help Danny stop the Mad Genie dispite the risk that they would pop into nonexistence (with the entire city of Gotham and the other cities, villains, and heroes made real by Desiree’s power) if she’s stopped

[mostsanescarletspiderfan]

When it comes to canon it's often hard to separate what is true and what is bad writing/writer's choice.

For example it's easy to say that batman & robin All-stars is a bad comic but how much of what is "parodying" (Millar shitty excuse for being a mediocre writer) is true?

I'm gonna admit that I haven't had a lot of experience with batman comics (I have read probably around 200 of them? For the affiliated heroes even less I think; 85% of Tim's robin run, Cass Batgirl run, Batgirls, an Azrael mini series, Dick's tenure as batman, Damian year of the blood, batman & robin 2011 I think, red robin and no man's land) but can you actually say that Bruce isn't a an abusive parent? Starting from the 80s up to today the character has had a significant change of personality and story from his earlier incarnations, I wouldn't call him abusive with earth 1-2 Dick Graysons and pre-crisis Jason todd. The characters have some bad habits and issues that they have picked up because of Bruce but they are completely fine, things started to change after the crisis and they have never really gone back have they?

And honestly what does that say on how a character is supposed to be? It's an uncomfortable thought to have about characters that have existed for so long, is the writer wrong for following in the footsteps of those who have done the same before him? Like Gotham war is no different from stories like Tim's 16 birthday or Bruce original parenting plan for Cass.

I can't get mad for how things are today without looking back on how they where, I can't say that batman is a good or bad parent without erasing his actions and the situation at hand (saying he's a "complicated" dad is racist, sexist and ableist because you are trying to justify his actions when he is a grown ass man).

Simply ignoring those stories won't change the fact that they still are there, the fact is that now that's who he is and it's not very fun to read about a superhero who is actually a supervillain.

Also this goes for any character who has existed for decades, writers grow up reading about them different and that's how we end up with stuff like modern day Spider-Man.

[televisionlassie]

The reason I find Jason to be boring is because people are so scared to hold him accountable. You can’t claim to like anti-hero’s or claim that Jason is an anti-hero if you’re going to excuse everything that makes him an ANTI-hero.

There is no doubt in my mind that I would like him a whole lot more if people accepted him as a character that does bad things. I understand he has trauma and his own reasons but trauma is only an explanation, not an excuse. While I like consuming content of the batfamily being a family, when it’s not based in pretty much an entirely different universe it doesn’t make any sense.

Pretty much all of the batfamily (except Bruce because he’s can actually be pretty awful to Jason) has reasons to hate or be mad at Jason.

Jason went out in a Nightwing outfit and killed people to try and ruin Dick’s image, and all the shit he’s done to Dicks other siblings. You really think Dick would just be cool with the fact that Jason beat one of his little brothers and shot another one?

Cass has a moral code probably stricter than Batman, she would HATE Jason for killing. And again same thing with the siblings.

Tim I just don’t understand why he would ever forgive Jason. Jason beat the absolute shit out of him, plus you gotta admit that guy is too much of a cocky bitch to ever just forgive and forget

Unfortunately I can’t say much about Steph as I can’t think of a single time where they actually interacted in canon. But I don’t think she would be too fond of the guy who beat up her best friend and shot Damian.

Duke I think has had one personal interaction with Jason and while it wasn’t too friendly I don’t think he would hold that big of a grudge.

Damian I think would be more understanding but it’s hard to forget how he was shot by Jason and had to have his SPINE replaced because of Jason.

I’m not trying to hate on Jason, he honestly makes me sad because he is filled with wasted potential. It’s not even that they never make him do bad things, it’s that there’s never any lasting consequences.

Many times when I see people who hate on Jason they bring in the death penalty argument, which as much as I hate and believe is stupid, still has some tiny bit of validity. The reason it sucks is because the world of DC comics is not even remotely similar to our real life. Criminals in real life don’t have plant powers or convoluted plans to distribute their weird ass poisonous gas. If they did, they wouldn’t even spend a night in jail because they would be shot on the spot. If Jason did just kill these types of criminals, then he would not be considered an anti-hero, just a hero. But that’s the thing, Jason doesn’t just kill the Joker, or the Riddler or any of the Rogues, he kills the type of criminals we would see in our real lives. THAT is where the validity lies in that argument, it’s not just that Jason is killing supervillains but that he is killing the type of people that we are fighting against the death penalty for. Obviously this argument means nothing to you if you are pro-death penalty but I just wanted to explain.

Jason would be so interesting if he was treated like the character he is supposed to be. A young traumatized person who does bad things for the right reasons but still has to face the consequences.

And if people really want to give him a character arc where he eventually stops killing, it shouldn’t just be he gets tried of killing or tired of arguing with Bruce, but that he sees how his way of crime-fighting can do more harm than good.

It’s just so frustrating to see how people just act accept anti-heros for what they are. It like people are so scared of making or admitting a character to be immoral, that they just erase the consequences of their bad actions to make it excusable.

Anyways, thank you for coming to my rant, Jason Todd fans this wasn’t me hating on your babygirl, I’m trying to help you.

[the-witchhunter]

What I like about Bruce Wayne x Harvey Dent

It has a very “childhood sweetheart” kind of vibe. They didn’t stay together but they stayed friends and life circumstances forced them apart. And by life circumstances I mean becoming a villain and being committed to Arkham on one side, and being Batman and a new father on the other

And there’s something so… compelling about them reconnecting after all that

There’s the familiarity there, but they’re older and very different people. How do they fit into each other’s new normal?

Harvey is out of Arkham and he’s still learning to manage his condition while living outside of the structure of the asylum. Even if two face doesn’t actively commit crimes when he fronts, he’s his own complication when it comes to obligations and dating

Bruce is a single parent of a traumatized Dick. It’s hard enough being a parent and introducing your kid to your new partner, but a whole new complication when he actively fought against your partner when they were a supervillain. And even if he’s not actively causing harm, TwoFace is maybe not the best influence when he’s fronting

Or hell, them getting together further in the timeline. Imagine this when Dick is in his full teen angst fighting with Bruce disco-wing era. Bruce dating a (former) supervillain would just add fuel to the fire.

And Just Harvey trying to bond with a freshly taken in Jason because that’s his partner’s new kid, but not knowing how to handle it and being awkward. Meanwhile stress from Dick coming around and yelling at Bruce about both Harvey and Jason probably results in two face fronting more

And frankly I enjoy bad influence uncle two-y bonding with Jason by hot wiring one of Bruce’s cars and the two of them going on a joy ride Crime Alley style

It makes it all the more awkward and tragic when it comes out TwoFace killed Willis Todd

It has everything! Fluff, angst, comedy, Drama!

[wingdingery]

Trick or treat! Happy for any treat :))))

Hello, anon!! You get… (spins the wheel) a peek in the WIP icebox!

WIPs in the icebox are old WIPs that I’m not actively working on anymore and might never post.

This is an Under the Red Hood AU where SlaDick are (waves hands vaguely) something so Dick “hires” Slade to protect Jason from Black Mask’s contract hit squad, and Jason is very confused.

__________

The thing about Jason is that he doesn’t believe in luck, or divine intervention, or good deeds going unpunished. If any of those things were real, he’s sure his life would be very different.

So when he sees another lackey of the day go down in front of him with a well-placed bullet to the knee, he follows his suspicions to the rooftop where Deathstroke the fucking Terminator is calmly packing away his gear.

“What the fuck do you want?” Jason demands.

“From you? Nothing.” Deathstroke swings his bag over his shoulder.

“You think I don’t know about the five hundred grand Black Mask put out on me?” Jason thumps his fist against his chest and spreads his arms wide. “Well, I’m right here. Come and get it.”

“Tempting,” Deathstroke says, like he’d rather lick dirt off the sidewalk. “Unfortunately, I have a better offer elsewhere, so you and your death wish will have to survive another day.”

“What kind of offer?”

“Security,” Deathstroke says. “You keep kicking; I get what I’m due.”

Jason’s nostrils flare. “I can handle myself.”

“Do I look like I care?” Deathstroke says. “I do what I’m hired for. You have a problem, you can take it up with my client.”

Jason can’t think of a single person who would give that much of a shit to keep him alive. “Who’s your client?”

“If you don’t know, that’s your problem,” Deathstroke says. “Information doesn’t come free. And the answer to that question is going to cost you much more than you can afford.”

Jason scowls. Whoever it is, they’d have to have some pretty deep pockets—some pretty deep pockets and a certain sense of morality that would exclude the first rich asshole that springs to Jason’s mind.

Well, would mostly exclude him, except…

“You get a lot of the squeamish type?” Jason says; then, at Deathstroke’s impassive stare, adds, “Seems to me like a clean headshot would be the fastest way to put ‘em down. Instead, they’re getting away with rubber fucking bullets in the leg. Wonder why.”

“Professional courtesy,” Deathstroke says. “Job’s a job. You’re not going to have many friends in the business if you go around offing your associates first chance you get.”

Jason scowls. “I’m not in it to make friends. You can keep your life advice to yourself.”

Deathstroke snorts. “Do I look like your youth group leader? If you want to die alone, that’s your business.”

Jason absolutely refuses to be shamed about his social life by Deathstroke the fucking Terminator. What the fuck is even happening.

“You’d better not be recruiting for Lex fucking Luthor.” He knows Luthor’s hired Deathstroke in the past. If this is some scheme to get him to join some secret supervillain club, he’s gonna throw a fucking riot. As much as he doesn’t want to be associated with Bruce and Dick and the fucking replacement, Luthor feels like a significant step down.

Instead of answering, Deathstroke just slugs him on the shoulder as he walks by, hard enough that Jason stumbles. “Try a bit harder to stay alive, would you? I’ve got a nice deal resting on it.”

“Well, so long as it’s helpful for you,” Jason says, but Deathstroke is already gone.

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

a little bentley + tim and bentley + damian action ain’t never killed nobody (seriously dami and bentley might be my favorite pair to write atm)

part two

❝ METAHUMAN PROBLEMS ❞

MONDAY — JULY 27 — 9:46PM

BENTLEY PADDED BACK DOWN TO THE BATCAVE WITH PUPPY-DOG-EYES AND PUPPETEER CHARM AT THE READY TO ASK TIM FOR HELP WITH THE PHONE. He was in a Red Robin t-shirt and pajama pants that used to be Tim’s (just for good measure), and his red hair was floppy and wet from his shower, to assure maximum cuteness. Getting Tim away from that computer was more a job for, like, Batman himself than Bentley, but he didn’t intend to fail.

It was pitch black outside now, and Dick had left for Bludhaven a few hours ago. Jason hadn’t been at the Manor for the past couple days, Duke was out with Steph and Cass doing some community service or something for school, Damian was in the training room, and Bentley had a solid excuse for needing Tim’s help.

He walked into the Batcave with the phone clasped ever-so-tightly between his hands to ensure its safety. Damian was still in the training room, now throwing knives at a dummy. Bentley saw him land five square in the dummy’s chest in a span of three seconds through the windows.

Tim was still at the computer. There was a fourth cup of coffee there now, steaming next to him like Alfred had just brought it down. The papers had been shuffled around, and it looked like more had been added to the massive pile. There were a bunch of files pulled up all over the Batcomputer with information and photos of villains they’d fought recently. Tim was staring between the screen and pages like he had been the whole time.

Bentley drifted up to the left side of Tim’s chair, glancing between all the different villain faces on the screen. “Hey.”

Tim didn’t even glance up from his papers. “Hey, Bentley.”

Bentley stood there for a moment, reading some of the information on the screen before he continued: “Whatcha working on?”

Tim hummed, flipping a paper over. “There’s been a massive influx of new metahuman villains in and around Gotham. I’m trying to find whether or not they’re coming from the same place. Maybe working for the same person,” He muttered, then tapped a key on the Batcomputer. All of the villain photos went away, and civilians replaced them. “And I’m looking into the disappearance of several different Gotham citizens that have vanished over the past month. All completely gone without a trace.”

Bentley’s eyes flicked across the screen. Being a Metahuman meant all these supervillains had literal superpowers — no wonder patrol had been tougher than usual recently. “Do you think they could be-“

“No,” Tim shook his head. “Metahumans are all born or endowed with the same genetic traits. None of the missing people have them.”

“How do you know?” Bentley murmured, leaning closer. 

Tim shrugged. “Medical files, military history, school records. We have access to a lot of stuff here, and none of them have the genetic information of a metahuman. So I’m working with two completely unrelated, very strange occurrences.” 

Bentley hummed again. “Guess what?”

Tim finally glanced over at him, and Bentley nearly frowned at how tired his eyes looked. “What?”

“Bruce got me a phone,” He stated, holding the little green device up so Tim could see it. “I was gonna ask if you would help me set it up.”

Tim rubbed his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb. “Did Dick already go home?”

“Yeah. And Duke is still gone. Bruce said you’d be way better help than him,” Bentley explained quietly. “Please? I don’t think it’ll take super long.”

“Why don’t you ask Damian?”

Bentley glanced up, past Tim, into the training room just in time to see Damian throw a knife at the dummy so hard the blade came out the back of its head.

Bentley screwed his face up, and Tim chuckled. “Yeah, me too,” He sucked in a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, you got me. Just tell Bruce to be a bit more stealthy in his attempts to make me come upstairs next time. He is the Batman, after all.”

Bentley nodded sheepishly, and Tim pushed the chair out from under the desk and stretched his legs. He grabbed the coffee mug and chugged the whole thing in just a few seconds. “You might want to plug it up for a few minutes before we start messing with it. Where’s the charger?”

“In my room,” 

“Brilliant. I guess that’s our next stop,” He stated. He stood up and scooped Bentley off the floor, who squeaked in surprise. Thankfully the death grip he had on his phone didn’t let up as Tim lifted him up to sit on his shoulders.

“What are you doing?!” He exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Tim’s neck tightly from behind so he wouldn’t fall off backwards. 

“You don’t have to choke me, I’m not gonna drop you,” He stated. He was holding onto Bentley’s legs but it didn’t feel secure in the slightest.

Bentley loosened his arms. A little. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” 

Bentley glanced back at the training room just in time to see Damian throw a knife. It missed.

Damian never misses.

He didn’t get to watch any longer, though, because Tim made for the stairs and Bentley had no choice but to go with him. He had to duck under all the doorways back into the Manor, and going up the stairs was borderline terrifying, but they made it to his room without any casualties. Tim dropped him backwards on the bed with a flop.

“Okay, let’s see what this thing can do,” He stated, plopping down next to Bentley on the mattress. He’d already plugged the wire into the wall earlier, and he plugged the phone into it. It was just long enough to reach the mattress without being too tight. 

They shimmied up to the headboard and stared at the screen for probably a couple hours. Tim handled all the fancy stuff, like setting up the memory and an email address and fiddling with the settings. He organized his Home Screen nicely and taught him how to use the most important apps. (Which just ended up being messages, making calls, the camera, Google, and maps.)

Then he gave it to Bentley and let him download cool games and other stuff. (Even games he had to buy, which he’d been hesitant about, but Tim assured him it was okay.) He made sure to sit extra close to him and sort of use him as a pillow so he couldn’t move.

By the time they had actually finished, Bentley was playing a game called subway surfers, and Tim was asleep in a strange little ball next to him.

Mission success.

After he was sure Tim was sleeping, he wiggled out of the comforter and climbed out of bed. He left his phone on the nightstand and flicked his bedroom lights off, leaving the bathroom ones on for a little visibility, and closed the door softly as he returned to the hallway.

The Manor was quiet now. Damian’s bedroom door was still open, which meant he wasn’t inside. Duke, Cass, and Steph hadn’t returned, because Bentley would definitely be able to hear them, and he wasn’t sure where Bruce was. So he floated back down to the cave to check if Damian was still there. 

He was. Bentley could hear the knives landing before he even turned the corner to see the training room. It was nearly ten, which meant they’d be leaving for patrol sooner rather than later. 

Damian was doing the same thing he’d been doing for hours — sticking knives to the dummy. He didn’t even look up when Bentley entered the room, just threw the final knife in his hand, and it landed in the artificial man’s face with a dull thud.

The knife was still planted in the padded wall where he’d missed earlier.

Bentley, satisfied that Damian didn’t have any knives left, drifted over to the one sticking out of the wall. “Damian?”

“Yes?”

Bentley carefully grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled it out of the wall, blinking at his own reflection in the blade. “Are you okay?”

The quiet thumps of Damian pulling the rest of his knives out of the dummy made Bentley turn. He watched him rhythmically wiggle the hilts up and down until they shimmied out. 

“I am fine. I have no reason not to be,” Damian replied flatly. Bentley took a few steps forward and handed him the knife (hilt first, like Jason had taught him in the kitchen) and Damian took it. He momentarily thought about reminding him that last time he told Bentley he was fine he ended up passing out cold in the floor of the library. But Damian was holding about eight knives and he didn’t want to bother him about it.

“Are you sure?” Was what he said instead.

“Positive,” He replied.

Bentley hummed, moving off to the side incase Damian was going to throw them again. To his surprise, the assassin grabbed a little fabric holder off of the bench and began putting them away.

“Are you nervous for patrol? Dick told me it’s been harder lately, with all the new villains popping up,” Bentley tried again. 

He thought he might’ve heard Damian scoff. “Tt. Of course not.”

So he decided it was time to stop talking about it. He drummed his fingers on his pajama pants and stood in silence for a few moments as Damian strapped the knives into place.

“Do you think you could teach me how to do that?” He finally muttered. Damian glanced over at him, his greenish eyes dancing across his face for a moment.

“Throw knives?”

Bentley shrugged. “Yeah. I think it’s pretty cool.”

Damian blinked for a moment, folding up the little fabric knife holder. “I can attempt. I was young when I learned — I do not remember all of the specific instructions. I simply know how to do it.”

Before Bentley could think better of it, he inquired: “How young?”

Damian slid the pack of knives away in a large rack used for storing their practice weapons. “Four or five, I believe.”

Bentley said nothing. He could hardly dress himself when he was four, and Damian was already learning how to throw knives in combat?

He had lots of questions about the League of Assassins, but he decided it would be best not to ask them. Maybe Jason would answer a few. He was older when he was in the League, after all, and wasn’t born into it. He didn’t know how differently his and Damian’s experiences had been. Maybe he’d just keep the questions to himself, actually.

“Todd might be a better teacher than me,” Damian continued with a quiet sigh. “But I will teach you if you’d like me to.”

Bentley nodded. “I would.”

Damian made his way to the dummy and began moving it back into the corner near the rack. “Looks like you managed to get Drake away from the Batcomputer. That’s not an easy feat, given his extraordinary amount of stubbornness when it comes to staring at that screen.”

Bentley snickered a little. “I basically had to lay across him to make him stay still enough to go to sleep, but yeah. He’s in my room.”

Damian made a tt again. “He seems to like you.”

Bentley blinked a couple of times, unsure how to respond. He’d been living in the house Tim spent most of his time in for about ten months now, literally right across the hall, so he’d hope he liked him.

“Yeah,” Is all Bentley said. He had no clue where Damian was going with that, but apparently neither did he, because he didn’t say anything else about it.

“Are you going to see if Gordon will let you sit in on patrol tonight?” He asked as he positioned the dummy next to the others and gathered his water and phone off the bench. Bentley shrugged.

“Probably. I really like to listen,” He replied. Damian hummed in response.

They fell silent again for a few moments. Bentley had no clue what to talk about. Apparently Damian didn’t either. So Bentley just dragged himself back up the stairs with him, not entirely convinced he was fine, but staying quiet nonetheless.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

[laalaaliaa]

Hello! I saw that ur batfam requests were open so I came here to request!

Idea: You were murdered 5 years ago and they wanted vengeance. They'd spend hours on the bat computer trying to find some clues about your killer. Your killer had left many signs at the scene, including a note written on the wall with your blood, "Catch me if you can, batsy".

They found clues that lead to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. The warehouse seemed to be empty. They were just about to leave until they got attacked by a masked woman. They quickly took her down and took her to the batcave for questions.

Once they got there, they immediately started asking questions. She stayed quite the whole time, she didn't make a squeak. It wasn't long before things got heated and Damian pulled of her mask in a blind rage.

You can probably imagine the shock they felt when they saw you under that mask. You could only look up at them with an evil smirk. "Damn, I guess you caught me" you said in a teasing voice.

That was all, you can choose what happens next if you'd like (or u can leave it at that). Have a good day!

Damsel in distress

fitting, except you’re not…

batfam x fem!reader

warnings: angsty

thank you for the request, i apologize for not getting requests in fast enough, i got writers block :(

enjoy!

It was inevitable. Your death was inevitable. Everyone dies, whether it be from natural causes, or in worse case scenarios—supervillains. Bruce knew one day that he wouldn’t be able to save everyone, but he didn’t know how soon that day would come. It was like a fresh memory, recoiling in the back of his mind. He couldn’t save you, no matter how hard he tried, he failed you, just like he did Jason. The others didn’t know how to take it, they fought so hard to reach you, but once they did, you were gone for good.

Jason was the second to reach the torn down building. He screamed for you, in hopes you would scream back. You never did. The most heartbreaking thing Jason could’ve ever experienced was in front of him. Bruce held your lifeless body, and he couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. Did he cradle him the same way? Did he fall to the ground in utter despair? He made his way closer, watching the way Bruce held your lifeless body as if holding you would bring you back.

Bruce felt the comforting hand of Jason land on his shoulder, as if he were trying to lift the burden off of him. Bruce held you tightly, lifting his head weakly as he stared at the mocking words written right in front of his eyes: ‘Catch me if you can Batsy.’ He felt mocked, as if his own failures were finally catching up with him. Maybe they never should’ve let you gone out that night. So many things he could’ve done to prevent your demise. He failed you, he failed himself.

Years had passed, within those five years since you’d be gone, they were no longer the same. Bruce found out he had a son, and he couldn’t help but feel pained at the thought of you not being there to welcome him. Jason and Bruce no longer kept in touch, if Dick was lucky, he’d reunite the two, only for a mission and no longer. Damian didn’t know you, he didn’t want to—seeing as he didn’t want to get to know the others either, but he was curious without a doubt.

It was a usual night in Gotham, Bruce spending all his time cooped up in the bat cave, as he sent the others out. Damian wouldn’t say it—well he would—but his father was still stuck in the past. It was as if you were the only thing keeping the family together. He found it absurd. So as he returned from his nightly activities he couldn’t help but call his own father out.

“You’re ridiculous father.” He announced, sheathing his sword as he rid of his mask. Bruce turned in his chair to face Damian, who although tried his hardest to look stern and mean, looked adorable. Bruce chuckled a bit, leaning forward to reach the same height as the younger boy. “You wouldn’t understand Damian.” Damian remained blank, hostile as some would describe, his posture challenging as well. “Explain.” He uttered, his arms crossed like a brat.

Bruce scratched his chin in thought, different memories of you scattered around his brain as he tried—although failed miserably—to explain the importance of you. Damian still remained adamant that you were someone who brought weakness upon the family. Allowing them to become weak and vulnerable, but in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wished he’d met you once. Shame.

“Y/N, was important because she somehow sought the better in all of us. She cared about us and was tough at times, stubborn even, but she held us together and helped us when we were lost. She died five years ago, today actually.” Bruce’s voice became weak towards the end, Damian wanted to scoff, and he did, causing Bruce’s vulnerable state to become covered with a blank stare. “You would’ve liked her.” He finished off, turning his back to the boy as he continued looking up files and information from the night of your death.

Damian left him alone, the silence of the cave comforting Bruce like a warm hug. It give him the extra boost of energy to continue searching for information. He had clues, yet they remained scattered, prompting him to feel frustrated. You were gone, he knew that, but you deserved justice.

—

“Bruce, can you come look at this.” Dick yelled with a mouthful of almonds. Bruce decided to let the computer go, hours spent with nothing to help your case. Dick was determined, with the old clues given, he had somehow pinpointed each location clue. Your favorite spot, favorite restaurant, favorite cafe. They knew everything about you, and Dick couldn’t help but resent the person more. As he continued to type away at the computer, a new clue popped up. He faltered, his fingers hovering above the keys as he eyed the location carefully.

“Bruce I,” He cut himself off, a new found determination in his veins as he turned his chair, flinching at the sight of Bruce standing directly behind him. His facade remained cold, gazing curiously at the computer before gazing at Dick. “Let’s go.” Bruce commanded, a new found hope blazing in the two men. Dick stood, sprinting in front of Bruce before he could continue towards what Dick assumed was the bat-mobile.

“Wait we need to think rationally about this, it could be a trap for all we know.” Bruce seemed to be in thought before pushing him to the side. “We either wait, and likely lose the chance of finding our culprit,” He started, hooking his cowl over his sharp features. “Or we go now and get the justice Y/N deserves.” He persisted, causing a determined expression to fall on Dick’s face as he nodded.

Dick walked ahead of Bruce, mounting his bike before slipping his mask on. He turned the bike on, the roar of the bike lively as he revved it a few times. “Bruce,” He called to his retreating figure, Bruce glanced at him from behind his shoulder. “If we’re doing this, Jason deserves to be there too.” Jason, his estranged son who wanted nothing to do with him anymore. “Send him the location.” Bruce muttered, jumping into the bat-mobile before the two sped off into the night.

—

You shrinked into the shadows, the sound of the lock keeping your refugee hidden, destroyed. A faint smile fell on your lips as you watched Bruce leading the pack, his stone cold facade one you could never forget. It was pin-drop silent, you couldn’t even feel yourself breathing at that point. “Guys I found some papers.” You heard Dick’s voice, voice you’d grown to miss over the years. You shifted in your spot, catching glimpse of Dick as he held the stack out towards Bruce.

Bruce clutched the papers tightly, information about yourself on each and every single sheet. “Look around for any clues.” Bruce grumbled, his head shifting towards where you stood. Your breath hitched, all the hard work you feared would be crumbled if he caught you, but his head immediately turned at the sound of Jason’s voice. “This is a waste of time, I could be doing more important things.” Bruce eyed him shortly before turning back where they came from. Dick continued to scan your items, quickly picking up a device you’d been working on.

“B-man I think we-“ Dick’s statement was cut short as you tackled him from your spot, kicking the device out his hands, watching it slide away. You were alert, but clearly not enough as Jason came from behind you, kicking the back of your leg and knocking you onto your knee. You were quick to stop the knee you almost received to the face, using your arms to block before using your weak leg to sweep Jason down. You bounced backwards, keeping your distance as you eyed each of them.

“Who are you.” Bruce pressed, using his harsh voice as he prepared a batarang. You remained silent, rushing towards the two boys who stood in your way as you took them both on. The only sounds you produced were when they had gotten a hit on you. You’d hiss, or groan, and they felt more determined by then. As you continued to battle it out, you were duped and stunned by Bruce’s smoke bomb, making you cough harshly as you tried to remain alert.

You failed miserably, Bruce used your blindsight to attack you a few times. After his last strike you landed on the floor, blood pooling in your mouth before you spat it out with a glare. As you tried to stand, you were pushed back down by Jason who used his foot to press you down. You winced, eyeing him silently as you assumed he was glaring at you from behind his helmet. You opened your mouth to speak before you were knocked out by Jason who punched you. Hard. Very hard.

—

When you awoke from your dazed state you were tied down to a chair. You knew where you were, the bat cave, and you knew you were gonna be interrogated. Once you finally gained recognition of everything around you, you groaned, feeling the punch you’d received from Jason. You were gonna get him back for that. As you continued to contemplate, the door across from you opened, and in walked Bruce. He was angry and had every right to be, you were surprised he didn’t attack you in your vulnerable state.

“Who are you?” He asked the same question he had asked you back at the warehouse. You only shrugged, slumping into your chair as you gazed mindlessly elsewhere. He slammed his hands on the table, gaining your attention before sliding over the papers you recognized. “Why do you have Y/N’s files.” You acted confused, looking deep in thought as you bit the inside of your cheek before opening your mouth, “How do you think I murdered her?” You tried your hardest not to laugh as you held your evil facade. It truly was hard.

He eyed you one last time before leaving the room. Every few minutes or so the others would come in, asking various questions only to be answered with fake answers. They knew you were lying, which only made it more fun on your end. As you threw your head backwards the door opened once more, you didn’t look, too tired to deal with whoever it was. However you were shocked by the baby like voice the person produced. “Your a fool who wanted to get caught. Why?”

You lifted your head forward to catch sight of yet another Robin. This one you didn’t know existed. “Wow another one, what type of child labor project is this?” You joked, even producing a laugh at your own joke. “A wannabe assassin, I see you use a sword, a league of assassins sword.” He continued, ignoring your terrible joke as he eyed you sternly. “Congratulations little Robin, but I prefer talking to people above 5’2.” He was slowly starting to become aggravated with your behavior, causing him to unsheathe his sword as he pointed it at your neck.

You smirked, licking your lips as you spoke. “Aren’t you a superhero, superhero’s don’t kill.” You reminded, watching the way his expression never faltered once. “I’m not like my father, I kill if I have to.” Your smirk fell, your mouth slightly open at the revelation. Father. As the two of you continued to stare at one another the door slammed open, the rest of them appearing as Bruce pulled the youngest Robin backwards. “We don’t kill.” He jabbed, making you smirk victoriously.

Your victory didn’t last long, the younger boy pushed Bruce before he used his sword to cut your domino mask, cutting a small portion of your cheek as well. You winced, your head falling forward as the mask fell off in two pieces, You knew there was no use in pretending no longer. You lifted your head, shocked looks appearing on each of their faces as you smirked. Your voice was silky smooth as you talked in a teasing tone.

“Damn, I guess you caught me.”

[thirdrootwriting]

Brother of my Brother (Infinite Crisis - Bad End) pt3

Back to Jason POV. There is some gore, torture, and gun violence in this one.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

The thing about Lex Luthor was the man had an insatiable need to stick his fingers into every available pie, the greedy capitalistic little Jack Horner pig. If some serious shit went down, there was an absolute guarantee that Luthor had started that shit, worsened that shit, or offered some incredibly condescending ' help' with that shit that was -in reality- probably just a disguised ploy to fuck with Superman.

(And holy hell, Jason could admit that he personally had raging inferiority issues, both before and after his resurrection, but the way Luthor was with Superman made his relationship with the original Robin AND Robin 3.0  look like the model of mental health by comparison).

All this in mind, if you wanted to know something and didn’t feel like trying your luck snooping around Batman's shit, the next best thing was to hop a city over to the next autocratic billionaire. Armed with that knowledge, and with the street cred of being known as one of Gotham's rouges, it's not hard to growl and posture in front of the right seedy bar-owners, fixers, and middle-men to track down a villain that's been getting cash flow from Luthor.

 People in that sort of game might be hard enough to keep their composure and claim ignorance in front of the Big Bad Bat himself, but are always willing to spill the latest gossip to a guy with a rap-sheet, well-used guns, and blood under his nails. It's how they connect thugs and D-list villains to people Luthor or Talia for use as cannon fodder, and while it's annoying as fuck to be seen as nothing more than a gun for hire, it is useful.

So useful, that only three days after reading that stupid memorial page, the Red Hood's got his gun under the chin of some little mathlete, computer nerd called the Calculator (stupid name), the guy squealing about the Secret Society of Supervillains (stupider name) that Luthor had set up with Talia, who really could do better in terms of company, and that fucking creep Deathstroke.

Three fingers shot off at point blank and one knee crunched to bony, gritty pieces under his boot, and the Red Hood's heard way more than he cares to regarding this little fun-time club of murders, their plans for a world-wide prison break (like Arkham didn't have those regularly on its own), the JLA's nasty little foray into memory alteration (the good guys pulling, morally objectionable, authoritarian shit? Say it ain't so!), and how the Luthor leading them had actually been an alternative universe fake trying to pull some sort of multiverse ending evil scheme.

Fun times all around, and the Red Hood could not give less of a shit about any of it if he tried.

Hood readjusts his weight, putting more of it on his left leg that's bearing down on the Calculator's ruined knee. The man underneath him lets out a whimpering, scream. Hood lets his gun's aim wander slowly down the guy's body, he thinks about pointing it at the fucker's crotch just to see if he'll start crying again but decides to have a bit of class and lets the muzzle rest on the Calculator's other, intact knee instead.

"That'd all be real interesting if I gave a shit about what you were getting up to Noah, but I what I want to know is how things shook out. The world's still standing right? So whose dead now that the dust's settled, and how they'd get there? That's the real question."

Hood taps the gun muzzle twice against Calculator's knee. He won't actually shoot, too much chance of hitting a blood vessel and having the guy go unconscious and useless from blood loss, but he doubts this computer geek knows that.

Way too many villains get into this gig all excited about torture, extortion, and killing with absolutely no defenses on what too do if the tables are reserved. It's always hilarious watching them shit their pants and scramble when they suddenly weren't the meanest thing in the room.

"I-, I-, the Luthor we were working with, the one from Earth-3, he ran so the heroes didn't get him, but he's dead already. He made the mistake of trying to go to ground in Gotham, and the Joker got him. Apparently the fucking clown was pissy he didn't invited to festivities, as if anyone half-way sane is willing to team up with his crazy ass." The Calculator grunts out, eyes wide and desperate as they track the gun that's poised over his one remaining knee.

Ugh, what a fool-ass rookie mistake. You only tried going to ground in Gotham if were unhinged and bloodthirsty enough to be too much of a pain in the ass to attack or you were homegrown on its cursed soil and knew how to avoid the city's resident cast of horrors. Hood's willing to guess any version of Luthor's a dangerous genius, but unless this version liked peeling people's faces off and eating them for a midday snack, he'd undoubtedly instead got eaten alive himself by Gotham's hungry jaws.

A least if the Joker got him, the guy definitely didn’t die a nice, easy death. Jason knows that with a painful certainty.

"Mmh, closer to having something actually useful to say. But hey, you went to ground in Gotham too, huh Noah, and it seems that's working out a bit better for you!"

Hood grinds his left heel down again. His boots are too thick to feel the grit of shattered bone, but he can hear the mess of tendons, viscera, and bone shards underneath the Calculator's latest, warbling scream. The guy pissed his pants right around the time Hood shot off his second finger, and the whole air would likely have the sharp mixed stinks of urine and blood if he removed his helmet.

"Was working out for you, I should say. You must be a local boy, huh?" Hood pauses, till the Calculator's eyes have refocused enough to show he's paying attention to Hood instead of his own pain.

"So, from one Gotham boy to another, how'd it shake out for our Bats? I hear our latest little Robin got out fine, and god only fucking knows that we ain't lucky enough to hope Batman got offed, but how'd birdy number 1 fare?" It's hard to resist the temptation to grind down on the man's shattered bones again, to resist pulling the trigger and making him bleed. Jason can feel himself losing control of the urge to send this piece of trash to hell where he belongs.

"How's Nightwing doing these days?"

"Nightwing and Superboy took down the machine-tower Earth-3 Luthor was using to rewrite the multiverse. I didn't see in person, but I hacked communications, and from Wonder Woman's report Luthor killed Nightwing in rage as reve-"

Hood yanks the aim of the gun up from Noah Kuttler's knee to his skull and blows his fucking brains out close range. The left side of the Calculator's face explodes into a mess of brain tissue and blood.

He gives the body a final kick, then lets himself out of the apartment that piece of trash had set up as a his hideout. It's Gotham, and the few cops not corrupt enough to ignore this are too overworked to give a shit about some villain's death, so no need to waste his time taking out the trash.

Hood slams the door of the run down apartment complex behind him, and stomps out onto the chilly streets. It's not raining, just damp and cold as Gotham usually is in the fall, so there might still be people, but Jason doesn't really give a fuck right now. Between his now-infamous helmet, his more obvious guns, and the wide shoulders he grew into, nobody's gonna mess with him as he prowls the streets.

And if they do, well, actually smashing some drug dealer or rapist shit's head against ground still it cracks like a bloody egg sounds like a good time with the mood he's in.

Hood makes it four blocks, not thinking about where's he going and not lucky enough to pass someone dumb enough to try starting shit with him, before he can even think above the cold, angry, itching boiling beneath his skin.

He needs a plan, he needs to do something, do anything. Jason will boil himself alive in his own itching skin with his rage if he has to just sit on it. He'd planned to kill whoever had murdered Nightwing, figured it would be some hot-shot that got a lucky hit in the chaos of battle, or some too clever for their own good smarmy loser who'd gotten an advantage by holding a little side-kick hostage.

Jason could have worked off his rage on giving them a death that was almost as slow they'd deserved for taking someone like his brother from him and Gotham, and finally proved, that at least in this respect, he was better than Rob-, than Nightwing. He might not be so nice, so naturally talented, so charismatic, but he could have proved himself better in this and given Dick's death the closure a good person like him deserved.

He realizes his loud, angry walk has taken him close to the warehouses of the harbor, the drafty old buildings three times as likely to be housing some sort of illegal goings-on as they are to be housing shipping containers.

His- his- second time heading out as Robin with Nightwing, had been around here.

Jason had jumped into a drug-processing scheme too early, nearly ruined the bust. Nightwing had to swoop in and rescue him - though instead of cracking heads, the annoying prick had just flashed a fake, movie-star smile and sweet-talked the guards and drug processors into letting them walk out.

He'd scolded Jason a bit afterwards, but taken the sting out of it by inviting him along on the real bust later that night. Afterwards he'd shot Robin a much gentler, beaming real smile and told him 'good job'. Then he'd ruined that soft, tingly feeling of pride at being treated like an equal by Nightwing, by prodding and whining until Jason had reluctantly let Dick buy him ice-cream.

Dick had flavor palate of a little kid in regards to sweets, and he'd gotten whipped cream and sprinkles on his. Jason had made fun of him for being 17 and eating like a 7 year old, and-

Jason's nearly twenty now, older than Dick had been when they first met. He's right near the age Dick was when Jason had died, a funny sort of parallelism.

Hey, with the way he's getting on with the family right now, chances are Jason will also miss his brother's funeral. How fuckin' hilarious is that?

He leans his head against one of the warehouse's outer walls and laughs. It comes out monstrous and distorted through his helmet's speakers. His gloved hands can't find purchase on his jacket's shoulders to rip up his own skin and let out some of the anger inside.

Anger and maybe not anger. His face feels wet and he's still laughing a bit. Whatever Jason's feeling it's bad, and he wants it gone. Needs to do something, anything for this feeling to be gone.

He doesn't know what to do though, and the unbearable tide of it swells and suddenly and desperately Jason can't help himself from thinking he wants to be 13 years old again getting painlessly snatched out of the air by Nightwing with a trapeze artist's instincts for a fall about to go wrong. He wants to be 14, half-asleep on a mountain-lodge couch on his first ever family vacation as his brother quietly tells his father Jason's a good kid, with the softest tone he's ever heard Dick aim at Bruce.

He wants to be 15 with this same unbearable angerfeargrief that is drowning him now swelling and calling his brother, his Robin, Bruce's first son, the only person in the world that might understand how he's feeling. The phone won't pick up, and he'd known that, known that the Titans were in space all distant and unreachable, but he'd still called.

Jason had still had a brother to call, and the promise that maybe someday it would connect.

He dials Dick Grayson's current civilian number on numbs fingers.

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

Jason hits redial. He can't say why, the call's not magically gonna go through this time.

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

He redials the number manually, staring hard at the screen to make sure each button press is pulling up the correct number.

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

Once more, repeating the phone number out loud to make sure he's remembering it correctly.

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

[marionluth]

This came to exist through another Reddit activity. The prompt was mathematics and of course I wrote about Tim. Beware! The fanon is strong in this one. 'Twas fun. I regret nothing.

Do the Math

Tim Drake was nothing if he wasn't good at math. Math was his superpower. And maybe it wasn't an overtly volatile superpower like those of the Supeys—the kind that could smash supervillains through brick walls—but math could sure as hell be volatile in the right hands. Tim's hands.

Tim could calculate success probabilities like nobody’s business. Of course, he’d then promptly ignore those probabilities and dive in anyway. But he knew, and that counts for something, right? Math could help calculate ideal timing for high-value target extraction because Tim didn’t just barge in guns blazing—that was Jason's thing. Dick’s too (minus the guns), if he was being honest. No. Tim calculated the exact second when security rotations would leave the least coverage on the target. The fact that Nightwing would then throw the whole plan off with some acrobatics that would take him way too long to land the damn kick he was supposed to land? Well, that was par for the course.

Math was an invaluable ally when it came to combat angles and attack trajectories, too. Tim could calculate the perfect angle for throwing batarangs, scoring maximum efficiency and damage with minimal visibility, accounting for variables like wind speed and throw angle. He’d tried to explain it to Jason once, but it didn’t go over well.

One might think that would be the extent of it, but Tim knew better, because forensic math was a thing, and blood spatter patterns could spill more tea than most apprehended suspects. Bruce was a man of simple pleasures and preferred his roughing-up-the-goons-until-they-speak methods, but Tim, with the right equations, could reverse-engineer a crime scene without bruising a single knuckle. And just don’t get him started on decoding encrypted shit. With enough Red Bull and focus, he could reduce complex ciphers to basic (for him) math patterns and—boom—problem fixed, secret meeting point revealed, riddle solved (and Riddler crying from sheer frustration).

And math’s glory doesn’t end there, oh no. Math is everywhere in Tim’s life. How else would he manage to balance AP classes, detective work, vigilantism, team missions, and a social life? Math. He had the perfect algorithm for distributing his study hours and maximizing caffeine intake sleep. Speaking of, he has calculated his optimal caffeine intake for maximum functionality and alertness, stretching the physical boundaries of his human nature. (Sleep is overrated, okay? He’s living proof humans can survive with small intermittent intervals of it every now and again. He’ll soon publish his data.)

But all superpowers have their limits, and so does Tim’s math. No matter how hard he tries, he hasn’t managed (yet) to figure out an algorithm to fix the whole Damian Wayne issue (that might be a problem to discuss with Jason). Sure, math could account for insults per minute and eye twitches per insult, or even the probability of assassination attempts per week, but no breakthroughs (other than certain acts B highly disapproves of for some reason) in terms of solving the problem have yet been found.

Math was all fun and games until it came to serious issues like figuring out why Steph, Kon, or Bernard was mad at him. Math couldn’t explain half the arguments he had with any of them—not for lack of trying. Probability charts, time-series analysis—the works—none of it helped, and he’d made his peace with it. Emotional math, in general, was a beast of its own, and Tim was out of his depth. Calculating when he should text someone back, or the “right” frequency for date nights or family quality time (that didn’t involve dressing up as bats and birds and red hoods and chasing down criminals)—total mystery.

Feelings didn’t follow rules or probability. (Yes, he tried to make a spreadsheet once. No, it didn’t go well.)

If you liked it and want to give it some love in AO3, too, you can find it here:

[ectoentity]

2022 Fic Wrap-up

Happy New Year! Decided to make a list of all the fics I’ve written in the last year.

Family Secrets: Danny Phantom - The Fentons take a week during winter break to fix up the old family cabin. When Danny and Jazz stumble across a secret, an old artifact has a strange effect on Danny. (Complete)

Can’t Go Home Again: Danny Phantom - Three weeks ago Danny told his parents about him being Phantom. They didn't take it well. His friends haven't heard from him since then, so they summon him back to Earth. (On Hiatus)

Warped Mirror: Danny Phantom - A year and a half ago, Danny Fenton stepped into a portal. He tripped and hit the button inside... but it was unplugged, so nothing happened.

Today, Danny Fenton is a ghost hunter like his parents. A ghost sends him into another world where everything he knows is backwards. (On Hiatus)

Autumn Roads: Danny Phantom - Kitty and Johnny are having a good time, riding through the human world on an autumn night, when Phantom comes to ruin their fun. The encounter raises questions for the pair. Mainly, why doesn't this Phantom kid know anything about being a ghost? (Complete)

Quality Time: DPxDC - The life of a vigilante crime lord made it hard to schedule family time. When Jason wasn’t dealing with someone trying to muscle in on his turf or some supervillain nonsense, he was having to juggle the logistics of keeping his little criminal organization on track. He barely had a day to himself, let alone one to spend with anyone else.   

The fact remained that Danny had asked to go to a water park months ago. (Complete)

Clean Up on Aisle Ninja: DPxDC - Danny was not expecting to see a whole posse (was that even the right term?) of ninjas when he popped out of the ectoplasm portal. To be honest, he wasn’t expecting to see anyone. Fright Knight had told him that there were pools of tainted ectoplasm spread around Earth that he would have to cleanse, but not where they were or who was around them.   

“Uh. Avon calling?” Danny joked.   

He instantly turned intangible as twelve knives, shuriken, and spears pierced his location. (Complete)

Tell Me More: DPxDC - Tim wakes up bound to a chair in a cold, white room. Not too unusual for him, until the kidnappers start calling him Phantom and acting like he's not human. (Complete)

A Little Trick: DPxDC - There's something spooky going on in the Watchtower. No one can figure out how to stop it, so they call on the King of Ghosts to sort things out. (Complete)

Found and Lost: DPxDC - The Justice League has been called up to help with the raid of a mysterious organization that was recently exposed for its inhumane experimentation on beings known as ghosts. Robin wasn't expecting to find a strange thermos in the middle of what looks like a torture chamber. He certainly wasn't expecting to find a boy inside of the thermos. (Complete)

Night Will Come but Not to Stay: DPxDC - Jazz is excited about going to Gotham University for college. It's halfway across the country from Amity Park and anyone who knows about her weird family or ghost nonsense. Finally, she can pretend to be a normal woman who just wants to go into psychiatry. She meets a cute guy named Jason, and they seem to be getting along great.   

Jason finally decided to put aside his vigilante work long enough to get a degree. He's learning how to be a normal person again, with a family that cares for him. He's even made a few civilian friends, including a cute girl named Jazz. 

Surely, nothing could come up that would reveal their other lives to each other. (WIP)

Anima, Animus: DPxDC - There is a darkness growing in Gotham. One that is far different from the comfortable shadows and familiar fiends that the Bat-family is used to. It is preying on their people and making life even more dangerous than usual. They need an expert to find out what is happening to their city.   

Halfway across the country, ghostly hero Danny Fenton is having dreams that belong to someone else: his long-lost brother Jason Todd. (WIP)