#Ra*bits

[regonold]

Danny x ra's but their a fresh from a nasty breakup and danny is just going through the breakup motions watch your favourites eat ice cream cry all that jazz but in gotham why?

Because i want the bat's to come across this guy crying on a roof eat ice cream and comforing him trying to get him off the roof and when they ask what his boyfriends name is he juat says ra's fucking al ghul

"It's not fair" he whines "why are tge hot ones always the leaders of some murder cult"

I just want the bat's trying to wrap their head around the fact that this twink was sumhow dating ra's and presumably dumped him because he was the head of a murder cult and HOW IS HE STILL ALIVE

[comickergirl]

Kara Zor-El, Woman of Tomorrow!

[acid-ixx]

〔00〕 — 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 : perfect perception

DIRECTORY: concept, chapter 00, chapter 01

it was always just you, and your family.

just you, your mother, twin brother, and grandfather. the puzzle is complete, there is no need for an extra couple of pieces to add on to your already satiated life. there is no need to work hard, or to endure painful endeavors to attain what you want; not when your family would complete it all for you.

it wasn't like you could, or should, complain, no? you have everything granted to you from when you were born. scarred hands, jagged figure, weary eyes; those aren't necessary for a person like you, who will always be sheltered, in both cozy blankets and loving arms. oblivious to the cruel world and pesting hands that claw on innocent beings like you.

a steady house life, a mother who shielded your innocence from all the bloodshed within the family's ordeals, who read to you fairytales, who had you sleep in her bed when you feared, when you foresaw what you thought were monsters under your bed. instead of inhibiting hatred for an heir who'd flinch at raising hands and the sound of clanging swords, she encouraged your meak demeanor and even spoiled tantrums. she runs her hands across your silky tresses, and kisses your forehead a thousand times if you'd even mention it in a passing moment. she dresses you in jewels, in velvety, silky clothes, and bathes you in toys and gifts you never seem to ask for. your little body sleeps on her chest, and listen the steady beat of her heart, calm and beating, all for you.

you teach her softness, and the joys of being a mother. a concept foreign in her eyes, raised opposite to you. she sees herself in you, and projects what should've been her childhood to her youngest twin child.

you have a twin brother, who, despite being born only a few minutes before you, was significantly older than you, both mentally and spiritually. from the moment he was taken into the world, his duty to take all your pain away and to become your very light was established. and like the warrior he is, he takes that daunting task and transforms it into motivation. he is your knight in shining armor, the prince who catches you when you fall, the one who braves your nightmares, the swordman to your royalty. he trains, all day and night, from such a young age to protect you from unnecessary dangers he understood even his mother fears you'd be subjected to. he does not complain, he does not find reasons to gripe; he takes the scars, the bruises, the punishments and missions all in stride. if it meant seeing you happy and unaware from all the cruelty of living; then so be it. as long as, by the end of the day, he comes back to your shared room to find your tiny form drawing a childish imagery of the little family you love and cherish.

you teach him compassion, vulnerability, and share with him the admiration for arts.

then there is your grandfather. a hardened leader, a monster to all those who serve, but an idol in the eyes of oblivious you. he justifies violence in the wake of achieving his goals, he doesn't tolerate mankind's treatment of nature and its animals, and takes the lives of those who dares oppose. but you are treated differently, like glass that shatters at the softest of hits. his words are sugarcoated and stripped down to the most infantine of comprehension, his eyes are soft every time he kneels to your level to gently request that you return to your room. ra's does not kneel, he does not plead, he does not stoop to those younger than him. but to you, naive and dewy-eyed, akin to a fawn hiding behind a mother's legs, he does. every week, he takes in various experts in the field of teaching to become your mentors in whatever passion you have. he is the foundation of your growth, and he prides himself in that regard.

from him, you learn your love of animals. from you, he learns of weakness, and defeat to such platonic desires.

with your little family, you are happy. you never have to find reasons to complain about food, clothes, or any luxuries their family, akin to royalty, could obtain. you have a family smothering you in affection, attention, to the point where all you have to do is smile at the slightest thing and notice how they melt to your whims.

you were never alone when you didn't want to, you were always guarded, safe, and constantly served.

as you should, as it always should be.

and it was a routine you were used to. you never complained, you never pondered beyond primitive knowledge, you had never desired for more, or wanted less. life was normal despite the strange arrangements with servants always being by your beck and call, or how your brother would always seem to come seeking you after another day of "hard work" your mother doesn't permit you to try, with gashes that litter his tan skin and usually sharp eyes, still fixed with a glare though softened once your arms come to coddle him as a reward.

he finds comfort in your hold. it never once registered within you his ever-growing strength and how his hold on you would always seem to to tighten whenever a potential friend would pass by.

yet you are loved either way, you are cared for. what more is there to ask when you have and always been the singular pearl dripping with grace, poise, and a softness beyond the brutish weapons swung within the training grounds your brother finds himself in.

you are loved by everybody: by your mother, by your brother, by your grandfather, and you're the necessary voice that calls out mercy for whenever a servant would be punished for maintaining a less than satisfactory performance when it comes to serving you. you're the light of reason beyond instictive swings of the sword and the impulsive raise of a voice demanding for battle to settle a deal; biting your lips in disappointment every time your mother attempts to punish a small mistake a servant would do right in front of you.

although certain voices in the hallways find your presence... unsavory, out of place, or they simply pity you; whispers filtering through the kind words everyone else never withdraws from you— nonetheless, they'd have no choice but to obey your childish whims, to smile at you, to be kind and diligent to your emotions.

everything is perfect.

yes, yes it is. an undeniable fact within the factions of your heart. you ignore the subtle strain within your chest, the way the emptiness becomes blatant, and the misunderstood desire for something else... something greater, far beyond the honor of your current family; and replace it with temporary joy.

a joy that softly smiles at the piling gifts, a joy that teaches itself to be good, to be grateful, and to dismiss the ever-changing spotlight you have for your family.

to ignore their hushed whispers whenever your small, eight-year old form with wide eyes, holding a toy between your chest, inquire about what they're discussing with that requires such... strained air and ridged poses.

to ignore their careful words, their gentle hands that pats your hair, that beckons you to come to a different room, and the irritation and bubbling tantrums paired with the heat that wraps your boiling thoughts and clenching hands.

you ignore, and try to neglect that growing ache that insurmountably never passes.

even if you lay in bed every night, unable to sleep, gaining consciousness slowly but surely after another day passes.

you ignore, and dismiss, and it all becomes a cycle that you ought to never break, to never rupture with childish curiosity and the thirst for wisdom.

... because everything is perfect.

everything is perfect. like the candlelight beams of the moon dancing through victorian styled windows, fluttering past the curtains to kiss your resting body every night you lay sleeping on a king-sized mattress, surrounded by soft, cotton plushies and silky, cool blankets as your brother coddles you; your head laying on his chest like routine.

it is perfect like the gardens of flowers all planted with your favorites, an array of colors harmoniously dancing to the sway of traversing winds and bumbling pollinators.

it is perfect like the daily hustle and bustle of your servants, buzzing through wide spans of hallways with their voices mingling through busy air and the wafting scent of a new delicacy your mother ornately chose for you to try.

everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

until the illusion of completeness, of unity and satisfaction were shattered like the bones of your brother's opponents, powderized to mere dust.

until you take notice of the hollow piece in your heart, until your servant mentions a father (a word so foreign, so similar to mother... but different all the same) in mere passing when you two had conversed whilst they were tying your shoes.

at first, you didn't pay a mind, proposing to yourself that you'd ask your mother instead after you've finished your daily assignments.

but then, unlike every other time where you dismissed, ignored and forgot— you began to ponder.

the word, the meaning, its possible etymology and every historical relationship it might've contained; a lesson your brilliant mentor taught you, one that served as a paveway for curious, little you, to investigate.

a trait you're sure nobody really tackled within your family.

if that is so, then where does your stubbornness, your drive to seek answers, come from?

you try to solve the puzzle pieces, ones you thought were never present in your life, your mind wracking through stored memories of a young, prying individual like you; until you came to a conclusion.

does it possibly come from a... father?

father...?

father?

father.

... your brother, too, said the same word.

when he was tired and beat from his training, when all he wanted was a singular hug, whose hands were stained with dripping ichor and knees bruised from hitting upon rocky ground. his emerald eyes were seeking your presence, and you find how his delirious state, itching for calm after another stormy trial of missions, was abnormal; unlike you who flinched at the dizzying scent of blood.

too mature, now you've noticed. a presence that exudes superiority, that takes the lives of those who rebel, that punishes anything less than perfect; that only softens, whose shoulders only sag when he takes in your presence within the same room as him— traits too foreign in the midst of a brother the same age as you.

so when you denied him of oasis, when your young brain was too scared, too worried and all the more wishing for answers on why he always comes back bleeding and injured, rejecting his offer for you to come closer— he all but seethes, and instead sighs; watching your quivering lips and the igniting fight in your eyes, a shaded mixture of your mother's and his.

"you're exactly like what mother told me. stubborn like our father when inconsolable... but i love you too much, akhi/akhti, to care for your lesser."

he muttered under his breath, emerald eyes gleaming under moonlit glow as he looks at you, emotions too miscellaneous beyond the swirling pools of green that always keeps a watch on you.

sometimes, he feels less like a brother and more of a knight. sometimes, you wish to rebel and instead dig deep into what's been happening to your brother these past few years, shaped by experience you never once caught yourself transpiring through. sometimes, you wish he doesn't treat you like a glass ornament.

sometimes, you wish you had a normal family.

as much as his words were sweet, as much as you would've felt warmth at the mere affection and exception he holds you in regard to his heart, even if he takes your body in his arms prior to your previous rejection, all but melting and rocking your body to sleep; a common method he utilizes to make you feel drowsy, and to eventually forget the blood on his sheathed sword and sinful hands once your eyes drift to a close—

you still reflect upon his words even if weeks had already passed by after that incident, even if he must've thought your somnolence was enough to dismiss whatever was the 'grammatical' mistake he'd mumbled that night was a product of fatigue after a long day of work.

... because despite being the perfect family, despite the love and care they foster within your heart; washing off the beating emptiness in your chest was harder than any injuries you've obtained after momentary clumsiness.

at least you knew when those scars were incurred, at least you had people to comfort you through the tears that escaped through your eyes.

but this immaterial emptiness has long since festered within the confines of your caged soul.

it beckons you to choose rebellion, it traps your thumping heart and tightens its hold on it, snaring it in a pit you couldn't crawl yourself out of.

desire drives you further away from delusion, from the foundations of weaved lies and rose-tinted picturesque perfection.

and you began to crave satiation to at least mend the missing puzzle piece in your heart; piece by piece, stitch by stitch.

who is your father? what is a father? why did dami told me i'm like... our father?

as you sit alone in your bed, toys long forgotten, alone with only the cool breeze fluttering by your window to accompany you. the questions begin to grate at your mind, yet all you do is bring your knees closer to your chest, lips dry at the forgone isolation you put yourself through after a cycle of endless thinking.

"momma will be here soon," you mutter to yourself. your voice, meek and highly pitched, young and cradling childish curiosity; it breaks at the seams when your fingers bring itself to touch and wipe away at wet cheeks and tender, aching eyes.

dami was right; you are stubborn like your father.

because even if they try all necessary means to shroud your life in seclusion from reality— you don't easily back out of a losing fight.

even if the tears you shed from the lack of progress were insurmountable, even if you knew you were at a physical disadvantage shall push come to shove where you'd have to fight your dearest brother, even if it means struggling against the invisible shackle your beloved family locked you in.

because your perfect perception of your fucked up family has long since dissipated from the moment your servant and your brother mentioned a foreign word.

a simple word, a small mistake, yet acting as a newer path of life that long since diverged from the only way you knew how to live.

and you still wish to solve the mystery of your forlorn emptiness.

will you give up just so easily? would the tears you shed all become mere depression?

no, not even as you sit in your too-huge bed, with no clue on where or how to start a hopeless journey; too young to plan, too little to fight, too tenderhearted in the views of your family.

even then, your red, rubbed raw eyes seek to look back on your first hint from within the room

a dictionary was sprawled across the opposite end of the bed, thrown haphazardly, opened to a certain page that highlights words closest to 'father'.

you crawl, with sore arms and wobbly legs, to retrieve the heavy, hard-bound and gold-encased dictionary, lounging on your bed with a damaged spine.

your fingers return to traverse multiple pages yet again—

stubborn, impatient and impulsive.

earlier, it came to you in the form of realization that the dictionary your mentor assigned you to read had a missing word cut precisely with a blade and replaced with an unintelligible one.

earlier, you realized just how much your perfect family was only perfect because they've hidden the truth from you.

earlier should've been years ago, earlier should've never been swept off the rug so easily. but what could an eight year old like you do? you've none of damian's talents to quickly learn, you're raised differently. it is only now you wish you weren't so gullible.

and as your fingers strum against pages, near to ripping out expensive paper, tears unceasing, lips bitten 'til bleeding— you learn, and you grow beyond simple comprehension.

motivation, and the drive to uncover all things unsaid, even if the end would result in something negative.

through them, you'll soon learn of spite, of anguish, and bitter contempt.

but for now, you're merely left alone, with only a mantra of words all circling back to dami's words; so many questions left unanswered.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: honestly don't know half of what i wrote + i don't like this as much as i wanted it to come out. this went through multiple revisions with an added fact of me trying to discern why my writing style keeps fluctuating 😭 guys please comment about what you think of this. if this flops, i'm gonna quit writing LMAO. this is a bit more formal than my usual style (re: again & again) because i wanted to capture the regality of the al ghul's family partly told through the perspective of a child.

taglist: @th0rn118, @obsessedwithromance @rogueofbullshit @ch1cky-093, @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd, @confused-they @biiibs01, @ghostdoodlen, @earlqurl, @chericia, @herebyaccident0, @ilovemyhusbandnanami, @mintynilla, @lilyalone, @anonymousdisco, @plsfckmedxddy, @maria-figueiredo, @143637-hrrm, @neerathebrightstar, @jsprien213, @realifezompire, @sammytheotakunerd, @sh4rk-k1d, @confused-they, @peptox, @lillian-morningstar.

[bluerosefox]

One in the Same

Hmmmm

Hmmmmm

So we know during the time Tim lost in spleen (his Red Robin run) and wakes ups next to the pit he almost believed he had been tossed in the Lazarus Pits.

What if

Now hear me out.

What if he actually was.

But what if instead of gaining Pit Madness, he unlocked his past life memories.

His memories of being Daniel 'Danny' Fenton and Danny Phantom.

And once the memories returned so did his ghost form and powers.

And as Tim sits at the bottom of the pits, crossing his legs and letting all his memories slide back into place he questioned what to do now. He pondered for a moment and hummed tapping a finger to his chin.

Maybe he'll play the Pit Madness card? After all Ra's chucked him in here to either turn him into a mindless rage machine he could manipulate or see what the Pits would do to a mind like Tim's. Or Tim could pretend to be a silent rage, a calm before the storm.

Well, Tim grinned his eyes glowing green as he stared at the surface of the Lazarus waters above him, he was very good at lying this life time around. After all he was Tim 'I can even lie to Batman and get away with it' Drake-Wayne and he did used to be Danny 'Commit to the bit' Fenton/Phantom.

He was going to have fun playing that fruitloop named Ra's like the cheap kazoo he was.

[hu-arts]

Valk bakery and ra*bits cafe au

[koingks]

they pyonpyon-ed their way to success. proud of them so much <3

[pionam-u]

໒ ˃ ˂ ა zzzz

[mousec1ub]

DOLL'S SINGING VOICE 🪡

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 115

“Seriously old man?” the rumbling voice nearly caused Tim to jump, his eyes darting away from where Ras was sitting, the Al Ghul almost seeming to perk. It was kind of hard to miss the man… teen… being? It was kind of hard to miss the owner of the voice what with how their hair looked like it was on fire. 

They motioned around at well, everything, crimson eyes looking exasperated. “Really?” They were definitely motioning towards him, interrupting Ras when he opened his mouth to talk. “No, I don’t want to hear it, I swear- Did he kidnap you?” That was definitely aimed at him. 

“N-no?” Tim was feeling slightly unbalanced and may be on hour sixty without sleep at this point, if the hour long nap was counted. “I need help finding my not-dad who's lost in time.” 

The being let out a strangled noise that Tim could nearly swear was almost another one, but couldn’t vocalize his slurred thoughts as the dude muttered something, motioning around as though he was tempted to strangle something or someone. 

Ras cleared his throat, looking almost awkward which was how Tim knew he had to be dreaming or drugged. Probably drugged. “Jordan, how good to see you, it’s been so long-”

“Can it Pops,” the being-named-Jordan scoffed, finger pointing towards the Demon’s Head. “Moms still pissed and isn’t coming back any time soon with you still pulling this shit.” 

Tim felt his brain stall, process for a moment, then process some more over what he just heard before his mouth ran before it could catch up. “Ras is married???” 

[tippenfunkaport]

Happy Birthday, Bow!

Catra and Adora surprised him with a pooka plushie so he wouldn't be tempted to go to Beast Island and hug a real one.

(for @glimbowweek prompt Surprise!)

[enstaevi]

[kaereth]

Catradora angst/comfort for a kofi ;; A little bit of me vaguely rehashing my hc that Adora still sometimes has nightmares about Catra after they reconcile (but they're working through it)

[iamumbra195]

Not really in the DC fandom and I don't really read many comics but I've been seeing some videos and posts making headcanons about the Al-Ghul family being Muslim and it pisses me off so much.

This interpretation is deeply rooted in Islamophobia and the ignorant notion that every Arab is a Muslim and therefore a "terrorist". The Al-Ghuls are not and have never been Muslims and any parts of the religion found in their characters are likely due to the fact that Arab culture has a lot of aspects of Islam mixed into it and because again, people think that being Arab and being Muslim are the same thing and a lot of the comic writers are white Americans who commonly have this misconception about Arabs.

I'm not going to go into the specifics of everything because 1) I don't know all that much about canon and 2) this is a little hard to explain but I will give several examples that pretty much disprove that headcannon because The Al-Ghuls do things that are considered major sins in Islam on the daily.

Ra's runs an assassin league/cult and despite what many people think killing people is a major sin in Islam except in very specific scenarios where it may be excused like in self-defence or in war. And what the Al-Ghuls do? That isn't excusable in any way.

Ra's' name in and of itself is proof. His name means the Demon Head and I promise you a proper practicing Muslim would not call themself that or commit the atrocities he has on innocent people. I don't know if this is true but I saw on the wiki that apparently a character named Gerhardt asked him if he was a man or a fiend from hell and Ra's, said that he was both and neither and that he was "Ra's al-Ghul". A Muslim would not associate themself with Hell, a place where evildoers are punished in the afterlife.

Talia committed zina (fornication), yet another major sin, and wears extremely revealing clothing despite the fact that modesty is an integral part of the religion.

The Al-Ghuls drink wine, eat pork and apparently Damian was often fed ox blood soup as a child despite the fact that all these things are explicitly forbidden for Muslims to consume in verses of the Quran. (To clarify a bit, in case you're confused about the ox blood soup, Muslims are forbidden from consuming animal blood because it is considered filthy and harmful, much like pork and wine.)

Not to mention the whole thing about Ra's nearly being 500 years old and the Lazarus Pits apparently reviving him every time he dies... but that's a whole can of worms I don't know enough about to open

So yeah, the headcanon that the Al-Ghuls are Muslims perpetuates harmful stereotypes about Islam as a whole. There probably is more to be said about this topic but unfortunately, I haven't read many comics and have only watched a few of the DC animated movies so I can't say much more.

Feel free to correct me if I've said something incorrect or missed something important.

[yume-fanfare]

handshake event <3

[bluerosefox]

Tim, buddy, what do you mean you might had accidentally made a Love Child?!

Danny finds out that

1. He's a clonish 'love child' of two heroes

2. He was accidentally created during one of his donors mental break downs after losing his father and best friends (one of which was his other donor)

3. CW interfered before his creator realized what he made and pulled him out of that dimension because "it would had lead that world to true ruin if he found out at his state of mind. He's better now but it would had been the final straw for him should anything had happened to you in his care and given who he had to partner up with later... I did what I had to."

4. Due to Danny having a bad fall out with his parents after he told them about being Phantom (they didn't attack him... but they did disown him.) Danny is left adrift of what to do. He doesn't wanna bug Jazz, she's in college and dorming. Tuckers place has no room. Sam's parents would never let him stay. Vlad was a definitely a no go. And Dani (Ellie) last check in was near the Amazon rainforest.

5. Danny finds out some of his powers might not be as ghostly as he thought... it does explain the huge power boost some of his powers have compared to other ghosts.

6. He went to Clockwork... who proceeded to tell him the truth, smile his cryptic smile while saying "and now. Have fun this time around. I'll see you again in due time Daniel." Before yeeting him into a portal.

7. Danny woke up in his home dimension.... deaged to being five years old (the age he would be if he stayed and grew by now) (DC timeline is slower than DP in this)

8. He woke up apparently his creator's home city... during a Gala (Danny woke up in a garden, dazed and confused. His memories are fuzzy)... and wandered into the party... and apparently he looked like a perfect mix of his.. dads? Which catches A LOT of peoples attention.

9. Especially with Tim Drake-Wayne and Conner Kent-Luthor just announcing they're dating that very night.

10. Rumors and gossip of a random kid, who looks just like the recent happily announced couple, go flying quickly among the elite... and reaches certain ears before it gets to batfam and supers (I have a feeling they learned how to block out rumors and gossips during these events)

11. Those ears happen to be Lex Luthor and Ra's al Ghul (both who are there at the Gala just to annoy and unnerve the Bats and Supers)

12. By the time the rumors get to Tim and Conner, they find Danny almost getting taken away by one of those two.

[kaidatheghostdragon]

"You must be Ra's," Tucker stated, careful to keep on a poker face while he frantically assessed the situation - tied down to a chair, in what was probably the heart of this particular fruitloop's lair.

And there was a frankly disturbing number of similarities to the OG fruitloop: the way he stood, the style of his hair, the perpetual sneer.

The way he sent a shiver down Tucker's spine like Vlad used to be able to way back when he was still intimidating.

"Gotta say," Tucker continued, shoving his emotions down like only a human-born liminal that dealt with empathic rogues on the daily could ever manage, "not that impressed. For starters, your vibes are rancid, dude. Like, what do you do, bathe in corruption all day?"

That earned him a slap on the face, "You will speak when spoken to," Ra's ordered.

Tucker witheld a smirk. This guy seemed like the type to order subordinates around to do absolutely everything. The fact that he personally slapped Tucker with his own hand? It could only mean that Tucker was already under the guy's skin.

"Well, that just means I can keep talking since you just spoke to me," Tucker retorted, unafraid of another slap. Really, compared to the abuse he put himself through helping Danny, and the way his liminality skyrocketed in the last couple of years, it was barely even a love-tap. It didn't even sting.

Ra's raised a brow, giving the distinct impression that he was absolutely livid, though that may have been the liminal empathy cluing Tucker in. He'd never been great at reading emotions until that particular ability developed.

"Who do you work for?" Ra's began the interrogation.

Tucker returned with his best affronted glare, "Frankly, I'm offended that you don't believe I could do all this entirely on my own."

"Kill him," Ra's stated as he turned to leave, sounding so unimpressed that it almost seemed bored.

Out of the shadows, an arrow flew straight at Tucker, who slipped his restraints (thank you liminality for giving him limited ghost powers) and caught the arrow before it pierced his chest, "Yeah, no. Imma veto that."

Ra's turned back around, looking almost impressed.

It made Tucker feel way slimier than Vlad could ever hope to achieve. He repressed a shudder. After all, his job here was to keep Ra's distracted while the others invisibly raided the place, destroyed the pits, and planted explosives.

Tucker, being the technopath, would normally stay behind in the chair, but the League of Assassins was well defended against cyber attacks, forcing them to pivot somewhat in order to successfully infiltrate the place. He ended up creating a digital duplicate of himself (a literal duplicate, like Danny could do, but Tucker's duplicate could only ever exist inside of a computer, by all appearances a true AI) that the others could upload to the servers once they found them.

Beyond that, there wasn't much Tucker could do beyond providing a distraction. Sure, the LoA's technology was absolutely worth drooling over, but they didn't rely on it like most of the modern world did. There was no internet connection, electronic locks, or surveillance for Tucker to hack into and make his own. This place was all stone doors and medieval fortifications.

"Impressive," Ra's complimented after a moment of silent appraisal, "perhaps you are worthy of my attention after all."

Tucker scoffed, getting the clear impression that this guy fully expected the ground he walked on to be worshipped after admitting such small praise, "You're not the first megalomaniac I've had to deal with, and you won't be the last." (Team Phantom had an entire list of fruitloops to work through once their LoA financial backing was removed, after all) "I'll give you props for the sweet ninja cult you got going on, though. Gotta say, that's a first for me."

"Assassins," Ra's corrected.

"Same diff," Tucker retorted with a handwave, knowing full well that a guy like Ra's would be miffed by such a dismissal. He further feigned disinterest by examining the arrow he was still holding. Tucker had taken a few archery lessons when he was younger and picked it back up by training a bit under Princess Dora's royal guard. He was... decent, with a bow. He could reliably hit his target as long as he had a couple of seconds to aim - or used something laced in technology that allowed his technopathy to steady it.

The arrow was expertly crafted and perfectly balanced. His heightened liminal senses smelled a substance on the arrowhead - probably a paralytic, not that it would have kept Tucker down for very long, even if it had breached his heart, which would have been a quick death for any baseline human. He tossed it from hand to hand a few times, feeling the weight, the threw it like a dart into one of the nearest shadows. A soft thud echoed through the room when the arrowhead bonked the chestplate of the assassin standing there, then a clatter when it fell to the ground.

"If I had a bow, he'd be dead," Tucker needlessly commented, thumb pointing to the hidden guard. He was somewhat surprised the dude didn't catch the arrow like Tucker had. But then again, if the shadows were meant to fully conceal him, catching the arrow would have given him away from the arrow not making noise or falling to the ground.

"You knew he was there," Ra's stated more than asked.

"And the eleven others," Tucker easily replied, "A full dozen to guard the King of the Cult. Not that it'll make any difference. I've already won."

Tucker didn't have any misconcieved notion that his liminality would give him an edge over a dozen trained assassins. It doesn't really matter how good your senses are or how fast your reflexes when you have to dodge a dozen attacks simultaneously. But what he could do was turn intangible during those first few seconds of adrenaline-fueled panic, more than long enough for either of the Phantoms, neither of which were currently more than a few hundred yards distant, to reach him and drag him away from immediate danger.

So Tucker latched onto that confidence borne of complete trust in his team, and radiated it as much as he could, daring Ra's to call his bluff with nothing more than a knowing smirk.