#as an adult he looks like talia

[frownyalfred]

thinking about a Damian who was raised his entire life hearing how much he looks like his Father, how he's the blood son, how he's better than any other child Bruce Wayne has taken in, starting to buy into it like a kid does, only to hit puberty and turn out looking like 80% Talia.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 245

Now Danny would openly admit, if only to himself, that he had a type when it came to relationships. If they were strong, if they were a threat to him, then chances were he would develop some sort of crush. It was how he had dated Sam and Valerie (And Johnny & Kitty) when he was a bit younger, and hell, Sam had technically succeeded in killing him, even if partly. 

Attraction towards smart people who could kill him was honestly par for the course for a Fenton or Nightingale anyway. 

And he’d also admit he enjoyed a bit of time travel, learning about times and culture long before his time, to the point that he could blend in in ancient times just as easily as the time he had been born in. That it was natural to mutter in a language lost to time. 

So color him surprise when another man perks up in the bar he had paused to get a drink in, vibrant green eyes gleaming in interest and responds in turn. And not just in the language, but able to keep up when he talks about things that once existed but haven’t been rediscovered yet. 

And one thing led to the other, and there might have been some assassins and some shenanigans that end with them both laughing together in an inn and then more and- Okay he has a type alright, and he’s ticking each box! How is that fair? 

[spacedace]

Working on a fic about Talia running off to raise Damian on her own and sorta just pulling a Bruce on all the kids Bruce has already Bat-adopted (and some he hasn't) and because it spans years and my brain keeps screaming about trying to figure out how old people are/when things happen I'm making a timeline on World Anvil.

And I'm going all in on it. When peeps where born, when they met, major events & plot points all that.

Which includes Talia meeting Bruce for the first time.

And the thing is that World Anvil will let you tag/categorize the events your adding to the timeline and you have no idea how tempted I am to label "Talia meets Bruce" with:

[wesavegotham]

Obviously I have no idea where Tom Taylor will be going with his Dark Knights of Steel elseworld, but the first book pushes the idea that Bruce, despite being a bastard (he's the illegitimate son of late Queen Martha and Jor-El in this) should inherit the throne one day since he's the only one related to the original monarchs of the kingdom, and I can't help but imagine Bruce sitting one the throne one day and he swears to himself to only sire "trueborn children" so no biologically related child of his would ever suffer from growing up as a bastard like he did...and then Damian is introduced to him.

[bats-and-the-birds]

The Batkids on being mistaken as Bruce's biological children.

Look, the Batkids have all been forced into various social gatherings, and enough of them share vague features with Bruce that some of the older members among Gotham's old money, or the younger ones that are out of the loop, sometimes mix up the facts.

Dick gets it from the very beginning. Old women pinch his cheeks, still tan from a life outside of Gotham's gloom, and tell him, Such a sweet little boy, and just like your father at your age. His hair used to stick up just like yours. Dick didn't like it at all. He bit the first person that told him he had Bruce's eyes, and stomped on the foot of an old politician that told him, With your father's height, I thought you'd be taller by now.

He laughs it off as an adult, but sometimes, it still eats at him. People still tell him that they thought he'd eventually be as tall as Bruce, or that he should be thankful for his inherited jaw line. It's not the comparison to Bruce that bothers him anymore, or even being mistaken as his son, but rather, the fact that he sometimes struggles to remember exactly where his features actually came from; parental faces turning fuzzy in his distant memory.

Jason thinks it's funny, the first time it happens. Mostly because it's his nose of all things. Your nose is bent, grumbled the old man sitting across from him at the gala, Just like your father's. Tough luck on the genetics. The man didn't realize the bent noses were because they'd both been broken in the past. Jason spent days after studying Bruce's face, trying to figure out if their noses really bent in the same way, and eventually came to the conclusion that, yeah, they really did. From that point on, each time either of them broke their nose, Jason would distantly think, Ah, damn, there goes the family resemblance.

As an adult, Jason takes care to make sure people don't often seen his face. The hood does a pretty good job of that. Besides, he doesn't move in circles where the mistake could be made anymore. Still, sometimes he looks in the mirror at the bump in his nose and thinks, Family resemblance. Yeah, right.

It happens less with Tim. Anyone that made the mistake with Jason and Dick also remembered Jack and Janet Drake. It's not until he's almost an adult that a new hire at Wayne Industries, some kid from out of town, sees him and Bruce in the office together and remarks, Oh, you two furrow your eyebrows in the same way when you think. My mom says that my dad and I do that too. We inherited it from my grandpa. Tim feels unsettled all day and makes a conscious effort to not to furrow his eyebrows anymore.

There's no mistake to make with Damian. At least, not the same one that can be made with the others. He's the blood son, and he's a perfect mix between Bruce and Talia. Of course, there's the well-meaning, if confused, adults that assume he's adopted like the others. He corrects them, swiftly, and sometimes aggressively.

There is one incident. It happens while Bruce is gone, after he's been staying with Grayson for a few months. He knew, of course, that people thought that Grayson looked like Bruce. He could even see the similarities. Superficially, of course. However, he never considered that Grayson looking like his father also meant that Grayson looked like him. Not until an old woman leaned over to him at a gala and said, You look just like your father when Mister Wayne first brought him out to these things. The hair, that disgruntled little frown. He hated these parties too. Couldn't ever sit still. Gosh, I really can't believe it's been long enough that he has a child of his own. It took Damian a while to realize what happened, and even then, he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he wasn't actually Grayson's son, or that he and Grayson weren't actually that far apart in age. He felt strangely guilty the rest of the night, and he never dared to tell Grayson about it.

It happened to Steph exactly once. Really, she doesn't look like Bruce at all. It was a man with exceptionally thick glasses, who actually told her that she reminded him of Martha Wayne. She's pretty sure he was just trying to be nice. She tries to forget about it. She never tells Bruce.

You have his eyes, is what Duke gets. Which confuses him, because, uh, no, he doesn't. Not even close like Dick's. He says as much to the woman that said it to him, and she squints her eyes at him and responds, No, you definitely do. Not in the shape or the color, but you look at things the same way he does. Duke thinks about that sometimes, and he swings back and forth between being annoyed and weirdly proud that he apparently looked at the world like Batman did.

People tell Cass that she has his smile. She beams with pride at that. After all, she learned it from him. She studied, closely, the way his mouth ticked up at the corners, both while he stretched the dazzling, fake smile across his face for the public, and the genuine, gentle smiles that he gave her while he helped tie her hair back or slip on her mask, and now she could replicate them both perfectly. She didn't like the fake one, but she knew it was necessary.

[kittykatninja321]

The reason why I always emphasize that utrh era Jason is 18/19 and refuse to let people forget that Jason and Tim are canonically 2 years apart is because the concept of Jason as a fairly young adult with little to no support system is a fascinating concept to me and it goes under explored in both canon and fanon. I think it adds such an interesting wrinkle to the everything and is a great contrast to all the Red Hood shit. I’m thinking about New Earth Jason specifically here, he’s both younger than post-nu52 Jason and more isolated. Most people at 19, even if they can afford to be out on their own in this economy, still have contact with their family of origin for support. Jason is not only estranged from his family with little to no support system (depending on how much you interpret Talia being involved after Lost Days), he’s also doing mob boss shit while he’s still technically young enough to be somebody’s prom date. He didn’t go to his prom because he was probably in Russia learning how to make bombs or something (and because, yknow, the whole dying thing).

Jason is someone who both had to grow up too fast and by all means should be somewhat emotionally stunted. Not only does trauma stunt you he was catatonic for long enough that he’s missing literal years from his adolescence. He’s young enough that he’s still reeling from trauma from childhood and adolescence (late teens/ early twenties are peak ‘desperately trying to recover from childhood’ era).

I think underneath the rough Red Hood exterior that Jason should be naive in ways that people wouldn’t really expect. He doesn’t have much experience with relationships (both romantic and friendships), and it’s been years since he’s socialized much with people his age (he doesn’t socialize much at all he’s pretty isolated). I think even if he doesn’t look young that at times he would slip up and show that he is

Also I just love the contrast. I like the idea that sometimes you’ll hear Red Hood cackle without the helmet on and you’ll recognize traces of that 15 year old kid and then he’ll shoot someone immediately after. Like imagine if utrh was a Boy King of the underworld sorta deal

[teddypines]

Thunderstorm

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Sumary: Cute moment with Batmom!reader and Damian who is afraid of thunderstorm.

Batmom!reader x Damain, Fem!reader (Use of she/her pronounce)

Note: I don't know Batman lore like i know mcu lore. Everything i know is from the cartoon's i watched as a kid and the fanfic's and webtoon i read. So if somthings are out of charachter, i'm sorry. Also the other boy's live at home i don't care if it isn't canon.

Art/picture is from Pintrest, credits go to whoever made it.

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Damian always acted like he was an adult, because in his eyes he thought he was, even when Y/N knew the boy was far from being an adult. She always tried to give him small moments that normal kids his age had in an attempt to make up for the things Talia had done in the past. This included letting him come to her if he needed, no matter the time or place.

It was just a normal Friday night in the Wayne household. Y/N was cuddled up to Bruce’s side on the couch. Jason and Dick to her right both bickering about which guy the girl on tv would end up with. Tim was curled up in his blanket on the chair, tiredly typing away on his laptop and Damian was trying to stay close to Bruce’s side but didn’t want to make it obvious that he wanted to cuddle. The rain outside made for a cozy feel for the whole moment, it made Y/N happy. The kids and Bruce are safe at home with her and not out on patrol or fighting crime. 

Y/N sighed as the tv show Jason and Dick were watching was finally over. So she took the remote and quickly turned the channels to look at the weather forecast. “Owh, boy looks like we are going to have a thunderstorm tonight. Good thing I don't have to worry about you all being out.” Y/N said before switching channels again. The fact that it was going to storm didn’t really bother Bruce or the boy’s. Except for Damian, he was stressed internally, but he didn’t want his brothers to know. They would probably laugh if they knew he was scared of a thunderstorm. Y/N looked over at Damian. “Everything okay, Dami?” She asked, the troubled look on Damian’s face made her worry. “Y-yes, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about, just tired.” Damian rambled back at Y/N. 

“I think I might go to bed too,” Tim said after Jason left the living room. He closed his laptop and wiggled out of his blanket. He made his way over to Y/N and Bruce, Y/N already opening her arms for Tim. “Night night, Pumpkin” Y/N said to Tim when he was safely in her arms. “Goodnight, momma. Night, dad. Love you” Tim answered, staying in Y/N’s arms for a little while. “We love you too, Pumpkin” Y/N said in between kisses she placed on Tim’s head. Bruce wrapped his arm around Tim too, but only for a moment. “Now off to bed, Pumpkin, don’t want you to fall asleep here again” Y/N said which made Tim reluctantly pull away. Soon After Dick said his goodnights too and left the living room with Tim. 

“I bet little Dami is just scared of the thunderstorm.” Jason commented as he leaned back against the couch, a small smirk spread across his face. "No! I am not scared!” Damian yepped back at Jason, he pouted a bit after. Bruce held back a small laugh at Damian’s pouty face which earned him a jab in the side form Y/N.

“Don’t tease your brother like that, Jay bird and Dami, it's okay if you're scared of thunderstorms” Y/N said hoping to resolve the small situation. Jason grumbled a bit before getting off the couch. "Fine! I'm off to bed.” He wanted to quickly disappear, but Y/N didn’t let him. “Night night, Jay bird” She said with a smile. Jason groaned and quickly hugged her. “Night mom” He whispered to Y/N.

“You should go to bed soon too, Dami, and if the storm scares you it’s okay to come to us. We’ll protect you from the storm” Y/N said in an attempt to sooth Damian’s worry about the upcoming thunderstorm. She reached over Bruce and gently ran a hand over Damian’s head. “I’ll be fine, no need to worry” Damian answered a bit distant. He didn’t want Y/N (or Bruce) to worry about him. “Just know we’re there when you do need us” Bruce said to Damian in a stern but reassuring way. Damain just nodded his head and pulled off the couch. “I’ll be fine, night”

It did upset Y/N just a bit that Damian didn’t get his usual good night hug, but she knew he would be by her side the moment the thunder storm started. Bruce pulled Y/N on top of him and kissed her cheek. “He’ll be back, love” 

<----------------------------------------------------------------------->

The thunderstorm started around 1:30 AM, just when Y/N found a comfy position next to Bruce. The thunder wasn’t as bad in the beginning, but got worse after 20 minutes. After one particular loud thunder Y/N awoke to the weight shifting on the bed. She opened her eyes and was met with a very scared Damian. “Umi? C-can i stay with you and… and dad?” Damian stuttered through his tears. "Always, baby” Y/N answered. She pulled away from Bruce’s side and turned over so Damian could cuddle against her. “I see you brought mister Moo” Y/N pointed at the plush cow in Damian’s arms. “Maybe…” He whispered, busying himself with finding the best way to lay next to Y/N. Wanting to be as close to her as he could. He slowly closed his eyes but flinched when another thunder strike was heard. 

“Shhh, it’s okay Dami, you're safe in bed with us. No need to be scared, Thor is just a bit extra mad at Loki tonight.” Y/N whispered to Damian. a reassuring hand was placed on Damian’s back. Damian shifted his head to look up at Y/N. “What?” Y/N laughed a bit. “You heard me. Thor is mad at Loki, that’s why the thunder is so loud tonight. Loki probably stabbed him again or tricked him by being a cute snake.” Y/N explained as Damian listened. He knew that what Y/N said was just based on stories and myths, but he liked it. Made the thunderstorm less scary. “Really? Why would Loki do that?” He asked. “Well, Loki really likes attention and sometimes he thinks he doesn’t get enough of it, so he asks for attention. But he does it in the only way he knows how, by being a little shit head and stabbing Thor or tricking the others.” Y/N explained. Bruce groaned a bit as he heard Y/N talk. He turned over and saw Damian hiding against her. 

“Or Thor just stubbed his toe.” Bruce added while propping his arm underneath his head. “Yes, that is possible too” Y/N answered with a small nod of her head. Damian laughed a bit and yawned. “I like that one better, big oof stubbing his toe.”

“Yeah, see now the thunder isn’t so bad is it?” Y/N asked as she yawned as well. Damian only nodded his head in answer. The storm outside was still going on, but Thor just stubbed his toe so that made the thunder more understandable. It was a story, but the story helped Damian feel less scared. 

“Alright, love you” Y/N promised before drifting off to sleep. Bruce smiled at the two. He placed gentle kisses on both their heads before falling asleep as well.

Y/N smiled as she watched Damian fall asleep against her. She turned her head to look at Bruce. “Out like a light,” She said. Bruce smiled and tried to lay back down next to Y/N. “Yeah, but he’s taking all of the comfy spots on the bed” Y/N rolled her eyes and held out her hand for Bruce to hold. “Tomorrow night you can sleep against me again.” Y/N reassured Bruce while he held onto her hand. “Fine, but I expect extra cuddles then!”

[24hrsoda]

here’s some non-angsty Ra’s and Talia headcanons

- Ra’s knows a million and one ways to tie hair up, quick styles to keep it out of the way for combat, and elegant styles for formality. Talia always goes to him when she wants her hair to look extra pretty because she doesn’t trust anyone else to do it and not fuck it up.

- Talia never grew out of wanting her dad when she’s sick. At age 5 and age 50, she has stood in Ra’s’ doorway in the middle of the night to tell him “Baba I threw up.”

- (She also does this when Damian is sick btw. In his doorway holding on to 3 year old Damian’s hand, “Baba….Damian threw up.”)

-Talia is one of the few people Ra’s actually enjoys sparring with. She’s competitive and sometimes downright mean. He’s well aware that she is probably fueled by spite and arguments they had 20 years ago and also every time he’s ever annoyed her or pissed her off, but she makes sparing fun. He also loves recognizing the things he’s taught her, and observing her own techniques she’s developed on her own.

-He may be one of the most powerful men in the world but he still does the MOST annoying dad things, like randomly coming in to her room to just look out the window or stand on the balcony with hands behind his back.

-As a kid she played dress-up in his clothes, and as an adult she occasionally will use his big elaborate capes as blankets when she wants to be cozy

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ── Part 3

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: In the hopes that things would improve between you, you choose to lose your virginity to your friend Dean Winchester because you have been in love with him madly for a long time. However, he doesn't feel the same about you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: Unrequited love, angst, jealousy, tension, language

Word Count: 6043

A/N: English is not my first language.

Song: 'It takes a Lot to Know a Man' by Damien Rice

While it was exhausting in some ways and occasionally involved people who were a little noisy and irate, spending an entire day at the hospital and taking care of patients felt good. It was occasionally unclear which task you had more difficulty with than the other: hunting or nursing. That being said, one of them was a little too dangerous for you.

Your thoughts raced at every word Dean said, hinting that he didn't want you to tear down your bond, as you thought back to the evening he'd spent with Jo while Sam spent his time watching TV. Though he hadn't stated it explicitly, his sharp statements with soft tones made it clear. Although you were happy that he was trying to be respectful and polite, the fact that it hurt so much made his efforts a waste.

Perhaps it would be better for you to listen Sam. Giving new people a chance and meeting them might perhaps heal whatever hurts you on the inside. But when it came down to it, you were a coward for being devoted to someone you never had and never would. Especially when you saw Dean enjoying himself with Jo there in front of your eyes, it didn't even make sense. 

As if absolutely nothing happened between you. 

It was just too much for you, yet it meant nothing to him. But because you were the one who let everything happen and didn't even inform him that you were a virgin, you had no reason to hold Dean responsible. Nothing at all. However, that was such a burden. 

You cleared your mind of thoughts and saw your colleague doing his job while you treated the small girl's hand when she reached you with her nervous mother, who was frequently repeating to her that she had warned her not to play with sharp objects. It wasn't that horrible, but you did your best to soothe her and divert her attention by carefully cleaning her hand.

You informed her mother that there were hundreds of such and even worse incidents in emergency, much like her daughter, after the sharp glass was removed from her arm. You were given the task of stitching, and you began it meticulously and with caution. Sadly, it had to be stitched. Even doing it with adults appeared to be challenging. 

She was trying her hardest not to weep when she saw the needle because she felt guilty and ashamed, but you swiftly covered it up and looked at her mother to let her know that she too needed to calm her daughter. Fortunately, she got the message. 

I was just wondering what your name is. You haven't told me yet," you inquired, trying to complete your task without drawing attention to your hands. 

“Talia,” she sobbed as she turned to face her mother as if she wanted to see if she was still angry with her.

“It's a very lovely name.” You replied, “It's good to meet you, Talia,” and gave her your name. Making sure her kid wasn't gazing at you while you were taking care of her arm, you encouraged her mother to talk to her as well. Not in an angry way, of course.

“It's not very pretty,” she said. Children typically complain about several things. 

“Why do you say that, though?”

“It sounds like 'Arya.' I was playing with Aisha when she told me that. I don't even like that name.”

If there was anything positive about kids, it was being prone to share too much. That was really beneficial for handling youngsters during an emergency, though. It would have been better, of course, if they had just been cautious and not gone through at all. It seemed to you that the other girl she was referring to was her closest friend. 

“I don't believe so. Their pronouncations are really differently,” you observed. “I has a very beautiful meaning, and it's not a very common name, which is a nice thing. Don't you think so?”

“Yes,” she said after giving it some thought. “Will it hurt?” 

“Just a little bit,” you smiled reassuringly at her. “People say my hands are really soft.”

She was unable to conceal her frightened and apprehensive look as you began stitching as her mother went on to remark about how impulsive her daughter might be at times. Additionally, you saw her continuing talking with her daughter about topics that would divert her attention. 

She inquired, “Do you have a boyfriend?” with curiosity.  She was attempting to cover up the hurt expression on her face so her mother wouldn't say anything further.

“No,” you smiled and stated. 

“Why?”

“I'm not sure.” You attempted to respond vaguely in order to get her to stop interrogating you about your nonexistent romantic life. “Adult life is difficult to comprehend when it comes to such matters.”

“Now I'm not interested in growing up. Mine is not difficult.”

You interrupted with, “Good for you,” and carefully cleaned her arm while smiling sincere at her. “It is finished. I told you that my hands were soft, right?”

You felt better as the rest of the day passed, taking care of other patients, listening to them, and doing what you could to help them. It dawned on you that becoming worn out was an effective distraction from troubling thoughts. Making yourself occupied at that moment was definitely the best thing for you because you were going to lose your mind over thinking about Dean constantly, even when you had to pee. Your body was hurting so much that you had no energy left to consider anything but resting.

You were taken aback when one of your closest friends randomly stopped by the hospital where you work right before you were about to leave. You looked him in the eye and saw that, indeed, it was him. You shivered in anticipation as you gazed at him because of the little coolness in the air. Your pulse was pounding with excitement and curiosity as you narrowed your eyes and caught him with such a focused glance that he knew you were the one gazing at him before you could.

In a tone that suggested both shock and joy, you exclaimed, “Robert?” as you approached each other. You could have recognized him sooner, a few minutes earlier, before you left the hospital.

He was your pal from college. Before you left the hospital where you both worked and joined Sam and Dean, you two were extremely close friends. With Rob, everything was simple, and he was a really nice and supportive friend; you would never deny that. But at that point, you couldn't simply bury your desire to go after the family business in addition to your own work, and it was difficult to say no to Dean. He was the one who initially convinced you. After all of your losses, you had also yearned for something different—something that could brighten you up. 

During the times you worked together, Rob was a highly professional, talented, and encouraging doctor. Even though there was a hierarchy between you at the hospital, you respected the fact that he never treated you worse than necessary or better than he should have. He was always completely aware of the lines.

But even though you've been in touch with Rob, your connection with him has been weakened since you've spent so much time with Dean and Sam. There's no denying that.

You gave him a huge, tight hug, and he chuckled, “Hey,” as if he wasn't at all shocked to see you. He knew that you were working here after all, but you didn't expect to see him anyway.

Warmly hugging him again, you said, “What are you doing here?”

He winked and added, “I was in the neighborhood,” as you drew back and gave him a suspicious look. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Dean attempted to divert his attention throughout the day while he fixed things and cleaned Baby. He became consumed with a sensation of rage and frustration that he just didn't comprehend. He was thinking about the past three weeks nonstop, even if nothing was wrong. Particularly the last night. 

After speaking with Jo over the phone about his intention to stop their connection and his lack of interest in pursuing a serious relationship, Dean was pleased that she accepted his request and that she wasn't interested in pursuing it further either, even though she offered him to go hunting. His and her desire to hunt were similar, but Dean didn't comprehend how different they were in fact. He was glad Jo felt the same. 

If Dean had cared a little bit more, he may have been ashamed by his obviously poor performance last night, but oddly, he didn't. He felt a lot of burden when he realized that even for a brief while, he fucked Jo thinking about you. Imagining your body under him. It wasn't fair, and he didn't even mean it. He was aware of that.

The worst thing about it was that he enjoyed it and wasn't pleased with it behaving like this. Clearly stating that one night shouldn't be enough to ruin your friendship, he shouldn't reciprocate by fantasizing about fucking you. About filling you with his—Uh. Whatever. 

All day, he tried to find a way a way to divert his attention with Baby and all things mechanical. He sometimes purposefully broke things so he could fix them again. But he also couldn't quit thinking about your most recent conversation.

It wasn't the unclear situation between him and Jo that was causing him the strain he thought it was. It didn't ease him at all to cut his links with her so quickly. He was surprised to see that you were encircling him in his thoughts, imprisoning him there. 

“You look messy,” Sam said, observing his ripped t-shirt and dirty face. 

As he bent over and looked at Sam, he said, “Thanks,” in a dismissive voice, while searching for the right tool for his car. 

“You seem to be quite busy today, aren't you?” said Sam to carefully avoid getting his shirt dirty as he gave Dean the right tool in his palm from afar. 

“You think? I guess it was a long time since I took care of Baby.”

“Yeah, for around a week. But why in the world are you behaving like a cranky old lady?”

“Sam, don't get started. I mean it.” Dean shot back immediately, suddenly becoming quite defensive. He felt like the irritation was pouring into him again, but he didn't even understand why, which was making him angrier. “I have too much to do as you see.”

“By the way, when did Jo leave? Even though I got up early, I didn't see her.”

“Yeah, she left in the middle of the night.”

Recalling the evening did not soothe his feelings, but Dean responded to Sam, stating to let the fuck him alone as soon as possible. But Sam seemed intent on playing the part of the curious bitch, as if he intended to test Dean's patience to the maximum extent possible. 

“After you two had finished, huh? She's an awesome girl, but her loudness..is definetely something else. I'm not trying to say it in a mean way, but for heaven's sake, Dean. If you two have... kinky stuff, it would be best if you spent the night at her place. I bet you two also probably made it difficult for Y/N to fall asleep.”

Dean shot a look at Sam, who was attempting to say something without coming out as weird about Jo or whatever. Sam didn't dislike Jo at all; it wasn't that he despised her. She was a little too cunning and rebellious for Dean's liking. That was a known fact. His brother was sometimes a bitch; that was true, but not that bitchy for sure. 

When Sam brought you up in the chat, Dean found it difficult to focus on his work and became disoriented while lying down beneath his car. Sam was trying very hard to get under his skin for sure.

He had become frustrated in some way by the thought that you heard him and Jo. He wasn't trying to get you to hear something or anything. Dean frowned with distaste, picturing you hearing Jo's exaggerated noises. He shouldn't have brought her home to have sex in the first place, but what is done was done. Even it wasn't right. Fuck that.

Dean attempted to lightheartedly remark, “Women have a hard time with staying silent when I'm around, huh,” in an attempt to divert Sam's attention. He attempted to change the subject at hand.

“Have you seen Y/N in the morning?”

“Why are you asking that right now?” Dean grunted and glared at Sam. He suddenly lost control of the tool he was holding and groaned in pain as it landed across his face. “God. Fuck this.”

Puzzled by Dean's odd behavior, Sam put his hands in his pockets in between his complaints. His recent behavior has been peculiar. Sam was hesitant to confront it since he thought it was likely to do with their father and other hunting experiences, but he couldn't help but wonder if he was still angry with you for what happened on the previous hunt.

Sam was appreciative of Dean for constantly watching out for him, taking care of him, and protecting him from harm—even if there were times when it made him feel like a little child. Sam knew that Dean would always be looking out for him, even if he lived fifty years old. Dean has always been overly protective, and he always will be. However, there were times he was being too much. 

“Have you?” Dean was curious and asked. Remembering your swollen eyes, he wondered if you were okay. It didn't appear like you got much sleep. 

Sam said, “Yeah,” while keeping his hands in his pockets and observing Dean's struggling with Baby. “She seemed pretty bad though.”

“Why do you say that?” Despite his best efforts to appear indifferent and normal, Dean's tone betrayed him. There was absolutely no stopping it. He was wondering if he was treating you too harshly these days. Neither Dean nor you were ever good at expressing yourself clearly.

“I'm not sure. She was quite exhausted, and her eyes appeared to be red, but I'm not sure. Her having to work and hunt at the same time must be challenging.” Sam thought you were pushing yourself a little too hard since he got to know you; however, he wasn't sure if it was just weariness or something more. He was impressed by your ambition and couldn't help but feel respect and appreciation for you.

“Maybe,” Dean interrupted, reminiscing on the way you looked the previous night. You looked so worn out, but he was too preoccupied with the talk to notice. Even though he wasn't sure whether he would believe it himself, he would prefer to pretend that you were just dizzy or sleepy. He would have said that you had sobbed uncontrollably all night, but he quickly brushed this idea from his mind as a sensation of uneasiness overcame him. “She must be tired.” 

“Did you apologize to her?”

“For what”

Sam kept rolling his eyes at Dean because he was becoming a little irritated with the way he was acting. He would claim that throughout the previous two or three weeks, something inside of him had altered. 

“For acting like a grumpy old bitch,” Sam shot back. 

Dean kept it short, refusing to elaborate on what had happened the night before. “We talked it out,” he said. “She'll start being more watchful now. By the way, is your arm okay?” 

Sam kneeled down and attempted to look into Dean's face in an effort to start a meaningful conversation, realizing that Dean was unwilling to acknowledge that his reaction was wrong. 

Sam remarked, “It's been a year since she joined us, and she's far too helpful and too kind for how you reacted there," dismissing his inquiry over his arm. Though I'm grateful for your concern, it's wrong. You need to be a little softer and gentler.”

“Do you think I don't know that?” After switching out the tool, Dean gave Sam a stern look.

“No.”

Sam grumbled in frustration, acknowledging that it would be impossible to alter Dean's perspective. “It wasn't very kind to tell someone that you have only one left to care about when they don't even have one.”

For a brief period, Dean's hands paused, and regret overcame his mind. He couldn't recall the exact moment those piercing words, as if he intended to intentionally harm you, came out of his mouth. It was never his intention to do so. Gradually, Dean's hands slowed, and he stood up, recalling that you were the only member of your family still living. For a moment, he stopped being interested in everything. 

“Now you know what you must apologize for, huh?” With a broken smile, Sam remarked. At least Dean wasn't so rigid, which relieved him. “Do you know when her shift ends?”

Dean murmured, “Yeah, I guess,” in a tone that was more controlled and calm. 

“You need to fix this; I'm serious. Give her a call, and bring her over for tonight. Having a dinner together might be a wonderful place to begin, and she'll be too exhausted anyway.”

“Don't tell me what to do.” Dean hurriedly walked by Sam, messing his hair to annoy him. He returned inside from the garage, determined not to engage in any further discourse. 

After a quick shower, Dean changed into new clothing and stood in front of the mirror, making adjustments with his hair until he was satisfied with the way he looked. He bit his lip anxiously and walked the room for a little while, considering calling you, but then decided to come get you because he knew you would be finished with work in an hour. It would be better to give you a call on the way. On the drive back home, it may be somewhat more appropriate for conversation. Driving back after so many hours at work would exhaust you too much. Besides, it was becoming late. Perhaps you might even consider eating in a restaurant.

“But why didn't you inform me about your arrival? You could have called me,” you wondered, your mouth making into a smile. It surprised you too much to see him so abruptly, even though you knew he would let you know if there was another time. 

Unexpectedly, he replied, “I actually did it on purpose.” You waited for him to continue. “I thought, surprising you about that, I'm going to work here from now on, and seeing that face of yours would be worth it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, displaying greater excitement than you had expected.

“You can't be serious.”

“I am pretty serious actually.”

When your phone began to ring, you apologized and continued to ignore Dean's calls. Rob then informed you that he had chosen to relocate after his father passed away, and you had attended his funeral around a month prior. You assumed that it must have caused some sort of trauma, but you didn't pursue the matter further since you didn't want to reopen old wounds.

You inquired excitedly, “Do you want to come over? I could make you some food so we can have an actual conversation instead of chatting under that weather. You know, it's kind of cold, and I'm sort of tired as hell,” you joked, hoping he would take you up on your offer. It has suddenly occurred to you that you have been missing your friend, an old friend you haven't fallen in love with despite knowing for years.

Dean eventually lost patience with you and, making an annoyed sound, placed his phone back in his pocket. He thought about giving you another call right after he parked and got out of his car, but if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, you were speaking with a man. He could tell that you had ignored his calls since you were having a heated chat that briefly made him stiff. If he didn't see you giggling and even giving him a firm hug, which caused his body to tense up for a brief moment, he would say it was simply small talk.

Dean wasn't sure if being ignored was the cause of his growing ire. Since his rage had been driving him insane since the morning, he put the blame on his lack of patience. His pride was hurt by your disregard for him as well. 

With a sidelong glance at the man you were speaking with, Dean saw his rage flare up. Not feeling calm since the morning was tiring though. The man had a prideful appearance yet exuded a sense of confidence. From a distance, he could express that enough. 

His body stiffened for a moment, indicating that the conversation was... intense. So that was the reason that you ignored him for that long. 

Dean moved fast but calmly to avoid making a scene, attempting to maintain his composure despite his mind racing with thoughts. As he walked to each of you, he considered lying about his work. Maybe he would pretend to be a doctor in order to create a good impression, or he would claim to be working for the CIA or FBI in order to make dirty jokes about you and him. He would decide that soon enough.

You whispered, “Dean?” in shock as he unexpectedly appeared at your side. It was unusual for him to show up, especially considering how distant you two were in the last couple of days. He glanced in your direction, but then his gaze shifted to Robert. 

Dean glanced at you and added, “I've been calling you for some time.” It was a little judgmental, which bothered you.

Robert stared at you both bewildered, and you lied to him, “I wasn't aware,” but he didn't interject. Awkwardness suddenly filled the air. Three of you were waiting on foot as the chilly weather grew more intense. It was a really uncomfortable moment. 

As Robert extended his hand for a formal introduction, Dean said, “Can't imagine why,” while concentrating his entire attention on him. Dean talked first: “Dean Winchester.” 

Robert also introduced himself quite sweetly and kindly. He was typically really polite and mindful. You hoped Dean wasn't feeling like making uncomfortable remarks or embarrassing you in any way. He wasn't a reckless person, but when he wasn't in the mood, you just didn't know whether he knew the lines. 

Robert gave you a long stare when they finally got to meet, but he remained silent. Rather, he said, “So are you two friends or?” 

“Yeah, very close,” Dean said immediately. Robert only nodded to him. “How do you know each other?”

“Well, I'm a doctor.” Robert said, giving you a real, heartfelt smile that warmed your heart, “We've known each other for a long time and worked in the same hospital for quite a long time from my perspective since I'm always on the move. She’s a very good nurse, very talented.” When someone you looked up to complimented you, your heart skipped a beat. These days, it's difficult to find someone who values your effort.

You tensed up for a moment when Dean responded, “I know,” in a proud voice and with a sly smile. When he saw Robert smiling broadly at you, he was powerless to stop himself. Licking his lips, he added, “She has very soft hands indeed and definitely knows how to use them.”

Though Dean had no intention of making any inappropriate remarks, his patience with the man in front of him was getting thinner by the moment as he kept looking at you while he talked. Dean felt like he was getting in the mood when he observed Robert's face change. With a confused expression on his face, he seemed to be trying to figure out whether Dean meant it literally or if it was a metaphor or something.

You gave Dean a glare, but you remained silent despite your cheeks turning red from his unexpected and dirty statement. You were shocked that he chose to act this way in order to make you feel uncomfortable in front of your friend. You didn't mind when he made similar jokes when there was just you and him; nonetheless, you felt embarrassed acting in this way in front of Robert. You weren't sure of Dean's actual intentions. 

You choose to cut it off in order to release some tension. “Robb, would you like to have an actual conversation with me later, or simply come over? Of course, if you have the time.”

Dean gave you and Robert a bitter look as he realized how fast and recklessly you had welcomed a man to your house at that hour. He knew you well enough to know that you weren't someone who liked to greet guests at your place with such ease. It didn't matter how hard you tried to disguise your trust concerns; you had trust issues. You were so at ease and full of energy around that man that he wondered how close you must have been to him. Dean closed his eyes for a while, pushing the terrible pictures from his mind as he considered the scenarios involving you and him.

“Actually, I came here at that hour to visit with a different friend before spending the night with my aunt. Can we have a call for tomorrow to set up a suitable time?” Robb remarked very politely, “I guess your friend came here to pick you up,” glancing at Dean as if he required clarification from both of you.

You went to offer him a hug by saying, “Of course. I'm so glad to see you again.”

His hands massaged your back as he gave you an even closer embrace, kissing you briefly on the top of the head and telling you to take care of yourself. He promised to text you as soon as he had some spare time.

Dean gazed at you and him confused as he saw you two embrace like lovers who had met years later. He questioned whether the man's irritating conduct was intended for annoying him. He was curious as to how and when you two first connected, as well as why, given that you spent the entire year with Sam and him, you would still be so close to someone a year later. Although Dean was aware that you remained in contact with your pals, he was unaware of how close you were to one of them.

Dean was ready to say something, but he instantly changed his mind and was waiting for you to end the hug. He kind of wanted to break Robert's face and hands when he touched your back. Dean wondered when he'd felt you give him such a yearning hug. Most likely never. Considering all the times he had saved your ass, you were ungrateful. Later, he would speak about this. 

Dean turned to face you shortly after Robb departed and said, “I've called you many times.”

You apologized as he gave you a strange look. You had no idea why you sounded so aloof and cold. “I haven't seen him in a very long time. He's one of my closest friends.”

You questioned, “Why are you here?” before he continued.”Has anything happened?”

“Not at all. I arrived here to pick you up.”

“But my car-”

“I will drive you to work tomorrow, alright?” Dean watched as you began to tremble in the chilly weather. As Sam mentioned, you looked pretty tired. 

Dean felt his heart melt and sigh as he saw you shiver from the cold and appear exhausted. Even though he didn't mean to come across as so crude and distant, there was still an uneasiness between you that seemed impossible to get past.

“Fine.”

You continued to shake as you got in the car. You knew you were starving yourself to death when you heard the loud sound coming from your stomach. You had hardly had time for an adequate meal because you were so busy with work.

“You need to have dressed properly.” Dean softly remarked, “It's cold outside these days,” observing your attempts to sooth yourself by lightly massaging your bare arms.

You said in a whisper, “Yeah,” while Dean pressed a button to warm the car up. 

Your muscles gradually relaxed, and you began to feel much better as Dean drove. He turned his head to face you, giving you a little, pleased look after he heard your little satisfied sound. He liked it so much. “Relaxed now?”

Giving a quick nod to him, you muttered with a hint of gratitude in your voice. “Uhm, yes. Thanks.” 

Dean said, “So,” his gaze glued to the dimly illuminated road. “How long are you friends? You and him. You appeared to be really at ease with that guy.” 

“I think for four or five years. I find him to be a really caring and compassionate friend. I hadn't seen him in a very long time, so it was a surprise to see him, as he didn't give me a call in the first place.”

You were taken aback by Dean's attempts to have a polite, regular discussion with you. Your pulse beat with excitement and anticipation since it had been a long time since you had spoken to him in that way. All you wanted was for things to be normal between you two again. You might get by with less and normal if you are unable to have more. 

Prior to Dean addressing Robert and your friendship, you said, “Baby looks and smells amazing today. Have you just given her a wash?”

“She's a good girl all the time,” he remarked, chuckling. His hands around the steering wheel were more tightly now. “She needed to be clean and nice.”

You eagerly questioned, “Why did you come, by the way?” as the minutes ticked by in quiet. You wanted to make it seem like nothing occurred between you as well, and now it looked like a good moment to sort out things between you and him. 

“I decided to pick you up to avoid an accident after Sam warned me that you looked terrible. Are you hungry?” Dean wouldn't say 'no' to a pie right now.

“Actually, I'm starving,” you answered, sidestepping the comment Dean made regarding your appearance. You bet you did. 

“Alright.” Dean glanced at you and said, “I know a good restaurant,” in a rough voice, clearing his throat. 

Stating, “To be honest, I'm exhausted.” in a sorry tone, you waited for him to offer something else. You instantaneously forced the never-to-come-true visions away from your thoughts, even though you really wanted to go on a date with him. It wouldn't be a date, but it would be a nice moment. However, it would only get your situation worse.

“You wasted the opportunity. After that, you're going to eat anything Sammy orders.”

You smiled and responded, “I'm okay with that,” but you couldn't help but worr if Jo was still there.

Your face sank unintentionally, remembering the noises she'd made with Dean last night and how he'd been distant when you two chatted. You didn't want Dean and Jo's relationship to fail if it would harm Dean in any way, but you were unable to give up and were hoping that she wouldn't be around for tonight at the very least. Undoubtedly, your body was worn out, but your heart was spent beyond comprehension. 

Dean occasionally glanced at you, and thoughts of you and Robert were constantly racing through his head. He was thinking a lot of things at once—things that would make him see red, things that would make him angry, and things that would make Dean want to punch Robert in the face. 

“Have you slept with him?” unexpectedly Dean asked in a stern voice that made you stiffen in hurt and disgust.

Though he didn't want to sound so harsh and judgmental, Dean couldn't resist posing the question. He had to know the answer, even if he had no idea why.

You said, “What?” your heart thumping with pain. You never wanted to tell Dean that he was your one and only and how much you gave of yourself to him that night. “How could you ask such a question?”

Dean said, “It's a simple question,” as if he were defending himself. His attitude altered upon witnessing your expression transform to one of disappointment and rage. He wasn't sure if it was really necessary to get the answer. “Did you get fucked by him?”

You responded angrily, “He's my friend,” yet both of you stiffened at the words. Your body was filled with shame, and your heart ached from the burden. All you needed was Dean making no mention of wanting to cause you more damage. Wasn't it enough?

He said, “I am your friend too,” which made you tense up in your seat. “But things happen.”

You told him sternly, “You're being too much,” while doing your best not to seem pathetic or reveal how upset you were. “I can't believe you.” 

“Why are you not answering the question?” Again, he lost his temper. Dean noticed that his tolerance was wearing thin and that the pictures that were filling his mind were not helping the situation. He was aware that he shouldn't have said those things, but whatever. Fuck that. He wanted to know. He needed to know.

You snapped, “Of course not, Dean!” as a wave of rage overcame you. You wished he would have remained silent the entire way. Both of you should have stayed quiet.

Dean fought himself not to exhale in relief as a sensation of ease exploded in his heart. He didn't understand the significance of your connection with Robert or if it mattered if he really fucked you. However, the very idea was plenty to irritate him. You deserved better than this haughty, dumb man. It was such a simple question. That was it.

You didn't ask Dean whether he loved wounding your heart these days or why he was acting like an asshole. It pained your heart to see his suspicious look, even if you had no intention of telling him that he was your first to not ruin whatever you had from the beginning. If you told him the truth, you weren't sure how he would react. But knowing that he was still distant from you, you were unable to find the trust that you needed. You had no idea how he would react.

You said, “I want to go home,” in an icy tone, though you didn't actually mean it. You desired more time to be with him. It hurt so much to not be around him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you forced them back as your need for him reminded you of how pathetic you truly were to him.

He had an innate ability of ruining a nice moment just when you thought everything was going well. You realized that in order to stop him from hurting you, you needed to find a method to physically separate from him rather than cling to him. If nothing else, perhaps you could convey to him the meaning of his behavior and how easily his sharp words hurt you. Maybe someday.

“We're already-”

But you soon interrupted, saying, “My home.”

When he proposed that you have dinner at a restaurant, you should have accepted. Maybe you would chat about things that could break the ice between you, or even better, maybe you would find a way to bring up the young girl you took care of and her thoughts about love. Maybe he would act a little differently, acting more kind and cheerful rather than staring at you with rage. If only you had known which way to go to win him over, so much may have been different.

Next Chapter

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A/N: Please, let me know what you think about this one. I hope you like it. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! They keep me going. ^^

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[bet-on-me-13]

Talia took a 20+ Year Undercover mission a while ago

So! Talia is the Daughter of Ra's Al Ghul, and has been alive and at his side for many years now. Decades even. She is well into her 100's, even though her physical Body looks like that of a 20 yr old.

And in all the years that she has lived, what's to say she didn't take a few years off as a vacation? Even Ra's must take a few years off every once in a while, leaving to spend time on some remote island he can relax on for once. So, one day in the Early 80's she decided to do the same.

But she wouldn't be completely relaxing, she would take the break to further the League's goals still. She decided to Dye her Hair, change her Name, get into an acceptable College, and study Lazarus Waters to their scientific limit. She decided to name if Ectoplasm, to avoid any unwanted attention.

And while there, she met a pair of men doing the exact same.

Jack and Vladimir were nice enough. Although their Research was more focused on Ghosts, or as she would call them, Pit Demons. They were convinced that Ectoplasm and Ghosts came from another Dimension, and if they could find a way to open a Dimension Gateway to this theoretical Ghost Zone, they could aquire Limitless Clean Energy (and maybe find a way to contain the Ghostly threat).

Over the years, Talia Maddie would fall for Jack. Eventually, even after she had completed her College Studies and Vlad had left contact with them, she decided to extend her Vacation to further study Ectoplasm with Jack. One thing led to another, and eventually she found herself pregnant. And then it happened again.

Jazzmine and Daniel were the cutest little babies. But she knew the danger they would be in if it was ever discovered that she was their Mother, so she trained them in everything she could so they could survive. She knew her time as Maddie Fenton was coming short, but she resolved to stay, at the very least until Jazz was an Adult.

She didn't account for Daniel becoming a Small Town Hero, but those were just the Trials of motherhood.

Then, the day came. She left a note on her bedside table explaining that she regretted what had to happen, and left in the middle of the night. It was better this way.

...

The year right after she returned, her Father forced her to have a Child with his most prospective Heir. The Bat, he called himself. Oh he was Charming, there was no denying that, but unfortunately she was still working through her feelings about Jack.

She treated her resulting child poorly because of that, and that she regreted it deeply. She loved him, honestly she did, but it was hard to look at him and not remember Daniel. Still, she persevered.

The day she once again had to give up her son for his protection was the hardest of her life.

But it was unavoidable. The Coup that had taken her Father's life had also fractured the Organization, anyone could have taken their shot at her Son as the rightful Heir. She needed to protect him as she took care of the Traitors.

...

Damian always knew he was the One True Heir. It was his defining character trait for his early years of life. Even though he had grown to be more than just that over recent years, he always felt like it was a key part of his identity.

Until now.

Because the BatComputer had just finished running a DNA Test on the Blood of a man who he had spotted on his Patrol the previous night.

A DNA Test that had come back, with results claiming that the man, who looked almost exactly like a younger male version of his Mother, was his Half Brother.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 204

Danny is on a bit of a roadtrip. An accidental roadtrip and might be getting chased by some sort of assassins or whatever they were. Look, it’s not his fault, he was injured and out of it! How was he supposed to know that the Pits or whatever the people were yelling about were important. Or sapient. 

Actually, he should like… “How do you even know how to drive if you’re like, thousands of years old??” That was not what he was going to ask his current roadtrip buddy, but maybe he had a concussion. 

Ectoplasm-green eyes turned towards him from the road, framed by a mixture of black and white hair that shifted like his own. “You most likely don’t want to know the answer to that, actually.” Okay, but what if he did, huh? 

“Okay, but where are we going, because I don’t think this is my dimension…”  

They shrugged, their clothing shifting with the motion. Ha, ninja clothing for a sapient pool of ecto, or whatever it had been. “I am, not exactly familiar to things that were not known to those thrown into my blood, so we’re, I believe the saying is going in blind?”

“Oh. Okay. Y’know you’re kind of nice for an ecto-death pit thing.”

“... I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that, child.”  

“Okay. I’m going to go to sleep because my head hurts.” 

[unpretty]

what is damian like in the sorrowverse if he is in the "doesn't resemble canon at all because i think canon events are stupid and i'm not doing all that" zone? all of your batkid characterizations are so goddamn good even when (sometimes because) they diverge heavily from canon i am willing to accept anything you put in front of me. i would gladly wait years to see how you would portray damian. and cass cain.

the thing about me is that the first time someone mentioned Damian to me i was like, "wait, the guy from The Kingdom? Ibn al Xu'ffasch? the guy who dismembers his grandpa? that guy?" and at no point have i really shaken the idea of damian as a guy who shows up as a whole adult man with his own thing going on. r'as al ghul wanted a batclone and talia went along with it for personal reasons before going on the run. and then they stayed on the run. for like twenty years. damian ends up a lot like what bruce would be in a world where martha survived, which is to say an insufferable mama's boy who can kill you. bruce is going to be an old-ass man before he has to deal with that trauma because i want to kick that can down the road for as long as i can.

i'm not really into writing batman stories that involve no-shit child soldiers and the accompanying horrific trauma so i prefer to just. not deal with all that. for similar reasons i wouldn't even know where to begin with cass cain and have not touched her at all.

there's a lot of characters with backstories all wrapped up in big dramatic crossover events where gotham is stolen by joker bats and turned into a hunger games battle royale where everyone kills batman and then there are six batmen and they all team up to fight the joker batman until finally the real batman shows up to reveal he faked his own death like daddy warbucks after FDR died. a talking gorilla is there and he dies tragically when gotham goes back to normal because no one wants to deal with the talking gorilla but it turned out at least one writer really liked the talking gorilla so they bring him back five years later as a robot that looks like a sexy boy and also he's visibly catholic now. and meanwhile i'm over here writing a fic where batman takes harley quinn grocery shopping. it's difficult to bridge the gap there sometimes, is what i mean.

[raindisaster]

I sincerely do not understand why in most fanfiction with a Red Hood and a Red Robin, the latter is treated like a child.

Red Robin is only two years younger than Jason in the comics. At the same time, everyone seems to forget that Jason’s body has been lying underground for 6 months and for another year due to brain damage, he is literally a walking zombie. During this time, he does not grow mentally, does not gain experience and becomes an mature.

I will never get over the idea that after falling into the Lazarus Pit, he does not remember what happened to him before the pit. It was as if he had just been a 15-year-old teenager who had gone through terrible injuries and death, only to return to a body so different from his.

It is bigger, stronger, taller and so different. He is trying. Trying hard. To accept this new reality, this new self. That’s why it hurts him more when he sees that nothing has changed after his death. For others, years have passed, for him it was like yesterday, which is why it hurts so much to see how quickly he was replaced.

He's just a teenager, scared, angry, sick from everything that happened to him and trying to figure out if it was all worth it?

When he returns to Gotham, he and Tim are the same age, although his body looks older thanks to healing. But no one seems to care, no one treats him the same as with Tim. They treat him like an adult, like a mistake and the greatest failure.

And only Talia sees this wasted weakness in him. How every mother sees her child through all these masks.

[yv0nn1e]

"we were born to a world with dead ends."

gravity — rafayel

summary: to be betrayed in one timeline, to find out the truth in another, and now, to seek revenge in the current.

pairing: rafayel x non!mc fem!reader

cw/tw: angst? mean reader, some twists from the myths and the actual lore itself.

note: an alternate version of my backburner rafayel fic where instead of falling in love with rafayel, reader gets angry when she realizes lemuria's fall is actually because of rafayel.

word count: 2k+

non!mc reader who remembers the excruciating pain of losing her life in every single timeline where rafayel was involved.

non!mc reader who, in the current timeline and at eleven years old, starts to get flashbacks of her past lives, not knowing what they were until the memories fill each other in as she matures. the older she gets, the more refined those visions become, until she reaches the age of fifteen where a rough vision of rafayel, her beloved, gives up his heart, and lemuria for this strange yet certainly unforgettable girl. non!mc reader who, realizes that she might have died at rafayel's hands— that lemuria fell under rafayel's sacrifice and love.

non!mc reader who, at fifteen, decides to walk away from the sea and from her dearest friend who, she now knows, had betrayed their people in their past lives. she goes to land with her aunt, finding solace in her passion for acting and the dramatics. rafayel had tried to stop her, or at least, get him to accompany her yet he could never forget the underlying anger that had filtered her eyes.

"you're really leaving? but why?" rafayel asked. he wasn't sad, not exactly. perhaps just a tad bit melancholy at the thought of his truest friend walking away, leaving him all alone to face the pressure of the sands and seas all by himself.

"i can't achieve anything here." she replies, the duality of the meaning behind her words floating above rafayel's head. she can't achieve anything if she stays right where she had always been after all these years, after all these lives: right next to rafayel. she will be bound to the same ending if she stayed any longer.

they bid each other goodbye, and non!mc reader was more than ready to start a new life. perhaps, if she stayed away from rafayel, if she had stayed away from lemuria, then she cannot befall the same painful fate that she would during her previous lives.

non!mc reader who physically and internally experiences the actual pain of the lemurians' sufferings in her past lives whenever she would get a vision despite the fact that she had already stirred far far away from the sea.

her aunt talia looks at her worryingly as non!mc reader sits on the plush of the luxurious couch, her hand in her chest as she took in deep breathes— each and every inhale activating that painful tightening in her chest, the same sensation of internal stabbing.

"did you get another vision?" talia asks, her soft and delicate fingers rubbing non!mc reader's back. the girl could only nod as she takes one last deep breath before slumping her back towards the headboard of the couch.

"how much longer will i have to endure this? do you even get visions like mine too?" non!mc reader chokes out as she takes a glass of water. her aunt talia visited her on set today. it had been long since non!mc reader had decided to live above water and join the humans. she's an adult now, in her twenties, and a successful young actress at that.

"dearest, you know i don't. we've spoken about this. you're— you're different." talia says in a hesitant tone. these two have tried to figure out the root of non!mc reader's visions, how do they happen, and why they're happening in the first place. but nothing. they have nothing. the only thing they were certain about was the fact that the visions are highly implied to be true. the tales and myths about lemuria align with the visons and flashes.

"perhaps, there is a reason that you, out of everyone, has been bestowed such gift." talia comforts, a gentle pat glides over non!mc reader's shoulder blades.

she could only scoff. "this is no gift. this is a curse."

non!mc reader who falls into shock as she stumbles upon a familiar purple set of hair on a tall figure during a banquet. could it really be— "yn!" her name rolls off his tongue so softly, gently. all so familiar and nostalgic that for a second, non!mc reader forgets that the man whom her love transcended one life over another for had been the cause of her impending doom.

"rafayel?" she minds his presence. he looked a lot older than she'd last seen him. he was a lot taller, his lean figure built stronger with grown muscles, his aura being more elegant and confident. and yet, she questions whether or not he had changed. "what are you— why are you here?"

he tells her that he's settling in linkon for a while. he says that he's got a lot of business advocates and opportunities to stumble upon the city as he pursues his artist career. he then reveals to her that he too had left the sea not long after she had gone, saying something about how the sea's weight felt a little too heavy under ground.

"does it really get easier up above the water?" she throws the question out rhetorically as they find themselves in a secluded seating area of the banquet.

rafayel wasn't dumb. surely, he felt the venomous tone in her voice or the unwelcoming glare from her gaze. he wishes it would be his mind playing tricks on him but the more he stares deeply into her eyes, the more he feels as though something was not right between him and his dearest friend.

"i don't really think so." he replies to her rhetorical question.

one thing about non!mc reader is that she isn't entirely certain that her snarky remark wasn't applicable to her. over the years, she often doubts whether or not trying to escape her home was better for her.

the both of them stare at each other. one pair of eyes gazing at the other's figure filled with confusion and nostalgia. wondering where he went wrong or if he had done something wrong. the other set of eyes staring in regret, unsure of whether or not joy or anger should control her thinking as of the moment.

the silence was louder than ever, until it was interrupted with that even louder ringing in non!mc reader's ears, that stabbing pain becoming stronger— probably the strongest she's ever felt as every fiber of her being was aching.

and yet she was too stubborn to let a slither of her vulnerability and truth slip past the cracks of her facade.

"i have to go." she tries to say confidently or rather, in a more composed way as she stood up, grabbing her purse and clenching her chest with her free hand which earned her a concerned and confused gaze in rafayel's face.

"are you okay? i can take you—"

"im fine, rafayel." she insists, pushing past him as he stood up to reach her.

"it was certainly something to see you again." she coughs out a fake scoff as she takes one step forward, only for a gasp to slip past her lips when her ankles bend, cause her whole body to not only pulse in excruciating pain, but to fall.

she feels the pain take her away from consciousness, a flash of white turning into a silhouette of a younger boy, his hair the same shade of violet as rafayel's, his voice more playful, as the image of her childhood in the prosperous kingdom of lemuria in a previous life takes place in her mind for a while, but the realization did not go unnoticed.

no, it does not get easier above water. as long as gravity exists, the weight of the world will always pull you down to the ground where one must acknowledge the truth.

non!mc reader who realizes that the pain she feels whenever she gets visions started when she left the sea.

she finds herself waking up in a bed of soft silk and fluffy pillows. this wasn't her home, the ambiance was rather softer and cleaner as the sun's rays painted dawn against the windows.

"you're finally awake." she gets taken out of her trance as she turns her head to the doorway, a smiling rafayel leans against the frame of the door. "you good now? maybe next time, don't insist that you're fine when you're not."

"what?" she's confused. she's never passed out from a vision before. sure, at first the pain was unbearable, but years of endurance has built her some kind of immunity or rather, suppressants that makes the ache less painful.

"you had a really high fever last night. what's worse is that, the tides weren't even low. we don't usually get that sick but i guess you're just a bit helpless without me, yeah?" rafayel teases as he brings her a tray of food and medicine. she stares at him in awe, that buried affection for him attempting to break past the cracks, but she does not let it go.

non!mc reader starts to see clearer visions now that rafayel is back in her life. with the added age and maturity, the flashes are longer and less vague. so when the moment a full vision of what happened during the sea god's ceremony played, anger resurfaces her mind.

non!mc reader who swore to avenger herself and lemuria, her beloved land. which is why, when rafayel introduces his new bodyguard, she immediately knew that she was the sea god's bride. that rafayel's miss bodyguard had his heart. literally.

and if it was what's needed to restore lemuria, she would stop at nothing to have it in her hands.

non!mc reader who is staring as the main lead in a new linkon tv series that depicts a tale about an ancient underwater civilization called lemuria. she could only laugh hysterically at her role. was she really playing the role of the sea god's bride? the sole thing she could never be in whatever universe or timeline she was in? oh how destiny loved to mock her.

non!mc reader who asks rafayel for help, feigning vulnerability and saying that she needed his bodyguard too, saying something about her old bodyguard going away for a while, even offering to pay double what rafayel was paying her.

non!mc reader who takes this chance to let her suppressed anger over the centuries and lifetimes that have passed out. it started with complicated coffee orders to fetch then upgraded to delivering her wardrobe, only to accuse miss bodyguard of practically sullying the dress with her reckless actions. in general, just treating her like the worst. miss bodyguard could quit whenever she wanted but rafayel had asked her so persuasively to induldge in non!mc reader's request since she was one of his closest friends.

non!mc reader who gets attacked by one of her visions, the pain stronger than what she assumed was the strongest attack when she met rafayel in that banquet before. what's more severe was that she could practically feel and hear the screams in her more recent visions.

non!mc reader who is sick and tired of suffering the regrets of the past, tired of carrying the weight of a future that is clearly telling her to take responsibility. so, one day, she flat out says to rafayel to do something about lemuria. to take his heart back, to end his people's sufferings. and yet, rafayel, like in all those visions she would see and remember, only replied with the same thing: that there would be other ways.

non!mc reader who damns it all, never stopping at one ask to convince rafayel to take his heart back. every chance she could, she would try to bring it up with rafayel which results into the man questioning his bestfriend's eagerness. she wasn't usually like this. she was never this insistent. despite the rejections, non!mc reader is thankful that rafayel was asked to be an illustrator in her new project because it makes it easier for her to bother him to own up to his responsibilities.

yn lets out an exhausted sigh as she looks at herself in the mirror. this costume was ridiculous, she thinks, as she analyzes the decor of the dress— the director said it would be a close-to-accurate replica of lemurian bridal attires. her top, a delicate yet structured piece, bared her midriff, emphasizing her poise, while bands of gilded accents traced the contours of her shoulders and arms. a flowing sash, transparent like morning mist, hung from her waist, its shimmering fabric embellished with ornate patterns that mirrored ancient symbols of wisdom.

fuck, they were right. it was close to accurate. so much so that non!mc reader starts to pity herself, thinking that the only moment she would have gotten to dress up like a true lemurian bride would be in a show, a fictional, unrealistic series that depicts the story of her beloved and the other woman he had chosen and would choose in every other life.

she steps out of the dressing room, the staffs getting the scene ready as the director yelled out orders. rafayel was with his bodyguard in a corner, discussing with the other illustrators what to do or add into the scene to make it more vibrant.

"it's a wedding scene, it's supposed to be colorful." he rolls his eyes, his bodyguard chuckling in amusement at his sulking. non!mc reader wonders how the producers even got the rafayel to agree to being part of the project. initially, she would've thought that rafayel thinks they would sully the lemurian culture and tale itself and yet, here he was, ever so passionate in the intricate coloring of the set.

"honestly, these people look like they're trying to disrespect the lemurian legacy—" rafayel stops speaking as he turns around, only to be met with non!mc reader in that traditional wedding gown. she looked certainly beautiful in it, he could not deny that. in fact, it looked rather fitting on her, as if she was meant to wear it.

she was currently distracted, practicing her lines with her partner in the show so rafayel's gaze goes unnoticed.

non!mc reader who has to poorly go through a physical and actual demonstration of how the end of lemuria was met because of this stupid show that somehow, got every detail accurately correct.

the way her limbs trembled at the set, the lines, and the impending remembrance of what was to happen after the ceremonial scene in the story. her terror was so obvious that her stutter and shaking figure immediately warned the director and everyone else that something was wrong.

the recreating of the scene in a different perspective terrified her so much, the trauma of reliving that kind of pain and watching it replaying in her mind. the fear was strong enough to trigger another vision, clearer than ever.

"excuse me. i'll be back." she manages to speak, immediately running back to her dressing room to handle the pain all by herself.

non!mc reader who has never told rafayel about the visions. the only person who knew about them were talia and herself. so one could only imagine the feeling brewing in rafayel's guts when rushes to open the door of her dressing room, only to see the actual pain his yn has to go through. all alone. all by herself.

it only then hits him. this must be why she had been so insistent on taking his heart back. this must be why she had left. why she had been so distant— why she acted the way she did.

she was angry at him. albeit, she was literally hurting because of the actions, the bond, the devotion he had sacrificed and given away.

his beloved yn was suffering because of him.

in every universe, he would give his heart to his love, causing him the loss of his kingdom and his entire being. in every universe, non!mc reader has to endure the physical manifestation of the regressing feeling of neglect and abandonment from the one true person that holds her protection in his hands.

in every universe, they were always bound to be met with dead ends.

[deadsetobsessions]

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

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

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

——

Ra’s al Ghul.

Talia al Ghul.

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

On a bad day?

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

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

She was not a baby.

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

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

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

“My apologies, father.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

She was still young. A child.

“No.”

“No?”

“He did no wrong.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

——

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

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

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

She learned a valuable lesson that day.

There were things worse than death.

“This is an order, granddaughter.”

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

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

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

——

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

She was right to be afraid for herself.

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

“You have become a sharp tool, granddaughter.”

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

She did not understand.

-

The girl came back. Water. Food. Kind.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

The girl had given the weapon her own sound.

“Cass—n- ra.”

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

“Cass.” Cassandra pointed to herself.

-

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

Cassandra did not want to.

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

The girl came.

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

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

-

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

Sometimes, she hates Talia for being- for-

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

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

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

She wished…

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

She hated him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

Tim had never had a friend before!

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

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

His new friend nodded, looking interested.

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

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

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

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

——

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

“Do you have to go?”

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

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

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

——

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

The reincarnation stood behind her mother, eyes cast downwards.

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

Damian al Ghul cooed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

Perhaps… she could use the pits?

Her mind turned and turned.

——

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

“Ukhti?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

——

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

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

——

Another mission.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

Then, someone new joins.

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

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

Her memories roar. A child.

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

——

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiled, and patted his head.

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

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

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

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

——

She found it.

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

“What…?”

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

“It’s you!”

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

——

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

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

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

——

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

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

Shhhlk!

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

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

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

Damian sighed as father stepped in between them.

“Who are you.”

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

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

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

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

Damian sent the Flash a derisive look and ignored him.

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

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

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

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

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

His sister glanced back and ignored them.

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

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

——

[littlefankingdom]

I fucking hate when one of my silly incorrect quotes post is successful and people reblogged it with some Bruce's slander. Get the fuck off my post.

"Talia took care of Jason because Bruce abandoned him."

Wtf are you talking about. Bruce didn't abandoned Jason, he died. And he didn't abandoned him when he came back, Jason was not in the right to ask people to prove their love to him by killing others. And he also tried to kill the Joker after Jason died, he thought he had succeeded. Like, shut the fuck up.

"I don't give Bruce credit for anything regarding Dick's education."

Well, who the fuck raised him from 8 to 18 then? Alfred Pennyworth? The same Alfred Pennyworth that raised Bruce Wayne? The one that maintained the "employee/employer" distance with the grieving child he raised. Look at young adult Bruce Wayne and I dare you to tell me Alfred Pennyworth can raise a child better than Bruce, I dare you. And don't you fucking dare blaming Bruce for it, that would be ableist af to fucking blame him for being mentally ill and labelled it as "difficult", I don't tolerate that shit. Bruce Wayne was there for Dick when he lost his parents, he helped that kid through grief and showed him love, he held him close contrary to how Alfred held him. He taught him how to be a great detective, how to be a great fighter, and all he wanted was Dick to be a better man than him. Go tell that bs to your fav and see if he agrees (he doesn't, Dick doesn’t agree and would bite your head off for saying that)