#batman is incompetent

[kay-enemy]

Let us never forget the time an escaped Arkham patient wandered into the Batcave.

and is able to drive off with the batmobile !!!

(Batman #403, 1987)

DC would have us believe Batman is such a good tactician that the entire Justice League would be lost without him, but he can't figure out how to keep random spelunkers from finding his secret hideout? Or even figure out that he should try to keep people out? Or just, not leave his keys in the car???

[everwalldigan]

Bruce being a toxic boy mom when it comes to nightwing will never not be funny as fuck he is literally the biggest nightwing defender one bad word against him and the next day he’ll show up at ur house

Bonus:

[tiger-grace]

Bruce Wayne, being the worlds greatest detective, psychoanalyzing every teammate/hero around him in the JL yet somehow is incapable of doing such to himself

Flash: I feel like I can never open up to the team

Batman: Maybe it’s your problems with emotional intimacy because you maintain a purely comedic relationship with your closest friends and never speak about your serious grievances.

Alfred: sir do you ever think crimefighting directly after the death of Jason may lead you to be more aggressive

Bruce: no why would you say that (slamming fists into low level criminals face)

[lovelylonelymoonlight]

Nothing funnier to me than dick going to therapy for like 3 months before going to Bruce and being like

“I don’t wanna be Batman”

And Bruce kinda just looks at him like “….okaaayy?? I didn’t want you to be Batman”

So dick has to go to therapy for ANOTHER three months so he can ask Bruce about That only for Bruce to be like, “who in their right mind would pick Batman over Nightwing??? When given the choice a world without Nightwing would be a nightmare”

And then dick goes home and cries because his dad is proud of him

[rhiaemrys]

Okay, okay thoughts on an absolute 180 for some of Tim's characterization in fanon.

Tim cannot, for the life of him, work a computer. Oh he can identify a chemical compound based on a series of tests that he memorized when he was 12, but if you asked him to run it through the Batcomputer? He'd fail so miserably and get seventeen viruses in the process. Oh he knows what an email is. And he can send one occasionally but by God do the computers never actually work with him.

Tim is excellent at cracking cold cases. Not through like, linking up crime maps and hacking cameras. No no, he takes his camera out, and hits the streets. His bedroom is a cobweb of red strings, red bull cans, and so many paper case files that Cass has printed out for him. Kon has nearly died entangled in kryptonite laced string that somehow got in there because Timmy ran outta normal string.

He has whiteboards full of equations that he's done with no calculator because he hit the stats button once and then started crying over the abbreviations.

Bruce tried to get Tim and Jason into understanding computers and both of them blanked. Tim said that doing high level quantum physics was better on a chalkboard and Jason got up and left halfway through overwhelmed by the concept of streaming services.

Tim did every single last genome calculation for cloning Kon in double cyphers in a notebook that's hidden Death Note Style under four more layers of hidden cubbyholes.

Let Tim be the cringe fail detective we all know he can be

[webshootersandwingdings]

Still cannot believe this mistake wasn’t caught by anyone 😭 🦁

Batman/Superman: World’s Finest

[elffhuntr456]

The DC x DP Justice League problem

I've noticed a pattern when it comes to DC x DP crossovers where when the Justice League has to deal with anything involving the Danny phantom world They are out matched and outclassed in every way.

I know most people in the DC x DP fandoms haven't ever picked up a comic, or watched DC media that wasn't animated (or sometimes haven't even watched Danny phantom) in their lives but at some point it gets ridiculous how incompetent the regular JL is made when it comes to combating the supernatural. 

And as an all-things DC enjoyer this hurts me.

Like Superman, multiple times in the past has gone up against ghosts, ghosts like beings, and ghostly Abilities using his powers like for example:

Superman was able to freeze Ghost Soldier, who could turn intangible, using his freeze breath.

He could Freeze Zatanna's astral form

He was able to decimate the Phantom Stranger's physical AND metaphysical form.

He used his freeze breath to freeze the essence/spirit of H'el in time.

When the Fortress Of Solitude's security program projections were turned into ghosts, he could still blast them with his heat vision.

He withstood being stabbed through his heart and soul with magic a sword.

He tanked silver banshees scream (which affects the spirit) head on.

His super vision can also look past someone's body and mind to examine their soul.

When it comes to Wonder Woman her shield, blade, braces, lasso, tiara, and entire body are all blessed with the power of the literal gods there is no way she wouldn't be able to go straight up to a ghost and punch it intangibility or not.

Her lasso can even drag a soul out of someone's body if needed.

Same goes for Captain Marvel and his lightning.

All of Hawkman and Hawkwoman's armor (the little of it they actually wear) and weapons are made out of nth metal, which is a metal in DC that affects supernatural beings like ghost, zombies, vampire, Spirits, specters, shade's, werewolves, "the Lazarus demon" and reanimated corpses, just like any other creature no matter how strong.

Batman and Green Arrow have an entire arsenal made out of the stuff too, just in case.

In injustice both Green Arrow and Green Lantern have whole suits made out of it.

And even if you don't count injustice, (which is understandable) Green lanterns can easily have their rings copy the atomic structure of any thing they need (like kryptonite for example) and since their suits are made from their rings, they would still have no problem making a suit (or really any weapon they need out of the stuff).

Batman has a pair of gloves that John Constantine gave him specifically used to fight ghosts.

And it's been stated that the Batcave has supernatural barriers and wards to stop ghosts and stuff from getting in. (so no just casual walking into the bat cave).

And when it comes to the whole "ghost king summoning" thing I get it it's a fun concept to play around with, but the JL and JL Dark have so many other options other than to summon what they usually believe to be an interdimensional eldritch being into their world.

like the phantom zone projector something that was able to work on Mister Mxyzptlk a full-blown reality warper from the 5th dimension.

Or contacting the other supernatural experts that aren't just Constantine and Zatanna (which are usually the only contact for supernatural problems the JL has in most fic's for some reason).

Or batman just contacting the strongest supernatural being he knows, who without a doubt would come stop a major supernatural threat (as its usually depicted)

SPAWN. (The guys so op in supernatural power it's crazy)

There are so many other options than summoning the ghost king.

And in a lot of fic's the supernatural members (or just any member that would could help in a given situation) are off world (for some reason?) so they can't be contacted.

That just doesn't make much sense when the JL has the technology of so many advanced civilizations and individual people (witch some are said to be among the smartest in the universe) at their disposal, they should be able to contact their people halfway across the universe.

All of this is to say that due to widespread ignorance of the world of Detective Comics and the capabilities of its hero's (and sometimes Danny Phantom) that most DC x DP situations, stories, and scenarios end up with the Justice League a collection of the earths greatest hero's, being completely and utterly helpless and incompetent against any problems coming from the world of Danny Phantom (or just the supernatural in general).

This is to no one's fault of course, believe me no one knows all of DC lore and all it's details in its entirety.

But being someone that knows a lot about DC and seeing how useless a lot of DC characters are portrayed in most situations when you know they really wouldn't be having that much of an issue handling it, creates a weird disconnect between the two fandoms where it always seems more like the Danny Phantom fandom with DC characters stapled to it.

[cc-0420]

when talking about the batfamily meeting the justice league, specifically regarding jason todd and red hood reveals, why does no one acknowledge that batman was part of jli during the time of jaybin.

if anyone is from the justice league recognized jason todd, it would be guy gardner, scott free, dinah lance, booster, ted kord, j’onn, and max lord.

give me less hal jordan and barry allen recognizing jason and give me guy and booster. ofc clark and diana would also recognize him (bc the trinity and all that), but get the true line-up accurate in your fanfics

[fantastic-nonsense]

WB is on its 1285834th Batman/Scooby-Doo crossover and Disney can't even give me one Kim Possible/Kate Bishop Hawkeye crossover, why do they hate me so much

[harpersdragons]

New Fic!

Sometimes You Gotta Burn the Bridge to Rebuild it

Chapter 1

Word count: 6264

Summary:

If you ask him, Dick wouldn’t know when it started.

When did it go wrong?

At some point when he was fighting to be recognized as an equal?

The first real, noticeable point is when he got shot.

It wasn’t even that bad! Just a graze, really. But it’s the catalyst of this whole sequence of events.

Bruce is just overdramatic.

Sure, it didn’t just ‘graze’ him by the literal definition. But he didn’t die! He didn’t even pass out.

OR

Bruce is emotionally inept, Dick spirals, and things get out of hand.

Tags: Angst, h/c, emotional h/c, Bruce is both an asshole and a good parent

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61787290/chapters/157961104

If you ask him, Dick wouldn’t know when it started.

When did it go wrong?

At some point when he was fighting to be recognized as an equal?

The first real, noticeable point is when he got shot.

It wasn’t even that bad! Just a graze, really. But it’s the catalyst of this whole sequence of events.

Bruce is just overdramatic.

Sure, it didn’t just ‘graze’ him by the literal definition. But he didn’t die! He didn’t even pass out.

With Alfred taking a rare night off, Bruce stitches him up. They don’t speak the whole time. When Bruce is done, he methodically tapes a bandage over the wound, then cleans up and takes his gloves off. Dick carefully leans against the wall behind him.

“You’re done.”

“With stitches? I kinda figured that out myself, B.” Dick quips.

“WIth Robin. You’re getting reckless, and if you’re not going to listen, I can’t have you with me.” Bruce doesn’t even look him in the eyes. He’s too busy taking his cowl off and stripping down to his undersuit.

“Bu–What?” Dick’s heart drops to his stomach, and an awful constricting feeling settles over his chest.

“You’re done. Indefinitely. That was too close tonight.”

“You can’t fire me! Robin is my name! It’s my parents legacy!” It’s a last ditch effort, everyone knows you can’t change Bruce’s mind once it’s made. But he can’t lose Robin. He’s almost 18, if Bruce doesn’t want him as Robin, and he has no legal tie to Dick, will Dick still be welcome?

“I can and I will. Go change and go to bed. You have work in the morning.” Bruce turns away, heading over to the batcomputer. Dick watches him go, waiting for him to turn back around.

He doesn’t.

Dick eases himself off the cot—minimizing the movement of his injured shoulder—keeping his head down until he’s past Bruce.

He holds it together as he changes out of his gear on autopilot and leaves it in a bin to be cleaned. He makes it to his room before he breaks down, before he allows himself to crumble to his knees, and bury his face in his hands.

How could he lose the one thing he left of his parents?

Why did he tie his parents to something so easily taken?

After several long moments of letting himself sob, Dick takes a few shuddering breaths and scrubs his hands over his face. He pushes himself up, and goes to splash water over his face. He goes through the motions of preparing for bed—showering, brushing his teeth, putting clean clothes on—without being fully present.

He should…

He should pack a bag.

Just in case Bruce decides he no longer wants Dick around the manor at all, it’s best to be prepared.

He packs quickly, including some cash he got from tips, and sets the bag on the top shelf of his closet. He has to be up for work in 5 hours.

He collapses in his bed, not even noticing when he drifts off to sleep, tears still in his eyes.

In the morning, he drags himself out of bed at his first alarm, and heads down to breakfast. His shift doesn’t start until ten, and it’s roughly a 30 minute commute to the small diner, leaving him just over an hour before he needs to leave.

Alfred sets a plate of eggs in front of him, and a mild painkiller next to it. “How are you feeling today, Master Dick?”

“Fine, Alfred, Thank you.” Dick keeps his head down, taking the painkiller before starting on breakfast. Bruce isn’t down yet, if Dick is lucky he can finish and go back upstairs before he has to face the man.

His luck isn’t that good, and he can feel Bruce behind him—reaching to ruffle his hair like he always does—a minute later. Bruce retracts his hand before it reaches Dick, and takes a seat several seats down.

They eat in the kitchen—in the small breakfast nook rather than the large dining room meant for hosting—and the small table has never felt this large.

Dick makes sure to keep his eyes on his plate as Alfred hands Bruce his food.

“How’d you sleep, Dick?” Bruce asks.

“Fine.” he grumbles in response, shoving another forkful of eggs in his mouth.

“Make sure you take it easy at work, don’t pull your stitches.”

Dick nods, “I’ll see if I can host today, and wear a brace or something. If I tell them I sprained my wrist climbing on shit, it’ll be believable.”

“Language.”

Dick almost flinches at Alfred’s sharp reprimand. “Right. Sorry, Alfred.” He stands, taking his plate to the sink before heading to the door. “I’m going to get ready for work.”

He can hear Bruce sigh as he leaves the room.

He grabs a wrist brace on his way out the door, just to pretend that’s the issue and not that he got shot.

Work is pretty slow at first, but eventually it picks up. His managers let him host with no issues, everyone in the diner is trained to fill whatever role is needed, and pay is the same no matter what role you fill. They’re short staffed tonight, so Dick ends up staying until closing to help out. Normally he'd rush home in order to get ready for patrol, but he can't do that anymore. He texts Bruce and Alfred to let him know he’s staying a bit late, and if he was short in his message it’s because he’s busy. No other reason.

He definitely doesn’t stay just because he doesn’t want to go back to the manor yet, of course not. He doesn’t get as many tips hosting as he would waiting tables, but the extra hours supplement that. He may need all the money he can get if he gets kicked out…

He should have enough of his own money to get an apartment and support himself, if he does. Thankfully rent in Gotham is cheap, and service jobs tend to pay well here. He had set up his own bank account as soon as he got this job, and though Bruce had to co-sign, Dick can have him removed as soon as he turns 18. Just a few more weeks.

When he finally drags himself through the Manor doors—at nearly midnight—he’s met with Alfred’s disapproving stare.

“A little more communication would have been nice, Master Richard.”

Dick rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “Sorry, Alfred. I didn’t know exactly how late they were going to keep me.”

Alfred huffs, and ushers Dick to the kitchen. “No matter. I’m sure you’re starving, I saved some leftovers for you. I also need to check your shoulder, who knows what strain you put on it working as you did today.”

Dick pulls the wrist brace off as he sits down, and unbuttons his black dress shirt, slipping it off so Alfred can get to his injury. Alfred sets a plate of food in front of him, then slips gloves on and starts prodding at the stitches.

“Hm. It all seems in order. I’m on comms for Master Bruce tonight, so head on up to bed when you’re finished.”

Dick nearly flinches at the reminder he’s no longer Robin, watching as Alfred turns and heads to the cave.

He sighs heavily, glaring at his food. He wasn’t really hungry to begin with, but now his appetite has completely vanished. He doesn’t like wasting food though, so he forces himself to finish. He washes his dishes and slowly heads up to bed. He pauses at the entrance to the study for several moments, surely he’s not completely unwelcome in the cave, right? All his training equipment is down there, his trapeze. Bruce wouldn’t take all of that, would he?

Dick sighs again, and turns toward the stairs. Maybe he should revisit his vendetta against chandeliers…

If he’s still here when he’s healed, that is.

Tomorrow (today, really) is Sunday, and he has the next two days off work. Normally weekends are spent training, or occasionally hanging out with the Titans, but without Robin, and being injured, he doesn’t know that either of those are options.

Dick falls asleep pretty much as soon as he lays down.

The next morning arrives much too quickly. He didn’t have an alarm set, so he woke to Alfred knocking on his door for breakfast. Bruce is already in the kitchen by the time Dick gets down there, and he pushes something towards Dick as soon as he sits down.

“Here, I picked up some brochures about colleges in the area. I know we’re technically past the application deadline, but I can pull some strings and get you into any one of these.”

Dick startles, not expecting this so early in the morning (it’s barely before 11, but they’re nocturnal, practically). “I…I don’t want to go to college, Bruce.” He mumbles, staring at his plate. If he doesn’t go to college, is he asking to get kicked out that much sooner? He still has to finish high school, right?

“What was that?” Bruce turns his chair to face Dick.

“I don’t want to go to college.” Dick repeats, firmer this time. “College isn’t the end all be all, and I hate school! I don’t want to sit through four more years of it, at least!” He couldn’t help it, his voice raised slightly by the end.

“What would you do instead? College would open so many doors for you, create so many more opportunities.” Bruce leans back in his chair.

“I…I don’t know yet. But the idea of sitting through more school is practically torture.”

“Don’t be dramatic, It’s not that bad.”

“Says the drop out.”

“Richard John Grayson—” Bruce’s voice is stern, but Dick interrupts, despite the Batglare™ on B’s face.

“I’m right!”

Bruce closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Regardless,—”

“See, you know I’m right.”

“Stop interrupting me, Richard.” Bruce leans forward again, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have a plan. If you had one, then maybe we could consider other options aside from college. As it is, you’re going. Pick one or I’m picking for you.” Bruce turns away, clearly the ‘conversation’, if you can call it that, is over.

Dick huffs, shoving his food in his mouth. He pointedly doesn’t look at the brochures Bruce shoved at him.

When he finishes breakfast, he sets his plate in the sink and stalks upstairs.

He speeds through getting ready for the day, grabs his backpack—keeping it on his good shoulder—and heads to the door.

“Where are you going?” Bruce stops him, standing at the bottom of the stairs with his arms crossed.

“I don’t know yet. Out.” Dick shoves past him, going to the garage.

Bruce grabs his elbow, “Not good enough. Where are you going.”

Dick spins, looking Bruce in the eye for the first time since he was fired. Rage lances through him. “I. Don’t. Know. Let me go.”

“Dick—”

“Oh fuck off! You’re not my dad!” Dick yells and watches Bruce’s eyes widen marginally, not used to Dick cursing at him. “You’re not my dad, alright?” He repeats quieter.

“Richard John.” Bruce states firmly, “You’re grounded, go upstairs.” Bruce tugs Dick’s arms, trying to herd him upstairs.

Dick resists, “Make me. You took Robin from me, you do not get to take my last semblance of freedom.”

Bruce is surprised enough Dick can yank his arm out of his hold. He jogs to the garage before Bruce can grab him again.

“Richard—”

DIck flips him off behind his back and turns into the garage. Is there gonna be hell to pay when he gets back? Absolutely. Possibly before he gets back, if Bruce cares enough to track him down.

He hops in his car and leaves as fast as he can.

He ends up at his favorite coffee shop in downtown Gotham, only 2 blocks from where he works. He makes sure he’s got at least two knives and his lock picks concealed on him before he heads inside—it is Gotham, after all. He sets up at a small booth with an herbal tea, settling in to finish up his work.

Fingers tapping restlessly on the table, he manages to work at a steady pace. He periodically orders a drink or bakery item, not wanting to take up a table for hours and only buying one item. Thankfully the shoulder he got shot in is his non dominant arm, the last two days would have been a lot more annoying if that wasn’t the case.

Is Bruce pushing college so hard because he’s kicking Dick out? Does he want to try and give Dick more opportunities before cutting him off?

It’s nice, he supposes, but college really isn’t for him.

There’s so many other things he could do.

He’s not entirely sure what, but he can figure it out.

He could do something with gymnastics, teaching kids, or maybe even olympic level. Sure, it’ll probably be more difficult since he hasn’t been aiming for the Olympics before now, but he’s sure he could pull it off. He’s the last of the Flying Graysons, Bruce used to field calls all the time about getting him on junior teams. He’s kept his skills up, he competed individually a couple times.

He’s pretty sure he could do it, he’d just need to start registering and preparing for competitions and qualifiers. And find a trainer.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, focusing on his work again. He’s almost done, just needs to get through a few more math problems. Thankfully, math is one of his best subjects, so even the basic calculus he’s doing doesn’t take too much brain power once he gets going. He runs through the rest of the problems on autopilot, the rest of his brain spinning through how to get a coach. There are plenty in Gotham, but he’s not sure if any train at the professional and olympic levels. Nothing a quick google search won’t fix, but if he breaks his momentum now, it’ll be much harder to get started again.

By the time he leaves, Dick has managed to finish all work due this week, plus get ahead for the next week. He’s also had time to cool off significantly, and he is not looking forward to facing Bruce again. He needs to be on his best behavior for the foreseeable future, he can’t let himself get kicked out before he’s ready.

He keeps his head down as he enters, registering Bruce pacing in front of the door. He’s sure Bruce tracked his phone and found out where he was, and when he left.

“I’m sorry,” Dick starts quietly, “I was out of line.”

Bruce stops, staring contemplatively at Dick. “You were. Hand me your keys and go upstairs. You’re grounded for a month, you’re not allowed to go anywhere other than school or work, and Alfred will pick you up and drop off. I expect full communication of your whereabouts, unlike the last two days. That was unacceptable.”

Dick nods, “Yes, sir.” He hands over his keys, but doesn’t leave just yet. He doesn’t know if Bruce is done yet.

Bruce nods as well, “Good. Don’t leave your room for the rest of the night, Alfred will bring dinner up for you. Tonight only, you’re free to move around the manor as you wish starting tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodnight, Dick.” Bruce walks off, heading towards the kitchen, presumably for dinner.

“Goodnight, Bruce.” Dick mutters before turning to go upstairs.

Once in his room, Dick drops his bag next to his desk and falls onto his bed. It’s only six in the afternoon, so he can’t sleep yet, but he doesn’t know what else he can do. He has a TV and gaming console in his room, but he’s not sure if he’s grounded from that too. He has books, but he’s not a huge reader unless it’s an audiobook, and even then only if he can do something else at the same time.

It doesn’t take long before Alfred knocks lightly on his door and brings in a tray of food. Dick forces himself to sit upright and lean against the headboard.

“I’m glad you’re home safe, Master Dick. We were worried about you today.”

Dick looks down at his lap, “M’sorry, Alfred. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Alfred lays a hand on his good shoulder softly. “I know, but it’s the nature of caring for someone. Now, do you mind if I take a look at your shoulder before you eat?”

Dick nods, and carefully pulls his shirt off.

“It still looks good, Has it been bothering you?”

“A little, but no more than expected.”

“Good. Just keep taking it easy. I know it’s difficult, but the less you strain your shoulder, the faster you’ll heal.”

“I know. Thanks, Alfred. Not like I’ll struggle to take it easy being stuck here for a month.” Dick scowls.

Alfred tuts, “Now, you brought that on yourself, Master Dick. Learning to keep your temper under wraps would do you a lot of good.” He pats Dick’s good shoulder and then turns to walk out. “Your father—”

Dick opens his mouth to refute it, but Alfred talks over him.

“Your father will likely be up to talk to you soon.” Alfred leaves, and Dick grabs his tray off the nightstand.

He’s barely finished eating by the time Bruce knocks on his door.

“Come in.” Dick calls. Bruce steps in, and perches on the edge of Dick’s bed.

“What’s going on, chum?”

Dick just shrugs in response, wincing as it pulls on his shoulder weirdly.

Bruce sighs, “I need you to work with me here. Something’s going on, and I can’t help it if you won’t talk to me.”

Dick takes a while to respond, but he finally speaks quietly, “You took the last thing I truly had from my parents. My one opportunity to do something good with their legacy.”

Bruce sighs, “I’m sorry, Dick, but my decision stands. Being out in the field is too dangerous, and I can’t have you getting hurt like you did the other night. I’m sorry that I had to take Robin, but I can’t knowingly put you in danger.”

“What, so when I was 8 it was okay, but now that I’m nearly an adult, 10 fucking years later, you suddenly have an issue with me being in danger?”

“Dickie—”

“Whatever. We’re not going to get anywhere with this. If I promise to do better about following orders, will you give Robin back?”

Please, please say yes. He doesn’t know if he can take not having anything tying him here. Without Robin, there’s nothing to keep Bruce from throwing him out as soon as he turns 18, as soon as all legal ties are cut.

“I can’t, Dick. I can’t stand to see you hurt, and knowing I was the one who put you in that situation? I can’t do it. I’m sorry, there has to be another solution.”

Dick drags his knees up to his chest, hunching his shoulders and wrapping his good arm around them.

“Nothing? Sweetheart, please. There has to be more going on. You’ve been moody for the last couple days, and it can’t just be about Robin, because it’s been going on for longer than that.” Bruce’s voice is pleading.

What’s the point?

What’s the point of telling him what’s going on, why is he trying so damn hard to figure it out if he’s just going to kick Dick to the curb.

Shouldn’t he know what the problem is? Surely he has to realize Dick doesn’t want to leave.

“Oh now you want to talk about feelings? Please.” Dick sneers. He knows it’s not the best way to go about it, he’s not helping his case by being disrespectful and angry, he just can’t help it.

Bruce sighs again, his whole body slumping with the movement. “Alright. We can try again later.” He pushes himself up, but doesn’t leave just yet. He watches Dick for a few seconds before asking, “Do you want a hug, chum?”

Dick shrugs with his good shoulder, tucking his face between his knees.

Bruce sits down again, tugging Dick gently into his arms. Dick uncurls enough to reciprocate with one arm, burying his face in Bruce’s shoulder.

If this is the last time he gets to experience this, he wants to savor it.

He waits until he can sense Bruce getting uncomfortable to let go.

Bruce tugs him in one last time, pressing a kiss to his hair. “You’re a good kid, Dick, but I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Tears well in Dick’s eyes, and he uses all of his Bat Repression Training™ to push them back.

Bruce pulled away again, ruffling Dick’s hair as he goes. “Get some rest, sweetheart, you have to get up early for school.” He walks towards the door.

“Am I grounded from the TV and games too?” Dick speaks up before Bruce leaves.

Bruce turns back around, “No, I figure confinement and taking your car is enough.” Bruce’s lips quirk, “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’d start taking out my chandeliers again if you didn’t have some form of entertainment.”

Dick allows himself to smirk a little, “You’re right, I would.” Hell, he’d considered it before he was grounded.

Bruce shuts the door quietly, and Dick allows himself to flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He ends up killing a few hours playing a couple different video games, rotating them when he gets bored. He’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t have anything else to do, but he did all his homework.

He wakes up before his alarm the next morning, and gets ready for school before he goes down to breakfast. Bruce wasn’t there when he got to the kitchen, so Dick ate quickly and Alfred took him to school.

School passes slowly, nothing interesting happens. He does his best to keep pressure off his shoulder, but by the end of the day it’s still throbbing.

He slips into the passenger seat after setting his bag in the back of the car.

“Good afternoon, Master Dick. How was school?”

“Fine, I guess. Boring.” Dick picks at his uniform pants.

Alfred hums, “And your shoulder?”

Dick shrugs with his good shoulder, “Hurts more today than the last two days, but it’s not terrible.”

No, the pain isn’t bad. The worst part is knowing he isn’t just benched from Robin until he heals, he’s benched forever.

When they get to the manor, Bruce is waiting in the foyer again.

Alfred keeps walking, heading deeper into the manor, but Dick stops in his tracks, gazing at Bruce nervously.

“Did…is something wrong?”

Did he do something wrong?

“No, no. I just wanted to see if you’ve thought about where you’re going to be attending college.” Bruce tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks, obviously having come from work.

“I’m not.” Dick attempts to pass Bruce, only for the man to step in front of him and stop him. Dick sighs. “If we have to have this conversation, can we at least go somewhere I can put my bag down?”

Bruce nods, and they head to his study. Dick does his best to not stare at the grandfather clock in the corner.

“I just want you to reconsider, Dick, College really isn’t that bad, and Gotham U has some great programs! If you’d just look into it—”

“I don’t want to, Bruce! What do you not get about that?” Dick tries his best to keep his voice level, but it doesn’t work out super well.

“”You’re doing great in school right now, why are you so against continuing?” Bruce slides the stupid brochure closer to him.

“Because I don’t like it? It feels like literal torture!” Dick pauses for a second, “No, you know what? I’ve withstood actual torture that was easier than sitting through school. I can be good at the work, if I try hard enough, but it doesn’t interest me, and even trying to focus daily is an uphill battle!”

“You don’t have a plan, Dick. You could just get a degree that’s applicable to a lot of things! Like…a business degree, for example!” Bruce’s voice is innocent, but Dick sees through him.

Dick narrows his eyes, slumping back in his chairs. “Oh. This is about you. You want an heir for your company.” He almost snorts. As if the board would accept an illegitimate ward as Bruce’s successor. They barely let Bruce run the company, and it’s his damn company! He attempts to cross his arms, but winces and aborts the movement when it pulls on his shoulder.

“That is not what this is about.” Bruce pauses, sighing heavily and leaning forward. “I want what I have always wanted for you, to give you your best chance. I believe college will do that, there’s not many careers you can do without a degree.”

Dick groans, “This again? B, please, I don’t want to. Besides, I could do something with gymnastics! I could become a trainer, or, hell, I could go to the olympics! I looked into it. With my skill level, it wouldn’t be hard, and with my legacy no one would question where I suddenly got the skills!”

“That’s not a career Dick.”

“Tell that to my parents! They loved what they did every night. Who says you can’t turn a passion into a career? Besides, I could throw my name around, like I’m know you’re so used to doing, and I could make a career out of it.”

“Richard…” Bruce’s voice is barely more than a growl now, Dick is proceeding into dangerous territory. Too bad he doesn’t care. What more does he have to lose?

“You said if I had a plan, we could talk about it! Besides Robin and acrobatics are the only times I ever feel truly at peace with myself! I have a plan, just…give me a year to try it? We’re past application deadlines anyway, what’s the harm?”

“I said we might talk about it. I still think college would be better for you.”

“Why do you get to decide what’s best for me?” Dick is near hysterical now, this argument is running in circles. “Why is forcing me through school better than letting me choose the path where I’m happy?”

Bruce opens his mouth to respond, but Dick can’t take it anymore. He pushes out of his chair and stalks off to his room, ignoring Bruce calling his name behind him.

Dinner is tense, and conversation is stilted. Dick shuts down all attempts to talk about what happened earlier by changing the subject or flat out ignoring Bruce.

Afterwards, he returns to his room, while Bruce prepares for patrol. He busies himself getting ready for the next day, and triple checking his homework is done. If he gets bored enough, he can work even farther ahead.

He has work tomorrow after school, so he packs his work uniform and wrist brace in the bottom of his backpack.

With that done, there’s not much to entertain him. The rest of the night passes slowly and uneventfully, and Dick eventually passes out in his bed.

The next morning when Dick heads down to breakfast, Alfred stops him before he can sit down. “Master Bruce never made it up from the cave last night. Perhaps you could persuade him to join us for breakfast?”

Dick narrows his eyes at the older man. He knows Alfred would be much more effective at getting Bruce out of the cave, he’s just sending Dick because he wants them to work out their issues. Not that there are any issues. He acquiesces though, and heads down to the cave.

Bruce is sitting at the computer when he gets down there, still dressed in his suit, and Dick sneaks behind him. Leaning against Bruce’s back, he tugs on one of the ears of the cowl, like he used to when he was younger and perched on Bruce’s shoulders.

“What are you doing down here, Ro– Dick.”

Right, because Bruce is in the suit, Dick is Robin. It’s a simple fact. No names while in the suit, whether or not you’re in the cave.

Only, Dick isn’t Robin. Not anymore.

“Alfred…” Dick clears his throat, pushing off Bruce’s back. “Alfred sent me to retrieve you from breakfast. He thinks you’ve been working too long.”

“Then he can get me himself. You’re not supposed to be down here.”

Dick swallows around the lump in his throat, “So, what, I’m no longer Robin and I’m not even allowed in the cave anymore?”

Bruce doesn’t even bother to turn and face him. “Quite frankly, I don’t trust you down here anymore. Go upstairs.”

Dick is glad Bruce isn’t facing him now. He doesn’t want to know how much that sentence would have hurt if he had to see Bruce’s face when he said it. He suppresses the tears the best he can, turning and quickly walking to the stairs.

Bruce doesn’t trust him anymore

He’s mostly gotten himself back under control by the time he enters the kitchen, suddenly looking forward to being out of the house for the rest of the day.

“Well? Is he going to join us?” Alfred questions as soon as Dick sits.

Dick shakes his head, avoiding the other man’s gaze. “He said you can go and retrieve him yourself.”

Alfred huffs, setting Dick’s plate down. “The nerve on that boy…” He leaves Dick alone, presumably going to drag Bruce away from the computer.

Dick is glad to have the alone time.

By the time Dick has finished his food, washed his dishes, and retrieved his bag, Alfred must have succeeded in getting Bruce back upstairs.

Dick is on his way to meet Alfred in the garage when Bruce calls his name from behind him. Dick doesn’t turn around, only stops and slightly turns his face towards Bruce. No need to let the man see exactly how much his words hurt him.

“That was needlessly harsh of me, chum, it’s been a long night. I—”

Dick nearly scoffs, but stops himself at the last minute. That’s not even a real apology. He doesn’t know why he even expected one. Bruce isn't sorry about what he said, because it's true. Bruce doesn't trust him, not with Robin, not in the cave, not even to be his son.

“It’s fine, Bruce. I have to go.” Dick walks off to the garage, forcing himself to remain at a steady pace. He can hear Bruce sigh behind him.

School, and subsequently work, pass uneventfully. IT's a good distraction from the turmoil in him, and not being able to have his phone on him is a good excuse not to talk to Bruce.

So do the next couple of days. Bruce has been either ignoring him, or keeping conversation to small talk.

As much as Dick wants to avoid talking about college, or the elephant in the room, he hates this.

By the time the weekend rolls around, Dick has barely done anything other than hide in his room, save for when he has to eat or go to school or work.

Saturday evening is the final straw.

Dick stays at work for an extra two hours to help with the dinner rush, letting Alfred know to pick him up at seven instead of five.

When he gets home, Bruce is in the main sitting room, waving Dick over to him.

“Hey, chum, how was work?”

”It was fine, no better or worse than usual.” Dick answers suspiciously.

”Great! I was thinking, you want to play a game or something with me? We haven’t been spending as much time together as we used to.”

Dick narrows his eyes. Bruce has barely acknowledged him outside of meals the last few days. “Why? What’s your angle here, Bruce?” Bruce hadn’t been willingly spending time with Dick lately, and the only reason Dick can think of is Bruce either has bad news for him, or something otherwise unpleasant to tell him.

Bruce doesn’t visibly startle, but he does his equivalent of it. His eyes widen marginally, and he leans back slightly. “What? I don’t have an angle. Why do you think I have an angle?”

Dick snorts, “Please, Bruce, you’ve barely acknowledged me the last couple days, and now you want me to believe you’re willingly offering to spend time with me? You want something, or you have something to say that you don’t think I’ll like. You’re not subtle.”

Bruce sighs. “Fine. Have it your way. I got you into Gotham U’s finance department. You start in August.”

Dick’s heart stutters in his chest. “What the fuck, Bruce?” He takes a step back. “I asked you to give me a year to figure it out! I don’t want to go to Gotham U.”

”Too bad! You’re going, whether you like it or not. You can take the year to figure things out, while attending your classes. You have to at least try.”

”You can’t make me!”

”Yes I can! I’m your guardian. It is my job to do right by you.”

”In two weeks you won’t be! You don’t get to decide what’s right for me!”

That was stupid, why’d he do that? Why’d he remind Bruce just how little time there was before Bruce is no longer legally responsible for Dick.

“You are going to college, Dick, or you’re leaving my house.”

Dick’s mouth clicks shut from when he was about to speak again. Tears well in his eyes without his permission, and a tight band constricts around his chest. He ducks his head, hoping to hide his tears from Bruce. “Fine.” He murmurs, then turns and walks away without another word.

“Wait, Dick!” Bruce calls behind him, but Dick just walks faster and locks the door to his room behind himself.

He keeps walking across the room until he reaches his closet. He shuts and locks that door too, then leans against it, sliding down until he’s sitting with his knees pressed against his chest.

His shoulders shake with every breath, and he presses his hand to his mouth to muffle his gasping sobs.

He knew Bruce couldn’t keep him around forever, especially not without Robin, and with Dick being so difficult for him lately.

But he—

He didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

He thought being prepared for it would make it easier, like knowing it was happening would allow him to repress the hurt, like he always does.

It’s somehow worse.

Like knowing this was happening, feeling it buildup for a week, did the opposite of preparing him.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there sobbing, at one point he heard Bruce calling out to him, asking to talk.

He heard Alfred pass too, asking him to come to dinner.

He doesn’t leave his room for the rest of the night, and he sits in his closet long after he’s calmed down, a plan hatching in his mind.

He doesn’t leave his room the next morning either.

Eventually, around lunch, Alfred forces him to come eat.

Bruce isn’t in the kitchen when he gets there, thankfully.

He eats quickly and heads back to his room, ignoring Alfred’s disappointed sigh.

2 weeks.

He can make it to his 18th birthday, can’t he? His plan would go much smoother if he could.

The next week passes even slower than the last. He goes to school and work, picking up as many hours as he can, and hides his time. Bruce stays away from him, apparently giving him time to come around.

Dick is glad to have the space, but he’s not going to ‘come around’.

He can’t wait another week after this. His plan will work, whether it’s a week early or not.

When Friday night comes around, his plan is ready. He needs his friends for it, but he hasn’t been able to ask them. He doesn’t want to chance them giving something away before he wants to.

He waits in his room for Bruce to knock on his door and let him know he’s going on patrol, like he has every night for the last week.

This time though, it’s slightly different.

“I’m heading out, chum. Can we please talk in the morning?”

Dick snorts quietly, like it would make a difference.

“Sure, Bruce.” He responds audibly, listening for Bruce’s footsteps to leave.

He won’t be here in the morning.

He waits an extra hour, to make sure Bruce gets wrapped up with patrol.

He disables the locks and alarms on his window, then slips out. He can’t take a vehicle, Bruce has trackers on all of them and they’re too loud, but there’s a bus station near here. He can take a bus to Downtown Gotham, then walk the rest of the way to the Gordons’ apartment.

Barbara will be on patrol with Bruce, and the commissioner should be working the night shift tonight. He can stay in Bab’s room until she gets back, explain the situation, and go from there.

The bus stop is close enough to the manor he can still see its lights.

He looks one last time, then steps on the bus and doesn’t look back.

[spiritsglade]

trying to reconcile the timelines between utrh, lost days, and annual 25 is apparently an exercise in utter futility.

(all of these ages listed going forward are what he would be if he was alive the whole time/how much time has elapsed since his birth.)

jason died on april 27 with a birthday in august so he would have been ~15 & 8 months at the time. i don't have a source for this but apparently he was 18/19 during the events of utrh.

(apparently bruce celebrates his 18th birthday in detective comics #790, after hush, which places him at 17 during hush and fucks everything up but i'm just gonna. not think about that.)

according to the annual he would have already been 19 by the time he was pushed in the pit the first time (6 months dead, 1 year in a convalescent home, 1 year on the street, 1 year catatonic under talia's care). that leaves literally zero time for lost days to happen. if you presume the 'one year later' timeskips are rounding up there still isn't a lot of wiggle room.

lost days operates on a much looser and unspecified timeline of "months later... and later... and later still" before talia first hears abut catatonic jason. however, we are still told that "years" have passed between talia finding out that jason died and talia pushing him in the pit.

assuming multiple years just means two, at minimum jason's already 17-almost-18. which leaves him around 2 years to put a bomb under the batmobile, train, murder his teachers, etc. before his debut in hush if we're assuming he's 19 during all that. and even then he'd already be pushing 20.

the movie's much nicer about this because he gets revived literally right after dying and then has 5 whole years to scrounge together his grand plan. it doesn't seem like he has talia's support there but it makes sense that with robin training he could have figured out training and resources on his own. maybe.

in conclusion. timelines are fucked and who knows what's going on.

+ this is a tangential thought but it's a little crazy to me that the police figured out he was buried alive and didn't think to check the graveyard 12 miles away. like ok 10 mile radius but when there's an actual cemetery a couple miles outside that maybe??? you check it out??

[incorrect-green-lantern-quotes]

every time a batstan makes a post that uses a green lantern as a punching bag for the gotham gang, DC tells their writers to make a new human GL

[phanboyo]

Captain Marvel had been left on monitor duty on Saturday night. Again. He couldn't really complain, since he'd started to try going back to school his availability for JL duties had been limited a little bit on weekdays. Not that he wouldn't cut school to help out if he were called, but the JL generally tried to be pretty accommodating when it came to civilian identity stuff, even if they didn't know his. And it's not like he usually had any weekend plans as Billy, anyway. Besides, the Watchtower had better food than the stuff he could usually scrounge up himself on the weekends.

Admittedly he hadn't been paying much attention to the monitors. Most of the JL were on Earth in their respective cities doing whatever it was they usually did on Saturday nights, and though it may be irresponsible, Marvel figured they could handle things as usual.

This is how Marvel justified taking a short break to grab a snack from the cafeteria, empty save for Hal, who had microwaved a burrito and left. This is also how Marvel let his short break turn into a long break while he read through a couple of the comic books Freddy had leant him. This long break is why Marvel had completely missed the entire earth being engulfed in supernatural plants.

Staring out the large window in the monitor room at the big green ball that had been his planet, Captain Marvel dropped the blueberry muffin he had brought from the cafeteria.

"Oops."

Marvel flew to the monitors and flitted from screen to screen, trying to figure out what had happened. There were a few short calls that had come through from Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Superman, and a few others inquiring what was happening. Marvel hadn't answered because he had been in the cafeteria. "Crap, crap, crap," he muttered, "I am so going to get in trouble for this."

The timestamps showed that the calls began to peter out until stopping entirely, the last one from the Flash, a little over 40 minutes ago.

"-ny input from the Tower would be helpful, no one's answering my calls. I don't know how long I can outrun these vines, they're everywhere and they're taking pe—whoa!" There was a crackle of wind, Captain Marvel thought he heard an echoing voice saying something about "feeding the children," straight out of a horror movie. "Man, she's creepy," said Flash under his breath, "the vines are—ah!—Taking people's minds or some—" there was another crackle and the recording lapsed into silence before cutting off entirely.

Captain Marvel hit the call button to the Flash. With each ring his heart climbed higher in his throat, no answer. He called the Batman, no answer, Wonder Woman, Superman, Cyborg, Aquaman, no answer. The planet had stopped emitting signals of any kind, and it seemed that no one was receiving them either.

"Holy heck," Captain Marvel muttered, staring at the hologram of Earth, a big green ball that had gone completely dark.

"Lantern!" Marvel shouted, flying out of the monitor room. "Lantern, there's an emergency!"

The Green Lantern popped his head out of his quarters, his expression turning serious as he saw the panic on Marvel's face as he shot down the hallway. "Cap, what's happened?"

"Mind controlling plants or something?" He said quickly. "No one's answering their comms, I didn't mean to—I didn't think anything would—I just wanted a muffin!"

"What?" Lantern asked, "a muffin?"

"Okay maybe I read some comics too, but it's not even a full moon—weird stuff usually happens on fulls moons and solstices—and with the Tower so empty I didn't think anything bad would—"

"Cap!" Lantern interrupted, "slow down, what happened?"

Marvel took a deep breath. "The Earth has been overtaken by mind-controlling plants?"

Lantern blinked and the two of them sped to the monitor room, a green planet sitting innocently below the Watchtower with the darkness of space as its backdrop. "Well... that's new," he said, his hand coming to scratch at the back of his head. He turned to look at Cap. "Do you know what it is? Or who?"

Marvel shook his head. "It happened too fast, no one knew what was going on. His face suddenly brightened. "Maybe there's something at the Rock of Eternity," he said. With a muttered word an a wide gesture, a portal opened, showing a stone room with glowing arches.

Marvel stepped towards it, but the Green Lantern grabbed his arm. "Wait," he said, "are those vines usually there?"

Marvel looked into the portal and saw fat green vines crawling out of one of the archways. "No," he said, eyebrows furrowing. The vines began to creep towards the portal, spines on the tips glowing green as if in anticipation. "How did they...?" The vines picked up speed and shot towards the portal.

"Close it! Close it!" Lantern shouted, leaping back, hand out, ring glowing green.

With a snap, the portal shut, cutting off the tips of the vines. In a second, they were enveloped in a translucent green sphere, containing them as they grew to fill the small space.

"I don't understand," Captain Marvel said, "the Rock exists in its own realm, it's supposed to be separate from Earth."

"Can't really help you with the magic stuff," Lantern said, examining the ball of vines in its green cage. "Who else is on the Tower tonight?"

"Uh," Captain Marvel shook himself and went to the screens to check. "Plastic Man and the Atom?"

"That's it?" Lantern asked.

Cap shrugged. "It's a Saturday night."

He hummed in acknowledgement. "Well, I guess we'd better let them kn—"

There was a light crackling noise and the vines in the green sphere shriveled. Lantern and Marvel both stared at it.

"Did you do that?" Cap asked.

"Don't think so," he answered. They stared at the black shriveled vines a little longer. Cautiously, Green Lantern opened the top sphere. When the vines didn't move, he dissolved it entirely, and the vines fell to the floor with a wet smack. The two stared at them a little longer.

"So... are they dead?" Captain Marvel asked.

"I think so?" Green Lantern replied.

Captain Marvel looked up out the window at the planet again to find it more or less back to normal. "Oh, I—huh." Another glance at the monitors showed that the planet was transmitting radio again, and signals received were back to normal range. "Crisis averted?"

The Green Lantern looked from the planet to Captain Marvel. "Guess so. Good job." His ring glowed and the blueberry muffin floated up from the floor. "You gonna eat that?"

[violent138]

Bruce is one hundred percent that boss that goes, "I don't care what issues you have with him, be an adult and do your damn job", but he also pettily kicks people off his schedule and missions whenever it suits him and if they annoy him even a little.

[adelinamoteru]

at some point some of yall will have to admit to yourselves that the jason todd you like and have built up in fanon is not the jason todd that he actually is

inconsistent canon writing included, I have no idea where these povs on him are coming from if ur not actually meaning to do a disservice to his character

[realatlast]

Everyone always talks about how if they suddenly woke up as Batman for some time, they'd either kill every villain and end crime or kill the JL and become some type of overlord, but wanna know what i'd do?

I would pull up Clark Kent in my contacts, tell him I am an extremely incompetent person stuck in Bruce's body, that I have trouble keeping myself alive while going up the stairs, and that I have the deductive skills of a wet paper bag. I never managed to solve a single riddle without Google and patterns are invisible to my eyes.

Then I'd kiss Alfred on the cheek, text every contact I have that I love them and promptly fuck off in my private jet to the Caribbean enjoying the rest of my life as a billionaire in a 5 starts resort, cuz fuck Gotham it's past saving anyway. That life probably won't be long cuz I'll have a cardiac arrest the moment someone points a gun at me in my first assassination attempt.