#bruce verse: i am the night

[dramatisperscnae]

@clawsextended

they’re both beat to shit. when aren’t they…? but the cat’s gently holding an ice pack to bruce’s face, both stripped down to half their costumes. the television flickers in front of them — it’s her in princess diaries, terribly young. she munches a handful of popcorn and watches her own enormous brown eyes peer back from the screen. “I ordered pizza in advance. should be here in fifteen.” there’s eyeblack smeared across her face, down her cheeks, greasepaint like a child’s smear. “don’t move. or tomorrow your cheek’s gonna be the size of a baseball.”

He's not even paying attention to the television, though he knows what's playing. He knows her voice, almost as well as his own. His eyes are closed, a show of trust that only the barest handful of people are allowed to see, but how could she not be one of them? They're akin in a way he still doesn't fully understand; a way that means he knows she'll sound the alarm if there's a need. A way that means he can allow himself the luxury of closing his eyes right now.

"Hn. My new polo pony is awfully excitable; threw me right off when a squirrel ran onto the field." The tone is his own, no pretense or half-octave rise, but the words are those of Gotham's playboy prince. It's a rare juxtaposition, one that only she and Alfred ever regularly witness these days, but it's also his way of assuring her that he's more than aware of the bruise and swelling he's going to have.

[dramatisperscnae]

Bruce takes a moment, studies Jason as the boy drinks. Just how long Jason was with the League he has no idea, but he knows how Damian acts when he's hurt, and he knows just how badly Jason was injured in that last fight. There's no way on earth the boy isn't in pain, but if Damian's behavior is anything to go by then the League forbids any hint of showing such things.

At all.

Ever.

Fucking ridiculous, as far as Bruce is concerned, but that's a conversation they can have later. Dick's already been working with Damian on some of that, unlearning all the things the League taught him; hopefully things will be a little easier with Jason.

For now, Bruce just moves to reconnect the IV line. "It's saline," he says, making sure Jason can see his hands clearly as he works. "With painkillers. Once this bag is done we'll switch you over to pills."

Then he looks up at Jason, reaching out to gently ruffle his son's hair. "…You did exactly what you should have. You saved your brother. And as for his attitude, we've…we're working on it. He's taken to Dick almost like a duckling, which has helped a little with his culture shock, but there's still a lot he has to unlearn."

Bruce pauses for a moment then, hesitating before managing five more words, soft and quiet but very, very much meant.

"...I'm proud of you, Jason."

The water’s room temperature, has probably been sitting on the bedside table for god only knows how long, but it’s the best thing Jason’s tasted in his life. Both of them. He has to force himself not to just chug the whole thing, then and there. Takes a sip and swishes it around in his mouth for a moment before he swallows. It doesn’t help much with the taste being unconscious for so long left behind, but the small bit it does is welcomed.

He takes a few more sips before passing the glass back to Bruce. Stretching to put it on the bedside table closest to him would be a stupid move, as would holding it resting on his stomach, heavily bandaged as his torso is. He’s in a lot of pain, right now, but he doesn’t breathe a word of it. Doesn’t ask to be hooked back up to the painkillers. Keeps all that pain out of his expression.

Doing anything else might as well be a (second) death sentence. Logically, he knows that’s not true, here. But, well, it’s like they say—you can take the boy out of the League…

His shoulders release a bit of tension at the confirmation of the brat’s safety and he nods. “Good. That’s good.” Means Jason didn’t go through all that hell for nothing. He’s not sure what he’d do if he found out the kid had just gotten captured and carted back to Ra’s anyways.

A small shrug is given, fingers picking at a stray thread on the blanket laying across his lap. “Yeah, well. It was that or let Ra’s possess him, and it’s not like Talia was doing shit about it. Kid’s a goddamn feral gremlin that got fed after midnight, but…he doesn’t deserve that.”

He hesitates, before continuing. “I…wasn’t sure if you’d answer it, honestly. I mean, I hoped you’d at least be curious, if he needed to use it, but. I dunno. I just wanted to give him the best shot at getting to you in one piece, since I couldn’t go with him to protect him.”

[pomegranatelifethis]

star ın the shadows

Batfamily

A Crimson Dawn

New member

Sister

I think I'm dying

Echoes in the Night

I love you brother

From another universe

Escape

Brother

Little Trouble

Blood and Bonds

New Robin

Is it worth that much to you?

Ding dong

I am me

We love you

Shattered Bonds

Rescue Among the Shadows

A cat

Naughty fur ball

Seeking revenge

Broken heart

Broken Mugs, Unbreakable Bonds

It's so boring

Last time

Shadows and Silence

Excitement

I did it

Why doesn't anyone see me?

Family day

Aphrodite's Child Beauty

Did you forget?

New sibling

A Shattered Dream

platonic batfam x omega!reader

Justice League

The Clumsy Hero’s Big Secret

A Bond That Grows İn The Shadows

AWARENESS

The Forgotten Fox

Porcelain Doll(Draft)

Porcelain Doll (1 episode )

Porcelain doll (part two)

Porcelain Doll ( Part Three)

A mistake

Uncontrolled

Live in the moment

Lone Hero Hidden in the Night

In another universe again( 1 part)

Overlooked Treasure

Last time

Troublemaker Little Brother

Forgotten Pages

Forgotten Pages (part 2)

Broken ballerina

The first excitement

In the sky

Maternal Instinct

Don't move away

Missing piece (Preface)

Missing piece (part1)

The Princess Forgotten in the Dark(part1)

The Princess Forgotten in the Dark(part 2)

The Princess Forgotten in the Dark(part 2)

Q&A

The Princess Forgotten in the Dark(alternative)

The Princess Forgotten in the Dark

The Princess Forgotten in the Dark

The Princess Forgotten in the Dark

spider-man: across the spider-verse

In the sky

Go with the flow

Collapse

In time

Let's try again

"A Shadow In Her Eyes"

"A Shadow In Her Eyes"(part2)

Zooptie

Secret Witness (part1)

Secret Witness(part2)

Shadow

Yandere shadows

Lone Hero Hidden in the Night

Lost in the Dark

Only One Bed

Monki kid

A Silent Flower in a Cage of Flames (Redson)

Broken chains

Fiery clash

Claws and confessions

Heroic Break

Miraculous

The darkness of Paris

A Rooftop Adventure With You

Who am I?

Avengers

What does it matter?

Is it that hard to see me

Culpa mia

sudden development

Requests

Father

Smut

Bruce wayne

Dick grayson

Wade Wilson(Deadpool)

Tim drake

Jason Todd

Deadpool

Jealous Dad

Second main list

[enter-sandmann]

NEW SERIES!: Sweet Child O' Mine

|| Another Neglectful Yandere Batfam Series... ★

— Synopsis: You, an 11 year old orphan, growing up as a street rat- getting into constant fights and using your great sense of awareness to survive Gothams bloodstained backstreets. Until you become too ambitious, and try to steal from the great Wayne mansion deep into the night... You were caught, unsurprisingly, by a kind old butler. Being taken in under his wing, and in turn, Bruce's. You soon find out you're not as welcome as Alfred made it seem... As well as finding out a couple more secrets that you don't know if you want uncovered...

|| Parts?: Coming Soon!

DAMNIT I FORGOT TO PUT INFO—

Info: This series will contain both romantic and platonic yandere's, it will also get dark pretty fast. Just to mention I'm not that well versed in the comics, yet I am in the series's. So I will do research on the characters that I know less about. I apologize for inconsistencies in some characters canonicity. I will try my best. And I hope you all enjoy!

★...

|| Taglist: @missikkj, @imaginarydreams, @ocean-mochi, @preciouslittlething ..

[distort-opia]

I’m begging, pleading if you will for some longer batjokes fic recommendations that are less mainstream (as I’ve read most of the popular ones) because I just finished your timeloop fic and OH MY GOD IT WAS SO GOOD IM GONNA CRY WOWOW YOU CAN WRITE THEM SO WELL.

so now I guess I thought who better to find more fics from that my fav batjokes fic writer!

First of all, thank you for the kind words! I'm really glad you enjoyed REMS, and I'm flattered you think of me as your favorite writer. I hope I can recommend some multi-chaptered, longer fics you don't already know of... but bear in mind, I haven't been able to keep up with recent fanfic a lot-- real life and a PhD are kicking my ass.

Maybe you already know of the #48 verse, The Eternal Batman Universe, City Goblins, matchjokes, Two sided blade soul mate theory, Enemies With Benefits and the jaxverse series? I assume fics over 1k kudos might be considered mainstream... So I tried to go for stories with a lower number of kudos that are relatively recent, or older fics that might not be well known by newer fans. Either way, they're a mix of Universes, with a bias for comicverse because that's my jam. Some of these I haven't managed to read fully, but I am reccing either because I liked what I did read or I heard very good things from friends.

Needless to say, check the tags carefully before reading! I am only including some short summaries and word counts. Do leave the authors some love if you like the story, and check out their other stuff. The list got pretty long, so I'm putting the recs (in no particular order) under the cut.

Ghosts of a Future Lost by messageredacted (15k+, complete)

Wayne Manor has been rebuilt, but things just aren’t the same as they used to be. Something is stirring old memories, and not just Bruce’s…

Strange Comradery in Arkham by Vampowerment (series, 45k+ words)

Bruce Wayne checks himself into Arkham because he considers himself a danger to himself and others, but only Joker seems to understand why.

Blood of the Covenant by batjokesinlove (28k+ words, WIP)

When Bruce is attacked by a horrifying monster, he finds himself turned into a creature of the night with a thirst for human blood. Although he retains his humanity, he wrestles with his need for blood and his desire to maintain his code. That is until an unlikely person offers up himself up to Batman as his own personal blood bank.

Inside the Music Box by MargueritePoretesDefenseAttorney (series, 116k+ words)

A dark comedy where the Batkids are very suspicious of Bruce's new boyfriend, a strange man who looks oddly familiar . . .

Bygone Boy by Masterofceremonies (25k+ words, WIP)

Bruce is millionaire in the public eye. His husband, Jack, is a widely known, largely mysterious artist, famous for his borderline illegal exhibitions. Their marriage has been a happy one. Mostly. Until Jack goes missing, and Bruce becomes suspect #1.

Induced Labor by fractualized (29k+ words, WIP)

After a fight in an illegal magic shop results in Bruce impregnating Joker, at least things can't get any more bizarre— except of course they can.

A Rule for A Rule by Severus_divides_into_H (34k+ words, WIP)

When Bruce walks into his new elementary school classroom, the first thing he sees is green. Green hair, green eyes, green sweater with a clown on it, green pants that look way too big. A decade later, he looks at the Joker, and all he sees is a person he once loved.

This Strange Effect by battybrownboo (19k+ words, WIP)

Batman and the Justice League are forced to harbor Joker when he accidentally gets beamed up to the Watchtower. But a clown in space will be the least of their problems.

Life is so much better when you're dead by toluenesister (167k+ words, complete)

During the two years following the Joker's escape from Arkham, Gotham gradually becomes rid of its criminal element in a particularly ghastly way. The appearances of Batman and the Joker become more and more scarce as well to the point of vanishing from the public eye, leaving the city's crime rate at an all time low. At the same time, Carmine's daughter, Sofia Falcone, decides to rebuild her father's organization, but in the course of gathering resources she accidentally finds out what both Batman and the Joker have been preoccupied with while they were away from the streets.

Dissolve & Absolve by toluenesister (63k+ words, complete)

One day the Joker decides to lay his mark on what is his, but he doesn't anticipate the magnitude of what is about to unravel.

through a glass, darkly by itallstartedwithdefenestration (series, 156k+ words)

Three months after Batman effectively disappears from society, Bruce Wayne goes to work for the Joker.

Blank Canvas by Vampowerment (21k+ words, WIP)

When Eric Border, an orderly at Arkham and an ally to Batman, tries to build a life outside of his work, he somehow keeps running into Gotham's darling, Bruce Wayne.

Hope We Can Again by blackbatsx (22k+ words, WIP)

Their original counterparts are long gone but what do you do when the universe (or multiverse for that matter) presents you with another opportunity to try again?

a world with love by railroadman, slaapkat (48k+ words, series)

A canon-divergent universe where Bruce and Joker really do love each other.

In the claws of the Owl by orphan_account (27k+ words, complete)

The Owlman, the Great bird of Sorrows, White King of Gotham, is barely human any more. There is something terrifying about the secret tyrant of Gotham who is watching all the time. The Red Hood wishes he didn't love him. The Owl had tried to drown him in chemicals, murdered his family, broken him again and again with torture, but this time Owlman has something worse in mind for his favorite pet enemy.

Kintsugi Elseworld by a_stands_for (20k+ words, complete)

A suspiciously insistent Zatanna reads Bruce's fortune, which somehow leads to an adventure in a parallel universe--one where the Joker wears a mask and cape and fights at Batman's side.

The Heart by slire (20k+ words, complete)

The Joker, sick and heartbroken, plans to recreate himself. Another scheme is in motion; one that'll shake his darling to the core and break the Bat like no one else can.

I'll Tell You No Lies by TheMidnightOwl (29k+ words, complete)

Earth-22. One mistake was all it took. In the months that pass after Bruce accidentally kills a hired gun, he must reevaluate his life, his methods, and his mission. He remembers everything the Joker has ever said to him, every taunt he ever made, every similarity they share, and this time he's listening. This time he gets the joke.

Acts of Agression by vojavodun (series, 30k+ words)

Batman confronts the Joker in a skyscraper and the night's events get physical.

Bring Down The House by ArgentNoelle (53k+ words, complete)

The Joker is the greatest performance of Jack’s life.

Madness, Domesticated by thatsnotfunny (56k+, WIP)

Bruce Wayne offers to rehabilitate Joker at the manor for the holidays. But which of them needed socialization the most?

Love isn't brains, it's blood by cutting_capers (27k+ words, complete)

He was speaking before even choosing to. “But, so many lives. If you care about Gotham, how can you end so many lives?” Bruce shook his head but was then startled out of his own daze by the raised voice of Joker across from him. “I don’t care about their lives. I care about yours!” Joker stabbed a finger in his direction, his other hand balled in a fist and his entire body rigid. After just a few moments, though, the tension broke, a high pitch of laughter bubbling out of Joker. His eyes drifted about. “They do say I’m crazy. I must be.”

Arkham by AnonGrimm (74k+ words, complete)

The Joker has landed in Arkham again with a long sentence ahead of him in solitary. While plotting his next escape, he gets a visit from the Batman. Two-Face has been wreaking havoc and Batman wants Joker to divulge clues in how to stop him or cure his madness. Joker pretends to listen as a new game begins to bloom in his fractured mind. Can he crack that cold strength and find a weakness, find a way to warp the Bat?

The Bliss of Ignorance by Crashingthisbane (Sitarsitar) (34k+ words, complete)

After getting a concussion, Bruce loses his memory. Joker crafts a new past for him. He tells Bruce that the two of them are crime-fighting partners, weaving a tangled web of half-truths and plain lies. Complex feelings ensue, for both Joker and Bruce.

Yes And by limeta (41k+ words, complete)

The Joker "yes ands" his way into having a mental breakdown. Kidnapping Tim Drake and a bunch of Rogues isn't helping. Especially because he isn't the Joker, of course, but Bruce Wayne's newest secretary. Cut him some slack, he's just trying to run some errands!

[dramatisperscnae]

There's no thought of rest. No consideration for himself as he races to get Jason stable. Each scan is read twice, the better to ensure he misses nothing, not even the barest scrap of information. There's no such thing as too meticulous here, not with Jason's life on the line.

Even when the boy's vitals do finally stabilize Bruce doesn't stop. There are more scans to run, more tests to complete to find out how Jason's come back, to see if there's a chance that whatever did this doesn't undo it.

He lost his son once already. He can't lose him again.

But every scan comes back empty, every test inconclusive. They tell him nothing he doesn't already know and answer none of the questions that weigh on his mind. But Jason is still here, stil breathing, still alive, and if there's no sign of any strange energy powering this, no sign of anything that might disappear and take Jason with it then maybe - maybe - he can relax and trust that his son is truly back, and will stay that way.

It's hours before Bruce finally sinks into a chair at Jason's bedside, his cowl pushed back, exhaustion starting to set in. One still-gauntleted hand runs through his hair as he lets out a tired breath, watching his son sleep. There have been hints, here and there, that Jason might wake up; the boy's eyes have fluttered open a time or two, though there hadn't been any consciousness behind them. All Bruce can do now is wait.

And hope.

He's not sure how long it is - he might have dozed off in his chair - before he happens to look up and see Jason watching him. For a moment he just looks back, blinking, but then he's on his feet, one hand taking Jason's so gently, the other smoothing his son's hair back. "Jason…welcome back…"

It’s touch and go, for a while. Jason’s vitals drop a few times, before they finally even out and remain steady. For the most part, he’s out of it. Still and silent. It’s several long hours before his eyelids even flutter. A time or two, his eyes actually open, half-lidded and unseeing, before closing again a few seconds later as he drifts back off.

He’s comfortable and warm the entire time. Not in any pain, his face peaceful and relaxed.

Eventually—he’s not sure how much later, his sense of time long gone—his eyes open and stay open. Jason is tired. A bone-deep exhaustion that won’t be going anywhere any time soon. But he manages to stay awake, for now.

Eyes slowly move around the room, sluggishly taking in his surroundings. He doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t recognize the place. Can’t piece any of what happened or why he’s there together, either. Thinking is like trying to swim through molasses. Everything is covered in a thick layer of fog and no matter how hard he tries to focus, he keeps losing his train of thought.

There’s a man with him, he notices after a while. A familiar one. This one means safety and warmth and home.

Dad.

Talking seems like it’ll take a monumental effort, so he doesn’t bother. Just watches him silently, though his gaze and his thoughts continue to drift away. They cut back to Dad, when he remembers again, but it’s hard to stay focused.

[thesummerstorms]

So the other thing is, in my headcanon verse, Dick and Jason (Todd) both definitely think Annabeth is dead.

She was a seven year old run away in the streets of Gotham. Neither Batman nor Jim Gordon were ever able to discover a single lead. Just from their mutual experience, the most likely options were death or trafficking that took her out of Gotham.

And at some point, after Tim became Robin (so Bruce and Dick were very tentatively starting to reconcile) but before Jason came back as Red Hood, GPD does finally find something.

Something is a damaged silver bracelet with Anna Elizabeth Wayne's initials engraved on one of the charms and a snapped link where a different charm (the elephant representing Dick Grayson) broke away.

It's an exact match for the gift Dick Grayson gave his baby sister the year she turned six, full of guilt about how little time he spent with her now that he and Bruce were barely speaking.

A hummingbird charm, in part as an indirect reference to Robin, in part because Anna reminded him of a hummingbird with her inability to sit still. A hummingbird in a flock of Robins and Bats.

A star and moon charm, for Kory who Anna idolized and who suggested the gift to begin with. Or for Bruce "I am the night" Wayne. Or as a reference to NIGHTwing. Dick's explanation changed based on his mood and the audience.

A tiny silver disk, engraved A.E.W.

A dog, just because Annabeth so badly wanted one of her own.

The bracelet is found in a crime scene full of teenage skeletons. There isn't a body that can be identified as Anna Wayne's- none are quite the right age, and none match Bruce's DNA sample- but some of the other victims are identified as run away children.

The conclusion seems pretty obvious to Jim Gordon.

Dick accepts it, grieves, and withdraws again, freezing Bruce out while he tries to come to terms with what happened.

Tim knows what's going on, but it all seems somewhat... detached somehow. As if he's watching a blurry bit of film. Like most of Gotham PD, his brain has glazed over most of the other details within the year. He doesn't have enough of a personal connection to see through Athena's manipulation of the Mist.

Bruce Wayne isn't accepting anything as fact until they actually find a body. Some gut instinct, the part of him that hold on to his subconscious impressions of Athena, tells him it isn't that simple.

He's right. The crime scene is actually a monster's nest, and one that Annabeth successfully escaped. But he doesn't know that. And he also isn't convincing anyone, including himself, that his denial doesn't stem purely from his guilt.

And then, with all of this context, a resurrected Jason Todd returns to Gotham in secret.

And, look, it's hard to imagine how his initial reunion with Bruce could have gone much worse...

But finding out that his baby sister, who despite all the other family bullshit he loved deeply, ran away from Bruce and was seemingly murdered in the same year as his own death?

Well... That's definitely not going to help.

[ilovedagain]

A story of Damian's place in his family, told in verse.

There's a book in a library in Grandfather's castle, with people's illustrations and yellowed pages. Lines connect their names and faces, forming branches spanning generations. And down at the bottom is Damian's name. Mother's face and name are there, a beautiful portrait and sprawling calligraphy. But the space for Father's place is empty. He traces his small fingers over the space where Father ought to be and wonders what the reason could be.

"Am I a bastard?" He asks Mother one day, his mouth and mind running as she runs a comb through her hair.

The comb stops. She meets his eyes in the mirror, facing him in the gilded frame. For a moment, it's as if her portrait from that book has come to life. "Why would you say that?"

"My father is never here. And his name is not in the book—the book of our family tree..."

Mother turns and holds his shoulders with careful hands. There is something in her expression that he can't understand.

"Your father is the greatest man," she says. "And you are his precious son. His name is Bruce Wayne and he lives in Gotham. One day, my love, you will meet him and know exactly how deep his love for you grows."

That is the day Damian steals the book and hopes. He hides, takes out a quill, and replicates with careful hands his family tree. It is with a child's hope that he draws sprawling leaves and bountiful apples, deep roots, and entwined branches. And in each apple, he writes a name. Ra's al Ghul. Nyssa Raatko. Mara al Ghul. Dusan al Ghul. Talia al Ghul. Bruce Wayne. And Damian al Ghul Wayne.

From then on, Mother regales him with tales of Bruce Wayne. The king who protects his city like a knight, the man whose love for people burned bright. Damian drinks up the stories he hears from Mother like thirsty roots, and he loved and loved. One day, his mother said, he will meet his father and find the same love.

Like a sprout, Damian grows. His feet are grounded, and his heart burns with sunlight. His hands are tough as tree trunks and calloused like them too. He sheds blood and bleeds from his blades. Then, night fades, dawn breaks, and his promised day comes.

He meets his father at Wayne Manor. He is everything Damian hoped he'll be. Except—

Except—

Damian is nothing his father wants him to be.

There is a family in Wayne Manor and Damian's not part of it. They come from different trees, and yet Father treats them like branches from his own pedigree. And Damian—Damian—is the unwanted one.

It doesn't make sense. It's nurture against nature. With every moment Father dotes on his wards, approves of their choices and hands them responsibilities—

but not to Damian, never, no—

Damian's heart rots. A worm finds its way into his heart and scours. He is spoiled skin streched over an eaten core. Yellowed fruit, left out, and nothing more.

And yet, he loves. He loves Father again and again: when he breaks his bones to save them all, when he admonishes Damian because he cares if his heir knows right from wrong, when he writes detailed notes about his wards and never forgets a word, and when he settles his hand on Damian's head in a rare moment—a warm weight, like feeling sunlight for the first time, and Damian leans into it.

Drunk with sunlight, he opens his sketchbook and draws the day Mother said he was ready to meet his father. It was the coldest night in the desert, with blue-tinted sand and red blood pouring from his victims. The sandstorm that shook his bones was nothing compared to the relief vibrating in his body when he heard those words: "Good work, my son. You are ready to meet your father."

There is a page in Damian's sketchbook from when he was young: a forgotten drawing of his family tree. An al Ghul is not one to concede, so Damian takes the page and tries to understand.

He reconstructs the tree with hope it will reconstruct himself. More branches. More apples. More sons and daughters, even if he has to pause because his hand shakes as he draws. Faces drawn in detail and referenced from a family photo he wasn't in.

He gives each portrait a personality. Richard Grayson is penciled in feather-light strokes, hair wind-blown. Jason Todd is inked again and again, lines darker and thicker each time. Timothy Drake is penned in simple lines and logical symmetry. Cassandra Cain is painted with a thin brush, every curve in her lips and line in her shoulders there for a reason. Alfred Pennyworth is drawn with exquisite detail in the finest fountain pen. Martha and Thomas Wayne are brushed to life with oil paint.

Father adopts new wards, Damian adds more and more. He thinks he understands. Father chose them all, but Damian he did not. There are blood ties that flow in veins, and then there are waters that flow in trees. Water may come from rivers, seas, ponds, and rain. Blood, however, is always the same.

Damian looks at the family tree he made. Father's side is vast and flourshing with new fruit. Mother's side is small and old. It looks like it's not getting enough water. Damian resolves to change that. Al Ghuls live in harmony with creatures spanning the globe and time itself. Surely, surely, he can do the same with his father's family.

He loves again and again: when he cuts through the air beside Father; when Grayson is the first to understand Father, and Drake is their first responder; when Todd swaps his bullets for rubber and Father claps his shoulder; when Damian fights with the blunt edge of his katana, and Father observes the cuts in his victims a second longer.

"Not everything is a fight."

Love feels like a fight. He fights love and it fights back. He holds his tongue with barbed wire and shoulders past names like 'Demon child'. He marks down their birthdays on his calendar because they say it matters. Leaves his heirloom daggers in the back of his closet, feels stripped naked even fully clothed, and tells himself it doesn't matter. He loves, and he remembers those words—"you will meet him and know exactly how deep his love for you grows"—and he finds his mother's side of the family on a blacklist, and silent stares are trained on him whenever "Ra's" is uttered as a suspect.

"Did he kill again? Whose blood is that?"

He loves again and again. The inside of his heart is flayed and raw, red lines crisscrossing his love. He loves until it consumes his heart, and then he loves again. When Cain is Father's choice for a partner and Damian is an obligation. When Drake is entrusted with a business empire and Damian is watched out of the corner of their eyes when he holds a kitchen knife. When Grayson is away and Father calls him, Damian is always here and Father seldom speaks to him. When Father suggests books for Todd to read and frowns at the men lying dead in a desert in Damian's sketchbook.

"Don't draw these things, Damian. Violence is not to be glorified."

He loves. And he loves. He loves and stays awake nights wondering why his family's love is a forbidden fruit. He deeply yearns but he's not allowed it. He reaches towards it and it reaches opposite. He kills little parts of himself to have it and it can easily live without him.

"Who did he kill this time?"

There is a page in a sketchbook in Damian's closet. With people's illustrations and fraying edges. Lines connect their names and faces, forming branches sprouting apples. And down at the bottom, is Damian's name. On his mother's decaying branches. The poisoned apples.

[theconstantsidekick]

Avengers: Age Of Ultron ft. Static (2) | s.r

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Fluff with hidden angst.

Summary: So apparently everyone and their mother knows that Steve doesn't want to move in with Y/n. She now very desperately needs him to tell her why?

(These scenes incorporate y/n, yet to be codenamed—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Drinking, lot of cursing, mentions of death of parents, past traumas, feelings.

a/n: am I back? maybe. who knows? don't look a gift horse in the mouth, okay? enjoy it while it lasts.

Avengers : Age of Ultron ft. Static (1) | Avengers: Age of Ultron ft. Static (3) | Series Masterlist | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

“Hey Y/n!” Bruce waves at her over the small scattered crowd. He seems so excited to see her as if they haven’t seen each other in ages. Like they didn’t just come back from a mission they worked on, together. As if they don’t meet every other Tuesday to drink overpriced whiskey and bitch about Tony. Like they don’t have each other on speed dial.

She smiles watching him make his way over to her through the crowd, “Hiya Bruce.”

“Ah shit,” he curses under his breath as his drink sloshes, dripping a little onto his fingers. God Banner, she thinks. Hope the green guy’s not this clumsy. Licking his fingers clean, he looks up at her with a kind smile. “How—how’s it going?”

She thinks for a second or so, “Going as well as things can go once you discover the organization you were working for was secretly infiltrated by Nazis,” she takes a sip of her drink.

“Messy?”

She smiles over the rim of her glass of whiskey before agreeing, “Messy.”

Bruce nods, shifting like he’s trying to settle something in his head. “Yeah, yeah. That makes sense.” He looks around, eyes darting—nervous. Why would he be nervous? “What about—how’s the weather been lately?”

Y/n squints. “In Manhattan? You mean two blocks from where you live?”

The look on the man’s face is proof enough that he realizes he’s been caught.

“I’ve seen you butt naked like 17 times now—”

"That’s on Tony!" Bruce defends immediately. "He kept pretending the stretchable shorts were taking too long!"

She waves him off. "My point is, the time for small talk is far behind us, I can’t even see it in the rear view mirror. Can you just spit it out?”

That seems to shut Bruce up. He clams up. Scratches the back of his head.

She waits.

Until she can’t anymore. “Spit it out, Banner. Ideally before you give yourself a hernia.”

Bruce hesitates for a second before taking a step closer. He looks around in short quick motions, before he leans in and speaks just above a whisper, “I—I heard about the Steve situation…” He shrugs, she stiffens. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

She knew it was coming.It’s been coming at her all fucking night. First Tony and Nat, then Rhodey, Hill and Sam, then Thor, of all people—and now Bruce too? She’s beyond pissed off. "What Steve situation?" she asks, voice deceptively light.

His brows knit together as he straightens, gathering courage “The one whe—where he doesn’t wanna move in with you.” The statement comes out more as a question than an answer.

And just like that, Y/n is going to kill someone. 

“Who the fuck told you that?” She damn near shouts.

Bruce instantly takes a step back. “No one.”

“Banner,” she takes a step forward. “Who the fuck told you that?”

Another step back. “No one.”

A step forward. “Banner.”

The way Bruce physically shrinks, you’d forget he moonlights as the big green raging beast.

“Will you kill the person who told me?” He asks. She knows him well enough by now to know that Bruce is weighing the danger to himself versus whoever the other person is. He’s trying to find the most peaceful way out of the situation.

“Depends on the person,” she answers diplomatically.

Bruce sighs, resigned. “Then you’ll definitely kill him.”

She takes another step forward. Her movements are too quick for Bruce to react to them, outside of his eyes widening at the realization that she’s grabbing the collar of his shirt.

“Spill it. Banner.”

Giving the answer is the only way out of this now. So it falls easily from his lips.

“Steve.”

Alright then. 

Y/n is going to kill Steve Rogers.

She drops Bruce’s collar, fixes his shirt in efficient motions—because she’s not a fucking heathen.

“Thanks, Bruce.” She pecks his cheek before marching straight for the damn Golden Boy.

Steve’s not hard to spot. Not really. Not ever.

Steve Rogers is always the easiest for her to find. While her brother is prone to be found in hidden, forbidden corners, her boyfriend is the exact opposite. Where Tony demands your attention, Steve somehow just attracts it. His presence is strong and constant, and you can feel it even when you don’t see it. Sometimes Y/n thinks she can feel it from across the room on her fingertips. It always feels tangible.

It must have something to do with being the most impressive person in most rooms, especially during the war, she presumes. Back then when super people were few and far between. There was just him. The only successful super soldier. He must have walked into rooms, and respect, attention and curiosity must have followed. She is aware of the fact that Steve, the real one, the one before Captain America, wasn’t used to all the attention. Wasn’t even used to people looking his way. He’d told her on one of their countless shared sleepless nights that he’d never gotten used to the feeling of people making the way for him. He’d never gotten used to leading the way for people either but that somewhat came easier to him than the understanding that his voice carried weight. His opinions held value. His words being heard was so new to the boy from Brooklyn, he’d told her he believed he was never going to get used to it. 

But Y/n didn’t believe him. Not that she thought he was lying. 

No, not lying. She thinks he just hasn’t taken account of how much he’s changed since then. 

Or maybe, she just views him differently because well… You know how things are when you’re in lov—attracted to someone. 

You scan the room for their face the moment you walk in. No matter who you’re talking to, your focus snaps back like a cosmic magnet. When you crack a joke, your first thought is—did they laugh? Because, fuck the rest of the universe, that’s all that matters. Even when they’re across the room, lost in their own chatter, your body just knows where they are, like an invisible tether. And when they’re not even glancing your way—damn, especially then—you’re watching. Because you’re hopelessly, ridiculously, utterly hooked.

Basically what she means is that, Y/n is always watching Steve. 

He seems like he’s gotten more than comfortable making his presence known.

She can see it now as she walks over to Steve as he’s talking to Hill and Rhodey. He’s smiling, the smile he smiles when he’s trying to charm the people around him. It’s different from the one she gets, that one’s shy and reserved. This one—it’s all bright and shiny, just like the Golden boy himself.

“Hey, handsome,” she calls out, sweeter than honey.

Steve’s smile switches instantly at the sound of her voice. He looks at her and she can see his eyes soften. “Hey there, doll.”

“Why the fuck are you going around telling people you don’t wanna fucking move in with me?” 

His smile drops instantly. 

Rhodey and Hill follow suit.

“Let’s move this somewhere private—It seems like my girl’s going to kill me,” Steve offers as an explanation before he gently grabs her hand and begins moving towards the balcony. She follows without any effort from his part. “I’d prefer it if it weren’t all that public. Wouldn’t want our lawyer going to jail,” He calls out over his shoulder as he holds the door open for her to step out.

She does.

Walking over to the railing, she exhales audibly trying to let go of the anger she’s built up over the course of the evening. 

“You alright there, doll?” He asks, his tone too damn sweet.

FUCK!

Focus, Y/n!

“No. No, Steve. Quite the fucking opposite. I’m dead set on the idea of murdering you, I’m sure I can lawyer my way out of jail.” She’s… exhausted.

He finally walks up to her then. Leaning on the rails, he looks at her. “What am I being charged with, Miss Stark?”

“Defamation.”

He smiles then. Fucking charmer. “And how did I defame my girl?”

“You’re going around telling people you don’t want to live with me—which is absolutely fine, by the way. I just want to know why you won’t tell me that to my face?” She’s so curious, some might deem it as desperation. 

His stance changes. He can clearly hear the vulnerability in her voice. “I didn’t say that to your face because it’s not true. I told you. I want to live in Brooklyn, and you want to live in New York. I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re at my place five nights a week, Steve. You think two more will be an imposition?”

He shakes his head, “Doll—”

She’s not in the mood for bullshit. “Steve, I will never ask you to do something that you don’t want to do. If you think moving in together would be a step we’re taking too soon, I understand that. To me life isn’t all that short as people make it out to be.” She can hear a laugh in some corner of her mind. It sounds suspiciously like Tony. “I would never mind taking things slow.”

“It’s not that, Y/n.” His head falls.

“What is it then?” 

“Doll…”

The thing about their relationship is that despite all the affections the two hold for each other, it’s clear—beyond clear that both of them hold secrets they aren’t willing to throw out in the open.

She shakes her head, “Look, Steve… I—I… I understand that this is new for you. I get that. It’s new for me too. I get that it must be scary, but you have to understand that it’s terrifying for me too.”

“Oh come on, Y/n! You flirt like it’s part of your job description and you do it well enough that you should be billing me for it. What do you have to be terrified of?” Steve throws back. He says it casually, or at least tries to. But the way his eyes skirt away from hers, she knows he’s trying to hide what he really feels. However, she doesn’t like the insinuation all the same. 

“What do I—Steve, do you even want this?” 

He straightens at the accusation, all tall, blond and buff. “What makes you think I don’t?”

She tilts her head, takes in the sight of him. The broad shoulders, the cocked brow, the challenge in his eyes, she relishes all of it. It’s hard not to—when it’s him. When it’s Steve. “The same thing that makes you scared,” she answers him with the same resolution. She watches his brow scrunch together slightly, either at being caught or in confusion, she’s not sure. “I know… I know that we don’t talk about it, that there’s this big fat elephant in every single room we share, and we never address it. We should—we really should talk about it, but we don’t…” She clenches her jaw, gathering courage, “I’ve got a bag full of secrets and you want a peak… I can’t particularly blame you for your curiosity, but I’d rather we could just—”

“Just?”

“I just wish we could move past it,” she admits softly.

Steve inhales audibly and slowly. “It’s not that simple, Y/n.”

“It’s not that complicated either, Steve,” she tells him. “I know you don’t trust me—”

“I trust you.”

The way he says it, it compels her to look at him. And when she does, she’s struck hard by the determination in them.

“I trust you,” he reiterates, “with my life.”

“Just not with your heart.” It’s a painful admission, and just as painful an accusation. She can see the hurt in her chest reflected back in his eyes.

“That’s not fair, Y/n,” he says, voice more broken than it has any reason to be. She’s the one who should be hurt, goddamn it.

“Maybe not,” she acquiesces, “but it is true… isn’t it?”

His head falls, he crumbles. He’s ashamed, because she isn’t wrong. She hit the nail on the head, and it seems the head might have been his. She might have been aware of that while striking the hammer, but guilt blooms inside her all the same.

“Look, Y/n—it’s—” His hands run through his hair in frustration, he turns away for a second before he turns back to her. He’s trying to buy time to come up with the right words.

“Not that simple?” She guesses, laughing a hollow laugh. “Then let me simplify this for you—you don’t see a future with me.”

His face morphs instantly to annoyance, “Who told you that? I know for a fact that I never said it, so who did? Huh? Who told you that I don’t?”

“I can see it in your eyes, Rogers,” she admits, words broken, eyes wet. 

“Then look again.” He’s a strong man, that Rogers. His words always carry weight, especially when he wants them too, sometimes even when he doesn’t.

“I’m looking, handsome, and all’s I see is doubt.”

His jaw clenches, his stance changes.

There’s a fight afoot.

Time for talking it out is behind them.

“Just say it, Steve.” She’s not going to like what comes next.

“I don’t know you.”

Yeah, she doesn’t just not like it, she fucking loathes this.

Steve continues, perhaps a little unaware of the damage his words must be inflicting. “I don’t know you. I—I try to look past it, I try to find some comfort in the fact that I know that you hate coffee and bubblegum, that you smoke when you’re worried, that you cry like a baby when watching movies, not because they are sad, but because they are grand. I know that you are sharing as much of yourself as you possibly can, but—” He meets her head on, like he’s going into battle. And who knows? Maybe he is.“But I also know that you wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, scared and terrified. And all I want is to pull into my arms and protect you from whatever you’re afraid of—except I have no fucking clue what that is.” He takes a step towards her, “I—I want to build a life with you, Y/n. I want a future with you.” Motherfucker. “But how the hell am I supposed to do that when I know nothing about your past.”

For anyone paying attention, her heart is breaking into a million pieces right about now.

“You don’t need to know everything about me to know me, Steve. My past—it’s fucking irrelevant.” It’s not the answer he wants, but it’s the only one she has to offer.

“I’m not asking you to tell me every sordid detail about your entire life—I’m just asking for something, anything… Throw me a fucking line, doll. I’m drowning here,” Steve pleads. He actually, well and truly pleads. He’s bordering on begging at this point. “I want this to be more—so much more, but it feels like maybe you don’t. From where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot more like you’re the one who doesn’t want this, instead of the other way round.”

Fucking hell.

Motherfucking, cocksucking hell.

Goddamnit.

She throws him the line.

“I was born in Madripoor.”

“What?” Steve asks, looking absolutely lost.

She gulps down her heart that’s beating at the speed of light and repeats herself, though this time, her voice wavers ever so slightly. “I was born in Madripoor. That’s where I’m from… or was from, before Howard Stark took me in.”

And he takes it in. He takes in this little tiny piece of information like he’s been handed the Holy Chalice. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling too exposed.

“Why do you call him Howard and not—you know—Dad?”

Her arms cross over her chest before she even realizes she’s doing it, as if her body is trying to hold itself together. She shrugs, trying for nonchalance, but it’s a little too rehearsed. “‘Cause I had a dad. And he was nothing like Howard. He was soft spoken and generous when he shouldn’t have been. He had kind eyes, calluses on his palms and he always smelled like tar.” She can’t meet his eyes when she speaks. “I’m not saying he was the exact opposite of Howard… But yeah, I guess that is what I’m saying.” She looks out over the balcony, at the seemingly endless New York skyline. She exhales sharply, her breath shaky, and grips the balcony railing. The cool metal helps ground her. “My dad was my dad. And Howie was Howie. I don’t know if that makes sense to you, and I don’t think I could explain it even if I tried to… Howard was the man who saved me, but that doesn’t mean he gets to replace my dad.”

“What…” 

She can tell what he wants to ask, and she can tell he’s scared to—because he doesn’t want to push. He’s gotten a sliver and he’s afraid he’ll lose it if he asks for more.

She’s already thrown him the rope, why not give it some slack, huh? 

“What happened to him?” She finishes for him, her voice sharper than before. Her eyes are avoiding looking at him like the plague, and yet, she catches him nodding in her peripheral vision.

Y/n’s grip tightens around the railing. Her shoulders lock up, and for a second, she considers not answering.

But it’s Steve—her Steve, so the words tumble out anyway. “He died—or I think he did… Madripoor is a violent place, a pirate island for all the bad guys from your rogues gallery to go and hide out in… A fight broke out between two rival factions and we got caught in the middle of it. He got me to safety, but then went back to see if he could help any other stragglers… I never saw him again.” Her throat feels tight, but she keeps her voice even. Controlled. “I was six years old.”

“And your mom?” His voice is quiet when he speaks again.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Dad used to talk about her like she was an angel. He told me I was two when we lost her,” she answers just as quietly.

“Does that mean…?”

“I don’t know what it means, Steve.” She kicks the ground a little frustrated, at him, but mostly at herself for being able to give out only broken bits of herself to the man she…  “Maybe she died, maybe she was taken… Or maybe it means that she left us, and he just didn't know how to tell that to a little kid asking about her mom.” Her voice is sharper now, meaner, because if she doesn’t lash out, she might actually have to sit with this awful, disgusting feeling crawling under her skin. Her body feels too tight, like she’s trapped in a room with no exits. “It could mean anything.”

“Did you ever look for them?” He asks, taking a step closer to her.

Her grip on the railing tightens. “Have you ever been to Madripoor?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“But you have heard of it?”

“Yes.”

“Anything good?”

“Not really, no,” he answers, a little defeated.

She snorts. “On average, 23 people go missing from Lowertown alone…” She waits for the fact to register with him. And then she finally turns to him and adds, “Every week.” Steve’s brows fly up in shock. Then she can’t stop herself from smirking at his surprise. “Looking for them—” she shakes her head with a broken smile. “It would be easier to find a singular bullet in a warzone.”

Something shifts between them. Something shifts in him.

“You’re gonna punch me in the face if I ask you anything else, aren’t you?” He asks, but it’s not a question, it’s a statement. She can hear his smile in his words.

Her jaw clenches, and she decides to reply anyway. “There is a distinct possibility of that happening, yes.”

She hears him chuckle softly to her right. “This is really hard for you.”

“It would be easier if I were a little less sober, but… yes. It is.” Finally, letting go of the railing, she pockets her hands. She stands taller. “However, losing you over this—losing you cause I couldn’t do one hard thing, that would be… harder.” She turns to him then, ready and strong. “I don’t think I’d survive it.”

For a second Steve doesn’t move. He doesn’t let the moment dissolve, either. “You’re not losing me, doll. You can’t.” Then, before she can react—before she can think too hard about it—he just hugs her.

She freezes. Body going stiff like she’s just been handed a live grenade.

Part of her is scared of it, part of her hasn’t readjusted to the change in the tone of the conversation. Part of her is screaming at her to put some distance between herself and the man who holds her whole heart in the palm of his hand. Because what if he decides this isn’t enough? She’s… she’s scared. So, she should pull away.

Instead, her hands fist into the back of his shirt and she holds on.

Steve Rogers is built like a damn fortress, all solid muscle and unwavering steadiness. He’s warm, too warm, like he’s been storing up all this body heat just to throw her off. 

Unfair.

They stay like that, longer than she should probably allow.

Then, she hears him exhale against her hair. 

“When I came out of the ocean, I didn’t think this world had anything for me.” His voice is low, warm—dangerous, in the way it makes her chest feel like it’s coming apart at the seams. “I felt out of place, out of time,” he continues, like this is just casual conversation and not the kind of thing that makes her heart kick wildly against her ribs. “I didn’t feel like I belonged here—or anywhere.” She should say something. Deflect, make a joke, give him an easy out. But all she does is breathe. “But you changed that.”

Her throat closes up.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away—if anything, his arms tighten around her. “Doll, you keep me grounded.” His breath is warm against her temple, too close, too much, just enough. “You make me feel like I belong here.”

She hates this. She hates how much she doesn’t hate this.

Steve doesn’t let her slip away into her own head. Instead, he pulls back just enough to look at her��just enough to make sure she’s listening. “You think it’s a coincidence that you’re always in my line of sight in every room I walk into?” he murmurs, like he’s letting her in on a secret he’s been keeping forever.

She blinks up at him, half-annoyed, half-trapped in his gravity. “I mean, yeah? Maybe?”

He just laughs, low and disbelieving, shaking his head. “Doll, you seriously think I just happen to catch your eye from across the bar?” His fingers are still cupping her face, thumbs skimming over her cheek like she’s something fragile. Her pulse trips over itself. “You think I don’t engineer every situation to always be within your earshot?” he goes on, the absolute menace. “To listen to you laugh? To listen to you cuss with that sailor’s mouth?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, “So you’re saying you stalk me?”

Steve grins. “I prefer ‘strategically position myself in your general vicinity.’” Smooth talker. Then, softly—almost reverently—he leans in. “You’re like a hurricane, doll,” he murmurs, voice barely a whisper. “You’re the eye of the storm. I’m caught in your field, and I have no clue how to get out.”

Her fingers tighten around his forearm, her whole body thrumming with the tension between them. “Do you want to?” she asks, her voice quieter now, just for him. “Get out?”

“No, doll. No.” His nose ghosts over hers, his lips just barely grazing hers as he whispers, “I think I’d suffocate if I tried.”

She barely has time to take a breath before his lips finally, finally press against hers. And—god help her—he kisses like he means it. Like he’s been holding back for longer than he can stand. Like she’s the first breath of air after being underwater too long.

She sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the front of his shirt to keep herself grounded. But it’s useless—because everything, everything, is spinning. Or maybe she is. Maybe it’s him. Because Steve Rogers kisses like devotion—like he’s trying to tell her something with every tilt of his mouth, every slow, intentional slide of his lips against hers.

And she gets it.

She gets it in the way his hands cradle her like she’s something precious, something unshakable and breakable all at once. She gets it in the way he sighs into her, relieved, like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole damn life. Her fingers tangle into his hair, yanking him closer, and—god help him—he groans.

That sound. 

That fucking sound.

It’s low and rough and wrecked, like he’s just barely keeping it together. And that? That’s her favorite thing now. So she does it again—tugs a little harder, just to hear it.

Steve grins against her mouth. “You’re a menace,” he mutters, voice warm and wrecked, kissing her deeper like it’s a challenge.

“And you’re—” she inhales sharply as his fingers slip beneath the hem of her backless dress, dragging slow and teasing along her waist.

“What was that, doll?” he asks, his lips brushing hers as he speaks. Smug bastard.

She glares at him, though it loses some weight considering she’s half-dizzy from the way he’s touching her. “I was gonna say, you’re making it real hard to think right now.”

Steve hums, lazy and pleased, his hands still mapping out every inch of skin they can reach. 

She is so incredibly screwed.

“You wanna stop?” he murmurs, lips skimming down her jaw, pressing the softest kiss right below her ear.

And—oh, she fucking hates him.

Because he knows what he’s doing. Knows exactly how her breath stutters, how she grips his shirt tighter, how she’s not pushing him away. Y/n exhales shakily, tilting her head just a little to the side, just enough to let him keep going. “Did I say that?” she breathes.

His answering chuckle is low and rough, and it vibrates against her skin like a goddamn earthquake. “No, doll,” he murmurs, lips brushing right over her pulse. “No, you didn’t.”

Her fingers curl into his hair, holding him there, keeping him close.

This is dangerous.

This is everything.

And fuck if that matters.

She just wants him.

So she tugs him back up to her, kisses him hard, kisses him until he stops teasing, until he stops holding back and just— 

Lets go.

And when he does?

It wrecks her.

Because Steve isn’t careful now. He isn’t measured or hesitant—he’s all in. He kisses her like he’s making up for lost time, like he’s been waiting for this since the moment he met her, and maybe he has.

“God, handsome—” she breathes against his lips, knowing full well what that nickname does to him.

It absolutely undoes him.

Steve groans again, deeper this time, and then—suddenly—her back is against the railing.

She huffs a laugh, breathless, wrecked, fingers dragging down his chest. “Oh, so now you’re impatient?”

Steve just grins, pressing another kiss to her smirking mouth. “Doll, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

God bless her, she is half a second away from yanking Steve right back down to her when—

A slow, sarcastic clap rings out behind them.

“Wow,” a familiar voice drawls. “This is adorable. Really. Hallmark should be taking notes. You two got the tension, the longing gazes, the obvious ‘we were just about to make questionable decisions’ body language…” He sighs dramatically. “Chef’s kiss.” He does the fucking action too, the freak.

She doesn’t even jerk away.

No, she closes her eyes. Exhales through her nose. Prays for strength. Then, slowly, very slowly, she pulls back and turns toward the absolute menace standing in the doorway.

And there he is.

Tony Stark. Billionaire. Genius. Her own personal tormentor.

He’s leaning against the doorway, drink in hand, smirking like he just walked in on the biggest scandal of the century.

“Tony.” Her voice is sweet, lethal. “We practically raised each other which means this can’t be a fault in your nurturing, so it has to be a personal failing.”

Tony places a dramatic hand over his heart. “Wow. What a way to greet your only living relative.”

Y/n tilts her head. “Oh, I’m sorry. You want a warm welcome? Here you go.” She flips him off.

Steve makes a choking sound next to her, trying—failing—not to laugh.

“Wow. Harsh.” Tony scrunches his nose in mild disappointment. “Here I am, simply looking for my beloved sister, only to find her engaging in a very public display of affection with none other than Captain America himself.” His head tilts, eyebrows waggling. “Safe to guess, you two kissed and made up?”

Y/n doesn’t miss a beat. “If I were you I’d be a lot less concerned about our relationship and a lot more worried about that balding situation you got going on.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, sorry, I mean the graying situation. My bad.”

Steve clears his throat, valiantly trying to fight back a grin.

Tony scoffs. “Okay, first of all, my hair is immaculate. Secondly, that was a cheap shot.”

Y/n shrugs, all innocence. “You were asking for it.”

“Asking for it—?” Tony gestures wildly. “I came out here to bring you two back into the fold, and instead, I’m being attacked.” He turns to Steve, pointing at him accusingly. “You see this? She didn’t give me nearly this much lip before you two became a thing.”

Steve, to his credit, stays neutral. “You did interrupt us, Tony.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tony puts a hand to his ear. “Did you just say I interrupted something important? Well, that’s just tragic.”

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Did you need something, or did you just come out here to be an Olympic-level pain in my ass?”

Tony gasps. “Language.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Tony points at him. “You don’t get to say anything, Mr. ‘Don’t-Cuss-in-Front-of-Me.’”

She tilts her head to hide her smile. “Seriously, what do you want?”

Tony takes a casual sip of his drink. “Oh, just thought I’d check in. Seeing as, you know, you made a very public proclamation of murdering the Golden Boy here,” he points to Steve with glass in hand. “People inside are wondering if our fearless leader bit the bullet at the hands of our lawyer.” He pauses there and smiles at her. “But I see you lacked the follow through.”

Y/n snorts. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

Tony clicks his tongue, provoking, “You are getting soft.”

She accepts the challenge happily. “Or maybe I’m saving my bloodthirst for the dickhead who’s cockblocking me right now?”

Tony squints. “See, that I believe.”

Steve, ever the mediator, clears his throat. “You said people were wondering where we were?”

“Oh, right.” Tony waves a vague hand. “The party’s still going, people are still drinking, and Clint is still coping with the emotional fallout of being the only guy who didn’t know about the two of you being a thing—blind idiot.” Tony rolls his eyes. “But more importantly—” He straightens, flashing his most obnoxiously confident smirk yet. “I came out here because there is, at this very moment, an ongoing bet about a very important question—” he pauses for dramatic effect, “—who is Y/n Stark’s favorite Avenger?”

Y/n blinks. “You people need day jobs.”

Tony ignores her. “Now, obviously, the answer is me.” He takes a sip of his drink, completely self-assured. “But, for some reason, some people think that might not be the case.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “People bet on that?”

“Oh, yes.” Tony nods. “The stakes are high, Cap. Sam, Hill, Barton and Thor put down fifty on me, because, obviously, I’m the correct answer. Apart from Rhodey, the rest of them think it’s Capsicle. Which—” He throws a hand in the air, visibly disgusted. “Come on! That’s fucking delusional.”

Steve smirks. “Wow, Tony. That almost hurt.”

Tony waves him off. “Oh, don’t get sensitive on me, Spangles. You’re in second place at best. I mean, let’s be real—she’s not picking you over me.”

Humming, thinking for a long, deliberate second, she responds with, “Huh.”

Tony’s smirk widens. “Huh? Huh? That sounds like an agreement.”

She shrugs at that, noncommittal. “Sounds like a word, Tony.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “No, no, no. I don’t like that answer. I need definitive confirmation that I’m number one.”

Y/n tilts her head, smiling just enough to be dangerous. “Hate to break it to you, Stark, but if you needed confirmation… doesn’t that mean you’re not sure?”

Tony stares at her. Then blinks. Then—

“Oh, that’s dirty.”

It makes her grin, wide and proud.

Steve, who has been watching this like it’s the best show of his life, finally steps in, looking at her with a smug little smile. “You could just tell him, you know.”

She turns to him, giving him an exaggerated look. “And stroke his already overinflated ego? No chance.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “You love messing with him.”

She smirks. “He makes it so easy.”

Tony throws up his hands. “Oh fuck off! It’s bullying like this that made Dad like you more.”

She makes a face. “Howard liked me more only ‘cause I was committing tax fraud for him.”

Steve chokes. “I’m sorry—what?”

Y/n waves a hand. “It’s fine. I fixed it… Mostly.” She shakes her head, “That’s not the point. Point is, don’t use your Dad as a way to get back at me. You know I hate that.”

“Only if you come back in and state for once and for all that I am indeed and in fact your favorite Avenger,” Tony throws back.

She’s caught absolutely fucking off-gard when Steve’s lips brush against her here, voice velvet smooth and painfully sensual, “No chance of it being me, doll?”

Y/n shivers before she can stop herself. Her fingers tighten in his shirt, eyes flicking up to meet his, and—damn him—he looks so unbelievably smug right now. “Wow,” she mutters, half breathless, half impressed. “Using your raw sex appeal to win a bet? That’s shameless, Rogers.”

Steve grins. “Nobody could tell it from all the bickering, but you two are inseparable—I needed an edge.” He places a soft kiss on her temple.

Tony gags loudly. “Oh my god, save it for literally anywhere else. The tension in here is gonna set off the sprinklers and ruin this killer outfit,” he says motioning to his magnificent three piece wine red suit—which she picked, B T dubs.

Fucking narsissit, she thinks to herself. “You love making everything about you.”

Tony smirks. “Well, yeah. I am your favorite.”

Y/n tilts her head. “You think you are.”

Tony narrows his eyes again. “I hate this game.”

“Yet, here you are,” she grins.

Tony exhales dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine. Fine! You win, okay?” He sighs, rubbing his temple like this is physically painful. “I love you, to the moon and back, obviously.”

She smiles.

He groans at her expression, pointing at her. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Laughing she throws back, “Like what?”

“Like I just handed you the emotional equivalent of my bank account.” He shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” 

She is still smiling when Tony rolls his shoulders, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His voice softens just a fraction. “Now can you please come back inside and grab a drink with me?” He clears his throat, glancing away like this isn’t a big deal. “I have barely seen you outside of missions, and—maybe I miss you, alright?”

And with that, he turns and walks back inside.

Steve watches him go, then sighs. “We should probably head back. I feel like a jerk stealing you away from him.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Steve, we got drunk and worked on his suit two nights ago. He just likes being dramatic.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. 

“What?” She asks, confused.

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

She smiles at him, considering. “As much as I’d like to answer that question with the dirtiest, cheesiest one liners I can think of, we really should go inside—He doesn’t actually say he misses me all that often,” she reasons with him. But before she follows Tony in, she leans in close to Steve, voice soft but teasing. “This isn’t over.”

Steve grins, brushing his knuckles against hers. “Not even close.”

She smiles against his shoulder for half a second, then pulls him toward the party.

Read the next part here. Find other static verse works here.  Read The Avengers (ft. Static) here.

i'll tag people later. i'm real tired, it's been a long day. i just wanna get this out and be showered in comments and reblog.

i'm looking at you. yeah you! reblog this with funny tags. do it!

[dramatisperscnae]

Each of his boys proteges has had something they excel at. One thing that stands out above everything else. Dick's acrobatics, Jason's tenacity…all of it is on his mind as he watches Tim work. Watches him move through the kick himself, watches his balance waver, watches him try again.

And again.

Tim's specialty, Bruce is coming to learn, is his diligence. His attention to detail, certainly, as well as his observational skills, but most especially his diligence. The boy doesn't give up easily - or at all from what Bruce has seen of him - and he doesn't shy away from hard work.

Neither does he demand to be handed the answers. Certainly, now that Tim's slowing himself down, Bruce can see exactly what he's doing wrong, when it's happening, and how to correct it…but he doesn't need to tell the boy. He can see the moment that it clicks for Tim, the sudden shift in the boy's stance and posture, the smoother movement that follows.

"…Better," Bruce offers with the slightest of smiles. Of course he's proud of the boy; the ability to study oneself critically, to find one's own mistakes, is an important one. "Now keep doing it. Your body has to learn the right movement, and you will have to continually re-teach it until you stop growing. Run all your usual drills at that speed for a week and we'll see what the results are."

Ice blue eyes remain fixed on Bruce's movements, watching the way limbs and joints move and how the muscles flex, picking out where things line up. Watching Bruce move slow and understanding how slow is smooth and therefore, smooth is fast. Every movement, every flex, every angle. He's watching and memorising.

Tim isn't fluid like Dick, appearing to completely lack bones sometimes with the way he can twist and bend himself.

He stands next to Bruce, copying the movements he'd just witnessed. Shift his balance, raise his knee, aim- ...his balance is off. Try again.

Readjust. Knee up, aim, kick... that didn't feel right either. Leg back in aim again.

Tim also doesn't hit hard like Jason had. He can only imagine the kind of physical power house Jason might have grown to be if he'd had the chance.

Kick... okay there's the problem. The leg doesn't look right. Think about it... compare it to how Bruce's leg looked... back to neutral and extend again. And again. And again. Ah hah! His whole leg is turning inward, it's not just his hip that's shifting. Back to neutral. Try. Again. Knee up, aim, slowly extend the leg for now. In and out until he can keep his leg turned out where it's supposed to be.

But what Tim does have is persistence and a sharp mind. He's starting with less skill and practice than Dick or Jason, he is always going to be in Jason's shadow. He knows that. He can live with it. He just has to work harder to get to where they both were. His small size is an advantage, he can move quicker than larger enemies.

Balance. Leg up. Aim. Kick. Shift the hips. All in reverse to return to neutral. He looked up at Bruce, a proud smile on his face as he waited for the man's judgement.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Batfam quotes as quotes from my dnd group (part 3) (also including some from my homeland security class because it fits)

Bruce:"Whatever helps you sleep at night" Jason:"I sleep just fine- I have no guilty concensus" Tim:“Is a skateboard considered technology”? Duke:“You are victim blaming rn” Damian:“I am because it's the victim's fault”

Steph:“Not to kink shame- but I felt shame” Dick:“I don't wear socks from April to November” Duke:“As like a rule”? Kon:“Fireball-” Tim:“Actually,Lightning ball-” Bart + Cassie, in unison:“Alleged ball” Jason:“So obviously people have feet fetishes- but I have a foot phobia, they don't belong on a body” Damian:“Did you know every winter they kick all the drones out to freeze to death” Steph:“That's so valid- girlboss moment” Jason:"I'm sorry but if that makes you a white supremacists, you gotta stop the weed"

Steph:“What do you have against sharks”? Cass:“I think we're in mutual competition” Tim:“...Care to elaborate”? Cass:“Well were winning- humankind verse sharks” Steph:“OH I thought you meant You vs the sharks” Dick:“I'll allow you to talk- or I will accept an answer in the form of interpretive dance”

[dramatisperscnae]

@arobinwithoutbatman

Ooohhhhh no. Noooooo no no no no no not now! This is the worst time for this! Okay... okay... just breathe. Mid patrol is the absolute worst time to feel that itch under his skin and hear that static in his ears. In his defence, it's been a long few nights plus attending school and he's only just gotten over the mess with Azrael and he hasn't exactly had a chance to mention his broken brain to Bruce. Not that he really wants to... Robin will likely be taken away. But he can't exactly hide the way he's getting more agitated by the sound of distant sirens. Everything has been scratching and grating at his frayed nerves for the last couple of days, he hasn't had a minute to just be. There's always something. And he feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin and he just wants dark and quiet and... and... he's hiding under Batman's cape before he fully registers what he's doing.

It's taken a little adjustment, coming back to the suit after Bane. There are nights when, even after Shondra healed his back perfectly, he still feels that phantom pain, still wakes up in a cold sweat panicking about not feeling his legs. Add that to trying to mitigate the damage Jean-Paul did while wearing the cowl, and Bruce has had quite a lot on his mind in the past few weeks.

Enough, in fact, that he hasn't even noticed Tim having issues. The boy is surprisingly capable, and while they've been pulling some long hours recently it shouldn't be too much for the lad. And he'll speak up if he does have trouble, or so Bruce assumes; Tim's been fairly forthright about such things in the past, unafraid to speak his mind and even badger him into basic self-care when needed.

That should never have been Tim's job, of course, but by now that's a very moot point.

Shifting his weight, Bruce is about to rise from his crouch on the edge of the roof only to pause when he feels the weight against his back, the faint warmth through the suit that has his heart stuttering for a moment. Fortunately he catches the name he was about to say even as he glances back; this is Tim.

Tim, not Jason.

And Tim looks…overwhelmed. A shade too pale, head ducked down, breath uneven…

"Robin?" He keeps his voice low. Soft. Audible over the ambient sounds of the city, but hopefully gentle enough not to make things worse.

[wolfsrainrules]

Me, Staring into the Night: Oh No

Discussed with @deepwithintheabyss on discord, and as a result:

I'm just Saying. I have been contemplating a Jurassic World in DC verse (with the understanding that I have not actually READ nor SEEN much DC content and am working off fandom.)

Jurassic World, as in, a JW that has done the work to hide and defend their island from super villains and various heroes poking their heads in. The full nine yards, everything they could possibly stop- and all that focus on "outside" threats? It's what allows the internal issues that result in the mess that is JW.

The thing though? Jurassic World still needs sponsors and Batfam has still been trying to get a look into that- because it should not be left unchecked. Legally they can't send a hero in. But Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of WE and potential sponsor and good word on JW? That they would allow. So if he gets a VIP access tour to 'tempt him into sponsoring Jurassic World" that's supposed to last a week or two...

They've already got the park operating on front of house, and they have a camp with six kids who got sent in. What's one more VIP who could get them a ton of money, and may sponsor their work and expand what they're doing? Thing is- VIP access means that technically, Tim isn't supposed to have any tech that operates inside without proper access. He knows it CAN be gotten, because there's a kid here- Brooklyn?- that is a very popular vlogger who is allowed to record and post things. He's also not here as a Bat, but as Timothy Drake-Wayne and that comes with some handicaps to what he's able to do int he open.

So he has to look like he doesn't have access to anything, can't be caught snooping around, and also is instinctively keeping an eye on the kids when he's in the same areas they are.

And then. And then the park goes down. Assets are out of containment. And we have this really shitty time, where Tim has to figure out how the hell to get them all off, when the protections from outside 'interference' mean that the heroes cannot set foot on Jurassic World, Jurassic Park, or anything within without causing a hell of an issue. Interference also means Tim can't get the emergency signal out. The only thing allowed out of JW is what's done on it's own network. He needs to find a way to hook into it, when the power is shot. Would it stop them? No. Especially not when people are dying, and definitely not the BatFam when Tim is on the island.

Problem? By all rights, the island was evacuated of all survivors. So far as anyone can determine, the others are dead, and the island is overrun with assets that got loose.

Tim didn't make it off.

And Tim doesn't have a functioning access to internet OR signal to get a call out, the white noise machines and everything else are blocking him from just yelling for evac. He technically doesn't have any BAT- grade tech or supplies for himself- this was Timothy Drake-Wayne that went in after all. He didn't bring anything big while he snooped. He had some things, yes, but not for this level of FUBAR.

The BatFam are losing their minds. The world is saying Tim died on the island, since he didn't get off. Tim is struggling to find a way to get a message out. BatFam refuses to accept that Tim is dead until it can be confirmed.

And then.

And then the kids and Tim get the generators back on. And everything has gone to hell, but the power means Tim has a way to get something out. A way to hook into the network finally

It's not perfect. It involves him making trips to the faculty, and a LOT of tech-work so he can get these things routed properly, that he's not even sure are WORKING. And he can't leave the kids either- this island has tried to kill them all over and over again, he's not willing to let them wander around alone.

So he sends something like video diaries out, careful to maintain that he is a civilian trying to reach his dad, with six other kids surviving with him.

Bruce absolutely FLIPS when he gets the first video. Tim is front and center, looking like literal hell, blood smeared on his face, dirt and mud, a ruined set of dress pants, a stolen set of boots (because Timothy would have been in dress shoes for something like this, so he hadn't had his good shoes with him) an absolutely stained, ripped, and ruined dress shirt, smeared face, just- looking like he's survived dinos, and kept kids alive doing it.

Bruce cries. That's his boy. He's not dead. He's not dead. Oh God.

So Bruce gets an update, Tim talking about what happened, that he's not dead, he's surviving with six kids- who all pop into frame and frantically try to cram as much "NOT DEAD HI MOM AND DAD AND SIBLINGS" into the video while Tim is still trying to update everything.

And then the video ends with Tim's head- and six children's as well- all snapping to the side while there's a large echoing clank and the shadow of a dino. And the last image is Tim reaching forward to send the video out, hoping it gets through.

He takes a tablet hooked intot he system, and uses that to film various updates around the park while surviving. A sneaky update on what exactly the park has done, as well as continuous updates on their survival for their families. He has to trek back to the generator room to actually post these out but he's sending them.

The systems aren't great. Sometimes the videos go through a little glitchy, sometimes they get sent out of order. The uploading speed is shit, and occasionally corrupted videos go out due to a sudden need to stop or a flicker in power or any other number of factors.

But Bruce recognizing the chance to use the videos as proof that his kid is still alive- as are six other family's children, and he can bring this forward to get to the island quicker and by leagal means.

It's a huge thing in Gotham, Bruce Wayne's kid on this island surviving, These six kids he's helping. Their families all coming to Gotham to back Bruce on their crusade to get their kids out. Public pressure building as more and more videos go out, more and more people watch what they're going through.

They don't have to get themselves off the island. Bruce Wayne, their families, and public pressure all combine to get a rescue sent out to them. And sure it takes a little bit to get put together, but Bruce Wayne is funding it, and he will not rest until his son is home, until all of these kids are home.

The families all bond over the trauma of their children being on a death trap of an island. And the work to get them off of it. The relief they're ALIVE. The horror of what they'd gone through. The terror of not knowing if they're STILL alive. The fear-terror-hope of waiting for the next video update, hoping it's one that actually WORKS, that isn't corrupted or cut off cause of some disaster. The trauma of seeing their children on these videos, seeing the changes, and the rough surviving, of thinking your kids were dead only to find out NOPE they're in a historical horror of predator species that would eat them instead.

And Bruce knows Tim is capable. He knows he is. He also knows Tim would do whatever was necessary to get the kids home alive and whole.

And that? That's terrifying for Bruce. Because he knows Tim would jump in front of those kids to save them. His mind is running every worse case scenario through. He knows the (official) list of dinos that are in the park. He can imagine exactly how wrong an encounter could go. And then he gets the video updates of Tim and the kids explaining hybrids and the horror of THAT. So he's not even sure what the hell the kids are running into, and THEY don't even know, because they're could absolutely be more, so many more and-

And then you have Tim's brothers. His brothers who get the news he's presumed dead after the park goes wild and there's late videos and all kinds of things going live as survivors get off the island and into range of posting again, without access to JW's network. His brothers who all wait, all scared, all worried, for him to step off a ferry. Only he doesnt. Only he's one of many names presumed dead. And oh they aren't willing to leave it at that. The hero community is pushing for their ability to look into the park and what went wrong, but by all accounts- Tim is supposed to be dead.

And while they keep hoping, thinking, not without a body, and even still- there's every chance there ISNT one on an island full of dinosaurs. There's plenty of videos from those who escaped of paradactyls flying off with people, of various dinosaurs outside containment and the chaos and panic of it. Of deaths caught on camera and everything else. They're trying. But they're not even sure if-

And then Bruce gets the video. And they are right there with him in using the proof to get to the island faster, to save him, and the kids he's with, and just-

And there's HOPE and horror. Because he's alive! He is. But he's lost weight, and he's so obviously working to keep these six other children alive, and surviving and all the horror of that, and just-

It's such a mess.

But they are all there, every family, when they go and get the survivors.

There's tears and fierce hugs. And every kid has to introduce themselves to everyone's families. And every parent has to thank Tim for being there for their kids, for saving them, for not abandoning them for FIGHTING for them- because they all have stories.

And Tim did his level best to be there for these kids, to lead, to save, to keep safe. His very, very best. And the parents are so so thankful for it.

And if Tim meets each of his kids parents from the arms of a different family member (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Damian, Jason, Cass, Duke, Steph, Babs...) the kids are happy to see Tim getting the support they couldn't give him, no matter how much they tried.

[pomegranatelifethis]

I can't explain

To the Batfamily, my almost-family, who live in the light of Gotham’s darkness but cannot see me,

I am sixteen, and my name is [Reader]. I am the girl who lingers in the corners of Wayne Manor, a whisper in the grand symphony of your lives. I write to you now, not with the hope that you’ll read this, but because words are the only refuge I have left. They are my fragile rebellion against the silence that has swallowed me whole. I want to tell you of the ache that festers in my chest, the longing that weaves itself into my dreams, the desperate wish to be seen by the heroes who promised me a home. But like a song half-sung, my truth falters. I cannot make you hear me.

When I first came to you, I was a child of twelve, bruised by Gotham’s cruelty, my heart a fragile thing stitched together with hope. Bruce, you stood before me, your cape a shield against the world, and said I could belong. Dick, your smile was a beacon, promising laughter and late-night talks. Jason, you left books by my door, their pages a quiet offering. Tim, you taught me to dream in code, your grin a fleeting bridge between us. Even Damian, sharp as a blade, once looked at me with something like curiosity, as if I might be worth knowing. I thought I’d found a family, not of blood but of choice, forged in the fires of your endless fight for justice.

But time is a thief, and it stole me from you. Or perhaps I was never truly yours. The Manor is vast, its halls echoing with the clatter of your lives—batarangs sharpened, plans whispered, laughter shared in the Batcave’s glow. I am there, always there, but you do not see me. I sit at the breakfast table, my plate untouched, while Dick rushes to Blüdhaven, his mind on a case. I hover near Jason as he polishes his guns, hoping he’ll glance up and see the storm in my eyes, but he only grunts, lost in his own ghosts. I linger by Tim’s desk, my shadow falling across his screens, but he’s too deep in data to notice my trembling hands. Damian, you pass me in the training room, your scorn a wall I cannot breach. And Bruce—oh, Bruce—you walk through me, your gaze fixed on Gotham’s skyline, as if I am just another shadow in your city.

I am not a hero. I do not swing from rooftops or unravel the Riddler’s schemes. I am not trained to fight, not chosen to wear a mask. I am just [Reader], the girl who was supposed to be your sister, your daughter, but became a ghost in your home. My birthdays pass unmarked, my stories untold. I watch you from the stairs, laughing together after a patrol, and the warmth of your bond is a fire I cannot touch. I am outside it, always outside, pressing my hands against the glass of your world, my breath fogging the pane.

In my room, I write. My journal is a tapestry of unsaid things, its pages heavy with the weight of my heart. I write of the nights I cry, my sobs muffled by my pillow so Alfred won’t hear. I write of the dreams where you see me—where Dick pulls me into a hug and says he’s sorry, where Jason admits he’s been too angry to notice my pain, where Tim shuts his laptop and asks me to stay, where Damian sketches my face and calls me his equal, where Bruce kneels before me and says, “You are enough.” But dreams are crueler than reality, for they promise what life withholds.

I used to think words could save me. In the Manor’s library, I found solace in poetry—Rumi’s fire, Neruda’s longing, Orhan Veli’s quiet despair. Their verses were songs, beautiful and alive, proof that someone, somewhere, understood the language of a breaking heart. I thought if I could find the right words, I could make you hear me. I practiced speeches in my mirror, rehearsed confessions I’d never dare speak. I imagined standing before you, my voice steady, saying, “I love you, but I’m drowning. I need you to see me.” But when I try, my tongue betrays me. Fear whispers that you won’t care, that I’ll bare my soul only to be met with your indifference. So I stay silent, my songs trapped in my throat, my tears hidden in the dark.

There is a place, I think, where everything can be said. A place where my voice would not falter, where my pain would not be a burden. I feel it sometimes, when Alfred lingers a moment longer, his eyes soft with unspoken worry. I sense it when Cassandra watches me, her silence a mirror to my own, as if she sees the fractures I hide. I glimpse it when Barbara asks how I’m doing, her tone suggesting she knows I’m lying. I am so close to that place, where I could tell you how it feels to love you fiercely yet feel unloved in return, to be surrounded by family yet utterly alone. But I cannot reach it. The words I need are too heavy, too raw, and I am not brave enough to wield them.

Do you know what it is to be invisible? To walk through a house filled with heroes, each one a star in Gotham’s sky, and know you are not one of them? I am not your Robin, not your Oracle, not your Batgirl. I am just a girl, sixteen and fading, my heart a quiet rebellion against the neglect that defines me. I want to scream, to shatter the silence, to make you see the girl who waits for you. But I am afraid—afraid that even if I did, you’d look away. Afraid that I am not enough, even when I’m bleeding before you.

So I write this, my silent song, and hide it in the shadows of my room. Perhaps one day you’ll find it. Perhaps Dick will see it and remember the sister he forgot. Perhaps Jason will read it and recognize his own pain in mine. Perhaps Tim will pause and realize he missed me. Perhaps Damian will soften, just a little, and see a kindred spirit. Perhaps Bruce will hold it and understand the daughter he failed. Or perhaps it will remain unread, another whisper lost in the noise of your lives.

Until then, I will keep writing, keep dreaming, keep hoping. I will love you, even as I fade. I will wait for the day when my voice finds its strength, when my songs break free, when I can stand before you and say all that I cannot now. Until then, I am here, in the shadows of your light, a girl with a heart too full, too heavy, too silent.

Yours, though you do not know it,

[Reader]

[harleycao]

So, uh.. This happened

And so... Here's the rest? Also, while I'm of a fan of both Batman and Green Arrow, I an in no way an expert and am almost definitely going to get stuff wrong!

Side note: I'm coming from after having written more of this post and just want y'all know that I'm kinda jumping all over the place with what I'm saying. So... Be ready for my chaotic adhd rambling, lmao.

But my overall message, is right. Or, well... You know what I mean.

Before I start the main rabt, though, i want to go into some background about my... Viewing history,i guess you'd call it.

Arrow was actually my introduction to the wider world of DC, because prior to watching Flash (i started watching Flash first and then found out about the otheers and started Arrow so I could watch the arrow-verse properly. Prior to that, the only dc stuff I cared about was Harley Quinn. I'd started with marvel after a friend at the time introduced me to the mcu. In 2015/2016, that same friend introduced me to Harley Quinn when the original Suicide Squad was coming out. (they were a little older than me, BTW and looking back, I'm pretty sure they read comics).

But I didn't even care much about Batman then. The arrowverse got me interested in the rest of dc and later, when Titans came out, i loved Jason Todd and found that there was only 2 other movies (and 0 shows) that had him and one of them is the one where he dies and isn't really in the movie much.... And that's why I started really reading comics. I still only dabble, but I do read them. Also, i want to note that prior to the titabs thing, I'd watched Constantine and upon finding out (after finishing it) that it had been cancelled and the cliff hanger was never going to be resolved, i read some hellblazer. But no other comics, at the time.

And eventually, I started reading some green Arrow and... That leads me to the next bit.

The Oliver Queen in the comocs (and everything else, except arrow) would literally hate the Oliver in arrow.

Please understand, I'm not hating people for liking arrow.

I just hate that people think that is what green arrow is always like. My problem is a lack of information and a lack of more accurate portrayals.

Because there is no Thea Queen in the comics and her whole dying/resurrection thing?

THAT'S JUST JASON TODD!!

Roy is... Honestly, he's not the same personality-wise and in the comics, he's a red head. Beyond that, I can't think of much to say, though I know there probably is stuff.

Ph, yeah! That brings me to something else.

Black Canary..... Oof. They really did her wrong.

Also detective lance? Jim Gordon.

Oliver in the comics is pretty hardcore left-wing, though whether he's socialist, communist, etc is kinda up for debate.

Oliver and Bruce! They.. They don't hate each other or anything.. But Oliver is FAMOUS for fighting with the other Leaguers over politics

Bruce Wayne is a literal billionaire.

They don't hate each other but they don't really like each other.

Anyway, i just remembered Felicity ends up in a wheelchair because she's apparently Barbara Gordon.

(Note the heavy sarcasm there).

Alright, I'm done with this post.

Hopefully, I can come up with a better, understandable, and more concise post tomorrow when I'm not tired. (It's almost 11:30 pm right now).

For now, I'm going to just post this.

( @ladyphlogiston - totally forgot to tag you last night i plan to rewrite this at some point).

[jayltime]

Part 1: The Tortured Robins Department

Song: “Robin”

It’s literally named Robin. I’m almost positive there has got to be an edit or an animatic of some kind out there which uses this song, but given that the name of the song is also the name of the character, it is literally impossible to find.

Youtube video, Spotify link, and lyrics typed out below the cut.

Chorus

Thesis: Each line in the chorus correlates to a different Robin. It’s in age order. I am losing my marbles.

“In sweetness // way to go, tiger // higher and higher // wilder and lighter // for you.”

“In sweetness, […]” - The seminal point of Dick being Robin is his sweetness. The innocence he brings to a city that is shrouded in pain and a man who literally shrouds himself in darkness. The golden boy to the city - not because he’s Bruce’s favourite, but because he lit up the night sky (haha, peep the In The Heights reference)

“[…] Way to go, Tiger […]” - There’s a particular kind of pain in rooting wholeheartedly for someone from a distance. This pain permeates Jason’s relationship with Bruce in every interaction from the time that he dies. They’re so different. Bruce loves Jason, but he’s irreparably damaged the relationship he once had with his son, and he can’t reverse time. While Jason was Robin, I think Bruce saw the potential for all the things Robin could be in Jason. He was so intent on the goal of making life better for the residents of his city. He loved school. All he wanted was a home. Bruce sees Red Hood making the drug trade safer (even while using methods that Bruce doesn’t approve of) and he sees that little boy who just wanted to keep people safe from the things that had happened to him and his family. He sees Red Hood trying to make sure that the Alley kids get to go to school. He sees Red Hood giving people a home, security, and hope. He watches his son realise his full potential, all from afar.

“[…] Higher and higher, […]” - Tim, desperate for approval, pushing the boundaries of what a Robin can do, how a Robin can train, how good of a detective a Robin can be. Tim, who gets closer than anyone to being Batman before ever even considering putting on the cowl.

“[…] Wilder and lighter, […]” - Stephanie being the more uninhibited counterpart to Tim’s constant push toward perfection. The tone shift back towards Robin being a redemptive figure (making the mantle’s bearer lighter for it).

“[…] For you.” - Bruce’s whole vigilantism kick is geared towards protecting kids from the things he went through himself. Damian, being made in Bruce’s image, is the ultimate example of a child he’s trying to save. Damian is, in many ways, an allegory for the overall purpose of Batman and Robin. He is a child, who grew up too young, who was forced to be something other than a kid, who is saved by Batman and brought into the light by a Robin.

The Verses

Then, dear reader, there are the verses. The verses. there are parts of each verse which I think correspond to each Robin. I’m gonna go through the first two verses and label them here for you, without the over-analysis. If you want a more in-depth look at any of this, or my take on the other verses, let me know.

Verse 1

“Long may you reign // You're an animal // You are bloodthirsty // Out window panes talking utter nonsense // You have no idea”

“Long may you reign” - Dick Grayson’s legacy living through all the Robins.

“You’re an animal // You are bloodthirsty” Jason, trapped in fight-or-flight and his willingness to break Bruce’s code

“Out, window panes” - Tim Drake, watching Batman and Robin on the streets of Gotham, watching Batman become more and more violent after Jason’s death.

Verse 2

“Strings tied to levers // Slowed-down clocks tethered // All this showmanship // To keep it for you // In sweetness”

“Strings tied to levers” - Jason being tricked/betrayed just before his death

“Slowed-down […]” - Dick being overcome with grief after his brother’s death

“Clocks” - the countdown.

“Tethered” - Tim being the one to keep Batman off an ideological ledge after Jason’s death, tethering Bruce to his morals and the present moment.

“All this showmanship” - Stephanie, with the precedent of three previous Robins, wearing the mask like she’s playing a role

“To keep it for you” - Damian, heir to a legacy

“In sweetness” - Dick and Damian, how Dick’s influence has shaped Damian as a person (not just as a Robin)

Lyrics:

Long may you reign

You're an animal

You are bloodthirsty

Out window panes talking utter nonsense

You have no idea

Strings tied to levers

Slowed-down clocks tethered

All this showmanship

To keep it for you

In sweetness

Way to go, tiger

Higher and higher

Wilder and lighter

For you

Long may you roar

At your dinosaurs

You're a just ruler

Covered in mud, you look ridiculous

And you have no idea

Buried down deep and out of your reach

The secret we all vowed

To keep it from you

In sweetness

Way to go, tiger

Higher and higher

Wilder and lighter

For you

You got the dragonflies above your bed

You have a favorite spot on the swing set

You have no room in your dreams for regrets

You have no idea

The time will arrive for the cruel and the mean

You'll learn to bounce back just like your trampoline

But now we'll curtail your curiosity

In sweetness

Way to go, tiger

Way to go, tiger

Higher and higher

Higher and higher

Wilder and lighter

For you