#for me it's either dick or cass though and dick takes the edge cause he has more history

[casscainmainly]

thank you so much for answering my ask! and so fast too, haha, don't worry about deleting it that stuff happens <3

i'm just curious though, im kinda new to dc and i mostly know stuff from tumblr (ive started reading comics from reading lists tho!)

since you're a cass fan, what makes you think dick is the fav? i love them both ofc but just tryna improve my understanding of the dynamics between the family. i've heard that cass and damian are the favorites? and jason? though apparently jason is only in fanon and ahh im just kinda confused im so sorry for the stupid questions

Trust me, no question about comics is stupid!! It's impossible to know everything (and I'm relatively new myself haha), so don't feel bad about asking anything. Plus I love answering asks :)).

Anyway, fantastic-nonsense's post here covers about all of why I think Dick is the fav. In case you don't wanna go there, here's one of the panels:

From Infinite Crisis #6. As clear an answer as we'll ever get, I think.

The question of 'who is Bruce's favourite?' is always subject to personal interpretation, though. Lots of factors - what a person has read, which character they like, what interpretation they have of Bruce - go into who someone thinks is Bruce's fav. Sometimes it's not even a question of pure canon, but a question of theme. Which character being Bruce's fav is the most narratively compelling? To me, that's Dick - their relationship has the most history, the most depth, and frankly I prefer one of Batman's successors (who to me is Dick or Cass only) being his favourite.

Cass being the fav is compelling too, but not as compelling to me as her not being the fav. Her story, her quest to break free from White men's expectations (both David and Bruce's), makes me not want her to be tied to Bruce's love too much. So while there are great canon reasons for her being the fav, I don't think it's a necessary or even particularly interesting angle for Bruce-Cass.

I actually haven't heard many people argue for Damian being Bruce's fav (it's usually Dick or Cass in my circles), which goes to show how much opinions vary haha. Damian has great reasons too - his entire death/resurrection has strong Bruce-Damian moments - but this is the least interesting fav kid pick to me. He's been raised to think of himself as Bruce's fav, and his arc is about undoing that belief in legacy, being the heir, etc. So being Bruce's fav doesn't do much for him. Having the only bio kid be the fav isn't that interesting either.

Jason definitely is the most fanon-y pick, though Jay being Bruce's fav is genuinely interesting. It's just that Bruce's love for Jason is a lot about the dead kid he used to be, and also half of why Jason is so obsessed with Dick is because he knows Bruce is obsessed with him. So in a roundabout way my preferred Jason-Dick dynamic hinges on Jason not being Bruce's fav. But I'm not well-read on Jason, I think some Jason fans might have good reasons for him being the fav.

These are all my interpretations of these characters, and the fun about reading comics is growing to develop your own opinion about questions like this! To me Bruce's fav isn't a strict right/wrong answer, I'm like one well-written meta away from changing my mind. But I hope this clarified my thoughts on the question!

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here!

A/N: I think The next post will be the last one for this series!

“Did you...have fun tonight?” The way Dick haltingly asks causes laughter to bubble out of your mouth

“I can say that was nothing like any family dinner I’ve ever seen-“

And if that isn’t the truth, for one - even though you’ve heard of all of Bruce Wayne’s adopted children, you didn’t think there would be so many.

Dick’s the oldest, well officially anyway. Barbara Gordon, as in Commissioner Gordon’s daughter, was at dinner too. Apparently she and Dick had a brief stint where they dated. You’re guessing it was before Dick realized he likes boys - or maybe he likes both? You’ve never expressly asked him about using sexuality.

He’s got three little brothers, the youngest and the second oldest seem to have the highest predisposition towards violence, mostly to each other. And then the second youngest, Tim, he seems to be barely held together, mostly through caffeine and anxiety.

Cassandra from class was there too, as well as Stephanie, which was nice to see. They ducked out halfway through, which should have been your queue to duck out too.

Unfortunately you didn’t, which resulted in a rather poorly placed tomato soup stain at the edge of your dress’s hem.

“I like your brothers though” you say with a smile. You did like his brothers. The youngest, Damian, stared at you for seven very long minutes, before saying-

“How do you feel about animals?” When you told him you loved them he seemed pleased. Also, as a college student, you vibe with Tim. Though you do think someone should cut him off and have him switch to herbal tea. Jason seems cool enough, he just looked at you for a second before giving Dick a wolffish grin.

“Alfred was nice too, and it was fun seeing your- uh...Bruce again” You almost called Bruce his Dad. Bruce is nice, but he’s still a bigot. It was nice meeting Alfred, who showed you many pictures of a nine year old Dick Grayson, most of which were him doing acrobatics around the house. Honestly you thought it was adorable, but you put an end to it since Dick was blushing so fiercely that you thought he might combust.

It really was a lot of fun.

You shiver, the cold night air brushing against your bare arms. You’re standing in front of your building, saying your final goodbyes until you scamper off to your apartment, getting ready for another week of classes.

“Here, take my jacket-“ He’s already tugging it off. Before you can protest, it’s settled over your shoulders. The effect is almost instant, tendrils of warmth seeping into your shoulders and upper body.

It smells like him, you think.

Like- like his expensive cologne, with notes of amber and moss- but also like soap, like clean laundry, and something else, something sweet.

“Cotton Candy” You murmur to yourself. He probably eats it by the gallon sized bag , you think with a giggle.

“T-thank you-“ your eyes trail from the sleeve of his suit jacket to Dick, who’s got a pink tint fanning across his face, blue eyes flicking from the ground to your eyes.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight, and being so kind and considerate and lovely” and then Dick does something completely unexpected, he leans in closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. Your heart leaps in your chest, his sickly sweet Cotten candy scent floods your senses.

You would just have to tilt you head up slightly to catch his lips in yours. He smells so sweet, it almost makes you dizzy. It’s like being drunk, you think.

You want to smell him more.

“Thank you for being so accepting.” His words are like a bucket of cold water being dumped over your head. You feel like you’ve sobered right up.

“Of course, we’re friends aren’t we?” You offer Dick a smile, but you know it’s probably strained. You were so caught up in the moment, you forget he’s already in love with someone.

All of his feelings, all of his kisses, they’re reserved for Nightwing.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow” You call out, before walking into your building, feeling Dick’s lingering

So you like Dick.

F*ck.

You’re on the balcony of your apartment, nursing a glass of hot tea in the late night- or would it be early hours of the morning? You can make out the sky beginning to lighten into a lighter blue. Great so you stayed up all night thinking about your feelings.

Your body is going to love you for this.

How did this even happen? Were you just so focused on not getting a crush on either of his sisters that you didn’t see this coming. Ugh why dick of all people? Yeah, sure he’s got those sparkly eyes, and that permanent rosy blush, not to mention that lopsided grin-

Okay so you know why you’re falling in love with him. But there’s no point in nursing these blooming feelings not when-

“Hey do you have any sugar?” The masked crusader asks from beside you. That dazzling smile that makes people everywhere swoon aimed at you.

No point in nursing feelings for Dick, when the object of his affections is standing next to you, drinking earl grey out of your pink “Namaste in bed” mug.

“Or not- no big deal, I love my hot leaf juice with or without sugar.” He adds hastily, taking a loud sip as if to show you how much he’s enjoying your hospitality. You must have let your annoyance get to your face. You sigh, it’s not his fault that Dick loves him.

You’re the outsider here.

“So what are you doing out so late?” You ask, just wanting to make some small talk. But Nightwing lights up like you just offered him a million dollars. He’s so friendly it’s almost annoying, not unlike another certain dark haired golden boy you know.

“I’m always up, fighting crime, patrolling the streets-“ you never realized but being a vigilante is kind of a lot of work huh? You wonder if Nightwing has a day job, he looks so young though- maybe he’s still in school.

“The real questions is why are you still up?” His question is punctuated with a slurp of his tea.

“Just thinking I guess” you shrug, taking a sip of your own tea. You’re not about to tell Nightwing you realized you have feelings for his boyfriend.

“Thinking about the person you love?” It feels like you were just struck by an arrow. Nightwing’s mouth stretches. “No way, I was right?” You can almost picture the sparkle in his eyes behind his domino mask. You wonder what color eyes Nightwing has.

Probably a boring brown.

“Well who’s the lucky individual?” Noting your hesitance, Dick starts to get a little nervous. It hurts a little to think you don’t return his feelings. But there’s something about the shy look on your face, the way your eyes avert to your cup of tea, that’s just hopelessly adorable. What he wouldn’t give to have you look at him that way.

And then, a terrifying thought occurs to Dick.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Bruce Wayne?” He’s got absolutely no chance if you’re into older men. No unless you’re willing to wait ten years or so.

Then the most amazing thing happens- your mouth opens and laughter spills out. He’s heard you laugh, but never like this. So loud, and almost desperate.

And then, you do something else he’s never seen before. Somewhere along the way those loud laughs transformed into equally loud sobs. Your mouth pinched tight as tears spill from the corners of your eyes.

A hand curls over your eyes in an attempt to cover your face. This is mortifying, you’re basically crying in front of your romantic rival, completely vulnerable.

You’re about to mutter out an excuse, how you’re not usually like this, that you must be close to your period or something. When you feel a pair of arms wrap around your shoulder, your face pressed against Nightwing’s chest.

“It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay” he murmurs reassuringly, his glove covered hand rubbing soothing circles into your back. And even though you were on the edge of recompsure, you’re thrust back into despair. Your sobs leaving you almost breathless as Nightwing continues to hold you.

“Tell me what’s wrong, so I can help” Dick whispers. Whatever it is, it must be serious. He’s never seen you cry, not when you were a hostage in that bank robbery, or held at gun point at that restaurant, not even when Damian was basically integrating you all night.

“I love someone, who’s never going to love me back” you manage between sobs, and Nightwing only shushes you. His hand traveling to your hair. Cradling your head against his chest.

He smells so good, like amber and moss, and something sickeningly sweet- like cotton candy.

He smells like Dick.

And that seems to soothe you a bit, along with Nightwing’s gentle warmth.

“Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine, I promise”

“Man, and I thought things were going really well between you guys” Stephanie says, her hand threading through her golden curls, head tilting back so it rests against the back of his couch.

“Yeah, me too” Dick admits with a sigh, he’s sitting with his knees propped up on the floor, his back against the wall.

Cassandra doesn’t say anything, her eyes are trained on the coffee table, their masks collectively strewn across it.

“So what are you going to do?” Stephanie asks, and Dick sighs again.

“What can I do honestly, they love someone else” he shrugs, he plays it off like it’s not a big deal. But the thought of your with someone else... it makes his stomach hurt.

“Just because she loves someone else right now...doesn’t mean she will forever” Those are the first words Cass has uttered all night, and Dick and Stephanie are both looking at her with wide eyes.

Stephanie’s already hyping him up, saying there’s no way their Dick’s going to lose to some no-face-extra, like your love is some sort of competition to be won.

And Cassandra’s only encouraging her, with energetic nods and the occasional ‘exactly’

But all Dick can think about is the way you felt in his arms, and how small you seemed as sobs wracked through your entire body. How deep your sadness felt, like he might be sucked in any moment too, tears falling from beneath his domino mask.

He hates whoever it is that made you feel that way. If it was him- if you loved him instead, he’d make sure you were never sad, he’d give you everything he was and everything he had if it meant you might smile for him.

He doesn’t want to change your mind, your feelings don’t work like that. All he knows is that he loves you- and what you need right now, is a friend. Someone who-

“Just wants to see them happy” Dick mumbles.

Taglist: @adenspolaroids @libraryoffandomsuniverse @jeneeangella @chyume @masked-mushroom

[pricetagofficial]

Twister Fun -D.G.

Warnings: Fluff, language, light hints of the sex

Word Count: 1.4k

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

A/N: I had this idea one night and ran with it. Hope you guys enjoy it!

It was game night once again, and everyone was the living room of the apartment you shared with Dick. By everyone, it was just the batkids. It was a weekly affair that you all gathered at someone’s place and played games. Since you and Dick were hosting, the two of you got to pick the games that were going to be played that night.

You had chosen a simple game, Phase 10, thinking that it would avoid any fights between you guys. That didn’t go to plan. By the sixth round, Tim and Cass were ahead on the sixth phase, Steph was right behind them with her and Damian tied for second. The rest of you were straggling behind in the first three phases as Jason was constantly yelling at Tim and Cass for cheating even though they weren’t. 

“Stop fucking cheating you two!” 

“We are not cheating you undead zombie!” 

“Take that back Replacement!” 

“Make me!” 

Needless to say, no one finished the game before cards were thrown across the room and you and Dick had to pry Tim out of Jason’s headlock. Thinking the worst was behind you, everyone agreed to play Dick’s choice.

That was until you noticed what it was that he picked.

“Alright (y/n), spin the wheel.” Dick said, his voice laced with laughter. You tried to turn your gaze to look at him, but with your current position it was quite hard. You had split up into teams of four and was currently playing a game of Twister, in the beginning the voice had told you that it was a bad idea and now with Dick’s body practically wrapped around yours on the mat, while Steph and Damian were a tangle of limbs underneath you, it had really sunk in how bad of an idea it was.

“I would love to spin it, if I could fucking reach it Grayson.” you snapped. Your arms were crisscrossed across your upper body as you held yourself up off the floor. Dick grew up in the circus, that was common knowledge but you did not have the same background. Sure you were flexible, but your body was meant for more mediocre things like yoga not twisting your body into weird positions like your boyfriend.

Dick let out a laugh and you watched as he flawlessly reached a hand to spin the wheel for you, “Don’t worry babe, I’ve got it.” he spun the wheel and you listened for him to call out what you were meant to do. 

“Right hand yellow.”

You let out a sigh, your hand was currently on the other side of mat on a red circle so it was a relief when you could get your arms in a better position as you twisted your body to fit with his, Steph’s and Damian’s.

Dick watched as your hand brushed his waist, making him bite his lip. Twister was never a hard game to play, but watching you bend into odd positions as your body pressed into his? He was worried that if you made a wrong move, he would lose it and collapse, falling on the three of you.

With your new found freedom, you were able to spin the wheel for Damian. The poor kid was under you, almost in a crab walking position. Of course, he had to stretch his hand further across the mat making himself shake a little. It was Stephanie’s turn, and she was sprawled on top of Damian and under Dick’s legs. She didn’t even get to spin the wheel before she collapsed and dragged Damian down with her. They hit the mat, both you and Dick managing to keep your balance.

Carefully, the two of them slid out from under you. Jason, Tim, Cass and Babs were currently winning because they had lasted the longest time. If you and Dick managed to make it a couple more turns, then you guys would win. Looking at Dick, you saw he was in something similar to a superhero pose with his feet spread across the mat and a hand behind his back and the other in front of him. You had a leg going under him, between his legs and the other next to his. Your hands were now positioned next to his and you were face to face.

You gave it a spun and looked at the wheel, and you grinned. “Right hand red, Big Bird.” 

Dick looked at the mat to see where he could possibly fit his hands. Carefully, he adjusted his weight so he could move the hand that was behind him and shifted it over to the closest red circle he could. Doing this, put his face right in front of yours.

He was so close, you could smell the toothpaste he used on his breath and his bright blue eyes were full of mischief. After knowing Dick for years, you could see that he was planning something but you were unsure to what it was. But would he try something with his family there?

His eyes glanced down to your lips and back to yours, oh yeah. Dick was totally planning something. You looked around for the wheel and you noticed that you had placed it behind you. 

Reaching to grab it, Dick stopped you. “Let me get it.” He reached over, his body practically leaning over yours as he grabbed the wheel. He was close enough that your lips would touch if either one of you spoke. 

You felt your heart rate pick up at his closeness, and your arms were trembling. Watching as Dick spun the wheel, your eyes widening at the color it landed on. Your right leg had to go to a blue circle, and the only way you were able to get it there was to slide it over from the green dot it rested on. 

“I don’t think this could get any worse.” you muttered under your breath. 

“But I thought you liked being this close to me?” Dick grinned, leaning over and pecking your lips softly.

Jason let out a groan, “Would you two stop flirting and play the game?” 

His outburst made you jump and you lost your balance and fell, causing Dick to fall on you with a groan. “Ow, next time do not let the acrobat pick a Twister or anything like it again.” 

Dick let out a laugh and got up, pulling you along with him. He wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you pressed into his side. The others got up, each of them grabbing a box of pizza.

“Same time next week?” Steph called, with Tim following her out the door. 

“Yeah, next week we’ll be at the manor.” You answered.

You and Dick waved goodbye to everyone as they left, feeling Dick’s grip tighten on your waist. “You alright sweetheart?”

“Yeah, you are just very distracting.” 

Dick leaned himself over you again, the mischievous glint in his eyes present once more. “I’m distracting? (Y/n), you were driving me crazy.” 

Before you could respond, Dick pressed you onto the mat and kissed you deeply. Your hands wound themselves into his dark hair as one of your legs hooked itself around his waist. The two of you were so tangled up, neither new where he began and you ended. 

His hands slid to your waist and slowly pushed the shirt you were wearing up your stomach, your back arching off the mat from the cold feeling of it on your bare skin. Dick’s lips trailed from yours, down to your pulse and placed soft kisses there causing a soft moan to slip from your lips.

“I-I think we should clean up the mess. But I would rather do something else.” You breathed. 

Dick chuckled against your throat, biting softly on the skin. “I know a great way to pass the time.” 

His hands gripped your thighs as he lifted you up from the ground, not removing his lips from your skin biting and sucking wherever he could reach. You moaned his name softly at the feeling, and the way you ached for him as he carried you to your shared bedroom. 

Setting you on the bed, you grabbed the edge of his shirt and threw it off him. “We should play Twister more often.” you grabbed his face and pulled him down to kiss you once more. 

[starculler]

Whumptober 2021: Day 1

Word Count: 2489

Read on AO3

“Jason.”

Dick turned his head, trying to get a proper look at his brother without adding momentum to his slow, circular spin. His arms had gone alarmingly numb a while ago, pinned above his head, bound at the wrists by the same thick cord he hung from, and bearing the bulk of his weight unless he stretched out onto the tips of his toes. He considered doing so for a moment if for nothing else than to plant Jason firmly in his line of sight, but figured his peace of mind wasn’t quite worth stretching the painful length of bruising up and down his torso.

He’d managed well enough for the … hours? Days? Time had started to blend together after a spectacularly precise his to the side of his head, the blood long-dried and flaking against his cheek and jaw where it had dripped down from his hairline. His lack of broken bones — not for lack of trying if the pain in his sides was anything to go by — were at least a point in his favor. A little luck on his side, though he wouldn’t hold his breath hoping it stayed that way. It was a matter of if not when, as Jason’s own swollen, mottled-purple bruised wrist had proved.

“Jason,” he rasped again, wincing at the dull ache in his throat. “Jason, please,” he said, hating the frustrated edge leaking into his voice, “this isn’t the time for—”

“For what, Dick-face?” Jason snapped, voice echoing and too-loud in the still silence of whatever damp basement they’d been stashed in. “For more of your fucking martyr-hero stick? Maybe another round of trying to bullshit those fuckers into letting us go ‘cause that went so well last time? Maybe —”

Dick frowned as he finally circled back around to facing Jason, still bound at his ankles and wrists and cuffed to the leg of what might have been an old, rusted water heater or an antique stove after he’d slipped his restraints once already. He’d been caught only because he’d tried to help Dick. Jason’s next attempt had been a sore point since.

“Just,” Jason snarled, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. “Just keep your useless trap shut unless there’s an actual idea rolling around in that empty fuckin’ head of yours.”

Thick, acrid anger burned through Dick’s chest and bubbled, useless, in his throat. His head throbbed, the steady drumbeat in his skull he’d felt since the hit that might as well have dissolved his concept of time in this godforsaken place growing to a much less negligible roar. He breathed through the pain and anger and the sudden nausea roiling in his stomach, the same slow, measured breaths Bruce had taught him as a kid. It would only do so much, but better that, he figured, than either letting his mouth run away from him or throwing up. Again.

“Jason,” he tried again once he’d sorted through the worst of what he felt, and wondered if he’d wind up with the name tattooed to his tongue from how much he’d repeated it. Had he ever used Jason’s name so often before now?

“Got anything new to say?” Dick pressed his lips into a thin, grim line and remained silent. Jason sneered. “Then shut the fuck up already.”

Dick sighed. He tried to shift, numb, prickling fingers wrapping clumsily around the cord keeping him suspended, and pulled to ease some of the pull on his shoulders only to slip. He hissed through clenched teeth, scrambling to stretch onto his toes and ignoring the ache along his sides and the burn in his back. There were more than bruises there, he knew — he’d screamed himself hoarse as they’d worked him over — but had refused to give it much thought beyond a brief acknowledgment of the pain. He stayed on his toes just long enough to breathe through what he’d done before easing off, slow and careful as he let his arms take the brunt of his weight again.

Jason’s head ducked, glaring once more at the cold, cement floor the second Dick’s gaze focused back on him. Some distant, probably slightly hysterical part of him wanted to laugh at that glimpse of concern he’d caught in his brother’s eyes. The anger for him rather than directed at him. It was nice, in a way, to know Jason cared — to be shown, however unwillingly. They had never really been close: Dick too distant to a brother he hadn’t wanted before Jason’s death, and too distracted after he’d come back to life and mellowed out enough to really come back to the family. It was nice, but unhelpful.

More than anything, Dick needed the ruthlessness the Red Hood was known for. He needed the man able, if not willing, to do what was needed for the sake of a plan. Not that Dick’s plan was much of one. He understood Jason’s anger in that regard. If anyone had told Dick to willingly leave one of his family in danger, he would have sucker-punched them in the face or worse. But he was the more injured of the two, strung up and beat and barely coherent most of the time because he’d spent his time running his mouth to keep their captors’ focus on him rather than on his brother.

Close or not, Dick had decided years ago that he’d do what he could to keep his family safe. If that meant taking a beating to spare someone else, then so be it. Even if it really fucking sucked.

“Jason,” he tried again, and rushed to talk when Jason’s head snapped up, glaring and ready to shout over him if need be. “No, shut up,” Dick hissed, gratified when Jason grimaced, fuming but silent. “I’m not telling you to abandon me here.” He was, they both knew he was, but there was no need to say it out loud. Their captors were playing with them right now, hoping to make Jason talk by hurting Dick. The chances of Dick dying after Jason was gone, though, were high. Still… “You’re not abandoning me. You’re getting help. We need help. Even if you somehow managed to get me down with a broken wrist, I don’t think I could walk out of here on my own and, again, you have a broken wrist. There’s just no way you’re getting me out of here alone.

“No,” he snapped when Jason moved to argue. “We’re good, can’t do what we do if we weren’t, but we’re only human.” Dick sucked in a single shaky breath and forced a grin that further split his lower lip. “I know you’ll come back for me, you and B and anyone else you can get your hands on. But first, you need to get out of here, find out where we are, and make the call. Got it?”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jason growled, but there was no real heat to it. His shoulder had slumped, face twisted into a frown, and resignation visible in every line of his body. Dick was right and he knew it. “You’re not dyin’ here Dick-face,” he said, sharp and unhappy.

“I’m not,” Dick agreed despite the knots his stomach tied itself into.

Jason nodded, slow, and got to work getting free. The light across the room was too dim for Dick to see clearly — little more than the outline of Jason’s body and a few details catching the light visible, but he was enough of an escape artist himself to guess what Jason was doing. It would have been easier, faster, if they’d been caught as Red Hood and Nightwing instead of Jason Todd and Dick Grayson, but not impossible. All of them tended to carry at least some basic supplies on their person: lock picks, multi-purpose tools, a knife or two.

Dick held his breath while Jason worked, praying they hadn’t wasted too much time arguing and hesitating, and let it out all in a rush when he heard the distinct click of a cuff unlocking. He watched Jason stand, gingerly checking his fractured wrist and hissing when his fingers brushed it. Dick flashed him a smile, smaller this time but no less full of the same false confidence he’d injected into his earlier grin. And just as see-through. Jason frowned, nodded once, and stalked to the room’s only exit. After a brief moment spent listening for people on the other side and another to pick the lock, Jason strode through, silent as a shadow despite his bulk, and left Dick alone in the silence and near darkness.

Without another person there to occupy him, despite how neither had spoken much beyond brief check-ins and arguing about escape plans, time grew fuzzy. It seemed to slip through metaphorical fingers, no way to tell how long it had been since Jason had slipped out. The only relief was the lack of sound — no shouting, running, storming the basement, or anything else that might have indicated that Jason had been caught.

It was a relief.

It was a relief, until it wasn’t.

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

Jason couldn’t breathe.

The stale air cycling through his helmet tasted sour, made worse by the mingling damp, mold and the thick, coppery stench of blood. A fine tremor started in his hand, his white-knuckled grip on his pistol tightening until it threatened to either crack the grip or snap his fingers. He breathed in the deep, meditative breaths they all tended to use, but it did little to lessen the tightness in his chest and even less to banish the red haze creeping in at the edges of his vision.

A hand settled on his back under his jacket and pressed into the sweat-damp sweater he’d been wearing since they’d been caught, small but steadying. Firm and warm. A comfort and a warning bundled together in that special way only Cass managed. Calm, it seemed to say, but he could feel the way it shook, just slight enough that if he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been trying to focus on anything else but what lay in front of him. He swallowed, wanting to gag on the taste in his mouth. Wanting to storm out of this stupid cellar and press the muzzle of his gun to the temple of the nearest idiot and pull the trigger.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin. Crawl back in his grave. Be anyone or anywhere else because then, at least, this wouldn’t be his fault. He wanted to go back in time and strangle his brother for his idiotic ideas and too-good-self-sacrificial bullshit and find a way to switch places. Let Jason be the one on the floor because at least he’d already died. He’d lived the torture, the hopelessness, the last trembling breath before the explosion and the brief, concussive burn, so hot he’d felt cold. That, too, had been his fault.

It was funny, just a little, in an odd, hysteric kind of way.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t cry. Didn’t move until Cassandra took him by the wrist and pulled him back up the stairs and out of the basement. His broken wrist throbbed, braced and in a sling because he’d refused anything more time consuming in lieu of going back personally with the others. It had taken him over an hour to find his way out of the maze of a hotel their captors had holed up in — some old place half fallen over with more rotted wood than intact some few miles outside of town — and another one and a half to find another living person with a cellphone.

Cass and Stephanie had found him some time after he called, his jacket, helmet, and guns in hand despite how they told him they were supposed to take him back to the cave so Alfred could check him over. Bruce, Tim, the demon brat, and Duke had gone after Dick. The girls hadn’t needed much convincing at all to take him there too once they’d at least stabilized his wrist and gotten him half-dressed in his Red Hood gear.

Stephanie and Duke were on the main floor, tense but trying to look casual where they leaned against moth-eaten, damaged furniture. Cass pulled him in their direction and past, out the door and into the cool, night air. Jason breathed it in with numb relief. He nearly jumped when another smaller hand touched his back, a brief pat before pulling away, and he looked to find Stephanie on his right and Duke on her other side.

“B commed,” she said, subdued and strained. “They made it to the hospital and N’s been taken in for surgery.” Her breath hitched, voice cracking toward the end. “They’re not sure if he’ll …”

“He will,” Jason rasped. “If there’s one thing I know,” he said, voice noticeably thick even through his helmet’s modulation, “it’s that luck fucking loves him. ‘S not about to run out any time soon.”

That pulled a startled laugh out of all three of them, and Jason’s lips pulled into an unwilling grin despite himself. He forced himself to breathe in sweet, fresh air and let some of the tension in his body drain out on the exhale. Dick would be fine, he told himself. The day Dick Grayson died without a single gray hair on his head was the day hell froze over, even if Jason had to drag him back to life kicking and screaming to make that true.

“I think we should make him a cake, for when he gets back,” Stephanie said, voice pitched up in a mostly poor attempt to cheer herself and them up. Duke nodded, about to say something when Cass interrupted with a cheerful chirp of:

“Two cakes.”

“Four,” Duke doubled to the girls’ obvious delight.

Jason groaned, tipping his head back dramatically and drawled, “None of you hellions are touching A’s goddamn kitchen. I’m not sitting through gross, obscure recipes for a week just ‘cause you decided to try playing baker.”

“I can bake!” Stephanie groused, and Jason laughed.

“You can go to a bakery,” Jason shot back. Stephanie huffed and Duke clapped her on the back while Cass muffled a small laugh of her own behind her hand.

Jason breathed in and finally holstered his gun as they reached the three bikes the trio had ridden in on. Dick would be okay, he told himself again, and for now he could do this. Play nice. Be a big brother. He owed that much, at least.

“I’ll bake,” Jason said giving the three a look before they hopped on their bikes, “and you can help.” He rolled his eyes behind his helmet as one cheer and two laughs rang out, then pulled himself carefully onto the back of Cass’ bike as she revved the engine, waiting for him to grab onto her so they could get back home.

[daringyounggrayson]

one step at a time

anonymous said: Here’s a prompt for you: “I could really use a cuddle” for Dick with either Bruce or Damian?

thanks for the prompt! this accidently turned into a short fic, whoops. I also included my headcanon that Dick’s early exposure to fear toxin caused some long-term health problems. all you really need to know, though, is that Dick experiences fear toxin symptoms on and off even without exposure, the antidote doesn’t work very well for him, the exposure damaged his lungs which can make it hard to breathe during an attack, and he uses an inhaler that has a variation of the antidote in it which helps to relieve his symptoms. Enjoy!

He’d seen him again. Bruce, last night. Of course, not really him. Because Bruce isn’t here so it couldn’t have even been him, but also not him, because his memory of Bruce had been warped by fear toxin. And now that the night was over, he was left to sift through the memories. They meant nothing, sure, but the thing about people is that they find meaning in anything, including nothing. Dick does it well, too; probably the only time he can call himself a spectacular person.

“Alfred?” Dick calls, voice scratchy. He must’ve been screaming, probably scared the crap out of Damian, even if the kid would never admit it. Which only makes Dick feel worse.

With no response, Dick sits up and carefully takes the IV out of his arm. He looks up to see if it was just fluids, or if the antidote kept wearing off and he’d needed to be on a drip. Both, it turns out. Fun.

“Master Dick, my apologies, I was with Master Damian,” Alfred says, hurrying over to Dick before he can get out of bed. He’s pushing Dick back, gathering supplies to set up what looks like a blood draw.

“Damian okay?” Dick asks.

“He’s well, albeit a little shaken.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“We’ll have none of that.” Alfred pulls Dick’s arm out and wraps a band around it, then he’s swabbing the crook of his arm with an alcohol swab and jabbing a needle into it. He takes the band off and lets the blood flow into the vial. “How are you feeling?”

Dick shrugs. “You know.” He’s been exposed to fear toxin so many times, and the early times, they hadn’t even had an effective treatment for it. Now, it seems the antidote doesn’t work on him as well as it does on the others, even Bruce. And an exposure always makes him feel sick the next day—chest tight, headache, kind of nauseous. Not to mention feeling jumpy and on edge. Alfred already knows all of this, though; voicing it would be redundant.

Read the rest on AO3 or below the cut!

“Perhaps you should rest a while longer,” Alfred suggests. “At least until your blood has been properly examined.”

“Sure,” Dick says, because really, he’s not feeling great. “But I want to check on Damian first.”

“Very well,” Alfred says, using his voice that says he doesn’t think it’s “very well” at all, actually. But he knows when not to push.

Dick makes his way upstairs, shaking ever so lightly from fatigue and residual fear. He hopes this doesn’t last long, but he knows it must’ve been a pretty bad hit. Maybe multiple hits. He’s surprised Damian wasn’t taken down too—or maybe he had been, but his immune system doesn’t have the same response as Dick’s, so he recovered quickly like everyone else seems to. He hopes it stays that way, and if Babs, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Steph are any indication, Damian should be fine. 

Dick eventually reaches Damian’s door, and he raps it with his knuckles. He waits, and a moment later, Damian opens the door. He looks up at Dick, and something like relief flashes across his face before it’s replaced with a scowl. “Hey, kiddo. Just wanted to check in after last night. You holding up okay?”

“I don’t need your concern, Grayson,” Damian tells him. “Perhaps if you had taken more precautions last night, you would not be in your current state and Scarecrow would have been apprehended more efficiently.”

So not well, was the answer to his question. “Right then. Alfred checked you out and everything?”

“I was able to supply my own antidote in the field, and Pennyworth examined some follow-up blood work to ensure it had worked properly. Which it had. Due to my quick response, I never experienced its effects,” Damian says proudly. It’s kind of amazing; even with quick response, Dick can never avoid the effects of fear toxin completely. “I was also able to get you back to the car before you could make a fool of yourself in front of Commissioner Gordon.”

Dick closes his eyes for a moment, holding his tongue. “Thanks, Damian. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but you did a good job last night. I’m proud of you.”

He can hear Bruce’s voice whispering in his ear again. He wants to groan; he hopes this is just a mild leftover effect and not a sign that he needs more antidote. The fear toxin is way worse, obviously, but being on a drip isn’t fun, and it comes with its own side-effects. His chest is feeling tight, though; maybe he should find one of his inhalers.

“Grayson?” Damian is asking, something fearful in his voice.

“Hmm?” Dick opens his eyes and realizes he’s slumped on the ground, hands pressed to his chest. “Oh.”

“I should get Pennyworth,” Damian decides, looking like he’s ready to run.

Dick shakes his head. “It will pass, just need a minute. ‘Sides, Alfred’s probably already on his way.”

“Is the toxin still in your system?” Damian asks instead, and Dick shakes his head, even though he doesn’t really know that for sure. “Pennyworth was telling me of your chronic health issues that have resulted from over-exposure at a young age. Is that . . ?” Why he feels like he’s been run over?

“Probably,” Dick answers, closing his eyes again. He wonders how much Alfred has told him. He should know, for safety reasons, but. It would be nice to have some control over this situation. “Can you get my inhaler for me?” Dick could get it, but Damian sounds so helpless right now—giving him something to do will be good for him. “It’s on my nightstand.”

“Very well, if that will help.”

Damian is fast, and he’s quiet while Dick takes the inhaler. He doesn’t know if he’s done this in front of Damian before; he’s needed to, but he’s always excused himself. Dick takes the puff and holds his breath; a few minutes later, his chest feels less tight and the whispers have settled.

“Thanks.”

“Master Dick?” Alfred calls, heading up the hallway toward him. “Are you quite alright?”

“He had an attack,” Damian says, tattles.

“It wasn’t an attack,” Dick says, because it wasn’t. Not really. “Just rough from last night. Did you check the bloodwork?”

“It looks clear. So as long as your symptoms remain mild, I do not feel the need to give you another dose,” Alfred tells him, and Dick relaxes. “Bed rest, however, continues to be recommended.”

This is something Alfred will push for, and Dick doesn’t want to be pushed, so he holds his hand out and lets Alfred help him up.

“Very good, sir,” Alfred praises him. “Master Damian, if you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

Alfred helps Dick get into bed, gets him settled, and hands him a pill. Then he disappears into the bathroom, returning with a cup of water.

“What’s this?” Dick asks, swallowing it with the proffered water before he gets an answer.

“Only some Tylenol,” he assures. “For the headache and chest pain.”

“Thanks,” Dick says, easing himself into the pillows. “Was it … it was bad last night?”

“You were having difficulty breathing when Master Damian brought you in,” Alfred tells him. “You required a breathing treatment followed by oxygen for a while, although neither were very effective until the antidote began to work. Master Damian seemed unsettled, so I thought it would be best for the two of us to have a conversation about your specific reactions to fear toxin.”

“How much did you tell him?” Dick asks, eyes closed and breathing already slowing.

“I didn’t go into too much detail, but I explained the cause”—over-exposure to and lack of treatment for fear toxin mixed with a developing brain and pair of lungs—“and how your symptoms come and go. He was confused as you had been exposed before and hadn’t reacted so severely, so we discussed how this can be unpredictable and is often influenced by other factors. Including variation in dosages and time before treatment.”

Nothing new to Dick, but for a ten-year-old who had no warning, it could be a lot. Even if that ten-year-old was Damian.

“Hmm,” Dick chooses as a response. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Alfred tells him, resting a hand on top of his head. “Sleep well, and do call if you need me.”

And Dick sleeps.

oOo

The nightmares come and go. It’s not the toxin, but his brain is always like this after an exposure—even if it hasn’t been this bad in a while. Years, even.

Dick finds himself in a confusing cycle of waking and falling asleep, unsure of where he is and what’s real. He remembers Alfred, finding him in the hall and herding him back to bed, pressing an inhaler into his palm. Had he been sleepwalking? Had Alfred checked him for a fever? He felt cold, maybe they were chills. Maybe he was actually sick.

The next lucid moment, he found himself feeling the urge to run away. From what, he couldn’t remember, but the nightmare had been clear once. He was at least certain that the only place he wanted to run to was Bruce, but he wasn’t here, and the dream told him he was also part of the monster. But that couldn’t be right, because Bruce could never be a monster. He fought monsters, and he won.

“Grayson?” Damian is shaking him awake. It had been a dream, then. But. He was in the hallway? Had he run away? “Grayson, it was just a dream, you’re alright.”

Bruce had said those words to him. Not exactly, but close. And Dick had said them to Damian—it hadn’t been fear toxin that had caused that first nightmare, it had been after Bruce, and after Tim left.

“I’m, I’m,” Dick mumbles, unable to control his tongue.

“You’re outside father’s room,” Damian tells him calmly. He sounds like he’s following a script; Alfred had probably told him how to handle Dick like this. “You are having a flare-up. Do you require your inhaler?”

“I’m fine,” Dick says. And he thinks it’s true. “You can, I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Nonsense. It is Robin’s job to look out for Batman, isn’t it?” Damian asks, and Dick nods. “Then as Robin, leaving you now would be a dishonorable act.”

Dick hums, unable to argue and unsure how or even if he should. It’s hard to think like this; he doesn’t feel like himself.

“Do you require assistance to get back to bed?” Damian asks.

Dick stands, and Damian slides his arm around Dick’s waist. Dick knows he could manage on his own, but he’s dizzy. It’s nice not to have to stumble and fall all the way back to his room.

Damian only lets go of him when Dick’s sitting back in bed. He hesitates, watching Dick cautiously. Dick is feeling tired again, too tired to figure out what Damian needs. Maybe a dismissal? Could be, but Dick should probably thank him instead. This is a big step for Damian, trying to take care of Dick, showing that he cares about Dick. He remembers the first time he was sick since Damian came to live with him, and he had been quite the opposite of kind and understanding back then.

“You’re shaking,” Damian says. “Is that? Or perhaps you are not in the proper state to discuss this.” More script, Dick guesses.

“It’s okay,” Dick assures him; he’s happy to answer the question, happier that Damian feels comfortable asking. “But yeah. I think it’s just the adrenaline.”

“I see.”

A long pause, and Dick can feel himself swaying where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He wishes Damian would spit it out, or leave if he wasn’t going to. Dick really needs to lie down.

“I am aware that you are very … tactile, and I have read that pressure can help ease anxiety,” Damian starts cautiously. “Do you think that would help you?”

For a moment, Dick forgets how terrible he feels and he can’t help but grin up at Damian. “Are you asking me if I want to cuddle?”

Damian scowls at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do not be childish, Grayson. I am merely suggesting what the experts have found to be effective, especially for people such as yourself. I would rather let you recover in your own time, but Batman and Robin are needed, and—“

“Damian,” Dick cuts him off. “I could really use a cuddle. Or whatever you want to call it.”

Damian scoffs at him, but then he wraps his arms around Dick. Dick hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. It does help Dick feel better, and he hopes Damian is sharing some of this relief. After all, they’ve both had a rough night.

[musical-shit-show]

Two Sides: Chapter 4

Previous Chapters: (1) (2) (3)

Characters: Musical!Beetlejuice, Female!OC, Lydia Deetz, Barbara Maitland, Adam Maitland

Warnings: anxiety, supernatural elements, cursing, kissing, sexual references, strange dreams (?), mentions of death

Word Count: 1,878

Author’s Note: So it has been a while since I posted this fic...I’ve honestly been distracted by other writing ventures but I forgot how fun this story was to write, so I will be updating more frequently (if anyone is reading, that is). As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Enjoy :)

Chapter 4

“Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck what did I do—” Cassandra started to panic, all blood draining from her naturally rosy face. She checked the business card again, frantically scanning it for any more information on the frightening being that had suddenly appeared in her room. Beetlejuice looked absolutely elated. He straightened his tie as he eagerly crossed towards her, his hair still glowing a vibrant green that illuminated the entire room.

“Shh, hey, hey, hey, new girl, listen,” the demon cooed, fostering a false sense of security to quell her anxiety, “I just wanted to show my appreciation, what with you saying my name and all.” He extended his hand. Chipped black nail polish accented his fingertips. “Put her there.” 

Cassandra had barely extended her hand towards his when, like lightning, Beetlejuice yanked her forward, causing her to stumble. In one fell swoop the demon caught the living woman, dipped her clumsily, and placed an entirely non-consensual kiss on her lips. 

The ever-present smell of decay was increased exponentially now that Cassandra had come in direct contact with its source. She held her breath, paralyzed by the sudden and rather forceful kiss. When he finally released her, Beetlejuice sported a smug smile, licking his lips in what he thought was a seductive manner. Cassandra wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand, using every bit of strength in her to keep from vomiting at the taste of filth on her tongue. 

“I can’t thank ya enough for setting me free, doll,” Beetlejuice said, running his hand through his sickly green hair. His frantic energy made Cassandra even more anxious, “Being dead is fun and all but sometimes a guy’s gotta stretch his legs back into the world of the living, ya know?”

Cassandra’s head was spinning. ‘So, this guy is dead?’ she thought at lightning speed, ‘And I somehow set him free—whatever that means—by reciting some word from a fucking business card?!’ Beetlejuice noticed her slack jawed expression and grinned coyly.

“I take it you don’t know who I am, do ya?” he said, knowing the answer. If she had known who he was, she would’ve never been naive enough to read the card out loud. 

“No,” she said quietly, feeling a slight quiver in her voice as she spoke to the specter, “I mean, I’ve already met two dead people today, but they didn’t look anything like you. Who exactly are you, again?”

“I’m the ghost with the most, babes,” he replied, adjusting his coat, as if smoothing down the ratty suit jacket would make him look even the slightest bit presentable, “That word you so generously repeated three times is my name. Don’t wear it out.” The man grinned, and Cassandra scanned him again, noticing he had what appeared to be light green moss growing on his face. 

The striped suit, the green hair and moss…it triggered a strange sense of déjà vu. Suddenly, her mind flashed back to her eerie dream from the car ride. A look of dawning realization crossed her face, causing the demon to smile as if he were reading her mind.

“Yeah, that little vision you had earlier?” he said, smiling proudly, “That was all me. Breathers make it so easy to get into their heads, especially when they already have an affinity for the strange and unusual.” He quirked an eyebrow, studying her confused expression, “Though, not strange and unusual enough to see me when you arrived.”

“So, you’re invisible to everyone unless someone says your name three times?” Cassandra questioned. The specter nodded his head, “And I ‘set you free’? What exactly does that mean?” 

“It means I can affect the human world again,” he said with casually, whipping out a cigarette and beat-up purple lighter, “Lyds banished me a couple of months ago because I might’ve accidentally set fire to some shit around the house. Major bummer. But thanks to you, BJ is back, baby—” 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Cassandra said, cutting him off, “You know Lydia too?” She felt her blood begin to boil as another secret her roommate kept from her was revealed. 

“Oh yeah, ‘course I do,” the demon said as he silently held out his pack of Marlboros, totally oblivious to the woman’s anger. Cassandra waved them away and he shrugged, taking a long drag of the cigarette wedged between his wide fingers, “She and I go way, way back. Adam and Babs too. In fact, they—” Suddenly, the door swung open, causing the demon’s mouth to clamp shut. Lydia stood in the doorway, her thin frame heaving with fury.

“Hey, asshole,” she said, her voice quiet and controlled, “How the fuck did you get back here.” Lydia marched up to the ghoul through a cloud of cigarette smoke, grabbing his tie and pulling him downward a few inches to meet her eyeline. 

Though Beetlejuice presented himself as a terrifying demon, Lydia’s rage had him shaking in his striped suit, the cigarette that hung loosely in his mouth moments before falling lightly thumping onto the hardwood floor. He silently pointed at Cassandra, who had her arms folded across her chest, her fingers gripping her arms tightly as she stared at her roommate. Lydia’s expression softened, and she let go of her ghostly companion and crossed to her roommate, who was growing redder by the second.

“Cassie, how—” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Lydia,” Cassandra snapped before the question could even be completed, “maybe if you didn’t leave weird summoning cards around, I wouldn’t have accidentally met another one of your friends. I take it that he’s a ghost, too?”

“Well, technically I’m a demon, but—” Beetlejuice started, thoroughly loving the drama. Lydia held up a hand to silence him once more. She pointed to the door.

“You,” she said, her blood still boiling from his shenanigans, “Out. Now.” Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes, and with a snap of his fingers, he vanished. 

“Look, Cass,” Lydia said, pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly overwhelmed, “I had nothing to do with the card. Beej did. I didn’t think I’d have to tell you about him because I assumed he was still good and banished. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Just, please tell me what’s going on?” Cassandra said, a clear strain in her voice, “I honestly don’t think my heart can take any more surprises today. Full truth, no secrets.” Lydia exhaled deeply and sat on the edge of the bed, motioning for her roommate to follow.

She recapped as much as she possibly could in a short amount of time. Lydia told Cassandra all of the important points: meeting Barbara and Adam after moving in, running into Beetlejuice on the roof, wreaking havoc, travelling to the Netherworld.

“He tried to do what—?” Cassandra blurted when Lydia mentioned Beetlejuice’s scheme to become human, “Were you not, like, 15?” Lydia shrugged.

“It was a green card thing,” she deadpanned. Cassandra cracked an incredulous smile, and Lydia broke into a giggle, “Seriously though, I weirdly understand why he did it. He wanted to be alive again so badly, and I had a plan to get rid of him. Turns out ‘marrying’ him gave him a dose of reality and me a chance to send his ass back to the Netherworld.” Cassandra raised her eyebrows in agreement, still trying wrap her mind around how marrying a ghost (demon? spirit? eldritch horror?) would bring them back to life.

“So why did you let him back, after all the shit he pulled, I mean?” Cassandra asked. Lydia picked at her black nail polish, which began flaking onto the bedspread. 

“I, well…I saw how lonely he was,” she confessed, “That’s what made us such good friends in the beginning; we both felt invisible.” Casandra smiled sadly, thinking to her own feelings of isolation; Lydia had partially saved her from those feelings. Although her loneliness had manifested in other ways, she understood how comforting it must’ve been to find someone who shared that feeling, even if they happened to be a dead guy with green hair dressed in an obnoxious striped suit.

“So, even after I killed him,” Lydia added casually, “it only took him a few months to show up again. Came topside again for some bio-exorcism a few towns over, and jumped at the chance to bury the hatchet.” She smiled fondly. “I didn’t mind, either. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s my pain in the ass.” 

“Did someone say ‘pain in the ass’?” Beetlejuice materialized once more, this time with a bag of popcorn and a ‘Go Lydia’ pennant. “So, did I miss the catfight?” he asked gleefully, waving the small flag eagerly. Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose and Cassandra stifled a laugh. Her life had truly taken a turn to the ridiculously absurd over the course of one afternoon.

“Get off her bed, weirdo,” Lydia scolded, “I was just catching up Cassie on everything, since someone decided to be a dick about me banishing them for scaring the daylights out of some very important clients—” 

 “Now, now, Lyds, let’s not point any fingers here,” the demon retorted, brushing the dust off of his ancient suit, “You wouldn’t want to embarrass me in front of our guest, would you?” Lydia stuck her tongue out at him, and Beetlejuice sneered, the two of them acting like annoyed siblings. Cassandra suppressed another giggle, not wanting to encourage any more bickering. 

“Cass, this is Beej,” Lydia said, turning to her, “Or BJ. Don’t call him by his full name unless you want to banish or summon him. If you wanna get rid of his stupid ass, just say it three times in a row again. Really works when he’s being a prick.” She smirked while Beetlejuice still pouted. Cassandra was still studying him intently, fascinated with his entire being even after Lydia had explained his presence. As ghosts, Barbara and Adam were interesting to say the least, but Beetlejuice was something completely different.

Lydia gave an exasperated sigh, also feeling quite overwhelmed by the day’s events “Also, we were gonna maybe play a board game or watch a movie or something soon. You in?” Cassandra nodded, still trying to absorb all of the information that had just been thrown at her. She decided it was in her best interest to act as normal as possible now so she could bombard her roommate with even more questions after the weekend was over. Lydia then turned to Beetlejuice, who was oddly quiet, “You’re more than welcome to stick around too, Beej. If you behave yourself, that is.” He rolled his eyes, muttering something indistinct to himself. 

“What was that?” she asked, her tone far more threatening. The faintest streak of white appeared in the ghoul’s hair, indicating that he was actually afraid of her.

“Nothing, oh best friend of mine,” he said dully.

Lydia smirked again, and glided towards the door, turning her attention to Cassandra, “Seeing as you’re the one who summoned him, it might be in your best interest to get to know our little demon friend a little better while I set up tonight’s activities, eh Cass?”

“Lyds, I don’t—”

“Hey, what do you mean by little—?”

--------

Thanks for reading! Like/reblog/comment if you enjoyed or have any comments/suggestions!

[thattimdrakeguy]

I couldn’t finish Batman and Robin 2009. It was just... mentally exhausting and I stopped shortly after Bat Dick put fake Bruce in the Lazarus pit. Based on his appearances in Teen Titans, Bruce Wayne: Road Home, as well as his big fan base, I assumed Damian’s character development was executed nicely in his own series. But then again in Gates of Gotham (literally read it just for Cass) he’s impulsive, arrogant and rude to Cass both to her face and behind her back-even after she saved his life 1

Don’t get me started on the sexist things he’s said to Steph. I want to like Damian, but writers don’t make it easy. I got into comics because of batfam fanfics and he was a fave of mine. Dude was extra violent and displayed borderline sociopathic tendencies in his first appearances, cool beans. There’s a lot they can do with a character like that. I just felt like his bad behaviour was never properly dealt with before B&R, and I couldn’t muster the energy to see him through his own series. 2/2

IMO, Damian felt like a Gary Stu at times.

I don’t know if that last one was from the same person or not, but I just got the feeling it is, and if it’s not, then well it blends well enough and don’t feel the need to answer it separately.

Like all I can really say is that I don’t really like Damian. A lot of people confuse that for me thinking he’s an evil monster. I imagine cause I have a Tim icon and other Tims do rage on about that every now and again. As well as just plain taking things I say the wrong way (though I have probably said things in the moment I imagine). But I just plain don’t really like his writing, and if I can’t really read a comic he’s in that I actually like. Idk, I just find it weird to say I like him, when all I really like is what he could be. I don’t feel like that really equals me liking him, cause when I think about it, I kinda realized that meant the opposite, and didn’t wanna project the wrong idea.

But I wanna say this about Damian. He is insanely inconsistent as a personality and character. To this very day. So, as I do with every character, I start from the beginning, figure out what was meant to be by the writers that helped develop them, and figure out what’s in-character and out of character from there. I just feel like it’s the most objective way I can look at anything if I want to review things with standards that are more than just “I like this” or “I don’t like that”.

And in the case of Damian he’s never not been inconsistent. Like one of the main reasons I reread Batman and Robin (or at least Morrison’s run) was for plans of a post about flanderization in the Bat-Family, cause it was pretty rampant in the 00s and still continues often to this very day, and I think is the cause of a lot of lost sales and unhappiness and overall fandom diminishment.

However also to say it, I liked to see a lot of what Damian could be within B&R 09.

But anyways, basically just because I can’t really do a part of the post on Damian without trying to figure out what he was like to begin with, and what he was supposed to be per his creator.

Cause you can’t really tell in fandom. Cause his most popular comics are from stuff that isn’t in the main universe and was purposely a lot lighter, or in the main universe from writers that really surprisingly didn’t get the character despite the popularity--which continues my thinking on it was less about the quality of the writing and more about the lazy fan service. They honestly really flanderized him in a similar yet opposite way then what they did with Tim in the 00s.

And while I can’t act like the sexism and homophobia wasn’t an actual part of the character of Damian at the time--he shows both of those traits in the series (at least the homophobia, cause I’m now realizing that I might be thinking of another series for the sexism). He was flanderized even then by other writers from the different series.

Like how he’s written in Red Robin, is not freaking Damian. It’s not Damian to me. I don’t accept it as Damian. Even a lot of the content of him in Batgirl I even less feel like is Damian--besides unfortunately some of the sexist comments, but they never really proper developed him on that as far as like--actively showing that, at least that I can recall. So all I can really say is it’s uncomfortable, and how they don’t delve into it is the only real reason I say “That actually sadly does fit in with him”. But it’s not like it doesn’t make sense, he was raised to fight, not to handle emotions or feelings, he probably would do and say really creepy things when he has a crush--I just wish they’d actually acknowledge that what was going on rather than sacrificing a good story for more fan service.

The other writers make him too much of a bratty, snotty, kid. And I found that, that is an absolutely terrible interpretation of Damian, because beyond his origin, he isn’t a typical brat, and he doesn’t really act like a kid (in some ways yes, but general mannerisms and personality no). And even then he was a different kind of brat. He was entitled and bitchy in his origin, not immature (at least in the same way) and snotty. They have him act more like some spoiled brat from next door rather than a kid that was abused into being obedient to be what his abusive mother wanted (Talia shouldn’t be abusive, but like I said before, I think the series sucked overall for reasons like that and more).

(I also find that stupid line cutting scene in RR where I presume he was trying to kill Tim to be even stupider, cause Damian wouldn’t freaking do that at that point. They make Damian come off as so stupid in that issue, I hate it. Cause it was all just a cheap way to force sympathy for him, but it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it and is a huge stretch.)

Damian doesn’t make jokes when he’s written better--it’s like his thing. He’s got quite the temper, and understandably why of course. He’s violent with criminals, but he’s also mostly just stoic as his base state when not in a stressed situation, and even shows remorse (which is a big stretch from his origin, but I blame that on the writing which could be very rushed and lazy). He was treated like just another adult for the most part, and it had a weirdly endearing quality despite the maturity of it, and general edge of the series. It was Damian’s place and it worked really well. It just felt right for their dynamics. Damian’s a unique kid, and they respected him for who he was. He just needed help on his morals and stability.

But other series didn’t really get that. He would still be really rude like his origin, and not really the same tone of rudeness (I’m not sure if I can really explain what I mean by that), he’s aggressive, but putting him in Teen Titans never made sense to me, because I don’t see Dick doing that. Dick had a lot more respect than to force Damian to do something like that. Dick was more patient, and while he did lightly smack (not any kind to hurt him any. literally to demonstrate without pain. more taps really) him to teach him a point about aesthetical weaknesses in his costume like the hood, it was mostly done out of finding a way to teach him that would speak to him. So just forcing him to do something he didn’t want to do--which would clearly not work on him--was just contrived and plain bad writing wise. Something they did more as a stunt so they can say “TITANS NOW HAS THE SON OF BATMAN” than to use him well or continue his story in a natural way.

With Cass I can’t say anything, because that’s like the one time he talks to her, and that basically shows their dynamic. So that’s just them, I can’t really say anything on it. If he felt challenged by her I could see him being a total jerk. It really depends on the scenes themselves. I never read the series myself cause I genuinely really don’t like that Batman Reborn era of Bat-Family. Too much of it was just done for publicity and random changes, and for the most part didn’t work much to me.

But overall, at the same time, despite me singing the praises of what Damian could be, and was for a little while. The overall writing for the character arc was super lazy. Stuff just kind of happens, and way too quick to fit in with what they introduced. He just kind of goes “this is right, now”, which makes his whole brainwashing thing feel a bit--useless, and makes how he went from chopping heads off to that in very little time sort of cuts out depth that could’ve really made the series more rereadable. Damian actually comes off surprisingly as a very flat character for stretches of time in the issues because his character arc is never focused on as much as you’d think until they need to be like “Oh yeah...uh, here’s an emotional moment”. Which just felt really cheap to me.

So the series to me isn’t worth it if you want a good story. None of the stories were good to me, I think I was questioning each one cause it was either schlocky, out of character, or both. I know people like Grant Morrison, but they aren’t for me, I’m not a fan of their writing. Damian was a Gary Stu a lot, which they try to explain with the League thing--but having the League give him experimental surgery so he could walk the same day (or next) after being legitimately paralyzed was just way too freaking much to me. But he does make mistakes, so he’s not at base a Gary Stu really--the writing just really stunk badly sometimes.

This isn’t me putting in a bid to say “OH YOU JUST NEED TO READ THIS, AND YOU’LL FREAKING LOVE HIM”, because to be freaking honest, when you already have a bad taste in your mouth, it’s best to just wait a bit till trying again. I read the fandom recommended comics and felt there was so many problems that I couldn’t read Damian for literal months. And he still has a lot of the problems you said. I’m just saying Damian is surprisingly different when written by his creator than others, cause honestly nearly every single other writer for him has gotten him wrong. Like mind-blowingly wrong. He does not feel like the same character anywhere else. It’s nuts.

To put it another way, it’s a generally speaking bad series, but if you want to see what Damian was meant to be like before they kept regressing him, and diminishing him, and turning him into more a joke, and see what his dynamic with Dick and Alfred was meant to be like, it’s a brilliant and perfect series to read it for.

It’s better for learning about them--then it actually is to enjoy it. Because it’s most likely not a series I’m going to be returning too often unless to research something again.

[rose-blooms-red]

Mk! So @navndyne sent in 2 prompts a bit ago, a star wars one which I already filled, and this one! which was “or maybe something with tim & cass & dick that's centered around the manor in some way??” And I loved it so!! I wanted to do it. Then of course @bigskydreaming got me having Emotions about tim and dick’s relationship because of Conner and......well, I do Not care if the timeline for this makes no sense, Canon’s timeline doesn’t either so I have free range so I hope you all enjoy this lmao it isnt my best work but staring at the words any longer would’ve made me go mad. (Read on Ao3)

The Manor is still, quiet, the air full of ghosts and dreams.

 Bruce is out, Alfred is shopping, Damian is—

 Dick winces, doesn’t think about that.

 He doesn’t think about a lot of things, it’s easier that way, better than breaking down.

 (He looks at the Damian of his memories and thinks child, my child, my heart and my love and my life. He looks at the empty part of his heart, all ripped open and ravaged. All the bits torn out and thinks, dead, dying, gone.

 He looks at the child’s grave and can’t think Damian, can’t see the prickly wonderful little boy who revealed the kindness he held in spades.

 He breathes, and it is grief, lined with sorrow, lined with the parts of his heart.)

 The Manor is still and Dick stands in the entryway like he is the ghost, the unwanted memory.

 There is a shadow on the stairs.

Dick breathes, closes the door and hangs up his jacket. Makes his way to Cass’s side slowly, silently.

 She is still. Hair falling into her face and eyes on him, watching.

 “Hi Cass,” he rasps and she blinks, waves slowly, hesitantly.

 He hums, looks up at the chandelier, “Words a no today?” he asks, gently, treads on the tightrope of upsetting her and being there for her and hopes he doesn’t tip over the edge.

 She shrugs, shakes her head, flicks her hands through the beginnings of dozens of different words, never finishes any of them.

 They sit like that, quiet, on the stairway of a Manor neither of them have been back in for months.

 Finally she moves, and Dick focuses on her body, her hands.

 ‘Heard’, she signs, and he doesn’t need to ask what she heard about.

 Heard and no one told me, she doesn’t sign, and Dick reads anyways, in the lines of her body, the tensing of her shoulders the flex of her jaw and the tilt of her head, heard and everyone is hurting, heard and I was alone, heard and I don’t know how to feel, heard and I didn’t like him sometimes but he was a child.

 So many things unsaid, in the Manor.

 Dick breathes and he both wants to apologize and wants to snap at her.

 He does neither, looks down at his hands instead and thinks of tiny hands that were always smeared with graphite.

 He breathes, “How are you?”

 She frowns, shrugs, and reaches out a finger to tap his leg, flicks quickly, ‘fine, you not though.’

 Dick shrugs, “I miss him, and it’s weird now, but I’m okay Cass.” He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, bites at his lip, “You aren’t fine though, or you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

 She shrugs, hands twisting into a ‘complicated’. Dick doesn’t wince, nods, he understands that though.

 Damian and her had never meshed well but—

 Cass has never wanted him dead when he did nothing wrong, has always loved the family with all she had.

 “Yeah kiddo,” he sighs, leans against the stairs and ignores the press of the edges into his aching back, “I know.”

 Someone slips in through the window, almost quiet enough to miss, and Dick listens closely, makes out the steady stride and relaxes.

 ‘Tim,’ Cass signs, and Dick nods.

 Tim is — not a person Dick wants to see now in all honesty.

 But Dick has rarely gotten the things he wants.

 He sighs, sits up and looks to the top of the stairs just as Tim reaches it.

 Tim freezes, something like anger and regret and something else too complex for Dick to name flickering across his face before it shutters.

 Dick waves, “Hey, feel like joining us in our party?”

 Cass snorts, ‘Pity Party,’ she signs and Dick shrugs, “Still a party.”

 Cass sighs, ‘Not fun, just makes you feel all bad inside.’

 Dick snorts, looks up at Tim, “Well, apparently Cass and I are awful conversationalists right now, but if you feel like putting up with us—”

 He trails off, watches Tim as nonchalantly as he can, hopes, with a ferocity that surprises him, that Tim will accept the olive branch.

 He’d thought he used all of that hope up already, with the other times he’d tried and been turned away.

 Something is different this time, something cracks and Tim shifts a little, nods his head and tucks a piece of hair behind his ear.

 He looks, in that moment, a little like that kid who still thought Dick was good and great and could do no wrong.

 It hurts, in an aching kind of way, not like the sharp stabbing of Damian but—

 Well, there are a lot of hurts between them, and very little healed.

 Tim walks down the stairs, a little hesitant and Dick and Cass wait for him.

 It’s silent in the Manor as Tim sits down with them, and there are ghosts in the halls taking the shape of barbed wire and words unsaid and children dead.

 I’m sorry, Dick doesn’t say, I’m mad at you, he thinks, I love you still and I didn’t want to hurt you.

 Tim sighs, “I don’t think I hated him.”

 Him, he says and Dick hears, Damian, Demon Brat, Yours, the one you chose, Robin, The wanted one.

 I didn’t choose him over you, he wants to say, has already said so many times he doubts Tim even registers it anymore, I wanted you, I loved you, I love you, I asked you to stay, you left, you left me.

 He doesn’t say that, sighs instead, rubs a hand over his tired eyes, “I know.”

 Tim picks at his shirt, “I didn’t like him, he irritated me and was always being a little shithead to me and it made me mad.”

 Dick wants to grab his hand, wrap him up in a hug, but Tim has never liked hugs unless he asks for them. He runs a hand through his hair instead.

 “I was mad at him for a lot of things,” Tim says, and it is a confession. Tim swallows, whispers, “I was angry with him, but I don't think he deserved to die.”

 Cass shifts, ‘Spiky’, she signs, ‘Good though, very complicated.’

 Dick laughs, a little wet and a little choked, “Yeah, he was a good kid, and he was a shithead at times but he was a good kid.”

 They’re quiet.

 “Are you mad at Bruce?” Tim asks and Dick closes his eyes.

 He thinks about it, thinks he could be, if he had the will to be. There are a hundred things he could be mad at Bruce for, could let build up and explode.

 But he has spent so long growing angry and forgiving and then repeating the cycle and he is tired.

 And Bruce is already mad enough at himself anyways, already digging himself into a spiral from the guilt. Dick doesn’t need to add to that.

 “No,” he answers, and Tim freezes.

 “Oh.” he says, and there is something like shock there.

 It’s fair, Dick guesses, feeling tired and heart aching.

 Cass presses close to Dick, leans her head against his shoulder, takes his calloused hands into her own and plays with his fingers.

 Tim fiddles with the hem of his shirt, bites at his lip, “I was mad at you.”

 Dick blinks, looks at Tim out of the corner of his eye, thinks, I know, you were mad at me for a lot of things but what does this have to do with anything?

 Doesn’t ask that, says simply, “Oh?”

 Tim shrugs, “For Conner.”

 Oh, Dick thinks faintly, feels stupid.

 It makes sense.

 He’d wondered, a lot, whether Tim had wished it was Dick who died instead. Had spent so long reading those words in between the lines of what Tim said that it’s second nature to expect them now.

 Tim purses his lips, looks up at Dick, “I’m not, anymore, by the way. I blamed you for a long time, and it was wrong of me and I’m sorry. I—”

 Tim frowns, twitches, and Cass leans over, taps him once on the forehead.

 The Manor is quiet and there are ghosts being brought to life and Dick is part relieved and part exhausted and part terrified.

 Tim closes his eyes, breathes, “I was mad at you and that wasn’t fair. I was mad but mostly I was hurting and I didn’t want help. I just wanted everything to be okay again. And even when everything was okay again, I was still mad at you and I was mad at Damian because I’d spent so long being mad at you guys and letting everything prick me that it was easier than saying sorry and,” he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

 Dick smiles, soft and sad, “No one makes good decisions when they’re hurting Tim, I don’t blame you.”

 Tim shook his head, “You’re lying, but that’s okay cause I did a lot of that too. I shouldn’t have blamed you and I shouldn’t have blown up at you and I’m sorry.”

 Dick leans his head on Cass’s, reaches a hand out to Tim, “I forgive you. I’m sorry I didn’t ask whether you wanted to be Nightwing instead of Robin.”

 Tim shrugs, doesn’t look at Dick as he takes his hand.

 Cass sighs, ‘We were all being dumb and bleeding pain from our hearts.’

 Dick presses a kiss to her head, “Yeah Cass, we were.”

 ‘Sorry’, she signs, and Dick hums.

 “It’s okay Cass. We’re okay.”

 Tim squeezes Dick’s hand, whispers, “I wanted to hate you so much. It felt like I was ripping myself apart”

 Dick squeezes back, “I’m not saying it was okay. But I understand, I forgive you.”

 Tim laughs and it’s bitter, too old for someone so young, “You always forgive us.” He says, and he sounds awful.

 Cass stiffens, presses closer into Dick’s side, guilt lining her body and Dick sighs, “Because it’s worth it in the end.” He says, answers the unspoken question of Why?

 “Even with Bruce?” Tim asks and Dick rubs his thumb across the back of Tim’s hand.

 Damian, he thinks, and he thinks, My child, my love, forgiveness, and hope, and grief, and love.

 “Even with Bruce.” He says.

 It’s a fact, Dick has always loved his family, it will always be worth it, in the end, to forgive them, for moments like this.

 Tim’s breathing hitches and he swipes a hand quickly across his face.

 “I miss the brat.” He says, twists the topic back, “He made the Manor loud again.”

 Dick laughs, sad and grieving. “Yeah he did, didn’t he.”

 They sit on the stairway of the Manor until Alfred gets back, and it is the most together Dick has felt since Damian died.

 It’s a start. Dick is still upset and Tim is still upset and Cass is still upset and they will all hurt each other again over something stupid or something important, but Damian is dead, and the Manor is quiet and they sit together and Dick feels like maybe, for once, he will not have to carry the weight of it all alone.

 It’s a good feeling.

[fearfulkittenwrites]

Nightmares

Warnings: Talks about his parents a little if that’s something that upsets you, but other than that, nothing.

Word count: 1928

Notes: Hey there! So, a little disclaimer: I don't know all that much about Duke, so I just really hope his characterization is good. I also don't know if Dick is the one he's the closer to, but... I know more about Dick than I know about the others so I though it'd be best to use him??? Also, I really think he's the one least likely to be perceived as a threat in general, because he seems to be the one who just... smiles the most. And Idk, it made sense in my head. Now that we got that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this work!

Duke blinked his eyes open. His room was still drowning in darkness, so he sat up as quickly as he could and turned the lights on, vision blacking out for a moment. His eyes hurt because of the sudden brightness, but that was better than the unlit environment, so he rubbed them for a second, hoping it would make it better. Slowly, he managed to keep his eyes open, and looked down at his bare legs and sock-covered feet.

He was alive.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He was safe.

It wasn’t the first night it had happened. Or the second. It wasn’t even the tenth time that it had happened, and we’re only talking about one month. He ran a hand across his face, feeling how sweaty his forehead was, and then slipped out of bed, walking towards the bathroom as his legs still felt a little bit funny, too light to properly carry his body around. He supported his weight on the sink, not wanting to face the mirror just yet.

The cold water helped. Duke felt grounded again, and, unfortunately, more awake. He sighed, face still dripping wet. Sleeping now would be near impossible. He stared into his own reflection.

“Why am I this stupid?” He shook his head, murmuring to himself “It’s just a dream.”

Letting go of the sink, he patted his face dry, coming back to bed. He checked the time on his phone. 3:41.

“Fuck.” All that he managed were four hours, if that, of sleep. Again. And he was no Tim Drake, meaning that functioning during the day would be a big problem.

He laid his head on the fluffy pillow, staring at the ceiling for a moment. He wondered what to do.

He knew that all of the other bats had the same type of issues. Mostly because some of them would wake up screaming in horror, even when they were just taking a nap on the couch. Jason, Damian and Tim had them like that. Cass and Dick never screamed, but they always shot awake quickly and broke down sobbing soon after. He was sure Bruce had them too, but he never saw the man sleeping. He just put two and two together, noticing how his mood changed and how much sleep he seemed to be getting, and assumed he would get them just as often as any of his kids.

He knew all of them would wander into each other’s rooms at night, when they couldn’t sleep. As usual, not because he had been told, but because he had seen Damian and Cass leaving Dick’s room in the morning way too many times. The same thing happened to Tim and Jason, who seemed to often invade the other’s space. But that didn’t stop both of them from searching for Dick frequently as well. And the older boy would, occasionally, be spotted leaving Jason’s room.

He wondered how that worked. If they had a code, or a calendar, any sort of system that had been set up in the past.

He wished he was part of that system.

He checked the time again. Two minutes had passed.

Time was ticking too slowly. He was tired, but sitting alone in the dark was definitely not a good idea right now.

He’d have to ask for help.

Duke swallowed, analyzing his options. Damian was an angry menace, so he was off the list. Cass was scary and the one member you most definetly don’t want to piss off, which meant the risk was too great. Tim wouldn’t be such a bad option, but if he wasn’t out on patrol then he’d be working on one of his projects or homework, in a coffee induced mania. Which meant no. Jason was nice. They got along fine. But still, there was something about him that was always on edge, a little too wild, unpredictable.

Which left out one option. Dick Grayson.

And he was not exactly a great one either.

The teen swallowed.

“Well, it’s now or never, Duke.”

He stepped out of the bed and walked to the man’s door. He stared at the wood’s detailing for a longer time than what he had originally planned on. He raised a shaky hand and gave it three weak, quick knocks.

“Hm...?” Comes the answer.

“Uhm, Dick?” Duke asks “Sorry to wake you, I just...” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. There was some shuffling on the other side of the door, before it was swung open carefully.

“Hey there.” Dick smiled, blue eyes half closed and voice still raspy as he leaned on the doorframe “Can’t sleep?” Duke shook his head “I see. Come in.” Dick gesture him to enter. Duke noticed he had a nightlight on, making the room dark enough to sleep, but light enough to see in “Want me to turn on the lights?”

“No, this is fine.” He answered, watching Dick lay down again. The older man tapped on the bed slightly. Duke didn’t quite get the message.

“Duke. You can sit.” Dick said gently.

“Oh. Right.” He nodded.

Dick studied his movements as he carefully sat down, back towards him.

“Duke,” He asked, pushing himself up on his elbow “What’s going through your mind? Like, right now?” He asked “Be honest.”

The teen sighed.

“That I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t have woken you up. I’m sorry. You’re always working so much, I shouldn’t be so selfish, you need to sleep, and...”

“Okay, calm down.” Dick sat up next to him, shuffling to throw his legs off the bed “Why did you come here?”

Duke winced. He regretted everything and wished he had just dealt with it by himself.

“I-I had a nightmare and I couldn’t sleep.” He answered “I’m sorry, I know that’s not your problem, I should just...” He tried to get up, but felt Dick’s hand on his shoulder and stopped.

“Hey,” He called, calmly “Don’t say stuff like that. You’re my brother, Duke. I’m here to help.” Duke looked into the other’s eyes, bright blue lights staring into his soul “Okay?” Duke nodded “Good.” He rubbed his back a little, and Duke slowly eased into the touch “Something tells me this isn’t the first time you had a nightmare.” Duke bit his lip “That’s okay. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“I... I didn’t think I could.”

Dick tilted his head to the side.

“Why not?”

“I mean... You guys seem to have your system or whatever. I didn’t want to get in the way.” He answered, staring at the floor. Dick frowned, confused.

“System?”

“Yeah,” He answered “I’ve seen you guys waking up on each other’s rooms and all. I know you must’ve worked out a way of... I don’t know. Helping each other, I guess? And I didn’t want to cause some sort of imbalance.”

Dick went quiet for a while, thinking.

“Duke,” He started “We don’t have a system.”

“You don’t?” He looked at the other, who shook his head slowly “But then how does it...” He gestured vaguely, trying to convey a message. Dick grinned.

“Whenever one of us can’t sleep, we go to someone’s room. That’s all there is to it, really.” He explained.

“But... What if someone walks into a room where someone else is having a rough time too? Like, what if Tim goes to Jason and he’s also having a nightmare or an insomnia espisode? Or if Damian comes into your room but Cass is already here?”

Dick shrugged.

“I don’t know how the others deal with it, but if I’m having a nightmare when someone comes in, it’s a relief for me too. And the beds are big enough to fit three or more people.”

Duke thought for a moment.

“So there is no system?”

“Nope.” Dick answered “And just to make things clear: you can knock at my door whenever you need to, alright?” Duke nodded “Great.” He smiled.

It made Duke feel at home. The nightlight kept the room in a comfortable gloom, and nothing here seemed threatening or dangerous. A big teddy bear was sitting on a chest of drawers, surrounded by three smaller plushies; a cat, a bat and a bunny. He had too many pillows on the bed, and every piece of furniture was painted on the lighter side. A real contrast to the man who jumped from buildings and kicked faces for a living.

“So... The bad dream,” Dick started, carefully “What was it about?”

“My mom and my dad.” He looked down again “I was... They were chasing me. I was in a forest and... They didn’t know who I was, and I was running, it was dark and I kept stumbling, falling, tripping on roots and stones... And then...” Duke made a choked sound, and covered his mouth, feeling embarassed.

“It’s alright.” Dick whispered, hand rubbing circles on his back again.

“And then... The Joker was there. And the forest was gone. But I don’t know where I was, it was so dark and I couldn’t see anything, except for him. I tried to run, but I was paralized, in that weird dream way, you know?” Dick nodded, and Duke nodded with him “Yeah. And he didn’t say anything, he just... laughed and laughed and laughed... And then I woke up.”

“That sounds awful, Duke.” He said, soft eyes and understanding voice.

“It... It was.” He felt an arm across his shoulders, and he leaned into Dick’s chest. His shirt smelled like laundry detergent.

“Yeah. But you’re safe now. I’ve got you.” The man gave him a squeeze, resting his chin on the top of his head.

“I- I know.” He answered “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They stayed like that for a while, until Duke trusted himself to speak without crying.

“How do you...” Duke started, and Dick let go of him so they could properly talk “When someone sleeps here, how does that happen? Like, where... Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“In the bed?” Dick tilted his head again.

“But... Isn’t it, like, weird?”

“Oh...” He raised his eyebrows “I see. Not really, no. Usually we cuddle, but that’s not mandatory. Cass is the only one who isn’t always wanting to, but even if she doesn’t want to touch me, the bed is big enough so that we don’t have to. Look, if you want to, you can use the couch, but I strongly suggest against it.” Duke looked at the small sofa placed against the wall. He’d have to curl up in a weird position to sleep in it.

“I think I’ll take the bed.”

Dick tapped his back slightly.

“Good choice.” He smiled, turning around to lay down again. Duke mimicked the action, placing his head on the pillow. Dick’s were much softer and fluffier than his. Not in a bad way, just different.

It felt odd. The bed smelled distinctly like his brother, but he was unsure on which product had that effect; the aftershave, the cologne, the deodorant, the shampoo, the hair pomade... Maybe a combination of all of those. Weirdly, it felt comforting. Safe.

He turned around, laying on his side and curling up a little, like he always did. Dick had his back turned to him.

“Hey, uhm, Dick?” He whispered.

“Yeah?” The other murmured sleepily.

“I was... M-maybe... If we... Like, would it... U-uh...”

Dick turned around.

“It’s okay.” He said, wrapping his arm around the other “Like this?”

“Y-yeah.” He stuttered “Thank you.”

“No worries, baby bro.” He grinned “Good night Duke.”

“Good night.”

[renaroo]

Cass Cain vs the Bat Family for the last slice of Alfred's pie. "Is that a challenge?"

A/N: This became a more Batfam entirety kind of story and then a commentary on the madness of quarantine in my own family using Uno as a proxy. Regardless it was a lot of fun to do.

Four Walls and Attitude 

Oracle places her hand against the map behind her. What was once a black and white scaled model of Gotham is now glowing a radioactive green with shades of green depending on the island, the neighborhood, and even the street.

Everyone, including Batman, stares in awe of the projection.

“In other words,” Oracle says, looking sharply over her glasses, “there is absolutely no way we can operate like normal without causing things getting worse.”

Silence spreads quickly throughout the cave. Most of them don’t even know what to make of the information.

Finally, giving voice to the general shock, Nightwing finally says, “Wow. Corona killed Batman.”

“It did not, the rest of you are staying in the manor,” Batman concludes, leading to an eruption of disagreement.

“Did you not pay attention to what I just said?” Oracle demands. “It goes for you, too, Bruce. No one in this cave can leave without it causing a major public health challenge. We patrol too many areas, cross-contaminate with each other too often, and, worst of all, we have immunocompromised family members of our own to worry about.”

It was an intentionally vague statement, but it doesn’t stop the meaningful glances toward Alfred and Red Robin.

Red Robin crosses his arms angrily. “I resent that statement.”

“Maybe keep better track of your spleen,” Red Hood snorts.

Black Bat is uncertain, shifting on her heels. “What do we do?”

“Social distance and adapt,” Oracle answers easily, straightening her glasses. “It’s possible to fight crime without punching people, you realize. That’s my entire M.O.”

The other vigilantes look at each other warily.

***

The size of the manor was enough reason on its own for them to make it their main base of quarantine. There are obviously more than enough supplies, more rooms than any of them could use independently, and access to equipment and the cave should emergencies arise.

Not to mention, the vast majority of them live there already.

Stephanie calls her mom, Barbara messages the Birds of Prey, and they all find solo activities for the first day, only really intersecting at the library, the kitchen, and the entertainment room during chance encounters.

That seemed to be a good call. And when there is a need for some social interaction, it’s almost always in their usual social groups however they naturally lie.

No one sees Bruce but that seems pretty par for the course.

It isn’t until the third day that things get slightly more challenging.

Stephanie, Duke, and Cassandra enter the mini-theater room with a giant tub of popcorn. The lights are off, but the projector is running and the main couch is occupied by Dick and Damian.

“Oh, didn’t realize you guys were in here,” Duke says sheepishly.

“SHH!” Damian hisses at them.

Dick arches back enough to look at the trio over his shoulder. “No problem, we’re watching Planet Earth. Want to join?”

Stephanie and Duke look at each other with mirrored grimaces.

Cassandra squints at the screen. “No,” she answers for them. “How long?”

“We’re marathoning,” Dick shrugs. “Started about an hour ago—“

“SHH!” Damian snarls at them again.

“We were hoping to watch a movie,” Steph says. Her gaze falls more on Damian than Dick, since he is no doubt the one to appeal to. “The Breakfast Club, it’s a classic. You’d like it.”

Duke looks at them all skeptically. “He would? Really?”

“Cass, you know there’s a different television set,” Dick says, pointing to the floor below.

“Tim’s playing,” Cass says in response, her hands holding up an invisible controller as she mimes Tim’s thumb movements.

“There’s a million places you can set up a laptop,” Dick continues to plea.

That earns a crossed look from Stephanie. “So? What do we need to do? Start putting signup sheets in all the rooms? Just share the projector with us after Planet Earth switches episodes.”

“No,” Dick and Damian say in unison.

The trio leaves the room angrily and, within the hour, clipboards with signup sheets begin being mysteriously adhered to all of the main rooms.

***

Jason has made it a point, nearly every day, to remind everyone that he will be the easiest adjusted to quarantine because he is the only true introvert.

The number of times the words introvert and isolated have left his mouth climb so high that, in secret, everyone is beginning to doubt the truth to them. If he is an introvert to the exponential extremes that he professes, surely he would not need to keep finding where everyone else is hiding to let them know it.

He has an alternating list of Zoom calls he is on each day. Hangouts he makes himself, making a point to inform the others quarantined to the manor than they are not invited to it.

The list of who is invited to it seems to grow by the day.

Kyle Rayner, Donna Troy, Ryan Choi. Then Roy Harper, Koriand'r, and Jade Nguyen. Then Artemis, Bizarro, and Miguel Barragan. Out of nowhere Duela Dent, Rose Wilson, and Suzie Su.

It’s halfway into the second week and Jason has the audacity to come into Tim’s room, pull off his headphones, and ask him if he’s bored.

“You know what I think,” Tim says, more than a little irritated. “I think you’re actually not an introvert. I think you’re not an introvert and you’re taking out your need for social contact out on the rest of us.”

Jason considers his comment, then breaks the expensive Beats in half before walking out the door.

***

Alfred begins making many desserts.

It starts with requests. Of course he will make whatever meal or whatever treat is asked of him, because it is nice to have all his loved ones safe, secure, and in the same location for once. Many of the desserts aren’t even difficult.

Then, somehow, they morph into bribes.

Despite the fact that Alfred has remained tight-lipped about his exact age for all these years, the quote-unquote children insist that he is too old to venture out of quarantine. Thus he must stay in the manor and rely on them to stock the pantry.

This doesn’t seem altogether terrible until it becomes obvious to Alfred that whoever he sends out will only get the foodstuffs they desire and not any of the important staples Alfred puts on the list.

Thus, the trades begin.

He can’t make his famous flan without evaporated milk. He positively will not make ginger layer cake without wine poached pears. And how can they snack on peach and pistachio tarts without honey?

Before Alfred has realized it, he has created monsters. Sugar craved, bored little monsters.

He puts a limit on the sweets he will cook in hopes of focusing instead on cooking favorite meals, but it’s too late.

Even Bruce is checking in on the kitchen at odd hours, looking curiously under the cake plate.

And cutting back the number of sweets Alfred is producing through the week also leads to another unforeseen circumstance.

They begin competing for what sweets are left.

***

Bruce looks in disbelief at the screen. Then he looks at the others. Then back to the screen.

“I distinctly remember us being on episode four,” Bruce says in a voice that edges on Batman.

“Last night, yeah,” Duke agrees, helping Alfred with everyone’s drinks.

No one else seems to find fault with the statement and are waiting for Bruce to continue. They pick at their independent devices lazily, only half attentive to any one thing.

It’s very dissatisfying considering the huge inconsistency that Bruce is detecting on their streaming service.

“Why is it saying that we’ve watched all the episodes already?” Bruce demands, voice sounding more hurt than he meant to let on.

Dick and Barbara simultaneously look up from their phones, toward each other, then back down. The others don’t even bother breaking their concentrations.

“You finished the entire series without me?” Bruce presses.

“Father,” Damian finally speaks up, sounding exasperated, “it is impossible to properly view things with you.”

Bruce squints at his youngest. “What does that mean?”

“It’s not just you, Bruce,” Stephanie says quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I can’t watch shows with my mom either.”

“Boomers just don’t know how to binge-watch,” Tim cuts with the final blow, not even looking up from his laptop.

Leaving the room in spite of protests, Bruce decides he is never going to watch the end of the show out of spite.

***

Cassandra has apparently made it a habit to not let others see her walk through doorways. As a result, she seemingly appears in rooms more than she enters them. Or, at the very least, she acts as though she just always has been and it is the other party who is intruding on her space.

As a result, it’s not altogether shocking when Duke looks up from his newly prepared plate and is met by his sister.

She is staring at his plate more than him.

“Oh, hey, Sis,” he offers her all the same. Then, instinctively, he shifts his shoulders to somewhat create a barrier between his plate and her. “What’s up?”

“Apple pie,” Cass announces as if it answers everything.

“Mmhmm,” Duke replies cautiously.

“Last piece?” she asks, her eyes gleaming.

“I’m sure Alfred will make another,” Duke says, then, slowly adding, “eventually.”

“Mine,” she snaps.

“No, you don’t even eat yours with vanilla ice cream!” Duke argues back, almost turning his back on her completely. “Just eat some of the cookies.”

“No!” Cass says, quickly shifting to be more aligned with the treat. “You eat them.”

“Cass, I got here first!” Duke snaps back, hooking afoot around the leg of the nearest chair. “Fair and square.”

“It was my pie,” Cass hisses. “I’ll take it back!”

“Is that a challenge?” Duke asks.

He sees her lunging and immediately kicks out the leg of the chair as he flips over it.

Cassandra is quick as ever and easily somersaults off of the falling chair to land over Duke’s shoulders. Her force is enough to send Duke’s body tumbling forward, but his body has proper instincts. He holds up the plate of pie above all else while using his free hand to find new ground, twirl his body out, and roll his head forward. Cass tumbles off his shoulders.

She hits the counters, but not before kicking off her shoe and sending it flying for Duke’s face.

He twists enough to lighten some of the impact, but the well-aimed shoe sends Duke into a tailspin.

The pie hits the floor with a sickening thud.

The siblings look crestfallen toward the prize, then each other.

Then they get angry.

By the time Barbara and Alfred burst onto the scene to break things up, the fight has utterly devolved and grown to the size of five Wayne heirs, three of which had no idea what the initial fight was even over.

Jason filmed it and sent it to everyone in his extended Zoom call list.

***

They are at each other’s throats. It turns out the Manor doesn’t have enough rooms.

Even Alfred’s treats are not enough to soothe the tensions anymore. Any little thing can set them off. So they spend the rest of the week finding solitary activities, barely communicating with words anymore.

Finally, some wounds begin to heal when Stephanie speaks to a room of others on their Switches.

“Hey, does anybody have an island with cherries?”

They play in harmony again, comparing villagers in hushed tones and sharing patterns for clothes.

Momentarily, there is hope that the peace will last forever, to the rhythm of island music and Blathers’ gibberish words.

It gives them twenty-seven hours of peace and nothing more.

***

“This absolutely will not work,” Barbara sputters as she pulls up to the table.

The others look at her with mild surprise, but they’re already seated. Jason is shuffling in preparation to deal. The arrangement from his left on is Stephanie, Cassandra, Barbara herself, Dick, Duke, Tim, and then Damian.

Damian is flanked by Jason and Tim. And only Barbara sees what the problem with this is.

“I am looking at a public safety hazard,” Barbara presses. “Dick, seriously, you’re going to let them do this?”

He thinks about it. “It’s a learning experience,” he determines.

“You dealing in or nah, Red?” Jason pushes.

She glares at them all, certain this is purposeful on at least some of their behalves, but she crosses her arms. “Okay, fine,” she says.

Jason deals out seven to everyone. Once he puts the deck in the middle, he turns over the first Uno card — green three — and with his free hand reaches in his jacket pocket for cigarettes. The others are already playing while Jason looks slightly miffed if not panicked when he can’t find the pack.

Under the table, Barbara can feel the shuffle of a pack of cigarettes being passed between other members of the table.

Shockingly enough, Jason doesn’t say anything verbally, but his eyes are already glaring at Damian as the pickpocket.

Stephanie puts down green nine.

Cassandra green Draw Two.

Barbara draws two.

Dick puts down a yellow Draw Two.

“No fair,” Duke chuckles.

Tim puts down a yellow Reverse.

Damian narrows his eyes. “You think you’re clever, don’t you, Drake?”

Duke yellow eight.

Yellow four.

Yellow two.

Blue two.

Blue three.

Blue Reverse.

Damian glares at Jason. “Is this planned?”

“How can they plan Uno, Dami?” Steph asks. Blue one.

Blue seven.

Barbara looks over her glasses at the table. She’s lost track of the cigarettes. “Don’t underestimate these people, Stephanie,” she warns as the ends up drawing five cards before finally laying down green seven.

Green nine.

Wild Card. “Let’s go with,” Duke looks through his hand cautiously, “Yellow again.”

There is a suspicious twitch to Tim’s lips as he puts down a Draw Four. “Let’s go back to red.”

Damian releases an explosion of expletives and leaps to stand on his chair.

“Ah, it was a mistake, my bad,” Dick says, rubbing a hand down his face.

***

Bruce is stone-faced at dinner, strangely fixated on his plate.

It’s not overly concerning, Bruce tends to be in quiet contemplation on most days regardless.

He finally looks up, though, and glares at them all.

“I finished it on my own,” he informs them.

They all stare back.

“Tiger King,” he clarifies. “They’re all guilty. But also. What the hell.”

Everyone collectively loses their minds again.

Alfred sighs and begins drafting a rotation for getting them all out of the manor more.

[kneesheee]

Little Devil

warnings:  cursing | vague references to child abuse | age regression

|two|

Jason stared down at the girl bowing before him. She was a foot and some inches shorter than him standing at a solid five feet. Her once milk chocolate colored hair was fanning around her face, but he didn’t concentrate on that. No, he paid attention to the white strip curling through her hair. He had no doubt that if she were to look up then her eyes would be glowing green.

“My apologies for declining to answer your messages,” she stated into the night. “I had not known that it was the Born-Again Prince that was attempting to contact me.”

“Mila,” he groaned exasperated. Jamila Al Ghul. Daughter of Nyssa Raatko and Slade Wilson after Ra Al Ghul decided to play mad scientist with his daughter’s genes. Sister to Conner Hawke/Al Ghul/Queen whichever one he was going by these days. The only friend he had made while in Talia’s care. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Did you honestly think that I was going to stop, dear cousin,” she questioned as she stood from her crouch. The two of them stared at each other before folding into a hug. It had been awhile since they had last seen each other. “Are the rumors true? Are you the new Heir to the Demon?”

Jason grimaced, “Yes. And before you ask, so are the rumors about Nyssa attacking Talia.”

Jamila sneered, “I always knew Mother held no honor. Despite my resentment of him, I am thoroughly grateful that Grandfather chose not to reveal my existence to either of my parents.”

Jason sighed and ran a hand across his face, “Despite everything, T is doing well and she’s safe. I need a favor from you though.”

His cousin slouched a little and crossed her arms, “The Big and Bad Red Hood needs a favor from mwah? Oh, whatever shall I be?”

“No need for the snark,” Jason crossed his own arms looking at her. Her own eyes glowed with the power of the pit behind them. He didn’t want to know how she ended up in such a predicament. He knew she could take of herself. He knew she could overcome the effects of the pit. If anything, it just made his skin crawl as recounted his own experience with the magical waters. “What I do need is for someone to be out there getting me intel. I need a link to the League so I can know Shiva’s process on helping T and if she needs any backup. I also need someone with ears on the ground for whatever it is Nyssa might be planning.”

“And pray tell, why you cannot do this yourself?”

“From what I’ve been told, I’m the reason that Nyssa attacked Talia. If I step outside of Gotham, then I’m going to have eyes on me everywhere. I need to keep a low profile.”

Jamila hummed as she looked him over. She ran a hand through her hair. “The wishing well near Ivy’s Garden. Whatever information I managed to get then that’s where I’m going to leave it.”

“Don’t you want to be the Heir instead, Mila?”

“Not a chance in Heaven or Hell,” she scoffed.

Jamila moved towards the edge of the rooftop the two of them were standing on. A slight breeze picked up and blew her hair through the air. She turned to look at him and the fierce expression on her face soften into something gentle, “Jason, do be careful. You may not be my cousin by blood, but you are the cousin of my heart. I will destroy the world thrice over if it meant that you keep some happiness.”

She fell backwards off the edge before he could give promise to her words. But he watched as she appeared a few buildings over and heading away from the streets of Gotham and he wonders if she can hear his silent pleads that she do the same.

--

When Jason made it back to the manor, he slipped in through the window leading to his old room. A quick glance at his bed and he could see Talia still lying there sleeping peacefully. Even in her sleep, she still looked like a warrior princess.

He sighed deeply. He needs to find a way to help her get back to her rightful age asap. But… but a part of him wanted to delay it as long as it was possible. He wanted to give her the childhood she should have had instead of the one she was forced to live.

He removed his boots and armor from his body before walking into the bathroom to slip into more comfortable clothing. He checked to see if Talia was still asleep before carefully moving two of the floorboards and placing the minimum weapons, he had carried on his person back in their place. With one last check on his charge, he reestablishes the rigged security system on the window that he made. Bruce and the others were so sure that the motion detectors would catch anybody sneaking onto the premises, but Jason learned his way around those from the very first moment he put on the pixie boots. At least with his security, whoever might try to break it would lose their fingers and then their life when Jason arrived to catch them.

Talia sacrificed everything for him. It’s only right that he repays the favor.

Jason made his way out the room with one more glance at Talia before softly closing the door. When he turned around, Cass was standing there. He quirked an eyebrow. “Guard duty,” was all she said.

He nodded his head and the two of them continued down the hallway. Making their way to the kitchen where the rest of the family had gathered before Jason left to make contact with Mila. Three days had already passed with Talia being stuck as a toddler and he was no close to figuring out how to help her. They had no knowledge if it was magic, science or even technology that made her this way.

“Ah, Master Jason, welcome back. Have a seat. I’ll bring out something for you,” Alfred greeted, walking off before Jason could protest. He shook his head with a fond smile and made his way to the dining room where the rest of the family was waiting.

“I’m just saying Bruce, we shouldn’t be distributing so many resources to help that-that woman after all she’s done to this family. It’ll be for the best to keep her as she is. At worst with our help, we can keep her from turning into the Talia we know today and at best, we can just ship her off to another family.”

It had been years since Jason had felt any effects from the pits. Maybe it had ignited after seeing the evidence on his cousin or maybe the anger he was feeling at Barbara’s words were strong enough to relight it. Either way, he could feel it nipping at the back of his mind... Staying there. Stagnant. It was more of a tool for him to use instead of a leash to control him.

“Look Gordon, I get you have your issues with Talia. But you don’t know jackshit about her and if you speak another word about her, then I’d happily show you exactly just how you’re not actually all that great.”

The rest of them startled not having noticed him come in, but he only had eyes for Barbara. He looked up to her. Cherished her even. She was his batgirl. But Talia was his mother and he wont stand for any ill will to her.

“Jason, what Babs was trying to say—” Dick began, but Jason rose a hand in the air. “She can speak for herself, Dick, and she made it perfectly clear how she felt. I’m making it known how I feel, and I won’t stand for any slander against her. You can speak about whatever problem you have with her on your own time, but so long as she’s here… so long as I am here, then you will keep your thoughts to yourself or leave her wellbeing to me and go back to playing with your computers.”

The two held a small staring match as she tried to gauge how serious he was, and he expertly conveyed the threat in his eyes to the next person that spoke on Talia negatively. She nodded her head at him before turning away. Jason took a deep breath and mentally pushed the pit away. He had been doing good and he didn’t need a relapse.

He kept on to his seat and thank Alfred as he placed his food in front of him. He said a quick blessing over his food just like Talia had demanded of him before he slowly began to it.

“Um, Jason, what did your contact say,” he heard Timmy ask from his seat. Jason looked up to see him typing furiously on his computer with one hand and reaching for the coffee cup that Cass was carefully keeping out of his hands.

“She didn’t tell me much and I didn’t press for much. What she did say is that the rumors about who the new Heir is and how fast the information surrounding Nyssa’s attack is spreading.”

Everyone’s brow furrowed. To know that there was someone out there that might be getting ready to start the biggest war in the criminal world was frustrating. They didn’t know who they were looking for or what to expect from them.

“Well, did she at least tell you who the Heir was,” Stephanie questioned. All eyes turned to him and he narrowed his eyes at her. He took great care of what he alluded with his body language before he answered. Heaving a deep sigh and taking on a look of exasperation, he set his fork down and ran a hand through his hair.

“I already knew who the Heir was and believe me when I say they want nothing to do with the title.”

Tim went back to typing on his computer, “Still it would be good know who the Heir is just in case they cause trouble later down the line.”

Jason scowled at the brat, and here he thought Timmy was his favorite. He then sent a silent prayer of forgiveness to Jamila and he swore he could her sharpening her knives and cursing at him. Jason sighed as if he was exhausted with the topic and didn’t want to let this particular amount of leverage go. “Her name’s Jamila. You’d probably find better information on her if you looked up Death Demon. It’s her code name, but she’s even more of a ghost in the underground world than the Winter Soldier from your comics, Timmers. But she is real. I met her a couple of times while training with the League. She put a knife to my throat and told me to stop killing all of her teachers before she got finished punishing them.”

“Am I the only one trying to figure out why Jason seems to be on first name basis with assassins,” Dick exclaimed.

Jason snorted, “I was one myself, Dickhead. I worked directly under Talia before she let my leash go and set me out on the world. Hell, in some parts, I’m still considered one. There are many places that are living in fear afraid of the Red Ronin to come back and rain down vengeance.”

“I don’t think that’s something to be proud of,” Duke muttered from his spot at the table.

Small patter of feet caught everyone’s attention and Jason looked over to the doorway to see Talia peeking in. Her features were twisted in a scowl and Jason was sure that only he and Cass could see the fear lurking in her eyes.

He rose up from his seat immediately catching her attention and then she disappeared. When he sat back down, he pushed his chair further from the table to catch the small body that landed in his lap.

“Hello, تاليا,” he muttered as he scooted back near the table. She laid her head on his chest and whispered, “Hello, Jason” in English. Jason nearly cried with joy. In the past three days alone, she had spoken in French, Spanish, German, Greece, Swahili and Chinese. Sometimes she would switch languages mid-sentence. It was nice to know that she could speak English also though he still felt like a scolded kid whenever she rose a brow at him when he stumbled from her dialect switch.

He handed her the fork in his hands and let her eat the fruit off his plate. Another thing everyone learned was that she was a vegetarian. But she had spoken to him in silence and broken words that Ra had already been training such weakness from her and forcing her to eat meat. She hates it but she won’t go against her father.

“Hi, Talia. I’m Stephanie!”

Right, despite that they had been here for three days coming and going because like hell was, he going to spend the night at the manor… Talia successfully managed to avoid everyone in the house. Everyone except Alfred and Tim that is. She had told him that watching them concentrate on their task was soothing and orderly. It reminded her of home.

She looked up at Stephanie with a blank stare before looking back at Jason. “It’s up to you.”

“Bright.”

Jason nodded his head, “Hey, Steph. Tone it down a little.” He looked backed down at Talia who nodded her head. “Hello, Stephanie.” The girl in questioned almost squeal in delight before the rest of them started to introduce themselves.

When Damian introduced himself, Talia blinked before leaning his direction. She turned back to Jason, “He looks like Mother’s brother. Family?”

Jason pretend not to notice the emotions in Damian’s eyes. He knows that the boy knows little of his Grandmother’s family. “He is my brother.”

“Potential,” she stated with a raised brow. “Worthy of Nobutora name.”

Talia smiled lightly at Damian before she disappeared from his lap and the sound of her feet were heard back in the hall as she headed back to the room. Jason turned to look at Damian who was staring after his mother with a shocked look on his face.

“She had never told me that before.”

Jason crouched down beside him, “It doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

He ruffled the kid’s hair and gave thanks to Alfred for the dinner. He walked out of the room with everyone else wondering what Talia told Damian. “Call me if you get a lead or anything,” he called behind him.

He needed to get back to his apartment and give Talia her bath before they settled in for the night. The Bats could handle patrol for one more night.

[zombiesbecrazy]

Rainbow Puppies

Summary: Bruce really wanted to hate Pamela Isley right now, but all that he could focus on was how much he admired the way she passionately fought for her beliefs and how he could applaud her application of her educational background into practical endeavors to her cause, however misguided.

Being hit with one of Ivy's toxins now has him babbling like a fool.

ao3

Bruce scowled at the computer screen at his test results, because all they really did was confirm what his body was already telling him. He made his way over to the med bay and hooked himself up to the saline IV line that he already had set up, resigned to the fact that he was going to be out of commission for several hours. There was really nothing he could work on until he could fully trust himself to be objective again. He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes, but his thoughts continued to run wild even as he feels his brain becoming more sluggish by the minute.

He really wanted to hate Pamela Isley right now, but all that he could focus on was how much he admired the way she passionately fought for her beliefs and how he could applaud her application of her educational background into practical endeavors to her cause, however misguided.  He couldn’t stop his mind from whispering to him that the gas that she had shot him with an hour ago was nothing short of genius and he wanted to give her the credit that was due. It was remarkable chemistry work.

He wanted to be filled with rage, except all that was inside was quickly starting to feel more like rainbows and puppies. Or rainbow coloured puppies. Those would be delightful.

The abundance of positivity was distracting. All the emotions building inside him were startling at worse, but his inability to reign them in was more than concerning.  Just a side effect of the drug, he repeated in his head over and over.

As Bruce was just thinking about how lucky he was that no one was around to see him in such a state, before sleep inevitably takes him, when he heard the roar of a motorcycle come into the cave. He turned his head in time to see Dick jump off his bike and his heart soared in an irritating way to see him stride across the cave.

Without looking around, Dick went straight to the weapons station and started going through the cabinets looking for something in particular. “Hey Bruce. Just making a pit stop before I head home. One of my escrima sticks is causing me problems and I wanted to tinker with its elec…” He pulled out a small voltage meter, then looked towards the computer desk and only now seemed to realize the Bruce was not there like he had obviously assumed.  His eyes scanned the cave and widened when he noticed Bruce laying down. Dick walked over quickly and looked Bruce over with careful, but worried, eyes. “What’s the damage?”

“No physical injuries.”

“So what’s with the drip?”

“Ivy got me with something at the botanical gardens. A sort of pheromonal truth serum hybrid that appears to be having a temporary, but dynamic, upswing of my serotonin and dopamine levels.  I have an antidote synthesizing but it’s going to take several hours before its ready. Effects will probably wear off before it’s done. Trying to flush it out faster.”

“Where’s Alfred?”

“I sent him upstairs for the night. No reason for him to sit with me during this. I’m fine.”

“A pheromonal truth serum affecting serotonin and dopamine.”

“Yes.”

“From Ivy.”

“Yes.”

“You sound kind of drunk.”

“Side effect. Will probably pass out soon. Good pass out, not bad pass out.”

“With no other physical symptoms presenting…” Dick raised an eyebrow slowly. “You’re saying that you are either going to start sleepily spilling positively charged emotional secrets at any moment or are you about to become an angry rage monster and should maybe be restrained?”

“The first one. Please leave.”

Bruce averted his eyes to stare steadfastly at the ceiling, but he could practically feel the smile he knew would be growing on Dick’s face. “Why on earth would I leave? It’s like Christmas came a few weeks early.”

“Because if you stay, I’m going to talk. A lot. I can feel it bubbling up. It’s violating.” And it’s wonderful. He felt amusingly numb and a little bit stoned. Damn Ivy. He felt torn about wanting to go after her or getting her a present.

“Well that’s a shame, because I love talking. It’s one of my top five things to do.”

Always the chattiest of his partners, this was no surprise to Bruce.  He loved that Dick hadn’t lost that trait as he grew up. Still loquacious and witty to the core. “I know.”

“Talking to me is probably better than talking to yourself. You’ll sound less crazy.”

Dick probably wasn’t wrong. If he was going to share his emotions unwillingly, he’d rather it be with his son who regularly wore his heart on his sleeve than anyone else, but he still had enough control over himself to deny it. For now. “Leave. Now.”

“Gee whiz, Batman! Whatever you say!” Contrary to his words, Dick sat down on the chair next to the bed. “Except no. You’re injured and alone. I’m staying put.” He kicked his feet up on the edge of the bed next to Bruce to emphasize his point. Stubborn boy. Following his gut. Nothing wrong with that.

Bruce tried to muster up the words to tell him that he wasn’t really injured, but he couldn’t truthfully do that. He may be physically fine but whatever Ivy had sprayed him with was essentially a toxin to his system. Toxin is poison is injury. “I think you are the reason I may hate extroverts.” Throwing the may in there was just enough to allow the words to sneak though. Made it less definitive.

Which doesn’t actually work because Dick can read him like a book, and he smiles at Bruce and points at him accusingly with the damaged stick. “Liar. You love me. I’m great.”

“You’re right. I love you. And I like extroverts.” And the words are all coming out before he can even think about them. “They have a natural quality I respect. I can fake it for a while when needed, but it’s draining. Draining isn’t even the right word. It’s exhausting. I don’t know how you do it. I wish that I was better at it.” There is something comforting about letting the words come out.  He feels open and light in a way that he can’t remember ever feeling like.  Is this what Dick felt like all the time? “I’m a babbling fool. I like listening to it when it’s coming from you, because it’s normal that way.  It’s off putting to hear it coming out of my own mouth.”

Knowing that this way probably just the beginning, Dick smiled and had a sparkle in his eye.  “Anything else?”

“Hrh.”

“You love me.”

Bruce kept his eyes closed, but gave a small nod. “Yes. You knew that already.”

“I did, but its still nice to hear out loud. We don’t hear it from you often. I’m glad you said it.”

“Did you know you’re my favourite?” The words surprised him, but they were true. It was something that Bruce needed to say. That he needed Dick to hear. Urgently.

“What? No. Really?”

“Yes. You gave me purpose at the beginning, Dick. I put a roof over your head, but you made the manor a home again. You brought light into my darkness. You saved me from myself.” Bruce had heard the shock in Dick’s voice and it confused his already foggy mind. How could Dick not know this? “I know what people say about me. That I’m dark, dramatic, closed off and broody and that it started when Jason was killed. It’s all mostly true, but I was always that way to a point. You slowed that progress significantly. You made me better. Make me better. Having you in my life, having someone to care for who cared for me as well, was the thing that I needed most at exactly the right moment.”

The room was quiet for a few moments and Bruce knew Dick’s eyes were on him. He refused to look back. He heard Dick shift in his chair a little and then felt a hand rest gently on his arm. “Even when things were bad? We were real jerks to each other for a long time”

Bruce swallowed deeply, a little concerned about what was going to fall from his lips. They had spoken about this, of course, but never so direct and raw, without Bruce’s filter between them. “Things were definitely rough, but I still loved teen angst filled Dick Grayson. So much. I was mostly frustrated and disappointed in myself that I didn’t know what do to do with or for you anymore. Just like I didn’t really know what to do with a kid when you first arrived, I was equally unprepared for that kid to grow up and be ready to make his own way. I handled it badly. When you left home and became Nightwing I was so proud of you. Of the man that you were starting to become. Of the little role that I had played to help you become who you are now. You are more than I could have hoped you would be when you first came to live here. Every day I want to thank your parents. For giving you such a good foundation to start with. They were excellent parents. I just tried to keep up.” Dick gave Bruce’s shoulder a squeeze in response, a non verbal nudge to keep going. “It’s not just how you changed me though. It’s about who you are overall. The scale of evil to good in my head quantifiably goes from ‘Joker to Dick Grayson’. You aren’t perfect, but you always strive to be better and you are the best person I know.”

All these words and they still feel like they aren’t enough to describe how he feels, but still, he feels content. Glad they are out there.

“I’m flattered, but you’re crazy if think I’m a better person than Clark.”

“Now you are just taking advantage of me in my drugged compliant state.” He finally opened his eyes again and turned his head to look at Dick. “And yes, I most definitely think you are better. I may be biased though. Clark’s not one of my kids.”

“I don’t deserve all that, and I certainly can’t live up to it, but thank you. So much. For saying that and everything else. I love you too.” Dick took his feet off the bed, moved his chair closer and took Bruce’s hand. “Why don’t you tell us more often?”

“Words are hard sometimes.”

“You sound like Cass.”

“She’s not wrong. I’m not good with feelings. Or talking. You know that. Actions speak louder than words. Even now all this talking and my words make more sense in my head.” He grinned and it felt a little goofy. “Cassandra is definitely my favourite.”

Now Dick straight up laughed at him and it sounded like music to Bruce.  He loved to hear his kids laugh; big or small it meant that they were safe and happy. “I don’t want to sound all school yard jealous or anything, but you did just tell me that I was your favourite less than five minutes ago.”

“You’re all my favourites. Dick, Cass, Tim, Damian, and Jason.” He counts them on his fingers. “Favourites.” He points at Dick vaguely, trying to emphasize something. He can feel himself starting to slip, but this feels important. “That was in no particular order.”

“You are such a dad sometimes.”

“Good. Love being a dad. It’s hard and I’m not always good at it, but taking all of you in were the best decisions I ever made.”

“You should tell the others.”

“Probably.”

“But you won’t.”

“Nope.”

“Of course not.” Dick rolled his eyes, but clearly had affection behind the action. “I really should be filming this as evidence. And I should be pestering you for more things that I can use as blackmail down the road.”

“You don’t need to. You already know all my secrets. If you ever want to know something, just ask.”

“You’ll just grunt at me.”

“Good thing you are fluent in Batman.”

“Very true. It’s a special skill I acquired at a young age. Helps when you are the practice kid. I got to teach the others after me.” Dick’s observing him carefully, the way that Bruce had trained him to evaluate people. Taking in all of the details and profiling. “You look tired.”

Bruce nods and he’s struggling to stay conscious.  He knows that he should go to sleep but part of him is liking this drug, being open and honest, and if he goes to sleep the drug will wear off and he’ll be the same as he was before. It’s been a nice change of pace when most times when things change in his life, there are explosions. “I’m always tired.” He can’t remember the last time he slept more than five hours.

“Sleep now. I’ll stay and keep an eye on things. Fix my stick while I’m here. You have better equipment here than at my place anyway.” Bruce hears the distinctive beep that the voltage meter made when it turns on, and he knows that Dick is lying to him.  He has the exact same voltage meter at his kit at home. Bruce knows, because Bruce gave it to him.  It’s a white lie though.  Nine year old Dick Grayson had once taught Bruce that white lies were sometimes allowed if they didn’t hurt anyone. If they made people feel better.

“You mean you’ll keep an eye on me. You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

“That may be true, but I think you’d like it if I stayed.”

“I would. You always have my back, even when you probably shouldn’t. I miss you when you aren’t here, but you’re all grown up. Can’t be here forever.” Silence falls between them again, but there is something else that Bruce needs to say again. Needs Dick to know for sure. “Rainbow puppy.” Bruce hears it come out of his head and knows that they don’t make sense. He tries to explain it to Dick, how the drug makes him feel, how his family makes him feel, but it all comes out like mush.  

Dick chuckled, but it sounded genuine and heartfelt. It always did. “I love you too, Bruce. Goodnight.”

Bruce gave him a small grin, knowing that what he meant got across, and lets the sleep finally take him. The last thing he feels is Dick rubbing his hand gently.  It feels nice and warm. Like home.

[camsthisky]

yorulun asked: Prompt 12 because I am evil and I know it. I want it between Bruce and Dick where Bruce hangs over a cliff etc with only Dick’s hand holding him between death but Dick have a broken arm or something and unable to pull Bruce up himself and the enemies are approaching.The utility belt and gadgets were lost and the cape were torn, so Bruce is unable to do it himself.  So he tell Dick to let go save himself. Cheesy but I need it.

This has been sitting in my inbox forever, my apologies. It’s just really specific, so I had a few problems making it work. It’s not completely what you asked for, but I hope you still enjoy it.

“Let go.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dick says, straining to keep his grip on Bruce’s cape. He knows he’s probably half-choking Bruce with how it’s making Bruce dangle over the street, but it’s hard to keep both his own grip on the ledge of the roof and Bruce below him, so he hopes that Bruce can live with it for a few more seconds until he can figure out a way to pull them both up. “Just as soon as you stop being a gigantic ass.”

Bruce gurgles a half-chuckle beneath him, and Dick winces at the sound. He’s running out of time. “Nightwing,” Bruce coughs. “You have to let go. You can’t pull us both up like this.”

“Watch me,” Dick snarls, and because he’s never liked being told what to do, Dick takes a deep breath and starts to pull himself upward. It’s just like doing a one-handed chin up. A really hard, one-handed chin up with a lot more weight than one person should be able to lift. Dick does it anyways, managing to get himself high enough to hook his elbow around the ledge, too.

Below him, Bruce is swinging a bit, and he’s gone quiet, and Dick worries as he leans his cheek against the ledge and pants for breath. He could go for a nap right about now, but unfortunately, the nap will become the eternal kind if he doesn’t find the strength to get himself and Bruce the rest of the way over the ledge.

Just as he starts to pull himself up again, he slips, and barely manages to scrabble for the ledge again. There’s a pain in his hand and his arm jerks awkwardly, causing Dick to cry out in pain, and Bruce grunts at the movement. And they’re right back where they started. The worst part is that Dick doesn’t think that he can pull either of them up any farther.

“Let go of him!” Tim yells over the comm., and Dick, despite everything in him screaming that he shouldn’t—couldn’t—let go of Bruce, to leave this parent to the same fate as his others, trusts his brother. He lets go of the cape, and his lifeline to Bruce slips through his fingers.

There’s a moment, just a heartbeat, where the world stills and Dick is completely convinced that he’d just let his father fall to his death—again—but then time moves forward again and Jason comes swinging in to grab Bruce before he can hit the street, and Dick almost lets go of the ledge in his exhaustion and relief.

Cass grabs his wrist before his hand can slip, though, and with her help, Dick climbs back over the ledge and onto the safety of the roof. He collapses before he can swing his legs over the edge.

“Bruce,” Dick breathes. “Bruce was shot. And then pushed. He needs help.”

Dick had barely managed to catch him, but it had led to that situation, the one where Dick would have hung there until he couldn’t hold on any longer, and then he would have fallen with Bruce as soon as he ran out of willpower and Bruce ran out of blood to lose. They would have died had their family not come.

Cass nods, though. “Jason and Tim have the car. Alfred is waiting.”

And Dick closes his eyes and lets himself go, just for a second. He lets himself feel some sort of twisted relief, because Bruce hadn’t fallen to his death. Dick doesn’t have to see blood splattered on the ground around a broken and mangled body of someone he loves, and he almost doesn’t care that Bruce was shot.

Almost. Bruce still was shot, and Dick needs to make sure he isn’t going to die from that, too. So, he rolls to his feet and lets Cass help him over to the fire escape. Dick’s not going to lose anybody tonight. Not if he can help it.

[punkscowardschampions]

Jimmy & Janis

Planning a romantic weekend away

Jimmy: Gracie came at me earlier. There was mistletoe up and I near fully hit the floor 😎 Jimmy: Hold fire though. She only wanted to tell me to convince you of summat. Pretty sure you already know what it is Janis: Erm...Father Christmas is really real? That her weave isn't from dead Brazilian hookers? Janis: Enlighten me or I'll tell her she's got a holiday free pass on you 😈 Jimmy: Double date. Need I say more 😡 Janis: FUCK. I DIDN'T THINK IT'D ACTUALLY HAPPEN. Janis: How far does she expect the season of goodwill to extend, like? Already got some poor cunt being a charitable home for her arse so she don't freeze Janis: Single tear. Janis: Question is, can we make it worth it enough for us to endure that shite? Hmm Jimmy: I almost got my arse to church so it wouldn't. Shoulda sucked off that priest when he asked. Too late? Jimmy: You better get me a top notch pressie, baby 😏 Janis: You know you ain't on the nice list 😉 Janis: So, Santa might be dissing but you'll be getting something extra special from me Janis: As for God, and his holly jolly perverted following, I reckon we're both shit out of 🍀 there, no matter how good our head game is, such is life Janis: Grah, I hear she does shoutouts now...want that 'influencer' clout, baby? Not double entendre my end but might be for GracieGuru 🙊😂 Jimmy: what the fuck we going to do then? No way I'm hanging with her and her latest 'boo boy' Jimmy: Even if I was getting paid, which is likely since she just loves common grounds Janis: Preaching to the choir, dickhead, ain't my idea of a good time either, or hers let's be fucking real. She just wants to dry-hump a slab of boy in front of you on the off chance that really gets you going for her Janis: You wouldn't call her brainy, bless Janis: Idk, don't worry about it, Jim. Just avoid her/the flat whites like the plague and I'll have to literally run away like I'm an angsty 12 year old so we can't be located, even with friend finder or whatever they stalk each other with Janis: Oooh! Just call me brains, we should pretend to have a romantic weekend away planned, that'll send her over the edge, that is her everything goals Janis: Like I said, I can hide from a hoe Jimmy: I knew there was a reason I kept you about Jimmy: Let's do it though. Easier to take than fake the 'gram Jimmy: Any ideas? 🤔 Jimmy: Most of my boltholes are far from yours and not very enviable for that crowd #it'sgrimupnorth Janis: Yeah, why do you tbh? Janis: Now its clear my sister has got no respect for anyone on her hunt for dick/self-esteem Janis: She's hoping its a twofer like Janis: I don't know if I can stand you for that long, darling Janis: But I SUPPOSE your the lesser of two evils here 😉 Jimmy: It's love 💕 Jimmy: Come on, it'll be a laff. I'll get the beers in Jimmy: You can try harder to beat me at darts and pool Janis: As far as the adoring fans/salty haterz are concerned Janis: and that's all that matters Janis: bitch i don't have to try! 😤 you put me off last time with ur mooning 😍 Janis: we don't need to convince the old fellas in the boozer Jimmy: Fuck off I was getting practice in! Jimmy: If you're ready to fake a break up say the word but until then, it takes a lot of work to give you the puppy dog eyes. I'm not Twix Janis: Sure you was 😂 Janis: N'awwh but you do it so well! Janis: Audition for the School play whilst ur at it, soft lad Jimmy: I do enough fake snogging without signing myself up for that bollocks Jimmy: You coming away with me then or not? Jimmy: You know your sister'll be in again nagging before shift's end Janis: Well, when you put it like that Janis: 😒 Janis: I ain't got nothing better to do, and I certainly ain't third wheeling her fake date Janis: My grandparents got a place down skerries Janis: we can crash there Jimmy: How many rooms they got? My dad's working so I'll have to bring the ramble with Jimmy: #goals I know Janis: Fucking hell, my pissing sister! She owes you more than she's spending on coffee for the hassle she's causing Janis: If you really can't, don't worry, I'll sort her. She'll be unbearable when she finds out it was all for a laugh but it was at her expense so how much of a mug can she actually make me feel? 😑 Janis: That said, there's 3 rooms, its only a caravan don't get excited but the kids would probably be buzzin', it is pretty nice down there Janis: I'll even let you have the double bed to yourself Janis: ol Janis: l Jimmy: It'll stop them nagging me about going somewhere other than the park that'll do me Jimmy: Cass talks big but she isn't even really so doable Jimmy: Don't be getting any ideas though 😍😉 my brother hasn't slept well since we moved. I'll be sharing that double like it or not Jimmy: What a way to spend my first proper time off since I started #blessed Janis: Yeah, fish and chips on the beach even tho its fucking baltic, chasing Twix will keep 'em warm, you'll earn major big brother points as well as bae ones Janis: What a mighty fine man Janis: Same here, Cass. Shh about it though Janis: Like you said, it'll be a laugh, we can make it one Janis: You'd really rather be making pinkity drinkidies or whatever the fuck they are? Jimmy: Nope. But your 1st romantic break usually is. Any talent there is in all grans playing bingo? Jimmy: Be nice to get something off the 'gram 💋 Janis: I ain't been since I was about 9 Janis: I wasn't after bitches then and I ain't now Janis: I wish you luck, 2 kids hanging on your arm and a woman back home, like Janis: Does it for some. Jimmy: I'd do some talking first to get things clear I'm not tall Tammy 😂 Jimmy: Bet you were a right cute kid, weren't you? Aww Janis: Again, have fun explaining that one, mate. I'd struggle with the concept and I'm in on it. Janis: Adorable. What happened? Jimmy: Shut up you know what you look like, mate Janis: A butch lezza? Janis: So I've been told 👍 Jimmy: That's not what they are saying anymore. Check my comments sometime. The lads are gagging for you now Janis: Goody gumdrops. Janis: I'll leave my knickers at the door, like Jimmy: You could like. I've been waiting for you to drop me as your fake bf since this whole thing started Janis: I'm not interested in any of them. Janis: Would your world be set alight by Aaron O'Reilly from form? Janis: If you wanna cop off with some of your fans don't let me stop you Jimmy: You aren't. They're not my type anymore than Aaron's yours. I'm just saying you take a crackin pic and I should know since I'm the one takin 'em. So you don't need to spout that crap. They're just jealous of how much of a butch lezza you aren't Janis: Alright. Well, you're not half bad at taking snaps, and not in the bullshit way every hoe thinks they know their angles and magic lighting these days, you're actually decent. Janis: It don't feel like crap when Janis: blah, meant to delete that, ignore it Jimmy: 🤐 Jimmy: Wanna help me with my art project while we're away then? Kill all the birds (hopefully not with my flash) Jimmy: I'll owe you again Janis: I won't even joke on you for being a swot 🤓🤞 Janis: What've you got planned? Jimmy: I haven't had any time to think yet beyond film being the medium but Jimmy: #workinprogress Jimmy: with a muse like you m'dear how could I go wrong 💕 Janis: 😜 Janis: just so you know, i ain't bringing any homework but put my name or yours, yeah? 😘 not even in art but might count for something Janis: clue me in tho, brainiac, what do the kiddos like? i'll get 'em something Jimmy: Rookie mistake mate, art's an easy A Jimmy: They'll take anything covered in sugar. Can't say I'll love you for it when they crash mid journey though Janis: Only 'cos you're good at it. With my genes I should be but I can barely draw a stickman. Janis: I'll stick with double sports, sports science and science 👌 Janis: I'll keep sweets in stock for bribery, goes without sayin'! Different pocket to Twix' fish treats, though Janis: I'll have a look down town Jimmy: 😂 did you see that article doin the rounds about the mum who bought her kid a cat's advent calendar Janis: 😂 Yes! Shame catnip don't work like on us like it does cats, that kid would be pingin' Janis: Might get meself some, like Jimmy: What gets dogs off their heads? I'll keep Twix well clear Jimmy: She's high enough on your 😍 Janis: I don't know, actually...telling them they're good bois? Janis: Works for you boo 😘 Jimmy: I prefer being called a very bad boy 😎 Janis: You clown 😂 Janis: Good to know, suppose. Dirty weekend away though it ain't Jimmy: what our fans don't know won't break their jealous hearts Jimmy: you coming in for your freebies today or shall I do a delivery your way once Grace is home? 😉 Janis: Kick it really cliche and be my sexy delivery boy Janis: Try and bring something with sausage in so I can come at you with the quality porn writing Jimmy: Live your fantasies as well as your sister's if you want, my name tag says Jonathon today Janis: Ooh, spicing it up with some roleplay like we're middle-aged okay Janis: How boring are you that you've picked a name so similar to your own...this is why we've hit a dry patch, Jimothy! Jimmy: What would you seriously pick? Janis: For you? Janis: Who's a fittie... Janis: Anthony Joshua could get it Janis: You don't want to be in the play but reckon you can stretch to that? Jimmy: Next time I lose my name tag I'll insist on that. For the bae 💕 Jimmy: About as close as I'll get I think Janis: Who do you want? Janis: I wanna know your type Janis: Bar Tall Tammy Jimmy: Your sister obviously Janis: Fuck off, not even funny Janis: If that were true, you know where she lives bitch, I ain't stopping ya, she's practically shoe-horning you in 🤢 Jimmy: I meant the fit older one 😉 Janis: Ohhh Janis: Still, do one 🖕 I'm not pretending to be my sister you freak Jimmy: That's one pretense too far. Got it 😂 Janis: Yeah, in this hypothetical you've really shit the bed, pal. Jimmy: I only half read that because #customers and thought you called me shit in bed mate Janis: well... 😏 Jimmy: I fake rocked your world Janis Cavante! 😂 Janis: you know we faked it so i didn't have to fake it 💅 Jimmy: Aaron O'Reilly's walking through the door want me to slip him your number and end this? 😝 Janis: I will murder you. Janis: also he might think your trying to set up a threeway for YOUR benefit, so if you wanna take over the gay rumours that bad, go for it 💋🍆 Jimmy: I've seen you with a pool cue I think I'm safe Jimmy: Give a shit. At least I actually am butch Janis: Psh, you're all show no grow Janis: We're arm wrestling, then you'll see Jimmy: 💪 I'll beat you at that too then, shall I? 🏆 Janis: Bring it on. I won't make you cry too hard, save face in front of the kiddos. Janis: 'Let' them kick your arse too 😜 Jimmy: Try it, baby girl 😝 Jimmy: Cass probs could no lie. Scrappy af that one Janis: Good girl 👍 Janis: Gotta keep you in check Jimmy: Doubt you'll be calling her that when she's shadowed you all weekend Jimmy: She loves you. Who knows why? Janis: I keep telling you I'm a delight Janis: Has this...how long has it been? Month, 2? Of SHEER BLISS taught you nothing Janis: Ruuuuude. Jimmy: Nope. I'm with Team Bobby. You're a gross meanie Jimmy: As all girls are 😂 Janis: Well I'm winning Bobby 'round this weekend by hook or by crook Janis: then you can please yourself, billy no mates Janis: Team Janis 💪 Jimmy: Every bro knows you can't be friends with your girl Jimmy: DUH Janis: Oh yeah, all straight couples HATE each other and that's #goals Janis: If I can't be chatting shit on you, how will I get to talk about you constantly to my gals? Janis: Singing your praises? I THINK NOT Jimmy: Speaking of, Gracie and co are back on the premise that Tall Tammy left her....something. I wasn't listening. Should I break the news we won't be here for date night or do you want to do the honors Janis: Dignity? That's long gone, honey. Janis: Ooh, lemme do it, you're coming round with the sausage anyway Janis: We can do it together baby Jimmy: awhhh Jimmy: I've hidden the mistletoe but she can see the top of the highest counters!! I'm on borrowed time what do I do? Janis: Headbutt her in the teeth Janis: 'Accidentally' Janis: Can't help being a normal-sized human Jimmy: #customerservice Jimmy: then recommend her our chewy cookies 😂 Janis: You can see why I'm not trying to be your work wifey too, yeah? 😂 Janis: If you can convince any of those girls to break their diet, I'll be impressed Janis: Don't count if they go vom in the bogs after tho Jimmy: Gracie might be on her way already. One of her posse asked what you were getting me for Christmas and I didn't hold back Janis: Oh no, am I about to get slut-shamed? 😲 Janis: Or, heaven forfend, tips Janis: I will die Jimmy: Damn I didn't think of that. Sorry Janis: Its cool Janis: She's all mouth anyway, not in a beneficial to the cause way Janis: Be interesting hearing what she thinks you want, keep ya posted lol Jimmy: 🙌 Can't wait Janis: that's what you're meant to say about my present! Jimmy: I did, swear 🤞 Janis: what do you actually want Jimmy: Don't worry about it Janis: Oh, is it? If I'm not fucking your brains out you're not interested Janis: Fine then, save my reddies. 👍 Jimmy: That's what I was thinking. Stage a break up before 🎄 for max drama and min spends Janis: Cool. If you wanna. Janis: Just don't tell everyone you chucked me 'cos I wouldn't give it up. Already a frigit. Janis: What's the story then? Jimmy: Obviously not. We've been hooking up for ages got to keep it #goals Jimmy: I don't know haven't thought that far ahead it just makes sense to get out before gifting Janis: Yeah. Fair. Janis: Think on and let me know Jimmy: You too. We can brainstorm at the weekend. Nothing but time then Jimmy: Can't break up right after the break though Janis: Would look sus, yeah. Janis: Maybe I'll whup you one too many times, your fragile male ego can't hack it, eh? Jimmy: Grace'd be smug 😩 Jimmy: Can't even fake that, babe Jimmy: Nobody'd believe the story Janis: She's gonna be regardless Janis: I got the shitty end of the stick here like but ain't nowt we can do about it now Janis: 🙄 Jimmy: No we're goals we just burned too bright that's all 😂 Jimmy: You've got way more time served with me than she does any of her boos she doesn't win Janis: Mhmm. Calm down, Icarus. Sure you'll be comparing some other bint on a balcony to the sun in no time. 😘 Janis: Suppose so. Least hers are real, if not short-lived, and, well, shit. Janis: She won't know the difference anyway Jimmy: There's nobody like you 💕 Jimmy: Exactly I'm not going to tell her we weren't real Janis: Bullshit 💕 Janis: True enough, I'll take it. Jimmy: Shit gotta go the boss is back Jimmy: Love you 💕 Janis: Love you too, Jonathon 💕

[theshatteredrose]

A Typical Morning (Guardian Chronicles) - EOUntold2

Summary: Bertrand meets some of the Guardians only for things to turn slightly strange due to a fainting hexer.

AN: And as the summary states, this chapter is from Bertrand’s pov ^^ Hope you enjoy reading!

Bertrand didn’t exactly like mornings. It wasn’t that he hated them. He honestly didn’t mind getting up early. It was the act of waking up early and crawling out of bed in the morning that he disliked. The bed was warm and soft, after all.

Flavio was usually the first up while Bertrand was the last (hey, he liked sleep in all its forms), so he had to make the conscious effort to get up out of bed the moment he awoke from his sleep. It wasn’t easy, mind, but he consoled himself by telling him it was just for this one morning and he can sleep in again tomorrow.

He had a special reason to get up quickly this morning, however.

After what had happened at the restaurant, after seeing how well Flavio and even Fafnir got along with this Guardian Guild, Bertrand thought he should at least make the effort and meet them as well.

He had heard all about the Guardians from numerous people; Cass, Hanna, Abigail just to name a few. So, he could say that he was slightly curious himself.

Flavio really liked them, and seemed to get along with them well, which is hardly a surprise. The kid could make friends with a fence post. But it was Fafnir’s interest in them and in Flavio’s interaction with said guild that really caught Bertrand attention.

He doesn’t want to make assumptions, yet alone voice them, but it almost felt as if Fafnir was encouraging Flavio to get deeper involved with the Guardians…for just in case something happened to him.

Of course, he could just be jumping to conclusions. Maybe he just felt a sense of kinship with this guild. Anything was possible.

As Bertrand descended the stairs, he could hear laughter and voices from the direction of the dining room. He quickly entered and was somewhat startled to realise that one of the voices was familiar. In the far corner of the room, Flavio was leaning against a window frame as he spoke with a small group of explorers. A redhead with his feet up on the table they were gathered around, a blonde sitting cross-legged on a chair at the far end of the table, and a brown-haired kid that stood in front of the table and seemed to be talking animatedly.

While it was unsurprising to see Flavio chatting with other explorers, Bertrand could honestly say that he had never witnessed the kid laugh so…freely before. He was usually on edge and tense, busy looking out for everyone else while maintaining that fake smile of his. But he seemed comfortable and relaxed around them.

They must be members from the Guardian Guild.

Flavio idly glanced over in his direction, seemingly just looking around as was habit to survivalists before he abruptly did a double take. “Bertrand?” he said, surprise clearly in his voice and posture. “You’re up early.”

Bertrand resisted the urge to roll his eyes; instead he folded his arms across his chest and walked over to him. “Happens occasionally. Before you start, there’s nothing wrong.”

Flavio flushed a light pink and tried to glare at him. “I wasn’t implying there was.”

“Sure kid.”

The kid tried to scowl at him, but honestly it came out as nothing more than a disgruntled pout. His expression abruptly lightened, however, into a look of realisation. “Oh, right, you haven’t met,” he muttered before abruptly launching into a quick introduction. “This is Bertrand, my guildmate. These guys are some of the members of the Guardian Guild. Axel, Tobyn, and Macerio.”

“Hey, how you doing?” Bertrand said as the three returned short greetings of their own. A few ‘nice to meetcha’ and whatnots. The usual stuff, though they did sound somehow sincere.

He recognised some of the names and faces, though. The one with the long blond hair was the survivalist who killed that fire drake with one arrow and the brown-haired kid was often seen hanging around at the bar, laughing at the drunken fools. The redhead was also seen at the bar, mostly breaking up the fights, though.

Before they could return to their conversation, however, a tall blond quickly made their way over to them, seemingly making a beeline for the redhead. Bertrand also recognised him as being the protector they had met in the labyrinth the same day they met the silent survivalist. His name was Jhon, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Hey, Axel,” he called out as he paused near Axel. “Just ran into Benedick.”

Axel lolled his head back and released a low, disgruntle groan. “Not that obnoxious dick. What did he want?”

Jhon pulled out a chair between Axel and Tobyn and quickly sat down. “He was actually looking for Rahas.”

“Good,” Axel muttered as he stretched his legs out on the table. “He can have him.”

“Who’s Benedick?” Flavio was comfortable enough around them to ask. “Do I want to know?”

“Benedick Richardson the Third,” Jhon explained before a wry smile appeared on his lips. “Or something to that extent. We just call him Dick for short.”

Axel snorted lightly, seeming irritated by the mere thought of this Benedick person. “Green hair, four foot tall, claims to be a prince of a faraway land,” he continued. “Obnoxious little shit. Met him on the first floor where he completely lost his shit about the ragelopes. All because they neighed like a horse.”

“Yeah!” Macerio piped up, the brown-haired kid all but cackling. “He was all ‘Deer don’t neigh! That’s poor evolution! They should be ashamed of themselves!’”

Flavio laughed, honestly sounding amused. “Ashamed of themselves?”

“He was ranting and raving like a lunatic,” Jhon explained as he rolled his eyes, but with a small smile on his lips nonetheless. “We thought he had been hit by a baffling step. Lynus tried to use refresh on him, but he turned pale and told us he’s actually perfectly fine and was completely serious.”

“He's completely right,” Tobyn unexpectedly added as he reached forward to pick up his coffee mug from the table. “If you disregard the fact that the ragelopes are over seven feet tall, have purple fur, and live in a giant fucking tree.”

Bertrand felt a smirk play on his lips. Their blatant sarcasm and scepticism was surprisingly refreshing.

“If you’re over seven feet tall and can kill a man with one strike, you have the right to sound like whatever the fuck you want,” Axel commented which caused a few chuckles to arise from the group.

“Macerio wanted to shoot him,” Jhon added, indicating toward the grinning gunner with the tilt of his head. “I think we all wanted him to, actually.”

Flavio folded his arms across his torso in an attempt to quell his chuckling. “He doesn’t want to go to the second floor then.”

A half smirk appeared on Axel’s lips. “The dinosaurs or the flowers that spit fire at you? He’s fine with those, apparently. It was a deer neighing like a horse that sent him over the edge. You gotta draw the line somewhere.”

Flavio was openly laughing at his point.

“The little fuckers know exactly what they’re doing,” Axel muttered under his breath.

Tobyn nodded his head as he took a sip from his coffee. He then glanced over at Flavio and abruptly lowered his drink. “Sound like a horse and leave prints like a horse? Non-explorers would think it’s a horse and then proceed to get the shit kicked out of them,” he explained.

Flavio immediately made a sound of understanding. “I never thought of it that way,” he admitted before he held his chin in thought, probably making the mental note to add that new information to his own monster codex.

“Morning, everyone.”

“Morning, Lynus!” Everyone greeted loudly as a short young man with orange hair and donning a white medic coat walked over to them.

Ah, so this guy is the famous Miracle Medic, huh? Bertrand had to admit that he was somewhat surprised by how young he looked, but he knew that one didn’t earn such a nickname without just cause. Especially in this city. He had to have earned it through hard work and dedication.

“Oh Flavio? I am so sorry,” Lynus suddenly said as he reached out to lightly touch Flavio on the arm. “I didn’t mean to send Zeryn after you.”

“No no, it’s fine,” Flavio immediately replied with a reassuring smile. “Not your fault. I’m sure I would have bumped into him anyway, right?”

Lynus chuckled. “He would have found you eventually, I’m sure.”

“Anyway, this is Bertrand, my guildmate,” Flavio promptly introduced, even going as far as reaching out to light tap Bertrand on the chest. “Old man, this is Lynus.”

“Hey,” Bertrand said simply, while Lynus smiled politely in return.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

Lynus’ gaze suddenly flickered down to Bertrand’s right arm and he furrowed his brow. Out of habit, Bertrand folded his arms across his chest, taking on a slightly defensive posture. Lynus turned his eyes toward Bertrand’s before he abruptly winced and looked away, seemingly turning his focus back toward Flavio.

Bertrand idly wiggled the fingers of his right hand. There was no doubt that the kid had sensed something…off about his arm. From his reaction, he knew that it wasn’t an injury. Bertrand was pretty sure he would have asked if it was healing properly.

There was suddenly the sound of a thud behind them. The sound was rather distinct, like that of a body hitting the ground suddenly. Either someone tripped, falling so quickly that they weren’t able to soften their landing, or someone had fainted.

Lynus immediately whirled around in the direction of the sound, his expression passive but with concern in his eyes nonetheless. He, however, unexpectedly sighed softly, sounding somewhat exasperated.

“Sorry, excuse me,” Lynus said as he quickly departed from the group.

Curious, Bertrand glanced over to find Lynus kneeling on the floor next to a body covered in torn maroon robes and gold chains. A hexer, by appearance, their long white hair sprawled out across the ground. It appeared that they had literally just dropped to the ground, their face hitting the floor.

“Let me guess,” Flavio unexpectedly said. “He’s name is Mahogany?”

“Pfft,” Macerio half snorted, half laughed. “That’s him. Does that way too often. Can’t take him anywhere.”

“Don’t be rude,” Jhon chided the gunner. “He’s under medical treatment now.”

Macerio held up in hands in a pacifying manner and sighed. “Right, right,” he muttered.

Under medical treatment, huh? That must mean that the guy dropping to the ground suddenly had been happening for a while now. Well, that was actually pretty obvious; no one seemed overly concerned when they saw him lying face down on the floor.

Idly glancing over at the hexer, Bertrand noticed that Lynus had gotten him up off the floor, Mahogany resting on his knees. Lynus appeared to be asking a multitude of questions, no doubt about what was hurt, what kind of mental sensation he was going through. The typical questions that a medic would ask.

“How you doing, Mahogany?” Axel called out. “Another vision?”

Climbing to his feet, Mahogany shook his head, carefully patting down his greyish white hair with his hands. He didn’t appear to be like regular hexers. If the strange curse makers could be considered ‘regular’ by any stretch of the imagination. In any case, most hexers preferred to rely on their psychic and magical abilities to move and lift up objects, keeping their limps within the confines of their robes and cloaks. Mahogany, however, had his sandal covered feet firmly on the ground and was willing using his hands, running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m fine,” Mahogany replied as he trailed his fingertips idly over the red hair band around his forehead. His piercing red eyes suddenly landed on Bertrand and they seemed to narrow suspiciously. “My collapse was due in part by that man.”

Bertrand was taken aback, but he tried not to show it outwardly. He simply stared back at the hexer, even though his gaze was unnerving.

“Bertrand?” Flavio questioned, his tone heavy with confusion but also with a sense of concern. “What do you mean?”

Mahogany made no attempt to verbally respond, he kept his firm gaze focused on Bertrand. It was like he…knew something about him. As if he could see all his problems, knew of all his secrets.

Damn…it was intimidating, to be completely honest.

“What?” Macerio muttered, seemingly trying to break the tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud. “Enthralled by his rugged good looks?”

Bertrand turned and gave the brown-haired gunner a half amused, half indignant look. “You are a sarcastic brat, aren’t you?”

The grin that Macerio sent him told him all he needed to know. He really needed to keep an eye on that kid. He looked like the walking definition of a shit-stirrer.

“No,” Mahogany responded quickly, but surprisingly not all that harshly. “He should be dead.”

Everyone lapsed into silence.

“Mahogany!” Lynus spluttered before he reached out and firmly took Mahogany by the elbow. “Sorry, excuse us.”

Lynus then abruptly pulled Mahogany out of the room, the hexer giving Bertrand one last knowing look before he disappeared from sight.

…Well, that was certainly something.

“That’s hexers for you,” Axel suddenly commented, sounding and even looking completely unfazed and unconcerned by what he had just witnessed. “A class of their own, all right.”

Flavio, unfortunately (especially for Bertrand himself), looked genuinely worried. “Does…does he say things like that often?” he asked as he glanced at Bertrand from the corner of his eye.

Everyone answered at the same time, their expressions bland. “Yes.”

…Well, that was somewhat reassuring. For Flavio at least, the tension in his shoulders relaxing a little, seemingly satisfied by the Guardians’ dismissiveness of the hexer’s sudden accusation.

Bertrand, however, was suspicious. That medic, Lynus wasn’t it, kept looking at his arm and had ushered off the hexer a little too quickly. He knew something. That much was certain.

He might have to find the medic later and ask him about it. Or maybe it was best to leave it hanging for a while?

…Tch, as if he didn’t have enough drama going on.

[renaroo]

This is so completely random, but you're very probably the only Batfam Stan that also loves the Superfam and knows the various members of both families. I was wondering, in your mind, which members of the Superfamily match up with which members of the Batfamily? Like for instance, I've always firmly believed that Linda-Mae matches up with Dick, while Karen goes with Helena. As far as Babs goes, they share her.

If I’m reading you correctly, you’re asking who roughly inhabits the same spots in the Superfam that the Batfam has, yes? It’s really a fascinating question because I think there are lots of comparisons to be made, but it’s also interesting because of the ways they don’t line up perfectly. Like there’s a big difference in their structure just by the fact that Lois is the clear matriarch of the family and almost none of the Superfam have been without a relationship with her. So getting comparisons for some positions does tend to get a little fuzzy. So, I’m just going to go through the family one by one, starting with the most obvious which is Clark and Bruce. 

Clark Kent: Obviously as the central family patriarch and the one who basically inspires everyone else to come into their own while attempting to live up to his impossible image, Clark is the most Bruce-like in comparisons. Which of course, their similarities are as strong as their differences which has been the source of their mutual respect and friendship over the decades and just make them incredibly fascinating characters to play off of each other in almost any circumstance. 

Lois Lane: In recent years Kate has kind of stepped up to be the momma of the Batfam in a sense, and to be Bruce’s equal which would be representative of Lois and Clark’s equal footing in their relationship, but Kate’s got much less of a background for this position and for obvious reasons her relationship with Bruce is nothing like Lois’. In that way I would put Lois much more as a Selina Kyle. They share a street smarts and sassiness, prefer to look out for themselves but can’t help but fall into the same circles as their romantic interests, and in most realities end up married. It’s not a perfect fit, but I would argue it on more than a few grounds. 

Jimmy Olsen: Definitely the Dick Grayson of the Superfam. Not only is he Superman’s pal, but he’s sort of the emotional bond that keeps a lot of the Superfam connected. He’s not only trusted by both Clark and Lois and inspired by both of them, but he’s also a confidante and romantic interest for Kara, was a friend to Linda, and in general is someone who is just by definition associated with Superman. It’s an iconic duo in a lesser sense than Bruce and Dick. 

Martha Kent: Originally I was going to say Pa is the Alfred, but honestly Martha Kent is most definitely the Alfred Pennyworth of the Superfamily. She is a supportive and endearing voice, full of wit, and is the first person Clark goes to when he needs advice or solace. She is beloved by all of the Superfam members and has ben denmother/actual mother to nearly all of them in one sense or another. 

Jonathan Kent: The more I think about it, the more I find that Pa is really a lot like Leslie Thompkins in Clark’s life. He has a bit of a harsher vibe to him and his disappointment is something that Clark is more conscious and fearful of, but it all stems from firm morality and a fear and protectiveness of his son. He is the guiding light for Clark’s humanity and is the sort of man that Clark tries to live up to without ever feeling he can fully achieve it. And all that despite clearly having well defined flaws of his own. 

Lana Lang: Hilariously enough, I would put Lana on the level of a far more important and far more relevant and updated Vicki Vale. Again this seems like a strained comparison (because it is) but she’s a former romantic interest and friend to Clark who loves him but also couldn’t deal as well with realizing that he is Superman or at least that he’s something beyond her comprehension. And there’s still some pining and nonsense there, fortunately Lana is with John Henry now and written much better. Speaking of which...

John Henry Irons: A less murdery and more accepted member of the Superfam than his Batfam equivalent, John Henry Irons is a lot like Helena Bertinelli in that they both were inspired by the “patriarchs” of the family, but did things in their own style and in their own ways. He relies on his background and heritage as much as Helena does and it has influenced him to where he is today. 

Kara Zor-El: An apt comparison for Kara is actually Barbara Gordon. Not only were they good friends in the Bronze Age, but they were similarly motivated. Despite both of them having just as much heartbreak and tragedy in their lives as Batman or Superman, they make the choice to not be defined by that and instead to invent their superhero identities as a way of fulfilling an obligation they feel either to law and order or to the sense of not wanting to lose their adopted new home to the same forces that took their old one. 

Natasha Irons: Is absolutely the Superfam’s Stephanie Brown for better or worse. Nat is selfmade, has a family history of criminal activity but chooses to follow her uncle and Superman’s influences instead to make herself a superhero. Despite all she achieves, for absolutely no reason that makes canonical sense to... anyone who’s read it, basically, John abruptly decides she’s undeserving of her suit and takes it from her? That causes her to make some mistakes and play into a trap by one of the family’s worst enemies and get held hostage and tortured. Fortunately she wasn’t needlessly killed like Steph, but she did come back in spectacular fashion. 

Mae Kent: Mae is a completely different character from Linda Danvers. Mostly. Kind of. So I’m going to treat them as such on this list. Mae is actually Clark’s adopted sister in the preboot and was taken in and cared for by Ma and Pa Kent. She’s fairly independent, making a name for herself outside of Clark even if they continued to have a good relationship. When Clark dies for a year, she is one of the top contenders for taking his place and becoming a surrogate Superman herself. In this way she most reminds me of Kate Kane, self-made while deeply connected to the family patriarch and sharing a family bond. 

Karen Starr: Completely depends on which version you’re going with but if you’re going with the most common, the preboot, I think Karen is the most like Harper Row. She’s a solid member of the family, but she’s also beyond the family, and it’s not in a bad sense. She’s still connected to everyone, and every inventive and set apart almost purely based on her industriousness (making her business empire!) but as much as she does team up with everyone and join frays, she’s mostly off on her own adventures these days and most of her drama comes from civilian life rather than just her time as Power Girl.

Kon-El: This is going to be so freaking controversial but here we are. If I was to pick any analogue in the Batfam for Kon it would not be his best bud Tim, but his fellow leap-before-thinking, bit of a bad boy, fellow leather jacket wearing Jason Todd. They both like coming back from the dead and having inexplicable genre jumps throughout their histories and their main angst comes from a conflict of ideals and perspectives with their parental figures. Kon also is constantly concerned with going over the edge and turning to a villain because of his “bad genes” which reminds me a lot of how Jason felt judged for growing up and being born into a situation outside of his control. 

Linda Danvers: It’s a bit of a cheat since they’re my favorite heroes I grew up with at the time, but when I think of Linda I always think of Cassandra Cain. Linda was not born into an abusive home life, but she was part of an abusive relationship and made mistakes that eventually led to a death. Unlike Cass, however, Linda’s death was her own. That was the turning point in her origins and from that point on she was led to being Supergirl out of not just a weird combining with Mae but through discovering a deeper level of morality and humanity than she had once seen inside of herself. And that became such a strong light in her life, she was even able to inspire the redemption of the very demon that had been responsible for her murder. 

Traci Thirteen: It might be a bit early to call this, but I think Duke Thomas is the most positioned in the Batfam with Traci. Traci initially was a pretty independent character who mostly worked under the “advisement” of Clark and came into her own with her own identity and style. They both have good families they lose to tragic circumstances and slowly find their place within the gaggle of other children in their families. 

Maggie Sawyer: Like I’m not saying it’s a purely lesbian thing, but it’s kind of the lesbian friend detective in the force who goes above and beyond and may or may not be a hero in their own right thing that I compare Maggie Sawyer and Renee Montoya. It’s a thing. And it’s a thing that unites them because they both have banged Kate Kane. Which is the real dream.

Cir-El: My poor sweet daughter is of course far too similar and too unused much like my other dear sweet daughter, Helena Wayne. They are both daughters of the matriarch and patriarch of the family from alternate futures that may or may not ever happen. They hold their father’s values and their mother’s attitudes and they both have awful terrible first costumes. 

Chris Kent: Even though their personalities are starkly different, there is definitely a common thread between Chris and Damian Wayne. They come from troubling childhoods and have difficulties with the concept of unconditional love. Their only aspirations are to live up to expectations and take the mantles of their respective fathers. And for as much trouble as it may cause them they stand up against the villains they fear most in the final hour even under threat of pain or death. They both have a “I choose my real family” moment with a parent that mistreats them, too. 

Jon Kent: This may seem like an odd comparison for now, but I get a Tim Drake vibe from Jon. Hear me out, there’s a lot of superhero worship and naivety about what his new superhero identity is going to bring with it. And while he’s much younger and less detectively minded than Tim, Jon draws on his knowledge of his father’s legacy as well as what he observes from his friends and other superheroes around him to creatively get himself out of jams. Not to mention he loves giving those moralizing speeches. 

Perry White: He’s Jim Gordon. Next.

Krypto the Superdog: THE ONE THAT ACTUALLY MATTERS. Ace doesn’t go out much into the field anymore so the most apt comparison here is actually Goliath the Bat Dragon. Aaaaand that’s what I’ve got. 

I hope this all made sense I had fun writing it out lol