#fuck Ra's Al Ghul leave my boys alone

[isupposethisisagoodusername]

Hc that when someone gets dunked in the Lazarus pit their eyes become greenish or greener than before, or a radioactive ass green if they're dunked in it too many times

Like when you go to the beach and your annoying cousin/sibling pulls you underwater, there's a point where you gotta leave or your nose feels too full of water, but instead of your nose it's the eyes and instead of water it becomes radioactive green, and if they get dunked too many times/for too long their vision becomes distorted and their thoughts too

So Jason had blue eyes but he came back with greenish/green eyes

And Damian was probably born with green eyes or blueish because Bruce's eyes are blue but his eyes now are nuclear waste green and when he's really angry his vision becomes greener and greener and he starts distorting things

And if like, Tim gets dunked in it his eyes start getting a bit greener too

And when someone's being influenced by the pit at least a bit of their eyes glows comic nuclear waste green

Could be Joker green too but I find it funny if Ra's Al Ghul is nuclear waste because he's lasting longer than radiation at this point and he's waste because he's not useful and only harms shit around him

[deadsetobsessions]

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

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

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

——

Ra’s al Ghul.

Talia al Ghul.

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

On a bad day?

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

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

She was not a baby.

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

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

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

“My apologies, father.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

She was still young. A child.

“No.”

“No?”

“He did no wrong.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

——

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

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

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

She learned a valuable lesson that day.

There were things worse than death.

“This is an order, granddaughter.”

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

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

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

——

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

She was right to be afraid for herself.

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

“You have become a sharp tool, granddaughter.”

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

She did not understand.

-

The girl came back. Water. Food. Kind.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

The girl had given the weapon her own sound.

“Cass—n- ra.”

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

“Cass.” Cassandra pointed to herself.

-

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

Cassandra did not want to.

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

The girl came.

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

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

-

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

Sometimes, she hates Talia for being- for-

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

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

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

She wished…

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

She hated him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

Tim had never had a friend before!

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

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

His new friend nodded, looking interested.

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

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

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

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

——

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

“Do you have to go?”

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

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

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

——

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

The reincarnation stood behind her mother, eyes cast downwards.

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

Damian al Ghul cooed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

Perhaps… she could use the pits?

Her mind turned and turned.

——

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

“Ukhti?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

——

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

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

——

Another mission.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

Then, someone new joins.

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

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

Her memories roar. A child.

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

——

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiled, and patted his head.

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

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

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

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

——

She found it.

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

“What…?”

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

“It’s you!”

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

——

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

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

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

——

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

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

Shhhlk!

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

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

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

Damian sighed as father stepped in between them.

“Who are you.”

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

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

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

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

Damian sent the Flash a derisive look and ignored him.

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

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

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

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

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

His sister glanced back and ignored them.

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

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

——

[deadwhisper]

"all those empty rooms, we could have been anywhere, anywhere

Instead I made a bed with apathy.

My heart knew the weight, ten years worth of dust and neglect

We made our peace with weariness and let it be"

FUCK IF IT DOESN'T REMIND ME OF TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE WAYNE !!

Let's see...

(also maybe incoming spoiler alert???)

"My feet knew the path

We walked in the dark, in the dark

I never gave a single thought to where it might lead"

Timothy was a smart kid and looked at the world in factual terms since he was a kid. He has to, it was the way his genius brain could cope with the trauma of being left alone and neglected under the pressure of behaving and maintaining his status in the society in the absence of his parents. He always knew what he had to do despite the path or his choice being not so good in his favour yet he walked on. For his parents, for Batman when he went feral, for the YJL, for Dick, for Batman again when he was lost in the time space continum, taking over the We at an young age, joining league of assassins, facing Ra's Al Ghul. He has always walked the tougher and the darker path all for his family and friends who always somehow fail to notice his sacrifices.

"I shine only with the light you gave me", could be related to anyone!!!

For being a Drake because he is by birth a Drake but he never felt worthy enough for his mom or dad always criticised him or always made sure he knew that he was never good enough, never responsible enough or independent enough to be a proper drake even though he was FREAKING 10!!!

Then the second title could be for being Robin well because during his entire of being Robin he was always and I mean ALWAYS, somehow made to feel as if it didn't belong to him. Bruce rejected him being Robin very vehemently and even trained him too hard in the hopes that the boy would leave, Jason called him a replacement and tried to kill him and did bodily harm him. Dick was never very vocal about anything regarding Tim and him being Robin but we mustn't forget that he was the one who took the mantle of Robin from Tim against his permission and gave it Damian. And one my say that Damian need it and blah blah but the point is, it implies that Tim was never given any authority over Robin and made him feel that the title never truly belonged to him as it was very easily ripped away from him without his consultation.

Then we have the last one!!! DEMON BRAT or BRUCE'S GENETIC HELLSPAWN or Damian Al-Ghul Wayne. Man...do I even need to explain??? All the very intent full murder attempts?? The way he made it very clear that Tim was never a part of or worthy of the legacy, that he wasn't even a part of the family and considering the fact that it was something Tim struggled with alot!!!

( man I am projecting my traumas a lil too much via Tim Tam)

The moon will sing a song for me

I loved you like the sun

Bore the shadows that you made

With no light of my own

Timmy boy is like the moon who takes on any role the world or his superior figures or idols (sun) want him to take. He never questioned the multiple roles and responsibilities shoved upon him silently. Never complained about the pains or sufferings and the sheer amount of exhaustion at bearing so many responsibilities at once (bore the shadows that you gave me) my boy was Robin, a school kid, a CEO, an emancipated teen, leader of a Titan group, member of the league, Lady freaking Shiva's pupil and what not!!!

Swallowin' your doubt

Like swords to the pit of my belly

I want to feel the fire that you kept from me

I think at all points in his life, Tim was always faced with alot of doubt in his capabilities (swallowing your doubt). You can't be a good Drake like that, a good son, a good robin, a good CEO, a good leader, a good replacement, a good anything. And in the long run Tim believes that. That maybe he Isn't good enough (like swords to the pit of my belly) yet he always tried and always succeeded ( cause he's an awesome mf) but even those success were overshadowed by the mistakes and flaws that others eventually pointed out and he hardly was made to feel super proud (I want to feel the fire that you kept from me)

Yeah

Yeah that's ....it.... welcome to my Ted talk. Hope you had fun reading my absolute rant and me trauma dumping my shared feelings too. Bye bye❤️

[devine-fem]

still thinking about that person who went on my account, saw that i was dedicated to the al ghuls, made a post ‘how does the al ghuls have stans? aren’t they horrible?”

like what the fuck are you talking about? first of all, even if they were horrible then people would still like them, it’s not rocket science. second of all, if people like them then consider they’re not so horrible.

they go “oh, people say its ooc what she did but she still did them!” what the fuck are talking about? prob morrrison books. this person being a tim drake stan made sense too because your only exposure to the al ghuls are weird fetish writing for your favorite white boy.

and this person then went to defend batcat + damian dynamics, to call dick damian’s parent and not even to know damian was chinese? and i’m the bad one?

why are we getting entitled about characters we obviously don’t fucking read about?

like understand that some people have actually sat down and read characters comics more than you. this goes for every character, there is always a fan that reads for a character and gets it better than you. accept that. i do.

just say you want to shit on talia and ra’s and thats it. so fucking annoying like don’t piss me off, go back to tim drake and leave us alone. sorry. rant.

[idk-why-imhere]

so i'm pretty new to this too and I'll make some mistakes but bare with me (this is gonna be such a long post).

there are 5 Robins: Dick Grays on, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne (and i think Duke Thomas too but idk for sure and Idk much ab Steph either)

mind you, this is my understanding of this plus spoilers

first of all, there's Bruce Wayne. his parents owned Wayne Enterprises and were billionaires (with a b, yes). now, one night, they decided to go to a theatre and watch Zoro. but when they exited through a bit of a darker alley, they got mugged at gunpoint and the robber shot them anyway, leaving 6 year old Bruce alone, standing in front of his parents’ corpses in shock. and he wanted vengeance, because of course he does and this need for vengeance only grew over time, so much so that when he was about 20, he decided to become a masked vigilante, a symbol of vengeance itself: Batman. (I feel like I should mention that Alfred also was the only one who raised him). shortly after, he met Jim Gordon, the new Gotham police commissary. at one point, Gordon found out his true identity, but he was killed shortly after. by that time, Batman was an established vigilante, known not only throughout Gotham but outside as well. the crime rates were lower and he was succeeding more or less, but of course some villains like the Joker, Riddler, Penguin etc. remained and he would go on to battle them every night. Harvey Dent, Bruce’s best friend who knew his identity, became Two-Face in the aftermath of an accident where a criminal threw acid at his face. he was also drugged and SAed by Talia Al Ghul, Ra’s Al Ghul’s daughter. (Ra's Al Ghul being the leader of the league of shadows which is this supervillain organizational where they're all assassins)

Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson, was Bat’s first ever sidekick and the original Robin, nickname ‘Boy Wonder’. his parents were acrobats and worked for Haley’s Circus. they were known as The Flying Graysons. but that ended when Tony Zucco, a gangster, wanted a protection tax from the circus owner. the owner refuses and he sabotages the trapeze wires with acid. During the Graysons’ performance, the trapeze from which Dick's parents are swinging snaps, resulting in a death drop. Dick wanted revenge, but Bruce took him in, trained him and made him his sidekick, Robin. they worked together even before Justice League (I think?) and Dick was part of the original YJ Team (whish is this team created by the Justice League and all their sidekick were part of it) before branching off and joining the Teen Titans (I team he founded) before they split and he went on a solo career as Nighwing, a name he got from one of Superman’s stories. Dick moved from Gotham, to Happy Harbor (when he was in YJ), to Jump City (Teen Titans) and then Blüdhaven where he actively lives and operates now. and he was also a cop for the Blüdhaven Police Department. he’s still close to the Batfam and he has a dog, Haley. his best friend is Wally West (Kid Flash, which he acc met in The YJ Team). he, just like Bruce and everyone here, suffered many traumatic events from the death of his parents to multiple acts of SA. (yes, it happened)

Jason Todd (and we’re talking about Prime-Earth Jay here, just so you know), just like Dick, was the son of acrobats, but his parents died a bit differently. some sources say that his parents got put on a t-shirt by Killer Croc which is bullshit because in Death In The Family it’s mentioned that his mom died because of disease and his dad got killed, or is in prison, doesn’t really matter. he grew up in Crime Alley, Gotham’s most dangerous neighborhood, and his parents died, leaving him an orphan in a fucked up place at a very young age. at 12 though, Jason tried to steal a whole wheel off the batmobile but got caught by Bruce and he decided to take him in and train him. which was an absolute success, Jason was an amazing Robin, a happy and wholesome kid. even stopped Batman from killing Joker (honest mistake, Jay). but after finding out that his dad actually worked for Two-Face and coming face to face with the man, having the chance to kill him, Jason turned away. he followed Bruce’s code and turned away, but that made him restless, made him have second thoughts and he began disobeying more, becoming more aggressive, so Bruce kicked him off Robin duty which made Jason even more mad but that all took a backseat when he found out that his mom wasn’t actually his mom so he ran away and went to find her in Lebanon. who was also in Lebanon? Joker. and the man was fresh out of Arkham with a missile truck (read Death In The Family, you'll see), on his way to sell it to terrorists in Lebanon. Bruce was torn between Jay and Joker but decided to go after Joker first. Jay and Bruce met in Lebanon and met a few women who could’ve been his mom but weren’t until they get to this camp that was taking care of famine and the doctor there was actually his mother. short lived though because then he was told by Bruce ‘stay here, don’t do stupid shit and don’t follow Joker’. but Jason followed Joker to this warehouse, trying to save his bio-mom but he got beaten to death by Joker. he tried to escape, save his mom, but joker made sure to set up a bomb and blew up both him and his mom. Jason died. but he got resurrected by Superboy (when he altered some dimensions idfk) and breaks out of his coffin (with his bare hands, mind you), walked away from the graveyard (about 12 miles) before collapsing and then this guy is hospitalized, because the injuries from the Joker had not fully healed. After spending a year in a coma and then as an amnesiac vagrant, he is recognized by a petty criminal who soon informs Talia Al Ghul, Ra’s daughter. After some time, Talia restores his health and memory by immersing him in the Lazarus Pit which is this thing that restores you to health but also makes you a bit insane.

Tim Drake was a normal kid and his parents were actually in the upper class of Gotham. when he was like 3 (I think?) his parents too him to the circus. Haley's Circus. to see The Flying Graysons. (yes, this is going where you think). he saw Dick's parents die but a few years later, at 9 years old, he saw some footage of Batman and Robin gifting Penguin and he say Robin do this move only The Flying Graysons did. so he figured out Robin was Dick Grayson and that Bruce Way was Batman. he also noticed Jason Todd being the second Robin. when he noticed Batman was going off the rails a bit after Jason's death, he went up to Nightwing (whoom he's a huge fan of) and said 'I wanna be Robin'. Dick was like 'fuck no' and went to help Bruce himself but Tim's insistent. so when Dick and Bruce got captured by Two-Face, he put on the Robin costume and saved them (with help from Alfred ofc). Bruce took him in to train him but right before being done w/ training, Tim's parents get kidnapped for sacrifice while on a vacation to the Caribbean. they died from drinking smth laced with poison before Batman could save them. Bruce was now having second thoughts of 'but what if this kid is now driven by anger and will end up like Jason' but Tim didn't he js wanted to do what's right. at some point he got attacked by Jason, but it wasn't Jason, it was js Hush (Google it) who was taking Jason's form. anyway, skipping over some stuff bc we all already know Tim's a great detective and is super smart. I think he also got killed by Joker? idk, I gotta read more on it tbh. he became Red Robin after quitting being Robin (and he was also in the YJ team too). and fun fact: he's bi too.

Damian Wayne (were talking New Earth here, I can explain the continuities too if you ask) is the son of Bruce Wayne. like biological son, yes. so, he was raised by Talia in the League of Shadows and he's a trained assassin. he's 14. by the time he was 9, he was a master assassin, murder rampage and all. when he bacem Robin, it was short lived bc Bruce was killed (Google it. js Google it pls) so Dick took over being Batman and Damian became his Robin and Dick mellowed him out a bit. then Bruce came back from the dead but apparently he wasn't dead, he was travelling through time and space the entire time (whibbly-whobbly, timey-whimey stuff). Damian wasn't the hugest fan of Bruce's 'no killing' thing and he didn't really get why Bruce thought that. They were kidnapped by this Nobody guy but he encouraged Robin's darker side and tried to take him as an apprentice. Robin angrily left the Batcave to work with Nobody, who asked him to execute a criminal. Robin revealed that he was lying, and refused to betray his father. Nobody decided to torture Robin, continuing his personal vendetta against Batman. When Batman discovered their location, he beat Nobody mercilessly and came close to killing him, but stopped when he realized Damian was watching the fight but then Damian killed Nobody. straight like that. and you can imagine, it's hard for him to adjust from being an assassin to this not to mention that Talia never taught him emotions. like this kid is emotionally constipated to the max. (family bonding, nice memories) skipping over tons of stuff again, but he's an animal lover, has a cat named Alfred (completely different entity from butler Alfred), a dog called Titus, another dog called Goliath, and a cow. (she's named Bat-cow btw)

yh, and that's all I could think of on the spot, sorry for the super long explanation.

ANYONE WANT TO EXPLAIN ALL THE BATMAN AND ROBIN STUFF TO ME???

Bc like what do you mean there's five robins and one is red and the other has night wings???

[evita-shelby]

The Witch and the Scarecrow

Dc!Villain!Eva and pretty boy!scarecrow from the nolanverse won't leave me alone lol

So have another foc for Halloween 🎃 y'all

Rated: MA for sexual situations/smut 🔞

Gif by @firecracker-ani

“I’m not like the other girls, Johnathan Crane.” She said as her grip on his throat tightened enough to put pressure on his windpipe, but she continued to ride him.

Him inside this woman who was immune to his fear toxin. Him tied to the bed with his own shirt and gasping in both pain and pleasure as the lovely Eva fucked him as she choked him.

“How?” he gasps as he held himself back. This had never happened to him, no one was immune to his drugs. She should be petrified, driven insane by things that aren’t there and completely under his control.

Instead, he is there fighting with the part of him that enjoys this reversal of power and wants to give in to her and the part that should be breaking out of his makeshift restraints and kill her before she does.

Had to be law enforcement or one of Falcone’s people.

There is no way this could be coincidental.

“I’m immune to the blue flowers you use.” She smirked as she leaned down and kissed him without ever releasing her hold on his throat.

When Eva isn’t working for her family, she is working for Him.

Well, working implies the liberty to choose.

To put it simply, the League of Shadows owns her, and she does as she’s told…most of the time.

A deal they’ve had with her family since one of the false Ra’s al Ghul discovered them in the 18th century.

Their Gifted offspring were then sent to be trained by him and they would beget the next generation of weapons upon finding a suitable mate with a worthy set of genes.

Ra’s wants this man to work for him. He’s mastered how to use those rare blue flowers and effectively weaponized it in just a few months.

Still, Eva had to be careful around Johnathan. There is no room for mistakes, and she would suffer in the name of Ra’s fucked-up game of eugenics.

He was a little nutty, but he was good looking in that pretty boy sort of way. Beautiful blue eyes, boyish charm and a big, beautiful brain underneath those pretty brown locks.

Reminded the witch of someone she used to love in a past life.

“Be careful, my dear little witch, he may be of use to me today, but I’d be a fool to let Crane have you.” Ra’s al ghul says as he orders her to find Bruce Wayne and see if she can make a killer out of him.

Wayne is someone he wants to bend to his will, to make him one of them and use him to breed her replacement.

But Eva knows Bruce Thomas Wayne will never be one of them. It isn’t his nature.

Besides, she's seen Ra's get his hands tied and be forced to let her be with Crane.

“Miss Smith.”

Johnathan looks at the assassin waiting for him at his new office, sitting with her legs crossed as on top of his desk reading his latest research.

He had not seen her since she introduced him to her master, Ra’s al Ghul, and he had been inducted into the League of Shadows. He had gone far since then, enough to make guest lectures at Gotham University and take Arkham Asylum from its former head psychiatrist.

He was allowed to practice his craft within the League and with the victims inside prisons, asylums and the like. All those people had spent their lives terrorizing others and now would suffer justice by his hand.

One dose and they were afraid of the Scarecrow.

All except the woman waiting for him inside.

“So formal, Johnny, would’ve thought you’d be happy to see me.” Eva didn’t bother moving from his desk. He doubts she is wearing anything under that designer coat.

The assassin/businesswoman wanted him, and he wanted her, so much so that Henri Ducard had warned him off her.

She is one of the best, he had seen footage of her taking down targets with the grace of a dancer. She had been valedictorian at London Business School, had a Ph.D in Business Administration and majored in international business.

The Riley family served and procreated at the League’s command. Ra’s al Ghul treated them like purebred hounds, or so he had heard from his new assistant.

Eva was the work of generations and the League had better men to offer her.

“Did you enjoy my lecture this morning, Evie?” he had seen her there, seen her wearing just a little more clothes, looking at him like there was no one else in the world, seeing her pupils dilate as he began his lecture and hearing that orgasmic gasp as he fired that gun to prove his point.

“Immensely, to hear the greatest psychologist of our generation speak with such passion does things to a woman, you know.” Eva watches him remove his coat and scarf with such interest that he forgets she is off limits.

“You should’ve seen the habituation I preformed last week at Columbia.” He makes his way over to her and nudged her knees apart to stand between her legs. Johnathan had cuffs in one of the drawers, make her the one at his mercy, make her the quivering mess she made him.

“I heard of it, live tarantulas? I bet many panties dropped that day.” Eva lets him undo the belt and buttons of her trench coat slowly.

She is fond of the color black, an elegant and sensual color especially when she wears skimpy lingerie with her league of shadows pendant nestled between her breasts.

“Got me banned from there, the volunteer bitched about it to the board. You know how they are.” Johnathan peeled the coat off her shoulders while his right hand went to her throat and kissed her like she did that night.

“Fools too blind to see your brilliance, my dear Doctor Crane.” Eva’s breathless and yet there is no fear in her.

She is the only one immune to it, a trait bred into her lineage so it wouldn’t die out with her father. Crane had been tasked to find a way to make an antidote by studying her blood.

One that had been successful, but oh so difficult to replicate.

That was how the League would destroy Gotham and cleanse the world of evil, of men like Falcone and Zasz and Maroni.

Johnathan had yet to name his price, and now that she was here almost shaking from her own arousal and desperation for him, he knew what he would ask for.

“Are you going to fuck me or is the Master of Fear afraid of what people will say?” she taunted as he released her neck and searched for the handcuffs.

“I’m going to make you mine, dear sweet Eva.” He answered as he handcuffed her wrists behind her back.

She understands him, understands his desires to make the world fear him and control it that way.

And they will be glorious.

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is. 

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative. 

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency. 

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him. 

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine. 

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 8

What's this? An update! Massive thanks to my betas for helping me get through this chapter <3

In Which: A few answers are given to the family and Danny is rudely awoken

[Side note: If you wanna know the general ages of the batfam, its listed in the AO3 version. I also talk about katanas in the end notes ^-^]

AO3 | Prologue | 7 | [ 8 ] | 9 DAMIAN INFORMED TODD—and Drake when he arrived on his bike sometime later on—that the boy whose face is plastered across the monitor was neither a picture of himself nor of Father.

Drake took one glance at the monitor and sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this day was getting better.”

“What, did that café on 5th finally let customers supersize their drink?”

“God that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Drake sighed wistfully. “Nah, but I did get a lead on where some of that stolen Cadmus tech might’ve ended up. I was gonna spend the night following up on it, but I guess we have to deal with,” he gestured to the monitor, “whatever this is.”

Todd leaned against the edge of the computer, arms crossed over the red bat insignia on his chest. “What are we dealing with this time, brat? A clone? An alternate universe counterpart? Magic shenanigans?”

Maybe. Perhaps. All of those were perfectly valid conclusions for the enigma that was Daniel James Fenton. (Why Fenton and not al Ghul? Or even Wayne?)

Damian, too, was a genetic experiment; a ‘test tube baby’ as Drake put it at times. Damian was born for greatness, created to be perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect assassin. The perfect heir. Was this boy—Daniel—like him as well?

A failed one, then. Perhaps the precursor to Damian’s own existence. But that would not explain why the boy was allowed to exist for so long. His grandfather demanded perfection, especially from those of his own blood. If the boy was a failure, he would have been eliminated immediately, not sent to live with some eccentric scientists in the Midwest.

Damian was not naïve enough to think that his mother and grandfather did not keep secrets from him. On the contrary, he expected it. The League of Shadows dealt in secrets as often as it did in death. Certain information was worth its weight in gold, whether it was given or buried away.

But he could not help the sharp pang in his chest. A lightning strike, quick and electrifying at the notion that they kept secrets about their family from him.

His father’s face flashed in his mind. The shock turned into a slow, dawning horror. That flicker of light, of recognition, as he scrutinized the contents of the flash drive and cross-referenced it with a public database.

And grief.

Damian recognized the grief.

Alfred, too, nearly dropped his tray of fresh-baked cookies when he stepped in front of the monitor. His usual unflappable demeanor was momentarily broken at his father’s whispered “Sixteen years. Alfred— he’s sixteen years old.”

His father knew of the boy. He was allowed to know of Daniel when he was not allowed to know about Damian.

------

Grayson returned to the cave with a distinct lack of energy in his step. His mask dangled off the tips of his fingers, chin angled downwards and covered largely by his hand. For a split second, their eyes met. Grayson shifted his gaze away, scratching the back of his neck. Father told him, then. Damian wondered how much Father revealed to his favorite son.

Damian clucked his tongue and buried himself deeper into the chair, arms crossed and pointedly looking away. If it was not for his accursed ankle, he’d have headed out to the training ring to take his frustrations out on the dummies.

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Dickface. Damian’s completely out of it.”

Damian shot him a look. “Shut up, Todd.”

“Leave him alone, Jay. Is Tim back yet?”

Drake emerged from the changing room in a dark green shirt, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He took one long sip before exhaling. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“O-kay…” He pressed his hands together, mouth thinned into a grim line. “Uh, hey Tim, glad to see you back safe. Bruce is coming down soon to explain some things.” He let out a deep sigh, carding a hand through his hair. “This kind of thing would probably be better with the girls around, but I—god, I don’t know.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know whether to call Steph and Cass in Hong Kong, or don’t know what’s going on?”

“Yes.”

------

When Father arrived, Pennyworth following dutifully behind him, it was with an aching slowness in his gait. His steps measured and precise, preternaturally quiet as he made his way to stand by Damian’s chair. Damian sat up straighter, shoulders squared and back an inch away from the backrest. The rest, even Todd, stood at attention; an ingrained habit among Robins and an amusing instinct even among the senior heroes of the Justice League when it came to facing the Batman.

His father kept a steady hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian, shamefully, leaned into the touch; his head inclined towards his father’s hand so much so that he could feel the ends of his hair being pushed up slightly as he brushed against his father’s forearm.

He spoke with his usual monotone, as if he was heading a Justice League meeting as opposed to unveiling the secrets surrounding that boy. He brought forward the few photos they obtained from the flash drive. “A few weeks ago, we were alerted of suspicious movement from the League of Shadows in Amity Park, Illinois. Their objectives are, as of now, unclear, though it appears to be tied to the death of Amity Park resident, Daniel Fenton.”

One photo was a standard ID picture people get for their driver’s license, the lighting deliberately horrible so that any attempt to look decent would always end in failure. Another photo was a little better; a candid scene of him chatting with two others his age, a Caucasian girl in gothic-style clothes and an African-American holding a sleek, but still very outdated PDA. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hand reaching up to his face to stifle a laugh. There were other photos like this, some candid, others posed. At the forefront of each, a boy that looked too much like his father, too much like Damian.

His father glanced at the photos. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, he fixed them on some distant stalactite in the Cave. “Around six months ago, Daniel was pronounced dead in a vehicular accident. A body was present, but according to police reports, he was identified via his driver’s license as opposed to any kind of DNA profiling.” He leaned over Damian’s chair to pull up a profile of Masters. “Our source—Vladimir Masters, mayor of Amity and a friend of the Fenton family—indicated his belief that Daniel is actually alive. I am inclined to agree.”

“He’s your son, isn’t he,” Drake said, more of a statement than a question.

Father gave a curt nod. “I cannot say for certain until I can perform a DNA test, but I highly suspect that to be the case.”

“First the demon spawn, now this. Great.” Todd made a hand motion towards the screen. “You know, Bruce, not knowing you have a kid once might be a coincidence, but twice? How do you do that?”

“As of three hours ago, I was still under the impression that my son never made it to term.”

“What?”

“Over sixteen years ago I was involved in a mission that put Ra’s and I on the same side. During that time, Talia and I entered a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. Though initially ecstatic, she eventually led me to believe she miscarried the child and pushed me away. For what ends, I do not know, but trust me Jason, if I knew—” He paused, the hand that was not on Damian’s shoulder curled into a tight fist.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why she hid it from me then doesn’t matter. Why Talia wants him back now is important. Judging from Daniel’s records, he was adopted into the Fenton family as an infant and has since lived a seemingly normal life as a civilian. His adoptive parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are brilliant scientists and engineers focused on the field of paranormal studies. Eccentricities aside, they have zero connections to the League of Assassins or any other concerning parties.”

“So why now?” Dick asked, shifting his concerned gaze from Bruce to the static picture of Danny’s tired smile. “Why, after all this time, decide that now would be the best time to recover him?”

------

Danny’s experienced plenty of rude awakenings before, but waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to avoid his kidnapper-slash-assassin-slash-biological-mom launching a surprise attack takes the fucking cake. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but thank god for all those late night ghost attacks that conditioned him to be a light sleeper. And, of course, the League’s insistence that everyone be in optimal condition regardless of how little sleep you actually got.

Danny kicked Talia off of him, ripping his blanket away before scrambling to his feet. Seriously, if the universe decided to spontaneously give him powers again, he’d really like an upgrade to his ghost senses, please and thank you. Something that works on humans and not just ghosts. Like spidey-senses. He’d really, really like some spidey-senses.

“Your reaction times have improved considerably,” Talia said.

He eyed the katana sheathed beside his bedroll. “Thanks. Who could have guessed that constantly challenging someone to a spar in the unholy hours of morning would make them paranoid to sleep too much? Really, how am I supposed to grow taller at this rate? ” If he could just get it--

She smiled, taking a step forward. “Prepare yourself.”

“Heh.” Danny stepped further away from Talia, keeping his back to the mouth of the cave. One hand stretched in front of him and the other, coated in a green light, was kept hidden behind his back. “Am I actually gonna get some answers today?”

“Let us make it interesting. Last 10 minutes against me and I shall tell you more about your brother.” Talia twirled her blade. “If you happen to draw blood, you may ask any one thing of me.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

His face caught between a grimace and a smile. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but if he had to be awake, then he’d better make the most of it. “Deal.”

Talia’s smile dropped. She veered her body to the right, barely dodging the streak of bright green that whizzed from behind her. The ectoplasmic energy that surrounded the katana bled away as the handle connected with Danny’s outstretched hand.

She quickly glanced back at Danny’s bedding. Beside it lay an empty sheath. “You have telekinesis?”

He shrugged. “It comes and goes.” Yeah, no way was Danny gonna admit that seven-out-of-ten-times he forgot that he had telekinesis. Besides, that shit was hard to do when he wasn’t Phantom.

“A surprise attack from behind is a sound strategy, Daniel. Though it’ll take a lot more than that to harm me.”

Danny pointed to the side of his cheek. “Are you sure about that?”

Talia frowned. She reached up to her face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek and came away with a thin streak of blood.

Danny grinned, pointing his blade at his opponent. “First blood goes to me.”

------

Fact: most fights don’t last long. An average street fight could last anywhere between 25 to 40 seconds, and sword fights rarely last over a minute. Like Talia said, the goal of a fight was to end it with as few injuries to oneself as possible. Humans, even the most skilled ones, can rarely last long in a fight. Prolonged combat is suicide; it makes you tired, makes your muscles heavy. It’s nothing like what Hollywood would have you believe.

Even with Danny’s own enhanced stamina and Talia holding back, he couldn’t last a full ten-minute spar. If Talia didn’t finish him within twenty-five seconds, then he’d fall by his own human limitations.

But the goal wasn’t to spar continuously for ten minutes.

He only had to last that long.

Danny sprinted out of the cave. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, a thin line of deep orange breaking apart the wide expanse of blue-black sky above. He couldn’t see shit; great news since that meant there’s a good chance Talia couldn’t either, but that doesn’t fix the fact that he can’t see.

Nearly stumbling on the ice, Danny veered to the left. The edges of the lake stopped at towering rocks twice Danny’s height, leaving little room for cover. Though if he remembered correctly, there should be a few crevices here and there to hide in.

“You’ll have to be faster than that, Daniel.”

Shit—

Danny stopped. He brought his sword up to parry Talia’s strike and twisted away, putting distance between them.

Well, so much for just avoiding her for 10 minutes.

He adjusted his grip, keeping his sword steady and eyes trained on Talia as they circled each other. Danny lunged with an overhead strike. Talia used one hand to block the downswing by gripping his wrists. She thrust her sword forward, the tip harshly poking Danny’s abdomen.

“Less than three minutes.” Talia let his wrist go, Danny’s arms slumping to his sides.

He sighed as he sheathed his sword. “Damn, I thought I’d last longer than that.”

“You made a good effort,” Talia assured him. “Putting as much distance between us at the beginning was a good strategy. You recognized the win conditions immediately and attempted a battle of attrition.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very proud of you habibi, especially as you managed to draw first blood.”

A warmth grew in Danny’s stomach at the words, heating his cheeks. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, honestly.”

“It was clever; half a second later and you might have even killed me. You are an al Ghul through and through” She brushed his hair out of his face. “What would you like as your prize, then?”

Danny’s heart clenched. He frowned, dropping his arm to his side. If I was such an al Ghul, then why didn’t you keep me? The question lodged itself in his throat, stifling his thoughts. It was something he’d been wondering for a while, actually, in the moments of solitude he had at the compound. Talia, during their training, would always remark at his potential. How talented he was, how adaptable he was, how much greater he would have been if he had been trained at a younger age.

Well then, why wasn’t he? Why did she give him up?

But each time he tried to ask, his tongue would turn to lead and the moment would pass, the question still left unsaid and simmering at the back of his mind. A Pandora’s Box that held none of the world’s evil but all of Danny’s possible shortcomings.

He could ask the question now.

He could.

He didn’t.

“Why did you take me?”

Talia tilted her head. “It is because you’re my son.”

“No. Not that. It has to be something more than that. You had sixteen years to come back for me—or, hell, you could have just never left me.” His breath hitched, fingers mussing his hair and hiding his eyes. “Why else did you take me?”

“It is true that there was more than one reason why we decided to retrieve you from Amity Park. One of which is because you are my son and an heir of the Demon’s Head.” Talia stilled. The dark skies of dawn made it impossible for him to read her. “The second reason was to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me…to protect me?”

“Knowledge of the ghosts of Amity have spread through the more insidious parts of the world. There are many out there who would pay exorbitant fees to study one of you or to use you.”

Use him? What did she mean by—

Oh.

Ghosts—Amity Park’s brand of ghosts—were a new element that the world had to contend with. Amity Park might have a crime rate of zero but that wasn’t the case everywhere else. Theft, assault, murder; the world was rampant with crimes and criminals clawing their way to the very top. Having ghosts, even ones with the most basic powerset, would be a huge advantage.

“There’s no way that would work,” Danny insisted. “Most ghosts just want to be left alone, and the ones that want to wreak havoc would never work with humans. The only reason they even work with halfas like me at times is because they still consider us as ghosts.”

“If my sources are to be believed, ghosts might not even get a choice.”

Danny’s blood curdled in his veins.

No.

Someone’s found a way to control ghosts.

[awkwardturtletrash]

You’re so right! The fandom misunderstood everything about Tim that made him Tim.

Sleep deprivation:

He over sleeps, he’s always tired and overworked buts he’s always falling asleep — rollercoasters, ignoring phone calls, even at work. It comes off more as controlled chaos, clinical awareness, and depression. Also he drinks soda.

Taking care of Bruce:

He took care of Bruce but it wasn’t so much Bruce abusing him or taking his anger out and instead every bad thing Batman (because it wasn’t always Bruce!!!!) did was while Tim Drake was supposed to stop it or because he left! He couldn’t help and something bad happened. It’s less that he was beaten into being his carer, nor did he force his way into being his moral compass, but the guilt of him not preventing these bad outcomes. His response to problems is to fix them, whether it’s through social manipulation (good or bad) or cold, calculated planning. But he cares! And he feels guilty!

Jason vs Dick:

JASON WAS NOT HIS ROBIN!!!! Tim Drake has been a dick Grayson Stan for fucking forever (even when Dick hated him in the beginning) and they have a constant push and pull relationship built on hard work, learning, and insane respect for each other. They literally mirror each other’s stress responses during their big fight over Bruce’s death (Tim was the one who ran, Dick was the one who stayed). Their fight wasn’t Dick vs Tim moreso brothers dealing with trauma.

His parents:

They weren’t abusive, not in the beginning. They were bad parents, yes, but they weren’t training him to be a robot nor were they ice parents (also the creator wanted him to have a family so that he was focused on being Robin and not Batman while still able to disappear to be Robin ergo traveling parents). His mom is fucking hugging him when they meet the Graysons (first hug my fucking ass). Yes, him and his dad are on the rocks and his dad does drop the ball and he holds a gun to Bruce’s head but he’s still with his son, he’s still a present figure scared and controlling and also traumatized from being in a coma with a dead wife. They are not good parents but they’re not evil people. Jack Drake is a tragedy of a father and y’all are making him BORING.

Drake manor:

They moved in AFTER Jack Drake woke up! Stop it!

Ra’s Al Ghul:

It’s a hundred percent racism to make his whole character surrounding Tim. Yes, he is obsessed with Tim (Paris was intense and is never handled with respect by fanon) but he existed as a character before and after. There’s a lot more villains with personal ties to Tim (no one ever tends to write about fucking BOOMERANG but that would require batfam fans actually reading a comic for once) or new ties to be invented but they keep stripping Ghul his relationship to Bruce, Damian, Talia, and his existence as an antagonist and not side character.

Uwu Tim:

Tim would talk shit while getting beaten to a pulp. He has roasted Batman to other characters multiple times. He created up the worst ever fucking superhero design (Mr Sarcastic my beloved) to be a little shit. He stole a fucking Batmobile in the Batarang budget. He held a gun to his head threatening his future self. He has half a dozen aliases, and even considers himself to be three different people when needed be. He is a snarky, loser, dedicated hot mess and y’all make him the most stereotypical autistic child to the point of savant stereotype who cries when he receives a head pat. It’s pathetic and boring and SUCKS !!! Go watch Steven universe and leave dc comics alone

I am a Tim Drake fan. I just bought over half a dozen limited edition comics and merch at comic con last fucking week. And Tim Drake stans have fucking ruined the dc fandom. Go read a comic or start tagging everything with “fanon” or “I fucking made this all up” because Jesus, I don’t know who you’re writing fanfic of but it’s not Timothy Drake.

(I just got all four of my wisdom teeth removed so this other be delirious but whatever. Tim best boy.)

i promise i do like Tim guys :(

This is probably my most unpopular opinion as a Tim stan who spends a lot of time in the parts of the fandom that constantly talk about Tim, but this fandom has a habit of making Tim "better" than he actually is and it hurts his character in the end. Anways, i'm going to make a list.

There are so many characters that we never get to see because of him. We only get to see Jack and Janet Drake as abusive because the fandom decided that they were bad parents. We only get to see Ra's al Ghul when he's obsessed with Tim. Damian rarely gets proper fanfics about his early days as Robin or Dick's time as Batman because all those fanfics are about Tim.

The way a lot of this fandom treats him gives of special snowflake vibes and I admit I do read those fics but I feel like a lot of people write him that way because that's the only characterization of Tim they know. It's honestly unrealistic that he managed to stalk highly trained bats as a young child and take photos. I joke about it too, but he canonically has the strongest morals out of all the batboys and canon makes a big deal about the fact that he didn't kill anyone while blowing up buildings. I like these tropes, I read them and all that but they kind of take me out when they're in serious fanfics.

Probably the most unpopular one but I think fanon is doing Tim a disservice by not holding him accountable for anything and villainizing other characters for him. Like people refusing to acknowledge that Tim was very rude to Damian when they first met. The whole mess with him become Red Robin was a good example of that. Canon was a mess too but basically went like this: Tim insists Bruce is alive for no real reason, Damian becomes Robin for a multitude of reasons I won't talk about now, Dick suggests Tim gets a therapist, Tim gets mad and leaves despite efforts otherwise, Dick later finds actual evidence and the all make up. If Tim had stayed in Gotham nothing would have changed because honestly it probably would have been easier for him to find most of the evidence. This is probably the one trope I won't read because it seems insane to act like Dick was crazy for not believing him and he was ostracized from the family despite the fact that he pretty much choose this way. If Tim wanted to stay with the family so much maybe he should have done that while Dick was asking him too and offering him help?

Anyways you guys can ignore this if you want to and if you have a counter point your welcoming to say it

[mxsmwndr]

Yes, No, Maybe So

jason todd x singlemom!reader

no a/n, really. jus that i legit LOVE jason x singlemom!readers so if there’s some recs please send them in lmao. (also, i can guarantee there will be more from where this came from so prepare if you can.)

also, enjoy this gif. it’s far from relevant but wicked awesome lmao. lmk what you think of this. i adore jason and there aren’t nearly enough fics for him.

Maybe being a single parent was hard, and maybe being in Gotham made it harder, but the fact that you can have a child of your own? Well, that alone made it worth everything.

He was named Jay, too. After both his father and Jay Gatsby. And looked like him, as well. His father, I mean. He had the same striking blue eyes and the same jet black hair. However, Jay had your skin tone, but that was one of the few features you shared. It was that and his hair style, which was (curly/straight/wavy). But otherwise, he looked exactly like his father.

Also, it’s not important or anything, but it was actually his middle name that was Jay. His first was (*Pick A Cute Name Because IDK And It Would Be Bowie If It Were Up To Me Oof*).

And that hurt you at first. It hurt you, when you looked at your son, because you could only see his father. In his eyes you could only see the man you loved, the man who was instead of given the break he deserved brutally murdered.

The man who broke your heart in two.

But you can’t dwell on that now, can you? You’ve moved on and even if you haven’t totally you must pretend for now. For Jay if nothing else. For Jason.

“Sweetie,” You said to your son. He turned towards you at the mention of one of his many pet names, and like every other time, your heart melted at his glistening icy eyes. And you melted his the sight of mouth, too, and of course his hair and height and his everything, really, because he looks just like his father.

“Yeah, Mama?” Jay said, eyebrows pulled together and head tilted ever so slightly, barely, but also quizzically.

You shook your head for good measures and pulled yourself together once more. Smiling at your boy, you made something up. Really, you had selfishly just wanted to make him stay. You wanted to tell him that no, that it’s okay if he wants to stay home because he lives in Gotham and Gotham is a terrible place. That he’s always welcome to cancel his plans and instead stay with you. That please, Jay. Please cancel your plans and stay home, here, with you, because you can’t afford to let anything happen to your little one. Not like it did, Jason.

But that’s too selfish. Jay wouldn’t understand, and you didn’t want him to. Instead, you made something up again. Instead, you said, “Just... be careful out there.” Then, “Remember dinner’s at grandpa’s tonight. Try to be home around five, okay?”

“Sure thing, Mama,” Jay said with a smile. It was always Mama. Never Mom, never Mommy, but Mama. You loved it. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Wait!”

Jay turned his shoulder, towards you. His dark eyebrows were furrowed once more until he saw you tilt your cheek to him. Then, with a grin mirroring his father’s, he ran to you and kissed your cheek. “Love you, Mama,” He whispered.

“I love you, too, baby. Be careful!”

Come back soon.

—

The ride to the Wayne Manor was... interesting at best. In a polite way, of course, but also... well, never mind that. You had arrived, hadn't you? Isn't that all that matters?

That, and...

"Alfred!" Jay suddenly cheered. He threw his arms around the man and earned a chuckle.

You bent over, gushing to your son about his manners, until Alfred told you otherwise. Then, with a sudden frown, he informed you that Bruce needed your help. He'd take care of "Young Master Jay", he said. And that "you mustn't worry so much, Miss (Y/n)".

But you were worried.

And so even though you were worried, you walked to the Batcave, where Bruce Wayne was standing, puzzled and intrigued and afraid all at once because if Bruce needed you... well it had to be big, right?

"(Y/n)!" The man said. "Come."

You complied, "Uh, Bruce, what-"

"Wait!" A different voice echoed. You turned, and found the figure running towards you to be Dick, Jason's former brother and Bruce's first adoptive son. "Bruce, are you sure this is a good idea?" He said once he caught up to you two.

He was met with a grunt from the former before continuing, "I mean... her life is really good right now. Really good. Jay's happy, he's in a good place and I'd hate to-"

"She needs to know, Dick," The man said.

"But..."

Grunt (again).

"Fine. Just... just don't regret this."

"I won't."

"Um..." You said, looking between the two men. "Is something wrong?"

"Not in the way you're thinking," Dick murmured. Bruce, in return, sent him a quick glare and then motioned for you to move closer to him.

"Look here," Bruce said, pointing at a sheet he suddenly held in hand. You blinked, skimming through the data. It read Willis Todd and Shiela Haywood, but...

"What's this from?" You asked.

"Blood samples from the Red Hood, taken a few days ago," Bruce said gruffly. He was staring at you, waiting for a reaction because how would you feel? Even after all these years.... Happy? Sad? Something else? Mad?

"What?"

Or "what?", maybe. That's probably the best one yet, Bruce figures.

Until, "He's back, (Y/n)," Dick whispered.

"I... no," You said. No, because he can't be back. He died, six years ago, by the hands of the Joker. Tortured and burned and ultimately blown up. People don't just survive that kind of thing.

And also, you were there. Not at his death site but at his funeral, at his grave sight, at the wake and at the lowering of his casket into the grave. You saw his body, it was dead.

Hell, you fucking grieved! You cried endlessly for weeks and weeks and even months! You visited his grave for every anniversary! You came for every birthday, too! With flowers and a goddamned love note in hand, no fail ever!

So why? Why pull this? Why to you and why right now?

Dick pressed his lips together, "I'm so sorry, (Y/n), I-"

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"What? No, I-"

"Am I joke to you two? I mean, seriously?! If you wanted me gone you could have just said so! I can't bel-"

"(Y/N)!" Bruce yelled, startling you into silence. "I know this is hard to believe, but you need to calm down. Jay might-”

"The fuck you know about Jay! He's mine! My son which I birthed and I raised, okay?! I know him best, and I-"

"LISTEN!" Bruce yelled, stunning you into silence. "I know it's crazy. I get it, really, just... listen to me, okay? Just give me a chance."

"Why should I?" You said. 

"When have I ever lied to you?

"You see?" Bruce breathed, taking his moment because who knows if you'd let him speak to you again.

"The body... at Jason's grave... is a fake. Ra's al Ghul put it there, he... he hired Joker to preform a distraction, and, well, accidentally killed Jason.

"But he also brought him back to life! At least until Jason escaped.... but now he's here, because..." Bruce looked up, into your eyes. "He wants to kill the Joker, (Y/n)," He said.

No - "But that's suicide," You said.

"Exactly. And he won't listen to me, so I need you to come help me."

"Me? But..."

"He knows about Jay," Bruce continued. "But... he doesn't know who's he is."

"Pardon?"

"He doesn't know that Jay is his," Dick clarified. "He thinks you've moved on."

"But I haven't! I-"

"I know, (Y/n)," Dick said. "I know. I was there... but he wasn't, remember? He died and missed it all.... Which is why we need your help."

You looked back to Bruce. He nodded slightly, and you looked to Dick once more. Then, you said, "Fine. When do we leave?"

"Now."

—

[yes, i do realize that this timeline is mad fucked, but do i care? nah. but also, part two maybe??]

[sweet-sammy-kisses]

Red Hood: Robin Protector

Written for @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt big brother instinct Fandom: Batman Pairing: Jason & Tim Word Count: 1,094 Rating: Teen Summary: Talia wanted Tim gone, she tried to use Jason she just forgot one thing Jason doesn't hurt kids.

A retelling of Jason breaking into the Titans Tower to protect Tim not to hurt him. You can also read it on AO3

Talia Al Ghul hates Timothy Drake the third Robin with a passion unlike anything else. Jason may be many things but a fool he is not. He knows there is a reason Talia is willing to do anything to be rid of Tim even if that means twisting Bruce's sons to be her swords. Jason refuses to be anyone's pawn and instead protects Tim as he unravels the mystery of Timothy Drake.

Jason Todd was many things.

Crime Alley Kid.

Formerly Robin.

Formerly dead at the hands of that mother fucker the Joker.

League of Assassins trained.

Now known as the Red Hood.

What he wasn't is a fool.

Talia Al Ghul has a deep burning passionate hate for the third Robin Timothy Drake. Jason saw it in her eyes every time she brought him up to Jason. She made sure to go on about how Bruce had replaced him, with a newer better Robin months after he had been dead.

Now at first Jason, was poisoned by the Pit Madness and he believed every word that fell from her beautifully poisoned lips. He soaked up her vile and let it consume him until he was beginning to give to his hate. He had plans written up until it hit him that he was being groomed to torture a child.

Jason may be a lot of things but he didn't torture children.

So he played along with Talia and her mind games and he began noticing things that Talia was working the same mind games on her son Damian, and hadn't that been a shock that Bruce had a spawn with Talia. He saw her poisoning Damian that if he wanted to take his place at his father's side he needed to do away with Tim the one standing in the way of his heritage of inheriting the Robin mantel.

Jason remembers Tim Drake, his little stalker who he would find on rooftops photographing him and Batman as they flew across Gotham doing their best to keep her safe. Jason never told Bruce about their little visitor or how some nights he would bring a milkshake on the hot nights and share it with the baby stalker or on the cold nights give him hot chocolate before sending him home.

Talia wanted him dead but didn't seem to think that Jason would do his research into the third Robin, she had just banked on the pit feeding into his rage making him do what she wanted with no questions asked.

He had been curious as to how Tim at such a young age had been able to sneak out to follow them around and once he looked into the Drake family he had felt a new kind of rage build towards Jack and Janet Drake. They were home maybe two months out of the year, they barely spent time with their kid and they had no fucking problem in leaving their young son home alone for that length of time without a nanny or babysitter in Gotham of all places. Tim might have the money but he didn't have family, he grew up alone and abandon and Jason felt sorry for the kid.

He couldn't understand why Talia hated Tim so much, why she wanted him dead and wasn't afraid of using her son to do it. Jason needed to do research and that couldn't happen here where he was under Talia's watchful eye, he had to leave the league but at the same time that would mean leaving Damian without protection against his mother's training and mind games.

Letting out a sigh Jason ran a hand through his hair, "This fucking sucks." He had no real plans on returning to Gotham. He knew that he couldn't be in the same room with Bruce without being consumed by the pit madness but he needed to protect the new Robin. Talia wanted the kid out of the way and she would do everything in her power to make that happen.

"Well, it looks like I'm going into the Robin Protection business." Jason couldn't believe that this was his life now.

+******+

Growing up in Gotham, following Batman and the first two Robins around since he was a boy and now being Robin himself and working with Young Justice one would think that Tim would be used to impossible things. The man known as Red Hood, who had been giving Bruce and Dick the run around was seated at their table with his dirty boots on their table. "Boots off the table. Were you raised in a barn?" Tim growled out.

"No, I was raised on Gotham streets." Hood shot back.

Tim blinked, he knew that voice. But it couldn't be. "Jason?"

"Hey, Timbo. It looks like I am going to be your new babysitter. Seems Talia wants you dead and since I ain't into killing kids I'm going to have to keep you safe from her."

There was a lot for Tim to unpack from there and he didn't know where to start somehow his Robin, his hero, his role model was alive and here to protect him from Talia Al Ghul so instead he went with, "You know Alfred is going to be very disappointed in you for having your dirty boots on the table, he taught you better than that."

A gruff laugh escaped Jason, "That he did." Removing his boots from the table, "Now let's talk about how I am going to keep your skin ass safe from Talia."

Crossing his arms over his chest Tim raised an eyebrow, "How about we start with you coming to the Batcave with me and explaining to everyone how you are alive." Tim suggested.

"There is no way in hell that I am going back to the Batcave," Jason growled out.

Shrugging his shoulders Tim gave Jason a devious smirk, "That's okay I'm sure that I can wait until Nightwing and Batman arrive her and help me drag you to the cave. I'm sure my friends will love seeing the big bad Red Hood on the receiving end of one of Nightwing's legendary hugs."

Jason's eyes narrowed, "You are evil kid. I just might end up liking you."

Tim beamed, "I try."

+******+

Jason will admit that seeing the shocked looks on Bruce and Dick's faces and getting a hug from Alfred was well worth the smug look Tim wore for the rest of the week. Talia might have just met her match in Tim Drake.

'Let's just hope that Ra never takes a liking to Tim.'

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Whumptober 2020 Day 1 - Shackled

Characters: Dick Grayson, Ra’s al Ghul Summary: Dick wakes up in a cave. A/N: Happy Whumptober! This one focuses on Dick, and the time period is pre-Damian/Bruce’s death. Prompts are taken from this list. Reminder, sign up for my patreon on any tier if you wish to help pick the prompts or characters! Details here.  And these will be shorter-ish stories, since I’m literally writing to post every day for 31 days. It’s gonna be a lot okay. I’m already tired haha.

On Ao3: Under a Full Yellow Moon

~~

The pain woke him up. The pounding of his head, the heaviness of his ankle, the rock digging into his spine.

Wait…why was a rock digging into his spine?

He definitely did not recall being in a rocky area. At least, not last he remembered. Not that that helped much, since he last remembered sitting in his apartment, waiting for a pizza delivery.

He slowly opened his eyes, but it didn’t help anything. The place was dark.

Dark and cold, and his mind instantly registered that he knew those conditions. Dark, cold and rocky. A cave.

He frowned though, because this was definitely not the cave he was most familiar with. Definitely not Bruce’s, which meant he definitely wasn’t safe, because he definitely didn’t hang out in dark, cold caves for fun.

He moved, felt the rock that was sticking into his back recede, and slowly sat up. Blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness, then shifted to get his feet under him to stand.

But then he froze.

Because there was a weight on his left leg. A heavy weight, one he couldn’t move real well with. He could see a shape in the darkness, attached to his ankle, so he reached down to touch it.

It was metal and thick, but that wasn’t much of a problem. He’d been restrained before. Many times, in fact. With any and all materials you could think of. Rope, chains, wire, sex toys.

The problem was, as he shifted his hand, he found the thick clasp on his ankle was attached to something. He slowly ran his hand along what appeared to be chains, even thicker than the shackle on his leg, and found them attached to the stone wall.

…He was chained to a wall. In the bottom of a cave.

Well, this wasn’t good.

Even though his head was still throbbing, he gave the chain a few tugs, testing its strength. It seemed solid, would take more than a couple strong pulls to get it loose enough to yank out. And even then, this chain was huge. Even if he freed himself, it’d be a slow journey out of here, whichever direction that was. He’d be moving like a regular Jacob Marley.

Suddenly there was a scratchy swoosh, the sound of a match being lit. He winced against the dim light that appeared across the space, and watched the flame grow as the match was held to a torch.

A man covered in dark brown from head to toe stood there, only his eyes showing. But that didn’t matter, Dick recognized a member from the League of Assassins anywhere.

He didn’t get a chance to strike up a conversation, though, as suddenly there were footsteps echoing off the walls. Within minutes a shadow appeared behind the assassin, and the light revealed one Ra’s al Ghul.

“Mr. Grayson.” Ra’s hummed with a smile. “Glad to see you awake.”

“Ra’s? What’s going on?” Dick shook the chain. “What’s with this?”

“Consider it an honor.” Ra’s chuckled. “It was the only way we could defeat you, welding that to your leg.”

Dick glanced back down. In the torchlight he could now make out a thick dark line down the side of the cuff, and no other seam.

“Wha…?” Dick tilted his head, the pain in his skull screamed. “Ra’s, are we having a tiff that I was unaware of?”

“No, it’s not a current fight. I’m merely taking preventative measures against a future one.” Ra’s shrugged. “After all, we’ve run the scenarios.”

“Scenarios?” Dick asked. “Of what?”

“For when we go and retrieve Timothy Drake.” Ra’s explained simply. “Our studies show that you would be the only one to successfully complete a rescue attempt.”

Dick’s stomach dropped, but anger sparked in his heart. “Don’t you fucking touch that kid, Ra’s.”

“He’s the only viable option for a new vessel, Richard. You know that.” Ra’s scolded. “I need him.”

“You can’t have him.” Dick hissed. “And what the hell do you mean I’d be the only one to try a rescue attempt? Bruce would – will – be here in a heartbeat.”

“I did not say that, Richard. Listen when you’re being spoken to. I said you’d be the only one to succeed.” Ra’s sighed, like a parent to a child. “Bruce will come, but he wouldn’t do what needs to be done. He wouldn’t kill for the boy. But you, on the other hand…”

Ra’s smiled. Dick balled his hand into a fist.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It just makes you a more formidable opponent.” Ra’s promised. “But also not one I have time for. Our timeline is short, and your distraction is not something we can afford.” He paused, thought for a minute. “You’re the only one who could save him, and I, unfortunately, can’t let you do that.”

Dick tugged on the chain again. “Ra’s, don’t. I…I swear to god.”

“You will be fed down here. A meal a day.” Ra’s pursed his lips. “On days we have enough food for you anyway.”

“Ra’s.”

“You will not have visitors. Or a guard. So, if you were to somehow escape and find your way out of this cave, it seems understandable that you’ve earned your freedom, and may go where you wish.”

“Ra’s.” Dick begged. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grayson. I don’t have another option.” Ra’s seemed truly sad by the statement. “I do not want to kill you. But I cannot allow you to get in my way.”

“No, I…I don’t care about me. Leave me here, that’s fine.” Dick pulled at the chain again. Nothing. “Just…please. Please don’t hurt Tim. Please don’t make him do this.”

“If I had another choice I would take it.” Ra’s said, like he meant it. “He is my best option.”

“He’s a kid.”

“And better than any man.” Ra’s countered. “Really, Richard. You should both take your captures as honors. Your capture is due to your formidability. His will be due to his genius and skill.”

“Ra’s!”

“My apologies. We are heading to Gotham in hours.” Ra’s said. “Good luck from here on out. Despite what it seems, I do wish you well. And I will give Timothy your regards.”

Ra’s turned away then, his assassin on his heels. Dick shouted after him, his voice becoming more frantic with every repetition. Ra’s never looked back and never answered.

Dick screamed until the light of the torch disappeared. He never heard a door open, or the sound of the outside world. He didn’t hear any more movement, of neither assassin nor animal. He pulled at the chain a few more times, but eventually wore his own strength out.

Dick was left alone in the dark.

[flying-nightwing]

Dark Fox (1/7)

Okay so I’m super excited about this one. It was supposed to be a one shot, but my head got carried away with the developpement of the story and I found the potential just too good not to bring further. So this is gonna be a multi parts, no idea how long yet.

This will not be exactly dark/gritty, but it will deal with existential struggle with identity and sense of justice (for reader, and indirectly for Jason as well). It’s my first time tapping into the questioning of the Self in a work of fiction, so I hope you enjoy exploring this topic with me.

Feedback is always appreciated!

Next 

Pairing: Jason Todd x League!reader

Word count: 3352

Warnings: Violence, swearing, death.

Summary: You’re torn in between your heart and your head, who you are and what you aren’t, right or wrong for yourself. The answer is so close you can taste it, but you can’t help but doubt. 

"They don't know what's coming for them"

You waited in the shadows, still and patient, watching the gang of thugs hyping themselves for their takeover. 

"No cops, no swat team, no fucking vigilante will be able to stop us!"

Cheers went around the group, their military grade firearms raised in the air. All the big fists of Kiev's underground criminal network were there, ready to storm the city. It had been a carefully crafted plan that had started with buying the right people, then diverting NATO's shipment to pro-america extremists to feed the anti-russian movement. Tonight was the night the final blow would strike, with a takeover.

"The city is ours, boys!" The leader shouted. "Take what's yours, and kill the rest!"

That was your cue. As they began running out of the warehouse, you dropped from the ceiling to block their path. You were alone, but the surprise made them all halt nonetheless. 

"Who the fuck are you?" 

Your eyes found the leader. "You are operating on a territory that is not yours, Dmitri Liyanov" You spoke through your mask, which was distorting your voice without making it any less clear. "Ra's Al Ghul is not pleased with your defiance"

He narrowed his eyes, then relaxed and laughed. "So he sent his little pet alone to confront me about it?" He mocked condescendingly, and with a hand gesture, all firepower in the room pointed to you. "In case you haven't noticed, you're outgunned"

You didn't move an inch, your eyes only trailed on the goon that had taken a step forward, ready to end you. You weren't worried, especially since you caught the movement of the fifteen other shadows silently dropping from the ceiling, unbeknownst to the forty or something goons all facing you.

"Alright boys, let's end this--"

"Oh, you don't wanna do that" A casual, laughing voice then echoed behind you. Your eyes widened in frustration as you recognized too well the intruder. Fuck. "The second you fire that gun, you have fifteen plus one super ninjas cutting you to pieces"

And with that, all hell broke loose. 

You threw a Shuriken in the thugs' throat and one that sticked into Liyanov's eye, before spinning around and blocking the oncoming dagger over your head with your forearm brace spikes. You paused there for a few seconds, glaring at the red mask looming over you.

Todd.

"Missed me?" The smirk could be heard in his voice. Of course he’s show up now.

You grabbed a blade in your belt and slashed forward, missing him by inches in his quick drawback. You hadn't expected fighting your equal tonight, but the thrill of a fair fight flared in your veins. The exchanges of hits was swift and graceful, like a river running down it's course. You barely grazed each other, as both of your training was sufficient to plan exactly the other's next move. The question was now about who would make the first mistake. 

He backed you up against a wall, you used the crates to propel you up and come down on him. He blocked your motion, you dropped the blade down in your left hand to attack his open side. But before it could reach him, a quick manoeuvre sent you over his shoulder. You recovered the fall with a roll and went at him again, but the movement of Liyanov trying to get up and run caught your eyes. It effectively distracted you, and before you knew it, Jason's foot collided violently with your stomach. 

It sent you flying back and rolling ungracefully on your stomach a few feet away. You heard a laugh as you groaned, slowly pushing yourself off the ground. You had forgotten the sheer power of his muscles when catching you off guard. You raised one knee as you caught your breath, glaring at Jason. There was laughter behind his eyes, but he wasn't the one making the sound. Your eyes slid over to Liyanov, who was watching the show.

"Seems like I have some people protecting my interests"

You raised your arm, fist pointed straight at him and shot a small barbed arrow straight to his hand. His laughter turned into screams of pain, but you tuned him out easily. Who's laughing now?

"I'm not done with you" You rasped at him, then pulled yourself up, feet apart and shoulders straight. You faced Jason, now angry and determined.

"Sweet upgrade" He whistled, nodding at your arm "And for the record, I was here to kill him too, but you're far more entertaining"

You didn't answer just yet, you only pulled your sword slowly out of the sheath on your back. You knew that you'd have to bring out the big guns against him.

"Oh I see" He hummed in amusement. "Drawing the sword, for old times' sake"

In a few seconds the metal of your weapons was clashing. It reminded you of all the sparring you did with him, when Talia sent you to him to train with him under Ra’s radar. It reminded you of the first time you had put Jason on his back when he was fresh out of the pit, and how he never could beat you with a sword. 

You were light on your feet, making sure that his wider range didn't get you into a leg sweep. He was trying to bring the fight to close range--closer than it could be possible with swords--so he would fall into the one type of combat he actually beat you at. But you could see his game and you refused to give in. 

You knew your strengths as well as his and there was no way you'd let the favor switch to him.

So when his long arms sneaked around and got you into a headlock, you threw all fairness out of the window and rose up your left forearm, shooting the same hidden crossbow you had used against Liyanov. Jason jumped back to avoid the arrow piercing through his jaw and was forced to let you go in the process.

"That's cheating" He tsked as you circled each other. You shot three more arrows, which he all dodged and broke mid air. "Really?"

"You're in my way" You only said, suppressing the emotion from your voice. You refused to admit you were holding back, and that you only wasted your small quiver because you knew none of them would hit him. But you still had a job to do, and not even him could stop you.

“Is that a warning?” He snorted. “Because you’ll have to do more than that to convince m- fuck”

You interrupted him with a distraction flash bang and took the moment to attack. He was quick enough to recover on time and block your blade before it slashed his arm, but not enough to have the upper hand in the fight. He was forced into a totally defensive stance as you left him no space to attack. You sped up your hits, so much that his helmet cracked and came flying off. The next moment, your blade swung at his neck--he closed his eyes when he understood your next move-- but came to a dry stop as it touched his skin. 

The world froze. There you both were, breathing heavily in the silence of the warehouse. He opened his eyes, like he knew you wouldn’t do it. Still, there was this glint in his eyes, like he dared you to finish your motion. 

“You could at least look at me directly” He muttered. “Unless you’re too afraid”

Slowly, you pulled off your mask, showing him your full face. It’s not like there was anybody around who didn’t know who you were under the black hood of the league, and for Liyanov, he wouldn’t leave this warehouse alive to tell on you. 

“You’ve changed” He remarked.

“So did you” You replied sternly. But he didn’t, not really. He was still handsome, and a distraction to your work. So you raised your sword, like you would swing down, but instead took his inattention to deliver a round kick at the exact same place he did to you. He flew backwards, and in the middle of his fall, you loaded a sedative dart in your forearm crossbow. You shot him in the neck, and by the time his back hit the ground, he was out. 

You watched him for a few more seconds before you turned away and walked to Liyanov. His left eye was now a red mess, no doubt it would have been lost had you let him live. His hand was still stuck to the wooden crate, and he was muttering incoherent things. Probably overwhelmed by the pain, you thought. He looked at you with his one good eye, silently pleading you to end him.

How easy it was to break a weak man’s spirit.

Without a word, you pressed the tip of your sword to his throat and pushed, then slowly pulled back out. You wiped the metal on the inside of your folded elbow and sheathed it back, watching Liyanov choke on his blood and die not so long after. You lifted your head and turned to your team. 

“Linadhhab” You ordered to your team as you slipped your mask back on, and left the scene.

----

You never talked.

Despite sharing a hut, meals and basically both of your personal space, words were rarely used in between you. He was always brooding, angry and miserable. And you? Well, you didn’t feel the need to speak unless it was to correct his form, or to tell him to do the work all over again. He hated you for that, and you hated that you were there because of him. You would have done anything for Talia, but you felt conflicted about betraying Ra’s. You knew this could happen when you agreed to become her right hand, but you didn’t expect for it to happen because of an unstable, revengeful boy she rescued. 

The rain was pouring nails over the mountain. It was cold and seeping through your clothes, yet still you were outside, circling Jason. There was fury in his eyes, directed at you, at the rain, at the world. Yet, he couldn’t control his swing. You had tried to teach him the art of Katana for days now, but he would always be too rash, to much in a hurry to end things. And the pit clearly didn’t help, giving him muscle strength he had not the discipline to control. 

“Again”

He leaped at you, and despite his enhanced speed, you saw his attack coming from miles away. You swatted him and sent him to a tree trunk, his sword falling out of his hands. He was both panting and shaking from the cold, or anger, or both. He slowly got back got his feet, jaw clenched and knuckles white.

“Again”

“Fuck you!” He exploded, walking toward you angrily. You stood your ground. “What’s the point of this, uh? Make me catch a fucking pneumonia?”

“You need to learn control” You simply said, and that made him even angrier. 

“I don’t need fucking control!” He yelled. “I’m strong enough to break your bones”

“Try”

He didn’t like the challenge, and even less when you side stepped all of his attacks. He was skilled, but he was getting tired and numb in the rain. And his rage made him way too predictable. You only pushed him when he tried to go for your neck, knowing a chokehold from him was the one thing you wouldn’t get out of.

“Fight back god dammit!” 

So you did. A few moves and you had him in checkmate, your blade on his neck. It didn’t stop the fuming in his eyes, nor the venom in his words.

“I know why you’re here” He croaked. “You’re stalling me. Talia is stalling me from getting justice for my death. Because that’s what you do, you hide behind a mask to hide the fact that you’re only glorified hitmen, and that you’re afraid to face your own incapacity to change a goddamn thing in the world”

You waited a second before drawing back your sword, your eyes never leaving his. 

“That’s enough for today”

You watched him retreat in frustration toward the hut up the tree, pondering over his words. It was the first time he had talked that much, and you’d be lying if it didn’t make you reflect on it more than you cared to admit.

-----

You never understood the need for luxury. 

The suite that had been reserved for your fake identity was way too spacious for comfort, and so full of things you didn't need. It only made it harder, more straining on you. Smaller spaces were easier to control and to securise, and you knew what to expect. nothing-- nobody could lurk when you were at sword range of everything. 

But unfortunately, your given identity was most of the time part of the higher class, as money could buy silence better than force. Nobody would dare look for a serial killer in a five star hotel, and if there was suspicions, it would be swept under the rug with any organized crime business the elite conducted. The cover was perfect, but it still made you restless.

As soon as you sneaked back in your room, you went straight to your suitcase and threw it on the bed. With a hiss, you peeled off your mask and league uniform, to reveal a red gash on your arm where Jason’s blade got you. You hadn’t noticed before a few minutes ago, when the adrenaline died down. You sighed and began cleaning it up, then applied a bandage to it. It wasn’t deep enough for it to need stitches, but you would still be careful.

Then, you sewed back up your sleeve. It had had other slashes that you could only see their patchwork from up close, sewn back with a large thread the exact same shade of the black leather. 

Next was your shower, to wash down the sweat and the grime and the dried blood. IT was the first one you had in a week, and your first hair wash in twice as much time. The undoing of your braids hurt, and you couldn’t wait to get under water You liked your showers burning hot, it made you feel alive. You had grown up in the desert, after all, and despite your exposure during your training, you hated the cold. You could barely stand it, as a matter of fact. But you’d never show this to Ra’s, it was a weakness which he would try to repress with more cold. 

The steam following you out of the shower clouded the bathroom. You reached for your night kimono and wrapped it around you, the black satin clinging to the dampness of your skin. You dried your hair with a towel and brushed your teeth before going back to the suite. There you folded your black league suit and carefully arranged your weapon on the table. You were almost done when the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and a shiver went down your spine.

Half a second later, you felt his presence close behind you. Your head rose up slowly, yet you didn’t make another move. You simply waited as he did, listening to the almost inaudible sound of his breathing. You didn’t know if he had a weapon close by, and your hand was still at reaching distance from yours. And yet, there was no threat lingering in the air. It was almost… Comforting. 

And you wanted it to stop.

“After all this time…” Jason’s voice was a whisper, meant for you and only you. “All I get is an ass kicking and a sedative?”

It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t playful. It sounded disappointed, if anything. You felt a pang in your heart that was there no matter how hard you tried to push it away. You hadn’t seen him in years, and his sheer presence was already messing with your head. Why did he show up again?

“What else was I supposed to give you?” Your voice wasn’t much louder. His smell clouded your senses and you so wanted to give in, but you had to resist your instinct. It would be your downfall again if you did.

“You’re still angry” He stated, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your neck in a ghost of a caress. It gave you goosebumps, so much you had to close your eyes. His touch was always your weakness when it came to him. 

No matter how cold his skin would get.

“You’re the one who left” You turned your head to the side to catch a glimpse of him behind you. Your voice betrayed your own feelings as it hitched at the end. He moved in your field of vision, his hand gently trailing your neck to cup your cheek. You sighed and leaned in, despite your inner protests. 

“I had to go” He repeated the same thing he had told you three years ago. “You could have come with me. You didn’t have to--”

You didn’t have to stay with them, you completed for him in your head. You’ve had this argument already, and you were tired. 

“I did. Ra’s--Talia gave me everything” You replied. “The league is the only way. I must stay loyal”

“No you don’t” His face was closer to you know, so much you felt with breath on your lips. “They won’t help you, you know this inside. Come with me”

He knew your secrets, your goals, your drive; it was impossible to lie to him. You had opened yourself like a book to him, and now he had power over you. Over your feelings and your thoughts, and while your heart wished nothing more than to surrender, your head kept pulling you back. And for a moment, you did. You pressed your lips against his, softly and quietly. It felt just as you remembered. But reality caught up with you again and you pulled away. 

“I’m sorry” You breathed, turning away from him. “I can’t leave. Not when I’m this close”

"Okay" He took a step back, nodding to himself. "If you change your mind, I'll be there"

The next time you turned around, he was gone.

------

Only a few lights were still open in the Gotham division of LexCorp that late at night. The guard on shift didn’t even bother scolding the over zealous technician still inside, as he found it was no use to get him out of there at reasonable hours. He was always working on something, some small, insignificant detail. It always had to be perfect.

“No, why are you always doing this to me” The tech whined out loud, even though there was no other colleague to entertain him. “Please remain calm”

He would always say some weird stuff, but that night he seemed more agitated that usual. The security guard paused, making a face at the crazy tech.

“That’s it that’s it” He nodded to himself. “See? You can do it”

The guard squinted his eyes, before scoffing and walking away. “Fucking weirdo” 

The tech kept working like the guard never passed by. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed when he did. He was close to the solution of his problem, of why the damn machine would not start. Well he knew why it wouldn’t start; a disbalance in the molecular component triggered the fail safe. He just had to find the right element to add without messing up the entire thing…

“Dear Lord” He gasped, looking a his microscope, then at his notes. Then back at his microscope. “I found it. I FOUND IT!”

A few miles away, two people watched the feed of the tech laughing to himself and celebrating. One had a smirk, the other an incredulous expression.

“I’ll be damned” The latest mumbled. “The fool really did it”

“So it seems” The other hummed in agreement. “We can now proceed to the next step”

[miss-choco-chips]

Reverse Robin au

I wanted to try my hand at both Reverse Robin au and childhood friends DamiTim. So, Headcannons for all!!! 

In which Damian goes from thinking Tim has cooties, to imagining him in leather. Oh, and he trains to be a hero in between. 

Or, in which Tim goes from sassing Damian for being a prick, to sassing him because it’s their own special sort of foreplay.

They are seven and eight, respectively, when they met.

A part of Damian still believes girls have cooties; Timothy is no girl, but his best friend and usual companion is one, so he can’t be that far. Besides, he’s seven, a baby. Still, Mother and Father insist he plays with him, and he loves them too much to say ‘no’ when they ask something so earnestly.

Tim, a hand gripping his mother’s dress, takes one good look at the Wayne Heir, the hand offered to him and a superior sneer on his face, and then glances at his mom. 

‘He’s a prick’, he tells her with his eyes. She smiles benevolently down at him, but he catches the answer behind her Lady facade: ‘I know he is. Still, behave.’

While Mother and Father exchange pleasantries with the Drakes, Damian shakes hands with their son. As Heirs of the two most powerful families of the city (and arguably, the country), they are bound to see a lot of each other. 

The boy, Timothy he introduced himself as, has a very pale, very soft hand. No calluses. Damian, a martial arts enthusiast, can’t help but scoff.

The kid looks him dead in the eye, apparently not missing his reaction. With a completely angelic smile, and the most passive aggressive voice Damian ever heard, he tilted his head and asked.

‘Is there something on your throat, Mr Little Wayne?’ ‘No?’ ‘Oh, then you’re just a naturally unpleasant person’

Before Damian can even answer with a good comeback, the little boy is walking away towards where his friend, Stephanie Brown, daughter of Miss Brown, the head catheter of this events, is waiting. 

Damian is left standing, hand still out where he was shaking the kid’s own, mouth agape as he watches the little brat just leave him. His parents must have missed they ‘conversation’, but Mrs Drake hasn’t, if the equally exasperated and fond look in her eyes was something to go from.

From then on, every time they met, the little monster seemed to have a comeback ready. No matter how Damian prepared himself for their little greetings each time they bumped into the other at a party, Timothy always had some answer waiting under the tip of his tongue, both cutting, smart and deceivingly innocent.

‘Tsk. Again with Brown, I see. Can’t you do anything without your little shadow?’ ‘I can explain to you what friendship is, but I don’t think I can help you understand, sadly.’

‘Damian, I feel twice as happy seeing you as I did last time!’ ‘I’m sure you do…’ ‘Yeah. What’s two times zero?’ ‘...you brat’

‘Timothy. Your suit looks… as nice as it could, given the circumstances, I think‘ ‘And yours looks… well, I guess it’s nice to see not everyone is so obsessed with appearances’.

Both Brown and Mrs Drake seemed to find their exchanges amusing. He’s glad someone does, for he finds them exhausting and full of frustration. The little brat was seven, he shouldn’t be able to always have the last word. Damian was a Wayne. It was unbecoming. 

Still, it was… better than aimlessly follow his parents around. And he could always brag about his physical training success, which never failed to bring a frown to Timothy’s face.

He noticed too how his hand was starting to gain callousness over time. Apparently, someone was bitter about Damian’s training.

When his parents died, murdered in cold blood in front of him at the tender age of ten, he thought himself alone. Then Alfred came for him to the police station and hugged him as tight as Dad used to do, and Timothy walked right to the front seats on the funeral and held his hand during it all.

He had lost his parents, but there were people that cared for him, still. He couldn’t allow himself to fall into despair; he needed to keep this from happening to anyone else. He needed to protect the city his parents had loved.

Back in the Mannor, he endured as countless of strangers gave him their condolences, swallowing his desire to spit in their faces. None cared. Fakes, all of them; in their eyes, he was but a wealthy, vulnerable child, an open door towards the Wayne fortune. 

Timothy’s hand in his, calluses more notable each day and cold eyes keeping the worst of the worst away, kept him in check. He left his side shortly, speaking with his mother in whispers, before coming back and tugging him away. Mrs Drake, as the Waynes most close ally, took Damian’s place in thanking people for their support.

In his room, safe from the world, he broke down in the other child’s arms. Timothy, just one year younger but so much frailer, kept a tight  grip on him, arms around his back and back straight, eyes to the door. A show of strength, of protection; you can cry, I’ll keep watch.

Damian starts his training. Alfred calls master after master, in acrobatics, swordsmanship, hand to hand combat, forensics, everything that would keep his young Master from giving up and quitting on life. Anything to keep him busy, and moving.

Damian finds it humorous, how Timothy looks at him the next time they met at a party and frowns, obviously noticing the trials his body is going through on the lines of it. Something no one else seems to see.

He doesn’t tell Timothy he doesn’t need to work himself to the bone to be equal to Damian, he doesn’t need to catch up to him, because he’s already on the same level, his sharp mind and calculating disposition enough to make up for the breach in physical strength. He doesn’t say this, because wit can only take you so far, if your opponent is stronger than you, and every bit of knowledge Timothy amasses in his quest of showing Damian up could potentially save his life one day.

He likes that their exchanges are still the same; even in the darkest times, he can trust the newly turned 13 year old to be a passive aggressive little brat.

‘Oh, Timothy, it seems you’re still focusing more on your studies than… more practical areas’ ‘Somewhere out there, there’s a tree tirelessly producing oxygen so you can breath. I think you owe it an apology’

‘You seem ill, Timothy. Or is that shade of white natural to you?’ ‘Oh, I was feeling a little unwell, hence why I came to see you. They say laughter is medicine, and your face is already curing me’

‘It smells like something is burning. Damian, are you trying to think again?’ ‘....as always, you’re such a pleasure to meet with’ ‘I know, you’re welcome’

It lacked the bite it used to have, tough. Timothy was as ready to talk back at him in his bitchiest voice, as he was to ruthlessly humiliate anyone trying to fuck with Damian.

When he left the city, seeking to better himself for his mission, he and Alfred were the only ones he was sad to leave behind.

He traveled for years, safe in the knowledge that Mrs Drake was looking out for his company and her son, and that Alfred would be taking care of the Mannor and preparing everything for his return in a few years.

HE exchanged letters with Timothy. Calls could be intervened, and as long as him and Timothy spoke in code and never revelaed anything too personal, there was no problem with keeping physicals reminders of their ever growing bond.

He met Talia when he was fifteen, who in turn introduced him to her father. They both seemed to take a liking to both his abilities and goal, and took him in for training. She seemed to think of herself as a mother figure, as she kept pating his head and calling him ‘my own’, and Ra’s’ eyes would shine with greed during the times he took Damian’s training into his own hands. 

He left before turning eighteen, when talks of successors and adoptions became too unbearable. His only parents were dead, and he had no intention to replace them for such dark, shady figures. Besides, no matter how close their objectives seemed at first, the more he knew them the least they sounded like philanthropists. Terrorist, was a more fitting label.

He turned 21 on his first night back in Gotham. Alfred, who never  failed to bake a cake for him despite his absence the last seven years, shared it with him with teary eyes.

The morning after that, Timothy came to see him.

It took Damian’s breath away. 

He was still shorter, and at this point it was a sure thing he’d always be, but small height didn’t mean his charms were as well. His skin remained as white as he remembered, eyes icy blue, both in color and the feeling they gave off, hair even darker than Damian’s framing a delicate face.

His hands were rougher than he remembered, though. More calloused, packed with extra strength. Damian could tell, because the first thing this enchanting man did upon them meeting was to slap him. Hard.

‘I know everyone is entitled to act stupid once in a while, but you are really abusing the privilege, Damian. Seven years? Seven? And spent, what, three of them in company of the Al Ghuls? Are you always this dumb, or you just like showing off when I’m around? This doesn’t impress me, you know. I’ve always known you were an idiot, it’s not news anymore’

‘How…?’

‘You might think yourself above all others, smart wise, but please remember I’m someone you never won a battle of wits against. I know everything about your little world trotting, because I have spies, and about your time with the League, because I’ve known Ra’s for way longer than you. Also, your stupid little hero idea…’

‘Spies again?’

‘Alfred. Somehow, he thinks I can make you change your mind. I might be hailed as a saint by gothamites, but I certainly can’t work miracles’

Tim left eight hours later, after discussing both Damian’s travels and plans for the future. He had way more information than Damian had guessed, and had been silently but steadily growing his network of contacts and spies, and had his dainty little fingers in more pies than a baker. He growled at him, called him stupid, told him he was going to get himself killed if he pushed forward with the whole ‘Batman’ idea, but… When he left, it was as a ally. He’d support Damian, do his best to keep him well informed, and deal with over the table crimes, while Damian took care of the ones under it.

He fell in love, a little bit. Or, more accurately, fell more in love. The seeds have been planted years before, when a seven year old sassesd him and left him eating his words. Now, through… the dark knowledge he had amassed, the sharpness in his eyes, the deceptively frail appearance… 

Something twisted in his gut, in a nice way. He went to bed that night, and started to think in other aliases that would go nicely with Batman.

Wouldn't Timothy look dashing, in leather and kevlar?

[primeemeraldheiress]

Amnesiac Fem!Jay Blurb

Batman had been patrolling the alley, staking out the latest acquisition of the Maroni family, when she’d found him. He blinked and the alley was clear. Blinked again and she was standing under a street light, staring at him. A tall young figure in League of Shadows leathers. A mask covered her face and red hood, glinting in the rain, covered her hair. She slipped into the alley.

He allowed himself a deep sigh. Shadows. Always so damned dramatic. He wondered what bizarre message Talia had for him now but readied himself for a fight just in case. Then, he followed her.

He dropped down behind her suddenly but to give her credit she didn’t startle, only turned to look at him. He got the feeling she was rolling her eyes but then she went still. He waited for her to speak. As seconds lengthened he finally asked, “Need something?”

She flinched minutely. A lesser skilled individual would have missed it. “Mistress Talia,” she started. Oh, here we go, he thought. 

“Mistress Talia has disappeared. Master Ra’s has become… dangerous. I was told, in the event such an occasion were to occur, that you were trustworthy.” That was... not what he expected. 

“Trustworthy for what? Do you need intel to find Talia?” He asked, not sure where this was going.

“Mistress Talia’s son is in danger.” She stated hoarsely. “I alone cannot protect him from those loyal to Ra’s. I need to get him somewhere safe but she closed all our safehouses to us.” She gestured in frustration, “We have nowhere to go.”

“Talia has a son?” He said, wondering. 

“And a daughter.” She replied. “It’s the boy Ra’s wants, though. He is in the most danger. Will you help me?”

“Of course.” He agreed before his mind could catch up. Well, they could stay in the cave for a couple of days until he could sort out a safe house. “Where is the boy?”

In response, she whistled three clear notes. A few seconds later, a much smaller figure melted out of the shadows to stand by her side. He was dressed the same, though his hood was black. She spoke to him briefly, softly, in League dialect before nodding to Batman. 

It was a silent ride in the Batmobile.

When they reached the cave, he removed his cowl and called for Alfred but found he was already making his way down the stairs. He heard a curse from the girl behind him.

“Fuck, Damian, that’s Bruce Wayne. I accidentally brought you to Father.”

Bruce froze and turned to look at the pair behind him.

“I know.” The young voice drawled, amused.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?!” She sounded incredulous, her previously careful speech patterns fraying into something familiar, something distinctly Gotham.

“It’s one of those memory things, Jay.” The boy, Damian, stated.

“You have got to be kidding me. I think you can forget the fucking memory protocol if it’s regarding something immediately applicable to the situation at hand. You are such a little shit sometimes.” She threw up her arms and glared at him. The expression was somewhat muted considering only her dark blue eyes were not behind the mask. 

Bruce cleared his throat, snapping their attention to him. “I think you might owe me an explanation.”

The girl pushed the boy forward and in a bright voice announced, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!” Disgruntled, Damian took off his mask and lowered his hood revealing a face clearly derived from Bruce’s with eyes the jade green of Talia’s. 

“My apologies that we’re meeting you in this way, Father. I had hoped that Mother… that we could arrange a better meeting than this.” The boy shot his… sister?... an annoyed look. “You are not treating this occasion with due gravitas.”

“Whatever.” She waved a hand in a blasé fashion, seemingly unconcerned. Bruce could see the tension crawling up her spine, though. He looked up as Alfred joined them.

“Alfred.” He was grateful for the older man’s presence.

He turned back to the children to see that the girl had frozen again. She was staring at Alfred. She slowly approached them and held out a hand almost touching the butler’s face. “I know you.” She whispered.

Damian gently took her arm, murmuring in Arabic. He moved her a couple of paces back and turned to the two men. “I’m sorry. My sister suffers from amnesia. She does not remember anything before she came to us three years ago. When something trips a particularly strong memory she needs a moment to come back to us.”

“She says she knows me?” Alfred asked, curious but calm. Bruce flashed back to her freezing upon seeing him.

“Mother says she was with you for before she was with us.” Damian stated simply. “I don’t know more than that.” He turned back to his sister.

She murmured a word, blinked, and came back to herself. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” She lowered her hood, revealing soft waves of black curls, frizzing in the humidity. One thick streak of white running from the top of her brow to her the middle of her cheek. “I am Jabra al Ghul.” She removed her mask and smiled. “You can call me-”

“Jay.” Bruce choked.

“Oh my.” Alfred breathed.

Both men looked pale and shaken.

“Yes.” She said, concerned. “Are you two alright?”

“Oh, Talia.” Bruce prayed, “What did you do?”

------------- A few weeks later -------------

“I don’t understand, Father, why does Jay get to leave the Manor but I must stay on the grounds? It’s not fair!” Damian demanded.

“Because you’re in the most danger from Ra’s and I don’t want you out without protection.”

The boy sputtered, incredulous, “Who told you that?!”

Bruce’s brow furrowed, “Your sister did.”

Damian choked and started cursing and muttering in Arabic. Bruce could only make out a few words, chief among them being ‘lies’ and ‘bullshit’ and started to get the feeling he’d been played. His son stalked out of the room, presumably to find his sister. The man followed. He found her in the library, nose buried in her own old tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice. Damian wasted no time venting his spleen.

“You told Father that I was the one in the most danger?!” Damian shouted, flailing at his sister.

“Yes.” Jabra looked at him flatly, with no remorse for her lie.

“You are unbelievable!” The boy sputtered. “Grandfather hates you! He’s wanted you dead since the moment Mother claimed you! What were you going to do, right now, when I told Father of your lie?”

Her eyes flicked to where Bruce stood but she remained impassive. Damian tapped his fingers, waiting for an answer. When he realized none was forthcoming he narrowed his eyes in thought. “You weren’t planning on being here.” He said in realization. “You were going to leave me here!”

“You would be safe!” She said quietly. Firmly.

“You were going to go after Mother on your own and leave me here!”  She stayed quiet. “How dare you? We could go after Mother together!” 

“You would die.” She said coldly.

“No! Grandfather wants me alive. I’m the heir. Anyone who touched me would be killed.” Damian stated factually. “You would die. You would die first and you would die brutally and the person who killed you would be rewarded.” His mouth was twisted in a cruel snarl. 

“You will not leave this house again, ukhti.” Damian ordered, like the prince he was.

“You do not control me, akhi.” She rose gracefully, like the queen she had become, staring her little brother down. 

“You are not yet 21, therefore you fall under my protection and responsibility.” The boy stated, imperiously.

“You’re ten.” She stated flatly.”And we’re no longer in the Shadows or Nanda Parbat. I am my own person, little brother, and if you try to pull that bullshit again you’ll regret it. We both know you don’t believe it.”

She swept from the room gracefully, her book held loosely in her unbroken hand. Bruce wondered if she would have left even a trace of her presence, had she not fallen that day. He was darkly thankful that she had if what his son had been shouting was true. He might have lost her again so soon after they had found her.

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

This is the first ‘blurb’ I’ve posted that I’ve actually had in my notes files for awhile. I have lots of little bits like this that I store as ideas.

[kumeko]

Title: earth angel

A/N: For @desibrucewayne, for the @dc-secret-santa. You wanted Talia/Bruce, Cassandra, Damian, and time travel. I hope I delivered on it!

…

…

…

…

Damian grimaced at the sand at his feet. His feet were sinking into the soft, loosely held together sand dune. Around him was more endless sand, a golden yellow as far as the eye could see. He glanced at the hot sun distastefully, his skin already starting to burn mere minutes after appearing on the soft sands.

 The soft sands of a desert. Damian was in a desert. This was no hallucination or illusion. He was in the desert. And apparently in full Robin costume. At least he wasn’t alone; Cassandra Cain stood next to him and judging by her body language, she was just as confused as he was.

 How could they have fucked up this badly? His brow furrowed as he considered it all. “How did we get here?”

“I am not sure.” Cassandra nonchalantly took off her cowl and shook her head. She ran a hand through her sweaty locks with a frown. The costumes were able to handle temperature changes but nothing this extreme. “Weren’t we meeting Stephanie?”

 “Stephanie?” Damian closed his eyes, trying to remember what had just happened. It was impossible to forget Stephanie’s blinding purple uniform, as ugly now as it had been when they’d first met. As Batgirl, she’d waved to them from a roof, gesturing for them to come closer. Behind her, he had spotted a blue-skinned boy approaching her. “There was some kind of alien with her.”

 “Alien?” Cassandra blinked before her lips parted in a soft ‘oh’. “Klarion was with her. And you attacked him.”

 “I thought he was attacking her,” Damian defended himself, crossing his arms.

 “He wouldn’t do that.” Cassandra paused. “Usually, at least.” She gestured at their surroundings. “That explains this—he has teleportation powers.”

 “Teleportation?” Damian ground his teeth. He hated magic. There was no good way to counter or negate it. “Can that nitwit teleport us back?”

 “Probably.” Cassandra rubbed her neck. “Though that depends on his mood.”

 “So we have to rely on Stephanie to make him do it?” His eyebrow twitched. That idiotic beam of sunlight didn’t know how to threaten anyone. Then again, if there was someone who was persistently annoying, it was her. Maybe Klarion would summon them back just to get her to shut up. He pulled out his communicator. It would be faster to just call the Batcave and get a helicopter. “I’ll just send for—it’s not sending any messages.” He tapped the screen but that didn’t change the status. “It’s not connecting to the satellite.”

 “That’s odd. Bruce planned for locations like this.” After considering it for a moment, Cassandra pushed her hair back, tying it in a ponytail. “We have to find shelter. It isn’t good to be out like this.”

 “I know that.” Damian snorted derisively, pocketing the communicator. If there was one good thing about their teleportation, it was that he recognized the area. “One of my grandfather’s old bases is nearby. We can wait there.”

 “I do not want to fight all of his men,” Cassandra frowned.

 “It’s abandoned,” Damian answered, already heading toward it. “It won’t be a problem.”

 -x-

 “I thought you said it was abandoned,” Cassandra whispered as she peeked over a sand dune.

 “It’s supposed to be,” Damian snapped back as he stared at the definitely-not-abandoned base. There were jeeps and camels leaving it. People were walking in and out at steady intervals. Hell, there was even a patrol.

 Someone had taken over his grandfather’s base.

 He wasn’t sure if he should want revenge or want to laugh at the old fool for leaving the place so vulnerable.

 “That doesn’t change anything,” Damian continued, memorizing the patrol pattern. Fortunately, the employees here were incompetent, leaving gaping holes in their security. Perhaps a lesser man would fail to find a way, but this was child’s play for two would-be-assassins. “If anything, this will make sending a message easier.”

 “We will have to be careful not to be spotted.” Cassandra pulled her cowl back over her head. The jaggedly-pieced together Batgirl outfit was truly frightening in the dark alleys of Gotham. In the bright sunlight of the desert, it was just extremely out of place. “There is nowhere to hide the bodies.”

 “You’re wearing all black,” he pointed out snidely.

 “That is not a problem,” she replied instantly, already getting to her feet. “I can handle that much.”

 -x-

 “This is strange,” Damian muttered as they slowly stalked the hallways of the base. It had been almost child’s play to get in and they didn’t even have to take out a single guard to secure their entry.

 That said, there was something truly unsettling about how Cassandra managed to disappear while they snuck in. He should have been able to spot her the entire time. It was black on gold.

 “What is?” Cassandra asked, slipping to a wall and peeking around the corner. There were many intersections and bends in the hallway. Occasionally they’d pass by a stone chamber filled with food or other supplies. So far, there were no signs of a communications room.

 “This place.” Damian gestured at the rigid stone walls. They all looked perfectly cut and clean. “The walls look like they were made recently. They haven’t been used in years.”

 “They cleaned up?” Cassandra suggested, poking her head into yet another dark chamber. “There’s only ammunition in this one.”

 “But there’s no way to hide that much decay—” Damian stopped talking. Behind him, he could hear footsteps echoing through the hall, quiet and intimidating. “Someone’s coming.”

 “Hide,” Cassandra urged, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the chamber.

 “We can take him,” Damian grunted, but he reluctantly crouched behind a barrel of guns. With bated breath, he waited as the footsteps grew louder and louder, a large shadow appearing on the walls. With the only light torches, the primitive cave felt more primal than it ought to be. Finally, when the shadow took over the entire wall, a man appeared in front of their chamber.

 Batman, Damian thought, his eyes growing wide. Father.

 There was no mistaking that cowl, though the design was an old one. Even the build fit correctly. “It’s not bad enough they’re taking grandfather’s base, they’re also copying Father?” he growled, pulling out a dagger.

 “Wait.” Cassandra grabbed his hand, stilling it. “Not yet.”

 “And let that insult walk by?” Damian hissed. He yanked his hand free and quickly slinked off to follow the imposter.

 “Damian!” Cassandra quickly chased after him. Or rather, considering that they didn’t want to alert anyone, they both quietly slinked down the hall. The torchlights flickered and Damian hung back as far as he could, trying not to get caught before he interrogated and slit the imposter’s throat.

 Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to wait long. The copycat was coming to a stop before a chamber. All Damian had to do was follow him inside and no one would be the wiser.

 Cassandra caught up to him as he hid around a corner. Don’t she signed, glaring at him.

 Watch me he signed back, watching as the imposter stood in front of a door.  

 After a moment, his mother appeared at the door and Damian bit back a gasp. When had she—that explained the base’s use, but she had been dismantling Ra’s bases the last he’d heard. What was she doing here? And why did she look so different? As his thoughts derailed, she stood on her toes and pulled off Batman’s cowl. It was only a profile, but Damian recognized him immediately.

 That was Bruce Wayne.

 A younger Bruce Wayne. A younger Talia Al Ghul.

 He had gone to the past.

 -x-

 “This is the past,” Damian stated, if only to hear it aloud. His parents were in the chamber down the hall. Was he even born at this point? All of this because a blue demon couldn’t control his powers properly. His hand curled into a fist. When he got back, he was going to beat that demon until he was black and blue.

 “It seems so. That makes things…difficult,” Cassandra replied. An understatement, truly. “I do not know if Klarion can bring us back.”

 “Why can’t he?” Damian growled, pacing back and forth in the ammunition chamber they’d hid in earlier. They needed a place to think, to comprehend, but perhaps they should have picked another. His fingers were getting an urge to grab several of the daggers here.

 “Stephanie said he could not control his powers properly,” Cassandra replied slowly, rubbing her neck. She sat cross-legged on a barrel, watching him. “We will have to find another magician. Maybe Zatanna can help.”

 “Her?” Damian frowned. He had never been overly impressed with her work. Then again, none of the ‘heroes’ were adept magicians as far as he was concerned. Perhaps he should have stuck with his mother, after all.

 His mother.

 The image of her embracing Bruce flashed across his mind and involuntarily, he glanced at the direction of her chambers.

 “She can connect us with others.” Cassandra leapt off the barrel. “I will find a way to contact her. You find a vehicle.”

 “You don’t order me around,” Damian snapped but it was too late, Cassandra had already disappeared down the hall. He clicked his tongue as he rolled his eyes. And people complained about his communication skills.

 Still, there wasn’t a flaw with her plan. Even if Zatanna could teleport them, it was better if they didn’t stay here. He wasn’t sure if they’d accidentally contact his parents and change the course of history. Change the course of his existence. He would just have to steal one of the jeeps he knew his grandfather kept out here.

 Quickly, he snuck to the chamber’s exit and peeked outside. The coast was clear, as usual. It was no wonder his grandfather’s plans failed so spectacularly, if this was the skill his henchman showed. From his memory of the layout, the jeeps were kept two floors below. He’d have to access the stairwell to reach them discretely.

 Damian glanced to his left one more time, to his mother’s chambers.

 He should go.

 He should go.

 He turned left.

 -x-

 Love was blind, Dick had declared once.

 Damian finally understood what he meant. His parents were blind. Utterly, completely blind. He was mere meters away from them, hiding in a darkened corner of his mother’s chambers, and somehow neither Batman nor Talia had noticed him.

 It was impossible.

 He was never going to fall in love.

 Yet, despite that, he couldn’t leave the room. His parents were sitting on the balcony, eating dinner on a small round table. It looked so informal. Bruce was holding Talia’s hand as she talked, a small smile on his face. He looked light, unburdened. Talia leaned closer, a coy expression as she gently swirled wine in her glass.

 Damian watched, transfixed. He didn’t know what to make of this sight, of this woman who was not his mother, this man who was not his father.

 Of this relationship that no longer existed.

 -x-

 Damian whirled the keys around his finger as he stood next the jeep.

 “You weren’t spotted?” True to form, Cassandra reappeared next to him, holding an old school radio.

 “I took care of it.” He jabbed a thumb at the wall. Three of his grandfather’s followers were knocked out, bound and gagged against the wall. “You can tell Dick I didn’t kill anyone.”

 “I knew you wouldn’t.” Cassandra smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. Damian tried not to feel too pleased about it. Swiping the keys, she headed to the jeep. “Let’s go.”

 “I could drive,” he grumbled but he went to the other side of the jeep anyways. “You contacted Zatanna?”

 “Not while we’re here,” Cassandra replied. The jeep hummed to life as she turned on the ignition and she winced. It was a sound they couldn’t muffle. “Ra’s might monitor it.”

 “I doubt he was wise enough to set that up,” Damian sniped, still utterly disappointed by the lackluster guards in the area.

 “Don’t underestimate your grandfather.” Cassandra slowly crept out of the garage, keeping the lights low.

 “Maybe when he proves himself.” Damian glanced back as they quietly rolled out of the compound, in the direction of his mother’s chambers.

 He knew the story well enough, of his mother’s lies, of his father’s fears. It was a story that would be replayed now.

 Yet, he hadn’t known his parents’ joy. His parents’ love. They looked happy, truly happy, for that one meal and while he was never one to think of what-ifs, they haunted his mind now. If he had revealed himself, preventing his mother’s lies, how would it all have changed? Would they have stayed together? Would their relationship change?

 Would he have changed?

 No, there was no need to dwell on it. Just like the desert around him, the possibilities were vast. Damian was who he was now, and he didn’t intend to change that.

 “I’ll call Zatanna,” he said, fiddling with the radio. The sooner they got out of here, the sooner he could put it all out of his mind.