#i’m not mature enough to be batman

[ahfrickenfrick]

everyone meet the cat that tim draked me istg

she saw me get out of a car at midnight and decided i would be in charge of her four days ago and now she has a vet appointment and a name and my mom told me not to get attached but too late

[sunnie-angel]

Nothing Fucks With My Baby (Part 2)

link to part 1

jason todd x f!reader

summary: jason has always feared he’d be the monster of his life. what he doesn’t realize is that between the two of you, you will always be the bigger monster, and you will love him anyway.

tags: violence, murder, implied child abuse, manipulation, implied sexual content

rating: mature | wc: 5.8k

a/n: this plot bunny took over my brain and wouldn’t let me go until i’d finished it. reader’s pov can get pretty twisted, so please mind the tags on this one and let me know if i’ve missed any.

Lucy Nesbit dies remarkably young. Only eight years old and she had drowned in a stormwater overflow. Poor thing, the adults had all said. Should have minded her step better, shouldn’t have been playing in dangerous places. The school had held a week of mourning. A tragedy. It hadn’t taken much effort to kill her. A sharp shove, then kneeling on her back until the bubbles stopped, and suddenly there went Lucy. Stones thrown at recess, scissors searching for your hair, harsh names and turned backs all stopped with just a few moments of effort.

The killing of Lucy Nesbit is likely the most important lesson you learned from that school. No one at the foster home had noticed you come home soaking wet, blood on the tip of your shoe. No one had asked you any questions when you didn’t gasp with the rest of your class as the principal announced the death of poor little Lucy, gone too soon. Nobody had noticed that you had been the one to make the world a less scary place. It is a lesson you keep close to you.

Only Jason Todd had noticed anything different at all. Found you in the corner of the yard staring down at the pavement during recess. Tucked his hands and looked up at the sky, squinted.

“Don’t need me to look out for you anymore,” he sighs. Nudges your shoulder with his and says “Lucy won’t be pickin’ on you again.” He’s right, of course. She won’t be doing anything important really.

“Sometimes I wished she’d die so they’d leave me alone,” you whisper. “‘Cause it was bad when you were there but when she’d wait for you to leave it was always worse. Does that mean I’m a bad person?” It’s a thought that’s crossed your mind before. Is there something so wrong, so terrible about you that the well-fed well-heeled could just look at you and know there was something awful about you? The same thing that led to getting left behind, bullied, belittled. Had Lucy Nesbit taken one look at you and known you were something to be destroyed?

“Nah. You’re my best friend and I wouldn’t be best friends with anyone bad.” He grins at you, front left tooth still missing from where you’d helped him pull it out three weeks ago. The bell rings, shrill and discordant, signaling the end of recess.

It’s only years later that you understand the tremble of her lips and the wobble of her chin before she would call you names, dig her nails into the meat of your arm, lead the other girls in pretending you didn’t exist. Lovely Lucy Nesbit, sweet cheeked with glossy curls, had been afraid. She should have been. The new girl who’d only moved to the Alley recently after her father’s embezzlement conviction, oh she should have been afraid of the children chewing her up and spitting her out like a rotten peach. Instead, she chose someone else to make afraid. The little girl with only one friend and no one waiting for her at home. All of that glitz and Diamond District shine wasn’t enough to bury the ugly truth of Lucy.

Jason Todd dies at 11 years old. He dies at the hand of the Batman, Gotham’s own protector.

Three weeks after Catherine had died and two weeks after he stopped showing up to school, Jason shows up at your foster home. More particularly, at the window of the bathroom you’re currently hiding in. The knocking startles you, hands coming away from where they’d been pressed to your ears to block out the fighting. He grins and waves at you through the window, suspicious smears across his nose and temple. You have to stand on the very tips of your toes to push open the latch but you manage it. He presses his face to the bars, hands wrapping around the solid metal.

“Jason?” you ask, tone tinged with wonder. “What are you doing here?”

“Jus’ wanted to tell you I’m okay.” Something smashes within the house and the voices raise. “Couldn’t stick around for long after the funer— after. Didn’t wanna stick around to see if they’d stick me in a place like this.”

“But what are you going to do? Where do you live?”

“Found an empty building that’s pretty warm. Sometimes I find stuff and Mr. Baker at the garage buys ‘em from me so I can buy loads of snacks. You know—” there’s a loud pounding on the bathroom door, staccato sharp, that causes you both to jump. One of the older foster kids yells at you to hurry the fuck up, then slams on the door again for good measure. In a hurried whisper, Jason continues “You know the old building across the park with the purple window sills? Come find me there.”

The night Jason Todd dies, you’d managed to sneak out again. Knew from previous trips the best way to get to the old house was to go out the back and use the garbage bins to boost over the fence. Jason’s not there when you let yourself in, hands careful to put the loose board back exactly the same. He does this sometimes. ‘Finds’ things to sell to Mr. Baker so he can come back with candy from the bodega to share with you. You settle yourself in to wait in the blanket you’d snuck out for him when there’s a noise from the lane behind the house. Clutching the scratchy blanket closer to you, you feel your way through the dark, breath held in your chest like a treasure. The slats nailed over the painted window sills have just enough of a gap that you can see between them without being seen yourself. What you see out in the night causes you to grip the old wood until splinters dig into your palms.

The Bat holds Jason in his grip even as he struggles, even as he swears. Jason’s angry, snarling face is nothing like his smiles for you. The Bat shakes him as Jason tries to twirl out of his grip, head lolling like a doll’s. Jason goes limp as he is bundled into the looming machine parked down the lane. The last thing you see of him is his eyes, wide and fearful.

Jason Wayne puppets the body of your friend for years after. He is not the boy that stood between you and Lucy Nesbit and matched her stone for stone. This Jason Wayne smiles for pictures without baring his teeth as a warning. He doesn’t remember cruel words or the way the world works. He doesn’t remember the lessons and the secrets the two of you had passed between you. No, this Jason Wayne doesn’t remember you at all. The only explanation is that your friend is dead. The fine sweet thing with his round cheeks and charming school uniform you only glimpse in the paparazzi photos printed in gossip rags half-melted into garbage heaps is not your friend. Just another leech of the city with pretty powder and paint, fattened on too much while there exists too little.

You get the news that Jason Wayne has died while at your third foster home since the one Jason had found you in. You find out the same way everyone else in Gotham does, the public broadcast of Bruce Wayne’s press conference. It steals the breath from you, the anger that slams into you. Heat surges through you and it is all you can do to uncurl your fingers from their fists. It hadn’t escaped you that four months after Jason Todd died there was a new Robin in town. That this Robin had a gaped tooth grin that would make even the dull mourning for a girl you hated seem bearable. The red rimmed eyes of Bruce Wayne on the staticky screen of the common room television confirms what you already know: Bruce Wayne is the Bat and he has killed your friend twice over.

Screaming into your pillow that night, your understanding of how the city works crystallizes. The Bat does not protect you, does not make your city better. He takes and he takes until there is nothing left for you. He throws out in a week food that would sustain you for a month, drops money on batted eyelashes and shiny new toys for him to destroy more of the city with. He is not the saviour some people say he is. He will not save you.

You are the Alley girl with the strange knobbly knees and the eyes that see too much. You will save yourself. You will keep your lessons about the ways the world works and what it takes to change them close to your heart.

The City of Gotham is never short of two things: crime and government money to prosecute it. Certifying as a court stenographer isn’t cheap, not with juggling your ejection from the foster system at 18 and having no funds to speak of. Second and third jobs keep you afloat until the scholarships and grants kick in. But by 20 your future is secured, government pension squirreling away into your accounts. You even manage to buy the house with the purple windows. It goes for a song on account of the murder that took place there all those years ago, but brand new flooring takes care of the more suspicious stains. It should be enough, to have saved yourself. It isn’t.

Every day you go to work and dutifully take down every damning word said. You record the lies and the horrors and the not guilty verdicts and every word you transcribe breaks your faith a little more. You have not saved yourself. The world has not changed, you aren’t any safer than you were at 13 and scared that the drunk man calling out crude words might actually carry them out on your walk home. No safety exists save for the pretty little lie you had painted for yourself. The only thing that has changed is that you are not scrabbling in the dirt.

Somewhere along the way, in the mess of bureaucratic paperwork that had become your life, you had forgotten the lessons you were meant to remember. Forgetting had not served you well. It takes a drunken night out gone badly to force you to remember.

A coworker pressures you to come out with the rest of the stenographers, a newly opened bar just close enough to the edge of the Alley to give the old money blood suckers the illusion of danger. The dance floor is crowded but you choose to stay hunched over your drink, wary of this glittering crowd. A man sidles up to you, rests his forearm against yours and offers you a smile that reeks of Texas oil wells and Manhattan construction firms. You look him in the eye as he fumbles through some pickup lines, nearly sick with the realization that he doesn’t recognize you. DUI, ran through a school crosswalk at the end of the school day, one child dead and two permanently disfigured. Got off with community service and a hefty donation. He wants to fuck you.

The police find him behind the bar the next morning, throat slashed and wallet missing, and chalk it up to a mugging gone wrong. He should have known better than to go flashing so much cash so close to where criminals live, the news anchors tut. Unable to withstand the scandal, the bar closes. You savour the top shelf whiskey bottle you’d bought at their closing, the same one he’d tried to buy you and drug you with, and attribute the glow in your belly to having done a good thing. His driver’s license finds a home under your living room floorboards.

The Red Hood arrives and the Alley almost seems to reverberate with the shockwaves. Still, pretty young things with a hankering for a bit of rough to tell all their friends about with champagne glasses in their hands and haughty titters wind up dead. You don’t recognize all of them from work, some of them you simply want power over. To reveal to these silver spoon fed creatures exactly how fragile their influence is. Disposing of them does not save you, but it makes you feel safe to know that the world does not turn solely around those shiny, fragile things. You are careful and you are not caught.

At the courthouse, you watch the aftermath of the Hood’s vendettas play out. Chat about cases with your coworkers between trials just to get a feel for what his game is. He’s an unknown to most of them, but not to you. You look at how the number of drug convictions of minors plummet this quarter, watch at how fewer pimps get brought in for killing their girls, note the way gang violence reduces down to just the Hood’s own orders and you understand. Whoever the Hood is, whatever he is, he knows the same lessons engraved on your heart. That the world is not safe unless you make it, and that the world doesn’t care what methods it takes to get it done.

Your first run in with Gotham’s newest crime lord isn’t planned. Quite specifically, you had never intended to make your way onto his radar at all. He had different plans, however. Taking out the garbage, you all but trip over his feet one late night. He’s slumped against your fence with one hand pressed against his neck. Blood dribbles between his fingers, dark under the fluorescent burn of the street lights.

The gun pointing at your head does not dissuade you from attempting to push him into a standing position.

“If you wanted to die in my yard, the least you could have done is climbed in through the back,” you say, voice measured and cold. “I’m not letting you bleed out in my front yard and make me a target for whoever carved you that second smile.” That jolts a reaction out of him, gun wavering from it’s unerring focus on your face. “So what we’re going to do is get you out of the open and then I’m going to call whoever you want to come stitch you up.”

A man of his size dwarfs the chair set in your kitchen but he will not be moved from his vantage point. Defensive, back to the wall and all entrances in sight. The wound still bleeds sluggishly. Determined not to have this man die in your kitchen, not when he’s actually out there doing some good in the world, you lay out your first aid kit and go for his throat. The gun jamming into the side of your ribs immediately lets you know just how badly you’ve not thought this idea out.

“You’re still bleeding, pretty badly too. I just want to take a look to see if I can patch you up long enough until whoever gets here can do something.”

The moment draws out, neither of you saying anything. With every breath you can feel the muzzle of the gun dig into you further. Something must read as sincere on your face, not that you’d ever be able to name what it was, and he reaches up for his helmet. Pushes a button at the nape of his neck to release it, before deliberately placing it on the kitchen table one handed. He smiles at you with bloodied teeth and, oh, that’s your boy.

“Well,” he rasps, “get to it.”

At that exact moment you press down with gauze, forcing a grunt out of him. Good. Jason’s scared you enough for a single lifetime. Trying to secure the gauze with medical tape and spite, you’re forced to lean into him until the feverish glow of his skin warms your own.

“Not afraid ‘m gonna bite?”

“I know you’re not going to hurt me because you’re my best friend and I wouldn’t be friends with a bad person.” Leaning back, you inspect your work. Shoddy, but it’ll do until someone actually medically trained can stitch him up. Finally, you let yourself actually look at him. Behind the domino mask you’d swear there’s slack jawed wonder. A brusque knock at the back door interrupts the moment and then great big hulking men are carrying Jason away. You know he’ll be back.

The next time you run into the man who might be Jason, you are tripping out of a bar on the arm of your next pretty bright thing, too whiskey-headed to tell that you’re nowhere near as disoriented as you should be after what you’d knocked back. He knocks over a homeless man’s collection bowl and snickers when the coins get knocked down a grate. Grabbing your wrist, he tugs, pulls you into the side alley and tries to pin you behind the dumpster. The broken bottle shard is already in your hand when the man drops down dead. A neat hole in his head sending droplets all over your blouse. There’s no way dry cleaning will save it. The Red Hood steps into sight, gun muzzle lowered. And just like that, Jason Todd — not Jason Wayne — is back from the dead.

Jason kisses you sweetly for the first time after he drives you home from the traveling fair that had set up on the outskirts of the city. The feeling of his lips — soft, chapped, heartbreakingly gentle — slots something broken back into the hollow between your ribs. He kisses you and the axis of your world shifts. He kisses you, and you know that he will look at you like you are everything good and kind that you pretend to be if only you will love him back. The tender thing in your chest growing claws, fanning hunger into conflagration. Loving him will save you both.

He pulls back and you let him. Look up at him from below mascara-lengthened lashes and allow yourself a smile. Fiddle with the hem of your dress and tell him haltingly just how much you’d enjoyed the evening and how excited you were to do this again. Jason’s declared himself as yours for the taking and you will not let him slip through your greedy fingers.

You let Jason court you. Accept the flowers he brings to your door with quiet murmurs of appreciation. Wear soft dresses that invite him to touch but are just enough out of season for the weather so he’ll wrap his own jacket around you. Send him off to patrol with packets of his favourite candies tucked into his jacket pockets and laugh with him over the meals he cooks for you in the same kitchen he had nearly bled out in. You would have done most of these things for him anyway, but now they are your weapons. Each action meant to pierce another hook into his heart until he is as unable to leave you behind as you could him. You will never believe the world is safe without him in it.

The number of Gotham’s most elite reprobates coming to unfortunate ends zeroes out. You’ve got the prettiest up and comer on your arm these days, with his many scars and fearsome attitude. Jason in his many forms makes the world a better place, makes you safer with every bullet lodged in a skull. He is not the same boy that yelled at Lucy Nesbit for you or split a chocolate bar with you in an abandoned house. The cracks show through. Violence drips out of his every pore despite his hand wringing to you late at night. You are his confessor and absolve him of any sin. A fangless creature is useless to you, though you would grudgingly love it nonetheless.

The first time Jason sleeps with you, you engineer it, encourage it. Why? Because it ties him to you. Binds him through sweat and flesh in a way that nothing else but the kiss of death can. Lean in and wrap your arms low around his stomach as he drives you home on his motorcycle. Linger in his good night kiss before inviting him in to see how the flowers he gave you are doing. Sweep your hair away from your neck as you bend down to place his mug of tea on the rickety coffee table. You close your eyes and smile where he can’t see at the feeling of warm lips pressed to your spine.

It’s slow. It’s sweet. You’ve never felt like a more precious thing than in his arms. He looks at you like you’ve hung the moon in the sky and set the sun to burning. You kiss his scars and tell him to give you his stories when he’s ready. One day there will be nothing you don’t know about him. If Jason wasn’t in love with you before tonight, he is now.

You are told the tale of Jason’s deaths and rebirths only once, but it is enough to open up the yawning chasm of fear under you again. The world is not safe, not for Jason, not for you, not when so many of your enemies still walk this side of the grave. Gotham is safer after the Red Hood. Jason is still in as much danger as he ever was. The horror, the possibility that he could be cut down — by Falcone, by Sionis, by the Joker, by the Bat — it shakes you to your core. You want to scream, to rage. What you do instead is kiss Jason on the forehead and let him go to pieces in your arms.

Jason always says you bring out the best in him. If that is true, then he brings out the darkest parts of you. The parts that twist and grow cold until you see the world as sets of acceptable losses for acceptable benefits. In your eyes, any loss is acceptable for Jason’s sake. He becomes lighter after the revelation, no more secrets between you he says. Accepts your heartbreak on his behalf with teary eyes and a wry smile. The day he tells you that Bruce — his father, the Bat — had been the one to carve him open the time he’d turned up in your garden is the day he becomes wholly yours.

“Jason, Jason he shouldn’t have done that to you,” you say gently, cupping his wet cheeks in your palms. He won’t look you in the eyes.

“He was— he was lookin’ at me like I was the monster, like my murderer wasn’t standing there too,” he confesses. “I just wanted him to love me like when I was a kid.” He shatters. “I just wanted to feel safe again.”

“Oh honey,” you coo, shears tucked into your hand. “I love you, and you’re no monster to me. You know me, do you think I could love something truly evil? You do so much good, you help so many people and you ask for so little in return,” your gaze is tender, loving. “I’d keep you safe, Jay, if I could. And I’d do it because I love you. Someone that won’t do that, well, it’s no kind of love at all.” You see the blow land, have already calculated its trajectory and velocity.

“I don’t— but he loved me. He loves me,” Jason insists, plaintive and raw voiced. “Doesn’t he?”

“I think he might’ve once. When you were younger, sweeter. But Jason, everything he’s done since then hasn’t been love. If he still loves you, it wouldn’t matter that you came back different, came back changed.” You can feel the last threads of his relationship with the Bat fraying under the blades of your words. It’s time to make the final cut. “Can you really say he loves who you are now?”

Jason asks, once, if you ever thought about kids.

“I thought maybe I’d foster some day. Save some poor kids the same trouble I went through, so that others don’t run off scared like you did.” It’s a lie, of course, but you know it makes him feel better to think of you as anything but selfish. “Not now though, not with the way the world is.” You rest your head on his shoulder, curl your fingers into his shirt. “Besides, the life you lead is dangerous enough. It would be cruel to bring children into our lives right now. Maybe one day, if the world ever becomes a little safer.”

He hums, thoughtfully, and leaves the matter there. But the seed has been planted in the dark corners of his mind and one day they will bear fruit.

The house with the purple window sills is officially only a home to you, but Jason comes round for dinner, to spend the night in your bed so often, that it may as well be his home too. He listens to you talk about your long days at work, the court cases that worm their way under your skin and won’t leave until you purge yourself of them. Really, he’s more horrified than you were at the beginning of this at how badly broken the system is. You give no names, simply the crimes and the sentences, and even those details are too much to bear.

One night you come home from work silent. Red rimmed eyes dry and sightless, you collapse into him. It takes an hour, more if you count the time spent panicking over a hypothetical injury, to coax the story out of you. A snake in the grass of a financial adviser, stolen pensions, and three suicides. All charges dropped. The testimony of crying grandchildren still not enough to make a difference. It is the first time he demands a name from you. It is not the last.

The day your old foster father comes across your judge’s docket is the day the world finally feels less terrifying. He is acquitted, of course. The testimony of trauma victims are notoriously inconsistent after all, if the witness is truly traumatized and not just lying for attention. It hurts to hear his public defender say those things, but it does make what you have planned easier.

The moment Jason comes through the door you are on him. Clinging to him all weak limbs and fought back tears. He holds you gently and strokes your hair.

“I need… I need you to do something for me Jay,” you whisper into his chest.

“Just gotta ask baby.”

“I need you to kill somebody and I need you to let me watch.” He stiffens under you, but you will not lose him here. “D’you remember when you came to find me at the foster home, the one with the yelling?” He nods, presses a kiss to the top of your head. “That foster father walked free today, acquitted and all charges dropped. I need to know he’s not gonna stay that way Jay, that someone cared enough to stop him, or otherwise I’ll go crazy.” He exhales sharply through his nose.

“I’ll take care of him, jus’ like I take care of all those names you give me. But do you hafta be there? Isn’t it enough to just know he’s dead? I don’t wanna drag you down into the dirt with me.”

“You’re not tainting me, honey. You’re freeing me.”

You watch the man die, a slow drawn out thing as he begs for kindness. His pain means nothing to you. Only the final blow, dealt by Jason’s bloodied hands, shifts the burden of memory from you. You stop being afraid of this particular threat. The body is found scattered across the railroad tracks. Police mark it down as a suicide.

This victory is twofold. Your world is a little safer and Jason has killed for you, on your express order and with you as witness. There is no greater high than this, the power that sings through your blood. Jason will reshape the world to keep you safe. Now you will reshape the world for him.

It takes three more months of witnessing his work and not flinching before Jason brings him to you. In the end, it’s really quite simple. You ask for the chance to show Jason how much he is loved, to let you take care of this one thing to keep him safe. He puts up a token fight, insistent on keeping your hands clean of his business, but the two of you know that your hands are far from pristine. The Joker is bound at your feet by the end of the day. A quick drag of your wrist and he is just another thing to be taken out with Saturday’s trash to eventually be illegally dumped in the harbour. Jason sobs in your arms that night.

He is not the boy you’d wished to have returned to you as a child. Jason is not quite the Bat’s son, or the weapon of the League either. He is some half-raised creature of the city’s own design and you love him because of that. You know he does not see you half as clearly as you see him, but you will accept his wonderful naïveté for all the ways it will let you protect him. Protect you by extension. Jason’s trust, his devotion to you, it is everything you’ve ever wanted. It is more than you have ever expected to have. That forgotten little Alley girl, now the centre of someone’s world.

And so you plan. A list of names a mile long of people who make this city worse just by breathing. Kingpins and crime lords and all their networks, culled from your networks and court cases. Heroes and vigilantes who already work tirelessly to hamstring the work the Red Hood does, uncaring of all the lives he’s saved. A list that, when all of the occupants are dead, will mean you are finally safe in a world that belongs to Jason. Convincing Jason, with all of his infinite love for you, to wipe the slate clean of them all is still no easy matter. Instead, you let the Bat make your argument for you.

Another bar, another drunk cell-less jailbird, only this time you know that Jason is waiting in the shadows, that the Bat is in the rafters. The man stumbles, his too shiny shoes catching on the cracks in the pavement. Jason moves to raise his gun and a flicker of metal sends his aim wide. The man on your arm shies at the sound of gunfire but your grip is iron. A body slides between Jason and his prey and you refuse to let this one escape. The pen knife lodges beneath the jaw bone, catches on something and sticks. His death rattle is unsightly but he goes down easy, life slipping away down the sewer grate. A booted step, heavier than Jason’s, causes your head to snap up.

A wraith looms over you and it’s pure terror that sends your stomach into free fall. The Bat turns on you, advances until your back is pressed up against the brick. A gloved hand reaches for you but pulls back like stung when a bullet narrowly misses a finger.

“Last warning. Back. Off.” growls the modulated voice of the Red Hood. He prowls forward, legs eating up the distance. The Bat simply grunts. Back to the wall, you try to inch away, but the feeling of cold metal stops you. The cuff around your wrist cinches shut so tightly you can feel the bones of your wrist grind together. You whimper, high in your throat. Jason’s fist goes crashing into the cowl.

“I said back off!” the Bat catches his next punch, before returning a hit of his own.

“She just killed someone in cold blood, Hood. You’re protecting a murderer.”

“At least she did something, Bruce! D’you even know what that man did? What you let him do to this city?” he screams the last word then headbutts the Bat.

The alley descends into a flurry of blows, bodies colliding with metal and concrete. Neither of them notice you pick yourself up from knees and flee. Home’s not safe, not until Jason tells you. But he’ll come back for you. You’ve gotten so good at waiting for Jason, what’s a few hours more?

He finds you in the safe house he’d made you memorize the address of way back in the infancy of your relationship. Nerves have you sitting in the dark, too afraid that even a light will give you away. It is a cold kind of silence that blankets the small kitchen with its empty cupboards. Dried blood has started to flake off of your skin and you begin to pick at it. For a moment, the repetitive motions distract you until you can’t bear the prickly feeling on your skin anymore. With a clatter you rush to the tap, the trailing handcuff clanging against the metal sink. A stone rolls in your gut and you retch until there is nothing left in it. Everything rests on this. The future rests on this. You lean back and rest your forehead on the cool edge of the sink.

The sound of the window jimmying open causes you to jump, whirling around to face the threat. It’s Jason, only Jason, flailing around in the dark. The streetlights reflect off of his helmet, revealing the cracks in the patina. You launch yourself at him, fingers curling into the collar of his coat. He smells of blood and grime, but beneath it all, warmth. Jason crushes you to him, hand cradling the back of your head with a tenderness that overwhelms you.

“M’sorry I’m late baby,” he murmurs. “Why’s it so dark in here?” Unable to form words, you simply shake your head and press yourself closer. Fear has always dogged you, but never have you gotten so close to the source of it. Jason raises a hand and wraps it reassuringly around your wrist. “Let’s get some light and we’ll get this thing off of you,” he says while stroking a thumb over where the cuff digs into your skin.

You have to stifle a giggle at the absurd parallel to the night he tore back into your life. The two of you sat at a table tending to wounds inflicted by Gotham’s self-titled vengeance, the uncertainty of the future hanging over you. Hands gentler than they’ve ever been, Jason traces over the blooming bruises on your wrist, handcuffs discarded on the table.

“He’s never going to stop chasing me, is he?” you whisper, slow fear poisoning your voice. “He’s never gonna stop trying to take me away from you. Not while I’m alive.” Jason trails his grip to your palm and turns it over, brings it to his lips and places a featherlight kiss on your fourth knuckle.

“No, baby. Not while he’s alive.”

[soup-spoonn]

The weight of the world

Pt. 2

Pt. 1

kind of a long part 😭 mb yall

@boohoobeach @medusas-graveyard @catostrofiqu @dandey-lion

“B has been saying that the GIW might come to Gotham.”

Danny didn’t say a word, but just stared at Dick with a terrified look on his face.

“He told me not to tell you, that’s why he called a JL meeting, but I can’t just leave you out of the loop.”

“When?” He choked out, still terrified.

“We don’t know, but…” Dick paused, “they really want-“

“It’s my parents… they’re the ones leading the GIW to me.”

Dick looked startled at that confession, then just asked, “why?”

“I- I don’t know… I didn’t know- I-“ he started hyperventilating, and Dick didn’t say anything, and just wrapped him up in a hug as Danny cried.

“I don’t wanna see them again…” he said between sobs.

“You won’t.” Dick promised kindly

-

“You told him?!” Bruce said angrily, “I told you not to!”

“I wasn’t gonna leave him out of the loop! Do you want him to get hurt? He deserves to know, he’s family! If you were left unaware of something important about your safety, that would break your trust wouldn’t it?!” Dick ranted, angry at his father for asking him to lie to his little brother.

“Yes, but he’s too young, and he already has too much on his plate, we can’t worry him more!”

“He’s almost sixteen! We don’t need to baby him! We just need to be here for him! Help him with his responsibilities, not act like he's a baby, he’s so mature!”

Bruce sat for a moment, thinking, “you’re right, Dick, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

-

Danny sat on the edge of his bed, pondering his next move, tapping his foot nervously.

If they find me, they find my family.

I can’t let them find my family.

Am I gonna have to run away again? I haven’t been legally adopted, so it should be easy enough.

Danny figured that if he could escape at night, he’d be able to go to Metropolis to ask Superman for help.

-

Poor Danny, he’s probably so scared right now. I knows I would be.

Clark let out a sigh, and stood up from his chair, shutting off his computer and closing his office door softly.

I should go above Gotham again, maybe Danny will be there.

-

It was dark out, and Danny decided he would go stargazing again, see if he could have a conversation with Superman.

He opened his window, leaving his phone on his bed, and went ghost, then flew above Gotham to his usual spot.

He sat for five minutes, until he felt a sudden presence to his right.

“Hey Danny, I heard about what happened.”

“I’m gonna run away.” Danny replied abruptly.

“What- why?” Superman asked, panicked

“You know…” Danny paused, “they’re gonna find me. I was thinking about leaving… possibly going to Metropolis.”

“That sounds like a smart plan, but you do know that Batman isn’t gonna be okay with that, right?”

“Uhm, yeah… I’m not telling anyone about it, except you. I trust you, more than anyone I ever have. I just feel a connection to you, maybe it’s that you’re Kryptonian, but I don’t know. My core feels… safe around you. Like a father.”

Superman felt flattered, happy he made Danny feel safe, “you shouldn’t leave your family. They’ll worry. They love you, you know.”

“I know, and I love them too, that’s why I have to leave. The GIW could cause them trouble if they find me. I don’t want them getting hurt.”

“Danny-“

“I know, I know, it’s not my fault or something.” Danny interrupted, “it is my fault though, if I only hadn’t told my p- them about my… condition, none of this would have happened… I’m gonna go now.”

“Bye, Danny.”

“Bye.”

-

“Danny!”

He jumped as Dick slammed open the door, looking rushed.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Danny asked, looking up from the book Jason gave him.

“You need to start answering your phone!”

“Oh. Sorry,” he replied awkwardly.

Danny picked up his phone, scrolling through the notifications from Dick.

Geeze.

“I called you like ten times!” Dick said dramatically, “you scared me!”

“I’m sorry, I went on a walk again, I just got back.”

“Danny, I don’t know if you should do that anymore.” Dick said seriously.

“But-“

“No buts.”

“I can protect myself-“

“I know that, but you should only go on walks if someone’s with you, for your safety. I’ll go with you-“

“I’m not actually going on walks.”

“What? Danny, what do you do then?”

“I go to look at the stars.”

“Wh- why would you lie about that?”

“I don’t know, the stars are like my sanctuary, you know? Or like, uhm.” He paused, pondering his next words, “when you have a long day, you like to lay in bed and fall asleep, right?” Dick nodded, “well for me, I still do need sleep, but the stars are rejuvenating for me. It’s my ghostly obsession, so I need this, you know? And anyway, Superman joins me most of the time, so if anything happens I’ll have some help.”

“Superman?” Dick asked, perplexed.

“Yeah… he listens, and gives advice. He’s helped me a lot.” Danny replied with a smile.

“Well, I didn’t expect that friendship to exist, alright then. But you still need to be careful, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

“You’re fine, I don’t mind.” He said, returning to his book.

-

THATS A WRAP FOR PART TWO!!

seriously this took me way longer than it should’ve, sorry about that 😅

lmk how yall feel about it please :D

also i’m probably not gonna tag more than four people, I don’t wanna take up too much space with it

Edit: i came up with a name :D

[arc-misadventures]

MFK with Jaune: Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, and Selina Kyle

Jaune: MFK XII

Nora: Oh Jaune-Jaune~?

Jaune: No, you can’t have your grenades back.

Nora: But, that’s not…?!

Jaune: You aren’t allowed to test peoples bone density with your war hammer.

Nora: But, it’s only, Cardin… Wait! No, that’s not what I want…??

Jaune: You can’t have another, McSchneer Lumberjack Burger. They banned you after you demanded more maple syrup bacon strips, and subsequently destroyed the counter when they said no.

Nora: That’s not what I wanted to ask!

Jaune: It’s not; Then what is it?

Nora: MFK~!

Jaune: Naww fuck…

Nora: Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, or Selina Kyle~?

Jaune: The ladies of, Batman’s Rouge Gallery? Why them?

Nora: Why not them?

Jaune: …

Jaune: Fair enough… Okay… I would kill, Poison Ivy.

Nora: Aww… but, I thought you liked us red heads~?

Jaune: I do, but it’s more of personality/mind set kind of thing. I understand why she wants to save the environment, and all that. But, considering her powers she could make plants that absorb the pollution, and cleanse the environment like nature currently does. I mean, we’ve got algae springing up the can digest plastics, and there are mushrooms capable of absorbing nuclear radiation. I mean come on! Poison Ivy could easily do that, and make something ten times better at doing that! But, no let’s kill all the corrupt businessmen, politicians, and everyone on the whole god damn planet to save the environment! That’s sounds lovely~!

Nora: Okay… that sounded personal…

Jaune: Sorry, but environmentalists annoy the hell out of me! I mean come on! Let’s stop using all fossil fuels, and natural gas to prevent the world from ending in the next five years, a notion that they have said a dozen times in the last three decades! Not to mention that idea would kill millions in a matter of weeks if implemented?!

Nora: …?!

Nora: So…

Nora: Who ya gonna fuck…?

Jaune: Harely Quinn.

Nora: Oh really, you got a thing for clowns~?

Jaune: No. I have to pick, and of the two I would like to sleep with, Harely Quinn. I’m curious about how flexible she would be, among other things…

Nora: Nice~!

Jaune: And, lastly I would marry, Selina Kyle.

Nora: Why her?

Jaune: Admittedly I like, Catwoman the most out of the trio. I like her mature elegance, that femme fatale, and saucy air about her. Plus, I read the comics, she a romantic at heart with, Bruce Wayne. Granted unless written as so, Selina never overcomes, Bruce’s obsession with being, Batman. But, in the stories they do get together, they form a strong lasting pair who grow up to have a loving family together with.

Jaune: I want that too…

Jaune: You happy, Nora, have you got your answer.

Nora: I’m ecstatic, Fearless Leader~! I’ll see you later~!

Jaune: …

Jaune: Somethings off with that smile of hers… I don’t like it…

~~~

Nora: Alright ladies, have you made your decision?

Cinder: Perfectly! I will be going as, Catwoman. I already have a catsuit that I know, Jaune will absolutely drool all over~!

Nora: Oh, nice! It really shows of your phat ass! He better give that a nice hard slap when he sees it!

Cinder: I’ll give him plenty of reasons to do just that~! Now, Neo will be using her semblance to dress as, Harley Quinn. She is also flexible enough to play the part~!

Nora: I’m sure, Jaune will love that~! Don’t pull a muscle out there , Neo!

Neo: 😁

Nora: No, I’m being serious, he will pull some muscles when he’s done with you!

Neo: 🤕🥴

Nora: Oh~? Kinky, I like it~!

Cinder: And, lastly, Emerald will be using her semblance to appear as, Poison Ivy!

Emerald: Are you sure this will work? He hates, Poison Ivy.

Nora: That means he’ll hate fuck you to get rid of that pent up rage~!

Emerald: Oh…? Oh~? Oh that sounds like fun~!

Cinder: Alright girl, let’s head out! Let’s show, Jaune what’s it’s like to be embrace by a trio of femme fetale’s~!

Emerald: Thanks, Nora, we really appreciate your help!

Nora: No problem ladies! And, good luck!

Nora: Cause… you’ll need it… oh boy you’ll need it…

[christinesficrecs]

Heeyyyy!! I’m going on a month long work trip in a VERY small town with nothing to do besides work in January so I need to stock up on some fics. Can you rec some mate and/or soulmate fics that are over 50k please?? Or if any of your followers wanna throw some in the tags or replies that would be super cool too. I’m gonna need all the entertainment/help I can get. I’ve googled the shit out of this place and the surrounding area and it’s literally in the middle of nowhere.

Hey!! Are you coming to visit me? Because I def live in a rinky dink town where cash is king and everything is closed by 4 pm 😂

Apologies to the rest of my listeners because this post got LONG. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Hung The Moon by nrnyx | 85.6K | Explicit

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere | 66.2K

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself.

With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

Wanted by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions) | 88K | Mature

With the Hale pack finally settled and safe, it only makes sense that something would happen to screw it all up. To top it all off, Stiles has to pretend to be Derek’s mate, or face a pack of angry Alphas. He’s doomed.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | 58.3K

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist.

Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope.

He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles.

“I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

Lead You Home Again by GotTheSilver | 49.9K | Explicit

The first time Derek meets Stiles, the kid’s brown eyes are wide, and he’s staring up at him with a mischievous grin as he tugs at the arm of Derek’s first ever Batman figure like he’s trying to separate it from Batman’s body.

An alternate take on Teen Wolf, wherein Stiles and Derek are childhood friends, and things unfold from there.

Three Marks by sanam | 113.7K | Mature

“And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt.”

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

A Match Unmade in Beacon Hills by KouriArashi | 47.8K

Derek met his soulmate Kate Argent when he was 15, and he’s tried for years to understand why his soulmate is so cruel to him. Then he meets Stiles Stilinski, who has no soulmate mark, an extremely rare phenomenon. Stiles thinks that he’s destined to be alone forever, but apparently fate has other plans…

Mating Moons by  skinsharpenedteeth (Gavinscotts) | 85.2K | Explicit

Stiles just wanted to get Derek’s attention. Derek had seemed so distracted as the full moon approached and Stiles was feeling pretty neglected as a friend. Next thing he knows, he’s magically bound to a cabin in the mountains with Derek all winter long and they have to figure out whether they want to be life mates?

With or Without You by KouriArashi | 62.5K

Derek thinks that the mating rituals are overly romanticized bullshit, but claiming a mate and defending them from challengers is something werewolves do, and his pack can’t afford to appear weak after the fire. Especially not when Deucalion and his friends are in town for the rituals. Enter Stiles Stilinski, who offers to let Derek claim him so he won’t be overrun at the ceremonies. Nothing goes as expected.

Bonds of Blood, Bonds of Family, Bonds of Love by TyReed | 44K

After being beaten up by a door, werewolf Stiles Stilinksi finds himself bonded to Derek Hale, of the Hale Noble Bloodline. For a scrawny, wimpy, Tainted Bloodline werewolf, Stiles runs away, embarrassed and humiliated as he worries about bringing shame to the Hale Family, and even more shame to himself. Because the Nobles and Tainted just don’t mix, never have, never will.

Except, things aren’t exactly what they seem.

With the help of the (meddling) Hale family, his adoptive (meddling) human parents John and Claudia Stilinksi, and one very persistent Alpha Derek Hale, Stiles might come to see himself as more than just the blood that runs through his veins, and open his heart to find the happiness, friends, pack, and the family that he’d always wanted.

A Letter From Mom by StilesIsMySpiritAnimal | 32.9K

After waking up at the age of 11 without any memories of his past Stiles spends eight years with his father in the tiny town of Shelter Cove, California. After his father’s death he receives a notice from a storage facility in some town called Beacon Hills. Stiles is confused and thinks the manager made a mistake until he finds a letter that should have been for his 18th birthday that his dad never gave him. It’s from his mother, who he has no memory of. Weirdly enough, her letter mentions Beacon Hills and some woman named Talia, who he’s supposed to trust. Confused and angry at his father, Stiles sets out for Beacon Hills anxious and determined to find out what his dad had been hiding from him all these years.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by  isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | 196.1K

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!”

Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her.

“What?! What was that sound?!”

“You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder.

Scrubbing Bubbles by  MargaretKire | 46K

Stiles thought it would be easy doing janitorial work for an office. At first, it really was. The job only took a few hours in the evenings and it helped pay for rent and college. Sure, Hale Industries took up an entire floor in one of the downtown financial buildings, but the place was new and easy to care for. He didn’t even have to spend much time cleaning the huge corner office, because the trash was nearly always empty and the office itself was spotless, like no one used it.

It was basically the perfect college job. At least, until the boss started staying late.

‘Till You Make It by standinginanicedress | 46K | Mature

“I’m saying – let’s fake it.”

Derek blinks at him. Hard. Stiles never knew that someone could physically make a blink look hard, but there Derek goes, slamming his lids together like he’s fucking exercising them. “Fake it.”

“Pretend, dumbass,” he backhands Derek lightly on his upper arm. “Pretend like we’re doing as well as our parents want us to and then they’ll be off our backs, right?”

“We don’t have to pretend anything, Stiles,” Derek says evenly, in a tone that suggests he’d much rather be yelling. “We’re literally soulmates.”

“That’s the beauty of it! It’s going to be so fucking easy. I can’t believe we never thought of this before,” he runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head in amazement, grinning from ear to ear. “Holy shit. I can’t believe I just solved all our problems for us, man.”

Deafening Silence by AndersonStorm | 61.1K

On everyone’s sixteenth birthday the first words their soulmate will ever speak to them appear on their body. These words, so it goes, were to bring you love, joy and hope for the future until the fateful day arrives where you will meet the person who would change your life. So what’s Stiles to do when his words are rude and hateful? Avoid love at all costs, or so he planned.

Safety in Silence by Survivah | 66.9K | Mature

It’s perfectly understandable. Even Derek wouldn’t want to be Derek’s soulmate.

And I Thought I Had Problems by zosofi | 60.1K | Explicit | dropbox

Werewolf!Stiles deals with nefarious soul-sucking witch spells, Scott’s inability to be a fully functioning adult, Danny’s incessant need to make everything about sex, and finding out that his mate is Derek Hale. Tuesdays suck.

What You Did to Us by loserchic | 52.1K | Explicit

In a world where alphas and omegas are born with the first name of their mates on their wrists, alpha Derek’s mate’s name comes in mysteriously late. Thinking his mate will never show up, Derek marries Kate and has a son. When his true mate, Stiles, enters the scene Derek attempts to divorce Kate to be with him. Stiles has known Derek is his mate since he was 11, but he’s not impressed by Derek’s plan at all. Stiles doesn’t want to be the other woman and Kate doesn’t want to let Derek go, but there is something about Stiles scent that makes Derek think he might not have long to figure this whole mess out…

[hijinxinprogress]

The JL finds out Captain Marvels identity and regrets it immensely

JL find out Captain Marvels a child and they start trying to parent him and just being awkward so it’s decided that Captain Marvel will join YJ (Clark started referring to Billy only as ‘son’ and ‘young man’ one time Billy saw an airplane and Clark leaned down and went “That there, son, is called an airplane and it-” “I’ll fucking stab you istg”)

To the public Captain Marvel is just extra supervision for YJ but the hero community knows it’s a way to discretely move Captain Marvel onto a team with people his age and be ‘safer’

But it doesn’t work out the way they want bc Billy’s a chaos gremlin much like YJ so they’re just doing dumb shit in the public eye bc they technically have ‘adult supervision’ (it takes Billy fifteen minutes to convince yj to go against being supervised by green lanterns)

“We’re literally your coworkers??” “I’ve literally never seen you before besides isn’t it illegal for cops to question a minor without their guardian present? 🤨” “Technically, he’s not their coworker bc he’s not in the jl anymore” “Kon” “What? I’m just saying!” “Stfu wait does Marvel even have a guardian??” “He doesn’t”

Anita and Billy are trading magic tips and teaching each other spells they should NOT have access to esp bc they’ve blown up thirteen city blocks and 1/4 of almost every planet they’ve visited with YJ

Cassie and Billy play high stakes games of catch above the earths atmosphere with missiles and shit in their free time and also during missions

Kon and Billy do just plain dumb shit they have no business doing and then playing up the ‘I’m just a baby…and I’m not even really human/I didn’t have a childhood so how would I know that I shouldn’t do that?’ excuse after bankrupting Luthor for the third time this month along with demolishing all of his newly renovated buildings (Which he and Greta repurposed to create low income housing and food pantries)

Cissie invites Marvel to all her Olympic events and he shows up to every single one with an obnoxiously large magical banner

Bart and Billy plan quips, one liners, and trash talk together and everyone hates it bc they only use the good ones on them but villains (along with everyone in their immediate vicinity) are subjected exclusively to shit like “nuh uh” and “make me”

Greta and Billy are taking down shady government operations with zero fucks to give (they had houses built for the people affected but they did also send a very long list of people to the hospital/morgue)

Billy makes Tim a magic skateboard that flies at like Mach 1 with so many magic cameras it’s concerning bc he thinks Tim being unhinged is funny especially it inconveniences or at least stresses out batman

But they’re mostly talking about what lies they’ve told the jl recently so they can plan their lies around each other “I lied to batman yesterday so you gotta back me up” and Tim’s fabricating evidence despite having no other information bc Billy will 100% “Aren’t you a so called ‘ethical’ billionaire? Nonono it’s whatever, I just thought you’d want to look out for the people but-”

And JL tries to lecture Billy about it ‘you should be more mature. I expected better’ and he’s just like ‘why?? I’m baby 🥺 I don’t know any better’ 

And Green Arrow’s so goddamn confused bc ‘Bro?? I’ve watched you do negotiations when Superman’s not available…’ ‘I’m just a little guy’ ‘I’VE WATCHED YOU STOP A WHOLE ASS INVASION IN TEN MINUTES’ ‘little baby man’ ‘But you’re one of the strongest members of the league???’ ‘You do know I couldn’t tie my own shoes like six years ago, right?’ ‘HOW OLD ARE YOU’ ‘Wouldn’t you like to know’

YJ and Billy just do a bunch of petty shit until JL has had enough and they’re like fine whatever it wasn’t a problem before

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

‘Gun Play’ & ‘Fear Play’ w/ Scarecrow (for Kinktober 2024)

Title: take this gun and cock it

Rating: Mature 

Fandom: Batman Trilogy (Nolanverse) 

Characters: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow); Female Reader Insert

Pairing: Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow)/Female Reader 

Summary: You knew you shouldn’t have put Dr. Crane on your dissertation committee, but he had the most pull in the Neuropharmacology world in and around Gotham. If you wanted to make a name for yourself in this profession, you’d need to get on his good side. After several passive-aggressive meetings with said professor, you decide enough is enough. If research and academia won’t show him, you will. So one afternoon, you walk into his private office intending to once and for all, prove to your Professor that pleasure is just as great, if not superior, of a motivator as fear. [Warning: Reader is high-key insane in this, like, almost as nuts as Crane. But be aware, this is a dark fic with very unequal power dynamics at play.] 

Trigger Warning(s): Gunplay; Drugging; Threats of Violence; Implied Sex; Dubious Consent (due to the whole pointing a gun at him thing); Very Unsafe Firearm Practices (that would probably get this fic sponsored by the NRA); [Lowkey] Dead Dove, Do Not Eat

A/N: Here it is- my first-ever attempt at participating in Kinktober! So please go easy on me. 

♔☍☣ ♔☍☣♔☍☣ ♔☍☣

“Knock, knock.” Poking your head into Dr. Professor Crane’s doorway, you flashed your teacher a cunning smile. “Got a sec?” 

Not bothering to look up from his paperwork, Dr. Professor Crane’s answer was detached as per his usual. 

“Office hours are posted on the door. If you must speak with me,” Jonathan sighed, tired of the frequent idiotic interruptions from fatuous students, “Sign up for a time slot. I don’t accept walk-ins.”  

You playfully pouted, your recently glossed lips pursing into the shape of a frown. 

“Surely that doesn’t include me? Especially since… I brought you coffee!” 

Upon hearing your oddly chipper voice, Dr. Crane looked up, a perturbed expression on his face. 

You waited silently as he sized you up, your gleeful exterior not shirking under his ice-blue gaze. 

“Come in,” Crane finally settled on, the fresh coffee too tempting of an opportunity to pass up. 

“One large black coffee, regular, just how you like it.” 

You held out the beverage for him to take, blinking impatiently as he ignored your physical presence and instead went back to reading. With a roll of your eyes, you placed the styrofoam cup at the top of his desk. 

Not wanting to waste any more time, you delved into the matter. 

“So, uh, Dr. Professor Crane,” you started, “I wanted to speak to you about my upcoming thesis defense—” 

“Mhm-hm,” Crane mumbled, already having written off the remainder of this interaction. 

“Well, I was wondering if—” 

“No.” 

“I’m, I’m sorry?” 

“I don’t give extensions. If you wanted to become a Doctor you should have thought of the effort required before applying to this program.” 

You couldn’t help but sputter at the bastard’s words. Did he honestly think you were here to grovel before him? To get on your hands and knees and beg for an extension?! Oh, how rich! 

After all the hoops you’ve jumped through, after all the changes and additional inclusions you made solely for his approval, for his benefit, did he truly think you had any intention of doing one more single thing he asked? 

‘Oh no. Oh no, no, no,’ you thought. ‘I’m not the one that’s going to leave this office begging.’ 

You knew you needed his support for there to be unanimous approval from your dissertation committee concerning your upcoming thesis defense next week. And you knew from all the previous horror stories you’d heard through the Gotham University grapevine that in most cases, Crane was often students’ one stubborn holdout. 

You knew you shouldn’t have picked him to be your dissertation advisor. But dammit, he was the best in the field of Neuropharmacology, so you figured you’d just suck it up and get on his good side. The only problem was, the man didn’t seem to have a good side!

Every semester, every class with him was like pulling teeth: torturously slow and agonizingly painful. You worked your ass off, day and night, working full-time while juggling a full course load only to be demeaned and nitpicked every chance he got. You were consistently the best in your class, and yet not once did Dr. Crane ever offer an encouraging word or a simple ‘great work’. But oh boy, did he have tons to say the second you’d make one teeny-tiny mistake. 

It made your blood boil. 

And the man simply would not shut the hell up about fear!

Fear, fear, fear, fear— it’s all he ever enjoyed lecturing about! It was obsessive! It had to be. 

The way his fascination with fear and adrenaline would pervade their way into other topic discussions, so you wound up responsible for teaching yourself his lesson material nearly half the time. You swore he talked about fear so much, that some of your fellow students ended up having fear-induced psychotic breaks themselves! 

At least, that’s what you used to think. 

After a particularly harsh meeting with Dr. Crane, your adversarial thesis advisor, you ran into a fellow Psychology student as you entered the bathroom. Seeing your tearful expression and feeling concerned for your well-being, they cautioned you against working too closely with Crane any further. Confused, you wiped the tears and snot off your face and asked for them to clarify what they meant. 

Apparently, someone, they weren’t sure who— probably a former flunkee student— started the vicious rumor that Crane was using his students as guinea pigs to conduct unauthorized experiments surrounding fear, and the nervous system’s fear response. 

She said that several students had reported leaving lectures feeling nauseous, and unexpectedly anxious. Of course, it could have just been the grotesque nature of the material or the fact that Dr. Crane was a frightening teacher to perform for, but some of them had sworn they must've been hit with something inside his classroom. 

It all sounded so farfetched, like the B-plot to a bad sci-fi movie. It couldn’t possibly be true. But then, the reality of your past experiences in his lectures came crashing down onto you like a tidal wave. 

You were always so worked up, so angry when you left his lectures. You had just assumed it was because you found the man infuriating but what if… 

‘What if,’ your mind supplied, ‘What if your anger, your elevated heart rate— what if all of it, was your nervous system’s fight or flight response having been activated by some secret drug?’ 

That’s when it all fell into place. It was like your blinders had been ripped off, exposing you, in an instant, to the harsh reality: 

Your Professor, Dr. Jonathan Crane had spent the last few years drugging you, and getting away with it. 

You didn’t know what pissed you off more, the fact that he used you as a lab rat or the fact that this little ongoing experiment of his was most likely the reason behind why he had such dissent for your thesis. 

Your entire argument was that, as far as human motivators go, pleasure and reward had a much stronger influence compared to the fear of pain or punishment. 

But of course! 

It made sense that Dr. Crane took issue with that stance when his entire ideology revolved around how fear, not pleasure, not reward, ruled the mind above all else. 

The cherry on top was that your unknowing participation in his sick game only further proved his point: your anger, triggered by your fear of failure, had driven you to work as hard as you did. No wonder he was so eager to criticize your manuscript! Every single time he watched your nostrils flare and your lips purse, he would know his theory was being proven right. 

Well… not this time. Oh, no. This time, you were going to be the one pulling the strings and he was going to be the little white mouse, wondering which fork in the maze to take. 

Was it risky? Oh, for sure. He could have you kicked out of the program, hell probably even arrested and tried for assault. But you just couldn’t curb your desire to do to him what he spent all those years doing to you. You wanted to watch him squirm, wanted to see his pupils blown, and his irises thin as his trembling figure begged for release from your experimental ministrations. 

Who knows? Maybe all that medication he’d been slipping you had made you mad. 

It was his fault, really. As a psychologist, he should have seen this coming. 

Tut tut. 

Oh, well! There was nothing he could do now. Not at the moment anyway. 

Seated across from where you stood looking over his desk, Dr. Crane may not have known it, but he’d handed you the reins to the experimental controls long ago. From the second he started dosing you, this prognosis was inevitable. 

It was like he always said: “The mind could only take so much.” 

You walked around to the side of his desk, blocking his view of the door and the hall outside. 

‘How cute,’ You thought. How cute how he pretended not to notice the change in your position, nor be intimidated by it. 

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, demanding his attention. “As I was saying, Professor,” you intentionally skipped his other title, “I need to speak with you a minute.” 

Brows furrowing, Dr. Crane momentarily took off his glasses before rubbing his forehead trying to relieve some of the building tension. Unsuccessful in the attempt, Crane placed his rectangular glasses back on the bridge of his nose and turned his attention back to you. 

The deprecatory nature of his stare combined with his piercing light blue eyes had the opposite effect. If you hadn’t learned the true nature of his psyche, you might have once again been intimidated by them. Rather than unnerve you, they made him appear susceptible. It was too late. You saw him for what he was now: a coward. 

It was… appetizing. 

Behind those frozen irises, behind that steely gaze was a scared little boy, playing dress-up, trying desperately to look stronger and bigger than he was. 

Dr. Jonathan Crane was simply a scared little kid, masked in a psychologist's trench coat. 

And now, you thought it high time to unmask him. 

Ignoring his judgemental gaze, you moved even closer. 

“I’m just trying to understand, Professor.” 

Taking a seat on the corner of his desk, you were very much aware of how your deceptively short pencil skirt pulled taut against your thighs. 

“I think my summation of the available data makes it pretty clear…” 

You shifted all of your weight to one red high-heeled foot. The other you allowed to dangle loosely from where your bent knee met the edge of the professor’s dark oak desk. 

“The brain’s reward center, dopamine— pleasure, is notably a greater motivator than fear.” 

Licking your lips, you couldn't help but watch with wicked delight as the good doctor’s neck tensed, his muscles no doubt straining against the growing, sinful desire to glance downwards at the obvious part between your legs. 

You tilted your dangling heel down, the pointed tip of your shoe grazing ever so slightly, ever so suggestively against your dear mentor’s outer thigh. Gleefully, you wondered if he could pick up the scent of your arousal, the two of you currently less than a foot apart. 

“Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Ms. (L/N),” Crane started.

“Come now, Doctor. Surely you, of all people, know that throughout human history, both mentally and physiologically speaking, pleasure has been, at the very least, as influential of a motivator as fear?” 

Your dangly earring shook with the slight tilt of your head. 

“People love to chase what feels good, what excites them, what makes them feel alive! Regardless of whether or not that thing isn’t good for them.” 

Your equally distracting red-manicured fingers began to trace gentle circles around your outer ankle bone, the ends of your nails briefly swiping over the black material of his suit pants. 

“Humans’ desire to feel pleasure wins out over their ability to behave rationally.” 

Professor Dr. Crane swallowed tersely before nodding. 

“I would agree with that statement.” 

Jonathan pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, using the momentum as an inconspicuous opportunity to scooch his chair back, away from your contact. 

“However, I would maintain the argument that fear holds a much more pivotal role in the survival of a species. And is, therefore, much more consequential in its provocations.” 

“Hmm…” You pursed your lips together, obviously only pretending to be deep in thought. 

Across from you, Jonathan’s resentment for your pathetic salacious attempt only grew as he watched your actions morph into something akin to mockery. 

You were his inferior! How dare you question him?!

It was bad enough the university board was breathing down his neck, now he had some pseudo-confident slutty graduate student to contend with as well. 

Oh, you would pay for this. He would make you regret this little attention-whore stunt of yours. Just you wait…

Unfettered by the way Professor Crane’s jaw clenched, you continued your practiced spiel. 

“I can see why you’d champion that. After all, your experiments here are centered around patients' reactions to fearful stimuli.” Unbothered, you checked your manicure before foxily pushing yourself off the desk, your high heels landing with a pointed ‘clack’ sound as they hit the floor. 

“Makes sense why you’d be unable to recognize an opposing, although equally valid theory.” 

“My grading is objective and based entirely on a student’s performance. And for you to imply otherwise—” Professor Crane’s piercing blue eyes stayed confidently fixed on yours.

“But it’s subjective too,” you countered, stepping directly in front of the man. 

“You’re judging my performance on your personal model. A biased model ingrained in you, that your deeply held beliefs reign superior. To you, fear is the end all be all; it’s the cornerstone of human motivation. You can’t accept my performance as worthy or eligible when you're fixated on your own theory. Your superiority complex prevents you from being anything other than subjective as far as my research, my papers— even my very existence in your class is concerned.” 

“It is not a discredit to my insight that you are incapable of seeing the depth of my genius—” Jonathan started to heatedly refute your assessment, but you cut him off. 

Stepping forward, you placed your knee on the edge of his chair, centering it between his own.

“I know about your experiments.” 

You kept your tone low so that only he could hear. 

“I know the board is growing suspicious, thinking of ‘asking’ you to resign.” You said, making air quotes. “I know all about your special ‘cocktail’ the night of the Christmas Eve Party. I know the cops have been sniffing around, and it’s only a matter of time before those inbred idiots start asking that poor girl the right questions.” 

“What do you want?” Jonathan asked, keeping a stiff upper lip. 

Mindful not to alert you to his plan of action, Jonathan remained calm. He could still regain control here. 

The man also known as Scarecrow to his Arkham patients was keenly aware that his briefcase containing his fear gas briefcase and Scarecrow mask was situated just to the left of you, resting inconspicuously on his desk. 

If he could just make a move for it without you becoming wise to his plan. 

‘What are you waiting for?!’ A scratchy, harsh voice inside Jonathon’s mind chided the Doctor for his hesitation. ‘Do it! Show her that fear is our domain, not hers, not hers! It’s time!’

‘It’s always time, isn’t it?’ Jonathan’s much smoother voice commented drearily. ‘Time to run. Time to cower.’ 

Time to just keep his head down and accept the consequences, accept how shameful, how broken he was. 

‘No! No! It’s time to fight back! Time to glower! Time to gloat and rule over those puny imbeciles who’ve done us wrong. We are not afraid! They should be the ones who are afraid! They will be the ones who scream and cry— not us, not us!’ 

He would not release his hold on the situation. He did not scrape by, lie, steal, and torture for his brilliance only to roll over and show his belly to you! The wounded part of him demanded action, demanded sacrifice for these feelings of apprehension you had caused him. 

The psychologist in him, the professional in him was almost impressed, nay, enthralled by your show of dominance. It was both vexing and amusing. It had crept under his skin and sunk its perfectly manicured claws into his chest, reaching in and commanding his heart to beat. 

His heart started to beat faster and his breaths became more and more shallow. 

It was dizzying, intoxicating— arousing even. 

The Scarecrow in him wanted to crush it— to squash you. 

But Jonathon wanted it to keep going— to consume him whole. 

Enjoying his responses so far, you gripped both armrests of his chair, locking him in place. 

“I want to conduct a little experiment of my own.” Your voice was still quiet, still assured. 

“And then you can tell me in real-time which is stronger: pleasure…” 

Releasing one hand from the armrest, you traced a red coffin-nailed finger down Jonathon’s chest, right down the middle of his tie. 

“...Or fear.” 

Feeling cornered by the weight of the unknown, the Scarecrow decided to make his move. 

“If you’re done with this little display here, I have other matters to attend to, much more important than contending with brainless whore students.” He sneered, hoping his icy tone would catch you off guard enough that he could casually push out from under your weight. 

His piercing blue eyes met your determined ones. It seemed you weren’t backing down. 

‘Fine then’, Jonathan thought. ‘If that’s how you wanted to play it’. 

His arm shot out past you, quickly gripping the handle of his briefcase. But before he could tug it open, you decided to play the last card up your sleeve. 

“Not so fast, Doctor,” you reprimanded as if speaking to a child. “It’s not time for that… yet.” 

Frozen, Jonathan’s previously confident eyes shifted into an expression between confusion and fear. Unable to even speak, he couldn't help but look back and forth between where his hand rested on his briefcase handle, and where your hand rested, gripping the barrel of a gun. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” You asked, turning the gun sideways to show off the pearl handle. “My Father gifted it to me when I moved to Gotham for University. Of course, at the time, I thought it was such a silly gift. Just total overkill. And then, I came here,” you waved it around rather casually as you spoke, “And I met you.” 

You laughed, villainously at the memory, bearing your teeth and smiling wickedly at the dumbfounded teacher in front of you. 

“Can I just say? I had never once thought of putting a bullet through a teacher’s head before I met you. God! You were just so, so, infuriating!” You shook your head in amused disbelief. 

“And so arrogant! I mean the number of times you let out a little too much information, all just to insult a student’s inferior answer or to roast a fellow professor.” Your expression became incredulous. “Do you realize how much you told us, all because you thought we were too stupid to understand?!” 

You rhythmically pressed the gun up into his, teasingly punctuating every other word. 

“I mean, come on! Isn’t that Intro to Villany 101? Don’t spill the beans?” 

“You don’t know anything.” The bolder character inside of Professor Crane had found his voice. “You may think you do, but you’re sorely mistaken.” 

“I know enough,” you countered. 

“Not as far as the cops are concerned. Or the faculty board.” His self-assured tone rivaled yours. “Do you really think I don’t have men on the inside?” 

Having recaptured his certitude, The Scarecrow’s signature condescending expression settled back over his face as he craned his neck forward, bringing his mouth mere inches from your own. 

“The minute you tell anyone what you think you know, your life ends— effective immediately.” 

His bravado caused your large canine-baring grin to shrink into a much smaller, reserved one. If Johnathan’s words had scared you, you had no intention of making a big show of it. 

You leaned in, pushing your face close enough to his that you could feel his heated breath on your lips. 

“Guess it’s a good thing then, I don’t intend on telling anyone about this. And neither do you.” 

“Is that so?” The Scarecrow challenged. 

Without warning, you reached out with your free hand, gripping it securely around his throat, and forcibly tilted his head back. Using your newfound leverage you pushed your knee back against his crotch, smirking as you felt the unmistakable outline of his semi-hard cock through his clothes. 

Satisfied that the ball was back in your court, you menacingly lined up the nozzle of your gun with Dr. Crane’s deliciously exposed Adam’s apple. 

“Let’s find out.” 

♔☍☣ ♔☍☣♔☍☣ ♔☍☣

A/N 2.0: So originally I was gonna expand on the sex scene at the end (because of the whole Kinktober thing, duh!) but I ran out of time. Who knows? Maybe I’ll continue it one day if enough people would enjoy it??? Lmk 

[farshootergotme]

Oh you and your friend make some interesting points about why Bruce adopting Dick so late in his life was a problem. It’s something writers clearly didn’t take into account when the trying to make this scene work while also not letting go of the not being adopted thing plot line while also trying to have their cake too by having Dick and Bruce makeup and finally having Dick be adopted by Bruce.

I know the writer writing Protugal wanted it to be a touching moment between the two of them. But the problem is it isn’t about what Dick wants and it written in a way where Bruce while has good intention offering him the adoption papers, he doesn’t own up to the fact he caused this issue in the first place if I am remembering correctly although I will have double check and reread that scene so take my statement with a grain of salt. Poor communication is truly the worst emery of them all and cough comic book writers loving to hammer in unnecessary drama and conflict even if makes no bloody sense at times or take into account how it effect the characters going forward. 

The thing about what is a good Batman writer is not necessarily if they nail Bruce Wayne and Batman as a whole but rather if they care about Robin as a concept or even like characters Dick Grayson in general. Same goes to Nightwing writers as well you can absolutely love Dick Grayson but do you actually understand Bruce Wayne as a character and are you willing to explore that aspect of their relationship Ie father/son. (Then again some of Nightwing writers do him so bloody dirty it’s honestly mind boggling to me.)

Another thing to think about is how most modern day writers and even some of older best writers from back in day of Batman is that they refuse to let him be wrong or admit he has messed up. Like my god, I like Bruce as character I really do but it’s so frustrating to see how he is treated in modern books like my god just stop the drama already with his family, I’m tired of Batman being regressed to his younger less mature self mentality and acts like he has learned nothing. Why is it so hard to just let him be a flawed but well meaning dad who yes messes up sometimes but is willing to get better and grow as a person because at the end of the day he truly cares about his children.

My problem with Richard getting adopted as an adult is well mainly with how it was handled. It never about what Dick wants if it was the writers would have made Bruce apologise for his failing as a father to him and make it so it’s up to Richard if he decides to forgive him or not because let’s be honest Bruce hurt his eldest son by his selfish actions but Bruce should also just be honest with him about he has always seen him as a son maybe not at first but it grew into that overtime and that he was wrong for assuming how Dick felt about being adopted and should have done sooner in fact he should have done around the same time as Jason. Again he should have done the minute or at least offered it when he and Dick had a heart to heart in the Marv wolf man run at Donna wedding but I don’t know. You know what amusing about his run is before this story was made he refer to Dick as Bruce adopted child early in his run which is an interesting thing to think about or maybe I misremember and it was a different writer altogether. OvO’)

Or maybe we can just skip all the stupid drama of adopting or no adopting bs and just have Bruce adopt Richard as a young teen which gives Dick enough time to think about it and probably change his mind. It also gives them time to bond as father and son, now I am not asking for Bruce to be a perfect father figure mistakes will happen as he learns what it means to be a father figure to Dick. Like come on give me fun and compassionate Batman please I miss him like geez why are the writers afraid to just let Bruce grow and move on from his past to some extent. 

Another to get off my chest with DC is well isn’t time to just retire the whole ward thing because it not really used anymore and might as well change to Dick being a foster child because that is what he is. Like the 2004 cartoon The Batman made this change to just that. Like I get Ward is historically important to Richard but I don’t know. Another thing I wish for is just to let Dick be adopted earlier at this point because the drama of not being adopted is just hurting both Dick and Bruce as characters at this point. 

When you could instead be focusing on why Dick wanting space and independence from Bruce like how his parenting style can be quite old fashioned the strict yet overprotective father figure and how he shows his love through his actions rather then his words. You could also explore how Bruce being a dad with a mental health issue aka ptsd, being kind of a control freak and suffer from self loathing issues and how he thinks he never be a good enough parent to his adopted soon. Effects Dick development and how Dick felt like over-coddled and suppressed by Bruce being overprotective and at times being super critical of his decisions as a young teen and young adult.

Honestly what frustrating about Tom Tyler run of Nightwing is that the scene with Dick and Bruce in the bat cave is so good but the problem is it is not earned because Tom Tyler hasn’t really taken the time to explore Dick’s and Bruce’s relationship as father and son or having the balls to actually explore the nuances of it and gasp let Dick call Bruce out on where he has hurt him and that Bruce needing to take responsibility for his actions as father. 

This is why I hate when people say they aren’t father and son or god damn family because one it makes it out Bruce actions aren’t as bad because they’re just “coworkers/partners” which just gross to me and also takes away Richard agency and why he repels so heavily against Bruce and why he is so upset about not being adopted you can’t just sit there and tell me they’re not family because it’s simply not true because this effects Richard heavily because in his mind he thought he wasn’t good enough to be Bruce’s son and felt replaced. Literally Eldest feeling replaced by the new baby sibling coded right there.

Another thing, I feel people will have come and accept about superhero comics mostly by Marvel and DC is well they’re kinda like fairy tales in a way, writers giving their own spin and takes on the world and the characters that function within it. They only things that keep them connected is how characters themselves and if they develop and grows carries over or sticks within that part of the lore. I also feel that writers are afraid to take big risks like changing how Dick Grayson became Nightwing even though they’re already one or two versions where it doesn’t lead to him fighting with Bruce and getting fired.

Now I am not saying ignore canon completely but I feel you’re at the mercy of the writers or eras of comic book runs and I think people should pick the writers they like rather try to stitch all these different takes and continuities together. Then again, I guess it doesn’t help that most media has Batman alone and completely disregard the concept of Robin or his found family in general and that honestly such a shame because Robin aka Dick Grayson is the reason Batman comics stayed alive for so alive for so long, hell he was created even before blooming Alfred.

Which leads to final point this whole thing about Dick Grayson not being adopted, has made so that is all is ever talked about. Who Dick Grayson the character like what are his goals who he is like yes he relationship with his father figure is important as it what lead him to this pathway and wether he likes or not he can quite similar to Bruce in terms of his beliefs and parts of his personality but also what about his friends the titans or his journey into adulthood and he finds himself that’s more interesting to me. Modern writers what are you doing with Richard he has so much potential and yet it feels like they have no idea on what they want to do with. No more Tony Zuuco no more changing to his backstory leave it alone please it’s fine how it is there is no reason to make it more complicated and by doing that you take away how the parallel between Bruce and Dick backstories 👏👏👏Hot take I know. 

Also, there is nothing wrong with wanting to write Dick and Bruce patching up their relationship as father and son, I love Bruce being a good dad that is trying to best despite being mentally ill himself. But keep in mind how you go about writing Bruce and make sure he faces consequences for his decisions and actions as a parental figure to  Dick Grayson and his other children. 

Oh wow sorry for making another kinda essay in your ask box again. 😅 (Hmm, I could talk about how Dick parents and his lifestyle at the circus effect his personality and how his flaws were already there before Bruce took him in but that probably for another time ha ha.

Anyway, that is enough of my rambles and inner never ending thought of this complicated father and son duo.

Hey, thanks for sharing your thoughts! I personally can agree with a lot that you're saying.

The problem when it comes to writing Dick and Bruce is that their characters are so old that many of the things from the earliest comics would be very different if one wants to write them in a more modern era. But many writers seem to choose to keep things (despite also changing things that are actually alright and should be left alone, but, oh, well...)

I mean, I don't think the drama of Bruce not being able to adopt is all that bad. For example, in one of the origins, there was woman, Sister Mary, who took care of Dick during his time at the orphanage. She mentions doubting Bruce's capabilities as a father because of his reputation as a womanizer, but that she was convinced she'd be good for Dick after talking with him in private.

They could still use this conflict in modern era and how his image as the playboy billionaire could influence the jury's decision to only give him custody of Dick as his new guardian rather than his adoptive father. Plus (I don't remember if it was in the same origin or not) Dick at the beginning wasn't fully ready to have a 'replacement' for his dad, so Bruce would respect that and accept the responsibility as his guardian.

However, here's where I'd say that they screw up; they let the years pass, no mention of adoption whatsoever (despite both clearly growing to see each other as father and son, respectively) and they just leave it at that until, check this out! Jason is adopted! I would assume now the jury is okay with letting him adopt a child because he's proven himself by taking care of Dick all these years. But, yeah, actually, back to Dick, what about him, then?

I don't believe for a second nobody would bring up the adoption issues. Like, if not Bruce or Dick (maybe because they're both afraid of being rejected by the other if they bring it up) why not Alfred? He's not shy about voicing his thoughts to Bruce, and I'm sure he could convince him to have a chat with Dick about a possible adoption because Dick is only getting older and one day it'll be too late to ask.

(Except not apparently because DC wrote Bruce asking a Dick in his early twenty's if he can adopt him which is definitely not late at all! Not to mention they had the first real conversation about adoption years ago, but Bruce just ignored Dick clears desires to be adopted and only brought it up when he thought it was the right time because why make a father that cares also about his son's emotions, am I right?

It just feels like a cheap compensation for all the years they (specially Dick) waited to become an official family. So what if the bond is more important? Maybe Dick wanted the reassurance that no matter what he would still be Bruce's family without meaning the end of their relationship everytime he left the manor to make a life for himself, is that so wrong?)

And it just makes Bruce look so bad when someone comes up with the excuse that "Dick didn't want to be adopted so Bruce was only respecting his wishes". Well, of fucking course he didn't want to get a new father a few weeks after he saw his dad's bloody corpse laying on the floor of the circus! But years later? When he's already learnt to deal with the grief and has found a new family in these two older men that chose to take care of him? What excuse does Bruce have then to not have ever brought it up again? The only 'excuse' I could think of is that he was insecure that he wouldn't be a good father to Dick (or as good as Jhon Grayson) or, as I mentioned before, afraid of being rejected. But this isn't just about him!! And as the adult in the situation he needs to save those feelings for later and communicate with Dick first without coming to any assumptions. What will change from the current relationship, anyway? Other than the security that Bruce can't just get rid of Dick whenever he wants since he's just his guardian and he can pass the responsibility to anyone else which sounds a lot more like a plus to me than a negative change.

And Bruce himself said "it doesn't really change anything" when he gave Dick the papers, so it really was a non-issue since the beginning.

I get he can have doubts and insecurities, but when it's between putting your feelings first or the ones of the child you're raising, I think the decision should come pretty easily. (Not to Bruce, apparently)

So, yeah, if DC really wanted, they could just change the early years again (we know they can, they've done it enough times already) and make Dick Bruce's officially adopted son during his Robin years and fix the whole issue very easily.

Now, I wanted to address the part about Bruce's parenting and DC not letting him develop and grow as both a character and a father, but I don't want to make this too long and you already said enough about the topic, so I'll leave it at that.

(also, would definitely love to hear about your thoughts on Dick's upbringing at the circus and how his issues began from his early childhood and not everything was for Bruce's influence. I have my own thoughts about that and it'd be great to discuss them with you)

[summercourtship]

Hiii, I love your work!

Could I request something like prompt 96 (“You look a bit tied up, want me to come back later?”) and expanding on Jonathan being very excited about the reader being his patient at the asylum 😳

Thank you!  Okay, so what I imagine happened here was that Jonathan managed to get her committed to the asylum after the whole ‘helping Edward escape and keeping him in her apartment and also stealing medical records’. Does it make sense that she’d be committed? Not really, but this is also Gotham and he’s also very persuasive (see: Batman Begins). This backstory doesn’t matter but I like to have it. Tbh might have to expand this bc I’m obsessed with this (not me thinking about writing an AU of my own gd fic)

Warnings: dubcon, obvious power imbalance, restraints, possessive behavior, a solid mature rating. minimal proofreading.

stbotdi anniversary special

 Jonathan watched from outside of the cell, his face carefully composed and expressionless as he looked through the small window into the derelict room. Any passing nurse or orderly would think he was just observing the patient inside, doing his duty before deciding on her treatment. After all, her transition into the asylum had been shaky and he was her doctor. Not that any nurses or orderelies would be passing by her room, anyway.

Bracing himself, he entered the cell. 

At the slow metal creak of the door opening, her head lifted up off the bed, taking in his appearance for a second before her expression twisted into a snarl, her teeth bared. 

“Get me out of here.” She was carefully still now, though he knew her mind was almost entirely preoccupied with the restraints on her wrists and ankles keeping her virtually immobile. But she was being a good girl, staying still and trying to show that she could be trusted enough to be untied. He sighed her name, looking down towards the thin folder he had clasped in his arms which was labeled with her name and patient number.

“You committed some pretty heinous crimes-”

“Heinous, my ass.” She spat, dropping her head back on the flat mattress with a dull thud. “You know I don’t belong here, Jon-”

“Dr. Crane.” 

“Fuck you.” 

She’s lashing out like a fox with its foot caught in a trap. 

Jonathan blinked once at her, letting silence fall over the tiny cell again until the only sound was the slight hissing from the rusty pipes that ran along the ceiling. With his eyes, he traced the lines of the pipes around the room, his head tilted back so he wasn’t looking at her when he spoke. A perfected imitation of distraction, one that worked all too well on her. 

“You look a bit tied up right now, I’ll come back later-” He turned, lingering at the door handle and counting down the seconds until-

“Wait!” He looked back over her shoulder at her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of completely turning around. She was struggling against her restraints again. He preened at the fact that even though she hated him- but only in that moment, she’d come back around to her infatuation- she was desperate to keep him in the room with her. Afraid of being alone. “Can you-” She fell back against the bed, exhausted. The sedative they’d administered upon her arrival must still be in her system, though it was clearly working its way out if her earlier viciousness was anything to go by. “Can you at least untie me?”

She’d put an affectation over her voice, something she’d used a few times when they’d been intimate before. Pitiful, pouting, pleading. Jonathan weighed his choices carefully, torn between the trust he would gain by releasing her with the control he would maintain by keeping her tied up. 

But then again, he had her here indefinitely. He had plenty of time to try both options, and more. No one wanted to be the one to defend the girl who helped the Riddler escape. Not even the Batman was coming to save her from the shackles she’d forged herself. 

Deciding then and there, he spun around. 

Jonathan could practically feel her sigh of relief as he sat at the edge of her bed, placing her file on the floor next to it, even though she was pointedly not looking at him. He reached down to her leg, running his hand down her bare calf. He could feel her shiver beneath his touch, though she was barely acknowledging his presence. 

He fiddled with the ankle restraint, moving his eyes from the leather strap up her body. She was staring at him now, her chest rising and falling steadily like she was carefully regulating her breath. Deftly, he undid the restraint before he could change his mind. But instead of letting her leg go, he kept it in his hand. He brought her ankle to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the tender skin before finally placing it onto the bed. 

Turning his attention to the other restraint, he repeated the process. Caressing her leg, undoing her binding, bending to place a kiss on her skin. She watched, the entire time, lips parted. 

He shifted, moving so he lay halfway on top of her, slotting one of his legs between hers.

“What about my arms?” She said, once his face was close enough to hers that she could get away with whispering.   

“I think I’ll leave them bound.” Jonathan whispered back, watching as her face turned from confusion to dread. “I thought about this months ago, before I even took you home that first time. Locking you away, where only I could get to you.” He brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her sweaty face, her eyes bewildered as she looked up at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, to the tip of her nose, to the corner of her lips. 

His hand moved down her body, briefly lingering on her breast before venturing to the hem of the hospital gown they had her wearing. He much preferred the gown on her than Arkham’s typical uniform, especially since it made it so easy to slip his hand underneath and find her clothed cunt, already damp from her arousal. 

Her legs, no longer bound, fell apart at his touch. Jonathan pushed the fabric of her underwear aside, exposing her wet folds to his touch. She gasped, a loud inhale, when he finally ran his fingers over her with no barriers to soften his touch. 

“Jon-” She stopped speaking at the sharp look he gave her, quickly correcting herself. “Dr. Crane.” 

He wondered if she could feel his hard length pressing against her thigh, if she could feel the way it twitched when she called him by his earned title. 

“Fuck me, please.”

Oh, he was glad to oblige her request. 

And he was even more glad that she had been put at the end of a seldom-used hallway in the asylum, so that when he fucked her so that the bed creaked against the screws it was secured to the floor with, that when her gasps became shouts, that when his possessive whispers turned into low growls, no one would be around to hear it. 

[riddley-art]

Pawns of the Past: A RiddleCat love story

Chapter 1

Summary: Set six months after the fall of the Justice League, thanks to the Suicide Squad, and five years after Arkham Knight, Riddler tracks down Catwoman, who’s been living far from Gotham, determined to reclaim the money she stole from him. Their tense confrontation takes an unexpected turn as old sparks reignite. What begins as a mission of revenge slowly evolves into a complicated romance, forcing both Selina and Eddie to confront their feelings, their pasts, and the possibility of a future neither expected.

I’m beyond excited to finally share the project I’ve been working on with the incredible @adhdnursegoat! This is our very first RiddleCat fic, and we’re so thrilled to bring it to life today. 💜💚

Also, a very Happy Birthday to the amazing @wingedqueenlynx! We thought today would be the perfect day to premiere our fic. We hope your special day is filled with joy!🎂🎈

Rated: Mature

Archive of our Own link

There are people from your past who never truly disappear. Even when they’re not in your immediate orbit, their presence lingers like a phantom—a constant reminder of what was, what could have been, or what went wrong. Very few people leave a lasting impression on him. Batman, naturally. Commissioner Jim Gordon. And then, there’s Selina Kyle—Catwoman.

She has always been there, someone oddly placed in his life. Their relationship isn’t straightforward. It never was. But it isn’t like the others, either. She isn’t an enemy in the conventional sense, nor an ally. She exists in the gray, just as she always does. Both unpredictable and reliable in her own way, and that’s what makes her stand out. She was never fully committed to either side, but she leaves a mark, a lingering taste of chaos and allure in his life.

The new him, the version that exists after everything fell apart, can admit that he kind of had it coming. He should have known better. He should have never captured her. It was a miscalculation, one he wouldn’t have made if his judgment hadn’t been clouded. But at the time, he was too caught up in his own web of narcissism, pride, and arrogance.

He had thought he was untouchable, intellectually superior, always a step ahead of everyone—including Selina. He underestimated her. He always did. She wasn’t just some thief to manipulate, just another pawn in one of his grand schemes. No, Selina was different. And in his blindness, he didn’t see that. He captured her, placed her in one of his elaborate death traps, assuming she would be just another piece in his game against the Bat. 

But she kicked his ass.

And now, years later, with the benefit of hindsight and a bruised ego, he’s man enough to admit it. She got the better of him. She outwitted him. It wasn’t just a fluke; it was a wake-up call. And perhaps, in a strange way, he respects her even more for it. She wasn’t someone to be underestimated or reduced to a mere obstacle.

But that doesn’t mean she has gotten off scot-free.

Even now, after the dust has settled and Gotham has changed, she is always there—like an echo. The memory of her, the feeling of unfinished business, gnaws at him. Selina never disappears entirely from his thoughts. He can admit her strength, her cleverness, but that doesn’t erase the fact that there is a score to settle.

Yes, she defeated him once. Yes, she exposed his hubris and made him confront his fallibility. But he isn’t done with her.

Riddler, the ever-proud Edward Nigma, still feels the sting of his defeat at her hands. And that sting fuels a quiet determination. He’s learned from the encounter. The new him isn’t blinded by arrogance anymore. He’s calculated, deliberate, and methodical. He may admit that she got the better of him once, but he won’t allow that to be the end of their story.

She owes him. She stole from him. He can handle the bruised ego, the physical pain from the ass-whooping, but the money? The loss of his fortune stung worse than the sting of her claws or the sharp crack of her whip. For Edward Nigma, it wasn’t about the violence. It was about the humiliation, the blow to his carefully constructed sense of superiority. Selina Kyle didn’t just beat him physically—she outwitted him, left him scrambling in the rubble of his own failure.

That night was the beginning of his ruin.

Well, after weeks of meticulous tracking, he's finally less than a mile away from the infamous Catwoman. Five long years have passed since the night she stole every cent he had in his accounts, and blew up his prized robot factory, leaving him not only penniless but utterly humiliated. For someone like Edward, whose pride and identity are rooted in his genius, it was an unforgivable offense.

Over the years, he’s plotted his revenge. His mind, sharp as ever, has concocted a hundred different ways to make her pay. He could have easily ended it in bloodshed, an elaborate trap leading to a satisfying, fatal conclusion. But somewhere along the line, his anger cooled, and something else replaced it—pragmatism. He realizes there is more to gain from Selina alive than dead, and more importantly, he’s learned a thing or two about humility. Besides, his recent experience with bombs has given him an uncomfortable empathy for what he put her through.

He remembers that night well, that Halloween when everything between them fractured. He had placed an explosive device on her, an unforgivable betrayal of whatever shaky trust had once existed between them. Their relationship had always been a tightrope walk—sometimes adversarial, sometimes friendly, sometimes… more. But that night, he crossed a line, and she responded in kind.

Years later, Edward thinks back to his freelance work with the Suicide Squad. Watching those miniature bombs being injected into people’s heads, seeing the terror on their faces as they realized their lives could be ended at the push of a button… it had shaken even him. He remembers seeing men and women reduced to quivering wrecks, their dignity stripped away by the fear of instant annihilation. The memory still lingers in the back of his mind like a bad aftertaste, making him realize just how monstrous his actions had been.

It gives him a new perspective on what he did to her. He understands now, in a way he hadn’t before, the violation of it. The fear she must have felt, knowing that he had that kind of power over her. It was a level of cruelty even he hadn't fully appreciated at the time.

So now, after all the years of anger and plotting, he’s decided to take a different approach. He doesn’t want to kill her, and he doesn’t need to break her spirit. Instead, he’s resolved to do something that surprises even him. He’s going to ask for his money back.

It sounds ridiculous on the surface, even laughable, but Edward has never been one to shy away from the absurd. He’s long since learned that the simplest solutions are often the most effective, and at this point, he’s willing to swallow his pride to get what’s owed to him. And really, given what he did to her, he has to admit, asking for the money is a fair conclusion. It’s almost reasonable, considering their history.

A part of him feels smug about it. After all, it takes a genius to come up with a solution this simple.

As he closes the distance between them, less than a mile now, Edward finds himself more curious than angry. What has Selina been up to all these years? Has she been running from him, or did she forget he ever existed? The latter would be worse. He’s not sure he can stomach the idea that she’s moved on, while he’s been obsessing over her betrayal, over the money, over that look on her face when she realized what he’d done to her. He wonders if she thinks about that night, or if he’s just another ghost from her past she left behind.

He doesn’t expect an apology. Selina doesn’t do apologies. But he’s ready for a confrontation. Maybe she’ll laugh in his face, or maybe she’ll try to fight him again. But either way, Edward is ready for her. He’s different now. He’s not the same arrogant fool she humiliated five years ago. He’s learned patience, a hard-earned lesson in the art of revenge.

This time, it’s not about winning. It’s about closure. About moving on from this chapter of his life.

But a part of him knows—deep down—Selina Kyle is not someone you just walk away from. She’s always been a wild card in his life, an unpredictable force. Whatever happens when they meet, it won’t be simple. It never is with her.

And perhaps, after all these years, he’s finally ready to embrace that.

This time will be different. This time, when their paths cross again, he’ll be ready for her. There will be no missteps, no underestimating her abilities. She might have thought she got away clean, but the truth is, he always comes back. That’s his nature. He doesn’t let things go, not when there’s a puzzle still left unsolved, and Selina Kyle is one of the most intricate puzzles of all.

She’s not just a reminder of his past mistakes—she’s something more. Selina is both a rival and something else entirely. The tension between them, the way they constantly dance around one another, never truly on opposite sides but never aligned, has always been part of the pull. Their dynamic is a game of its own, one he is determined to master.

But for now, she remains untouchable, a ghost in his past that lingers, taunting him with the memory of defeat and the promise of another chance. And when that chance comes, he’ll make sure he doesn’t fall prey to the same weaknesses.

This isn’t over. It’s never really over with Selina Kyle.

Granted, he never truly intends to kill her—or at least that's what he tells himself to feel better about it now. But deep down, he knows he'll have to tread lightly, or that lingering resentment might surface.

Arriving at a secluded plantation nestled in the Smoky Mountains of Sevierville, Tennessee, Riddler has to admit—it’s the perfect place to disappear off the grid. With the sunset set to dip below the horizon in the next hour, he slips into the thick brush about half a mile from the house and quietly spies on her. He needs to be certain she���s not only home alone but also that there isn’t any high-end security in place that could potentially put his life in danger.

She’s pretty smart, and that’s one of the things he likes about her. As he opens his backpack to pull out his homemade binoculars, chatter starts buzzing in his earpiece. The Suicide Squad—they always know how to ruin his train of thought.

"Are we finally rid of that Riddler? We haven't heard a peep from him in weeks. Ahh, maybe someone finally did the job!" Harley Quinn chimes in, her voice gleeful over the comms.

"Damn it! Someone beat me to it—I already had my plans all drawn up," Captain Boomerang grumbles, clearly disappointed.

"Saved me several bullets," Deadshot adds darkly, his tone as cold as ever.

"I'M NOT DEAD, you annoying parasites! I'm on a business trip, if you must know!" Riddler shouts, his voice booming through the comms. "Trust me, you'll get your fill of my beautiful riddles soon enough when I return!"

Riddler smiles smugly after his outburst, thinking he’s won this round.

"Well, shit, you spoke too soon, mate!" Boomerang quips with a laugh.

Rolling his eyes, Riddler turns down the volume on his earpiece, focusing back on the task at hand. He raises his binoculars, scanning the area to see what he’s up against.

"What kind of 'business trip' are you on, anyway? We all know nobody would hire you! You practically beg Waller to let you set up challenges for us, like the attention-seeking loser you are!" Harley cackles through the comms, her laughter ringing in his ears.

"Let’s just say I’m visiting an old friend to collect an investment they’ve been holding onto for quite a few years," Riddler replies coolly, still peering through his binoculars as he speaks into the earpiece.

"Oh, paying Catwoman a visit, eh, mate? I’d pay to see her kick your ass!" Boomerang’s smirk is practically audible. 

"She’ll probably claw his eyes out before he even realizes he’s getting his ass kicked," King Shark finally chimes in, his deep voice rumbling through the comms.

Edward is starting to realize that this must be how Batman felt whenever he interrupted him with a random riddle after one of his challenges. The constant chatter, the distractions—it is almost poetic.

He loses his train of thought the moment he finally catches sight of her on the second story of her house. Slowly zooming in, he starts to take in more details. 

The years have been kind to her—she still looks as attractive as ever. The subtle sway of her hips as she moves around the room ignites old feelings he thought he had buried. But, who is he kidding? He’s always found her stunning, and nothing has changed. There is a timeless quality about her, an allure than seems to transcend the years and the chaos that often enveloped their lives. 

She hasn’t changed much over the years, except for one noticeable feature. "She grew her hair out again... just like she did in Rome all those years ago." A slow smile spreads across Riddler's face as memories of that heist flood his mind. He can hardly believe it’s been ten years since they pulled off that audacious caper together, a whirlwind of adrenaline and shared glances.

Edward remember the was her hair cascaded down her shoulders then, an inky curtain framing her face, just as it does now. 

They had been a formidable duo, feeding off each other’s wit and daring, pushing boundaries together in a dance that was exhilarating and perilous. That time in Rome was more than just a heist; it was a moment in time where everything felt possible. A moment where they were united in a shared goal, and their banter felt electric. They were a team, partners in crime and mischief, driven by a shared thrill. 

"Whoa, whoa—what happened in Rome!?" Boomerang’s voice suddenly cuts through his thoughts, dragging him back from the precipice of nostalgia. Riddler blinks, realizing he’s forgotten to mute his comms.

"Oh, that’s where they made out on a ship!" Harley teases, her voice dripping with mischief. Riddler clenches his jaw, fighting the impulse to launch into a tirade of about the ridiculousness of her assumption. 

Only Harley’s statement is true…

"WHAT?!" all three men shout in unison.

Frustrated, Riddler lowers his binoculars, glaring at nothing in particular. "We did NOT make out," he snaps, the heat of indignation creeping into his voice. "We just... kissed. A bunch of times." He waves his hand dismissively at nothing in particular, struggling to find a better way to describe it—even though it’s not entirely true.

"Yeah, in her underwear!" Harley adds, piling on the mischief. The mental image she conjures is embarrassing, blurring the line between memory ad fantasy, and he grimaces, a heat creeping up his collar. 

The silence that follows over the comms is deafening, each second stretching out as he feels the weight of their collective surprise and judgment. Riddler feels his frustration rise to the point where he nearly crushes his earpiece in his hand, his mind swirling with indignation and bashfulness. How did he end up here, with his past on display, under scrutiny from this absurd group?

"Well, damn, Nigma," Boomerang finally breaks the tension, "you’ve got some game after all." Riddler can hear the smirk in his voice and it makes him frown, irking him more than he would care to admit.

"What game is he playing?" King Shark chimes in, sounding genuinely confused.

"The game where he’s not just a lonely loser after all," Boomerang quips, clearly reveling in Riddler’s discomfort. "No wonder you want to pay her a visit—you’re hoping to score some more 'points,' aren’t you, mate?"

"This sounds like a fun game! Can King Shark play?" King Shark asks, his confusion genuine.

"This is not a game! That was a long time ago!" Riddler snaps, bringing his binoculars back to his eyes. "I’m just here to take what’s rightfully m—" But his thoughts freeze at the sight before him. 

Selina is now completely naked, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of her home, the casual confidence with which she moves, leaving him momentarily dumbstruck. He has no words, and his face grows hot.

He swallows hard, his mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air, desperate to find something to say but utterly speechless. Never in his life has he seen anyone so... well, voluptuous. The sight is captivating, a vision that both ignites a primal instinct within him and remains him of boundaries they had once navigated together. His heart pounds in his chest as if it’s about to burst, echoing the rush of adrenaline through his veins. 

He hasn’t felt this surge of male instinct in what feels like forever. The years of calculated control he had imposed upon himself start to unravel as memories of her linger. As he tries to regain his composure, his mind races with thoughts that seem both inappropriate and entirely avoidable. He knows he should look away, to respect her privacy, but the sight of her unabashedly beautiful has stolen his executive functions. 

"He probably just saw her naked. That’s what shut him up," Harley teases, her laughter ringing out through the comms. 

Harley’s words are like a jolt to his system, snapping him out of the trance Selina had him in. He quickly lowers the binoculars, turning his face away, fighting the overwhelming urge to sneak another peek. He reminds himself—he’s trying to be a gentleman, not a creep.

But that image of her will stay with him for the rest of his life—after all, he has a photographic memory. He remembers everything. Every detail of her is etches into his mind: the way the light dances across her skin, the curve of her body, the confidence she exudes so effortlessly. It is overwhelming, an image that feels both sacred and illicit. 

As much as he tries to push it out of his mind, the memories of that kiss they shared years ago flicker in his mind’s eye, resurfacing with a clarity that both excites and unnerves him. The endearing scent of her perfume - the was it had enveloped him, sweet and intoxicating, drawing him closer as they had learned into one another. 

He recalls the smooth touch of her silk underwear against his fingertips, the way it had felt against his skin, so stark to his mechanical world. That single moment of intimacy has been a revelation, a glimpse into a connection that had always simmered just beneath the surface. 

And then there was the sweet taste of her lips, something intoxicating that he felt only Poison Ivy was capable of possessing. But Selina’s kiss was venomous in its own right - addictive, unforgettable. He remembers how time seemed to stop, how the world around them faded - a fleeting escape from the chaos around them. 

Riddler’s thoughts spiral, his focused split between chasing her image and trying to respond to the team . He feels the heat of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks, even in the anonymity of his surroundings. He has always prided himself on his intellect, his ability to compartmenatlize his emotions and desires, yet here he is, undone by a memory of a kiss and the sight of a nude woman. Is it infuriating, yet the frustration is laced with a begrudging admiration for Selina. 

"He totally just saw her naked, no doubt," Deadshot chimes in, clearly amused.

"Wow, Nigma, a peeping Tom, huh? Didn’t know you had it in you," Boomerang adds, laughing along.

“Ooo, tell me, does she have big boobs? Is this part of the game you’re playing?” King Shark asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“SHUT UP!” Riddler barks, taking a deep breath to steady himself before slowly exhaling. “I am not a creep, and I’m not here to rekindle anything with her. I’m just here to get my money back—for the last time! You’d better start studying because when I return, the challenges I create will be so mind-numbing none of you will be able to function properly.”

“Oh yeah, Nigma, we’re so terrified over here,” Harley teases, clearly enjoying the rise she’s getting out of him. “And let me know how your first time goes!” she adds with a mischievous laugh, igniting a spark of annoyance in Riddler. 

“Aaahhh!” he screams, yanking the earpiece out and stuffing it into his bag, with a forceful huff, desperate to block out their voices once and for all. The chatter of the team feels like a cacophony, each jibe more irritating than the last. He knows they are having fun, and it feels like a tidal wave of judgment crashing down on him, drowning out any sense of focus he had managed to muster. 

“Mmm,” he smirks to himself, “joke’s on her—I’m not even a virgin.” He says it proudly, but then the reality sinks in; it’s been years since he’s even touched a woman. The rush of bravado dissipates, replaced by an uncomfortable awareness of the truth: he hasn’t had any meaningful physical connection in ages. Come to think of it, that trip to Rome might have been the last time he got any action.

“I really am a loser,” he mutters in defeat, the smugness draining from his face like a leaky balloon.

Shaking his head, he tries to refocus and gets back to work. With deliberate movements, he raises his binoculars again, hoping enough time has passed for her to get dressed, and scans the house for her once more.

Selina is still in the same spot, but now dressed in a lavish dark purple gown. The fabric is reminiscent of the Catwoman suit she wore back in the good old days. The gown clings to her in all the right places, accentuating her curves, the deep violet fabric shimmering slightly in the evening light. It’s elegant yet dangerous—just like her.

Riddler’s breath hitches slightly as he takes in the scene. She looks poised, her movements graceful, as if every step and gesture has purpose. He finds himself captivated, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, each one trying to grasp the essence of the woman before him. 

She has the same confidence that used to draw him in, back when their partnership—if you could call it that—was less complicated.

He can’t help but admire her, not just for her looks, but for the way she carries herself—always a step ahead, always unpredictable. Memories flood his mind—heists they’d pulled off together, the moments they shared between the chaos. She’s the only person who ever made him feel like an equal in their twisted world.

As he watches, she moves to a table near the window, casually sipping from a glass, completely unaware of his presence. Riddler knows this moment is crucial. He has to get his head back in the game. But every time he thinks about stepping forward, confronting her, he hesitates.

What would he even say? His carefully rehearsed words seem to evaporate in the face of the real thing. Is he really just here for the money? The thought gnaws at him, but he quickly pushes it aside.

He’s Edward Nigma—the Riddler, not emotions. He needs to focus. But seeing her again after all these years, looking so composed and untouchable, makes it harder than he imagined.

Focus, Nigma, he tells himself. This isn’t a reunion—it’s business.

Of course, Selina has a life of her own. She always has, but seeing her like this, dressed to impress and clearly waiting for someone, makes something twist uncomfortably inside him. He isn’t here for emotions, though—he has a job to do.

Riddler’s mind quickly shifts gears. If she’s going out, this is his opportunity. He’ll slip in once she leaves, retrieve what’s his, and be gone before she even knows he was there. It’s a flawless plan. Classic Riddler—strike when the other person least expects it.

The breeze blows her dark hair as she steps outside onto the porch, a small purse in hand, standing tall and elegant against the backdrop of her lavish home. The sun is just beginning to sink below the horizon, casting a warm, golden light across the Smoky Mountains. She glances down the driveway, clearly waiting for someone to arrive.

As he watches her now, he feels a pang of longing. The playful rivalries, the teasing back-and-forth, the way they could challenge each other and still find common ground—it was intoxicating. But it’s also a reminder of what was lost. They had drifted apart, their paths diverging after that fateful night. She had become an enigma, a shadow he could no longer grasp.

Minutes pass, and Riddler watches from the shadows as Selina checks her phone, then glances down the road again. Another ten minutes go by. She sits down on the porch steps, her fingers tapping idly against her phone, each tap an unspoken word echoing her frustration. Though her form remains poised and graceful, tension seeps into her demeanor, her once lively energy dimming as the minutes stretch on. 

Thirty minutes. Then forty. The sun is completely gone now, the last traces of twilight fading into darkness. Selina is still there, sitting on the porch, her head resting in one hand as she checks her phone for what must be the hundredth time.

Riddler’s smirk fades as he continues to observe. No one’s coming, he realizes. The thought brings an unexpected pang of sympathy. She’s dressed to impress, waiting for someone who clearly isn’t going to show. Her confident, alluring exterior has cracked just enough to show the disappointment underneath.

It is disconcerting to finally see past Catwoman’s armor. He notes the subtle was her shoulders ag, the slight droop that gives her a weariness he had not expected to witness. When she finally puts her phone down, letting out a soft sigh that lingers in the cool evening air, it is as it she is resigning ehrself to a reality that her evening is not going to unfold as she hoped. The strength that usually defines her has ebbed just enough for him to glimpse the woman behind the mask. 

Riddler hesitates, crouched in the brush, binoculars still trained on her. This wasn’t how he planned things. She was supposed to be gone by now, making it easy for him to slip in and out unnoticed. But now, watching her sit there alone, the thrill of the heist doesn’t feel quite as satisfying. In fact, it feels almost hollow. 

Something inside him shifts. Maybe it’s the old memories resurfacing, or maybe it’s the sight of Selina—someone so strong and independent—looking vulnerable. Either way, he knows this is his moment, but not in the way he originally planned.

With a deep breath, he steels himself and makes his decision. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he carefully makes his way toward the house, the soft grass giving away under his boots. As he approaches the porch, the light from the house casts long shadows across the yard. Selina, lost in thought, doesn’t seem to notice him until he’s just a few feet away.

“Waiting for someone?” he asks softly.

Selina jumps slightly, turning to face him with wide eyes, startled eyes. For a moment, she just stares at him, clearly surprised by his sudden appearance.

“Eddie?!”

End of Chapter 1

[soulmate-game]

Work burned me out, middle management positions are draining. What was supposed to be an angsty oneshot is now… yeah I’m continuing it. Not a full series, just a two-parter… hopefully.

Edit: I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THIS CLUSTERFUCK OF AN EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER IS, but BUCKLE IN BECAUSE IT PROBABLY DOESN’T PASS SAFETY REGULATIONS! HOOOOO BOY

Part 1

—*—*—*—*—*

“…” she stared at the being in front of her, face frighteningly blank. Next to her, Bruce fidgeted.

“I’m not going anywhere, so you either gotta learn to love me real quick or get lost quicker,” the child snarked from where he was sitting upside-down on the bat computer chair. “And don’t call me Richard, my name’s Dick.”

“I don’t remember you working with a fetus, Batman,” Marinette slowly drawled, emphasizing the vigilante’s name despite none of the three of them being suited up. Dick shot up with a cry of indignation.

“I am not a fetus! I’m fifteen! I’ve been Robin since I was twelve!”

“Nope,” Marinette countered, unmoved. “I started out as Ladybug when I was twelve, and I was never as small as you,” she blatantly lied. Dick was already taller than her, which wasn’t much of an achievement considering that she was five-foot-one-inch tall. “You are six years old, tops.”

Dick let out an almost inhuman screech of complaint. Even as he rambled on angrily about how wrong she was, Marinette only nodded as if he proved her right about something.

“That was a good squawk though. Definitely a birdie.”

It took another twenty minutes before Dick ran off to tell on Marinette to Alfred, giving her and Bruce some alone time. With which she used to whirl to him and immediately hiss in equal parts fury and worry;

“Please tell me he wasn’t—“

“The timeline is gone,” Bruce reminded her, bracing her by putting both his hands on her shoulders. “He doesn’t remember.”

“Still!”

He let out such a heavy sigh that he seemed to deflate with it, his dark circles growing more pronounced.

“He wasn’t supposed to be,” he admitted softly. “When he turned sixteen, last time, I allowed him to form his own team of teen heroes. Supervised from afar by myself of course, not that they knew that. I had given them the order to stay back and guard their city, but they disobeyed me and snuck onto the battlefield anyway.”

Marinette rubbed at her temples, nodding. “Teenagers have a habit of doing that. This time around, can we ask Bunnyx to supervise them? She has all the energy of a teenager, so she’ll fit in, but the maturity of someone trusted to guard all the timelines.”

Bruce paused, thinking of what little he knew of the pastel rabbit themed hero, and then reluctantly nodded. “That… might be for the best. And giving them more opportunities to train with…” he hummed, hand on his chin. “I might actually change things up, in that case. Instead of jumping to put teens on their own in a tower, the old Justice League headquarters is more protected. And if we started with the ‘sidekicks’,” he gave very purposeful air quotes, “of other Leaguers, it would create a better support system than letting teenagers run around with… really, not enough regulation.”

“Gotta love hindsight,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “The whole teenagers by themselves thing only worked for my team because we were overly traumatized and each saw different apocalypses before we turned sixteen. Bunnyx could fix them herself back then, but still.”

“Best to do better by the new generation,” Bruce agreed with her unspoken statement. “I can still put that old team together again when they’re older, support their development elsewhere in the meantime.”

“Oh, and now that we’re done on that topic,” Marinette snapped her fingers before pointing to the staircase that Dick had disappeared up. “He’s going to make my life a living hell, isn’t he?”

Bruce groaned, offering her a lopsided grimace of apology. “He’s a menace,” he agreed. “He’s scared away any woman I’ve brought to the house, even though most of them are completely platonic. I have to make the press believe the whole playboy thing somehow, and inviting my friends over to chat is the easiest way to do so without breaking hearts for real. Dick hasn’t caught on yet,” Bruce rubbed his forehead. “His antics to scare away Selina Kyle are legendary already, and she’s sapphic. She couldn’t be attracted to me if I was the last man on earth.”

“Could have fooled me,” Marinette teased, suddenly impish. “She’s catwoman, isn’t she?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes, saying only: “Chat Noir. Year one.”

It was Marinette’s turn to grimace. “Point taken. But in my defense, he took way too long to realize he’s gay and watched too much anime at the time.”

Bruce let out one of his unfairly charming chuckles, changing position so that his arm was around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. She fit there surprisingly well, for someone almost half his size. She leaned into him, and the both just soaked in the comfort of one another for a long moment.

“You know,” Bruce started for a while. “If you want to stay in Gotham, we can make you another alter ego so that you don’t accidentally lure Shadow Moth here. Tell that fox of yours to make it seem like you’re in Paris and take some of the weight off of your shoulders for a change. Blackmail Constantine into charming some jars to keep the butterflies in until you can purify them.”

“Hmmm.” She closed her eyes. “Ladybird sounds nice. Fits with the bird thing that Robin has going for him.”

Bruce laughed. “That’ll really annoy him,” he warned, amused. Marinette’s close-eyed smile was pure mischief.

“That’s the whole point. I’m not letting a fetus win against me, bat-boy.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette wasn’t speaking to Bunnyx. Bruce didn’t know what they had said to one another, but he could guess it had to do with Jason.

With his baby, who he just buried. The boy Marinette had thought of a son ever since he first brought him home. She had even smoothed things over between Dick and Jason, which he had considered nothing short of a miracle at the time.

But that miracle was nowhere to be seen now, with Marinette every bit as despondent next to him as he was. He wanted to be angry with her, he did, but he couldn’t. He had seen her blow up at Bunnyx, seen her try to hold her status as Grand Guardian over the bunny holder.

Bunnyx had simply said that she wouldn’t answer to Ladybug until after the grief passed then, and ran away into her burrow.

“Is this the payment?” He heard her whisper, her voice hoarse and broken. “For the do-over? We passed the old timeline. We took down Shadow Moth. Is this the price?” Tears dripped down her face silently, she didn’t seem to notice them. “Was I not a good enough mother? Should I—“ she stopped herself, shaking her head. He didn’t ask what she was about to say. Maybe he should have.

—*—*—*—*—*

Tim was great. He was too much like Marinette at times, which made Bruce’s chest ache, but he was a great Robin. A great son. His experience with Marinette proved priceless when it came to helping curb Tim’s overworking habits and caffeine addiction.

But not even Tim could find where Marinette had disappeared to, even with his detective skills surpassing Bruce’s already.

Tim was the first son of his that didn’t get to grow up with Marinette at all.

—*—*—*—*—*

“It’s fine, Baobei,” she whispered, stepping to the side. Behind her was the waterfall that hid the tunnel to the Batcave. “He’s not the one to blame. He did his best, even now he’s doing his best.”

“Then why does—“

“Because other people need him, and he has too big of a heart to turn them away,” her mouth tilted a little, smile lopsided and sad. “Timothy didn’t replace you. He just forced Bruce to live again. Bruce didn’t kill Joker, because he didn’t want to taint another child with the sight of murder.”

“And you?” The voice was dark, deadly, gruff. Older, and yet… so achingly familiar. She smiled at him again, soft and sad and… proud.

“I don’t have one,” she lied. She had tried, tried so hard. Bruce had gotten in her way first, and then the very same desire to not taint more children with the image of death.

But her baby needed a scapegoat, and she was willing to throw herself on the fire for him.

“That’s why it’s fine,” she repeated. “If this is what you want. Just, please. Let it end with me.”

This time, Marinette made sure she had the Time miraculous safely in her pocket. Nobody would interfere with this.

The bullet sent her into the flow of the waterfall, red flowing behind her like the carpet she used to walk down with Bruce whenever she released a new collection. She felt no regret as she closed her eyes and fell.

—*—*—*—*—*

The shot hadn’t been fatal. Red Hood might have been mad with Pit Rage, but his fondness for his only true mother figure was ever present. He simply wanted to see if she was serious about taking that shot.

His regret was immediate when she didn’t even try to dodge. The bullet had only grazed her shoulder, but she didn’t seem to notice that. She had been so ready to die— to let him kill her— that she had passed out before hitting the water. He dragged her to the Batcave, knowing he had a lot to answer for.

Bruce wished he could have found her sooner, found both of them sooner. But at least they were back.

—*—*—*—*—*

“… I mean,” she rocked on her heels. “You are growing a bit old for Robin…”

Tim glared at her, not appreciating the insight.

“Bruce is stuck in the timestream, and you aren’t doing a thing about it. I don’t hold your opinion very highly right now,” he snipped back. She snorted, glancing away.

As if that little stunt to “kill Batman” could ever fool her. She’d been there for the real thing, thanks, she could spot a fake a mile away. “He’s got Bunnyx going to find him. She owes me big time, let her do the heavy lifting for a change.”

“How many years have you held that grudge?” Barbara asked, eyebrows raised as she wheeled herself towards the bat computer. “Even Jason thinks you should have let it go by now.”

Marinette scoffed at the exact same time as a certain someone tutted next to her, making them look for a moment like a perfect pair.

Crossed arms, a scoff, annoyed glare? If a DNA test hadn’t already proven otherwise, they might have thought Damian was hers.

“Fetuses don’t get to judge me,” was her only argument before she turned on her heel and walked away.

“I am not a fetus! Lady Marinette, I am ten years old!”

—*—*—*—*—*

Bonus:

Jason was curled up around Marinette, despite being told numerous times not to crowd her on the med-bay bed. He argued that he shot her, so he gets to nurse her back to health.

Did she use her blood, tainted by years of use of the Ladybug, to purify his pit madness? Yes. Had he figured that out yet? Nope.

“Love you, Mom,” he murmured in his sleep. Marinette, who had been awake for about an hour already, smiled to herself.

“Love you, Baobei.”

[apocalypse-shuffle]

GOTHAM CITY SIRENS (generalized canon)

—

“Harley-napping” (Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy x Selina Kyle x Fem!Reader)

| Stealing Harley from the Squad and then having a fun night out.

| SFW, mature language, criminal acts (duh), -platonic!reader/though there’s hints of something more with Cat

| You’re a thief, demolitions expert, and have EOD training in this one. Pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Arkham City video game)

| 1k+ words

| part: one of two (part two)

When you come to all that’s taking up your vision is green.

“What…the…hell?” You whine. “I didn’t steal from Black Mask again, did I?”

There’s a sound off to your left that makes you freeze but you can’t lift your head enough to see in any direction let alone that one and you groan unhappily.

The grass beneath your head seems to dance while you're forced to wait but you feel no chill. There’s no breeze against the exposed parts of your skin, just the crisp Gotham air.

“Y/n L/n.”

Deep. Feminine. Spoken with a smoothness that screamed of self assurance and superiority.

Your nostrils flare.

“Ivy,” you sigh.

A chuckle.

“Hello, Little thief.”

The dancing grass seems to perk up, listening, before the green blades start to thicken and grow longer. You eye the tendrils wearily as they come up behind you, lifting your lower body and head enough that you can finally watch Ivy standing over you from upside down.

Her face is stern, a haughty eyebrow raised as she looks into your eyes. So as charming as ever.

“I’m in need of your…expertise.”

Her words come out strained like someone’s hysically holding a gun to her head and you bite back what you immediately want to say. She wants your help as if the last time you worked together was all hugs and kisses.

“Which would be what exactly?”

“Bombs.”

You scrunch up your face, upper lip making a valiant effort to block your nostrils, while shaking your head.

“Nah, I’ve never been anywhere near a bomb before. You got the wrong bitch, sorry,” you shrug.

Now she looks irritated.

“If you’re no demolition expert then why did Cat insist I find you?”

You shrug as best you can upside down

“Don’t know? You tell me-” you abruptly stop shaking your head. “Wait Cat?”

The woman turns her head, ignoring you.

“This is ridiculous.” She looks up at something in the distance. “Why are we wasting precious time kidnapping her again?”

There’s a sigh from the direction she’s addressing and you tense up, the grass near your throat applies pressure to the side of your neck in warning. You grit your teeth, fuck tonight so much. All you wanted when you left your apartment was some damn food, and now you're hungry and tied up.

“Y/n, stop being a smart ass.”

Great. You knew that voice too.

“You know, when you’re out stealing shit I don’t call you by your civilian name.”

A chuckle right next to your ear alongside a puff of breath that makes you shiver.

“And I applaud you for such restraint considering how vocal you can get, but right now I need you to be serious.” She moves, walking till she’s standing over you side by side with an Ivy who’s trying to glare you to death. “Now let’s talk business.”

- - -

“No. Fuck no! Are you fucking crazy?”

Something that suspiciously sounds like a growl leaves Ivy and Selina looks up to the sky.

“Listen-” you cringe at the more demanding press of the plants against your neck. “Just listen, okay? Blackgait’s systems are hard to crack on a good day, but with the Squad out on a mission you know Waller’s on high alert, and I’m not Batman.”

“No. You’re better, or else we would’ve gone to him with some bullshit excuse. Uh uh-” she cuts you off as you open your mouth. “You are, and you’re going to help us get the Clown.”

“What about ‘I’m not Batman’ isn’t clicking?”

Your response makes Selina huff and she goes to answer before Ivy simultaneously cuts her sentence and your breathing off.

“Enough,” she intones.

The vines curl around the entirety of your throat in seconds, meticulously closing off your airway. You gasp, mouth and eyes widening in your shock.

“If you insist on acting guileless I will treat you as such.”

“Ivy!”

The other women’s voices disappear as your ears start to buzz, blood cut off from them in a dizzying effect. A weak sound squeezes its way past your lips before your body’s meeting the floor and your airways are free enough once more to take gasping breaths.

You cough into the prickly ground, racking heaves that shake your body so much your arms, which have gone numb from your upside down hold, give out. You gasp into the grass, each breath scratching down your trachea as your head pounds away.

It takes you what feels like hours with zero awareness of anything outside of your body to pull yourself to your knees. Everything still has a dull buzz about it, except for your body, that just pulses.

Your hand zips toward your throat.

“Fuck you, Ivy.”

She scoffs at your hoarse tone, turning and walking off.

“Not without Harley’s say so.”

You cough. Sometimes you hated Gotham and all her rampant rogues.

Selina lowers herself beside you and then she’s touching.

“You were supposed to be civil,” she says pointedly.

She tilts your head up and the leather of her gloves is gentle against your face.

“Don’t-” you jerk away. Selina makes an aggravated sound then she’s pulling you more firmly against her, hand resting on the small of your back.

“Let me see, Slick.”

“Mmmph,” you mumble but you let her other hand ease your chin up.

“She’s fine,” Ivy says.

When you glance over at her she’s poking at a particularly ergonomic looking tablet.

“How,” you stop and lick your lips, swallowing in a fruitless attempt to smooth the burn in your throat. “How are you gonna tell me?”

Ivy hefts a sigh and then looks to you.

“You are alive are you not?”

You stare after the woman, eyes widening and jaw clenching with a cock of your head.

“You-”

“Okay!” Selina cuts in before shooting a look you can’t see over at Ivy. “I can’t believe I’m the mediator here, but let’s all just take it easy.”

“As long as you do it fast.”

You sneer quietly at Ivy’s words.

“This is why I stopped working with you guys.”

“I know,” Selina murmurs, brows pinching together. “Help us out anyway? We’ll all owe you one.”

“I agreed to no such…” another look gets thrown Ivy’s way and she and Selina stare one another down. It takes a few beats of stillness but she eventually scoffs. She looks over your form coolly before sighing. “Fine. One favor if you help us get Harley out safely.”

The two of you lock eyes. Ivy’s are green, and it’s only you remembering the first time you came face to face with them and Harley’s freely thrown out whimsy that gets you to unclench your jaw. Plus, you could do a lot with a favor from one of Gotham's best rogues. Let alone three.

“Fine,” you rasp out.

You look away from Ivy as she nods and shifts her attention back to the tablet. Selina helps you up looking like she wants to touch you again, but stops herself, eyeing you apologetically.

“It’ll bruise but it shouldn’t leave any permanent damage.”

“Lucky me.”

Your head and throat were killing you. Selina gives you another apologetic look before squeezing your forearm and going to collect a duffle bag from a park bench near you all.

You press softly at your throat, wincing some at how sensitive the skin feels. By tomorrow there’ll be mulberry welts circling your neck.

Selina comes and sets the bag down in front of you, bending down to dig through it.

“Now you might be a good thief, but I’m a better one, so I’m in charge of getting Harley.”

You nod. “And you want me to work with…?”

Ivy’s suddenly right in front of you and handing you the tablet. You suck in a sharp breath at her silence then tentatively take the device from her hands. It’s wrapped in a protective case that gives it some heft. You start swiping through it. Hm.

“Are these bomb schematics?”

“Yes, and we’re gonna need you to get two of them out of Harley’s body before Waller or the team notices she’s gone.”

You glance up at her without moving your head up.

“That’s a big ask. Do you even have an approximate time that I’ll have to work with?”

“No,” Ivy quietly admits. “That’s why we got you and not anyone else. We trust you…I trust you.”

You chew on your lip for a second, swiping up at another complicated looking schematic.

“Alright. You let me look over these for a few minutes and then we should be good to go.”

Ivy nods at you before Selina stands and hands you an armful of your stuff. You roll your eyes to the sky.

“You’re horrible. How’d you even get in my apartment?”

She gives a small one shouldered shrug.

“Just because your security systems are Batman proof doesn’t mean they’re me proof, sweetie.”

She winks at you and a smile finds its way onto your face as you put on your gear. Ivy starts speaking.

“Since you’ve got your things, let’s discuss the goal. The Suicide Squad was dropped into their current mission at exactly 10:00 tonight and have been at their destination for under forty minutes…”

As she’s describing the details of the plan to you two plants slowly emerge from the ground and into her hand. She kneads patiently at the leaves, harvesting sludgy and oily substances from the respective plants into her cupped palm.

Still listening to her you pull on your elbow, knee and shin pads. Ivy kneads the plant in her palm with nimble fingers all the while. Quick extraction, take out the bombs, slip away as undetected as possible.

After that, putting on longer black pants over your exercise shorts and pads then lacing up your boots once you’ve kicked off your sneakers is all it takes to get yourself fully ready. Selina stuffs the clothes you discard into the duffel, simultaneously going back and forth with Ivy on her role.

When you’ve got your long sleeve on, gloves slipping on next, and you're dressed in all black you glance up at them both.

“Ready to go?” Selina asks.

You nod and she smiles at you before slinging the bag over her shoulder and moving towards her motorcycle. Ivy comes up to you, feet deaf in the voluminous grass.

“Eat this.”

You look hard at the hand she holds out. There’s a dollop of pale sludgy substance on it, the thing you just watched her harvest up in her palm.

When you continue to stall she cuts her eyes at you.

“I’m sorry, but I find it hard to believe you’re doing something for my benefit.”

“The plants were happy to produce for you. Are you going to make their efforts in vain, or no?”

You kiss your teeth at her dry tone before opening your mouth. She inclines her head and then shoves the mush into it. It’s just about the nastiest shit you’ve ever eaten but you're not exactly operating at 100 so you keep chewing.

“Now, me and Cat will deal with getting Harley out. But while I can handle most of the squad while Selina slips her out without tipping off Waller, someone's got to take care of the crocodile.”

NOTES: After tons of consideration I’ve decided that this’ll be my first post of the new year, so hope you enjoyed!

Btw: Comments would be appreciated if you wanted to leave one! I read all of them, I only don’t respond cause this is a side blog.

[suzukiblu]

I can’t choose between den mom black zero and Circe makes everything worse for wip wednesday. Dealers choice I guess. I’m so excited so to see more of both those fics

den mom Black Zero:

“. . . what do you mean ‘fully matured’?” one of the League members asks warily. A Green Lantern, Black Zero thinks, but possibly just a Green Arrow; he’s not paying enough attention to actually bother looking at them straight-on. 

“Do you have a background in either genetic enhancements or Kryptonian biology, or are you just trying to make me waste my time by telling you something you won’t understand?” he says. 

“I do,” another member says, stepping forward. This one’s dressed in black, so Black Zero spares them a glance, because that might mean–yes, it’s a Batman. Unsurprisingly, given that statement. 

“Then the answer to your question is ‘all your worst projections for my alternate, but even worse than that’,” he replies frankly. He’s not interested in keeping that card too close to his chest, under the circumstances. 

When he wants to kill these people, he’ll just kill them.

Circe makes everything worse:

A month later, Cassie is on Themyscira for a training trip with Donna, and that’s when she meets Lita. 

Lita has curly dark brown hair and sun-tanned skin and bright gray eyes, and she smirks and postures and flirts and leers, and Cassie looks at her hard, sculpted muscles and soft, inviting curves and her big broad body and hourglass-cinched waist . . . and . . . 

And she’s never met her before. Never seen her before this trip. 

Never thought about her when she should’ve been thinking about her boyfriend. 

So that goes about as well as can be expected, she supposes.

[timdrakequotes]

Batman (Dick): Ready?

Robin: um...I'm not too sure. I've only done this a couple of times--and neither was from anything like this height!

Batman: There's no other way. If the rioters have taken control of the guard towers, any attack from the water will be suicide. We need the thermals to get us over.

Robin: Maybe I should sit this one out.

Batman: Don't look so glum! Better you're mature enough to realize your limits than to find out late that you don't. Besides--I'd hate to explain to Bruce why I had to scrape you off the road!

--Tim Drake with Dick Grayson (Shadow of the Bat #33 – Prodigal Six)

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

Us-the-voices intro card!

this is a work in progress but currently it will house the tags we use, our DNI, and alter intros and a couple other fun things!

Link to resource page, filled with many resources. LINK

-------- DC text post series ----------------

superfam being confusing and half clones:

part 1 luthor and Conner reconciliation arc

batfamily stuff: (note this is not in order this is parts of a series each part contains more than 10 posts)

part 1 introducing the batfam along with funny stuff

Part 2 actual batfam serious stuff

part 3 red hood oneshots about various things and how he reacted

part 4 Thomas Wayne being himself, a collection of previous posts

part 5

firestorm being 3 guys:

part 1 the origin + the first couple episodes.

random head cannons important to the series:

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 3 part 4

——————⭐️🦀SIDE BLOGS🦀⭐️————

@us-the-voices-xenogender-blog

A blog for all things blinkies, xenogenders and pixel art

@the-bad-advice-blog-3

you want awful. awful advice? send it in here!

@us-the-batfam-blog

Finally a blog dedicated to just Batman stuff

——————🛑‼️WARNING‼️🛑—————

THIS BLOG CONTAINS BLINKING, FLASHING, EYESTRAIN AND OTHER PHOTOSENSITIVE THINGS! PLEASE BE SAFE, WE WILL TRY TO TAG AS MUCH AS WE CAN BUT IT WILL SLIP THROUGH. PLEASE ONLY LOOK AT TEXT POST FROM US, IF YOU HAVE EPILEPSY BECAUSE I CANNOT GUARANTEE THIS BLOG IS SAFE

this blog talks about mature topics! Such as Sexual abuse, death, trauma, child abuse, ableism, sexism, racism, police brutality, some really depressing environmental issues, homophobia, transphobia, queerphobia, gore, capitalism, and MORE!

so please consider this your warning!

———————⚠️ DNI ⚠️—————————

Terfs/radfems, transphobes/queerphobes, (I have had enough of you. Why do you have to be so awful Jesus, it’s not like awful people don’t come in all shapes, sizes, races, and genders. I ain’t defending awful people. But trans people just exist and I believe in judging people on a person to person basis. I don’t think you are bad I just want you to shut up about it, I’ll always be loudly supportive of trans people and loudly a feminist too. So deal with it! Also I don’t hate men, why would i??? So shush)

ableists/sanists (like the people who discriminate against mentally ill people),

Tankies/marxist-lennists/maoists/north-korean socialist supporters (please fuck off I hate facists, and you are the types to argue that disabled people should all die for the glorious revolution but again fuck you we are 15% of the fucking world’s population and guess what I wanna live)

animal abusers/people who spread misinformation about animals and animal care, (I hope you stub your toes)

syscourse (yeah I don’t ever want to engage in it idc shut up this blog is about literally everything else BUT that.),

bad faith gender/other Identities (E.G BLM gender, transabled, ect.)

racists/xenophobes/antisemites, misogynists.

non-binary exclusionists.

pro-censorship people.

anti-therians/otherkin, (if you are it’s not a deal breaker lol, it’s just some of us are therian/otherkin due to plurality)

only NSFW blogs (like if you occasionally post NSFW your okay, if it’s less than 50% nsfw your fine on this blog lol),

MAP’s AND PEDO’s and people who like l*licon/sh**tacon (fuck off and stay off) (sorry I am actually anti censorship but following our most recent ban I’m being more “careful” when mentioning these topics so sorry)

Dream Stans (yeah I fucking hate that guy, I like MCYT but dream and co can stay off of here REAL) (I have always hated him and I will continue to, fuck off dream Stan’s),

anti-good faith xenogenders (yeah so what if the term xeno-identities is more the “right” term idgaf! I literally have no qualms nor problems with xenogenders, in my mind it makes sense because gender is a social construct and so why not have fun with it?)

And more to be added :)

WE ALSO BELIEVE PEOPLE CAN CHANGE AND GROW, AND HATE IS LEARNED SO IF YOU WERE ONE OF THESE THINGS IN THE PAST AND HAVE NOW REFORMED I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU!

——————————- ALTER INTROS —————————————

Now expanded in our tumblr page!

Pop (hi I’m pop, I’m usually the one on here when it’s not everyone else. If you see me more than usual it means LIFE happened. I’m technically host? But me, Lena, And poppie kinda share that role. They/them he/him)

poppie (cat girl, you see her a lot on here. She’s SUPER into the veganism scene and animal rights and is a cat-therian lol we all love her she’s the best. She/her any cat neopronouns actually.)

Lena (demon, yeah she’s a demon! She’s nonsense hardworking and in the demonkin/otherkin scene. She/her)

belle (psychology nerd, actually knows how to write ANYTHING is honestly the best. She/her)

————————————. Tags ————————————————-

#Anticapitalism stuff (a tag that argues against capitalism, and trashing multinational corporations and a bit of environmental stuff.)

#anarchism stuff (a tag for all things anarchism)

#art stuff (a tag for stuff related to the ethics, discussion, or making of art.)

#music stuff (for all things music and music theory!)

#tv and movie stuff (the tag for film and television, kinda fun kinda sad! It’s good tho)

#anti-censorship stuff (a tag for anti-censorship stuff, and why it’s important!)

#trans stuff (a tag for all things trans! Includes dark topics, mostly happy stuff tho.)

#queer stuff (a tag for all things LGBTQIA+, mostly happy but with triggering and dark topics.)

#mental health stuff (A tag for all things mental health, let it be help or just memes or darker topics.)

#mental illness stuff (a tag for specifically mental illnesses, like anxiety or depression or whatever usually REALLY dark but sometimes happy usually dark tho.)

#veganism stuff (a tag for all things vegan, not recipes just ethics and whatever. I [pop] don’t usually add to it but poppie does ALL THE TIME.)

#disability (for all things disability, let it be activism stuff, vents, information, or just funny stuff! It’s a tag I tend to use for myself because fun fact I [pop] am not okay! Health wise lol.)

#punk stuff (A tag for all things punk, let it be C-punk, madpunk, neuropunk or whatever! It’s a tag for all things punk! Including art, crafts, sewing and punk beliefs and politics I love punks I am not really one due to a whole lotta reasons but I love them so much <3 )

#environmentalism stuff (Climate change, mass extinctions, greedy corporations and politicians, animal rights, and more stuff. Mostly climate/animal related but intersects with disability stuff, anarchism stuff, activism stuff, and veganism and punk stuff. Fun fact these types of things are extremely intersectional but are never presented as such due to infighting!)

#healthcare stuff (The weird tag related to health and healthcare, not a disability tag, not a environmentalism tag literally health and healthcare which is weird. Mostly PSA’s)

#animal care stuff (For all things animal care, I disagree with veganism’s doctrine here. Keeping Some animals and keeping animals can be done well and awesomely and help petstore and wild animals, but people who do animal care just absolutely trash just don’t deserve anything or anyone. It’s a fine line, but I genuinely believe if you take good care of your animals and give them an amazing quality of life I genuinely don’t see a problem with keeping animals.)

#animal abuse stuff (Goes hand in hand with animal care stuff, it’s pretty bad at times, it is what it says on the tin. Mostly also animal care stuff.)

#child abuse stuff (For stories, children’s rights, or experiences. It’s pretty dark.)

#youth liberation (for youth liberation stuff, it’s important honestly.)

#children's rights (A tag for all things children’s rights it’s super cool!)

#homelessness stuff (a tag related to homelessness and just all the things that come with it, it’s a dark tag. Sometimes happy.)

#uhoused stuff (Same same but different, more related to cost of living crisis’s and capitalism then disenfranchisement and outright just the sad reality that is being mentally ill and homeless or a substance abuser and homeless or trans/queer and homeless or any other absolutely insane and awful reason people are homeless.)

#communism stuff (For all things communist, I don’t believe it will fix anything and it is kinda extremely hard to get rid of monetary currency. But communism, socialism, anarchism, and punk theory are all connected in ways and have some BASED ideas and principles. So yeah that’s why it’s tagged on here!

Edit: I do not agree with communism; well Marxist Leninist, or Stalinist, or any variation of fucking facist dictators like North Korean communism/socialism or soviet communism and Maoist communism. Why? Because do I really have to spell it out they were facist DICTATORS, I do not believe a cult of personality is good nor that people instead of being solely valued on their money they are solely valued by their ableness which I think is harmful as shit. A lot of communists are literally tankies and for the death penalty and many other things I’m against including “making prisons torture chambers” “state mandated murder of people against communism” “leaving disabled and mentally ill people to rot because they can’t contribute to the work force and such are useless to the communist state” “stealing shit from people because it now belongs to the state” “forcing people into mandatory labor jobs with no way out of it unless they become disabled or die” and many many more! Communism can be interesting and helpful but in a lot of ways people drunk the “facists aren’t bad they are communists they are for the people!” Drink. And like I don’t believe in that shit, go fucking deconstruct your biases please because otherwise I’m blocking you, talkies fuck off)

#socialism stuff (I actually do believe socialism can work, it’s definitely not the end all be all of ways to govern/live life but I think it’s a good stepping stone to all different wonderful things that can change the world for the better, usually the CIA/FBI/US government appears a lot in this tag due to reasons that will become apparent. But it’s a fun one!)

#fat stuff (A tag about fatphobia, diet culture, ableism and just annoying stuff about being fat lol. Mostly medical negligence and malpractice because holy shit fuck is it bad in this tag. Also Eating disorders are talked about in every post in one way or another, it’s a big problem. Dark tag.)

#religion stuff (A thing for all things religion, it’s basically every criticism and deep cut anyone and everyone has on every single religion, which yk obviously no one literally agrees with anything. It’s mostly everyone going “QUEER/TRANS/DISABLED/WOMEN/“SINNERS” DONT DESERVE THIS TREATMENT IT MAKES NO SENSE!” Other religions “NO THEY DO” and it’s actually very well written and argued for. Also atheism is talked about a lot too, it’s mostly like a deep philosophical and ethical debate that has spanned literally everything and everywhere where it’s all boiled down to “yeah some fuckers deserve prison, but the average normal guy kinda just exists we guess??? Religious or not???? And there’s kinda nothing wrong with it but we would rather them be religious in some way????” And that is still the shittyist summary ever too. But it’s the gist of this tag. Also memes!)

(and where I put all stuff related to religion it’s very much a mixed bag i’m not making fun of anyone actually it’s that there is genuinely too much variety in this tag to accurately tell you what’s in there. It’s everything related to religion all religions!)

#autism stuff (Specifically for autistic stuff, it’s used from time to time.)

#activism stuff (a tag for all things ally posting, and human/animal/land/just everything rights. It’s fun!)

#food stuff (A tag about all things food related, sometimes recipes sometimes diet culture and why it’s bad. Sometimes it’s just cultural things related to food. Food is a big topic LOL)

#comics and book stuff (a tag about all things comics, books, and written works.)

#tv and movie stuff or #film and tv (a tag about all things TV and film, let it be discussion, gifs, or videos or fun facts.)

#neurodivergent stuff (For all things neurodivergent! Fun stuff, kinda happy kinda dark. Intersects with mental health stuff and mental illness stuff and disability tags. Because like why wouldn’t it???)

#animals (yes just for animals, nice calm usually no triggering animal stuff. It’s just cuteness usually! Unless I put something dark in there then sorry.)

#too queue for school (A tag for all queued stuff I remember to tag! Usually wholesome most times not. But it’s just a fun “today’s thing queued!” Thing if I’m not online.)

—————————————- Our post tags —————————————

#us-the-voices Cooks (a tag for recipes, food we make, and random cooking tips???)

#us-the-voices reviews (a tag for all things reviews! Let it be movies, shows, games, art, books, fanfics, whatever!)

#us-the-voices talks (A tag for like personal affairs? Or just “haha update stuff went DOWN in our personal lives” or just general chatting with mutuals who knows I haven’t decided yet.)

#us-the-voices recommends (weird tag for all weird recommendations of shows/books/tv/fanfic/movies it’s there it’s weird and if your bored and want something to do maybe you’ll like it lol.)

#us-the-voices rants (a tag for rants, don’t take them seriously it’s usually momentarily sad/existential/angry/fed up/annoyed/trauma dump RANTS. suggest you just block the tag lol, I will probably make half of these while I’m unwell and sick or just stressed and under all sorts of stress. So honestly it’s just a tag so you guys don’t have to deal with it because I will eventually be stupid on the internet and I’d rather you understand these are nonsense rants that are just a release of information that’s been annoying us.)

#the voices talk (A tag for talking about alters or specific things some alters want to talk about but not all.)

#poppie weblogs (poppies tag for her stuff, it literally has everything in it.)

and more to come!

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below the cut because they strobe!!!!!

[whore4batfam]

edited an old piece:

“Do you think he regrets it?”

“Regrets what?” He was impatient. He had told the kid he could stay if he was quiet, and here he was, again, asking stupid ques—

“Taking us in.”

Dick shifted, switching the position of his arms behind his head. He looked up at the stars and sighed. “What’s there to regret, Jay.”

A small head popped up. “I didn’t say you could call me Jay,” Jason reminded, jaw jutting out. He probably thought he looked tough that way.

“And I didn’t say you could call me Dickhead, but here we are,” Dick shot back. “Sit down.”

Jason opened his mouth, but closed it when Dick narrowed his eyes at him. He laid back down and pointedly didn’t touch him. Fine. Kid might as well stay on his good side.

“…But do you think so?”

Dick sighed again. “Shit, kid.” The sky was clear enough tonight to see the stars twinkle. He cleared his throat. “He wouldn’t regret it for you. He went through with it, adopted you and everything. I know he seems like a moron sometimes—”

“He isn’t.”

“—but he does think things through.” Over and over and over, poking holes in Dick’s choices until he was left feeling like he was three inches tall. “He doesn’t regret you.”

Silence.

“And you?”

His voice was small, like he was unsure if he should be asking. Dick wanted to make a joke, tease him, but he couldn’t even look at him.

“Well, we’ll have to see,” was all he said.

Jury was still out for Dick, in Bruce’s case. He remembered thinking that would never be so, that Bruce could never be without him. He was his compass. Batman needed a Robin, but Bruce needed Dickie. He remembered how mad he got when Dr. Thompkins would lean over to look him right in the eyes and say, “He takes care of you.”

How could she understand? How could she think that she knew what it was like, what Bruce was like? That they were meant to be together no matter what, even if that meant—meant—

Dick shifted, pulling further away from Jason. Couldn’t stand the damn way the kid breathed.

“I think that,” and Jason sat up and swallowed, “you should come back. Talk to Alfred more. Bruce…he misses you.”

Dick stared at him. “Real sacrificial admitting that, huh.”

The boy jerked as if Dick had slapped him. Then he narrowed his eyes, looking all the world his twelve years, and kicked him. Dick didn’t bother moving away. “You’re an asshole.”

Dick scoffed. “I’m just saying it took a lot outta you. What you afraid of, me actually getting along with my own family?”

Jason shot up his feet. “I’m not holding my breath, you piece of shit,” he spat. He stomped over to the ladder and threw himself over it. “And neither is Bruce.”

Dick sat up. “Hey,” he barked. “You don’t understand that, you don’t understand anything—damnit, wait!” He scrambled to his feet. “You can’t go home by yourself!”

“Try me!”

“Jay, stop!”

“Don’t call me Jay!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Dick grumbled, following him down the ladder. He didn’t even react when the brat used his position to kick him in the ass either, which was very mature of him. He jumped the last few rungs, spinning around and collaring the kid when he tried to run. “Hey.”

“Fuck off,” Jason growled. But his eyes kept flickering left and right, as if waiting for something. Dick knew he was trying to act like he wasn’t intimidated. Kids are all alike in that way. But Jason betrayed himself in how he tried to escape. There was no cool disengagement, just nails digging into skin.

Dick knew the feeling. Someone bigger than you with their hands around you? All reason left until reality remained: being a small and cornered animal.

Dick avoided his swings, waiting until he was tired enough to slow his roll. It took a surprisingly long time. When Jason gulped in a breath, he latched his hands around his shoulders and dragged him close.

The kid stiffened, feet dragging as if he was afraid. So what if he was?

Dick shoved the guilt aside. “Listen to me,” he said firmly. “He may regret taking me in, and you may have replaced me, but that means all the jobs I did are yours now. You take care of him. Got it?”

Jason stared at him.

Dick shook him. “Got it? Say it out loud.” He shook him again. “Say it.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Jason said quickly, trying to hide the strain in his voice.

Dick released him. Well, more like shoved him. “Okay.” His throat was tight.

Jason kept staring at him, eyes glimmering like they were stars themselves. Which probably meant that he had made him cry, but. Well.

“Good,” Dick said, as if that was the end of it. And it was. It was an agreement. Maybe not an agreement between brothers, but certainly an agreement between sons. He jerked his head down to his apartment. “Go.”

Jason went, clattering and making a mess of things to make up for showing fear. Dick heard a crash and didn’t bother shouting. Dr. Thompkins’ eyes floated over the horizon, bouncing off the city lights.

“Remember. He takes care of you.”

Dick swallowed. Yeah, right.