#kinda feel like shit now

[starii-void]

going to chb must be crazy like imagine sharing a camp with

-one of the strongest demigods ever who's saved the world like at least 3 times, fought multiple gods & titans and WON (and is a tartarus survivor)

-the literal main architect of OLYMPUS who's also saved the world multiple times (also tartarus survivor)

-THE lord of the wild who's also close friends with the first two (and has helped save the world multiple times)

-an emo kid from the 1930s who again helped save the world and is also a tartarus survivor (TWICE)

-a son of apollo who survived tartarus with nothing but cargo shorts and sheer will (pun intended)

-the main designer and builder for the argo II, also the first hephaestus kid to have fire powers since hundreds of years ago (did i mention killed gaea? no? yeah he did that too)

-a girl who somehow charmspeak-ed gaea into falling back asleep (also side note daughter of super famous actor because why not)

-pretty much everybody is a two-time war veteran

-THE GOD APOLLO who just sometimes comes down to visit in the form of a teenage boy

-did i mention dionysus, god of wine madness and theatre

-also chiron, trainer of pretty much every greek hero ever

[rapidhighway]

more.

[ethosiab]

beating artblocks ass with a more steampunk-y tango

[queerdraws]

it's zoro's birthday!! happy birthday big guy, may you say many more insane things to your enemies in the coming years

[dreamsy990]

drew some of my fav ody designs! wasnt originally meant to be also replicating the styles but thats sort of just how my brain works. except i didnt copy the lineart styles of anyone here so its DEFINITELY a bit uncanny for a couple of these (LOOKING AT YOU QINNY IM SO SORRY) but whatever

the designs featured here (from left to right) belong to: me, @gigizetz, @neal-illustrator, @irunaki, @bigidiotenergytm, @qinnyanimation, and @foopsie-daisy

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

[kelpermoosee]

My friend labeled this “toxic aromantic yaoi” and I couldn’t agree more

[ofbatsandballads]

pretty little birds

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: suggestive content, reader works at the Iceberg Lounge as a server/dancer/informant for Oz, slight objectification from Oz, reader described as having long hair but no other physical descriptions, slight implication of potential SA (nothing happens, just concern over it)

a/n: been thinking of Jason with a girl who works at the Iceberg Lounge ever since I watched The Batman and saw Selina’s gorgeous self working there. something about her and Bruce’s dynamic was very alluring and I realized how much better it would work with Jason so this was born. might make this a series, might not; who knows? not me! also if you want a nice visual aid for the club, I fully based it off the Gotham Knights version of the lounge.

divider credit: strangergraphics

Jason wasn’t a fan of the Iceberg Lounge. He’d been there plenty of times for missions, for reconnaissance, to beat the shit out of Oswald—it didn’t mean he liked it there. The club was ostentatious, loud and vulgar like everything that went on within it. He always scoffed when he saw it during patrol. An actual iceberg exterior; how corny could Cobblepot get?

He did have to admit that it was nicer inside. The marble floors, balconies, and columns lended an elegance to the place that it didn’t deserve. The neon blues and pinks of the lighting served to disorient, to intoxicate alongside the drinks that were served across the bar and the drugs that were passed behind it. The massive penguin ice sculpture in the center was tacky though. Jason could think of a million better design choices than that.

All this to say that he wasn’t thrilled to be sent to the club per Bruce’s orders of seeing if Oz was still as legit as he claimed. He wasn’t. They all knew it but B needed proof. Jason’s sure by proof Bruce meant that he wanted him to go undercover, but one of the advantages of being Red Hood is that he can go where the other Bats can’t. That distinction is how he finds himself stalking the club from his vantage point in the shadows.

It’s busy tonight. The main floor is crowded with people. Bodies push and pull to the rhythm of the music that blares from the speakers. As tightly crammed as the floor is, the servers still manage to weave through with a practiced grace. They’re all in various states of undress; short skirts, crop tops, some in straight up underwear. Jason recognizes the servers for what Cobblepot intends them to be: a distraction. They’re all young and beautiful—pretty girls and boys that are meant to draw your eye so you don’t see the money and the drugs that pass between their hands.

Jason zeroes in on the two working the floor for any indication of something illegal. Oswald’s been smarter since his last stint in Blackgate. He lets the filth of the city do their deals in his club while he himself is never caught up in it. The argument of “well I didn’t do it” usually wouldn’t hold up legally, but this is Gotham. His eyes track the man first. He’s weaving in and out, laughing with what must be the regulars. He’s charming them, plying them with more and more alcohol to stay longer, to spend more money. He’s not doing anything more than that, though, to Jason’s utmost disappointment. He turns his attention to the girl instead.

The difference between the two of you is so obvious it’s almost amusing. While the guy weaved fluidly through the throng of people like something unseen, the crowd itself seems to part for you. Recognition, some degree of respect, power—that’s what you’ve got over the drunken group of people. He immediately knows that his best bet will be with you. Everything about you echoes the pull you must have in the club. The way you walk, how you smile at the regulars, the drifting of your hands across shoulders and backs and jawlines. It’s even clear in the way you’re dressed. You look like something out of a cabaret show. Pink silk lingerie lined with black lace flowers, black fringe beads that form the idea of a skirt rather than an actual one, and those same beads hanging in alluring arcs across your arms, neck, and chest. You’re dressed up like Penguin’s favorite dream.

You’re also not doing anything illegal. Sure, he’s watched you take money from people, but all you bring back are drinks. He watches for over half an hour, eyes always trailing back to you. Nothing. It’s remarkable how much absolutely nothing he’s seen. His patience is wearing thin. It’s one in the morning and there are better things he could be doing, people he could be helping. But he can’t leave without something for Bruce. He tries to ignore the bile that rises in his throat when he thinks of why he still cares about disappointing him. His eyebrow twitches and he decides suddenly and definitively: fuck it.

So he kicks in Penguin’s office doors.

“Ah, Red Hood. If it ain’t Gotham’s least favorite vigilante,” Oswald mutters past the cigar in his mouth. “Shut the doors behind you, would ya?”

Jason kicks them shut. No one needs to see the bloody mess that Oswald’s going to be in about fifteen minutes.

“Ah ah ah. Before you get any ideas, I would advise you to consider how bad it would be for you to be caught assaulting a reformed citizen of this great city,” Oswald gloats, stubby finger pointing at the camera in the corner.

Fuck. Now Jason has to talk. He hates talking to Cobblepot. It gets you approximately nowhere fast.

“Reformed? We both know you’re full of shit, Oz,” Red Hood taunts.

“I’m on the straight and narrow. Scout’s honor,” Penguin laughs, coughing through the harsh inhale he took of his cigar.

Nowhere. Fast.

“You’re bringing in too much money for that to be true. Your parties aren’t that good, Cobblepot.”

“Eh, you haven’t seen my toys. Most of ‘em come for the pretty little things I keep around.”

“So you’re pimping them out? You see that I can work with,” Hood retorts.

It would make sense, Oz getting his servers into sex work. It’s not the worst thing he could do if they were all willing. And if they weren’t? Well, that gives Jason a nice excuse to finally put a bullet through The Penguin.

“You don’t listen too well, do you? I’m a changed man. People can look at my dolls, but they can’t touch. Everyone loves eye candy,” Oswald says.

The doors open just as Jason considers pulling a gun on Oswald, cameras recording him or not.

“And there’s my favorite. What do ya need, doll?”

Jason watches you saunter in. You move with an almost feline gracefulness. His eyes clock the sway of your hips and the way you toss your hair over your shoulder. Then he watches the way Cobblepot’s pupils dilate as his eyes lock on you. You plant your hands on the desk, bend over as you smile saccharine at the old man sitting behind it. Oh, you’re good. Very good.

“Nothing much. Just that DA wanting his usual,” you say.

Oswald’s eyes rake lecherously over your body. He looks at you like he wants to put you in one of the glass cases that decorate his office. It makes Jason’s stomach turn. Then he pulls a key out from a locked drawer and drops it into your open palm. Now that piques his interest.

“Thanks, Oz,” you say sweetly.

As you straighten up and spin around to leave, Penguin grabs your wrist and yanks you back. He leaves one kiss on the inside of your wrist and that pretty facade cracks. It’s only for a second, so quick that Oswald doesn’t see it. Jason does. Disgust. Pure disgust flashes across your face before it’s replaced by an alluring smile. Your eyes spark with something Jason can’t quite read.

“Mind if I get some too, Ozzie? You know how much I like it,” you ask as you play with the beads that dangle on your chest.

“Sure, doll. Take whatever you want,” Oswald acquiesces.

Your face lights up and you look almost victorious. Then you spin around and head towards the doors. To this point you haven’t acknowledged him, the known vigilante, at all. But just before you leave, you pause right next to him. Jason tries not to flinch as your hand runs up his arm.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your night here. Next time, feel free to ask for anything you want. Wouldn’t want Oz’s guests to get bored,” you purr.

Your eyes lock with the white lenses of his domino mask and Jason feels the air leave his lungs. You’d seen him. You knew he was there the whole fucking time. And you hadn’t told anyone. If you had, Cobblepot would’ve sent security in guns blazing.

“Have a good night, honey,” you tell him as you waltz out the door.

“See, Hood? Eye candy,” Oz hacks.

Jason follows you. What else was he supposed to do? Oswald gave him nothing. But you? You gave him what felt suspiciously like a lead. Ask for anything you want, you’d said. What else could you think he wanted but proof of Oswald’s lingering corruption? So he follows you. He’s careful this time. Quiet, precise steps that give no indication he’s near. It’s times like these he’s grateful for all the stealth training Bruce made him do as a kid.

He trails behind as you head downstairs. You weave through the maze of corridors until you come to a mahogany door, elaborately carved with floral emblems. It’s got an old brass lock on it that you slot the key into. Jason waits one beat, two, three—then goes through the door where you disappeared.

He finds you inside, crouching in front of an open safe. A rainbow of jewels glitter within. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds—there had to be enough jewelry in there to cover the cost of a couple of Bruce’s tricked out sports cars. You pull a more modest sapphire necklace from the safe and place it into one of the grab bags that guests can take home at the end of the night. So that’s what the DA wanted. You grab a far more ostentatious diamond bracelet and slip it into your bra.

“Think it’s a good idea to steal from your boss?”

You jump. Jason doesn’t want to admit how satisfied he is by that. He was a little worried that he’d lost his touch. You twirl around, eyes locked on the vigilante leaning against the closed door.

“Hmm…when I’ve got him wrapped around my finger? Why not?” you smirk.

You’re brave. He’ll give you that.

“Must really be putting on a show for him if you’re not worried,” he presses.

Your smile drops and your eye twitches in annoyance. He’s hit a nerve. Good.

“A show. That’s all it is. If he’s stupid enough to think it’ll be more than that, that’s his problem,” you bite, tone dripping venom instead of honey.

“Not scared he’ll realize the trick? Or what he’ll do when he does?” Red Hood asks as he fiddles with a knife he keeps in his belt.

He asks with sincerity. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. You could end up dead. Or worse. Jason’s no stranger to people taking what they want by force, and Oz clearly wants you.

“Oswald’s a coward,” you reply harshly. “He only fucks with people weaker than him. So no, I’m not scared of toying with him. He won’t do a goddamn thing to me.”

Jason cocks his head, sizing you up. A pretty girl in lingerie working in a club thinks she’s stronger than a crime lord. Well, you’re probably not wrong.

“You’re not weak?” he asks mockingly.

But it’s still fun to test your resolve. To your credit and Jason’s surprise, you just grin. A breathy laugh falls from your red lips and Jason can’t help the way his eyes flicker down to look at the curve of them.

“I got this without so much as a fight, didn’t I?” you gloat, grabbing the diamond bracelet and swinging it around your middle finger.

“He let you.”

“Precisely. What exactly are you missing here? He let me. Because he’s a fool. And to let me take this bracelet specifically? Well, he’s just about the village idiot,” you laugh.

Jason sees the bait. His stubbornness almost makes him want to not ask just to spite you. But it’s just too intriguing.

“What’s so special about that bracelet?”

You smile wryly. Jason’s reflexes are the only reason he catches the bracelet as you toss it to him from across the room.

“Oh, I think you’re smart enough to figure that one out yourself, baby,” you purr. “Now get the fuck out.”

Jason does as he’s told. He returns to the cave with no intel beyond a locked room with a safe full of jewels and a diamond bracelet. Imagine his shock when Bruce analyzes the serial markings of the bracelet and finds that it was part of a collection that got robbed from a boutique in the Diamond District. It had been months and they hadn’t found a single piece of jewelry from the robbery. There were no leads on who did it or how. And now one of the most expensive pieces is sitting on the Batcomputer. Jason can guess where the rest are.

“Who gave you this?” Bruce asks skeptically.

Always doubt with the old man.

“A friend. Maybe,” Jason ponders.

Bruce rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Jason grins at how exhausted all his kids make him. It’s a point of pride among them: who can stress out B the most?

“You should figure that out,” Bruce scolds.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

Jason’s suddenly got a very vested interest in the Iceberg Lounge, and he’s going to satiate that curiosity if it kills him again.

[dizzybizz]

KAEYA BIRTHDAY ??? ?? i love you mr alberich sir i love you oh so so so much.

uh dialogue for this one but more legible under the cut (and a messy ragbros page)

Klee: Kaeya! Come down here! Kaeya: Oh? heh. What is it, Spark Knight?

Klee: Happy Birthday! It is today? Right? I even double-checked with Albedo and everything but I don't know... Klee: It's a Calla Lily! You like those, right? Kaeya: I certainly do! Thank y- Klee: Oh. Klee: OK OK OK- Kaeya: Hm? Klee: Kaeya you have to promise to not tell Master Jean about this one! Kaeya: You can count on me to keep my lips sealed.

Klee: OK! Close your eyes- eye- and hold out your hands! Kaeya: Mhm! Klee: OK! You can open them! TA-DA~!

Klee: I made a bomb for you! It even has an eyepatch! He can look after you when I'm somewhere else. Take good care of him! Oh yeah- He explodes if you- Kaeya?

Kaeya: Thank you Klee! Thank you very much! Klee: You're VERY welcome Kaeya!

a lil ragbros too.... kaeya and his red siblings amirite (bursts into tears).. also i am so obsessed with chibi diluc saying "bring em in..."

[diamonds-at-y11]

Mel was really having the worst time of her entire life this season. Almost dies. Watches her friend die and is then promptly kidnapped. Well at least she gets to reunite with her brother— WRONG. Finds out she’s a child of an affair. Whatever’s going on with her and LeBlanc. Has to come to terms with having magical mage powers suddenly. Finally returns from magical backrooms. The world is on fire. Boyfriend’s lab partner has ascended to godhood and is now taking over the world. Boyfriend yells at you for manipulating him. You have to kill your mother because she teamed up with magic Jesus. Boyfriend sacrifices himself and lives in the cosmos for the rest of eternity with his lab partner. At least she got cool powers ig.

[quirkle2]

a little bit crazy

[naggascradle]

[temeyes]

saw a guy at a cafe the other night and i thought it was Gaz for a sec

[woolysstuff]

I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT HIM

Evil!Sun my beloved (Edit// This Evil!Sun is from TSAMS and is not an AU of mine guys)

Bonus doodle

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 4

Sorry this took so long. In the hospital still. Out of the hospital now!

For @unadulteratedsoulsweets

——

It had been early in the morning when she’d stepped foot in the manor. It was closer to noon, now, that found the reincarnation attentively sitting in one of the (if she remembered correctly from the blue prints) three massive kitchens located in Wayne manor.

She sat atop one of the island stools Damian had ushered her into, spaced a comfortable distance from the man that was her biological father in this life. Her mask dangled at her hip, a comfort she indulged in after unpacking her things. In truth, she’s had cookies before, but it had been so long since she’s tasted it that she might as well have never tried it before. Damian and Alfred Pennyworth worked with maximum efficiency, measuring out flour and sugar and chocolate like there were no tasks more important than this.

Alfred Pennyworth also avoided a specific cabinet that smelled slightly of metal polish and gun powder. It was kept away from the perishables.

Perhaps the manor was smaller and much more homely than the palace, but the reincarnate could see the sense in and approved of the various well-hidden caches of weapons around. Meant for non-lethal take downs, of course, but anything can be lethal if you tried hard enough. Or, considering the vigilante filled manor she had agreed to vacation in, anything could be lethal if one did not try hard enough to keep it non lethal.

The scrape of a spoon drew her attention back to Damian, waving away the off topic musings her mind had wandered into now that a large portion of her brain power was freed from the duty of fear.

She tracked how Damian existed within this space he had so clearly made for himself. He was… happier. Kinder. More. More at ease, more settled into his skin instead of where he stretched it to fit the cast of the Demon’s Heir. Simply, more. He was more Damian than he had been in the league.

When Damian was locked within the walls of the palace, his shoulders were always held straight. There’d been a- not quite darkness- cruelty in his eyes and gait that their grandfather had eagerly nurtured. His chin had remained lifted, his actions closed and callous. She’d feared, for while, that Damian would follow their grandfather’s footsteps. Until the day she saw him sneak a bird into his room to heal, her heart had trembled and grieved to see someone she loved imitate the worst parts of her abuser. It didn’t change the fact that she loved him, but it changed how she taught him.

But experience is a better teacher than she will ever be, and Damian had little chance to experience true kindness in the pits of the league.

Here, Damian is light. Perhaps less aware than he normally would have been, on the look out for fatal attacks as she had trained him to be within the league, but here he is free and safe and relaxed. It feels like she’s sitting in a haze, the chirps of birds and the clouded noon sun casting everything into an unreal light.

“Ukhti, assistance is requested.” Her brother holds out a bowl of dough. Her heart hurt with how happy it was. She squished the dough between her fingers like a child rediscovering her childhood. In some ways, she was.

——

As she watched Damian, in turn the others observed her. Bruce sat beside her, cataloguing every minuscule expression of his child, the first and the eldest, in an attempt to make up for lost time. And truly, it was minuscule. For all Bruce trained in micro-expressions and movements, his eldest- god, he had another daughter, the eldest- daughter remained a mystery from which he gleaned little of. Her face never lifted from that trained neutrality, having resettled back into it after first bite of b’stilla. He cradled the mug of coffee in his hands, the tang of grief and guilt roiling in his stomach as his daughter hesitantly but skillfully rolled a ball of dough.

“Pennyworth has divulged his secrets to me.” Damian plucked the ball from his sister’s hand, who allowed it with traces of… bemusement, perhaps? His eldest daughter flicked her eyes up in question, perhaps mildly amused. Even if she had more than two decades worth of training, Bruce was frustrated that he could not read her. She was his daughter.

Already he fails her. For too long, he had failed her.

“He chills the dough for a chewier cookie. I, and some of the others with adequate taste, prefer this texture. But which would you find adequate?”

His daughter flickered through that sign language again, the one he had no knowledge of. Considering he knew multiple from each continent, that was saying a lot. He was catching a few repeated signs, but nothing concrete.

Alfred waited patiently as they had their conversation, paying sharp attention to their motions. Bruce… felt like he was sitting next to Cassandra. He supposed they were the same, except his eldest daughter hadn’t gotten free.

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.” Damian grumbled, resting his hands on the counter, making sure to keep it away from his meticulously clean clothes. “We’ll cook them immediately.”

Bruce, in a fit of inspired parenting, offered a compromise.

“We could do two batches. One for right now and save a batch for later.”

Unspoken were the words ‘so she can try the cookies now.’ Despite the silent nature of his intent, Bruce thought that Alfred and Damian understood anyways.

“A fine suggestion, Master Bruce.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

——

She sensed them before she saw them. Her father had slipped out after his suggestion, no doubt intercepting his flock of traumatized orphans before they could pile in.

Perhaps she had inherited something from Bruce Wayne after, considering how many of them she’d taken under her wing. She rolled the ball of dough between oiled fingers in a haze. Faint memories, impressions of a life long faded, guided her hands as she smooshed the cookies to her preference.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Al-Ghul?”Alfred Pennyworth asked her.

‘A Pennyworth for my thoughts?’ She swapped sign language, eyes slyly watching for Damian’s reaction.

Damian, right on cue, clicked his tongue, looking defeated. Alfred, on the other hand, smiled wider.

“A Pennyworth for your thoughts indeed.”

Her humor faded into something softer. Longing. Melancholy.

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve made dessert for myself.’

She glanced at Damian, who was trying his best to pretend like he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation lest he caught another stray pun. ‘Or used it to inoculate poisons.’

“I see.” The butler patted his hands dry onto a towel, a sharp eye on Damian’s efforts at covering the dough meant for freezing. “I assure you that these cookies will remain poison free, have no worries about that. Now, would you like some tea?”

She shook her head. ‘I’ll make it myself later. Thank you.’

“Very well, Miss-”

“Hi, Alfred. Making cookies?”

Her hands continued to work on her tray, placing cookie dough on the tray with military precision. Damian remained relaxed, though watchful of her reaction.

“That’s correct, Master Tim.”

Tim shuffled over to her, and she turned. Ah, her partial benefactor.

“Little photographer.” She smiled, slightly. Her eyes, however, were warm. Alfred stilled for a brief second at her voice.

“Hi. It’s been a while.” Tim plopped down on the seat next to her. His whole body screamed of nostalgia. It’s odd to see the little scrawny Bristol boy grow into a full fledged vigilante. It seemed like yesterday she was keeping him from slipping on Gotham’s manifestations of its rot and plummeting down on its stone heart.

She hummed. ‘Not too long.’

“What is that supposed to mean? When had you met Drake, recently?”

She glanced at the little- not so little- photographer.

“She helped me bring B back.” Tim lied. She didn’t like how easily he lied to Damian… but on account of her fondness for him, she let it slide.

“Did you, Miss Al-Ghul?” Alfred wiped his hands on the hand towel he carried. “Then I suppose we owe you our sincere thanks.”

She blinked slowly.

‘I didn’t do much. I kept him alive just the once.’

“That is a harder task than one might think, Miss Al-Ghul. Master Tim has, arguably, the worst self preservation instincts out of the life risking vigilantes I have known.” And he has known many, Alfred seemed to imply.

She tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“Hey! What is this? Gang up on Tim day?”

“I would participate in that even if it wasn’t,” Damian stated, packing the frozen cookies away in the corner. “Come and help, Drake. My ukht is about to have her first cookies and we will bake it to perfection. Bring the tray.”

Tim scoffed but slid the tray away from her, Alfred seamlessly dropping a napkin for her to wipe off the dough from her fingertips.

“Thanks, by the way. For saving Z and Owens.”

‘They were my assassins. Even if you did manage to sway them to your cause.’ She tapped the marble island, before opening her mouth. “Thank you. For destroying his pit options. It helped me kill Ra’s.”

In her peripherals, Damian settled back, disgruntled but willing to rest his curiosity as gratitude towards Tim’s part in her freedom overrode his need for answers.

Tim stilled. “…What are friends for, right?”

‘Of course, little photographer.’ She relaxed as her, arguably first, friend and now brother popped the tray into the oven.

“Anyways, they sent me in here to see if you’re ready to meet the rest of them.”

“And they said that?” Damian scoffed, coming around the island to stand beside her as she slipped off the stool.

“Nah, they actually wanted me to subtly vibe check her, but it’s not like she wouldn’t catch me doing it.”

“Ukhti’s ‘vibes’ are perfectly fine,” Damian said crabbily, crossing his arms defensively. She tapped the back of Damian’s neck and he relaxed.

‘Thank you for the… assessment of my character and general disposition.’ She signed dryly.

“Ugh, I should’ve made the connection. Your syntax is exactly like Damian’s.” Tim joked, dodging the punch Damian aimed at his nonexistent spleen.

The reincarnation huffed. ‘I spoke perhaps three words to you.’

“And how many people use disposition on a regular basis?”

“I do, Drake!”

“I know, Damian. That was the point, you little walking thesaurus.”

——

They left Alfred in the kitchen, the man all but shooing them away so he could get working on lunch, and made their way to a sitting room. The floor was covered in a plush blue carpet, a fact that made itself vividly present to the reincarnation when she placed her foot on it, the fabric brushing the back of her heels. She was too trained to allow the slip to visible, but for a microsecond, the memories of kneeling and choking clawed their way past her defenses. She made note of the trigger and moved on, compartmentalizing that fact for later.

“It’s you,” Nightwing breathed out, tensing. The others behind him freeze, even more alert than their regular state. Bruce whipped his head towards him, sharp and searching.

“Nightwing.” She greeted. She felt a kinship with this vigilante turned brother. She watched him soar and fall alongside the little photographer. She watched him grow new wings and watched them get tainted with blood and fear and grim hope. She lived vicariously through him, he who flew when she was chained. In some ways, she had ended up watching his back for a long time, both in yearning for the ease he was allowed at her father’s side and to protect the vulnerable back that knew not of its openness. Bruce inhaled deeply at her voice.

Dick stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She does not disembowel him for it. Instead, she allowed the giant octopus hug her new oldest little brother gave her. There was no aggression in his countenance. Only relief and gratitude.

“You know Dick?” The little, ah, no, she doesn’t want to sound like Ra’s, Tim asked. Dick tensed, clearly unwilling to speak about it. She stepped in.

“I met him once. Eliminated a spider for him on a rooftop. I did not think he would remember.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on knowing who ukhti was?” Damian demanded, scowling. She immediately freed an arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. Damian ducked away with a rather petulant scowl. "Not because of my safety but because she crushed an arachnid for you?"

Dick nodded at him before looking up at her. “I really hated that spider. It was super scary. Thank you for getting rid of it.”

In lieu of an answer, she gently hugged him back.

“I get the feeling.” She said solemnly, voice coming out soft and borne of an implicit understanding. ‘Talk later,’ she signed to him.

“I was not aware you were afraid of spiders, ukht,” Damian muttered. “Though, Richard, I would believe.”

“Hey!”

Dick detached himself and pasted on a mostly genuine smile. “Oh! You should meet the others!”

He turned to the rest of Bruce Wayne’s wards and children to cheerfully point them out.

“This is Duke! He’s Alfred’s favorite grandkid, because he hasn’t burnt down the kitchen yet and reports when he’s injured.”

“Hey. Nice to meet you.” Duke Thomas raised a hand, smiling. “The bar was literally on the floor with you people. ‘Sides, Jason did just fine.”

The reincarnate nodded. Yes, she knew of him, though her memories were hazy. It had been over two decades, after all.

Dick steamrolled onwards. “This is Stephanie-”

“But you can call me Steph!” Stephanie Brown interjected, bouncing in her seat. Despite her bubbly demeanor, her gaze was sharp. Seeing. She liked that sharpness. It was tempered by the same rough and tumble kindness she’d seen in Grave- ah, Jason.

Spoiler, her memories reminded her. It was a soothing distraction from the anxious memories of the league. She found herself collecting little hints and information about this family. Her family, even if it were tentatively so. She caught Bruce staring at them intently, visibly anxious about this meeting.

‘A pleasure to meet you.’

“So… what do we call you?” Steph tilted her head. Hm. A tell Ra’s would have beaten out of her, had Stephanie had the misfortune of being in his presence for more than a day.

“Al Ghul will be adequate.” Damian cut in. The glance he threw her promised a discussion upon the topic of her name. Later, it promised.

“Wow. That’s kind of impersonal though.”

“Steph!”

“What?! I’m not wrong.”

“Anyways!” Dick loudly said over the two bickering kids. “That’s actually it for now.”

“The rest aren’t here as of this moment, but they’ll be around for dinner.”

A white lie. She studied Bruce for a moment before acquiescing. He meant no harm. Despite his capability to inflict harm, his willingness to do so, she could not read a single instance of ill will in him. Not, at least, towards her. She allowed the lie to slide.

‘I wish to see the grounds.’ She put a hand on Damian’s shoulder. He knew what it meant for her to retreat to the wilderness. Nature, where most things were free and where one does not often find Ra’s after he’d had a taste for luxury.

“We will go to the gardens. Ukhti wishes to explore.” Despite the rather curt way he pronounced it, Damian had stepped closer to her side in a gesture of concern. The pit inside of her stomach eased.

“Sounds good! Let’s go!” Steph bounced out of her seat.

“We could tell you stories,” Tim offered from behind her.

“Yeah, like that one time Dick face planted onto one of Poison Ivy’s flower beds because he was distracted by an ice cream truck.” Duke grinned, eyes crinkling.

“Hey! That ice cream truck was full of Scarecrow thugs!”

“And they weren’t worth an Ivy-lecture. I’m surprised she didn’t skin you and make a pot out of your bones, Dick.” Tim yawned.

“Ooo, we should tell her about the time I hit you in the face with a brick!”

“Literally what more is there to that story, Steph?” Tim grumbled.

“I would like to hear this tale,” Damian said, beginning to tug his ukht towards the garden. The rest of the group followed.

“Actually, why don’t we tell her about the time you tried getting Batcow to the barn and he just sat down? Didn’t you bargain with her for an hour, Damian?”

“Tt!”

Duke leaned back and took in the chaos he unfolded with a twinkling grin and Bruce’s sigh bolstering him. And if their newest and oldest addition to the family relaxed in his chaos, well, that was between him and her.

——

Cassandra found her in the gardens, the both of them weaving in between the foliage like light footed cats. Her contingent of Bats were behind them, watching the two former assassins approach each other.

Cassandra had frozen, mirroring the reincarnator’s stillness.

“Ukhti.” The word was torn out of Cass’ throat, filled with tears and relief.

“Cassandra,” she called, fond and kind and loving. Damian’s eyes darted between his sisters. They knew each other. How? She called his ukht, ukhti. A title he had assumed only he could use.

Cassandra scrambled and launched herself at her, silent sobs shaking her frame.

“Hello, Cass,” she caught the flying vigilante, crushing her first little sister into a tight hug. “Freedom suits you, habibti.”

Cass trembles in her arms, hands clutching at the fabric on her shoulder blades like Damian’s. Her eyes softened, and she rested her chin on Cass’s head.

“You know Cassandra too, ukhti?”

She nodded.

“Ukhti named me.” Cass said, voice wobbly. ‘Cass. Cassandra.’ Cass did her name sign. The one she had taught the slip of a girl back when Cass was stuck in a senseless prison and she was only free in terms of movement.

‘First word too.’ She smiled, proud of Cass and how far she’s come. Cassandra reads the pride in her language, the safety and kindness that she’d never forgotten even after traversing the world for years before arriving home, and she burrowed deeper into the hug.

“Oh. I see.”

“Two ukhts.” She smiled at Damian.

Cass shook her head, but before Damian could settle into his hurt at her supposed rejection, Cass explained her confusion. “Ukhti is your name? I’m Cass.”

“Ukhti means older sister.” Damian informed her.

Cass blinked and looked back at the reincarnation. Her shoulders relaxed and drew back, eyes softening and body loosened from its confusion. She smiled, bright as the sun, and deftly clambered around to perch on her older sister’s back.

“Two.” She declared. And truly, the reincarnation was weak to her younger siblings because that was that. Cass declared it so, and it shall be so. Damian grumbled but seemed like they agreed.

“How did you two meet?” Bruce piped up, intent and surprisingly considerate.

“Saved me,” Cass sighed, resting her chin on her ukht’s head. ‘From father and the league. Taught me to speak, a little. My name. Cass. Taught me..’ Cass paused. “Taught me I am not a weapon.”

The former assassin carrying Cass on a piggy back ride hummed in agreement.

“Oh.” The rest of the family glanced at each other. Dick had his shiny teary eyes on, the ones he got when Jason initiated a hang out.

“Not a weapon,” Cass repeated, pressing firmly on her ukht’s head.

A less sure hum. Cass scowled.

“No. Bad,” Cass scolded. “Not a weapon.”

An acquiescing hum, full of fondness and exasperation.

Cassandra Cain will take that answer. For now.

“You named Cass?” Duke asked. Bruce looked at them with gentle eyes.

“After a heroine I knew.” She replied, shifting. Cass hugged her tighter, intently listening. “She was strong. Lethal if need be. But… kind. She had an inherently kind heart. Full of love. Like Cass.”

“Oh, that’s really.. that’s really sweet.”

Cass hugged her ukht closer, touched. She had never known why she had been given the name, but finding out that it was after a heroine her sister looked up to made the day that much brighter. Hopeful. Honored.

“You have not told me this story,” Damian said.

‘I will. One day.’

——

Jason found her at the lunch table. Along with the rest of the brood. Except for, jarringly, an alien named Jarro.

“He’s our alien brother!” Duke said. He smiled, and it was a smile of unassuming harmlessness. A well crafted mask that she knew better than to be fooled by.

She offered three long blinks that had Cassandra, stuck like a limpet on the reincarnator’s back, muffling a laugh.

“Telling truth,” Cass whispered, sentences punctuated by giggles.

She hummed, shifting to more securely carry Cass on her back. Damian sighed and dutifully carried Cassandra’s pack. She smiled at her little brother, who straightened. Adorable. All of her siblings were adorable. She would kill for them. Ah, right. They frown upon murder here. So had she, once. Before Ra’s broke that part of her heart and forced her hands to commit evils that grew gnarled vines through her very soul.

“Oh.” She blinked.

“Hm?”

“Killing is… a choice.” The conversations around them fell silent. Cass’ arms tightened around her shoulders.

“We don’t have to do it, anymore,” Damian agreed. Yes, he understood what it was like, to be raised to kill and suddenly having the option not to.

“Did you not want to kill, before?” Bruce asked, suddenly a bit closer. Her mind was slipping, she realized. It felt… safe, to slip.

‘If I did not,’ she admitted, like throwing stones off of a lock-laden bridge. ‘Damian would bear the consequences.’

She sounded… young. Afraid. Two things she had always been and were never allowed to be.

Bruce Wayne looked at her like his heart was breaking, like he wished he could shoulder her pain on top of the weight of the world he willingly carried since his parents died. This, she is reminded, was why she swore Damian to secrecy regarding her existence. She wondered if he had ever taken the burden of more grief than he could bear.

‘And I could not say no, regardless,” she told them, absent and tired.

She wondered if she would be the one to break him, should she allow him a glimpse of the scars on her back.

“I could have taken it.” Damian grabbed her arm, clutching at her sleeve once more.

“No,” she whispered, haunted. ‘Not while I drew breath, habibi.’

“You don’t have to kill here. We’re all very good with no murder.” Tim reminded her firmly.

“Unless it’s the Joker.” Steph chimed in, bubbly smile gentled into something kinder.

“Unless it’s him.” Duke agreed. His eyes were more serious now.

“No,” Bruce replied, tired. Heavier, in a way that made sour tang of guilt scratch the back of her tongue. She hadn’t meant to give him the weight of knowledge, but she had inadvertently done so with the things she had and hadn’t said. He wasn’t the world’s- she glanced at Tim, who quirked a smile at her- second best detective for no reason.

“Yes, but you’re not ready for that conversation.” Dick snapped, lightheartedly.

Ah. That’s what was off.

They’re kind. They choose to be and they inherently are kind.

It showed. And she wasn’t used to that.

“Lunch.” Cassandra reminded them. She was a solid, grounding presence at the reincarnator’s back.

“Oh, Jason said he’s on the way.” Duke commented, nodding when she quickly did a subtle thank you sign.

“Why does he text you and not me?” Dick whined.

“Wow, man. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of the emoji wall you send?”

“They’re nice! How else are you supposed to know what I’m feeling, right, Cass?”

Cass nodded and gave a thumbs up from her place on ukhti’s back.

“See?!”

“I love you Cass, but you also use a wall of understandable emojis. Dick just spams them.” Steph retorted.

The reincarnator turned to Damian, a silent question in her eyes. He sighed. “Yes, the imbeciles argue all of the time.”

She nodded and the group made their way to the green house for lunch, bickering all the while.

When they get there, Jason Todd, along with Alfred Pennyworth were already at the table.

“Grave.” She greeted as Cass slipped off her back.

“Ain’t no fucking way, Trainer?” Jason leapt to his feet. It was odd, seeing him in casual clothes. Ra’s had kept him in armor most of the time.

“You know each other?”

“At this point, who doesn’t ukht know would be an easier question.” Damian grumbled. She tapped him on the head twice, a light reprimand.

‘Grave was part of your guard,’ she told him. ‘He protected you well.’

“You’re the demon brat’s older sister? That makes so much fucking sense.”

She felt her eyes go cold, lifting to stare at Grave’s rapidly paling face. He visibly backtracks.

“Uh- I mean, you’re Damian’s older sister?”

She regarded him for a beat longer before blinking, ice melting away at the change. The nickname chafed at her neck, too close from a fate she gave everything to save Damian from.

Her head dipped into a small nod.

“Wild.” Jason sat back down. “So, uh, how are you handling the pit?”

‘I am not.’ She informed him, settling down in her seat. Damian claimed the spot next to her and Cass quickly took the other, much to Bruce’s chagrin. Tim plopped down to the seat next to Cass, eyes zeroing onto the chamomile tea Alfred had set out for him.

Duke smiled at Bruce before sitting next to Jason, Steph skipping over and sitting next Dick and Jason at the same time.

“Ukhti managed to get rid of the side effects,” Damian informed the table at large.

Her little bat had the worst ability to make sure attention focused on her, the reincarnation groused. She sighed.

“How?” Clearly, Grave had forgotten how much she beat him into the sparring mat because he leaned forward to glare at her. Well, she hadn’t wanted him too afraid of her.

‘Magic.’

His face fell at the assumed non answer, but Damian’s nod had the entire table once more expectant.

She sighed and began weaving her magic.

——

She stalked through the shadows of the manor, at ease. Bruce and the others had left on patrol, hours ago. She was clad in her sleeping clothes, one of her less favored clothes. Her hands would get dirty again tonight but she was long past the point of lingering on those regrets.

“Miss al-Ghul,” Alfred turned as she stepped towards him, having made sure she made adequate noise as a forewarning. “Having a good night?”

She tilted her head, eyes inquisitively peering at the spotless china display behind the butler.

“Ah, you must be curious about the fine ceramics we have currently displayed,” Alfred smiled. “Would you be so kind as to indulge an old butler on this topic?”

She had an idea about the kind of gift Alfred Pennyworth would appreciate.

——

“Uh, whatcha got there?”

She blinked, pulling bloodied hands away from her clothes where she had been inspecting them. The assassin that caused the damage on her clothes laid beneath her feet, still and lifeless. She blinked again.

Nightwing, Dick, stood in front of her, freshly showered from his patrol.

Some form of long forgotten instinct rose from the dry rotted fabric of her faded memories had her responding, ‘A smoothie.’

“…That’s… not a smoothie,” Dick said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I’m pretty sure that’s an assassin?”

She shrugged. “He was after Damian. To force him into being the Demon’s head.” She paused. ‘I am tying up loose ends.’

Dick considered her. And the he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right, okay. I’ll help you get rid of the evidence.”

She waved him off, clicking her fingers and looking over the room with critical eyes as the body and traces of the fight disappeared.

“Woah, handy.”

‘Very,’ she agreed. ‘Did you need something?’

He made a face. “That’s weird. It’s usually me asking that,” he muttered. “Uh, yeah. I just… wanted to thank you again. And uh, let you know that the others don’t know so if you could not tell them, that would be great?”

With a huff, she reached over and up to gently ruffle his hair. ‘Of course. Damian did not know either.’

“Right,” he breathed. “You get it.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Been avoiding thinking about it?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

She looked at him, silent. Offering a space to listen, and a quiet promise to offer no judgement.

“I don’t- it- I could have stopped her,” he told her, guilt and shame and the lingering whispering voice Catalina burrowing into his ears and heart.

And when he started, it seemed to him like he couldn’t stop. Dick told her of the things he felt as she got on top of him, of how numb and far away things were. How, if it rained, he couldn’t be in the quiet because it made him relive it.

“But… but you stopped her so I shouldn’t even be like this!”

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She told him, the first thing she’s said since he’s started talking. ‘The only one at fault was her. You trusted her to stop. She did not. Her crimes were not yours to bear.’

She paused, taking in the refusal she could read on his face. “If someone beats another person, would you blame the person who was beaten?”

“No!”

‘Then you are kind. But you are so kind to others, why not yourself?’

Dick fell silent.

“I killed Ra’s,” she reminded him. “He allowed many others to partake in my body without my agreement.”

She leaned towards him, the admittance of something she had not even told Damian ringing painfully in her heart but made all the easier to say by the fact that one of her little brothers (the free, first Robin, the son who stood by Bruce’s side when she could not) needed her. “He himself partook in me. And yet,” she added, when Dick looked up. ‘It is difficult to forget. I am still afraid when I step onto the carpet on the sitting room.’

“The carpet? The rug? The fluffy one?” He asked, confused.

“It is like… your rain and silence,” she crossed her arms. ‘That and the sound of rustling silk reminds me of his chambers.’

“Oh.”

‘I killed him and it will not go away. Would you blame me for that?’

“No, that’s how healing is- oh.”

“Be kind, to yourself.”

His chin trembled. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Ukhti.”

“Ukhti,” he parroted, aiming a watery and small smile her way.

She held out her arms and, with Dick’s tacit understanding, tucked him beneath her wings like she did with Damian. “Thank you for offering to get rid of the body, habibi. But I would not want you to get in trouble.”

“Eh, I’ve helped Jason deal with worse.”

‘Comforting.”

“I know, right?”

——

“Why the hell do you keep calling me Grave?” Jason asked her, grumbling as he tried to wire his new helmet after the last one got damaged.

She leaned back, basking in the sun on the new rugs. After their conversation, Dick had set fire to every fluffy rug in the house-

“What the hell, dude?!” Duke gaped as he watched Dick cheerfully toss an expensive rug into the impressive bonfire they had going on.

“Ukhti doesn’t like fluffy rugs,” Dick said with a straight face. Damian dragged another roll to the bonfire with a scowl. “Alfred Approved project, if you want to join~!”

Duke stared at him… and picked up a roll to toss into the fire.

- and bought new ones using Bruce’s credit cards.

“You got some of your memories back, in the league.” She hummed. “You liked reading. Poems.”

“What does that even have to do with Grave?”

“I remembered one. A line. Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep…”

Jason twisted around. “Are you kidding me?”

She continued. “Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die.”

“But I did die.”

She shrugged. ‘People still remembered you. Gotham and Bruce cried at your loss. I saw it.’

She straightened and smiled a small smile at him. ‘Besides. You got better.’

Jason snorted. “You too, I guess.”

She hummed an agreement, eyes slipping closed in the warm light of the sun, relief after a long second life of cowering in the shadows of a man more like a demon than he was a grandfather.

[sk3tch404]

Yandere Donnie Darko Hcs

A/n: I finally came around to watching Donnie Darko while I was styling my hair this morning. It was so good and omgg HIS CHARACTER!!! Love it 💜 What he voices in where he rebels against authority resonates with me in the most honest and straight up sense, it's crazy.

CW: Characterizing of psychosis without research (I am in no way claiming this is how individuals who suffer some psychosis or with schizophrenic symptoms act or feel like. This is simply a work of fiction and how I see Donnie's mental state affect the scenario), Donnie is actually very tame here except for his obvious criminal record and acts of violence, and YALL HES A MENTALLY ILL TEENAGE BOY so he's a lowkey soft okay. Y'all see him with Gretchen? So caring and passionate ugh, love him sm. <33 I try to write as close to canon as possible, but sometimes that leads to really soft yans and I kind of doubt my writing. Despite that. I like to think that not all yanderes need to be possessive killing machines in order to fit into the troupe. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with obsession, and so I think I did decently with this one lol.

Proof read a few times, so sorry for wordy/run on sentences and possible wonky grammar.

I feel like Donnie is very observant and patient with his darling. He's quite analytical for a teenage boy which leads him to take time to consider the variables that weigh within your possible relationship.

Donnie is still an awkward kid, so dont be surprised when you accidentally find him staring at you for a considerable period of time in class. In school, he doesn't approach you, seeing as the setting is already suffocating enough. He'd try to catch you after school or when you two have a little bit of privacy.

He's kinda shy and clumsy at first glance--- too talkative in his speech and self-aware of his minor fuck ups. Over time, he'll be more open to what he wants with you. Donnie might not really understand how to handle love and all of its complexities, but hell try really hard to make it work.

Yeah, y'all saw how fast he dived in for that kiss in the film?... Embarrassing, but it's true that he's quite excited to show his affection for you. He'll be "so chill with it," and he is to an extent--- not too clingy at all--- but when he's around he gives you guard dog privileges. Stays at your side and defends you from any brain rotting comments made from the guys around the neighborhood. Donnie isn't much of a fighter, but he's damn well capable of planning and executing a crime if it calls for it. One count of arson, another unaccounted for, severe property damage, and murder? Don't doubt it for one second that he won't consider further acts in the future to come.

His psychosis affects him directly when it comes to you--- as it also does with most things. He already feels so shitty with how things are going in his life, Frank voicing the many thoughts he has about you day to day stresses him further. Sometimes Donnie is scared Frank will convince him to hurt you as the countdown progresses. Despite that fear, he can't keep away from you.

This distress causes Donnie to rebel more often. As he spirals down the rabbit hole Frank keeps digging for him, the anxiety that follows with what will happen to you once the world ends lingers late at night in his bed.

Donnie's main love language is quality time. He walks with you from school and chills with you pretty much wherever. He's pretty book-smart, so he'll pitch in with your projects and homework assignments. His parents don't really seem like they care what he does most of the time, so if he's given the chance, he'll crash at your place for a few before they think he's off sleepwalking or some shit.

Donnie already knows he's slipping off the rails, placebo medication or not, Frank stays to stir the pot. He's almost scared, scared to death that you'll think he's an insane lunatic and he'll scare you off. But at the same time, why be scared if it's the truth? He has evidence, the book, and his own visions. That anxiety doesn't go away when he rambles on about the six-foot-tall bunny rabbit and how that thing has led him to the method of time travel.

You're just left there dumb founded as he stares on at you with that deadpanned look. Too late to back out now. World's ending and you don't got a boyfriend. Well, you got Donnie... and Frank's there too sometimes, but either way, you're all each other's got. You don't want to be alone do you? Donnie knows he doesn't.

He trusts you more than anyone else. Yeah he's on meds, and sure he's loony, but everyone knows that already; not that they seemed to care too much anyway. He feels like he can just exist with you around. All that pent up frustration with the looming guilt of his actions festering inside can be washed out like waves on a cold shore. Of course, it's not a cure-all, but it's damn nice compared to the bone headed friends he got and the tense dinner table back at home.

He has scratch paper in his drawers that are just filled with messy sketches of you. Not sure if he'd be the type to use sketchbooks, but he is pretty organized in his own room. Donnie just finds you so easy and beautiful to draw. Art block has nothing on this boy. He hates it when his sisters barge into his room and see any unfinished piece of you lying around. They tease him so bad about it, he wishes they'd just leave him alone.

"Ooo, is this the girl you're always wasting your time with?"

"No, gimme it. It's none of your business, and get out of my room."

"Geez, fine. Not like that's the freakiest thing you got in here anyway."

Donnie wouldn't be the extreme stalking type, but if he caught a glance of you, he wouldn't be able to look away. He'd also take into account what your daily patterns are as well as your likes and dislikes. He notices your little habits like if you constantly apply too much pressure to your mechanical pencil, making your lead break. He's always have had a passive opinion on the school uniform, but you made it look good, great even. Donnie likes it even more seeing you in street wear. He takes note on your style and even thinks of taking some inspiration from it to feel closer to you.

He's sensitive in places a teenager would be in most. He's irritable and closed off much of the time, even to you if it gets bad enough. Of course, it's not your fault usually. It only makes sense to be defensive in the case of anything he may perceive as a threat, even if that means any possibility of you breaking his heart.

Donnie may be a bit shy in his advances, but what he isn't is hesitant. He's quite bold in his thoughts and feelings. While he is afraid of your judgement in particular, he doesn't mind doing many things in front of you. Your collar is crooked, so let him just fix it up real quick. Talk about something that's got him thinking? He's letting his thoughts pour out like it's happy hour. He sees no issue in doing what he wants to, so if you're feeling unsure or nervous about something, he'll be the one to do it for you. Not many questions asked unless it's got his serious attention.

Kisses are passionate and deep. (Tbh when I first watched the movie I was like, "DAMN dont eat her face- shit.") I dont know if Donnie has had previous experience or not, but he's definitely got the enthusiasm. He tries to match your rhythm if you seem to have trouble following. Not too much tongue, but best believe he's devouring your lips like it's the last 6 hours in the universe. His hands are roaming around your body, feeling the dips and curves so cautiously because Jesus, you're just rocking his fucking world. If you tell him to slow down, he will. Donnie never wants to force you to do anything you wouldn't want to.

Words of affirmation aren't really a thing for him. If he says something to you, it was probably on his mind anyway. If you say "I love you" to him, he'd be almost stunned but wouldn't have a problem reciprocating that energy. He just felt like that connection between you two was already clear enough. No need to say it so directly. Although, it's nice. He really loves and cares for you. Would take a bullet for you--- cross his heart till he dies, all that sappy shit.

If you reject him, let's just say Frank and Donnie will be speaking more often. It pushes him off the edge. Frank isn't in Donnie's head just to do evil shit, but it's not like his presence doesn't perpetuate Donnie's behavior further. He wouldn't go on a killing spree or anything excessively violent like that. He'd be hyper-focused on the time travel aspect of his situation and become more forceful in his methods. He'd demand answers to make sense of all of it. To cope with the fact you didn't want him like how he needed you. Why didn't you like him enough? What didn't he do? Actually, what did he do? His mind feels like its on the brink of breaking as he tries to rationalize all the negativity in his life. He's already done too much, his world feels like it's collapsing in on itself before the actual day could even come. You were a majority of that world, and now it's just broken.

Donnie is so distraught and confused about his adolescent experiences, he almost doesn't know what to do. The only thing to do from then on is to focus on the countdown. Time travel, and how to fix it all. Otherwise, not only would he be left alone, but you would be too. Donnie wouldn't want that for you, not ever. Even with all the pain and frustration stowed away inside his still beating heart, he would never wish to hurt you; one of the only people on Earth who didn't suck so much as everyone else did.