#magical!batfam

[msfcatlover]

@alycat76​ : Can you give me the low urban fantasy AU? 

YES! YES I ABSOLUTELY CAN!!! Ah, you have no idea how much I love this one!!!

Okay, so! This AU was actually born directly from my frustration with a bunch of Urban Fantasy AUs (and original stories, if we’re being real here.) Namely, that those stories will so often be like, “These magical beings are very, very rare,” and then the entire cast will be mystical beings of one sort or another. And I was like, “You can totally tell an engaging story in a world like this with an almost entirely human cast. You don’t even have to cut out the magic element or fun world building!” (And yes, that first part does accurately describe my Monster!Kids AU. Shhhhh, let me have my hypocrisy.)

I wanted to do that, and my brain is 90% Batfam brainrot right now, so here’s what I came up with.

(CW for minor mentions of sickness, canon character death, and child abuse. Bruce is not the abuser, for the record. But mentions are there. Also, Jason’s body is not restored to its pre-death state, and I do describe some of the things that would’ve been done to prep him for his funeral.)

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

Very first point: Bruce’s tie to Gotham is more than just his love & dedication to his city. The Wayne family are supposedly one of the oldest families in the city, and of those old families they’re possibly (I’m still a little unclear here) the only one not tied to the Court of Owls? They’re the ones most dedicated to improving Gotham and ending its corruption, anyway. So let’s do something with that, shall we?

The Wayne bloodline has a bond with the city. Some might call it a blessing, some might call it a curse. The eldest member of the family is a Fisher King; the health of the Lord is tied directly to that of the city. When the Lord is sick, the city suffers; when the city suffers, the Lord feels its pain. And for generations, the head of the family has near-always been ill. Bruce has vivid memories of his father retching over the toilet, or calling in sick because the trembling was too much for Thomas to risk operating on patients (they are, depressingly, some of the most vivid memories Bruce has of his father.) As a member of the family, Bruce could see the marks just under his father’s skin, from ink-black to bruise-yellow and every sickly color in between, that nobody else seemed to see (Zatanna did, and she was the only outsider to assure Bruce he wasn’t crazy over it, but there’s only so much she could do for him.) It was terrifying for a young boy to see his father so ill, but Thomas promised Bruce that even though it was a “family condition,” Thomas & Martha were working on it; Thomas promised his son that by the time Bruce had to worry about it, they’d have made enough progress that Bruce would hardly even notice it.

Of course, that’s not what happened. Thomas was actually feeling well that night, better than he had in months, and wanted to go out to celebrate. Martha chose the restaurant and Bruce chose the movie. And maybe, if Thomas had kept feeling well, if he hadn’t had to stop to catch his breath, if the family hadn’t stepped into that specific alley to avoid blocking the sidewalk... maybe things would’ve been different.

When Thomas Wayne breathed his last, his son collapsed under the weight of Gotham’s rot & suffering. Joe Chill assumed the bullet must’ve passed through one of the parents to hit the child, and fled in a panic.

The hospital could find nothing wrong with Bruce, but he saw the understanding in Alfred’s eyes when he arrived and the first thing Bruce said to Alfred was, “I think I’m dying.”

(In most legends, Fisher Kings cannot leave their homelands. The Waynes are slightly luckier, but the longer they are away, the more they... fade. Energy seeps out of them slowly, color leaves their skin, no amount of sleep is ever enough, and they eventually need to return to Gotham to recharge. Bruce’s record is 3yrs, and the doctors shipped him home basically in a coma.)

(Bruce swore he would never have children, never pass down his bloodline’s curse to an innocent child who should not have to carry it. He got a vasectomy as soon as he legally could. Needless to say, he was furious Talia would go so far as to create a clone-son for the two of them, violating both Bruce’s right to choose and cursing Damian to carry on that line of suffering.)

Bruce learned his city & body well enough that he can use it as a map. Not a map that would make sense to anyone else (street corners that are directly adjacent to eachother might be on completely different parts of him, like one on his ribs and the other behind his knee.) During the day, he uses his resources to try to treat Gotham’s suffering preventatively, going after unjust rules & systems, weaving a new security net for Gotham’s underclass, etc. At night, his methods are more surgical, cutting out the tumors & rot, while also taking the time to help as many individual citizens as he possibly can.

As the legend of the Batman grows, reality starts to bend ever so slightly under the weight of it. He jumps further & more accurately than a man of his bulk should be able to, can always find the perfect corner to hide in, always has something to grab when he falls off a building.

Despite all the suffering Gotham causes Bruce Wayne, he still loves his city. And the city loves him back.

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

Second point: Dick Grayson is human, and he doesn’t exactly have any magic of his own. It’s... I’m calling it “being a conduit.” Basically, Dick resonates with any magic in his vicinity. He’s very sensitive to the presence of magic, to the point of it being basically a sixth sense, and on an instinctive level he attunes himself to any natural or environmental magic around him. To a very limited degree, he can even take on a few traits of what that magic is, but not... he can’t tune into a fire spell and burn you with a touch, but when he’s resonating with Gotham, he is slightly more resistant to poisoning.

It’s much, much rarer than being a magic user (though many magic users do eventually become conduits through sheer exposure,) but in the same way having perfect pitch is different from being able to sing.

...I’m making it sound so much more powerful than it actually is here. The main benefit Dick gets out of it is that when he attunes himself to any given city, the city will treat him as a native and most citizens just passing him in the street will assume he is too (this does not affect his ability to, say, speak the language or change his accent, it’s just his “vibes,” if that makes sense.)

As far as story goes, this means Dick can see Bruce’s curse-marks despite not being a member of his bloodline; if they’re in contact with eachother, Dick can even very faintly feel what the city is inflicting on Bruce at any given time. (This scares the absolute bejeezus out of Bruce when he realizes, as he immediately assumes he misinterpreted the curse, and “bloodline” just means “family,” or even “household,” and he’s cursed Dick as well just by offering him a home!) It also means that as soon as Robin becomes part of Batman’s legend, Dick can benefit from the city’s protections just like Bruce does.

It is, in fact, Dick who causes Bruce to realize there’s something more than just good luck happening, when Robin is thrown off a roof but fortunately finds a pole of some sort hidden by the building’s shadow to kick off from and make it to the next one over (this also triggers a rumor that Robin can fly, something Dick is more than happy to lean into with some tailoring on his cape, and yes, he does move even better & faster as a result.) The thing is, Bruce is certain there was no pole there, because he would’ve incorporated it into potential escape plans. And when he finally has the time to go back & check, after the fight is over, after Robin is safe... he’s right. The alley is empty. There’s no pole, no pipe, no nothing. But Dick definitely kicked off of something in mid-air, Dick’s not a metahuman or a magic user, he can’t double-jump or anything. Dick himself insists his foot just caught the top of a thin, flat cylinder, no more than two inches wide, just barely enough to jump from; Dick’s even pretty sure he saw the pole when he glanced behind him, sticking up out of the shadows. Nothing weird at all, except for how it doesn’t exist.

(When Jason dies, Gotham’s grief is strong enough to feel it all the way out in space. Dick doesn’t understand the heavy feeling in his heart, nor the sudden urgency to get home. He tells the other Titans to just drop him off in Gotham, but the closer they get, the worse Dick feels. When they actually break the city limits, Dick just melts into tears as Gotham’s pain howls through every inch of his body. Donna calls ahead, more than a little panicked, and nearly gives Alfred a heart attack with how worried & hesitant Donna is to just straight up say what’s wrong with Dick. She offers Dick the communicator, saying it’s Alfred on the line, and Dick snatches it out of her hand to ask the only coherent word any of them will hear from him for the rest of the day: “Who?”

When Alfred answers, Dick just... breaks. Right there in front of them. He’s trying to say something, something about that being wrong, something about having plans, but he can’t deny what he’s feeling, and he can’t seem to get the words out.

The Titans land in the Batcave, and refuse to leave. Fuck Batman’s rules, they’re not abandoning Dick... and Dick isn’t the only one who didn’t get to say goodbye.)

(Bruce & Dick still fight about it terribly once they’re finally alone. Bruce never once raises his hand to his son, but Dick tries to reach out to him, to touch Bruce’s hand and resonate, to literally share his pain, and Bruce jerks away saying, “Don’t, it’s not---”

Dick stares in shock & horror as both of them silently complete that sentence: It’s not real. If you asked Dick right in that moment, he’d say striking him would have hurt less.)

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

Jason was human, fully human, with nothing special about him at all. Well, except for how Gotham loved him even more than Batman. The resonance Dick needs to wrap himself up in for Gotham to accept him, Jason has it echoing in his bones. He’s one of Gotham’s truest sons, he’s part of that city, and the city is part of him.

It’s not Superboy Prime’s reality breaking punch that brought Jason back from the dead. I... Look, I wrote a little nursery rhyme to explain it, and I’ve no idea if it’s any good (but it can’t be any worse than the Court of Owls’ rhyme, which has just a few too many syllables in certain lines for me to find whatever rhythm it’s supposed to have.)

Take me home to Gotham If I die far away Put me in her soil In a shallow grave

I don’t belong in Paris Or under London Town Don’t bury me in Tokyo Put me in Gotham ground

If you lose me out at sea In storm or dark of night I’ll swim back home to Gotham I’ll just follow the lights

Don’t send me off to Moscow Or drag me down to Rome I’m Gotham born and bred, my friend I only rest at home

Oh, take me home to Gotham If I die far away Put me in her soil In a shallow grave

I don’t need no tears or funerals Don’t miss me every day For I’ve come home to Gotham And right at home I’ll stay

(As far as most people are concerned, that’s where the rhyme ends. This next part is less well known, in-universe.)

I don’t want no fancy coffin Just put me in the ground Dig a hole on old Park Row And don’t let me be found

My soul belongs in Gotham She knows me blood and bone There is nowhere else that I may rest I’ll only toss and moan

But I’ll rest well in Gotham For two years and a day And if I’m feeling up to it I might even awake

So take me home to Gotham If I die far away You know I’ll only rest in peace In my shallow grave

...Yeah. This actually leads to a few traditions very specific to Gotham, like lighting a candle on someone’s grave on the anniversary of their death to help “lead them home,” or sitting vigil by their grave for the first 2-3 anniversaries. Lots of people don’t even know it has anything to do with this rhyme, it’s just part of Gotham’s culture.

Bruce & Dick of course know the whole rhyme and fight not to get their hopes up on the 2nd anniversary (have you seen that one post where Dick goes to smoke a cigarette for Jason on his grave, chokes on the smoke, and then Bruce shows up and they just silently share it? Yeah. Those vibes. Big those vibes.)

They made one crucial miscalculation, though: they calculated when Jason’s return would theoretically be from the time he died, not from when he was buried. Jason claws his way out of the ground just a day or two after they leave.

Now Jason’s a full-on undead revenant. In exactly the same condition they put him in the ground. He has embalming fluid in his veins, and wires holding his broken bones together. His mouth was sewn shut. But he’s not braindead, he’s fully aware, so enjoy that nightmare fuel for your near future! Additionally, people can’t seem to recognize him as being out of place; he’s walking around in his funeral suit, covered in dirt, and hardly anyone gives him a second glance. He doesn’t register to people, just a face in the crowd, just another part of Gotham, and it’s... Look, Jason’s not complaining that he’s not being arrested or having people run screaming at the sight of him. He can’t even say they’re ignoring him because people will still look up, say their greetings, whatever when he walks through a door, or grunt when they walk into him. But something about the way people brush past him, the certainty nobody will remember him after their interaction is finished, hurts.

(The only way for Jason to be remembered, to leave an impression on the people around him, is to become part of a legend once again.)

Revenants come back for a reason, and Jason’s is to kill his murderer. But he’s part of Gotham proper now, and unlike Bruce, Jason can’t leave. He tries to, he drives all the way to Arkham in a hot-wired car, but he’s still a good half mile away before the pain becomes too much and Jason’s forced to turn the car around or risk crashing when he inevitably passes out. This Jason never trains with the League of Assassins, but he doesn’t need to; no Lazarus Pit needed to fix his mind, and his undead body can take a lot more punishment than any living human could.

(I have this mental image of Jason going back to Wayne Manor, right on the edge of discomfort-not-pain outside of the city proper, and needing to spill so many identifying secrets to Alfred to get Alfred to even let him through the door. Bruce is out of the country, so Alfred calls Dick to please come help him verify their visitor’s identity. Dick has no idea who this stranger in their living room is, until he closes his eyes and focuses on the magic. Dives in deep, letting the resonance of Gotham’s soul wrap around him, and is surprised to find it so much clearer & louder than it should be this far from the city’s heart. Louder than it’s ever been since Jason---

Dick opens his eyes, and his breath catches in his throat as he finally recognizes the face staring at him with so much raw hope.)

Anyway, Bruce refuses to kill the Joker even harder when he finds out Jason is back, because he’s terrified that the moment Jason’s unfinished business is done, Jason will go back to being properly dead.

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

Okay, last stop: Tim! The only member of the family to be fully supernatural, non-human from the start.

Tim is a changeling. Specifically, he’s a fae who was born without the spellcasting abilities most fae have, so he was traded for a human child. Tim has no memory of the fae courts or his home mound, but he’s a smart cookie and it wasn’t hard to do the math.

Tim can’t lie. He has to keep his promises and he can’t help but keep track of debts (the kindest people in his life will give him quick, easy ways to repay them; a cool rock Tim found, or an interesting bit of information. Tim doesn’t like to hold debts over others most of the time, and will offer similar outs or just tell himself the next nice thing they do for him makes them even.)

Tim can’t cross salt lines or thresholds with horseshoes above them.

Tim can’t touch iron or silver without burning his skin.

Eating non-iodized salt makes Tim sick.

If Tim speaks someone’s full name as part of a command, they will do what he tells them to (other people don’t usually realize this, because they aren’t forced violently; their own minds usually try to find ways to justify what they’re doing.)

If someone has a piece of Tim’s body (like hair, blood, or nail-clippings) Tim’s brain goes into panic mode as quickly as if they held a knife to his throat.

Those are the obvious giveaways that point straight to fae. Tim’s inhumanity can also be found in minute details of his physicality.

Tim’s eyes glow in the dark.

The tips of Tim’s ears are pointed.

Tim has never lost a tooth (but his parents had his eye-teeth removed when he was eight.)

Tim’s nails grow in tough & black as pitch. (He’s gotten in trouble many times at school for painting them, despite the doctor’s note explaining it.)

Hidden under Tim’s hair, his scalp grows thick, curved thorns like a rosebush. (His mother sits him down in the bathroom the day before company comes over, and meticulously removes them with a pair of nail clippers. It hurts. They bleed. Tim’s learned not to squirm or show how much he hate it. It hurts worse if anyone messes with Tim’s hair afterwards, but he’s learned not to show that either.)

And, of course, there’s the biggest giveaway of all:

In all Tim’s pictures before the single trip his parents ever took him on (a whirlwind tour of Europe just before his 2nd birthday,) Tim’s eyes were hazel-brown.

They’re blue now.

(Tim tells himself his parents leave him behind and push him away because they can sense something is off about him, but that they don’t know what. He tells himself they didn’t notice when the fae stole their son away, that the real Timothy Drake would’ve grown up doted on & treasured, traveling the world with them, seeing the sights. Tim tries not to think about how Drake Industries was spiraling before they took that trip, or how it stabilized before they even made it home.)

Tim still becomes Robin, barely resisting Name-commanding his way into the role (it wouldn’t be right, it wouldn’t be honest, he needs Bruce to trust Tim if Bruce is ever going to get better.)

Gotham itself sees Tim as an interloper, but when Tim is Robin it can’t do anything about that. When Jason comes back, Tim sets off all his red-flag alarms, and all he can see is an alien parasite trying to worm its way into his family. It won’t be until Jason saves Tim from supernatural poachers who try to torture Tim’s Name out of him (fruitless in the first place, Tim doesn’t know his own Name,) that they’ll be able to move past that. Gotham can project its suspicions & paranoia through Jason, but how Jason chooses to see Tim will also affect Gotham.

(Someday, Damian will find Tim’s eye-teeth and return them to him as a birthday gift. It will be the kindest single act anyone has ever done for him, as Tim feels safe & whole for the first time since they were taken. Nevermind that they’re in a jewelry box and not Tim’s body, he has his teeth back, and nobody can take them ever again.

Tim will struggle to tell Damian that Tim can’t even begin to express how much this means to him. In the end, Tim just tells Damian, “Thank you. I owe you.”

Dangerous words, with no limit on the debt.

Damian will blink, realize what Tim’s answer really means, and scoff. “Don’t be stupid. It’s a gift. You don’t owe me anything, that’s how gifts work.”)

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

Basically everyone else has the same stories they do in canon, but with a little less dying. I’ve given dying so much more weight in this AU, so like, Steph doesn’t die, Damian doesn’t die, etc.

Damian does inherit Bruce’s curse/burden when Bruce is lost in time, though. Dick helps him learn to manage it, on top of everything else.

[bloomeng]

red bow & sailor nightwing

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Unhinged Feral Boyfriends

The whole Batfam is under the assumption that Damian is the feral child. The assassin, the wild one, the demon brat that bites and stabs. Jason usually takes the second place, what with guns, heads in the duffelbag, and being a crime lord.

But Tim? Come on, even Duke is more feral than him. Tim is a nerd, and he keeps to his own devices most of the time, and, sure, sometimes he is plenty unhinged. But he's okay. Seventh place on the unofficial List of Feral Bats.

He's got a boyfriend lately, have you heard? Tim hadn't brought him to the manor for dinner yet, but each and every Bat and Bird have already seen the guy - in person or through the surveillance cameras or background checks, doesn't matter. Either way, Daniel Fenton is quite literally a ray of sunshine.

They look very cute together.

That is, until one day, they witness Danny and Tim rip Joker's ribcage out of his chest.

Nothing could have prepared them for it. It was just another patrol, just another night of fighting crime, nothing out of the ordinary. Sure, Joker was on the loose, but so far, no one has tracked the Clown down or seen any of his goons.

But then, Red Robin's tracker went offline. The Bats started searching for him immediately - his last recorded location, his trackers, his route, everything. But when they managed to find him...

Well.

They didn't only find him in that warehouse.

They found Joker, choking on the ground and clawing at his own neck, like trying to force some air inside his lungs. Over him, Danny was squatting on the ground, his eyes thoughtful and not worried in the slightest, tapping on his chin. And, just a step behind him, Red Robin is holding a fucking ribcage in his hands, studying it with calm curiosity.

"Should we put it back now?" Tim asks, relaxed and easy, like they are speaking about whether they should or should not get another box of cereal in a store.

Danny shrugs, "I mean, if you want to. It's not like he's gonna die in the next ten or so minutes, you've got time."

And then, as Batman makes the slightest of noises, Danny's head snaps to him, and the boy smiles, cheerful and bright. Like the ray of sunshine he is.

"Hi, Bats!" Then he blinks and looks down to Joker, who is already frothing at the mouth, "Oh, don't worry about him, he won't die. Red's just putting a tracker in his manibrium."

"I figured it'd be easier to find him next time if he can't get the tracker out," Tim nods, unbothered, as he is tinkering with the ribcage in his hands before passing it back to Danny, "Okay, done. Put it back."

Danny takes the ribcage and presses it to Joker's chest. And, before they know it, the bones sink inside the man, like a hand in a bowl of sand.

Danny wipes his hands on his jeans and stands. Tim smiles at the Bats, none of whom know what to say and where to start.

The next day, Joker is back at Arkham with a tracker in his sternum, Danny is invited to dinner in the manor, and Tim takes the first place of the Feral List, with a note 'never leave unattended when Danny is nearby'.

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Prologue

Part 1

Your mother was a beautiful kind and dangerous woman. In short. She was a Falcone. And for young Bruce, being with her was a thrill. Being Batman gave him a thrill, but your mother was a different kind of thrill.

Till she got pregnant. And the thrill was gone.

Your mother kept you of course. Counting the days till she gets to hold you in her arms. And when she finally got to hold you, to feel you close and hear your sweet little voice. The rest of the Falcone men decided that your mother wasn't ready to take care of you. So, they forced you out of her arms and sent you to Bruce.

Bruce held you once. And immediately passed you to Alfred. He was too young to become a father. (Never mind the fact he was already acting as a father to two boys)

He didn't have time to play daddy. Deep down Bruce did come to care for you over the years and attempted to try and hold you. But then Jason died, Dick distanced himself. Holding you, an innocent little thing, felt wrong.

When you were eight. You had tantrums. Night terrors. terribly scared of the dark. Thunderstorms especially. Gotham famous for its long dark nights and loud thunderstorms. Bruce, too busy with his new sidekick, Tim. Didn't have time to comfort you. No matter how heartbreaking your scrams for him were. Crying for him, so he can save you from whatever nightmare you have woken from.

But only Alfred occasionally Dick, would come and save you.

Bruce would give you toys, new dresses as a form of apology. He wouldn't give it to you directly. But have Alfred give it to you or leave it in your room when asleep. But no matter how many new toys he gives you. Those nightmares just never stopped.

Due to the neglect. Your mother was able to meet with you secretly. As years passed, she was able to steal you away when Alfred wasn't hovering around you. Take you to shop and give you whatever you wanted. Holding you in her arms and not wanting to let go.

Slowly, your mother was gaining the favor of some of the Falcones. To let her have you back. To welcome you back into the Falcone family. Once she gets the whole family to agree. She can make a case of child neglect against Bruce Wayne and take her sweet Babygirl back.

But when you were ten. Your powers began to kick in. You told Bruce, hoping your father would help you. Help you understand. Bruce, told you to keep it a secret. And to tell no one else.

Having a kid who was a meta was the last thing he needed at the moment. Trying to re-connect with Jason who still had deep hate for him instead focusing on his first-born child who was struggling to understand.

You felt like a freak.

And it wasn't long till you lost control of your powers. To keep it short. You accidently killed a few other kids with your powers. It was an accident. You swore. You see you would have just been left off. Your a kid. It was an accident. But most of all your a Wayne. But one of the kids you killed was a Falcone.

And Bruce couldn't risk you getting killed. He cared about you. Just not as much as he should. So, to avoid the wrath of the Falcone's. Bruce had to claim you were mentally ill. Sending you to Arkham. Only for a few months. That's what he said to you. That's what he promised.

You did your six months in Arkham. Six months turned to eight. Eight months turned to ten. Ten months turned to two years. Then finally, you were taken out from your cell. Lead by two prison guards. They said you had a visitor. You assumed it was another reporter. But was proven wrong when you see Bruce on the other side of the thick glass. You were shocked but happy to see your father.

"Daddy." You spoke softly as you slowly smile, putting your hand on the glass. Bruce hesitates to put his hand on the glass, once he does, he focused back to you. Your eyes stared at him with so much love and hope.

". . . Your case. . . the court decided you're, too unstable to attend court, so. . ." Bruce didn't look at you as he spoke. So, he couldn't see the smile on your face fade. Confusion taking over.

"But. . . I did my six months. . . I-I've been here for a year! Daddy, please I didn't do it on purpose!" You were on the edge of crying.

"I promise. I'll get you out of here as soon as I can." Bruce wanted to try and console you. But that was harder due to the glass between you two. He reaches out his hand to the glass once more. But the loud buzz that queued it was time for you to get back to your cell.

"Please Daddy don't let them take me!" You cried, putting both hands on the glass. You were in full despair. Bruce didn't know what to do. He can take the risk from the Falcones and get you out with a snap of his fingers. Or he can make it easy for everyone but you and wait till you serve your time.

". . . I'm sorry" Bruce can see you falling deeper and deeper into dispare.

Guards burst from the doors and had to forcefully take you away.

"No- No! Daddy please! DADDY!" Your screamed louder as the guards took you away, reaching out to Bruce who just stood there. And did nothing. As always.

Seven years later.

No one ever visited you again. Well, no one from the Waynes. But your mother visited you every week. Her visits where the only reason you kept saine.

Arkham isn't all fun and games. Obviously. You were immitted into Arkham's fucked version of rehabilitation. You started hearing things after your first month in Arkham.

. . .

You sent letters almost every day to the Wayne manor. But never got any back. None from Bruce. None from Dick. You and Tim weren't close. So, you didn't expect anything from him. Alfred prefers to call you. Wanting to hear your voice to make sure you were not lying to him when he asks of your wellbeing.

You stopped sending letters to Bruce a few months ago. Not like he'll respond anyway. You don't need Bruce. You have your mother. And she's all you'll need. She's your world now, your reason to keep living this pointless life. And once you're out, Mama promised to give you a big hug. Which you so desperately needed.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

"𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢. . . 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎?"

[yjcorefourenjoyer]

currently obsessed with MY OWN AU where Tim used to be a magic user but got cursed by one of the artifacts his parents brought home, and can no longer make his own magic. now he has to get a spark from someone else in order to use it.

But since the Bats don’t like magic he just doesn’t tell anyone about it, but he’s still one of the most knowledgeable ppl about magic in the JL

He just randomly gives the magic users tips then walks away

Tim: “that’s the wrong symbol, it’s supposed to be #|#§##%&$#”

magic expert who’s wondering how a BAT knows this ancient summoning circle: “you’re right but how??????”

——————————————————————————————————

Edit: For everyone asking for the fic THERE IS NON I JUST MADE THIS AU UP

[ghost-bxrd]

(“the weather warmer, he is colder”)

— Army Dreamers, Kate Bush

[venuslarkspur]

Imagine: A Sanamancer!Magic!Reader x Batfam who can heal wounds through lip to lip contact <3

Sanamancy: A magic user whose magic is life and healing based.

———————

On patrol..

Jason: I think I pulled a muscle but I’ll be fine.

Sanamancer!Reader: Do you want me to heal you?

Jason: You can do that?

Sanamancer!Reader: Yes I can heal injuries through lip to lip contact :)

Jason: …don’t worry I only pulled a muscle

Sanamancer!Reader: Oh okay.

———————

Later

Jason: Punch me in the face now please.

Tim: You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.

———————

We need more magic!reader please <3

[sarcasticbeanie]

hm. is this anything.

[fandomfuntimem]

Dp x dc prompt #10000000000000000000000000000000000¹⁰

Bruce decided to foster this boy he had found. The kid's name is Danny, his parents were arrested for child endangerment and having an illegal lab in their basement.

At first the boy was curt and avoided contact with others. But now, they cannot keep their eyes off him. The moment they look away he is already halfway down the street running like a bat(haha) out of hell. No wonder Bruce had found him wondering the streets. No family could ever keep him in one place.

At first it was easy to catch him and bring him back, "hiring" the vigilantes to find him. But with time he only got sneakier, faster, and angrier. Everytime he got dragged back he was yelling and cursing. Calling Bruce a "fruitloop" he could only assume that was ment to be derogatory. Once he even punched poor Dick in the face. Duke swears that he must be a meta human, and Bruce can't help but agree with that sentiment.

Oddly enough though, Jason was the one to find him the most. At first it was just luck, but the more emotional Danny got, the more it became like a sixth sense to him. Danny disappeared, and Jason could find him. Hell, Danny was calmest with Jason. Still warry, but he didn't struggle as much, or search for ways out when he was set to watch him.

Now though, there were more reasons to keep an eye on him than before. One night he escaped, but he wasn't running from them, he was running to something. When Jason managed to catch him he swore up and down this wasn't an escape attempt, right before he pulled the vigilante down barely avoiding a bullet to the head. It was the Court of Owls. They were after Danny, and they led him into a trap. They barely made it out with their lives. Danny claimed he followed because he saw someone in trouble.

Then later, the League of Assassins made an attempt on his life. Claiming Ra's Al Ghul had plans for him. Ok. Ew. Yet another son of Bruce's the old creep was after.

Then more and more paranormal based groups and cults were gunning it for the poor kid. Now Danny had a new reason to run, and they had a new reason to protect him even harder.

[thevoidstaredback]

Okay, so, crisis averted. Both of them, really. Red Robin had not asked or attempted to get any more of Danny's drink and the World Ending Crisis was less World Ending and more World Threatening. Either way, no one is hyped up in lethal amounts of caffeine and the world is in no more pieces than it had been before.

That brings attention to a new problem, though. It's uniquely Danny's problem and Constantine and Zatanna and Deadman won't stop laughing at him. He's also pretty sure that Raven is laughing at him in the privacy of her mind, so that's making him feel worse.

The problem is that every single hero that had been at the meeting a week ago that was not a part of the JLD has been overly concerned about him.

So what if he half died when he was fourteen and therefore will never look over either fourteen or eighteen? So what if he consumes enough caffeine to kill an elephant within a few minutes? What is he gonna do, die? That's not a real threat as long as he only fights as Phantom.

Ignoring the fact that he can, in fact, get hurt to the point of near death as Phantom. It's not like anyone knows that, though! Besides, ghosts run on god rules. They can't die, only fade when forgotten. People aren't likely to forget about most ghosts, though, even if they can't remember their names.

He's not gonna share that, though. Let Batman keep his contingency that won't work because the only contingency that will work for Phantom is the one he made himself. Tried and tested! He's marked it off of his Bingo Card.

Anyway. Heros and their kids/proteges have been trying to track him down for the entire week. He can't risk even leaving the House of Mysteries because the Supers are all probably listening out for him and they can't hear him through magic. It sucks. He just wants to go get a cup of coffee as Danny. The second he leaves, though, the Supers will be on him like bloodhounds. He'd leave as Danny, but the rest of the JLD don't know what he looks like as Danny and he'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. Being stuck as Phantom was going to start causing issues to his human half if he doesn't get to leave soon.

Should he risk it? Is coffee that won't kill him really worth risking the Supers finding out his civilian identity? Sure, they wouldn't tell anyone, but he didn't like the idea of someone being able to pick him out of a crowd when all he wanted to do was blend in. It's why he avoided Gotham and Bludhaven, actually, but that's both self explanatory and another story for another time.

"You're still here?" Zatanna sat on the couch beside him. "You're normally gone by now. You can't not be tired of us yet."

He sighed and sunk down into the couch slightly. "Believe me, I'm tired of being stuck here, but I can't leave. I can't leave as a human because you guys don't know what I look like and, no offense, but I'd like to keep it that way. I can't leave as I am now because Superman will be on my ass quicker than I can blink!" He whined this time, "I just want a cup of coffee."

"What about your special brew?" Raven asked, coming into the room.

"I want to drink coffee as a human. That stuff will kill me if I drink it as a human."

"At least you know your limits."

"That sounded like a dig at someone, Z."

"It was."

"Why don't you just go out under a protection spell?" Raven offered, "We could cast one over you and you could leave. Superman can't hear through magic, so he won't be able to tell. Neither will Superboy."

Danny thought for a second. "You're a genius, Raven! Has anyone ever told you that?"

"A few times," she blushed.

"Well, it needs to be said more!"

Zatanna laughed. "Alright, kid, let's get you outside before you drive yourself crazy."

Practically vibrating in place, Danny waited for the protection spell to settle over him. The second it did, he was out the door and wandering the streets of whatever city the House of Mysteries decided to drop him as Danny instead of Phantom.

"Who are you," was not the question or voice he wanted to hear the second he stepped into the open as himself.

"Danny," he squeaked out through his absolute panic. He didn't dare turn around.

The sound of fabric moving minutely clues him in to the second person behind him. What the hell were these two doing out? It's the middle of the day and there's no attacks going on anywhere in Gotham!

"Where did you come from?" Robin asked.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! This was really bad! Why did the House drop him *here* of all places? Does it *want* him to die again? It was very painful the first time, thank you very much! "Illinois?"

"Was that a question or an answer?" Why is Red Robin here now?!

"An-an answer?"

"Ah, you guys are scaring the little guy!" That was Nightwing. They're surrounding him! Why is Nightwing here? This is Gotham, not Bludhaven. "Give him some room to breathe."

They did not, in fact, give him room to breathe. Maybe coming outside was a bad idea. If he gets out of this no more dead than he already was, he was going to move to the middle of nowhere and become a hermit. Smallville is a town in the middle of nowhere, right? He'll retire as Phantom and move to Smallville until the people get suspicious and burn him as a witch-!

Maybe moving to a big city would be a better idea. Or locking himself in the basement of the House of Mysteries. Yeah, yeah that's a good idea.

"-even listening?"

Oh shit. They were still talking to him! Now is not the time to panic! "Gottagobye!" And then he was running.

Good job not panicking, Danny.

Part 1 Part 3

[msfcatlover]

Changeling!Tim’s childhood is... actually kinda horrifying, when anyone looks into it.

(CW for forced medical procedures, and abuse in the form of temporary imprisonment. Also, minor self-harm, and… I don’t know what you call “eating something that will make you sick so your parents don’t get mad at you,” but I know it ain’t good.)

Tim had pretty pronounced fangs when he was younger, which his parents were just planning to wait out... until he was fast coming up on 10 and it was clear Tim wasn’t going to lose his teeth. A quick x-ray proved that Tim didn’t have adult teeth to grow in, just the one set he came with, and the fangs were only getting more obvious. His parents found an orthodontist willing to yank the fangs & wire up the rest of Tim’s teeth with braces to force them to look smooth & even as he grew up. (The doctor kept the teeth as a curiosity, and a decade later Damian will track that doctor down to steal them back.)

Something even Tim didn’t realize until he had to undergo a full Justice League-grade medical exam in preparation for becoming Robin, is that the tiny points on his ears aren’t natural. They have no idea what the ears of the baby Jack & Janet received looked like, but Tim’s points are actually mostly scar tissue. (Bruce puts it down as “a cosmetic procedure not dissimilar to ear cropping in canines” and tries not to feel sick.)

(There was also a period where the Drakes did an awful lot of research into cosmetic eye surgeries, but they eventually gave up. Apparently, it was a bigger concern that their son might end up blinded than that his eyes glowed in the dark and/or were the wrong color.)

As I mentioned before, Tim’s parents trim his thorns so that nobody goes to ruffle Tim’s hair and realizes he’s not human. He... actually started doing it himself when he decided to become Robin, because Tim has seen Bruce ruffle Jason & Dick’s hair so many times and didn’t want to hurt Bruce (or experience the absolute agony of having a thorn get caught in Bruce’s gloves and end up ripped out of Tim’s scalp,) as well as not wanting to give away Tim’s own inhuman nature with the single most obvious trait he has. (When the rest of the family find out, they are horrified and insist that Tim stop doing that. Instead of hair-ruffles, Tim gets hair-strokes that go only in one direction, bumping harmlessly over the curved outer edges of his thorns; it’s actually very soothing for both parties. Everyone absolutely uses Tim’s thorns as a stim toy, as long as Tim’s okay with it.)

Tim’s parents also hire an in-house barber to cut Tim’s hair, so they can make sure it’s “properly disposed of.” (Tim’s nightmares always smell faintly of burning hair.)

Tim wears fancy dress gloves to all dinners, because with the uppercrust you never know if someone’s going to bring out the real silverware. (If someone tells him to take off the gloves or Tim’s skin happens to brush up against somebody’s jewelry, Tim just sorta has to... deal. It’s rude to rush out or refuse your hosts, after all.) (Fortunately, Dick and the Titans all prefer reusable plastic silverware. And as soon as any Bat finds out about Tim’s fae nature, Wayne Manor quickly switches to stainless steel.)

It’s nearly impossible to know if a meal was prepared with iodized salt or non-iodized salt until it’s already in Tim’s mouth and the burning-itching discomfort of coming in contact with an anti-fae substance begins. It’s rude not to at least try the food someone offers you, and it’s even ruder to just spit something out, especially out in public. At least Tim doesn’t usually have to fake it when he says he’s not feeling well in order to stop eating. (Tim doesn’t tell the Waynes about this until that medical exam, where he kinda jokes about being allergic to salt and someone’s like, “Wait, how do you eat? Everything has salt in it nowadays.” Alfred rather forlornly puts his sea salt up on the top shelf and buys a jar of iodized table salt on the next grocery run.)

Tim’s blood is immediately identifiable because it has chloroplasts in it. No, he’s not actually a plant; yes, he can perform limited photosynthesis. No, Tim was not aware of this about himself, he’s never been allowed to give blood before, and like??? Sure, he figured out he was a changeling, but that does not immediately translate to, “Oh, I should test my blood for plant cells!”

Tim’s room doesn’t look any different from any other boy his age... except for three nails over the door on the outside. For the iron horseshoe Tim’s parents hang there sometimes, when they don’t want him to bother them or when he’s grounded. (Thankfully, it's been very rare for Tim to actually be trapped in his room, as setting up a salt line on his windowsills has always been... well, he's not sure. A step too far, even for his parents? A step too many to remember and/or perform in the heat of the moment? Something they don’t even realize is necessary, assuming the horseshoe prevents Tim from leaving the room at all rather than simply crossing that one threshold? Tim doesn’t like to think about it. Tim typically stays in his room anyway when he feels the swooping nausea of it hanging over his door, if only so his parents don’t find him missing and decide sealing the windows is something they ought to be doing. Trapped not by any law or binding ritual, but by Tim’s own admittedly rare fear of consequences.) (After Tim is snatched by faerie hunters, Jason and Dick are the ones who search Tim’s house. There’s a moment of silence when they find the horseshoe and realize what the nails are for. “I really hope I don’t have to point this out,” Jason says, in the tone of someone who’s going to do it anyway, “but it’s never a good sign when a kid’s bedroom has a lock on the outside.”) 

[bloomeng]

I mentioned in my last piece that Tim’s wand retracts and extends but it takes him a hot second to realize this and @xxxnightcorequeenxxxv3 commented that they could just picture his outraged “It extends!” Anyway I thought about that comment all day

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage

The thing is, Tim didn't mean to put it on. He was just kind of playing with it to keep his hands busy while he was thinking about the recent murder case. GCPD had their hands full with the serial robbers that didn't rank high enough to catch Batman's attention, and Tim never had a problem with helping the police if he had time.

And the ring was a perfect fidget toy, if he is being honest. Small and plain enough not to distract him, but the round stone in the middle was loosely attached, making it able to spin inside the frame. Which is what he did, again and again, like those fidget spinners.

Of course, he was just destined to drop it sooner or later. And then, when he reached under the table to pick it up, his finger caught inside the ring, and, well.

The ring was now firmly on his finger.

The problem was that he couldn't take it off.

It wasn't stuck, at least not in the general sense of it - Tim could easily spin it around, and it wasn't tight. But it wasn't loose either, and as soon as he tried to move it past the knuckle, the ring heavily disagreed, almost like shrinking down and absolutely refusing to be detached.

Barbara suggested soap, which didn't work. Dick tried for a more mechanical approach, first with pliers and then with a laser, which the ring resisted with no effort. Cass, who was actually the one who brought the damned thing into the Cave after one of her adventures in Hong Kong, just smiled and shrugged, which was of no help either. Damian offered to cut the finger off, which probably would have helped, but Tim rather liked all his limbs attached.

Bruce called Constantine. The magician took one look at the ring, barked a humorless laugh, and pat Tim on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Congrats, mate," he said, a wry smile on his lips, "I hope you file for divorce."

Although, while all the rest of the Bats and Birds devolved into fits of hysterical laughter (Steph), indignant sputtering (Damian), and cries of outrage (everyone else sans Alfred, who was pointedly unimpressed), Tim couldn't even bring himself to be surprised. Really, his life had been a shitshow since he was around ten. It's not like he didn't expect himself to be accidentally married to some otherworldly magical creature by this point.

The worst part - worse than the actual engagement, that is - was that Constantine couldn't exactly tell them who the spouse was.

What he did say was that the Ring belonged to the King of Infinite Realms, Keeper of Unseen Worlds, and Eyes of Universe. But those were only titles, and, as John Constantine begrudgingly admitted, there has been a change in the management recently, so no one really knew what the new almighty monarch looked like or what they were, much less their whereabouts.

"You can't blame me for not being keen to find out, though," John said, wincing, "The last one was a bloody tyrant, and the Realms operate under the right of conquest rule."

At least, the mage assured them that since the being had not yet come to collect their shiny new spouse, they might never show up at all. The Ring has been lost for ages after all, so maybe the King didn't even remember having one. Or, the previous King didn't, and the new one didn't know about or didn't care.

The first week after the incident, they spent anxiously researching and worrying. Bruce even went as far as making Tim wear a tracker at all times, which was not great, but he did appreciate the gesture. Kind of.

After the first month with no sign of any changes, the worry started to abate. In half a year, most of the family stopped trying to keep an eye on Tim at all times lest he suddenly disappeared. Two years later, even Tim himself treated the Ring as a natural part of his daily life. The stone inside was still a great fidget toy, engagement or not.

Three years, one month, and five days after Tim first put the Ring on his finger, when the world was falling apart and breaking in front of him and there was not a single thing he could do to stop it anymore, Tim pressed his lips to the cold, dark strip of unknown metal on his finger.

"Whoever you are, I don't even care, please," he whispered in a useless prayer, his voice hoarse and his throat dry, "please, help."

And the world came to a stop with a short, amused chuckle.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

[part 2 ->]

[varpusvaras]

All Caste Jason AU where he completes his training but still goes back to Gotham with a little less of murderous tendencies but still fully intending to kill the Joker, but when he steps his foot into the city for the first time while being magical, he instantly full-body recoils like "Jesus Christ this place is fucking rancid, what the fuck-"

So now he's just hanging around, trying to magically cleanse the city because this is just too much. It's too much. He can feel his aura take negative points the longer he stays there. Jason always prided himself in being a true Gothamite and having the lungs of an ox because he grew up breathing the grime, but now he has to periodically leave to get some fresh air. Has he gotten too used to the mountain air, why is the air so thick-

[haveihitanerve]

Gotham Protects Her Own

“Gotham protects her own.” Bruce had whispered to him once, in a, at the time, not so rare moment of affection, cradling dick to his chest as they looked over his city. Their city. Batman and Robin. Dick had believed him, of course, but he hadn’t really felt it. Not until he had stood at the bats side for the second year in a row, and his cape had fluttered. Dicks cape had never fluttered while he was standing. Running across the rooftops? Sure. Jumping over a chimney? Most definitely. But just standing still, no movement? It had never happened. Bruce’s did, from the very beginning Bruce’s cape had flown behind him, flapping with grace in the wind that was not there. But dicks hadn’t. But now… Bruce smiled down at him, pride lining every line in his face, before he took off across the roof, a challenge and a test at the same time. Dick chased after him, and for the first time since he had become Robin, he flew. His feet barely touched down, cushioned by the roofs, by shadows, and he laughed, wild and bright and free, and Bruce joined him, laugh deep and rich and full. Dick belonged to Gotham now, the city had laid her claim on him, and as Batman and Robin flew across the city, Dick could hear a new laugh join them, light and happy and feminine, delighted by their delight, their acceptance. Gotham protects her own, and Dick Grayson-Wayne, the first Robin, had earned that right, that protection, with his leaps and jokes and belief in Batman, in a belief in the city, in the belief that it could be better. 

Gotham protects her own. Catherine Todd had murmured to him once, late one night, a bruise blossoming on her cheek, eyes heavy from drugs. She was close to death, Jason could feel it practically wafting off her, and he didn't think much of her last words, a hazy drugged hallucination, slurred speech. But then she had passed and Jason had left, choosing the street over his father and then he had understood. People came looking for him, naturally, even his father ventured out, but shadows seemed to envelop him, the streets opened to his footfalls, and he always found a safe place to sleep, never waking with his things stolen or suddenly kidnapped. Jason could feel the city, his very lifeblood, could hear her music in her traffic, felt her song in the earthquakes. Gotham cradled him, sheltered him, and when the time came, pushed him to a left unattended Batmobile, tempting him to steal the tires. For the first time, Jason doubted his city, hated her for sending him into a trap. But then he became Robin, and Gotham squealed in delight, and Jason watched in awe as Bruce flew, as Gotham made his cloak billow, as she nurtured her prodigal son. Batman had gotten injured, once, badly enough that he had struggled with his grapple line, and it had snapped. Jason had screamed, lunging for him, but it was too late. Before he could cry over the dead body of his mentor, he found Bruce at the bottom of the building, not much worse for wear at all. Gotham had cradled him, shadows leaping to cushion his fall. Jason had laughed with glee, rushing Bruce home as quickly as possible, and something had brushed his cheek, a faint kiss against his forehead. Gotham protects her own and Jason Todd-Wayne, the second Robin, had been born into that right, that protection, and felt her city pound through his body like blood, feeding his soul. 

Gotham protects her own. Tim had seen the slogan on a Wayne Enterprise billboard once, when he had been seven, an ad campaign promoting insurance and helpful housing. It had become a sort of mantra for him, something he whispered under his breath every time his father made a snide comment about Tim lacking proper talent or social skills, after every call his parents declined, after every fight that had him biting his lip to stop the tears and debate running away. Gotham protects her own. Became his lifeline, his mantra, a promise of a better life. It wasn't anything he ever believed, until he finally worked up the courage to approach Bruce Wayne about the secret. Tim slipped on the Robin uniform for the first time… And something inside him settled. A woman's voice in the back of Tim’s head squealed. But as he raced over the rooftops, finally at Batman's side as he always dreamed to be instead of a few feet behind, snapping pictures, his cape dancing with the wind, his feet hardly touching down, that mantra, that false belief of hope, of a better life, became truth. Gotham protects her own, and Tim Drake-Wayne, the third Robin, had believed in that truth his whole life, wishing with every fiber of his being that she would protect him, and she finally had. 

Gotham protects her own. David Cain had warned her once, telling her great stories of the city with air of midnight black, of water a putrid green, and of a people a hardy and tough. It hadn't been a compliment, just another obstacle she would need to overcome to fulfill her future missions. She had believed him, of course, but… she had never truly known what it meant. Not until she had stumbled into the city, hurt, bleeding, afraid, and she had felt that… otherworldly power. Reaching for her. Its tendrils soft and kind, like a mother, shadows stretching across her, shielding her, as the League prowled the streets. It wasn't until she saw him. The Bat. And his little Bird, brutal efficiency and yet mercy in every action, wasn't until she saw how Gotham cradled them, lifted them, helped them to fly. Gotham had been more accepting to her than she had thought. Maybe because she hadn't hurt her children. Maybe because she knew her pain. Maybe because Cass had been so afraid. But whatever the reason, when Cassandra Cain-Wayne took to the streets, a proud, blazing Bat on her chest, her cape billowing behind her, Gotham sang. 

“Gotham protects her own!” Arthur Brown had screamed once. It had been in a fit of rage, followed by the sounds of windows crashing and tables smashing against the wall. He had been angry, livid even, the sound of his footsteps heavy and hard on the floor as he stormed around, pissed that Batman was unreachable for him, untouchable, protected by the city he claimed to do the same to. Steph knew the truth in the words, had been protected by them her whole life, finding a window open right when her father got home, the closet door unlocked miraculously after her father had locked her up, alleyways opening for her to escape through when bigger kids picked on her, or the cops chased her. And it happened now, as Arthur Brown came storming for her, rage and malice and every evil intention written across his features. Steph could feel that tug, that indescribable feeling of home, and she took a step back, melting into the shadows as she fled, fled her home, fled her father, fled his wrath and everything wrong with the world. She settled on the roof, the way she always did when he got like this, and waited, as she always did. For it to end. For him to stop. It was that night that she saw him for the first time. Steph had heard of him, of course, the Batman was infamous throughout Gotham by now, but she had never seen him in person. Never watched his work. It was at Bethany’s house. Bethany’s father, Vincent, was screaming again. The way Arthur was. But Gotham, Gotham didn't protect Bethany the way she did Steph. Or maybe Bethany just didn't listen. But Batman.. Batman listened. Batman protected. Steph watched, wide eyed, as he jumped through the window, as he grabbed Vincent by the throat and slammed him against the wall, snarling in his face. Steph watched, hands clutching her teddy, wondering whether she would rather risk her father than this demon. But he stopped. Paused. Threw Vincent to the ground in disgust, unconscious, and turned to Bethany. Beth had stopped moving, the way she always did when Vincent got the way he did, dissociating so she wouldn't feel his hands on her. Steph didn't think it worked, but it was something. Batman bent down, gentle, slowly, a few feet away, extending a hand to Beth. Steph couldn't hear what he said, couldn't see his face, but Beth blinked at him. She blinked, and she walked closer, slowly. And Batman… Batman held her, held her until she was crying, held her through her tears and wiped her eyes and rubbed her back, held her until she was asleep without nightmares, and carried her to bed, tucking her in gently. Steph didn't know how long she sat there, watching as he cared for this little girl, forgoing the Bat Symbol in the sky, and his anger, for her. Gotham protects her own, Steph swore as she watched him drop from the window the same night, flitting away on shadows only she could see. Gotham protects her own, and she would protect Gotham. She would mold herself after the Bat, and help. 

[umbrellajam]

oh no, now I'm imagining Dick opening jars for 14-yo Tim during Prodigal

Tim doesn't even think to ask him at first; his dad wasn't at home often enough for it be a habit, and like hell was he gonna ask the older boys at boarding school to open stuff for him like he couldn't do it himself :/ and while staying at Wayne Manor, well, with Alfred around the jars were without fail already open by the time they reached the table.

so when it's just the two of them, fending for themselves both on Gotham's streets as Batman and Robin and in the Manor's kitchen as Dick and Tim, it doesn't occur to Tim to ask.

Dick watches him wrestle with the jam jar like it's Killer Croc for a long minute, chin propped in one hand and eyebrow raised in amusement. Then he just reaches over and plucks it out of Tim's grasp with a casual, "Here, kiddo. Let me."

now, Dick could tap the jar against the edge of the counter, all around the stubborn lid. or he could run it under warm water. or gently twist his warm hands round and round the metal rim to heat and loosen it that way. teach Tim all the standard tricks of the jar-opening trade.

but for some reason, he doesn't.

instead, under Tim's startled, expectant gaze, Dick finds himself taking firm hold with the vise grip of his trapeze artist hands, flashing the kid a showy grin, and just twisting with a hard flex of muscle.

the loud pop isn't half as satisfying as the beam of admiration on Tim's face.

Dick should feel silly. jeez, it's not like he suplexed a Rogue right in front of the kid or caught him out of a 10-storey fall or anything.

(who's more ridiculous - Tim for being impressed by so little, or Dick for feeling so undeniably smug about it?)

(is his life seriously such a mess that wowing the baby Robin with feats of basic domestic competence counts as a win? seriously? get a grip, Grayson.)

"yeah, yeah - I loosened it up for you!" Tim laughs, but when Dick hands him the jar with one hand and scrubs vigorously through his hair with the other, he can still see his little brother's pleased smile as he attempts to duck away.

so Dick keeps doing it. Tim always insists on having a go at it himself, first, but shoving stubborn jars at Dick with that expectant look quickly becomes automatic.

it's a Thing. like many Things about Tim, it could easily be annoying, but somehow it manages to be endearing instead.

maybe that's just how little brothers work.

Dick does teach the kid how to do laundry and fold clothes and replace broken windows and cook basic meals for himself because he's not about to do all the work in this big old empty house, but he never does teach him how to open stuck jars.