#noctuis

[huilian]

chapter one of my court of owls rewrite AU!

***

Dick stands near the podium, watching Bruce give his speech. He already knows that the speech is about looking forward to the future to create a better Gotham, instead of focusing on the city’s grim present and past. However, Dick finds himself thinking about the city as it was and still is, despite the point of Bruce’s entire speech is for people to not do so.

Dick can’t help it. Bruce starts the speech with stories of his connection to Gotham, and Dick finds himself remembering his own association with the city, and all that entails. 

He wishes he could say he hasn’t thought of the Court for years, but that would be a lie. 

Without Dick realizing it, Bruce has finished his speech. The socialites and elites of Gotham lap it up, of course. Dick knows that a lot of them don’t really believe in what Bruce is saying: invest in Gotham’s future and we can make Gotham a better place--and Dick has his suspicions about which of them actually wants to make a better Gotham, considering what he knows about them--, but they take it anyway. That’s Gotham’s elites for you. 

Dick waits until Bruce has done his cursory thank-yous before putting himself next to Bruce’s elbow. He knows how much these rich people hate it when he interrupts their conversations with their beloved Brucie, but that makes him do it more often. 

Spite. What a powerful motivator.

“Are you sure about this?” Dick starts signing, not really caring who sees. It’s not like any  of the people surrounding Bruce knows ASL anyway. They never care enough to learn. 

“Yes,” Bruce signs back. 

“Don’t you have enough to do with Batman Inc.?” Dick can’t say how much he loves that he can actually talk about Batman in public. He just has to slide everything under the blanket of Batman Inc.. After all, it’s public knowledge that Bruce Wayne is funding Batman Inc. No more searching for increasingly ridiculous excuses.

Plus, it is not like anyone around them knows what they’re saying. Like Dick said before, they don’t care enough to learn. But it’s always good to be safe.

“Actually, I’m thinking of spending more time in Gotham.” The people surrounding Bruce start to disperse, grumbling and whispering to themselves and each other, after it becomes clear that Bruce is not going to translate his conversation with Dick to the people surrounding him. Honestly, by now, they should know already. It’s not like this hasn’t occurred many, many times before. “I-”

Dick stops Bruce with a hand. With the crowd surrounding them, or more precisely, surrounding Bruce, clearing, Dick can see Commissioner Gordon, standing near a window as he talks to his phone. While the sight is not something out of the ordinary, especially in an event like this,the words that Dick can read from his lips, however, are unusual. 

… stab wounds… I’ll be there…

Well, maybe even that is not something new. It’s Gotham, after all. Despite Bruce’s, and lately Dick’s, efforts, victims of stabbings are still common. What’s extraordinary is the fact that the GCPD is calling the commissioner about a stabbing, when they know perfectly well he’s attending a function. 

Not a regular crime then. 

Bruce, noticing that Dick’s focus is now on the Commissioner, moves his attention to him. 

They both watched Jim Gordon for a while, and when the Commissioner hangs up, Bruce signs, “Are you going out?”

Dick nods. He’s already thinking of excuses, and whether or not he should take Damian. A stabbing doesn’t sound like a case Dick would keep away from him, but if they’re calling the Commissioner about it…

“Want me to come with?”

No, Dick’s not going to bring Damian. If they’re calling the Commissioner because of some mystery surrounding the stabbing, then he’ll involve Damian later. The kid needs more detectiving practice. But if it’s something else, something more horrible than just a mystery, then he’ll work the case alone. Damian doesn’t need more violence in his life. 

At least not more than what he usually sees on a daily basis. 

“No,” Dick signs. “I’ll go alone. It’s your party, you should be here. Keep an eye on Damian.” Dick watches as Bruce’s eyes go distant--the way they did when he doesn’t understand something--at the sign name Dick has given for Damian, index finger up, palm facing outwards, which is then continued by the palm turning, while touching the chest with the middle finger. The letter D, moving onto a modified sign for heart. Dick has been meaning to have that conversation with Bruce for a long time, now, about what Damian means to him and how they will navigate that now that Bruce is back, but they never seem to have the time. Maybe Bruce being in Gotham more will be good for them. For all of them “Make sure he’s not putting anything on fire,” Dick finishes, teasing a bit. 

Bruce eyes him warily. Dick knows he’s not sure whether Dick is joking about the fire bit or not Dick just smiles as he tries to figure it out. 

Maybe Damian will put something on fire. And with both Tim and Cass in attendance, chaos will still reign even if Damian doesn’t light anything up. Tim and Damian are bad enough, but Dick has learned recently that putting all three of them in close proximity to each other for a prolonged period of time will only result in chaos. 

It’ll be fun to watch Bruce handle that for a change.

Bruce sighs. “I’ll be on standby as back-up, then.”

“You just want to ditch the party.”

Bruce flicks Dick’s nose. For a moment, Dick is transported to years ago, having a conversation very similar to this one. Only this time, Dick is the one who’s going out and Bruce is the back-up. It startles him a bit, knowing how far he’s come since those unsure Robin days, shoulders heavy with the need to redeem his mother’s name for him, and always, always scared of the possibility of hitting too hard, of going too far. 

Him and Damian are so much more alike than the kid can possibly think. 

Dick’s shoulders are still heavy now, but it’s a different name he’s bearing, with a different parent behind it. 

No. The mission first. Dick can do his maudlin reflections later. He shakes his head a bit, just to clear it, then signs, “I’m going to call Tim or Cass if I need back-up. This is your party, and you’ll stay until the very end of this stupid thing.”

Bruce flicks his nose again. Or, well, he tries to. Dick ducks down, leaving Bruce’s fingers to flick air. 

“Brat,” Bruce says, huffing with exasperation. Then, his expression turns serious, and he signs, “Be careful.”

Dick smiles. “Always.”

***

The cape no longer drags him with its weight. It’s still heavy, it’s still weird and constricting, but it no longer pulls him down. Dick wonders what that says about him. 

Since he left Damian back at the party, with plenty of protests from the boy, Batman is flying solo tonight. Dick takes the opportunity to play around a bit, since no Robin means he doesn’t have to be a good example. 

It’s not strictly professional, but it keeps the mythos going. Besides, Bruce used to do it all the time. Still does. 

Dick lands at the crime scene silently, searching for the officer in charge to spook. 

The officer in question is Sergeant Harvey Bullock. Dick sighs internally. No chance of spooking, then. Bullock has been in the game for far too long to be startled by the Bat anymore, whether it is him or Bruce.

“Sergeant Bullock,” Batman says. Dick hates doing it, hates forcing the words out of his mouth, hates the memories that come with it, but unlike Nightwing, Batman cannot be mute. 

It’s bad enough that Commissioner Gordon and a lot of the Rogues know he’s not the original one. He doesn’t need to advertise it. 

“Batman.” Bullock nods at him. “Come on. Let’s go look at some art.”

Sergeant Bullock leads him inside, to where a man is pinned to the wall by knives. 

“The landlord found him on a routine rent run. He went by the name Sam Strigs…,” Bullock says as Dick listens with half an ear. There’s something familiar about the knives. 

Dick moves closer. 

An owl. On the handle of the knives. 

Dick’s breathing stops for a second. He can feel his hands curling around phantom knives, much like these ones. His neck tingles with the sense of being watched. 

No. Dick takes a breath. Bruce said the Court is gone. Bruce said he has run the Court to the ground and burned them himself. 

Dick glances at Bullock. He’s still talking, oblivious to the fact that Dick’s mind had gone somewhere else. Good. It won’t do to have people know that the Batman is scared of the Court. 

There will be riots. No one will take Batman seriously ever again. Dick can’t do that to Bruce.

But then… an owl. The Court is powerful. It’s possible that Bruce hasn’t burnt them all, that they have been hiding, biding their time, waiting for their chance to strike. But, that brings its own sets of questions. The most prevalent one is, why now?

“... has anything to do with the old wive’s tale-”

“I know what you mean,” Batman says. Dick knows. He knows all about the Court of Owls. There’s no need for Bullock to start saying their name out loud. Speak not a whispered word of them. Better not to tempt fate. 

He also says that because he can excuse that with Batman’s general sullenness and know-it-all behaviour. The Batman is not scared of the Court of Owls. He just can’t be bothered to listen to their name. 

Dick pulls his eyes away from the knives, surveying the rest of the room. The smell of paint thinner hits his nose, blocking even the stench of the body. 

Why is he smelling paint thinner?

Oh. Maybe. Dick pulls out a lighter from his belt, then starts walking around the room, trying to find where the smell is strongest. 

The smell is strongest on the wall right opposite of Sam Strig’s body. Dick observes the wall. He doesn’t see anything that will give him clues, but paint thinner does leave no trace on this kind of wall. Dick flicks the lighter on and approaches the wall. He hopes he’s not wrong, because if he is, then he’ll be burning the crime scene down.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Bullock shouts, but it’s too late. The fire has caught. 

It illuminates the room. Well, the good news is, Dick is not burning anything down. 

The bad news is, the fire writes, RICHARD GRAYSON WILL DIE TOMORROW.

Well. Dick has had his share of death threats over the years, but none so… dramatic as this. 

“Tomorrow?” Bullock says. “Our time of death is a week ago, so the ‘tomorrow’ Strigs thought of already came and went. This Grayson boy should be in the clear.”

“Unless he knew when he’d be found,” Batman says. 

Bullock narrows his eyes, then grimaces. “The landlord says he always comes on the second Friday of the month. Maybe our victim knows he’s going to die and be found today, and left a warning for this Grayson boy.” Bullock snorts. “Then good luck to that killer. Grayson’s Wayne’s adopted son, and Wayne’s security has security. I’m guessing you know the boy? What with Wayne being your-”

Batman grunts. Why would a dying man leave a warning message for his killer’s next victim? Unless…, unless the one writing the message is not Sam Strigs. 

If it’s a Talon writing that message, if it’s the Court who’s sending that message…

“I’ll be seeing you, Bullock,” and with that, Dick is gone before Bullock can answer. He has a murderer to catch. 

***

“Are you insane?” Bruce says. Other people will say that Bruce is completely unaffected. Dick knows better. He’s speaking to Dick. “The Court is back in Gotham, they’re threatening you, and you’re telling me to leave?”

Dick sighs. He would also like to be stressed about this, but when he comes back to the Bunker and tells Bruce about the situation, he sees that Bruce is actually panicking over this. He decides then that he’s going to be calm and collected. No sense in having two Batmans that are panicking, after all.

“We don’t know if it’s the Court or not. It could be a copycat.”

“I’m not leaving, Dick. You should have called me the moment you have any indication that it’s the Court instead of letting me play billionaire in a party all night.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Even if this is the Court, Bruce has been protecting Dick against them for so long now. It’s Dick’s problem, and it’s past time he handled it. 

“I can handle it,” Dick signs, perfectly calm and collected. He’s not, not really, but Bruce wouldn’t even consider going if Dick isn’t the picture of serenity. 

He loves Bruce for that, but Bruce shouldn’t be worrying about Dick anymore. Not when he has so much more to worry about. 

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m… I’m not saying you can’t handle it, Dick. I…”

Dick laughs a little bit. Even with the threat of the Court swirling at the back of his mind, it’s always fun to see Bruce getting flustered with emotions, instead of locking them down and playing the unfeeling Batman. 

Dick taps Bruce’s fingers, forcing the man to pay attention to him, then signs, “You can’t say it, can you? I’m worried.”

“Dick,” Bruce says. “It’s the Court.” 

Dick changes his demeanour instantly. “I know,” he signs. “It’s time I faced them.”

A look passes between them. A thousand unsaid things and a thousand unspoken emotions. 

There’s no evidence it’s the Court, Dick’s look says.

They’re smart enough to conceal it, Bruce counters.

Even if it is, I can handle it.

It’s my job to protect you, the set of Bruce’s mouth says.

I can protect myself just fine.

Bruce takes a breath. Then, in the rise of his eyebrows, he asks, Are you sure about this?

And Dick, answering in kind, raises his own eyebrows. Yes, I’m sure.

“Alright,” Bruce breathes out, “but call for back-up the moment you need it, Dick. I’m serious.”

“And by back-up you mean you, right?” because Bruce is nothing if not paranoid and controlling. He won’t even be in Gotham by early tomorrow morning. The Batman of Tokyo needs his help, and so Bruce is flying out first thing tomorrow. He can’t seriously think that he is going to be Dick’s first point of contact. 

Nowadays, Gotham is not lacking in protectors, and so Dick is not lacking in back-ups. Babs is here, Stephanie is here, Tim is here. Cass is back, and even Jason can be persuaded to give them back-ups once in a blue moon. Dick is not lacking in back-ups.

“None of them have faced the Court before.”

“I have.”

“Dick,” Bruce growls.

Dick sighs. “I promise to call for back-up, but I’m not promising to call you. Tokyo needs you much more than we do. We can handle this.”

Another thousand unsaid things. Another thousand unspoken emotions. 

“Fine,” Bruce sighs.. 

Dick smiles at him. He turns to go to the lockers to change out of his suit, but before he steps out of the room, Bruce adds, “You know that the mission is not more important than you, right?”

He is gone before Dick can answer.

***

“How much longer do I have to endure this, Grayson?”

“You love it,” Dick teases. 

Damian scoffs. “I repeat, how much longer do I have to endure this, Grayson?”

Dick laughs. Damian glares at him, but he doesn’t stop stirring the sauce, despite all his complaints in the last twenty three minutes. Dick tries to stop laughing, but one look at Damian’s glare gets him starting again. 

It warms Dick’s heart, to see his little brother stirring the sauce next to him. The Damian from months ago would have stabbed him with a kitchen knife before deigning to accompany Dick in cooking. The sight even manages to push the threat on his life to the very back of his mind. 

Dick takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. Damian won’t appreciate it if he keeps laughing at him. Then, Dick walks over and ruffles Damian’s hair before taking over the spatula. Only Damian can make stirring pasta sauce sounds like torture. 

“Give me the tomatoes,” Dick signs. 

“Yes, I know, Grayson,” Damian grumbles, handing Dick a plate of chopped tomatoes. “And stop signing while you’re stirring. We don’t want a repeat of last Thursday.”

Dick stops stirring, then gives Damian his best conspiring look. “Nothing happened last Thursday.”

Damian snorts. “Keep telling yourself that. I will break the moment Pennyworth asks me about it. I do not wish to incur his wrath. Again.”

“The mighty Damian falls under Alfred’s wrath, huh?”

“It would be prudent to do so,” Damian says. “And stop signing.”

Dick laughs again. It’s fun, actually, being in the Penthouse’s kitchen, cooking dinner with his little brother, despite the complaints from Damian. It also serves to give Alfred a break every once in a while. God knows the man needs it. 

The sunlight glints on the countertop, unhindered by anything. It’s almost sunset already. Dick knows that the Court can strike just as well, if not better, at night, but the sight of the sun setting calms Dick’s beating heart somewhat. At night they are Batman and Robin, not Dick and Damian. At night Dick can protect his brother more. 

It’s ironic, that Dick likes Damian to be on the streets better than at home, but on the streets, he can lead any attempts on Dick’s life away from Damian. He can’t do that here. 

Dick is perfectly fine with the Court threatening him, but he cannot bear it if his family is in danger. Never mind that all of their lives are at risk every time they put on a mask. 

But they can handle those dangers. They have for years now. The Court though. The Court is something else. The Court is Dick’s problem. 

A shadow appears over the countertop. And from its angle, whatever it is is perching on the windows. Too big to be a bird, and anything else won’t perch on the window. 

No. No. Not now, not when he’s so close to getting through the day unscathed. 

Not when Damian is so close to getting through the day unharmed. 

Down, Dick signs with the field signals, ones that only his family and his Titans know. Ones that Damian is trained to recognize and obey instantly.

He does, thank god. Damian puts down the basil he’s been chopping and takes cover behind the kitchen counter.

Not a moment too late, because once Damian’s head went out of sight, the window breaks. The windows at Wayne Tower are supposed to be unbreakable, but…

It’s a Talon. It’s a Talon standing inside Dick’s kitchen, in very close proximity to Damian. 

So it is the Court. 

And they have sent a Talon for Dick’s head. 

Dick moves into his stance. From the uniform, Dick knows that the Talon in front of him is his great-grandfather, William Cobb. That’s both good news and bad news, because Dick knows how Cobb fights, but Cobb also knows how Dick fights. After all, he’s the one who trained Dick all those years ago. 

He’s also a damn good fighter.

But Dick has spent the years since their last encounter training with other people and he’s guessing that Cobb hasn’t. He throws the pan filled with hot pasta towards Cobb, trying to buy some time. 

As Dick had expected, the pasta didn't hurt Cobb,but it did give him time to take a knife from the knife block on the counter. Distantly, Dick remembers Damian holding a knife before he took cover, and wonders where that knife is, but Dick pushes that thought out for later. 

Dick has batarangs on his person, as always, but he’s not sure whether the Court already knows that tidbit of information, so he doesn’t dare pull them out. 

Cobb throws his own knife. Dick ducks and rolls towards Cobb. Another knife, this one aimed downwards. Dick leaps up. 

Cobb may be good, but Dick is right. Cobb’s skills, although impressive, hasn’t improved in the years since their last meeting. 

Dick’s has increased exponentially. 

But he’s in civvies, with only the one knife as a weapon. Cobb is in his full Talon regalia, with dozens of knives, two swords, throwing darts, and possibly several grenades. He also has regenerative abilities. Dick does not. 

Dick aims a kick towards Cobb’s eyes. Cobb evades it, but that’s okay. It is supposed to be a feint anyway. Dick knows what move Cobb will use to evade the kick and he makes use of that by slashing at Cobb’s back. 

It hits, but Dick knows the cut will heal soon enough. Dick has to be fast. He trips Cobb’s legs and strikes at his neck. 

Dick used enough force to shatter a normal person’s trachea, but Cobb is a Talon, and so even that is not hard enough. Cobb takes the hit, but still manages to land one of his knives into Dick’s arm. 

Dick does not have regenerative abilities. 

Dick rolls away, protecting his injured arm. Cobb does not have the same qualms. He starts to say, “Richard Grayson. The Court of Owls has-”

His words are cut off by a knife to the spine. Damian. What is he doing, staying here? He’s supposed to be out and safe. 

The knife did give Dick the opportunity to kick Cobb out of the window. He doesn’t even twitch, because Damian apparently had lodged his knife deep into Cobb’s spine. Not even a Talon can heal with a knife still embedded there. 

That done, Dick turns towards Damian, hands already moving. 

Damian doesn’t even blink. He just says, “You’re hurt,” like that’s all there is to be said. 

Dick begs to differ. “What are you doing? You could’ve gotten hurt!”

“So you would have me leave you?” 

“Yes!”Dick signs that with more force than the sign actually needs. “When I tell you to leave, you leave.”

“You didn’t tell me to leave,” Damian protests. “You told me to go down. And I did.”

Dick starts to sign again, before he looks at Damian. The kid meant well, and Dick can see that Damian is shaken up by the attack. He’s just trying to help. And Dick can’t really fault that logic. But still…

“You know what I meant. Don’t do that again.”

“Tt,” Damian clicks his tongue. He stops for a moment, and Dick lets him. Sometimes Damian needed more time to gather his thoughts, and Dick is more than happy to oblige him. “Are you not going to reprimand me about the knife?”

Oh. Damian didn’t know. 

“You didn’t know about the healing abilities?”

“No. I suspected, based on the way he paid no mind on your attack on his trachea. Anyways, it wouldn’t have killed even a normal human being. It would only paralyze them.”

Dick sighs. He really shouldn’t encourage the violence, but the kid did save him. And Dick owes him an explanation. 

“Don’t do that to a normal human being. Otherwise, good job.” Dick ruffles Damian’s hair again, with his uninjured arm. Then, he sobers up, and signs, “That’s a Talon.” Dick doesn’t elaborate. The kid knows about the Court already. 

Damian’s face turned dangerous. Dick will have to watch out for that. Damian opens his mouth.

“No,” Dick signs, stopping Damian before he even starts. “We’re not going to go after them now. Go get Alfred, then get packing.”

“Packing?” Damian asks, perplexed.

“This place is compromised already. We’re moving to the Manor.”

***

[nobilism]

( @noctuis liked for a starter ) 

❝ Ritsu-senpai ❞ Tsukasa said as he nudged his sleeping senior a little bit, but to no avail the other didn’t even stir in the slightest. 

There was a puff in his cheeks when Ritsu continued to sleep under the kotatsu, ignoring every ounce of effort Tsukasa was making in order to wake him up. This certainly will not do. The studio was no place for sleeping. Though, a kotatsu also had no place in the studio either. How long must everyone insist they keep this infernal contraption here? 

❝ Ritsu-senpai... RITSU-SENPAI! Please wake up! ❞ 

[bunnyinbearfur-blog]

@noctuis ||  💛

Adonis had drifted off during a break, sitting against a tree in the garden of the school. It was such a pleasant day out that the previous nights events felt distant. Being a shifter was by no means fun whenever emotions ran free in the safety of your own room, making him helpless to get any sleep as he dealt with his body’s strange ability. 

His body was still sore from the sudden shifts during the night, thus making him easy to wake should he be needed by someone. Despite being hungry, he’d foregone it for a nap, if he were able to actually get some decent shut eye. A slight worry that he might inconvenience someone had him only lightly asleep.

[subserviiient]

noctuis replied to your post: noctuis replied to your post: ...

do it, i have a robin

and here we see me making yet another blog- also you should link me cause that sounds great dude.

[tsundere-model]

Never together

@noctuis

    Sigh.

Tender yet not very warm sunlight sneaked through the small windows, making long oblicuos lines that covered the entirety of room. It reflected in the metallic paper of some abandoned chip bags and candy wrappers, and also in the scattered pieces of make-up that almost definitely belonged to Arashi. And as if it wasn’t plenty messy as it was, there were music scores all over the place.

This messy state wasn’t unusual for the ‘Sena House’ -as Leo had somehow, arbitrarily yet decisively, named their studio- yet it always made him shake his head in annoyance. What was he? Their mom?

Actually... he’d rather not hear the answer to that. 

For now, he allowed his steps to drag closer, gathering the empty packages to throw them out and putting all of Arashi’s make-up back in their respective bag. And then he started collecting the scores, organizing them as he could and putting them to the side. One, and two turning into ten and almost twenty. And when he thought he was almost done, he saw another paper picking from under the kotatsu.

Kneeling closer to pick it up, he realized the furniture was still on. Who the hell had left this working? Didn’t they know how much energy it consumed? It was only when he lifted up the covers to try and turn it off that he saw a white hand... he didn’t needed to see their face to tell it was Ritsu -who else would be napping so happily in the middle of the day?- but he still lifted the cover enough to look at his face.

“Kuma-kun...” he called out gently, only after having stared for some silent and almost eternal moments, a finger poking at the vampire’s soft cheek “What are you doing sleeping in the studio hmn? If you keep skipping class like this you’ll get held back again, stupid vampire wannabe... come on, I’m turning off the kotatsu so come out already.”

[heroichearted]

@noctuis liked this for a starter!

“Mmm... Sakuma. I do not believe you’re supposed to be sleeping there.” Chiaki nudges him ever so gently with his sneaker, a hand on his chin. If he wanted to, Chiaki could toss him over his shoulder and move him someplace else... Still, he wasn’t entirely sure if that would have been the right thing to do anyway.

[refinedbutler-blog]

Obviously it wasn't his time of the day to be awake, especially not to sit in the shadows by the sports ground and waiting for his name to be called as the lessons go on. He was lucky that Yuzuru was sitting close enough for Ritsu to just lean his head on his shoulder and spend his time sleeping like this. "Haa... can't you be just a bit more comfortable? A nice pillow like Anzu's lap maybe?"

      He smiles when his fellow classmate rests his head on his shoulder, and even pauses working on tightening the string to the bows the two were going to use. He’s going to teach him how to shoot with one and yet Ritsu requests for him to be more comfortable. In a way, it reminds him of the young master, and he can’t help but chuckle as he shifts the weapons to the side. 

      ❝You won’t have long to rest, Sakuma-sama, but if you’re sure, you’re welcome to.❞

[vampirei]

  ‘  ritsu - chaaan ~ !    ─  you came to see your elder brother rehearse  ?  ‘   a smile plastered across rei’s face,  only that a touch of pride is strongly present.  ‘  i feel so honooored ~  please be the guest to our humble practice time. '  

@noctuis.

[habrcmania-a-blog]

     he knows he’d end up crossing paths with him eventually; they both reside on the same club, along with eichi after all. briefly remembering the difficult dance that hajime couldn’t mange to grasp it’s movement, no matter how many times; either his nii-chan & the others taught him, nothing seems to be close of mastering it. he carefully settled his cup down, uneasily—————— DISCREETLY.

     he notes how his current fellow noticed his melancholic face, he understands this is the way of being supportive, out of pity. ritsu’s concern doesn’t dampen his mood lift. it’s not that everyday he will be there for him due his busy actives he provides, knowing that he’s far the closest one from outside the unit. but ... should he move on without much worry weigh behind his back ? no, ritsu’s going to find out, just with a blink of eye, the blunette did wish not to lie. ‘ it’s nothing too troubling .. ’ his words paused in midway, he shook his head, forcing a small smile. ‘ yeah, nothing too troubling. but, thank you for your concern. ’

@noctuis​ / cont.

[toneofdarkness]

“STOP PRETENDING TO BE OK!”

Send “STOP PRETENDING TO BE OK!” for my muse’s reaction to yours yelling this at them || @noctuis

Needless to say, Rei was stunned, caught dead in the middle of watering the flowers being grown in the garden terrace, all the water contained in the watering can being emptied on just a single plot of soil.

This wasn’t like the usual anger he’d receive from Ritsu, far from it. It wasn’t cold, nor was it mocking. It had something else, so desperately reaching out to him, and Rei felt it from deep within his hollow chest.

His first impulse was to smile, his usual mask, the one Ritsu despised seeing, but for this instance, that smile failed to hide what he’s truly feeling from within his eyes.

“Oya? Are you concerned for Onii-chan, Ritsu?” Rei chuckled, pulling the watering can away from the drowning flowers and then quickly turned to refill it with water, but if only to avoid meeting his younger brother in the eye. “That makes Onii-chan so happy~ Fufu~”

[huilian]

Noctuis chapter 3 is up! thank you to people who have been reading!

here’s the text under the cut

The signal is on, and Batman is here. That should be it. That should be it, but Jim can’t help but say, “Why are you here?”

Batman grunts. The sound makes Robin angle himself ever so slightly away from Batman, which is absurd, because this is Batman and Robin.

But then, this Batman is not the other half of this particular Robin, and from what he’s seen, this Robin doesn’t particularly play well with others other than his Batman. There’s something wrong with this Robin’s Batman, Jim is sure of it, so he ventures to ask, “Is he okay?”

Batman grunts again. It might have been months since Jim has had to read this Batman, but he’s had years of experience under his belt. Batman doesn’t know either. 

So, even though Batman has answered the signal, and even though there is nothing he truly needs Batman’s help for, Jim keeps the signal on. There is nothing Jim can do to help that Batman, other than provide a light that’ll guide him home. 

Jim hopes it’s enough.

Jim also hopes that the kid is going to be okay. 

(Jim remembers the first Robin clearly. The way he can put on a show so well it fools even Jim, at first. Jim remembers feeling every single year he’s lived weighing his shoulders when that same boy shows up in the cape and cowl to answer the signal, putting on a show all the while. 

A different show, but a show all the same. 

Jim hopes the kid is okay.)

***

They are watching. They are always watching. 

They are listening. They are always listening. 

Dick knows the water is drugged, the same way he knows the taste of blood on his tongue and the grip of knife handles on his fingers. 

Dick knows the water is drugged, but he drinks it anyway. What choice does he have?

Dick stumbles away from the well, feeling his thirst lessens but the clouds inside his head grows. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything. 

They are watching. 

They are listening. 

***

Barbara counts every second they’ve spent on the search. A missing person’s time frame of survival is at most 72 hours. It is now 64 hours, thirty-two minutes, and eighteen, nineteen seconds since Dick’s last check-in. 

The time frame extends considerably considering it is Dick that is missing. The time frame also shortens considerably considering it is most likely the Court of Owls that took Dick. 

Another dead end. This has been the eleventh dead end in two hours. Babs changes tactics. 

“Red Robin, any progress?” she says to the mic. 

“No, Oracle.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Switch channels.

“Batgirl, any progress?”

“Negative, O.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Switch channels. 

“Black Bat, any progress?”

“No.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Switch channels.

“Batman, any progress?”

A grunt. No, then. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Mark the places that’s been confirmed to be negative. Breathe in, breathe out. Find new potential locations for the others to search.

Oracle listens to all, whether it is the loudest of proclamations or the softest of whispers. Her webs of information swirl all over the world, taking in everything from the pettiest of crimes to the most outlandish of schemes. Oracle watches over all, so how can an organization as large as the Court of Owls slipped through her net?

Breathe in, breathe out. It is now 64 hours, thirty-five minutes, and forty-eight, forty-nine seconds since Dick’s last check-in. 

***

Dick’s back in the portrait room. They haunt him, those faces. They are frozen in the frame, in time, and in death. Dick looks at those faces and the images of him standing over those faces, looking down at them as they die, assault him. It could have been him dealing the blows. It could have been him holding the knives. 

The Court is trying to tell him a story. About the people they killed. About the power they store. About how they are unafraid of Batman, despite Batman pushing them off years ago. 

But Dick already knows this story. He knows all about the people the Court killed. He knows all about the power the Court has. And he is going to make sure that after he is done, they will be afraid of Batman. 

Dick blinks. The portraits return to just that, portraits. 

Dick goes back into the labyrinth. 

***

“Robin!” Batman growls, but not his Batman. 

“Don’t touch me!” Damian says.

“Robin, stop.” Batman saying something in the span of seconds was not rare, according to the accounts of his mother, his grandfather, and even Pennyworth, but it is rare to Damian. It is rare for his Batman.

 It reminds him even more that Grayson is gone. 

“No!” Damian pushes his target to the wall again, knowing that it will bring a multitude of pain to his target, and discovering that he feels guilty for not feeling guilty. “This man knows something and I am not going to stop until he tells us!”

“Robin.” Father’s growl is not that much different than Grayson’s. Perplexingly, it makes him miss Grayson even more. 

He was supposed to call for back-up. He was supposed to be safe. 

Damian throws the man to the ground, not really caring about being gentle. The man is a criminal, he was caught red-handed trying to kidnap children, but he knows nothing about Grayson’s whereabouts. 

Damian retrieves the restraints he has with him, tying it on the man as quickly as he can. He has no time to waste. 

He’s going to find Grayson. He will find Grayson. He will. 

The other outcome would be too horrible to even comprehend. 

***

“Dickie? Is that you?” A woman’s voice rang out. 

“We missed you so much, Dick.” A man’s. 

Mom. Dad. 

But how? Dick saw them fall. Dick saw their line broke and he saw them hit the ground. How are they here?

It’s the Court. 

“Come on, son. Come with us.”

Dick walks towards them. He knows, he knows it’s the Court and that this is another one of their tricks, but he has missed them. 

How he has missed them. 

“Come on.”

Dick walks. Closer, and closer, and closer. Until their faces sharpen from the hazy blur he saw before and their hands are close enough to touch. 

Dick can feel the drugs churning inside him, but he finds he doesn’t care. He’s exhausted and injured. He just wants his parents to hold him. 

Dick extends his hand, moving to grab his mother’s. 

Faces morph. John and Mary’s smiling faces turn to the smooth, emotionless white mask of the owls. “We’re the Gray Sons, aren’t we?” they say together. 

No. No. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

It’s the Court. 

He knows it’s the Court. He shouldn’t have approached them in the first place. It’s the exhaustion and the blood loss and the cocktail of drugs flowing in his veins. 

This is just another trick to catch him. 

Dick moves backwards, away from the parody of his parents. He’s not going back to the Court. Not again. Not ever. 

***

“Oracle. This one is also a bust,” Tim says, knowing that it’ll be another failure in a series of failures for Barbara and pushing his own disappointment down. 

“Copy that, Red Robin. Do you want to check the next one or are you calling it a night?”

It’s four a.m. in the morning. By all rights, Tim should be home in his apartment, bickering with Cass on acceptable sound levels when the other occupant of the apartment is sleeping. By all rights, Tim should be sleeping. 

He hasn’t been able to sleep since Dick went missing. 

“I’ll check the next one,” Tim says into his comms. “What’s the address, O?”

A few typing noises, then Oracle says, “Are you sure? You sound exhausted, Red.”

Tim huffs. “So do you.” He is bluffing, of course, because with the voice modulator that Barbara uses, he can’t really tell whether she sounds exhausted or not. But Barbara only uses the voice modulator with the family when she wants to hide something, and that is practically proof. She is exhausted by their failures to find Dick. “What’s the address?”

Barbara sighs. “On King and St. Peters. The thirteenth-”

“The thirteenth floor,” Tim cuts in. He knows he shouldn’t, but he’s running on coffee, adrenaline, and five nonconsecutive hours of sleep in seventy-four hours. “I know. Thanks, Oracle.” 

Tim aims his grapple gun and fires. He knows he should sleep, he knows he functions better with sleep, but he’s not going to be able to sleep knowing that Dick is still out there, possibly in the Court’s clutches. Might as well make good use of the time. 

King and Peters, thirteenth floor.

***

Coffins. Rows and rows of coffins. 

Dick knows this place. He’s heard of it from the other Talons when they were brought in to help his training. The resting place of the Talons. Or more accurately, the storage place. 

The other Talons talked about how being on ice is not resting. It is just being suspended, tucked away until their next use.

If Batman hadn’t saved him, Dick would have been here with the rest of them. 

There are several coffins open. Are they here?

Dick walks between the rows of coffins, heading towards the open ones. Maybe he can figure out who they are, and whether or not he knows them. 

But before Dick can even reach the closest open coffin, he heard a swooshing noise. Dick moves away from a sword clearly aimed at his back. 

Dick turns and faces the Talon, who is holding the sword low on his hands. “Batman,” he says, “the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”

The googles. The bandoliers slung across his chest. 

Cobb. 

It seems he’s healed from the knife to the spine.

Dick tries to punch him in the face, but he is weak after days in the Labyrinth. Cobb easily blocks the punch and counters with his sword. Dick moves out of the way again, but this time he’s not fast enough. The sword hits him. 

“You should die knowing your body would not be returned to the surface,” Cobb says, as relaxed as ever. He is confident that he would win. 

Dick stands up. Cobb lets him. Cobb’s toying with him. He knows Dick is weak, he knows that this fight is nowhere near fair with one opponent starved and dehydrated. He is confident he would win this fight. 

That’s going to cost him. Dick is not going to die tonight. Batman is not going to die tonight. 

“The Court has decided to keep your bones here, to be displayed”- another swing of Cob’s sword. It hits Dick’s arm, where the previous stab wound has barely healed. Dick goes down again - “in the Labyrinth forever. A monument to a valiant enemy.”

Dick kicks him, but Cobb simply takes the kick, confident that nothing Dick can do would hurt him. Cobb brings his sword down, towards Dick’s stomach, but Dick manages to roll over and evade the sword at the nick of time. 

Straight into Cobb’s own kicking foot. 

“Do you have anything to say before your death?”

Dick answers that with a headbutt to Cobb’s stomach. Cobb casually brings his elbow down, and Dick sees stars.

“Nothing, then.” Cobb nods derisively. “So all that’s left to do is decide the manner of your death.” He turns towards an audience, clearly visible to him, but invisible to Dick. “My Court! He is prepared!”

Blinding lights. White faces. 

“I present to you, the Batman! How do you wish him to die?”

Voices shouting, drowning each other. The same voices as his nightmares. 

They are coming closer, or is it Dick that’s moving closer towards them?

White faces. White walls. White floors.

Voices that haunt his nightmares. 

They stop, suddenly. But all that does is to let another voice speak out, softer than the others, yet somehow still the same as those that haunt his nightmares. “Hurt him… more.”

Pain. It doesn’t stop. One hand turns to two turns to three turns to too many to count. White masks turn to white faces turn to owls. 

Hands turn to knives turn to claws.

Blood seeping down his clothes. Voices. Lights. 

“Stop.”

Dick breathes in. The pain doesn’t stop, but it doesn’t worsen. The mass of bodies around him parts. Claws retract, and a face, different from the others, towers over him. It’s golden.

“Can it be?” the voice from the golden mask says. The Grandmaster. “Has our Gray Son return at last?”

Gray Son. Gray Son. 

Dick lifts his hand, preparing himself for the pain he surely will receive. Shockingly, no pain comes, so he keeps going. Up, and up, until he can feel his hair. 

The cowl is down. 

Dick swallows. The Court is always watching, he knows that, but now the Court sees.

Now the Court knows. 

Dick has damned his entire family. 

“Of course,” the Grandmaster whispers. It runs on Dick’s skin, bringing a chill even though no breeze actually comes. “Who else can survive the Labyrinth as well as you, Gray Son?” A hand touches Dick’s chin, forcing him to look to the soulless eyes of the golden mask. “The Batman took you away and the Batman delivers you back.”

Dick feels his body being hauled upwards. Then, the coldness of a blade on his throat. 

“This changes everything, does it not?” The parliament behind him cheers. “Our Gray Son, returned after many years. The Bat takes good care of you, I see. Your skills have improved.”

The Grandmaster strokes Dick’s face, from the corner of his eye to the curve of his chin. It emphasized that Dick’s face is bare, that his cowl is down. 

It emphasized that Dick has failed his entire family. 

“You have completed the Labyrinth,” the Grandmaster continues, “the only thing missing from your training as Talon. Now you truly are the Gray Son of Gotham, our greatest weapon. Isn’t that right, Gray Son?”

Dick stays silent. He’s not Batman, the cowl is down. He’s Dick Grayson, and as long as he doesn’t speak at the behest of this man, he won’t be the Gray Son of Gotham, Talon of the Court of Owls.

Dick is aware that that distinction only exists in his own mind, but he feels he is allowed his coping mechanism. 

Even if he knows that he doesn’t deserve it. What a selfish man he is, thinking of his own comforts while knowing that he has betrayed his entire family. 

“Answer when the Grandmaster asks you,” Cobb growls from behind him. 

Dick stays silent. Behind him, Cobb presses the knife deeper, almost cutting skin. But Cobb won’t kill him. Not here, not without permission from the Grandmaster. 

And the Grandmaster is still eyeing him like a prize. Dick can’t go back to the Court. He won’t. He’s betrayed his family enough. 

Dick takes his chances. 

The only good thing about having Cobb so close to himself is that Dick can grab anything from Cobb’s arsenal of weapons. Dick knows that suit, and what it carries, as well as he knows his own. He has spent countless hours with it. 

Dick reaches towards Cobb’s side, where he knows a stash of explosives is stored. He lifts them out, elbowing Cobb in the stomach at the same time. 

His arm protests, but Dick ignores it. He throws the explosive to the ground, and tackles Cobb down.

Boom!

The Owls run for cover, including the Grandmaster. Dick braces for impact. His suit can handle the explosion, but not without it hurting. 

It throws both him and Cobb to the ground. Cobb, who didn’t have a chance to properly brace himself, is stunned. Dick quickly moves away, hoping the explosion will keep Cobb down, at least for a while. 

Dick looks around. There’s a hole on the floor. 

No better choice.  Dick jumps in. 

Water. Walls. A labyrinth traded with another. 

But the walls are not white. The floors are not white. 

The voices of his nightmares are silent. 

Dick walks and walks and walks, away from the Court, away from the Owls, away from the hands wanting to turn him into a weapon. 

Dick walks until he can no longer see. 

Dick walks until he can no longer hear. 

Dick walks until his legs crumble underneath his own weight, and even then, he crawls.

Dick moves until he can’t. 

He hopes it’s enough. 

***

[nobilism]

"Stay tonight."

Two Words"Stay tonight.”

Tsukasa had just about finished packing up his things when he heard Ritsu ask him to stay. It wasn’t as if he had anything particularly against spending the night, but this was rather last minute. He wouldn’t want to intrude on his family. Even if they weren’t here at the moment. It was only proper to get permission from his parents first before even asking his. Or well, in Tsukasa’s case, the head butler. His parents were on another work trip after all, so they weren’t currently home. 

❝ While I know you made the offer, I wouldn’t want to intrude on your family, Ritsu-senpai. ❞

The idea of sleeping over at someone’s else was something that intrigued Tsukasa quite a bit. He’s never had the opportunity to spend the night at a friend’s place growing up, not that he would be so bold to call Ritsu a friend. Though his relationship with Ritsu (and the rest of Knights for the matter) was rather muddled. He’s always called them his comrades, but that didn’t seem right anymore. 

His dilemma of titles with his seniors aside, Tsukasa wasn’t even properly prepared for a sleepover and getting what he would need would require him to go home or someone from home bringing something over, and at that point it would make more sense to go home. 

[bunnyinbearfur-blog]

“I’d die for you”

y’all gonna make him cry

The words alone made his eyes water. He didn’t hesitate to hug Ritsu, hiding his face against his shoulder. “Please... Please live instead... I’d hate to be the cause of such a tremendous loss... I don’t want to be the reason anyone dies... Please... live instead...” His voice was shaky as he tightly clung to Ritsu’s frame, doing his best not to choke as he cried.

[subserviiient]

alt!

Send “alt!” for a muse I used to play in the past, want to roleplay or am currently playing elsewhere:

a muse I want to play:

Henry: Fire Emblem: Awakening

Humming to himself as a crow rested on his shoulder, unaware of the existence of anything but the risen in front of him, or so it seemed- his regular grin on his face (even though this was much more joyful than one would expect- but hardly anyone would notice that detail ) as he reached forward, an incantation leaving his lips. The risen dropped to the ground, as if it was dragged down by a series of hands, but none were to be seen- perhaps it was a new curse? 

Oh dear, that was gruesome- he thinks he sees some soldiers wincing and some even covering their eyes, which even he is slightly surprised about. He figured that they’d be used to this, but regardless, he backed away slightly and yelled.

“Hey, Robin!” Ignoring the tactician whispering please no, he continued with his amazing pun. “This guys sure got an explosive personality!” The tactician responded by throwing a tome at him, but hey, it’s worth it at least in his eyes…plus his bird threw away when that risen blew up so no crows were harmed.

[tsundere-model]

✿✼:*ﾟ:Spellbind:*ﾟ:✼✿

@noctuis || Demon!AU RitIzu

Nails dragged over leather spines, rolling over faded golden lettering. There were times when the sun was just right -warm and gentle beam sneaking their way through the top vents and making everything, even the dust, sparkle magically. Today, was not one of those days. Dark clouds covering up the sky and crystal windows tarnished, it might be impossible for him to check the many volumes if it wasn’t for the reliable oil lamp he held on his hand.

He came here almost every day -at least every day he could- lurking through tomes of ancient texts and old forgotten letters. This was what held him to that bothersome job of assistant librarian, in which he was more often interacting with people than with books.

But it was fine... as long as he could be here... The smell of burnt oil mixing with that of dust and old, the lurking shadows made the small room seem longer, like a wolf’s open mouth. 

In the darkness, a certain tome he had never quite seen before seemed to stand out. Letters in red rather than golden, and a long thread of crimson coming from in between pages -surely a mark from the last person to held it in his hands.

Lips parted and he held his breath, inching closer to the source through the unusually creaky floor. Silver hair looking gold under these light, Izumi crouched by the book stand and reached for the tome -way too heavy for it’s small size, slowly pulling it out.

Why had he never seen this before?

Called by it, Izumi gently opened it, letting the first few pages -tattered and yellow, the words that might have been there already impossible to read- drop one after the other.

“Ah-!″ just as the fourth page fell down, its edge let a small cut in Izumi’s index. One single drop of blood falling in the yellow pages before horrified blue eyes, yet before he could cry in regret for tainting such a precious volume, the whole room seemed to shake, the light in his lamp turning off as the storm outside grew in power.

[militariis]

The blog is fully updated. Please take a look at my new theme~!! And let me take this chance to thank @noctuis / @songcode for that super pretty background !!! Thank you so so much, it’s the prettiest background I could have wished for! And the stars!!! They’re moving!!! I’m crying! Kanan that’s so cool!! Thank you soooo much I love you !!! ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥