#pitborn

[jean-dieu]

Revamp of my pitborn tiefling rogue, Malthus Ziel Drezdan Your local teenage dirtbag. Favorite activity is to annoy his Abadar-follower father because of course he's too chaotic for this shit. (yes it's the same drawing, I've just muted the caolor down because my computer is shit at rendering intensity and my boy was too pink)

[warled]

👀.

"do you want something?"

[nightvow]

snaps a picture of him at his desk

"You know I charge the Gotham press a $150 for my picture?" He looks at Talia, there's a hint of amusement. "Why do want a picture of an aging billionaire?"

[bcywonder]

' stop calling damian 'simba' if I catch you holding him up in the air like that damn lion cub ... '

❛ oh, my name's talia and i hate fun, ❜ dick just barely stops himself from throwing a piece of bread at her, and only because he knows alfred would be mad at him. it's always so much weirder when talia's in the manor - but then dick feels like it's weird when he's in the manor half the time these days. ❛ sorry for trying to give him a slightly less miserable childhood. god forbid! ❜

[brutalage]

she'd bury his body in a concrete box with no openings and see how long it takes him to get out

my muse is dead . tell me how yours responds to the news / not accepting !

[fightwing]

' why are you like this ... ' / @pitborn

dick's smile is proud, like the words formed a compliment. " i blame my parenting. " he says, with a casual shrug and the ever-hope that somewhere, somehow bruce's cowled ears are ringing. " if i were you, i'd take this up with my dad. "

[exghul]

*randomly waits until he's home and sits in his bedroom with the lights off because she's mad he hasn't sent her any art recently.

these early days, he will one day realize, are the hardest of them all. these are the days where his hand is unguided by surety, these are the days that he sizes up his father with distrustful eyes & a swallowed sneer.

these days, he sizes up his own mother with the same distrust --- if she were to keep a good man from him, why? these are the days where she offers pretty words & a kiss to his forehead rather than an honest answer. she looks at him with such kindness, such gentle love. her eyes regard him as if he alone hung the sun in the sky & turned its dial to the evening to mark the passage of time.

that kindness corrodes against his faith now, leaving more questions in her wake than ever the answers she offered.

the door swings open on silent hinges, freshly bloody fingers leaving careless streaks down the wood. the butler will clean it later.

in that same kindness, she now perches at the edge of his bed. the warm light of the hall spills into the dark space, curling around the warrior woman in all her grace. her posture reeks of self-righteousness.

his nose wrinkles & that streak of blood falls free of the hardwood as damian moves further into his room. no pain flickers up his arm, this blood was never his.

but he does not acknowledge it, instead tilts his chin towards the easel propped against his locked balcony doors but she has less interest in the swirling fountain of colors on the thick canvas. she will fawn, she will dote -- in her way. nimble fingers comb through his hair, confirming no head injuries before those same cold fingers slide against his cheeks. then a kiss to his forehead & the boy cannot help the tug of a smile against his lips.

this is how we could stay forever, he decides in the moment, we could go home & never look back. mother & son, bathed in the manor's years of fracturing light as it dances from one reflective surface to another, lock eyes. she looks at him with that sweetness, that gentleness only a mother might offer as she asks after his health.

and there it is again, that bubbling unexplained frustration stains his tongue & he drops her gaze. the moment of forever encapsulated is gone, replaced with the reality that he stands in a bedroom given to him by a father that did not know of his existence, held by the mother that sent him to the billionaire's doorstep without so much as an explanation.

he had thought they were better than that, that she & damian would never have the one-sided darkened relationship that talia weathers with her own father. she PROMISED him honesty, had PROMISED that she would protect him from the cruel world past the borders of nanda parbat. she fucking PROMISED she would never abandon him.

then his twelfth birthday crested the dawn, his sword at her neck. that day ruined everything they had built, that day brought him into a world unknown and the only anchor the child had ever known left his side.

he can name that bitter taste in his mouth now, as he stares wordlessly up at her. that taste is betrayal.

the crinkle in his nasal bridge increases to a scowl as the thoughts shuffle into clear view. still, she looks at him with such unguarded eyes. how can she show such softness as if she did not uproot his entire life without more than a rushed apology?

a single finger lifts to address the canvas once more with its dazzling minutiae of stars. a painting from memory, to remind him of how the familiar sky looked without the suffocating smog of gotham city.

❝ that one --- is for you. ❞ she will leave soon, after collecting the bounty & a few teasing words to his father -- wherever he might be in the manor, talia will find him.

damian's eyes turn downcast. she should just leave without acknowledging him, for how little she must sincerely care.

lips press to his forehead again. she whispers words of encouragement & love against the wisps of coal black hair that sweep his cranium, the closest to a prayer the great talia al ghūl might get.

if he were childish, if he had the range of human emotion of a toddler, he might weep right here. he pulls away.

silent as the night winds that bow to her step, talia is gone when he finally lifts his gaze again. good, now his self-inflicted pity party can begin.

he crosses the threshold back towards the door, shoves it closed with too loud a slam & slides the singular lock into place. then the traps are placed, tight wires meant to rouse him from sleep at the first sign of disruption. room now secure, the boy walks to his easel & picks up the thickest of brushes. he squishes it between his fingers, the blood of gotham strangers mixing with the damp brush fresh from use hours prior. he tilts his head, listening for his mother's soft tinkling laughter.

only the silence & the faint ring of his eardrums greet him. @pitborn !

[righteousruin]

GET TO FUCKING WORK.

PICK ONE OF THOSE TWO THINGS.

[am4zon]

@pitborn said: you don’t always have to put on a brave face, dear.

❝ You are mistaken if you think my face shows bravery. ❞

There is little bravery about a woman born to be a warrior. True bravery belongs to the souls she fights beside; their mortal bodies reach further towards a conclusion with each breath they exhale. Diana, meanwhile, is without end. Perhaps there shall come a day when she meets an opponent who can depart her head from her shoulders; yet, not even then will she match the bravery of a human being.

Her voice is stern, but not cruel for cruel she could never be. Especially not to Talia, not to a woman who knows cruelty and has rejected its embrace.

Lithe fingers tighten around the hilt of a sword that does not belong to this Amazon. She is steady on her feet. You see, Diana's face does not show bravery. No. What her face says is this: It is time to get up and go to war.

[crimelcrd]

Talia is so proud of her son. 🥹 @pitborn

ʙᴀɴɢ! ╾━╤デ╦︻ ❝ What can I say, I learned from the best. ❞ His grin is an easy sly motion. Prince Hamlet saying his lines in the throne room. She had hired the best tutors in the game and he was an apt pupil.

[ataviisms]

me: lol croc wearing crocs this i got to see also me realizing this is not about shoes and and i still read every single word of it: ohhhhhhhhhhh, cock.

i mean---

he does wear crocs

[shelassos]

‘  there  are  so  many  worse  things  than  death.  not  to  be  loved  or  not  to  be  able  to  love,  that  is  worse.  ’ @pitborn

And through their differences, there is a common thread that binds them, and it is the most powerful one of all, that of love.

❛ Yes. ❜ Her agreement arrives as a softly spoken word and the gentle nodding of her head. She thinks they are not too unalike, her and Talia, these two warrior women with hearts that bleed and bleed. It is a strange feeling that washes over Diana, a peculiar yearning to offer Talia her hand and declare friendship. She's always quietly desperate for the solidarity, for the respect, she once shared with her Amazon sisters. It is a bond that cannot be nourished with men; not even those she holds dear. It is different. Not better, perhaps, but different.

Rather than offer her this hand, Diana stands beside Talia, shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the sunset that holds such promise. Diana knows this world is too unpredictable to be certain that she will see the sun ever rise to its glory again. ❛ I have always thought, always wished, that everyone from this world and beyond has the capacity to love and be loved in return, ❜ she admits, smile small and thoughtful. It is the world she wants to believe in. The world she has to believe in. ❛ I am okay with that making me a fool, if it does. ❜

[batcrested]

"I'm fine... It's fine... I just..." His fingers are dripping in crimson, staining his clothes, the floor and the flecks on his now pale face. The body laid not but ten feet away from them, the smell of metal and bile from where he threw up right beside it rose in the air thanks to the midday sun beating down on them. It's nothing new to him, the young man had examined various bodies in morgues and crime scenes alike but... never had he been the cause of one before. Despite being utterly empty, his stomach churned and twisted with his panic. "I could... I couldn't... He kept coming at me. I should have..."

@pitborn // starter call

[bcywonder]

you didn't have to take that hit for me.

❛ yeah, well, i take after my dad, ❜ dick's got a hand braced against the wall, the other pressed hard to his side, to keep the blood where it's meant to be. that is, very much inside himself. and call him stupid, but his guard's still not totally down around talia. which seems absurd, given what just happened. ❛ you don't have any -- bandages or anything do you? don't have a utility belt anymore, tragically. ❜

[arkhampsych]

*stabs him bc crane stinks* @pitborn

𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 …

talia al ghul is the least affable person crane has ever met.

[fightwing]

"I need you to distract Bruce and Alfred today." She and Damian have plans. Talia doesn't always cave to her son's demands, but every time he stares up at her with those eyes and asks for a new pet, she gives in within seconds. / @pitborn

dick doesn't even have to think of the how before he's saying " can do. " over the coffee he's currently pouring into his little novelty mug. bruce and alfred are two of the nearest and dearest to dick's heart, the years between them spanning from dick's booties all the way to his present self, and that's a lot of data (and trial & error) to work with. bruce was easy --- dick just had to get him hooked onto a case. double points if it's one of dick's that he just oh so needs his former mentor's expertise on. a little bit of ego never hurt the distraction game. alfred was a bit harder, and dick always felt bad about the added stress he was sure to be giving --- but just entering the kitchen gave his beloved grandfather new and plentiful gray hairs. like a seventh grader with a faulty science kit, dick was making scientific discoveries in the kitchen yet unknown by chef's around the world, and if he really wanted to enjoy the day then he would just ask for alfred's direction on a dish he really should've learned years ago. EASY. it's not the task that gives him pause --- that's sorted as soon as it's asked, but it's a delayed kind of reaction that he realizes he didn't really ask any follow ups. eyebrow quirked and soft, unworried but shared smile barely visible over the brim of his mug he finally asks " any reason in particular? "