#ra’s al ghul is a creep

[ditzyredrobin]

Before and After

Chapter 1

For Whumptober 2024 Day 27, Before and After, Alternate universe

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So, I guess I forgot to post this one here? Originally, this was just supposed to be one shot—Dick and Lazarus!Tim bonding but 4,613, chapter 2 is on the way. 😂

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In a blink, the knife is out of his hand soaring across the living room, towards the intruder. All the while without dislodging the bottle from the fussy pup in his arms. After hours of crying—of soothing, and changing, and singing, and bouncing, and burping she had refused to go down until now and Tim was Exhausted™️.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed the black and blue costumed vigilante was another assassin sent by the League—Nightwing moved with easy grace, easing his way through the window, movement flowing like water and air. But not even the best of the League had managed to crack his security without electrocuting the shit out of themselves.

The room was illuminated by Friends reruns and the Gotham skyline peaking in through the crack in the curtains.

Nightwing ducked and weaved, only narrowly missing a knife through the delt. He rolled back to his feet without a hitch, shocking blue eyes wide and wild with the whiteouts down. The knife stuck in the wall with a satisfying thunk.

Without missing a beat Tim uttered lowly, “Breaking and entering is punishable offense. At the very least it’s C felony, at least 10 years in prison, and upwards of a $250,000 fine.” Not that he could actually get a judge in Gotham to prosecute without a hefty bribe.

Nightwing held up his empty palms in surrender keeping his feet firmly planted. “I’m sorry, we haven’t heard from you and I wanted to check on you.”

Tim discretely adjusted the cashmere blanket across his lap over the pup with a silent prayer she didn’t wake up. “Well, you can tell everyone I’m fine. If I needed help, I would have asked.” He snarks, adding. “But I didn’t.”

I don’t need a keeper.

But that was the thing about bats—they had a tendency to be too nosey for their own good, to pick, and poke, and prod until you were on the verge of wanting to pull your hair out and scream.

Boundaries? I hardly know her.

If Nightwing noticed, he didn’t say anything, opting to remove his domino and tucking it away, his brows were furrowed.

Tim knew how he looked—gaunt, deep purple bags under his eyes, cheekbones sharper than they should be.

Welcome to being a single parent.

“I know you didn’t ask but it’s what family does. I want to help.” Dick sounded painfully desperate earning an eye roll. “No matter what you will always be my little brother.”

Tim scoffed, “If I needed help I would have asked.” What part of he’s fine was not getting through that thick skull of his? Maybe it’s just all the years of vigilante-related concussions. “Maybe in another life we were family but I’m not your brother, Dick,” not anymore , “you don’t even know me.”

Dick breathed a heavy sigh, moving around the overstuffed couch to sit. It took everything in Tim not to bare his teeth and growl. “Of course I know you, Tim. You will always be my little brother.”

“But I’m not!” Tim finally snapped, startling Amalia awake. Her little lip wobbled, her nose scrunched, and Tim went into oh shit mode. Her wails made his inside twist and churn with the need to fix it , as she shook her tiny fists in anger.

He set the empty bottle down and adjusted her so she was upright in his arms to burp her. “Shh, ya Rohee,” he crooned, patting her back.

My soul.

She was his everything—his sun, his moon, to the moon and to Saturn. The only good thing that came of his time with Ra’s after the Council of Spiders and the Pit.

He could feel Dick watching him but didn’t look up, opting to instead rock his infant. She was small, even for a babe of her age, he still had a hard time imagining her anything other than fragile.

He nuzzled her, her patch of almost black, whispy hair tickled his nose, purring softly. It was a little uneven with disuse but it soothed her enough to bring her wails down to whimpers. She smelled milky and soft and like his . He did his best to ignore the hint of spicy incense underlying in her scent from her other father.

She was his and no one else’s. It would change in a few months and maybe he would finally stop seeing him in the shadows.

There was no way she was going down now but he’d lost all hope of that when Dick disengaged his security and decided to sneak in (an issue he would be working on a patch for later).

His eyes felt hot but he ignored it. He didn’t need a nap anyways, right? He’d worked more on less after all. This should be cake , right?

Eventually, as the pup calmed down, Tim dared to glance up at his unwanted visitor. There was a complicated expression that Tim couldn’t quite discern despite all of his training. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. I don’t even know who I am.”

For a long moment, Dick sat with that, a complex flurry of emotions crossed his face before settling on something soft. A fondness, watching the small pup in his arms. “You have a baby?” Talk about understatement of the century.

Tim rolled his eyes, continuing to pat the pups baby. “Yes, last time I checked I did, in fact, have a baby. I have the stretch marks to prove it. You want to see?”

Dick shook his head, “That isn’t what I meant. I just…How old is she? What’s her name?” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees.

Tim had to think for a long moment, back tracking the dates. The escape had been four days following her birth, still sore and as unsteady on his legs like a newborn fawn. There hadn’t been a choice—it was escape or lose Amalia. She had been born weak, words like failure to thrive had been tossed around. Ra’s Al Guhl was gifted with another disappointing heir.

“Well, Timothy, we’ll just have to try again, won’t we? Surely you won’t disappoint your Alpha a second time.” The or else was implied.

He had still been on his back, bleeding from the long birth. His milk supply hadn’t come in and the tiny pup wailed across the room with the wet nurse.

“Tim?” Dick sounded concerned, snapping him back into the present. His grip on Amalia tightened just a hair, her warm weight against his shoulder grounding.

“Amalia,” he said remembering the question. “Her name is Amalia and she’s-“ If he had been in Gotham for nearly a month, days before being found out and the trek from the Cradle to Gotham had taken around two weeks… “Her birthday is July 19th.” He said instead.

Fresh out of the Pit, time was hazy, seasons and dates made little impact on his life and Gotham’s perpetually gray skies.

Dick had a worried look on his face. “What about her other the father?”

“Dead.” Tim said succinctly.

That he made sure of.

Dick made a soft noise of acknowledgement, continuing to watch the baby with a fondness in his eyes. He didn’t push the matter. “She’s beautiful. You did so well.” He croons softly, “I’m sure it was hard for you.” He didn’t know the half of it.

“It was hard,” Tim admitted softly, basking in the Alpha’s praise. Finally, Amalia burped. “I had a few people that helped—Talia and an assassin I saved after-“ before he died, after the Pit, and before Amalia. “After. They made it easier but Talia wasn’t around often. I don’t think she was overly fond of what he was doing.”

“What about the assassin?”

Tim bit his lip, his eyes felt hot. “I don’t feel her bond anymore.” There was a bone deep ache without her. Whether she had cut it herself to save him, or really hadn’t made it out after Ra’s death, was all up in the air. “I’ve looked for her but-“

“But she’s part of the League.” Dick filled in and Tim nodded. He was quiet for a long moment before promising, “We’ll find her.”

Tim looked up from the pup quickly, “What?”

“We’ll find her.” Dick repeated with all of the seriousness in the world. “For you. I promise.”

Tim held his eye for a long moment, gauging the whether or not believe his words but Dick’s resolve never faltered. He felt his pulse pick up and a bright blip of emotion he didn’t want to think about. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. What about Batman? He doubt he’ll be a fan of having a member of the League in Gotham.”

“I’ll handle Bruce.” Dick promised. “Just focus on you and your pup. We will find her.”

Tim bit his lip nodding once. He didn’t trust it but maybe… maybe just this once he would try.

[lulurhythm]

This sketch was heavily influenced by @nanigram 's DC fan-art of Tim with clone baby Kon. I didn't realize at first how much of the reference I'd used.

[emstheshortone]

I need some Tim hurt/comfort Fanfic recommendations, preferably with Big Brother Jason, but I'll take anything.

Have I already read an unholy amount of those... Yes, but that shall not stop me.

I've reread my entire Ao3 bookmarks on the topic like 50 times already, and I feel like reading something new.

[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.

[satoshy12]

Danny Fenton and his Aunts bad taste in Man.

Jack Fenton is the son of Ra's al-Ghul, who left the league.

Jack made sure the family stayed a big family! with family meetings! Between him, his siblings, and his father

Danny and the rest of Amity Park have no idea about Heroes and Justice League. They never cared to know the names of S-Man, swimsuit women, or Red Blur.

Ra doesn't need a Heir, I mean he wouldn't die, his grandson Phantom body and amity park showed him that.

Jack al Ghul would still talk a few times with his father and baby siblings. So Jack would force Talia, Nyssa, Dusan, and the rest to join them for dinner with the Fentons.

While at one of the dinners, Danny heard something from his uncle Dusan.

And all started when Danny heard something he had never heard about. His two aunts were dating a creeps!

All Danny had to learn was that his aunts were dating a billionaire; the first thing was to look and make sure they would be okay. And they wouldn't try to change his aunts, like Vlad did in the Alternative Time Line. (The Masters of All Time).

And to make sure they aren't like Vlad, Danny has to look after his family after all.

They seem to fail, as both have a secret base in their house.

+

Yeah, Danny is totally against his poor aunts dating them, and he would talk to them about it. They can do much better!

Ra had a good laugh, as he learned the boy had pics to show how creepy they are with a secret base! And made it worse by saying how both tried to change his aunts. (Talia with bruce)

[therandomartmaker]

DPxDC, of dead hearts and brothers.

danny is damian’s older brother au; reincarnation type. danyal is the soft-hearted but still exemplary heir, but convinces ra’s that it is better to have him be the right-hand to damian, losing his heirship. ra’s, having danny as his favourite (cough danny and his inability to not be involved with old creeps lmao) allows him this; thinking that it’d allow danyal to be protected and also give him another option for youth (taking over damian’s body, afo-shigaraki style /hj)

this is all fine and dandy until ra’s decides damian has reached an equal skill to danyal’s stagnant training, and sets up a fight to the death. the lazarus pits are always there for the al ghul family, after all. he expects danyal to win. he expects damian to learn that all of his children are disposable. precious, but tools for ra’s’ use (all except precious danyal, the heart that kept giving).

danyal dies, damian’s sword stabbed into his heart, his last advice to “drive it in harder.” and his last words, “congratulations, brother.”

they bring him to lazarus pit, but it takes him. he sinks into the pool of acrid green and they wait; hours. a day. a week. he doesn’t resurface. they continue waiting because what else are they to do? they are al ghuls, not danal. not precious danyal who could mourn.

this proceeds, a sigil at the pit’s edge once a month, waiting for the lost son to return; but eventually damian is brought before the bat (far less dramatic, ra’s was tired of damian’s growing frustration without danyal to soothe him but no assassin’s had the same emotional state as danyal to provide a pseudo-sibling to play the same role; thus the bats’ family was the next option)

the bats only find out abt danyal when damian sets up for a day of fasting, facing the direction of the pit.

it’s dick who asks why he is fasting, and damian explains calmly. They learn of the boy who knew kindness, of the al ghul’s heart, of the prodigal heir turned advisor to damian. they learn of damian’s brother. when they find out why he’s dead, horror drips down their spines, at damian being forced to kill someone who’d only done good for him.

damian has one thing to say; “Danyal’s advice was not ‘how to kill’. i killed far better than he, after all. i was efficient, but danyal worked cleaner. Danyal’s advice… was ‘to kill your heart.’”

time moves on; damian is adjusted to ‘outside life’ far easier, danyal taught him how to interact with others and understand that words are rarely literal. the lazarus pits are quiet, madness unlikely in those brought from it, and jason affected far less in the long term. until one day there is a knock at the manor door.

alfred opens it, to see a dark haired young adult, assassins’ garb, injured. he does not seem conscious. alfred brings him in; calling the rest to reach a decision on how to treat him, and what his intentions are.

Damian wakes up to the sight of his brother in the moment that damian killed him.

[brucestalia]

batfamily content is so unreadable sometimes. can everyone please (and i really mean this, PLEASE PLEASE pretty pleaseeeee) stop the villainisation of bruce and talia? no, talia isn't an overly strict, regimenting, uncaring mother. she doesn't force damian (or jason) to train or kill five thousand background npcs.

bruce is damian's father. dick is NOT. jason isn't his father either. bruce is present in his children's lives and he tries his utmost best. he isn't unfeeling. he does literally everything he can??

on that note: ra's isn't a borderline paedophile slash creep either. he is ra's al ghul. the demon's head. the leader of the league of assassins. he has better things to do. he has a world to fix.

jason todd doesn't have lasting pit madness. he does not get sudden bouts of LPM. his life's purpose isn't solely to eliminate his "replacement".

can we actually start reading the comics?

i don't understand why (or how) something that has happened ONCE in the entire history of a character (probably ooc too...) becomes permanent in their fanon characterisation.

[devine-fem]

Stop calling Ra’s Al Ghul a creep.

Weirdo writers made it so Ra’s Al Ghul had a disturbing ‘obsession’ with Tim Drake because there was no other villain they wanted to ruin for their precious Tim Drake.

All evidence supports the contrary; That Ra’s Al Ghul would think of Tim Drake as a little bit less than a used boot.

[ditzyredrobin]

Life, Love, and Assassin’s

I can’t begin to express how happy and full my heart is from the response to my last fic. So much so that I wrote my longest fic to date.

Thank you so much everyone and I hope you enjoy this one just as much as I have. 💜

Here another prompt from my BTH Bingo card.

Prompt: Don’t You Dare Pity Me

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“Don’t you dare pity me,” Jason snarls, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I don’t want to hear it from Dick or Bruce and I certainly don’t want to hear it from you, replacement.”

He’s never seen Jason like this before, not in this state of barely holding himself together, eyes glassy as he tries to fight back tears.

The Joker is intense (even for him), but they did their best to keep he and Jason apart. Truthfully, he’s not sure he has ever caught the aftermath of one of their run-in’s. Jason was normally gone by the time the sitch was handled, off to do whatever one does after coming face to face with your murderer when you couldn’t kill them yourself.

This time had been different. Tim had seen the hit, seen him go down, and struggled to get up. Until he knew he was okay, he wasn’t going to leave. Or, well, didn’t want to leave.

Tracking Jason down had been fairly easy, for him, at least. At this point he had the majority of his sibling’s safe houses mapped out all across Gotham as a precautionary measure. (The few he didn’t have figured out yet, he was working on.)

There had been two about equidistant from the scene, making it essentially a coin of toss as to which he would have gone to.

Apparently luck was on his side because he got it on the first go.

Well, really, depending on Jason’s reaction, he was either extremely lucky or he’d just won himself an all expenses paid trip to pound town. Knowing Jason, either was equally as likely.

When he slipped in, the blinds were drawn leaving a sliver of light from the street lights peaking between the blinds. His eyes were decent enough in the dark due to his extracurriculars, but her still had to squint. Jason was slumped over the couch, with his helmet and holsters on the coffee table, holding an instant to his shoulder.

Tim arches a brow sticking close to the window he’d come in through. Not close enough to make Jason feel cornered in his compromised state, but enough so it was easy to flee, if needed. “Who says I was going to give you it? Because it wasn’t.”

Jason snorts, his face blotchy and red and his breath hasn’t quite evened out yet. “You know I literally died, right? Beat with a crow bar, blown to high heaven, and all shit.”

“So?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘so’?”

Tim shrugged nonchalantly, trying to pretend like his heart was thundering in his chest. If he didn’t play his cards right, this could all go to hell in an instant. “Death is practically a right of passage, just because you died first doesn’t make you special. Steph died too and you don’t hear her complain about it.”

“Dude,” Jason says, deadpan. “She literally fucking brought it up yesterday. You were in the room.”

Tim frowned, “Are you sure? I’m pretty sure I would remember my ex-girlfriend bringing up one of the most significant, life altering, earth shattering events of my life for the lolz.”

“Well, you better build a bridge and get over it because it happened.”

“You must be mistaken because that’s not something Stephanie would do.” (It was absolutely something Stephanie would do.)

“Are you implying I just made up the whole conversation to troll you?” Jason’s voice is starting to lose that brittle edge, dissipating into exasperation.

“No, what I’m trying to say is you’re wrong.” Tim says, shifting on the balls of his feet. “To be fair, it wouldn’t be the first time. Have you had any neuro cognitive testing done recently? Maybe the brain trauma is finally catching up to you ?”

He’s not sure if Jason is going to blow a fuse, laugh, or punch him in the face. “You are not you trying to fucking gaslight me in my own home. ”

Okay, so, maybe it’s option D: All of the above.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Jason asks incredulously. “What I think is you’re a little shit.”

Tim shrugs, “I’m rubber, you’re glue~”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You’re such a dick, you know that?”

“It’s maybe been mentioned once or twice. All I’m saying is dying doesn’t give you special privileges which includes my pity. I won’t give it to Dick, why would I give it to you?”

“Dude, that should get me all of the special privileges. Dying isn’t exactly easy you know and then in a dip in the Pit.”

“Who is this family member who hasn't died in one way or another? Name one.” Tim replies easily. “Again, dying is practically a right of passage at this point. It doesn’t make you special.”

Jason, Steph, Dick, Damian, Bruce, the list goes on. He had lived through them all, grieved them all but he wouldn’t tell Jason that.

“You.” Jason says simply, not even taking a moment to think over his answer. “You are one of the only family members who hasn’t died.”

Not exactly the only one but he wouldn’t correct it. Plus, he had almost died after being stabbed by The Widower. That should count for something.

“That’s because I’m built different.” Tim says easily, earning a scoff from Jason. “Ra’s has my pickled spleen on a shelf somewhere so I think that earns me vigilante points.”

Jason makes a sound like a game show buzzer, “Wrong answer. You earn zero points, trying again next time.”

Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “He wants to make me the heir to the League.” He argues, deadpan. “As in the League of Assassins.”

Jason shrugs, leaning back into the sofa, some of the tension finally draining from his shoulders. He drops the ice pack into his lap. His eyes look more aware of his surroundings and Tim, less distant than when he’d first come in. “Been there, done that, and they didn’t even give me a T-shirt.”

“My spleen, Jason.”

“At least they didn’t take you for a swim because let me tell you, that shit fucking sucks.”

He thinks back on the moment he’d woken up in The Cradle, sore from his splenectomy, the fear that he’d been given an involuntary swim himself. It was a surprise that Ra’s hadn’t taken advantage of him considering all of the pining.

Then again, he’d also kicked Tim out a high rise window, so….

The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

He wouldn’t tell Jason about the shadows Ra’s sent after him periodically as a reminder of what (in Ra’s’ mind) was to come.

He had it handled. If he needed help, he would ask but he didn’t need it. For right that was his little secret, he had it taken care of.

This secret would, perhaps, be his forever (Bruce would lose his shit he found out—it had been a near enough thing when Tim had finally come out about the whole losing his spleen thing). That’s what he hoped for at least.

Jason’s amusement quickly dissipated as he gives a more serious expression, “What’s wrong? You’re giving me that look again.”

Tim frowned, “What look? I’m not giving you a look.” He tells him with as much assurance as he can muster with his stomach suddenly tying itself in knots.

“Uh, yeah, you are.” Jason tuts. “It’s that blank one where you’re looking through me instead of at me. You might be able to hide it from Dickhead and Daddy Bats, but you know better with me.”

Shit.

Tim waves him off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You know what fine stands for right? Fucked up, insecure-“

“Fine, I’m not fine, I’m okay.”

I’ve got it handled.

Jason stares at him for a long moment with scrutinizing expression. “You tell me or I’ll go to Bruce, your choice.”

“You don’t need to go to Bruce, I’ve got it covered—you don’t need my sympathy and I don’t need help.” Tim stresses.

He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to get anyone else involved—this was between he and the League.

“So, you admit that weird fuck is doing something.”

“I didn’t say that, Jason, I’m-“

“You say it again and I swear-” Jason warns.

“-okay.” Tim finishes. “I’m okay.”

He was…ish. Once he got Ra’s off his tail would be, he had to build a plan things would be fine. Luckily, he was an excellent tactician even if his intelligence rivaled his. He suspected it wasn’t going to be that easy but he wasn’t used to easy.

Nothing about being a vigilante was easy.

Jason rolls his neck, attempting to sit up straight again with a wince. Even sitting, Jason was built like a tank, stronger and bulkier than he was (even without the padding in his suit).

And it seems like his time had officially run out. Tim takes a hesitant step towards the window, his hand creeping towards his bo staff. He may be out of arms length, but not leaping range. His body wasn’t the best in the small apartment but it would at least buy him enough time to holding Jason off and run.

The weight of it in his hand also brought him a sense of security, if he had his bo, he was safe.

But, to his surprise, Jason doesn’t pursue him. He doesn’t move up from the couch or reach for his hand guns as expected. What he does is more threatening.

All while staring him down, Jason reaches into his pocket and pulls out his comm. His heart comes to a dead haunt, eyes widening. “You don’t want to tell me, I’m serious about going to Bruce. I’m not going to let you get yourself killed because you’re too proud to ask for him.”

Tim swallows hard, “You can’t tell him.”

Jason lifts one brow, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell Daddy Bat’s and I’ll think about it.”

Because it’s my fight.

Because it’s my fault.

Because I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.

“I just…I can’t. It’s not pride, it's just my own issue.” Not yours.

Obviously not an acceptable enough answer because Jason places it in his ear and presses the receiver to activate it. “This is your final warning—fess up or I’ll sick Dickie on you.”

Now that was a threat he knew Jason would make good on.

When did this conversation go from Jason’s issues to his own?

Tim was caught between wanting to puke and wanting to scream. On one hand, getting Jason involved might help, on the other Ra’s may take it as a sign to up the ante. This was between them.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Tim concedes softly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what will happen if he knows someone else is involved.”

“If anyone should get involved, it should be me. I think you underestimate my ability to take care of myself.” Jason says seriously. “Plus I’ve got a bone to pick with those bastards.”

He can’t look at Jason, so he stares at the wall just above his head, not focusing on anything in particular. He lets his vision go blurry. “I have it handled, seriously.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “You said that already. Try again. What has he done to you?”

It takes everything in Tim not to fidget under the intensity of Jason’s gaze. “He-“his voice cracks and he winces, clearing his throat. “He’s sent shadows after me…multiple times.”

Jason’s expression is hard to read, but for a second he imagines he can see a flash of something like disappointment in his eye. “I take it it’s been more than once?”

There’s a pang of guilt in his chest. “Yes.”

There’s something about disappointing Jason that sends a cold wash of shame over him. While he’s alway been Dick’s number one fan, Jason was the Robin he had followed the longest through the streets of Gotham.

He’s the one that taught him to be brave in the face of fears and when he had died, his grief for the dead Robin was insurmountable, washing over him in waves for days.

Forcing Bruce’s hand and taking on the mantle of Robin wasn’t an easy decision. Some days the full force of his grief was almost unbearable, to the point where he didn’t want to run the gauntlet anymore. He wanted to was no Jason—he was just that, a replacement.

But, in those moments, he remembered Jason’s courage and bravery. He remembered how deeply Jason had cared for this city and civilians, and pushed himself.

Jason was his idol and letting him down…it hurt.

“You’re giving me that look again,” Jason sighed. “I’m not mad—okay, well, actually, I’m pissed, but not the point I’m trying to make. How many times, Tim?”

Uh-oh, now he’s done it. He didn’t use one of Tim’s many (many) nicknames, meaning this, this just hit oh shit levels of serious.

“Five in the past three months.”

Jason curses under his breath. “And you haven’t said anything? To anyone?”

“I had it handled.” Tim says simply with a shrug, like it’s that easy. “So far they haven’t been out to kill. An educated guess says they’re only out to keep me on my toes, rough me up as a reminder that they have plans for me.”

“And what if their instructions change? What if you don’t call for help and they actually go for the kill.”

Tim grimaces, “I’ll figure it out.”

“Of course you’d say that, always figuring shit out by yourself.” Jason mocks, pushing himself to his feet. This time Tim does reach for his bo, placing his finger over the release. One swift press of a button and it would spring to its full length. “Je-sus, I’m not going to hurt you. I just—you drive me up a fucking wall, you feel me? This one man act is bullshit. You need help, you call me.”

Tim blinks, “What?”

For the nth time in as many minutes, Jason rolls his eyes. “I said, you need help and don’t feel like dealing with the smother hens, you call me. Don’t call Dick or Bruce, I will always come for you. Got it?”

“No?”

“What do you mean no?” Jason snaps. “You’re supposed to be the smart Robin. I didn’t think you were that fucking dense.”

“That’s not-“ Tim shook his head, taking a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, before starting again. “What I mean is why do you want to help? You could get hurt.”

“Because someone has to. At least, if it’s me, I’ll know someone’s got your back.”

Tim stared at him for a long moment. How they had gone from hating each other's guts to Jason having his back was confusing and…welcome.

It eased his nerves just a little.

“Alright.” Tim says cautiously.

Is he going to regret this decision? Probably but for now… it’s okay. Weird, but okay.

“Good, now get out. I don’t know if you can tell but I’ve had a shit night.” Jason says, and, like a switch being flicked, he’s back to his usual grumbly self.

Without a word, Tim goes to slide open the window. He’s a little flustered and not quite sure what to say.

“Oh, and, Timantha?”

And Jason was definitely back.

Tim rolled his eyes, looking back to Jason. “What?”

“Call me or I’ll kick your ass.”

[ellestrade]

What do you think makes a good Damian Wayne fanfic ? Like what are your standards and red flags when you're reading one

Usually, I would first look at the 'Damian Wayne-centric' tags on ao3 and go from there. I don't think I hold any fics up to a certain standard, though being able to read any is important to me— that means proper paragraphing, grammar, etc.

I know that most, if not all writers on ao3 are amateur writers, novice at best and, if I'm lucky, have been writing since the dawn of Wattpad, so it's not fair for me to expect top-tier writing/characterisation. Everyone always has some kind of trope to fall back into, myself included. It's just a matter if said trope is annoying or not to consume.

"Good Damian Wayne fanfics" are, itself, subjective— because good fanfics, for me, means that there are no attempts at butchering his character, along with his loved ones, and that includes Talia, Ra's, Maya and Mara, etc. If I open a fic and it's all just a grandiose of people putting down Talia (making her a bad/abusive mother) just to have Bruce hugs his son, then I'm closing the tab.

That being said, here are my red flags/pet peeves when it comes to reading a fanfic:

Any, and I mean any variant consisting of bashing the al-Ghuls.

"Talia al-Ghul is a bad mother"

"Talia al-Ghul is a rapist"

"Ra's al-Ghul is a creep"

"Damian is a bad sibling"

Usually, any fics that consist of these types of fics often came out as xenophobic or straight up racist— taking Grant Morrison's run (primarily Talia's character assassination) as gospel, or never reading canon material as a whole.

Of course, credits where it's due, there are some, and I mean a very small some, fics that don't transpire that image— using the tag that to simply convey Damian's time in the League, or phrasing it in a way that Talia/Ra's were an abuser once victim. However, making them bad in comparison is just a no-go for me.

Also, making Talia a rapist is a one way ticket for me to block you— because not only that it is wrong, but it also shows that you don't care enough to do thorough research and just take it as it is; Talia, pre-Morrison, was depicted as this kind and loving woman. She was studying medicine when she met Bruce. They genuinely have Chemistry together. She was also a victim of abuse herself, and she would rather die than inflict harm upon others on purpose. She loves her son, she loves her husband, she loves her family and she also loves herself.

Also, the al-Ghuls are also some of the most affectionate family there are— at least, of course, prior to the whole character assassination for the sake of making Bruce seem like the better parent in comparison. They aren't afraid to show genuine affection to one another, becoming physical and shows their devotion beyond what words could measure— which, is , unfortunate, since they're presented in Western media, and God knows how bad someone would interpret a relationship if 'I love you's aren't being exchanged regularly like therapy talks.

Dare I say, they might actually be better than the BatFam 🤷🤷 but then I might get hunted down for sports so I'll keep that opinion to myself, for now.

I'm also going to redirect you to this one lovely account, @rasalghul777 and read their take(s) on Brutalia. Here's a starting post and this one if you'd like to start. This person makes wonderful posts regarding Brutalia and the al-Ghuls as a whole than what I could ever conspire and I applaud them for it.

White savior complex

"Damian got his love for animals from [insert any BatFamily members here]"

"Damian learned to love through being with BatFam"

Again, this could also be read along with my first point, but can also be seen separately— I genuinely cannot stand when Damian was written in a way that he was a 'feral, stabby boi' prior his transgression into the BatFamily since it conveys distasteful perception of the Arabic people as a whole; them being uncultured or even uncivilized.

It's gross, I hate it, get it away from me.

Also, Damian inheriting his love for animals from anyone else other than the al-Ghuls is just pure fanon bullshit— because that means you have no perception of what the League of Assassins really are and just takes everything the fandom writes at face value; the League (including Talia and Ra's) aren't some 2-dimensional villains who kills. Reducing a villain to a mere trope just to prop up your white boy isn't going to make me like them. It just takes away the fun of it.

People just love to forget the 'eco' in 'eco-terrorist', which Ra's is.

If anything, Damian would inherit his genuine and deep love for animals and nature from him.

It's worth mentioning that the League of Assassins doesn't kill people just for the sake of violence— there's a reason why they're being categorized as eco-terrorists, and not the other category people love to associate Arabs with; they kill with reason. Similar to Poison Ivy, they specifically target any organisation that brings ruins to Earth and nature as a whole.

On another note, writing Damian as 'uncivilized' or 'feral' is just plain wrong. While it certainly can be cute, in a sort of gremlin-esque, little brother way (Lord knows how much I love my little brother, but simultaneously wanted to (subliminally) throw a chair at him) but depicting him as this one child that goes around stabbing everyone unprompted rubs me the wrong way.

This goes along with my first note, but Damian was raised as a prince when he was in the League; there were some instances where soldiers who came to pick him up refer to him as "Young prince". He has manners. He knows what to say and what to do when being confronted by the media. If anything, Damian would adapt 'Gotham's Darling Boy' facade faster than BatFam girlies mischaracterise the next POC character.

Damian does love his mother and grandfather and his family back in the League very, very much. Just because he doesn't convey it in a conventional, traditional way, doesn't mean he doesn't know how. He has his own ways of saying 'I love you's of his own.

People that clearly consume more fanon media in comparison to canon.

Tim Drake stans. Like, as a whole.

Let me begin by saying I actually do not care on how you plan to enjoy your nice little character trope, but believe me when I say that there are some weights to what's famously transpired in the fandom spaces.

It's the "fandom affects canon space" phenomenon all over again.

It should go without saying that what goes in the fandom stays in the fandom, and vice versa. Like I said before, people tend to fall back to their favourite trope— writing characters in a certain way, conveying certain messages, etc. However, in the midst of your 'creative freedom', it's easy to forget that these characters are not yours.

Fandom is derived from the canon substance, that's why it's so flexible and allows creative freedom in the first place. The consumer can decide what's canon in the fandom space (rejecting what's real), though it's important to remember that canon is still the blueprint and shouldn't be thoroughly ignored in favour of your dumb little incorrect quotes. Rejecting everything just means that you're creating an Oc, which, atp is what you should be doing instead of DTI a canon character.

It's why we got gems like these:

(I have reached tumblr maximum capacity for images, but know that there's more)

Again, do what you want, I don't care! But remember that when you're depicting certain character dynamics like these, it also affects other potential fans' views and first impressions of said character.

I don't want to go off tangent longer than necessary— but I actively avoid any variants of, "Hurt Tim Drake" tags on ao3. Mostly because mischaracterisation awaits me. The rest are because his fans are genuinely obnoxious and (more often than not) have little to no comprehension to actual canon substance.

I think that's all that I could muster up. Sorry this post is long, lol, but I got carried away.

[moon-ayyye]

if you could make one comic run, what would the premise be?

Imma give a top 5 because I can't pick. No particular order:

1. Stephanie Brown solo run. Have her spread her wings a little.

2. Jason and Rose centric run. No slade, no bruce, no nothing. I want a buildup for their relationship and i want canon jayrose content. I'm not watching the titans show fuck that shit.

3. Cheshire and Lian centric run. Black and white parenting is boring as fuck, Cheshire has the potential to be one of the most complex parents in comics but she's widely known only as the sexy assassin that has a kid with a hero. Ironically enough, that's also the general consensus for Talia!

4. More Eddie bloomberg. He's an interesting character, but generally, whenever he's brought up, it's either as Rose's boyfriend or Jason's old pen pal

5. Ra's al Ghul centric run that has nothing to do with any of the bats. None of them. Not a mention, or a flashback, or an easter egg. I want bleeding heart Ra's back, the one that loved animals and cried when his pet died, whose goal is the betterment of humanity, not the weird creep that haunted Tim during the BruceQuest.

[frownyalfred]

Re: The Worst Wedding

Hear me out. Tim Drake and Ra’s Al Ghul.

Because!!! 1) There is some unhinged plan in Tim’s mind. And he’s faking this, but is absolutely committed to the bit. He’s created a wedding registry at Best Buy and everything. 2) Talia would absolutely refuse to be related to this gremlin child and would protest. 3) Damian would be catatonic. 4) Bruce is going through plans A-679.65ab trying to game out what is happening and stop this. 5) Conner is showing up to murder Ra’s. 6) Clark is showing up to stop Conner from becoming a murderer and Bruce from going insane. 7) Bernard is just curious at this point and goes along with it and has a string board with yarn in his closet. 8) Young Justice. 9) Stephanie. 10) Alfred refuses to let them use Martha’s rose garden. 11) No one invited Hal Jordan, but he’s there anyway and is eating his weight in amuse bouche. 12) Dick wants to be supportive, but is hospitalized for an ulcer. 13) Jason comes to the wedding just covered in weapons, but also invited himself to the cake tasting. 14) Ra’s is the only one serious about this and is a fucking creep about it. 15) Martial Law is declared in Bristol of all places.

This is the most compelling one I’ve heard so far!

Nothing like shock and hatred to get both sides of those families showing up in full force. The question is, would they even manage to get through the ceremony without disaster?

[bats-and-birds-24]

Chapter 16

“So you’re absolutely sure about this choice?” Dick asked Jason one last time. Jason simply rolled his eyes. “Yes Dickhead, I’m not coming back to Gotham anytime soon. I want to complete my training.” 

As expected, the batclan didn’t take too kindly to the fact that he wanted to remain in the League of Assassin. He had lost count of the number of times Bruce tried to convince him otherwise. 

Tim arrived alongside Damian. A part of their agreement with Talia. His mind flashed back to their discussion in Talia’s office with everyone from Bruce to Tim to Damian present. 

The room was every bit as opulent as he had expected it to look. It had to be befitting of the right hand of the league of assassins rank, after all. 

“You’re aware that by sending Damian with us, there will be harsh consequences for you?” Bruce questioned. As ecstatic as he was to have his youngest come back with him, he worried for her safety. After all, he had loved her at one point, and it seems that some of the affection had carried over to their present relationship.

Talia leaned back in her chair, tilting her head as she smiled, a telltale sign that she had something more planned. “Do you really think so little of me habibi? You know that I already have other plans in motion. 

Bruce simply sighed, “Talia, I’ve known you for years, you never do anything in halves, but I want to make sure that you’ve really weighed every choice, is this really the best choice for you? For all your flaws, you’ve taken excellent care of our son and I know that separating from him will be difficult for you.”

Talia sat up and feigned outrage, “My flaws?! I’ll have you know that I’m flawless!” She grinned at him, only to sober a moment later. “It will not be easy to separate from my heart,” She leaned over the table to pat Damian’s cheek. His face reddened and he pouted at being babied in front of everyone else, including his father, the Batman, but leaned into the touch regardless. “But I have run every outcome through my mind, him leaving is for the best. As he grows older, there will be more attempts on his life, he has many enemies within these walls and the time has come that he would be safer outside.”

Bruce sighed again, but this one was of understanding, of the sorrow of a mother separated from her son and the trust placed in him to carry out his duty as a father. “Then so be it.”

A moment of silence passed only to be broken by Jason. “So what’s our cover? Damian vanishing is going to raise a lot of eyebrows in the league.”

Talia crossed her legs and spoke, “We can’t hope to fool Ra’s, but the official reason we will be giving for Damian’s disappearance is that he was taken by Batman when he came to retrieve his Robin.” 

Jason nodded, “That’s understandable, Ra’s can’t be fooled, but how will we placate some of the higher ups? They will be clamoring to get Damian back, not out of worry for his safety, but because it would throw a wrench in their plans to get power.”

Talia simply smiled, “Don’t worry about that habibi, I’ll handle that part.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows at that, worry creeping into his mind, but he decides that that’s enough for one day, he’ll let future him deal with that can of worms when it's opened later.

“You should head out now, it would attract too much attention otherwise.” Talia replied, getting up to lead them to the courtyard, the sooner they leave the better.

Both the Dark Knight and the right hand of Ra’s Al Ghul didn’t notice the black shadow trailing after them.

As all of them boarded the batplane, save for Jason and Talia, no one noticed an extra shadow that had managed to slip in unnoticed.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

holy shit he's a creep

by sleepy_cat80 Tim's in the middle of a family meeting when a comment from ra’s is remembered. From not paying attention to physically gaging causing everyone to look at him giving an excuse he dashes to the restroom. Also maybe something positive happens to Tim in the end Words: 1522, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 5 of sleep deprivation is making Tim's life difficult, Part 2 of omg timbers mission Fandoms: DC Extended Universe, Batman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Tim Drake (DCU), Bernard Dowd, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown Relationships: Bernard Dowd/Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Batfamily Members & Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: idk how I got from the beginning to end, it wasn't supposed to happen, Past Sexual Assault, Tim Drake Needs a Hug (DCU), Tim Drake Gets a Hug (DCU), Feral Tim Drake, Bernard is taller than Tim, Bernard Dowd Knows Tim Drake is Robin, Bernard Dowd Loves Tim Drake, Good Significant Other Bernard Dowd, Bruce Wayne is So Done, Chaotic Tim Drake, Tim Drake Needs a Break (DCU), Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Tim Drake Deserves Happiness, Tim Drake Deserves Love, Creepy Ra's al Ghul, Tired Tim Drake via https://ift.tt/yjKO5ae

[ragnarokhound]

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed. 

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air. 

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front. 

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later. 

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape. 

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this. 

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’—  which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down). 

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight. 

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes— 

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop. 

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror. 

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed. 

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way. 

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.” 

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to. 

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric. 

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch. 

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

[thelibrarian1895]

Consider the Bat

It seems I'm on a Bat kick lately.

Anyway, it's been established that there is or was a timeline where Thomas Wayne becomes Batman after the murder of Bruce while Martha goes nuts and becomes the Joker. Ignoring the Martha being the Joker bit, concentrate on Batdad and consider that Thomas ending up in a world where his son is Batman. I have seen this done and done well but there was a missing element in my opinion.

So then consider this.

If there is a world where Thomas became Batman, then I must insist there is a world where Martha became Batwoman or even straight up called herself Batman. Thomas, to reflect the other one where he's Batman, would thus suffer being the Joker unfortunately. That too will be ignored thank you.

This Martha iteration of Batman also ends up in the world where Bruce is Batman and where this Thomas who is Batman has fallen, making it three Batmen in one world and they were family in their respective universes.

And Alfred in the background feeling relieved because his charge becoming Batman was not entirely his fault after all, it was genetic. Yes he may have influenced Bruce's drama a little but it was not all his fault that Bruce ran off to get trained by all these martial arts masters and have the educational equivalent of a dozen PhDs without the documentation to show for it in order to fight crime! Just look at his parents!

And now the Robins, which I use as a collective term for ALL of Bruce's children whether biological, legal or emotional, now have Batdad, Batgrandpa, Batgrandma, as well as Agent A aka Agent grandpa.

Thomas Wayne vs Ra's Al Ghul because those are HIS grandchildren you creep! Hands off! While Martha comes up from behind with a sword and an equal desire to protect her grandbabies. And they bond over being able to deal with a Joker who isn't and has never been a significant other to anyone in their family. Then bask in having grandbabies, grandbabies they can spar with and who are such good vigilantes and they're so proud! Their grandbabies are all so smart and so strong and they love them so much! I really want doting bat grandparents.

Possibly some awkward drama between Thomas and Martha as they try to determine if they want to make a relationship work with the other since that is Thomas/Martha but not their Thomas/Martha and they don't want anyone to feel like they're being used as a stand in. Similar awkwardness between them and Bruce because he's their baby but also not and they're his parents but also not. Also some glee for Martha and Thomas because they don't have to deal with gala drama since Thomas and Martha Wayne being publicly back from the dead after 20+ years would be a little much to believe even for Gotham. But it has been long enough and they've changed enough that they can go out in public as John and Jane Draper, grandparents of Alvin Draper (Tim made them fake identities before Bruce could finish) and no one looks at them twice. Thomas might assist Leslie in her clinic. Martha helps Tim and Bruce out with business things.

And Gotham criminals cry out in despair as more Bats pop out of the brickwork and this time without even a Robin stage to warn them!