#robins got a whole lotta complicated feelings

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

(Beast-man-bastard) Sett leans against the wall facing Robin's desk, picks up one random nick nack and inspects it. "Why did you choose this?" He asked nonchalantly. "Not coming here to my pit, I like that, but...why a healer in general?"

═══ UNPROMPTED INTERACTIONS ═══ CANON VERSE @beast-man-bastard

The question catches him off guard as he slides one of his many books back into place, it gives him pause as he mulls it over in his mind and tastes the bitter flavors of the past on his tongue. The dreadful taste of vomit on his lips as he tries to breathe air into his brother's lungs, the shock of darkness that invades his mind when he realizes that he's dead--the empty husk he holds offers nothing to bounce against... too late, too late...Why wasn't he there to help them? The memory gnaws at him like a flame to a wick but he swallows it down and tries to keep the vulnerability of his answer silent,

"Why did you choose to fight?" He counters, finding a strange...comfort in the way he could be honest with Sett, they'd both been through hell after all and crawled their way from the garbage lives they were born into. Robin approaches easily and takes the nick nack from Sett's hand, "What makes this special besides its value? Sentimentality doesn't mean much in the world I'm afraid, and money is far more useful than god or morals."

Yes...morals tossed away in the name of work. In the name of survival.

He hands the object back and walks over to the edge of Sett's office that overlooks the pit, "Back when I was a little Zaunite rat in that shithole of a city, I learned pretty quick that kindness, love, and sentimentality meant little in terms of actually getting anything done." Robin can feel the venom covering his tongue, "In terms of actually being able to do anything, even in Piltover, I was just another Zaunite with no power and no god--I was smarter than most of the people around me, but it meant little to them without a shiny coin in my pocket. And what else do people really value in life besides that?"

Those glassy eyes staring back at him when he presses into his brother's chest, the way his body contorted and moved like it had no bones, hollow...gone. The pain he feels, the pain he knows others feel. The sentimentality of why is something he won't admit aloud, but it was almost stupid to hide it. A good character shoved into a cesspit that had to harden and try their hardest to not get eaten alive in the underbelly.

"We do what we're good at, what can gain us that power to change our lives, power and money make the world a great place. That's why."

Not a full lie, after all. Perhaps if he wasn't feeling so bitter today, he would have given a more whimsical answer, something poetic, something pretty that would paint him in some holy light. But...he couldn't. Not today.

[forgotten-daydreamer]

Time to advertise the five most unpopular (= with less kudos) fics from my Batman febuwhump 2024

From least to most popular - among the least popular ones - we got:

1. twenty-nine (alt.): human weapon -> Damian & Alfred, or how the butler earns the kid’s trust with hot cocoa in Son of Batman.

2. twenty-two: “You weren’t meant to be there!” -> Bruce & Jason, the immediate aftermath of Robin!Jason’s death (gore TW)

3. twenty-three: presumed dead -> Jason & Talia, where the latter takes care of the catatonic, recently resurrected boy.

4. twenty-eight: “No... Not like this.” -> Dick & Bruce, the story of how Bruce fires his first Robin.

5. twenty-four: “I’m doing this because I care about you.” -> Bruce & Jason, a retelling of Bruce altering Jason’s mind in The Gotham War.

Please consider reading them! Constructive criticism is always welcome :) buckle up for a whole lotta angst and complicated feelings.

EDIT: I'd accidentally mistaken "presumed dead" with "left for dead" and put the description of the latter. You can totally check "left for dead" if you want, it'd make me super happy!! Sorry, I didn't double check because I'd assumed I knew my own fics, you know, like any normal writer.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Memory

A little post about John and Robin for Dia de los Muertos! (Note, this is set after the novel so there’s spoilers below the read more cut!)

"This isn’t gonna weird you out, right?” John asks. “I thought fae had a thing with death.”

“No, you’re thinking of Lord of the Rings. The elves are immortal and death freaks them out.” Robin frowns at the box in John’s hands. “Fae just live a lot longer than humans. Death is just part of nature. We don’t like bad memories but that’s just because we kind of tend to live in the moment. Past and future don’t mean the same things to fae.” He pokes the box with a finger. “Why’d you bring that?”

“Because we gotta pack a few things.”

“I’ve already got my go bag,” Robin says. “It’s in your car like always.”

“That’s not what I mean.” John sets the box down. “It’s okay if you say this isn’t your thing, but…this holiday means a lot to me because I’ve lost someone I cared about. And I know your family’s a little…”

“Weird? You can say it.” Robin’s more or less learned to deal with what his father became. Arion twisted him into a whole different person. He mourns the good man who died a long time ago.

“I was gonna say unconventional, dude.” John chuckles. “But, see, the thing about Dia de los Muertos is that, well…the way Abeula Rosa always used to explain it, it’s the time when the barrier between this world and the next doesn’t exist, and the souls of everyone we’ve lost return to us for that time.” He smiles sadly. “It’s the only holiday that doesn’t hurt because Gabe’s gone, you know? Cause…he’s not. Not on that night.”

“I…you’re sure it’s okay for me to come?” Robin asks. John finally told him what happened in Amarillo. He wanted me to understand why he’d been so angry with me. He wasn’t making an excuse for it, just trying to explain. Even though Gabriel Stoker’s death is in no way Robin’s fault, he still feels like the man’s ghost might take offense. As much as I’m sure ghosts aren’t…you know…real, there’s something about this that I can’t deny. John clearly believes in the most supernatural elements of this holiday, and something about that seems to be rubbing off. “What if everyone doesn’t think I should be there?”

“I think you should be there. And I think Gabe would like you.” John’s hand is warm on his shoulder. “He’s the one who always thought the fae deserved a fair shake. I don’t think dyin’ woulda changed that.” John says softly. “Gabe never judged anybody by what they did. Damn kid was practically a saint. He’d defend others in a heartbeat, but he never had a thought for himself.” He smiles. “Kinda like you.”

Robin swallows around the lump in his throat. “So what do I need to bring?”

“For an ofrenda? Photographs of the family members you’re gonna honor, some things that remind you of them. We’ll make food to put out when we get there.” John glances at the kitchen. “But that reminds me, if you got any recipes that were anyone’s favorite, we should take those too.”

“Um…” Robin isn’t really sure how to explain this. “Fae don’t write down recipes, they pass them on by word of mouth. Nothing’s ever the same when a different person makes it.”

“Then I guess we’ll just be making a lotta test batches till we find something that tastes the way you remember.” John chuckles. “Here’s the box, I’ll meet you at the car, okay?”

Robin nods. He knows John is giving him space to sort through his memories alone. He chooses a couple different family photographs and some of Mom’s stones, Grandma’s embroidered backpack and her favorite Bob Dylan record, and a couple of Grandda’s wood chisels and the white king from the chess set he made. After another long moment, he digs down into the dresser drawer and pulls out Adam’s watch. I wasn’t sure if he deserved to be included, but I think he should be. After all, his soul might be more lost than any of the rest. Maybe lighting the way for him to come home is the kindest thing Robin can do.

He closes the top of the box and carries it out to the Mustang. John is leaning on the side of the car waiting, and as soon as Robin gets his box settled John gets in and turns over the engine. Robin climbs into the passenger seat, and John pops a tape into the car’s cassette player. Robin raises an eyebrow when he realizes the lyrics are in Spanish.

“Mexican rock never got quite as popular as American or British, but it’s out there,” John says with a chuckle. “I grew up with Momma singing all the lyrics from Los Lunacitos and Dad playing the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.” He grins.

“Well, my grandma loved dancing to Peter Paul and Mary and Bob Dylan,” Robin says, pulling the record out of the box. “And Grandda and Mom sang all kinds of Seelie stuff. Guess we both come from families that loved music.” He nods down at the box. “I thought about bringing Grandda’s bagpipes but those were a little large.”

“I mean, we leave Gabe’s guitar on the ofrenda every year.” John says. “Wait, can you play?”

“Not unless you consider ear-splitting sounds that made every dog in the neighborhood mad ‘playing’,” Robin replies. “It’s more complicated than it looks. Probably Grandda’s isn’t even any good anymore, haven’t gotten it out in years.”

John nods. “I haven’t picked up my guitar too much lately either. Miss playing duets with Gabe and listening to Carmen sing, you know?”

Robin nods. He leans back in the seat and listens to the music and the hum of the tires on asphalt, feeling the sun on his face as they drive east toward Texas.

Taglist: @nade2308 @cmvorra @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my @catwingsathena @asloudasalone @anguishmacgyver @flowing-river24 @myhusbandsasemni @floh673 @teddythecat1234 @bkworm4life4 @viawrites-andacts 

If you want to be added to or removed from my taglist for Magic & Silver stuff, just let me know!

[randomdcfangirl]

The Story of The Red Hood

(A/N): This is something I wrote a long time ago but didn't post because I felt like it was too unfactual. This is my version of Jason's backstory.

Jason telling his story on BuzzFeed Unsolved channel anonymously, not even the staff knew who he was. It was just audio and they put a few diagrams in the actual video to make it better.

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"I'm The Red Hood and this is my story. I lived in Crime Alley which was formally known as Park Row in downtown Gotham. It's the hood or ghetto whatever you call it, there was a lot of projects around there, we lived in some but they have since been knocked down. My earliest memories are of my mom and dad arguing, a lot of times it would end in physical violence against me and my mom. My dad was a piece of shit to keep it short. He was a drug dealer and alcoholic, my mom ended up getting addicted to what he sold. I don't know what type because I was 4 when I noticed she was changing. It was pills of some sort.

So it was a repeat of yelling, beatings, going hungry and mom being high for about 2 years. One thing is my dad was a drug dealer but he wasn't a good one. It ended when my father got arrested and sentenced for a very long time. I was 6 and all I knew was that he was gone and that maybe things would get better, but they didn't. My mom didn't have a job and I was basically keeping us both alive at the age of 6. I knew how the hood worked, people out there were the only people I'd ever known. So I somehow kept us alive for another year and a half. Until one day I came home from school because I was in school at this time, can't tell you how I got there. But I called out for my mom and she didn't answer, I assumed she was high again so I searched the apartment and found her on the bathroom floor. She OD'd while I was at school, she was cold so she'd been there for awhile. So I called the ambulance and gave them the address then hung up.

I already knew I didn't want to be in the system or an orphanage so I grabbed some stuff in a little backpack and left. I'd rather be a street kid then in the corrupt system. I was a smart kid, I knew not to get mixed up in gangs and drugs. I was about to turn 8 when I first got on the streets. It was rough, I was already small and malnourished because we were broke and didn't eat often. After the first few months of being on the streets I had to prepare for winter and Gotham winter's are no joke. But I found out my dad was killed in prison, I wasn't upset, he deserved it after everything he'd done to people including me and my mom. But that meant I was the last of my family, I didn't know my Grandparents and I'm pretty sure my parents didn't have siblings so I had nobody left.

So I was on the streets for just over 2 years. The streets were probably better then my home with my mom and dad to be completely honest. One night I was in an alley and I saw the batmobile, I saw his wheels and in my head I was literally like "those will go for a lotta money down at the shop". So I started taking the wheels off, I got one off and was going to go for the other one but there was a deep voice behind me that said "what are you doing?". I turned and Batman was behind me and in my 10 year old brain I thought I was dead because he looked scary. I grabbed the tire iron I had and hit him in the gut to try and get away but it didn't work. I tried to apologise but he didn't let me and just asked a question "are you hungry?" Is what he asked me. I nodded and he took me to get burgers and we ate at a random place. He gave me a place to stay and it was scary at first because I didn't think I could trust him. I found out who he was, obviously I can't tell you that information, and I got even more skeptical about him. But he ended up adopting me and those first 3 and a half years were amazing.

I became the second Robin at age 12, I was trained by him and he was the father I never had. I truly considered him my dad, still do but don't tell him that. His somewhat dad was there too and he is like a Grandfather to me, he is the only other person in that family I will admit I love with all my heart. We call him Agent A. He's awesome. But everything went kinda bad when I turned 14 and was starting to see more of the shitty things people do. I got to reckless and if anyone knows that Batman or any other hero, unless they're like me, they have a strict no killing rule. So it got close many times with me, Batman and I started arguing a lot. It drove our relationship apart and he benched me from being Robin. So I wasn't allowed to patrol or do missions anymore because I was getting to reckless.

I didn't have anything to do and I don't exactly remember how I found this out but at 15 I found out my mom was alive and in Ethiopia. My mom who was dead wasn't my actual mom, she was just my dad's wife but she took care of me when she could. Before all the drugs, I mean I don't remember much but I have a few memories of her being a mom to me. So it was a complete shock to find out that my mom wasn't really my mom and that my real mom was in Ethiopia. So I told Bats and he said he knew so we got into another fight. So I did probably the stupidest thing I've ever done. I decided I would go to Ethiopia by myself so I did. How I got there and what I did when I got there isn't important.

I found my mom and went to her. It was good for a few hours then the Joker showed up. I was familiar with the Joker because I was Robin, I knew how crazy he was. So I was trying to protect my mom but she stabbed me in the back like a lot of people have. She was working with Joker and basically lead me to him. This is where my story gets really complicated. We both ended up tied up in a warehouse with him beating us with a crowbar. Mostly me because he wanted to teach Batman a lesson. I was going through this for months, I was in the middle of a warehouse being beaten to death with my mom by a deranged clown with a crowbar. He killed my mom at some point then he left the warehouse one day because he knew Batman was close. He told me to tell Batman 'hi' but he knew I wasn't going to make it to then. I tried to get the door open but he locked it on his way out and as I leaned up against it I saw the bomb. I knew I wasn't gonna make it and I didn't.

I know that's very confusing and the only way you'll understand is if you listen. The bomb went off and it burned for a few seconds but then it was cold and peaceful. You're at peace and it's nice, especially if you had such a life as I had. But it didn't last long to me, it lasted for what felt like a few minutes before I woke up underground. I was dead for 6 months, no pulse, no heart beat, I had an autopsy, I still have the scar. I woke up in my coffin at 16, I was calling for Batman but by his real name. I realized no one was coming and I freaked out and clawed my way out of the coffin. I wasn't all the way there, I was dead for 6 months so I had a good bit of brain damage and don't remember much from after I dug myself out of the coffin except that I broke a couple fingers, it ripped my nails out and I was bleeding all over my hands. After that I somehow ended up with a whole organization of assassin's. This woman who is very significant in a few of the bats lives was apart of it and was trying to nurse me back to health but it wasn't working.

The amount of brain damage I had was to much to fix so she threw me in something called the Lazarus pit. It's basically a fountain of youth except it can bring people back to life as well. Her father who was the leader of the assassin's discovered it and kept it secret. Most of them are destroyed now but I think there's one. The pit was painful, I remember that, it feels like you're burning alive and it does for a few minutes after you get out. Then you're extremely disoriented and crazy full of rage and anger. I still have some of that running through me but it's a lot better than the first few years. At this point in my story I'm 17, I started training with the league and the woman to get my memories back because most of those were still blank. I still have a few gaps in my memory but most of it is from before my dip in the pit.

In this training I was learning about Batman and Nightwing who was the first Robin and is kinda my older brother. We weren't close when I was Robin because him and Batman weren't on great terms so we didn't hangout much. I regained my memory at some point then I was told Bruce had another Robin, who is now currently Red Robin, and the Lazarus made me angry about it. I felt replaced but what made it worse was the fact that Joker was still alive. I was never mad at Batman or blaimed him for my death, the reason I was so angry was because after everything Joker put me through he was still alive. I felt worthless and it was even worse because I felt replaced as well.

I ended up leaving the assassin's base a month or so later. I was set on tormenting Batman, I was going to try and kill him, Nightwing and Robin. It was definitely the anger because I'd never put a kid in a situation I put Robin in now. I got to Gotham and started killing the bad people, like rapists, murderers, drug dealers, abusers, pimps, just anyone making another person's life a living hell. The reason I started doing it was because prison wasn't working for them. The drug dealers not as much as everyone else but I still killed some of them. I never killed the innocent, that's something I never did or ever will. So eventually I got Batman's attention and it took a couple months for him to figure out it was me. I wanted it to take longer but I made the mistake of saying his name. So because no one really knew it at the time it made things make sense but it didn't at the same time, because in their head I was dead.

So about a week later we ended up in another fight but he was holding back because he figured out I came back to life. But I had this whole plan to have him choose between me and Joker. Unfortunately it fell through and he didn't choose either of us, we were in and apartment building in a random apartment. I had Joker and we had a talk I guess you could say. More of me being angry and having a few choice words to say to him then anything else. I gave him choices but he didn't really choose. There was a bomb and it had like 10 seconds left and I shot at him. He had his back turned but he's Batman so he dodged it, with a few seconds left he grabbed me and Joker and jumps out the window so we're not caught in the blast. It was still kinda close but I left before he had a chance to register.

Let's just say I wasn't okay after that. I have PTSD, Anxiety and Depression from what Joker did to me so it was hard to except that I didn't mean anything more to Batman then Joker did. So I was a wreck, I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, all I did was drink, I was about to turn 19 and definitely should not have been drinking. I became a bit of an alcoholic just like my dad and I hated that. I eventually got a grip on myself even though it was only a little. I left Gotham because I wasn't in the right state of mind to stay there. I traveled all over the place and in my travels I ran into Arsenal and we became best friends. Still are. We started working together as Red Hood and Arsenal, we were broke as hell. Eventually we ran into Starfire and we kinda just decided we'd become a team after hanging around each other a lot. Then The Outlaws was formed.

That was probably some of the best and worst years in my life. Best because I had those 2 by my side and they are still my best friends. Worst because my mental health was at an all time low. I couldn't sleep, I was having very bad PTSD episodes, my Anxiety was through the roof, so was my Depression. Arsenal had his own problems, so did Starfire and all we had was each other to lean on and it was all we could ask for. Just people who cared and understood. We did missions pretty often as a group and we would get paid by people who requested the jobs but it wasn't much. We've slept in the worst places, most of the time not sleeping at all. But our own lives kinda pulled us away from each other. Starfire went off world back to her planet, Arsenal and I stock together for awhile until he went back to Star and I went back to Gotham. I was in a better place, wasn't killing as much, the Lazarus through my system calmed down a lot. It still effects me but no where near as bad.

I was laying low in Gotham but the Bats found out. It was only 4 of them at that point, Batman, Nightwing, Robin 3 and Agent A. It was all good until I tried to kill the Joker. It was in another not so good state of mind but I wasn't able to kill him because the bats came. I was planning to kill him the same way he killed me, beat him with a crowbar and blow him up. I was 22 at that time. They got me away from Joker and took him into custody and I left to one of my safehouses. We eventually crossed paths again but it was awhile before I could actually talk to them again. So me and Nightwing ran into each other we ended up having a talk and we kinda made amends. It wasn't anything crazy. It took a long time for us to be okay with each other again. But eventually I was able to call them family again and I visit the house Batman lives in to see them.

But as time went on we added new people, we became a bigger family as you can see. Robin became Red Robin, then the current Robin, then Orphan, Spoiler, Batwoman, Signal, Bluebird and Bluebird's brother who isn't a Vigilante. I'm pretty much cool with everyone, no one I really have a problem with except Batman because we've been through so much together. I'm 25 now and things are better, I still have my struggles and family issues but that's my family. As much as I pretend to not care they're my family and I love 'em. So this was a less detailed version of my story and look how long it is. But anyway I don't really know why I did this but I did so bye I guess.

Oh and before you ask I am not the rapper NF. I actually really like and relate to his music because we've been through similar things but I'm not him. I know someone is going to ask that question."

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The NF joke was just that a joke, don't come for me I love him lol.

[robinmagik]

Not A Minute Wasted (part 2)

A/N: HA-HA! I’m back with this story! I’m like in a love hate relationship with this story tbh. Anyway, thank you guys for waiting!!! There is going to be a third part of Not A Minute Wasted, so I hope you guys enjoy this one. I’ll post the other part later at nite or soon. Dunno but it WILL be posted today. If you want to be tagged just comment in the thingy, yknow :) 

Part One  Part Three  Final

Tags: @poemfreak306 

Recap: Y/n looks down the darkness and takes one step in and the clock closes. She cusses. Great, Bruce Wayne is like a low-key dungeon freak or worse he murders people and this is his murder dungeon. The worst thoughts were running through her mind. She got down the long stair case and to her surprise she sees a whole lotta shit; Robin costumes, old Batman costumes, bat-mobiles, and weapons. Then she sees the bat-computer. Okay so, Bruce is a huge Batman fan or Batman lives in Bruce’s basement, what? “Alfred, are you there?” It was Bruce’s voice but more deeper and rougher. 

“What the fu—’’

“Oh dear,” Alfred gasps. 

Y/n turns around, looking at him with wide eyes and a gaped mouth. 

“Alfred.” Batman repeats. 

“Miss Y/n, there is a perfectly good explication for this.”

“I don’t think so,” She says. “OooooooooooohhhhhmyGod! Ohhohohohoho God!”

“If you give me a moment, I will try my best to answer your questions.” He rushes to the bat computer. There was no way out of this. It was practically too late to drug her and make her believe it was a dream. He responds. “Yes, Master Bruce?”

“Prepare some chamomile tea and sandwiches.”

“I take it patrol went well?”

“Yes, it did.” He says. “Y/n is still sleeping?”

“Oh no, she is very much wide awake.” Alfred emphasizes. He glances at her to see that Y/n is still with the face of shock. “I must apologize, Master Bruce but she knows.”

“Knows what, Pennyworth? You have to be less vague.” Damian says. 

“What’s Damian doing there?!” Y/n finally spoke—more like shouted. 

Silence. 

“Hello?!” Y/n slams her fist on the button. “No me vas a respondar o que?!”

“Alfr—“

“Oh, no, papi! He’s soooo not gonna save you now!” She laughs a little bit too manically. She is practically loosing her mind. How wouldn’t?! 

Batman grunts, he clears his throat, knowing that he very much fucked up or at least the universe did but he didn’t believe in that type of stuff. He fucked up. Somehow. And this fuck up does not benefit him at all.

“We’ll talk when we get home.” He says, his voice didn’t show how rattled he was. He hangs up and she tries to get him back but nothing. 

She sighs, dropping her head in defeat. “I wanna go for a ride.” 

“Miss Y/n why don’t we go into the kitchen. I’ll make you some lavender tea, yes?”

She looks up and crosses her arms across her chest. For a moment she hesitates and then agrees with a nod. Alfred was still Alfred, nothing has changed. Bruce is Batman and Damian…who was—Robin. That makes sense. It all started making sense. She didn’t know what to think but she knew what she felt; turned on and a little bit worried for Bruce’s well being, not only that but Damian too. He’s just a kid after all. 

She sits on the counter, Alfred doesn’t tell her to sit on a chair this time, and she just watches him prepare tea and sandwiches. 

“Isn’t it bad to eat late at night?” She asks. 

She is a bit more calmer now. He smiles softly and nods; “Yes but you know how Master Bruce is. Quiet stubborn.”

“Very.” She chuckles. 

There was silence again. The scent of chamomile and lavender help ease the tension. 

“Is—being Batman is…dangerous business, huh?” She asks. “No wonder he’s got all those scars on that body of his. Idiot told me that he’s had ridiculous accidents like golfing accidents and that he’s just clumsy.”

Alfred hands her the cup of lavender tea. 

“Thanks. And I guess him being Batman makes sense. His eyes are too intense to be a dumb, playboy billionaire. They give him away.” She continues talking. “I’m not mad at him. I still like him as Bruce Wayne or Batman or whoever he is. I like him.”

“And here I thought you would’ve broken up with him, Miss Y/n.”

She gasps dramatically and pretends to be offended. “Alfred! Then you don’t know me that well!” Then she giggles. “Hey, I have my own secret nights in Gotham too. Except that…Bruce knows those nights. He even came to watch.”

“Then you should ask him to watch those nights of his. Behind the scenes, of course.”

“Of course. If he lets me stay, y’know, now that I know.” 

The roar of the engine bounces off the walls of the cave. Surprisingly enough to Y/n the bats didn’t stir. Now, when Batman got off that bat mobile, she came this close to pounce on him and dragging him to the bedroom in cowl and all. Dear God, she began, thank you? Her voice cracks within her thoughts. Then there was Damian, the cutest Robin of them all, glaring a hole into her head, boy, did that kid hate her. She shrugs to herself and turns back to Batman who was walking towards her getting ready to explain himself but she rushed up to him and kissed his lips. 

“I’ll be upstairs, Batman.” She grins. 

When she was gone, he glances at Alfred who smiles at him. 

“It is rude to keep a lady waiting, Master Bruce. Have I taught you nothing?”

That was a fateful night. He didn’t eat his sandwich but he sure as shit ate her pussy. After that they had a long conversation, well, not too long. Bruce may invade your privacy but not the other way around. There was a whole Bat-family behind him despite the fact that he says; ‘I work alone,’ in that Batman voice. He’s a loner who can’t deal with loneliness. 

Y/n loves this man who is full of contradictions. Though, he knows that such a happy relationship doesn’t last, at least not for him. Bruce is always prepared for the bad things to come, always kept an eye on her whenever she went out late at night or when she worked at the club. This overwhelmed Y/n so she would lash out at him like a child and then break up with him and then the next day or so she’d run back to him. And much to his displeasure, he waited. He didn’t know why he waited. Bruce didn’t like to be pulled back and forth. It was either black or white. We’re done or we’re together. That’s it. But with her, he wanted to see where this ended because it seemed like it would never end. He was never going to say it—he is bad at communication—but he could feel himself fall for her more and more everyday and he even tried his best to hide it from himself. Though she is complicated and he does love a challenge. 

There were those moments when he has those grouchy asshole days—its everyday but there are worse days—and it made the tension between them hot and ugly. A day like that would be hell at the manor. 

She wasn’t living with him despite the fact that he asked her to. She said no and that was that. Though she stayed over mostly even on his bad days. Y/n would make sure that if an argument was going to start, Damian was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t argue with Bruce with Damian there. Her parents never fought in front of her so why would she do that to his kid? 

She came into his office and sat on his desk with her legs crossed over and a magazine in her hand. 

“According to this survey, most people agree you are, in fact, a gigantic asshole.” Y/n said. 

Bruce grunted. There was glaring but a sexual tension that could be felt a mile away. He took her right then and there and she’d giggle, knowing that she riled him up. 

Angry sex was common yet he was delicate somehow. He would sneak in a soft kiss or two before hungrily eating her up. Either way, she’d take him away from whatever was troubling his mind and make him take a bubble bath with her. He’d rest on her chest as she washed his hair.

“Why do you put up with me?” She hums as gently massages his scalp. “I’m a horrible mess. If you were like any other man, you’d be crying by now because I’m so horrible. I’m so mean.”

“I’ve seen horrible every night, Y/n. You don’t begin to measure up to it.”

“Yeah, I know but I mean like horrible girl standard? I guess?” She didn’t know how to put it. 

“Hmm, yeah, I’d say you’re a pretty horrible girl.” 

“Hey! You’re not supposed to agree.” She pouts. 

He chuckles. “And you know, I’m not like any other man but even so, no one can handle you.”

“Guess you hate that. After all, you are a bit of a control freak.” She paused and then glanced at him with a mischievous grin. “Do I scare you?” 

“No.” 

“Liar.” She whispers into his hair.

He kissed her hand and they rest there for a while until it was time to get out because their skin would get wrinkly. There were mornings where she laid in bed naked and he was in a suit getting ready for a meeting after his last nights work. There was no point in begging him to stay, to stop overworking himself because then both of their tempers would get the best of them. It was obvious they didn’t work well together but they made it work. Y/n was as frustrating as he was but not as naive. Bruce would kiss her bare shoulder and she’d kiss his chin and then he left. She looks at the time on her phone, two hours before work, she’ll take his motorcycle and make it in time. 

Except, this was a bad morning though. Her emotions were everywhere and if you’d look at her in anyway type of way, she’d cry. Bruce left. Y/n was on the bed, naked, the warm sunlight danced across her skin, and she sniffled. She didn’t want to go to work. Maybe becoming his wife wouldn’t be so bad, she thought. No, that’d be a horrible marriage because I’m a horrible girl. And he’s a good person. He’s such a good person. Y/n began to touch herself. Bruce is so good. Oh, Bruce. Please, punish me. I’ve been a bad girl. Her fingers slipped in and she began to pump her fingers in and out of her wet pussy. I love y—Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she came. She moaned into the pillow, her body went limp, and she fell asleep for twenty minutes. Y/n was still sad. Masterbating didn’t take away that sadness that was bubbling in the pit of her stomach. 

She drags herself out of bed, took a shower, got dressed, and slowly walked down the long halls. 

Damian is in a black turtle neck and gray slacks. He looked a lot like his father but way more adorable. 

“Morning.” She says softly. 

“L/n.” He states. “We have to speak.”

“Hm? ‘Bout?” She walks into the kitchen and pours herself a cup of orange juice.

“My father clearly likes you and you him.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Yet you and him fight a lot. I do not think that is good for father nor for you.” He is slowly getting to the point. “It’s not my business what happens but because my father’s well being—oh.”

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees tears forming in her eyes. They rolled down her cheeks and she begins to cry.

“What?” She whispers. “Y-you’ve heard us fight?”

“Y-yes…the manor may be large but it isn’t difficult to avoid you both.” 

“I’m so sorry, Damian. I didn’t mean for you to hear us,”

“That’s not…please stop crying, L/n.” He didn’t know what to do.

“Excuse me.” She sniffles. “W-we’ll continue this conversation…I just gotta…go.” 

Tim was going to greet her but she passes by quickly. He turns to glare at Damian who was confused himself.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, Drake. Excuse me.” 

Tim is left alone in the kitchen with an empty cup in his hand. 

“What in the hell?”

*Kill Bill sirens play* What will happen? Will Damian make her cry even more? Will his father aka Bruce Wayne aka Batman beat his ass for making his girlfriend cry? Will Tim Drake have his cup of coffee in peace for once? Who knows? Until next time....which will be soon.

[iphoenixrising]

Heavy in Your Arms con’t

@satire-please wanted the finish. I just can’t say no.

**

I’m so heavy

Whirl of colors. The spasm of his gut and throat, bile and cold sea water. Fist in his diaphragm, forcing the rancid waterfall out.

Pain racing up his spine and his fingers form claws even in the sodden gloves, ready to start tearing at the flimsy silk covering wood and plastic trapping him, ready to start from the inside:

—Screaming until he’s spitting blood, torn something there (that’s why his voice is fucked even now)

—Crying for Bruce: save me, don’t leave me in the ground to rot (but you fucked up, didn’t you? Why would he come save the Robin who failed? Who would?)

Heavy

—It’s dark and I’m scared (and now he’s forgotten how to fear the night, never fucking again)

—Where...Why? (because you should have never went after her. If you’d have stayed, the clown wouldn’t have taken your stupid ass the fuck apart. Shoulda put a gun in your mouth instead, not like you don’t always chicken the fuck out)

—Broken, bleeding fingernails (but getting through all that earth, and the first breath of tainted Gotham air was like salvation)

—Air...have to have air (no, asshole. You should have just fucking stayed dead)

Heavy in your arms

In and out. Things are flashes and snatches when he gets snippets. Movement kills it because his leg is muted but still a mess with inevitable pain waiting on the outskirts with a whole lotta lemme talk at ‘chu for a minute.

The blood loss might have made him slightly more insane than the Pit. Slightly because he’s seeing things in starks and spectrums. He’s the guy what always saw shit in shades of grays.

I’m so heavy,

Seeing things in color, just like him, his boy. Always had to be on the opposite ends of the scale because in some way they both got it— that bitch, Justice? Blind as fucking bat, yeah?

He snorts at it while the wind dries his hair and fuck he’s getting hit in the face with the battering of a cape, telling how far gone he’s got to be at this juncture.

B wouldn’t come for him, that shit is just plain stupid.

Heavy

But as stupid as it is, the kid in him buried in some dark corner, some un-fucked inch of his soul, the kid that coulda, woulda, shoulda been the right Robin...the part he can’t carve out, no matter how sharp the knife is, how strong the steel, how covered in gore it’s gets in his hand, that part still fucking hopes.

—Save me, Bruce.

Stupid little punk. Didn’t cha learn any better? You already done proved you ain’t worth the effort.

Heavy in your arms,

Out.

Back with it to the low, dulcet tone of a wrought-iron fire escape. One of the sturdy ones built back in the twenties when they intended shit to last. He can place himself by that noise alone— it’s the block of apartments on 152nd, his side of Gotham. He knows every building and bolt hole, all the old trolley stations (from back when it was the talk of Gotham, before it became the Narrows and dilapidated into drugs and low-income housing) and closed entrances to the subways, he knows the niches.

He knows where sin lives. Just another mark in the book, baby. Ya know I got it in spades.

And is it worth the wait?

The safe house is one of his. He knows it by the way the creaking mattress shoves a spring into his ass cheek.

Death seems further off since his leg is set in a complicated splint and elevated. Bodysuit is gone and his ribs wrapped just this side of too much. Someone was pissy about picking him up off the pier.

When he gets an eyeful of the slumped bird beside his shoulder on the bed, he gives a rough huff because some assholes have to show up like the motherfucking cavalry or some shit.

(Lemme go. When it’s time, Timmy, it’s time.)

He has enough in him to lift the hand just enough to fit at the back of Tim Drake’s neck, being smooth and easy with it. His fingers work up to scratch lightly at Tim’s scalp just like he’s seen his boy do a hundred times, knows it’s Red’s weakness.

All this killing time?

“You. Fucking. Asshole.”

Sounds about right.

“What do you think he would do if he heard half the made fucking ramblings I heard last night?”

Pacing, moving, doing because Timmy gets that kind of pissed off. You know, royally. He’s still in the Red Robin body suit, thrumming with energy now that some of them are going to live like the rest of the shithead population. At present, he’s cutting up a banana with feeling. One he apparently ain’t shy about sharing.

“Fucking up your second chance? Just giving up and I’m sorry.”

He winces for the banana.

Are you strong enough to stand?

“Timmy, c’mon, calm it down. Coming close...ain’t easy fer me. Gets my head all jacked-up with the…” and is he really going to do this? He and Baby Bird are good now, can work together, can snark, can siddown and have a burger on the ledge of the Wallstone. He has his own code into the Perch, got a coffee mug and set of pajamas.

But he’s never—

Only with Kory and Roy. Only with his boy.

And only when it tries to cut itself out. When it’s poison in the back of his throat.

Protecting both your heart and mine?

But it’s got Timmy turned away from the counter, facing him in the dim dawn starting to eek through the blinds. And Baby Bird is calm, rant tuning down, giving him the weight of his stare and full attention.

“It’s like,” and he has to look away, to stare up at the ceiling, to blink and keep himself away from the final moments, to gather a whole different kind of strength, “alla the bad comes first ‘cause....’cause I don’t remember enough of the other side to know if it matters, you feel me? The first time I was a shithead, but I died as Robin, trying ta save my mother, and...it was fucking noble. But when it comes again...Timmy, when it comes for me again, what if the good don’t outweigh the bad?”

Who is the betrayer?

“What if the scales ain’t never gonna be square now? ‘Cause I got ta come back.”

Who’s the killer in the crowd?

“What if I don’t get anywhere but gone. Maybe you don’t get the choice again. Who fucking knows?”

The one who creeps in corridors

“And the only good things I got to offer up...the only thing I done right this time...is that I made it square with you...and...and with him.”

And doesn’t make a sound

He must be hitting shock or something because he doesn’t even hear Timmy move. There’s just warmth when he’s already so fucking cold inside and out. Just like first waking up when all he could see was darkness and the inside of that casket wasn’t as comfortable as it looked to the meatbags on legs lookin’ down.

But his hands can move just enough to grip Tim’s shoulders from behind, he can lay his face in the side of that neck and be fucking grateful.

My love has concrete feet

The window gives under real strength, banging fast and hard.

He comes up enough to snag the .45, not screaming when the pain train hits full speed ahead. Tim’s already got pellets, even though he’s holding the younger of them to his hurting chest with his free hand because he ain’t gonna let Timmy go down that path before it’s his time—

When Nightwing leaps through, fast and furious, a whirl of feral destruction. Every muscle in his body is tense, a beautiful picture in that suit, and he must be feeling the glad-ta-still-be-breathings because he can appreciate his boy animalistic grace when he’s utterly pissed the hell off.

It’s always a sight to behold.

Tonight? It’s even better.

My love’s an iron ball

And the slow roll of those hips is the start of something utterly terrifying, the first Robin, former Titan, former Batman, and a whole lot of sexually charged vigilante powerhouse could be gearing up for a massive roundhouse to start the fight or could be a breath away from ripping your fucking clothes off to give you the ride of your life.

Or.

Could be hitting the wall with such stark relief that’s an inescapable hold and lips on his forehead, always a soft Romani prayer a litany against evil, a plea of protection and strength.

But his boy knows. Knows him down to the bone. Is achingly soft and easy, the whiteouts up on the mask so those blue eyes are overwhelming.

Wrapped around you ankles

“M’ sorry, sweets,” is rough because almost drowning had that effect, but his boy is a sucker for the real pet names, always has been.

“You asshole,” Nightwing pulls off the domino to becomes his baby, his sweet, his sugar (his redemption, his avenger, his guardian angel), and the arms get tighter, making the pain arch in his abdomen, but it ain’t all that. Naw, there’s always worse.

Over the waterfall

“You should have waited. I said I was on the way.”

Wouldn’ta mattered. We both know that.

“I was almost too you when the warehouse exploded. Jesus, Jay, I thought— I thought…”

“Aw, naw, sweets,” and he’s pressing his mouth under his boy’s watery eyes, “I’ma hard motherfucker ta kill. Ain’tcha figured that out yet?”

“Fuck that, we both know better.” And those eyes spill over, making tracks through the dirt of Gotham still on his face.

This will be my last confession

If only...if only he could be the man his boy deserves.

Instead, he’s the man he knows how to be, and draws the older vigilante down to fit their mouths together in a sloppy rendition of what might be a kiss, but is more breathing each other’s air, gripping each other to make sure it ain’t just a dream.

And he don’t have ta see it ta know his boy is gripping Timmy’s hand like a lifeline, like he’s a part of them.

He also knows Timmy’s gripping back just as tight.

I was a heavy heart to carry

My beloved was weighed down

My arms around his neck

My fingers laced to crown

None of them bitch when the two mobile vigilante strip down to boxers and crawl in bed with him. Tim’s cheeks and upper chest are a disturbing shade of red, but they don’t comment on it, not when they can’t let go of him any more than they can let go of one another.

They bracket him easy-like so the knee under his restrained leg takes some of the pressure off, and two fingers push hard enough to make the nerve clusters blissfully silent instead of radiating to his pain receptors.

His face is nestled in the crook of his boy’s neck, those long fingers rubbing soothing circles on the back of his neck while they all ignore the shamefully wet hitches in his breathing.

His grip is tight in Tim’s hair again, his shaky hand scratching against Baby Bird’s scalp to punctuated the point.

I was a heavy heart to carry

But he never let me down

When he held me in his arms

My feet never touched the ground

And it’s a crazy thing, one that strikes him at dark places where he stores the old pain and remorse, how he never thought he’d be worth this kind of grief. How no one would be stupid enough to mourn a piece of shit like him. A stupid punk-ass what got himself offed.

But while his phone lights up with worried texts from Roy and Kory, while B is on his boy’s comm demanding to know the Red Hood didn’t bite the big one again, while Alfred is stress baking and B is pleading for them to put him on so Alf will just chill the fuck out, while Timmy grips him, nuzzles a warm nose into his cold jugular, and his boy holds him in the present, those dark corners get...just a little bit of light.

Not too much to taint the darkness in his soul, just a slice enough so he can see how bright and white it is, so he can remember how warm it was to move into the first time, so he doesn’t have to be as afraid when the next time inevitably rolls around again.

I’m so heavy…

So heavy in your arms...