#they're doing comms

[lukazade]

Sleepover with two puny mortals that you're in love with (and everything can go right).

Lowkey based on a fanfic I was writing, but as usual I haven't the confidence to post it! Yeah~

Had this in the drafts for months,,,, figured I'd finish it up now so it's done. I like to kinda have some Finished art on the page hahahaha

[chalkrub]

challenging myself by engaging in the ancient art known as "dynamic poses", but making it harder on myself by ignoring the noble practice of "using references"

featuring belvedere and florawell

[katzirrart]

I've grown rather fond of this face, you know. Can you at least try and keep it in one piece?

I feel like every time I turn around in my game these two are covered in blood, and I'm confused HOW that has happened. Especially when Ophira is a long bow wielding ranger 95% of the time and thus never is in the thick of it....

[whatwooshkai]

URM checks notes NUMBER NINETEEN

"Oh." Chase stops walking, doorwings springing to attention. "I didn't realize we'd gone this far."

Blades turns around as soon as he realizes Chase has stopped, and jogs back over to meet him. "Wassup?" he asks around the silica wafers he's crunching on.

Chase frowns and takes a step away so he doesn't get any crumbs on him. "Don't talk while you're eating," he reflexively chastises, before gazing back up at the building he'd stopped in front of. "I just... I used to live here."

"Here?" Blades swallows and narrows his optics incredulously at the industrial building. It's not much of a home, gray and imposing with very few windows, but then again, the buildings like this scattered through the city were all he knew up until recently.

It's as home as he'll ever get, he supposes. But home is a place you're supposed to be able to return to, right?

"Well, that makes two of us," Blades says nonchalantly. "We didn't have any windows, though."

Chase turns to face him very slowly. Blades is usually so tight-lipped about his past, they all know next to nothing about his life before the academy. But he's opening up... because Chase is?

Oh, yes, that makes sense. Heatwave likes to do this too, right? Trading secrets. Tell me about you, and I'll tell you about me.

Chase can play this game.

"This was the last one," he continues softly, doorwings dropping a little, reflexively measuring the air currents around them. "Where I failed my final exams. I grew up in several facilities just like this around Iacon."

"Oh." Blades has one hand hovering, like he wants to touch Chase but isn't sure if he should. "How'd you fail?"

Blades isn't playing the game correctly. He's pushing further before he's giving back. Chase looks up at the building again, and suddenly feels a deep and oppressive longing for his batch.

But they're not in this building. They've moved on to a precinct by now, and likely have their own apartment or apartments. They're living their lives now. They're not here.

"I did well on my written exams," Chase says, mostly to distract himself. "But I kept failing my practical exams."

"How?"

Blades isn't playing right. This isn't fair, Chase is giving far too much and Blades is giving too little.

Chase stares at the building a little more, and feels an odd emotion swirling in his tanks. He's... angry?

He's angry. At this stupid building, at Ultra Magnus, at the enforcers, at Blades for asking questions.

"They said I was too strict on the law," Chase murmurs. His wings snap out when Blades steps closer, and thankfully he gets the message and keeps his distance.

"Well, I mean, I guess that's a little fair," Blades says, and Chase's finials pin back. "You have to make the punishment fit the crime. If something's unusually harsh-"

"No one should get away with any crime," Chase growls. "I agree, there is nuance to situation, but you have to penalize mechs." His wings ruffle.

Being angry is uncomfortable. It simmers under his plating and demands all his attention. He squeezes his hands into fists. "Including those in the administration. They kept asking questions, about what if it affected our jobs, or the way society works, or if it endangered those in power would it even be worth it?" Chase squeezes his optics shut, letting out a harsh vent and hoping the crawling feeling of needing to do something leaves with the air. "I was upset with the curriculum, so I tried to uncover the source."

"Oh." Blades' tone has turned dark, his field curious, and also frustrated. But he's doing something odd with it, as if trying to communicate that the anger is not focused on Chase. It isn't quite clear, but he appreciates it regardless. "Is that why they failed you?"

"No." Chase looks back up at the building. "They gave me one more chance after finding me looking into... them. But I was never allowed to be alone after that. But, my final exam..."

Chase shutters his optics again. Backtalking is not an enforcer trait! the voice of one of his instructors screams in his audials. You're nothing but an insolent little brat who thinks you're better than the rest of us-

"Chase?"

Chase vents harshly and shoves the memories away. Talking about it is good, right? Besides, it's all over.

They can't touch him now.

"I'm okay." Chase turns back to Blades. "They simulated someone breaking into the building and attacking us without telling us what was happening." He vents harshly again. "I thought he was going to kill my batchmates. He had taken a few down, and a vibroknife to one's neck, and it was just me pointing my gun at him.

"They were shouting at me to kill him." Chase blindly reaches out and Blades grabs his hand, squeezing it tight. "I tried to shoot his knee, incapacitate him so he could face justice. But... the gun was empty. They gave me an empty gun. And they were not happy with me."

Cohort above all else! the voice screams in his helm. You should NEVER risk your cohort for justice. If they threaten a life, take theirs.

But-

But NOTHING. This was your last chance. When push comes to shove, you've proven you're WEAK.

The enforcers do not tolerate weakness.

"Oh." Blades says. "And now you're here."

"I don't understand," Chase growls. "What I did was perfectly acceptable, even in regards to the curriculum-"

"Oh, Chase," Blades says, soft and almost mournful. Chase falls silent. "I think they just wanted you to follow orders."

"Oh."

Why can't you just follow orders?

"I don't want to keep talking about this," Chase says suddenly, pulling away from Blades.

"Yeah, of course," Blades says softly. "Let's go back."

"Right."

They've just started walking when an achingly familiar voice reaches Chase's audials. "Chase! Chase, is that you?"

Blades' optics narrow. "Is he one of your-"

"No. Just a friend." Chase takes a deep vent, steels his field into a neutral state, and turns to face the approaching mech.

Smokescreen scoops Chase up into a hug that's just a little too tight. "How're you doing, buddy?" he asks, cupping Chase's face. "Oh man, it's been too long! I heard you got shifted to the Rescue Bots, but man, I didn't think they'd put you through the works like this. I mean, the optics are cool, but they aren't, well, you."

"It is nice to see you too, Smokescreen," Chase murmurs, fluttering his wings to return the greeting Smokescreen's are flapping. "How have you been?"

"I've been doing great!" Smokescreen's wings flutters excitedly, and he moves his hands from Chase's face to his shoulders. "Your batch is doing good too, they're great kids." His face pulls into a frown. "I know the policies and you can't talk to them. But I thought you might like to know."

"Yes, that is... nice to hear." Chase's frame might be overheating.

"Oh, but who's this?" Smokescreen asks, gesturing to Blades with a wing.

"Blades," Blades introduces himself. He doesn't offer a hand, and has begun crunching on his silica wafers again. "A friend."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Smokescreen lets go of Chase and starts tapping on his comm. "Prowl's a few blocks over, I gotta tell him you're here! He'd love to see you!"

Chase's tanks drop to his pedes. "That really isn't necessary-"

"He's on his way." Smokescreen tucks his comm away and turns back to Chase with another grin. "But you're making friends! I'm real proud of you, kiddo," he admonishes, petting between his finials.

Blades is watching the two of them, tensed, like he's ready to fight at a moment's notice. Not for the first time, Chase wonders if he carries weapons.

Tires squeal as an enforcer rounds the corner, before transforming with a bounce and landing right in front of them. Prowl's face doesn't match his driving, nor his field, flitting with carefully contained excitement. "Chase," he says, with a soft and professional smile, "it's good to see you."

"It is good to see you too," Chase says, accepting and clasping Prowl's outstretched hands.

Prowl's gaze drifts behind Chase, and his optics widen a modicum. He's shocked. "Oh," he says. "Hello."

Blades field is tucked tight to his frame, but his rotors are flared in a clear show of hostility. Both Smokescreen and Prowl's wings drop into a position of do-not-worry-I-am-not-a-threat.

"Do you know him?" Chase asks Blades, now almost worrying about potential weapons on Blades' frame.

Blades doesn't answer. "We have met," Prowl says vaguely. "I am glad to see you are doing well."

Blades' rotors hike up higher. .:We should go. Now:.

.:Only if you tell me why:. Chase challenges. It's only fair, he thinks.

"We should probably go," Smokescreen says, but whether it's for a legitimate reason or he can sense the tension in the air is unclear. "We can't be seen slacking off."

He pushes past Prowl to rub his chevron to the crest of Chase's helm. "Keep out of trouble, alright? And don't be a stranger! They never said you couldn't talk to us."

"Of course," Chase says, letting Prowl rub his chevron against him next. He's pinged twice not a moment later.

Blades tugs insistently at a wing, which Chase flicks out of his grip. He turns to face him, wings flaring up in anger. "Why-"

"Alright, stay safe!" With another quick hug from Smokescreen, the two enforcers speed off together.

"Ugh, finally," Blades growls. "Let's go."

"I don't understand what your problem is," Chase says, flicking his wing to try and get rid of the phantom sensation of a hand on it. "And do not touch my wings ever again."

"Noted," Blades says. "Sorry. I didn't mean- I just wanted to get out of there."

"Why?"

"Because... they let one of them practice questioning with me," Blades says softly. "Regarding my brothers' murders. I'm sure he's nice, but..."

Chase patiently waits for Blades to continue, but he trails off into silence.

It's nothing compared to what Chase told him, but it's something. Brothers, interrogations, murder?

Chase doesn't like not knowing. But Blades likes not telling. So here they are, at a standstill.

"Okay," Chase says softly. He reaches for Blades' hand, and the helicopter takes it.

They walk home in silence.

[maskerat]

two sky IAP commissions I've done. thank you to the people who commissioned me :). I appreciate it a lot.

I'm planning to open these IAP commissions again because I want the blue & red switch capes + for my friend the journey pack. so stay tuned!

[donnyclaws]

If you're wondering why I'm especially not posting recently it's bc I'm doing my final uni year and major project. Check my designs for it so far, a trans doll club kid, a disabled groaning creature and a queen/king butch.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Shapey Puppington

Obsessed with his mother and always defers to her despite his seemingly strong and stubborn personality, unconsciously makes messes even though he purports to need things tidy, talks a lot and very loudly in a way where it's hard to engage with him (talking 'at' not 'with' you), reveals very little of his own personality and seems to more parrot things others say, doesn't ever want children because his wife would be "distracted" by them, hates alcohol but is almost always drinking milk, hates his father (or says he does), struggles with his faith but pretends to be devoutly religious, still throws tantrums which his wife cleans up as he's throwing them so it's like nothing happened, calls his wife 'mine' as in "me and mine" or "mine's the same way" to the point where it's unclear if that's her name or not, doesn't recognize her as looking exactly like Bloberta, had a bad relationship with Orel as a teenager but they're better now, protective over Block who he calls his little brother, always frowning and usually complaining, holds his wife's wrist or grabs at her dress when he isn't looking at her so she stays nearby, struggles with feelings of inadequacy and loneliness that he doesn't know how to remedy.

'You used to be such a happy kid.'

[Patreon | Commissions]

[starrysharks]

Omfg stickers when? Prints when? Charms when?

that's what i want too!!! but yknow, i did once have a vograce collab thingy where they let me make some nova charms... maybe i'll try and get some reassassination stuff made ( ´∀｀ )

[cutiecorner]

I am once again bored. Does anyone want a lockscreen like this? Gimme a dc character and your phone model and I'll try and make one :D

[averlym]

(Whispers closely and quietly in your ear):

What if Anne gave piggyback services to each queen what would that look like

new backpack unlocked idk (post-show routine)

[puppetmaster13u]

You may regret this @phoenixcatch7 lol, what if I start spamming you /j

Less cryptid Batman in this particular WIP since it's semi-outsider pov lol (one of two outside person not unnerved by them lol)

🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇

   Clark knew Batman wasn’t human, even before that disaster of a mission where he had let it slip to the others. 

   He’d known for a long time, from one of their early meetups, when Batman had first referred to him as Clark Kent instead of Kal-El, and he had panicked. He hadn’t ever lied to his teammates when he said that the cloak prevented him from seeing his body, but his ears still worked. 

   He’d tried to listen to a heartbeat, to see if his at the time temporary ally was lying when he stated he wasn’t going to tell anyone and… Nothing. There was no heartbeat, no breathing, nothing even remotely human, and if he didn’t know any better, nothing even remotely alive about the silence. 

   He couldn’t help but to pay attention more, to seek out the strange almost silence-feeling that accompanied the Gotham vigilante each time he felt it. It was… almost comforting, like the swaying of branches and the rustling of cloth over stone. Familiar, compared to the hustle and bustle surrounding him in the city. 

   The first thing he had noticed, physically that is, was Batman’s ears. Previously he’d thought the man unemotional, what with the rough voice, expressionless white eyes, cloak-covered body and the gas mask covering a good chunk of his face. 

   Yet the longer he watched, even idly, the more he noticed that while the man’s face or body didn’t show much, his ears did. 

   While Batman could stay silent and still for hours, the long ears twitched and swiveled, catching on the hood that he’d always wear around them. They’d pin back sometimes, a near silent sound he couldn’t quite place accompanying the movement, while other times they’d twist a near full three-sixty, as though searching for whatever sound it had caught. 

   Sometimes, when he’d startled the other vigilante, there’d be rattling noise, like wood and metal clacking together before it was cut off. It was a strange sound, one he’d not heard anywhere else, except with his… friend. 

   Were they friends? He’d like to think so. 

   The next time he was reminded that his friend wasn’t human was when he saw him get injured. It hadn’t been a bad injury, even if the Gothamite’s head had hit the wall with a very loud cracking noise, but he’d still smelled what he’d eventually come to recognize as blood. There was an almost pickle-like scent to it though that wasn’t quite it either. 

   Honestly the closest he could think of describing it was some sort of formaldehyde. And once he focused, he could pick out other things beneath it. Maybe not flesh and blood in the traditional sense, but still. 

   There was always that scent of cloth and wood, but he could smell the black liquid, paint, a metallic thing underneath like iron and steel. No heartbeat, no breath, but life all the same. It was honestly beautiful in a way, like a part of the city the other vigilante called home had come to life. 

   And it wasn’t like Batman minded whenever his own human mask slipped. Clark may have been raised by his Ma and Pa, whom he loved, but it didn’t make his body any more human in nature. There were just some things that he couldn’t change, and it took effort to move like one all day as a civilian when his body wasn’t designed to do so.

   So he stayed quiet for the most part when their group of three grew, and people started to speculate. He diverted the conversations whenever it turned to him, lightly admonishing over the various rumors. 

   It didn’t matter if Batman wasn’t human, he was still his friend, their ally and teammate. Was he curious? Oh of course, he’d gone into journalism for a reason after all, but it was still his friend. If he wanted to tell, he’d tell, and Clark wouldn’t break his trust. 

[sisterdivinium]

You know, the reason why I'm sceptical over communities on Tumblr is because I think the issue is not how it was lacking in a community feature but how there seems to be a lack of a community mindframe for a lot of the userbase. There's only so much you can do when a lot of people have devolved into only ever using likes rather than actually getting in touch with others -- and there's only so much conversation you can withstand when every new addition equates to reblogging a post in full and potentially annoying your followers with "walls of text" (since, let's be real, this isn't a text-forward website)...

[carnographix]

Completed piece for @jimposts!! Thank you so much!!

Like my art? Consider commissioning me, or leaving a tip on Ko-fi!

[gurosinner]

mwah / ref

[spacedace]

Here, have a snippet of the Jason & Steph sibling bonding portion of the DP x DC AU I wrote 10k words for since last night in a haze of post sickness/burnout creative burst, featuring some Anger Management because of course it does lol

(I call it a snippet but it’s like...3k words lol)

Trigger Warnings because most of this snippet focuses on them running around Crime Alley and shit that goes down in it: references to drugs, overdoses, domestic abuse, child endangerment (if I miss anything let me know and I’ll add it). Nothing expliciet or details but they are things mentioned as happening because, well, Crime Alley.

-

Spoiler shifts subtly from foot to foot on the rooftop, hands open and ready at her side as she split her attention from watching him and checking the street below for signs of trouble. Her gaze was sharp on the girls working the corner, tracking for any hint that the man talking them up was making any of them uncomfortable even as she made sure Jason didn’t suddenly dart across the ten feet between them to strike out at her.

“George Conrad.” He said, satisfied that his sudden breaking of the silence didn’t make her jump though did catch her attention fully, fingers twitching warningly towards her belt. He nodded his head down to the street and the large man rummaging through the bag he brought with him. More of the girls had huddled up around him. “Not a john. Not even from Gotham.” He explained, shifting to walk over to the edge of the roof, giving her his back as he did. “His son Kyle ran away from home while George was oversees and ended up working the streets. George tracked him down once he was back in the states a few years ago but by the time he made it here Kyle had been killed.”

She moved to join him at the ledge, still leaving space between them but not enough for his guns to be as effective. Smart, vigilant, but still with a soft enough heart to stop and listen to one of the many tragedies that played out in Gotham’s darkest streets.

“What happened?” She asked, eyes softening on the big man in question as he started handing out ziploc bags. Jason knew very well what they held, and wondered if Spoiler could make out the finer details from the distance they were at. Sandwiches, granola bars, water bottles, condoms, clean needles, wet-wipes, little travel sewing kits, over the counter pain meds. Anything and everything George had ever been told would be appreciated or useful by the sex workers he spoke to.

“Overdose.” Jason answered, grateful that the distorter built into his helmet disguised the tightness of his voice. Memories of a cold body on the floor, stiff and waxy with distant glassy eyes. “Got mixed up with the wrong person. Boyfriend. Not a big player but,” He shrugged and knew that Spoiler would understand. It was how a lot of people got mixed up in sex work when they wouldn’t have normally. Boyfriend that promised the world, the painful fall into being pressured to sleep with said boyfriend’s friend, then another, then another. “One of Daisy’s boys was a neighbor and figured out what was going on, Daisy helped get him out but it was too late by then.”

Below one of the girls, younger than the rest - an adult, because he wouldn’t allow anything else in his territory, but still new to the scene - surged forward to wrap her arms around the old man. George gave her a gentle pat on the back, pushing her back gentle to dig out a card from his pocket. A list of numbers for her to call, shelters and organizations that could help, his own number in case she ever needed anything. “They chipped in for a funeral for him. Gave George somewhere to go and mourn. He’s been here ever since, trying to look after them all. He works as a bouncer at Daisy’s these days but he always does the rounds when he isn’t working.”

“People never get this part.” Spoiler mused, voice going soft and distant. “They always think the Alley is just…” She waved a gloved hand, “Trash and monsters. They can’t seem to get that there’s more. Just…people. Some really good ones even.”

He smiled behind his mask. There was a reason she was the one of the whole Bat Clan he’d decided to trust with this.

“Come on.” He said, waving her after him as he began an easy run that’d let them both move easily from rooftop to rooftop. Spoiler hesitated a moment, but at length followed, quick and quiet as she darted from shadow to shadow in his wake.

They spent the following couple of hours meandering around Crime Alley at an easy clip. Squat roofs and rusted fire escapes, narrow streets and dark corners. Pausing to jump in and handle anything that popped up or at particular spots of interest where he’d point out places and people. The chop shop run by the ragged gang of teens and children some of the gangs had been angling towards that needed looking after. The homeless encampment nestled between the grimy apartment building Daisy O’Neil had taken over to run her business out of and the tiny, almost forgotten pauper’s cemetery. The usual roosting spots for the drug dealers, the gambling dens, the little family owned cafe that had the best Tantuni at midnight and even better Turkish coffee at the crack of dawn.

It was as they perched on top of this last one, tucked back in the shadows away from view as Spoiler devoured the freshly made Lokma that Mrs. Solak insisted on making fresh for them when they stopped by that the question finally came.

“So what exactly is all this?” Spoiler asked, popping another of the sugary, honey covered Lokma in her mouth. He’d shoved the container Mrs. Solak had given to him over to her after eating only a few, knowing she was going to try to steal them anyway if he didn’t. “When you said you needed my help with something in Crime Alley, I was expecting…I don’t know, drug runners or something.” She popped another golden dough ball in her mouth, cheeks round as a chipmunk and voice muffled as she said, “Not a tour of the place.”

Jason let his head fall back on the brick of the rooftop entrance behind them, eyes scanning the glittering horizon of the Gotham skyline, trying to sort out his answer. He had talked about how he was going to do this with Jazz, practicing what he was going to say, what he wanted to reveal, what outcomes he could expect from the whole thing. When he left he’d felt confident about it all, riding high on the warmth of Jazz’s kiss and the fluttering thumps of little legs kicking against his hand. Now that he was here though he felt lost as to how to begin.

“I’m hanging up the mask.” He finally said. It wasn’t quite like the first time he’d said it out loud, in the privacy of his apartment, curled in bed with Jazz, only brave enough to whisper it in the dark. There wasn’t that rush of anxiety and relief that had hit him at finally saying what had twisted over and over in his head for weeks leading up to that moment. Now there was just the settled feeling, the certainty, the surety of being on the path he wanted to be on. “I wanted to ask if you’d look after my territory me when I do.”

Spoiler gaped at him. “Wait, seriously?”

He almost laughed, he settled on giving her a lazy smile. “Seriously.”

With her masked pulled down so she could eat her treats he could see her wide eyed, disbelief on her face easily. “Why?”

He gave a shrug, aiming for nonchalant. “This used to be your territory for awhile, right? You’re from here, you know the Alley and the people and how it all works.” He felt his smile go softer, “I trust you to be able to keep it safe.”

Spoiler’s - Steph’s - expression softened at that. “That’s…thank you.” She glanced out the same way he had before, face caught in something bittersweet. “I…I hated this place growing up. I still do, kinda. I think everyone that lives here does. But I still missed it, it’s still…still home.”

“Yeah,” He agreed, mind turning over his childhood. The constant fear and hardship. Living rough even when he did have a roof over his head. His father’s heavy hands. His mother’s slow wasting. Crime Alley was a complete shit hole, one where the worst of the worst tended to gather. But it wasn’t all monsters. There were good people too, just trying to scrape by. Old George wandering the streets handing out necessities to working girls and boys. The Solak family and their little shop, giving out the left overs to the street kids and homeless. The Nightingales, crammed into their two bedroom apartment, just trying to get by. “I knew you’d get it.”

They sat in silence for awhile. Steph chewing over his request and her Lokma, Jason lost in memories of the past and wistful dreams of the future. At length the blond next to him bumped his shoulder with hers, head tilting at a questioning angle. “I…I really appreciate what you said, about why me.” She said, awkward and touched in equal measure. “But…I was actually wondering why you were stepping back.”

He was ready for that question, he was. He’d initially just wanted to leave it at none of your fucking business but Jazz had - wise as ever - pointed out that he was asking her a favor, and a big one at that. He might not be comfortable with the rest of his family knowing everything - or anything - but Steph at least deserved an explanation as to why he was asking her to take over his territory.

“You tell anyone this, and I will kill you.” He started and then cringed internally because that had not at any point been something that had come up in his practice conversations with Jazz. Oh well, any more ooie-gooey feelings talk and Steph probably would have thought he was replaced by a pod person or something. “I’m seeing someone.”

The faintly alarmed look the blond vigilante beside him had melted away in an instant, replaced by a sly, mischievous grin. Hellion. One whiff of gossip and that’s all it took. “Ooooh, Big Bad Red Hood has a heart after all.” She crooned, ignoring her earlier reticence to get too close and leaning dramatically against his side. “Who is it huh? Anyone I know? Ooh, is it someone in the Outlaws?”

He was reminded of before he died, suddenly. Of teasing Dick over his latest crush over a beautiful red head that could kick his ass like a proper annoying little brother. In an echo of that moment so many years ago, he shoved Spoiler off in the same way Dick had done to him, rolling his eyes at her dramatic squawking as she nearly dropped her treat to disguise the small smile that wanted to curl at his lip. He swiped at the container lazily, a feint at stealing it back that resulted in a brief scuffle that ended with him popped a few of the Lokma in his mouth as she tore the container - that he had given to her in the first place - away, holding it close to her chest like a precious treasure.

“No, no one you know.” He answered at last they finally settled down. He paused for a beat, gaze turning back to the city as he added. “She’s a civilian.”

Spoiler looked considering at that, chewing at one of the last of the Lokma thoughtfully. “So what’s going on then? You do a face reveal and she asked you to quit the vigilante business?”

“No.” He said, taking a small, steadying breath. Better to just rip off the bandaid. “She’s pregnant.”

Spoiler went still beside him, laughing eyes shuttering and face falling into a neutral mask as she stared at him. After a long, long moment she gave a small, unreadable little, “Oh.”

Jason fought the urge to fidget. Oh. It could mean so many things. Oh shit. Oh no. Oh how nice. Oh boy I can’t wait to tell Bruce about this. That last one, admittedly, was unlikely. Spoiler was on good terms with most of the Bats and Birds but she and Bruce had long had something of a rocky relationship. No where near as bad as what he and the old man had, but still enough that she was probably the very last person to willingly go hunt Bruce down to share all the details of Jason’s private life unless she thought it particularly necessary.

The silence stretched on. And Jason knows what silence does to a human brain. Four seconds of quiet during a conversation after saying something registers as rejection, caused feelings of anxiety and apprehension, even caused the same signals in the brain as physical pain. Prolonged silence and steady attention at the same time caused an urge to fill the quiet, to speak and keep speaking until the other person says something. It was something Bruce taught him, guiding him along in his Robin days on how to perform interrogation and get the person they were questioning to spill their guts.

He was taught too how to outlast that silence in situations where he was being questioned. Both by Bruce and by the League - though the interrogations that he was meant to resist under their teachings had far more than long awkward silences to contend with. He knew how to clamp down on that instinctive drive to keep talking when faced with stillness like this.

And yet, somehow he could stop himself.

“I just…I think about being a kid and my dad going to work,” He said the word with appropriate amount of vitrol, “And then never coming back. Him dying in jail and it just being me and my mom trying to scrape by. Or…or with Bruce. Knowing that I was always going to place second to the Rogues and the city. I just…” His head dropped back on the brick behind him, eyes closed and throat tight. “I can’t do that to my kid. I’m going to be there. I’m going to make sure they’re safe and happy and that they don’t ever have to worry about if their old man is coming home or not.”

It was a nightmare he’d been having, since the morning he and Jazz crowded over a couple of pregnancy tests and saw the results. Dying out in the gutter and shambling home as a ghost to see the grief he left behind. Jazz crying, a child who’s features he could never make out standing in the doorway the way he would stand at the entrance of the cave when he was too injured to go out with Batman. Waiting in painful silence and burning tears to find out that his father was dead.

“I’m not…I’m not cutting out of the life completely.” He said, trying to focus past the squeezing in his chest, trying to force the conversation back into a conversation rather than him just pouring his bleeding heart out to a blank wall. “I’m going to talk to Babs, see if she’d be alright with me helping with some of what she does, or get something similar setup solely for the Alley. I’m going to keep tabs with my guys on what’s going on and work with them that way. And if there’s anything big, obviously you guys can call me in, I’m not just going to sit back if there’s a city wide threat or worse, I just - “

There were arms around him, suddenly. Warm and strong as they wrapped around him, a face pressed into his shoulder, his nose tickled by blond hair.

He sat there, frozen for a long moment before slowly, lifting his own arms to return the hug. Steph gave him an encouraging squeeze. “I get it.” She said, voice whisper soft and almost lost as she spoke into the leather of his jacket. “I think…I think if I’d been older, if I was more able to keep her…I think I would have done the same thing.” There was a faint sniff as she finally pulled away. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were bright with tears. “I’m happy for you.” She moved to gently head butt him, “And I’m honored to take over watching over this shithole of ours.”

Jason gave a watery laugh, not even caring that he was crying as he scrubbed away some of the tears that had burned down his cheek. “Thanks Blondie. Steph.”

She rocked back on her heels, arms crossed as her expression turned suddenly serious. “I do have one condition though.” At his look the seriousness melted away into an exuberant grin. “I want to meet this mystery woman of yours. Wait!” She brightened, “Two conditions! I want to be there when you finally tell B and the rest! I am not missing the look on their faces when you tell them!”

He rolled his eyes and shoved her, sending her tumbling into the container of Lokma and sending the remaining fried dough balls rolling across the grungy roof. Steph squawked, dropping to her knees before the thoroughly ruined sweets as dramatic as if it was her one true love laying dead before her. “They were so young, so innocent!” She wailed, throwing her head back as if to howl at the sky in mourning before snapping back to him, finger pointing at him accusatory. “You! This is your fault! I will have my vengeance!”

The rest of the night was spent darting from rooftop to rooftop in an echo of the game of tag he used to play with Dick and Babs years ago. Tackling each other and fighting without actually aiming to do real damage. Only pausing to jump down to the street or through a window here and there to knock some heads together.

By the time he was heading to the Dead Man’s Hand so he could walk Jazz home - or whisk her off to his safehouse, if he was lucky and she was able to duck her siblings for the day - he felt lighter. Steph would look after the Alley, the people he protected. He’d work with her over the next few months, get her integrated with his lieutenants and make sure she was familiar with the ins and outs of his little slice of Gotham, make sure she was as ready as she could be to take over for him.

[wyn0rrific]

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