#visage ⇎ dick grayson

[vigilantesx]

[snoozyfruit]

dick grayson sketches….. is this anything.

[onmyyan]

hi again i'm the Anon who asked if you take commisions only or requests as well. I love your writing style<3

Soo could you write about Batmom reader, where reader took care of bruce's children as her own. But then bruce gets a mistress, reader still stays becuz of the kids but when everyone started to become cold to her and insult her ' X (mistress) is better mom then you ever were' she leaves gonthem. Then everyone realises she (mistress) was just after their money. They go to batmom's room to apologize only to find it empty. They try to find her everywhere but couldn't. And finally when they do, reader rejects them since she was having the time of her life without responsibilty but gets kiddnapped by the batfam?

Honestly i wanted to commision but i'm flat broke and i'm too busy studying to work and on top of that i don't have my own phone (i use my dad's old laptop) soo yeah... I hope you consider this.

A/N: Loooove this request thank you for sending it in <3 fem reader yandere themes lmk if you want a part two

The (L/n)'s were a wealthy and prominent family in Gotham, right up there with the Wayne's when it came to power over the city, the two families were in business together which is why when Bruce Wayne personal attorney came to you with a marriage proposal, you weren't surprised.

A marriage of convenience. You thought you knew what this would entitle, you knew this wasn't out of love, that this was required of you, it had nothing to do with what you actually wanted, but you were dutiful and signed, inking your name on the paper felt like a deal with the devil.

Bruce hadn't bothered to officially meet you until the day of the wedding, it was beautiful and well done but lacking any form of love of affection, CEOs and other rich folk you didn't recognize filled the pews, the ring felt cold when he slipped it on, his vows perfectly rehearsed, and not an ounce of warmth in his eyes, you knew that night you should have annulled the marriage, but something made you hold on, something your mother had said to you as the makeup artist turned you into the visage of a bride.

"You'll learn to love each other, your father and I did after all." And she wasn't lying, your parents married for convenience as well but had grown to love one another, so maybe you could do the same?

A year after the nuptials Dick Grayson is thrust into your life. Haley's circus was famous in Gotham for its incredible death defying shows, but on this night death would walk the stage, taking with them Dick Grayson's parents in a horrible display, You and Bruce had consoled the boy for only a moment before Bruce was talking to the officers, he'd decided Dick was coming home with you, of course without asking your opinion, but it didn't matter, you felt such pity and grief for the boy, it made perfect sense to you, he was shut down for the first few months, he called you by your name and you had no problem with it, making it clear you never wanted to try and replace his mother, the ice between you two melted one day, one kind word at a time, he couldn't help but confide in you about school or his friends, because you were more emotionally there than Bruce was.

Like the night you caught him sneaking out, a packed bag in hand and the keys to one of Bruce's many cars in his hand. Instead of yelling for Bruce or Alfred you simply smiled at him, "you should take the audi, it's the safest car here."

"..You're not going to try and stop me?"

You shake your head no, still offering that kind smile.

"You know yourself best Dick, if you're unhappy here I won't stop you from finding your peace." He took a moment before tossing you the keys and reluctantly making his way back inside.

You find out about Batman because of Dick. He'd come home with some nasty bruises and it wouldn't take long to put two and two together. Them both being missing at the same time, Dick started to pull away from you, one night, after hours of trying to get to sleep in a bed much to big for one body, your legs decided a walk was necessary, the halls were dark and quiet, giving the manor an eerie air, quietly you walked the long hallways intending on stopping by the library, as you turned the corner you seen Dick in a hidden elevator, the doors just slamming shut as your eyes tried to register what was there. Seconds after the doors close a wall appears, as if nothing was ever there. It's not long after that you see a brief news clip of the caped crusader and his new sidekick, because the longer you stared at the screen, the more familiar they began to look, that dead tight lipped scowl on Batman's face, it was one you'd had the pleasure of looking at for the past few years.

That night you confronted Bruce, he seemed surprised you'd figured it out, but he didn't deny it. Simply saying, "It's late (Y/n), get some sleep."

You nearly divorced him then and there for endangering a child the way he was, but after a moment of thought, you realized Dick would need a real parent around so you stayed, making Bruce swear to be careful.

Jason comes next and he takes to you a lot faster than Dick. He craved the warmth you offered, you two had inside jokes and a closer relationship than him and Bruce, but that all changes the day he dies. You're broken, a ghost haunting the manor with your presence, and Bruce is no comfort throwing himself into the Batman role, you begin to hate him a little with this particular betrayal.

Tim was another hard egg to crack but you were desperate after Jason's death, so you took his verbal lashings with a smile, were always there to offer a helping hand with any of his projects despite the help never being accepted. Tims wound from losing his father is too raw, he takes a lot of his anger out on you. And you weathered the storm with a soft, warm smile.

Damian hated you, from the moment he arrives, which is bitter enough as is because it meant Bruce was unfaithful, he's spitting out insults and comparing you to his 'perfect' mother.

Things weren't great in your life, but one day they started getting noticably worse. Dick no longer responded to your check in texts, Jason (now reanimated which was a heart attack in and of itself) saw you as the enemy, you didn't leave Bruce after what happened to him, so in his eyes you betrayed him, Tim ignored your existence as best as he could, and Damian? He'd started staring at you with this smug look on his face, like he knew something you didn't.

Bruce had all but ran from you, he didn't sleep in your shared room anymore, he barely spoke to you at breakfast, if it wasn't for the cameras he wouldn't touch you.

And it's all because of a woman named Rachel.

Apparently Bruce had introduced this woman to the family, bringing her around when you weren't, slowly replacing you, it was no wonder they started to pull back.

Alfred is the only reason you find out, having enough of the blatant disrespect, he calls you to come home early one day saying it's a dire matter. Of course you comply, and walk in on a discomforting sight. The whole family was gathered at the dining room table, plus a woman you'd never seen before, she sat close to Bruce, toying with his hand intimately. Her green eyes lock with yours and the smile she gives you forms a pit in your stomach.

There's silence before Bruce stands up, he walks over calmly, "Can we take this in the other room." But it wasn't phrased as a question.

"No" you licked your lips, a nervous habit from your youth. Bruce seemed taken back by your sudden backbone. He nods silently.

"I want her gone Bruce. I am your wife. You will show me that semblance of respect."

"I- of course." You don't wait for the words to settle instead, you calmly walk to your room, face unreadable.

Locking the door behind you, your body slides against the frame, a silent sob wracks your frame, your hands covering your mouth, you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing your cries.

The next morning you wake up to breakfast in bed, a generic yet elegant spread of food lay on a tray in the empty spot Bruce used to stay. The man himself sitting in the chair beside the bed, staring at you with that practiced smile he used to appease people.

"Good morning."

"What's this?" You sat up straight, sleep evaporating from your form as you took in the threat before you.

"An apology. I never meant for yesterday to happen."

"What a comfort that is." Your piercing (e/c) eyes stare at him blankly, unreadable. "How long."

"A year." You scoff pushing the breakfast away from you like it was poisonous. "But its not what you think, Rachel is a childhood friend, a year ago our relationship, evolved into what it is now, but I was never intending to go behind your back."

"Ah of course, your intentions were pure." The words dripped venom, grabbing your robe you quickly dress before standing and walking to the door, "Thank you for the wonderful talk Bruce, really your people skills are top notch." Your hands gesture to the door. He leaves without a word.

The rest of the day is as usual, Bruce avoids you like the plague, the rest of the family acted as if you weren't there. Which made leaving all too easy.

Your lawyers had the divorce papers ready and hour after you called them, signing them felt like the first act of self love you'd done in years. Slipping them into Bruce's study you took the time to analyze the room you never entered.

It matched Bruce that's for sure, pictures of every single person in the family. All except for you.

Walking out the door, wrapped in your ankle length black faux fur coat, the garment whipped in the wind, the designer sunglasses on your face hid your eyes from the world, hair in a slicked back bun, your heels echoed against the pavement, a sleek black car was waiting for you, you look back at the house that had caused you so much misery then got in the back of the car, never looking back.

Life goes on for about a week, your absence goes unnoticed, that is before Rachel is trying and failing to blackmail Bruce out of a billion dollars, she'd collected evidence he was cheating on you with her and presented it to Bruce with a grin, it was only as he went through the pictures of himself and Rachel, did he notice the yellow envelope with his name written on the front.

Hey puts the heartbreaking matter of Rachel's betrayal on the back burner, Bruce opened the envelope and felt his heart completely stop at the word divorce written in bold lettering across the top, your signature was already there, waiting for his to join it.

Ignoring Rachel completely now he turns in his chair, turning the paper over and over as if it would magically change. But it remained the same. Alfred knocking on the door of his study broke him from his trance. "Master Wayne, miss Rachel." He says the latter's name with no warmth. "Escort Rachel to her car Alfred."

"Bruce have you heard a word I've said? I'm serious I'll go to Gotham daily right now if you don't -"

"Now Alfred."

That was all it took for the screaming woman to be firmly escorted off the premises. Bruce all but ran to your room, he didn't bother knocking, and despite knowing in his heart you were already gone, he couldn't help but check anyway.

Your room was empty and cold, he couldn't believe the date he'd read on the divorce papers, it was dated a week ago, meaning you'd been gone for a week and he hadn't noticed. No one had.

That is until Bruce remembers there's someone in the house nothing gets by.

"How long have you known she was gone Alfred?" He asks leaning on his knuckles the divorce papers stared back at him taunting him. "Since the moment she left." The older man replied simply his hands behind his back. "Why didn't you tell me immediately?" Bruce felt himself tense, "Because you've hurt that woman enough Bruce. She deserves at least this." He gestures to the daunting divorce paperwork before turning to leave Bruce with his thoughts.

The news of Rachel's betrayal shook the manor each member feeling violated by their trust being broken. But it was nothing compared to their reaction once they finally realized you were gone.

"That was rough." Jason says after watching Rachel being dragged out of the manor, he blew air out of his cheeks arms crossed over his chest, he looked towards the hallway that lead to your room, you had to have heard that he thought to himself.

Dick sighs through his nose, "Someone should check on (y/n), Rachel was screaming so loud she definitely heard that." No one volunteers so Dick rolls his eyes and heads towards your room.

He lifts his hands to knock but noticed the door was open, pushing it further he's met with a baren room, his brow furrowed in confusion before he makes his way to Bruce's study. "Hey B, have you seen (y/n)? Her room is like weirdly empty."

Dick found his Father where Alfred left him, leaning over the divorce papers silently a storm in his eyes.

As he steps closer and reads the paperwork Bruce was staring so intently at, his heart stopped.

"Holy shit- are those real?"

"Yes." Bruce finally spoke his voice horse. There was a moment of silence before Dick left the room practically running down the stairs to alert the others.

"(Y/n) left Bruce." He said still processing the information, "No fuckin' way." Jason says pushing himself off the counter he leaned on. "Her room is empty and he has the papers, she's gone."

Each member of the family had different reactions to this information.

Dick tries calling you only to be met with a disconnected number, his heart hammering in his chest, he wasn't as close to you as when he was younger sure, but you were a constant in his life, always had been, a pillar of support, and suddenly you weren't. It felt like the floor had gotten pulled out from under him.

Jason curses under his breath, his mind working a mile a minute, he had barely spoken to you since his Resurrection, something he deeply regretted as the information of your leaving sinks in like a brick thrown into a river.

Tim, ever calculating is trying to figure out where you went, you were a figurehead in his life, someone that was literally never not there, sure he wasn't close to you in the slightest but that doesn't mean he wants anything to happen to you, someone as quiet and soft as you on your own in Gotham? It didn't sit well with him. Not one bit.

Damian didn't know what he was feeling at the news, he supposed he should feel nothing, after all you were nothing to him, but there was this nagging feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite place. And he hated it. How dare you leave and upset his fragile ecosystem?

Meanwhile in the Bahamas, far from Gotham and the neglectful family you'd left behind, you sat lounging on a private beach, a knitted hammock cradles your body, a designer baby pink bikini covers you, a matching sunhat protects your face from the hot sun, you can't wipe the smile from your face, humming a tune from your childhood you barely flinch when someone takes the seat besides your hammock.

"Do I want to know how you found me?" You ask, eyes still closed as you bask in the warmth. You knew only one person had the sources to find you on your own island, and despite how much you resent the man, even his presence can't ruin your shine in this moment.

"You're my wife (Y/n), I'll always know where you are." Bruce speaks softly as if trying not to startle you. "Former wife." You correct cracking an eye open, a small smirk curling on your lips.

"Not until I sign those papers- which I never will."

"huh, I thought you'd be thrilled." You muse to yourself before folding your tanning mirror and setting it aside, you take off your Louis Vuitton sunglasses, blinking your pretty (e/c) eyes up at him, "Figured you and your little Twinkie would have tied the knot by now." You laugh softly, the sound, unfamiliar to Bruce, sent warm shivers down his spine, it causes his lips to quirk up in a small grin.

"She's gone."

"Well, I don't care."

There's a beat of silence before he's offering you his hand. "Will you walk with me? I know I don't deserve it."

You sigh before getting up, ignoring his hand, you nod your head reluctantly, "Well? Hurry up I've got dinner at six."

His smile remains as he begins leading you along the shoreline. It's relatively quiet between you two as you walk side by side, a peace between you both you hadn't ever felt. "The manor isn't the same without you." He breaks the silence, "I sincerely doubt that." You laugh at the very notion. "It's true- it's colder, quieter, I want you to come home."

"That was never my home, you made that abundantly clear."

He winces as if your words cut him, "I know I haven't been a good man to you, I know I've failed you time and time again but I..I looked at those divorce papers and my heart stopped." He admits running a hand through his hair.

"You can't leave me."

"I can't?." You scoff, your movement halting, "I'm a grown woman- I'm taking responsibility for my own happiness, you can't stop me."

"I wasn't asking." He says softly, his hands in his pockets, he had this fond look on his face, like he was staring at you for the first time, in a whole new light. "You can't make me." You say, brows furrowed, "You belong back home, you're supposed to be with me, till death do us part, remember?" He steps forward making you step back, your eyes wide, hands shaking, you back into a wide chest, spinning to face Dick, who's grinning at you, he's in his Nightwing costume, he gives you a small wave of his hand, you scrunch your face in confusion, "What the hell-" your thought is cut off by a small pinch in your neck, the needle in Bruce's hand is empty in seconds, he's cradling your stumbling form, holding you tightly, "Don't worry - I'll fix this."

Your sleeping body is gently carried to the batplane, Bruce holding you close to his chest as Dick pilots the plane, he whispers promises into your hair, rocking you against him as he swears on his life to make things right, weather you liked it or not.

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere self-aware Dick Grayson—He really enjoys winging it.

Yandere Dick Grayson thought you were a god(dess) from another world. He first became self-aware while on patrol. He got hit in the face and sustained a concussion after the fight. He saw you for the first time—only your face. He became aware of the pictures on the pages of the issue you were reading. You picked up another one and opened it up, and he was still there. You watched something with Dick Grayson, and he was there. It was so incredibly overwhelming for him. He simultaneously exists in so many forms of media. 

It makes it that much easier to stalk you.

He can just as easily slip out of a show or movie and watch you through your phone, maybe your television, or your computer.

Yandere Dick Grayson doesn't tell anyone about you. He asks Tim to search for alternate dimensions, but he simply brushes off Tim's questioning. He needs to know exactly what this is. He deludes himself into thinking you have chosen him. There has to be a reason you are now connected. You must be some sort of higher being that needs his protection and help. He needs to figure out how to get to you.

Yandere Dick Grayson talks to you a lot. He addresses you by name; he learned it by looking through your online accounts. He talks about everything from the most mundane to the most personal. He bares his soul to you. He hopes that one day you will do the same in return. After all, he's never been this vulnerable with you before. 

It's startling the first time, but you think it must be some strange side plot. He must have a new love interest with your name that the writers haven't introduced yet. 

Yandere Dick Grayson has an unbelievably arduous time maintaining normal romantic relationships. He is madly devoted to you, but he has to maintain his normalcy. His family may think he has lost his mind or had it manipulated if he told them what he sees and who he loves. He can barely find it within himself to go on dates with those who fancy him. He grows bored almost instantaneously. He imagines them in your visage, and it eases the ache in his heart a little. He needs you. He craves it so dearly.

Yandere Dick Grayson does the most rational thing he is able to think of. He makes a shrine devoted to you and offers things to it. You have to do a double take when you see this. You begin to ignore any media surrounding him. It just keeps popping up. He breaks the fourth wall and begs you to forgive him. He has everything he's learned about you. He needs you. He's so ashamed. He's so used to being confident and having it all together. When with you that all crumbles. 

Yandere Dick Grayson is willing to support you through his hard time. He may be having panic attacks and beating himself off the page, but he knows you'll come back to him eventually. His dear deity would never forsake him. You wanted him to love you after all. Right? You did, obviously! You're just shy. No mortal has willingly worshipped you this much before. You're just busy in your world. You'll come visit him again.

Yandere Dick Grayson who eliminates your distractions for you. He simply pulls a few strings, sacrifices some people, and offers lost souls to demons! They drag you into his world, and he is so overjoyed. You are just a little frazzled. That's why you look so scared. Don't you worry. He'll keep you safe for the rest of his life. He may even sell his soul to make himself immortal so he may stay with you forever.

[celaenaeiln]

Bruce: *sees a motorcade come up on his right* *ignores*

Timmy in the back eying the group suspiciously: ….

*tapping on glass*

Dick: B, there’s someone tapping on my side.

Bruce: Don’t roll the window down they could be-

Dick: *already rolling the window down* *GASP* ROMMEY?! ROMMEY! ROMMEY!!

A 45 yr old grizzled man with a smoker’s voice, nicknamed Rommey by Dick: heya Dickie, how it’s going kiddo.

Dick: ROMMEY IM SO EXCITED TO SEE YOU AGAIN!

Another motorbiker with a full claw scar down his face: what about the rest of us, kid? Forget about us?

Dick: MANES! DERRICKA! IZZY!!

Derrick-I take down mercenaries for fun but let a kid I like call me DERRICKA-Rolan: You little shit, why’d we not hear from you after you fucked off to neverland huh?!

Isabella-what? Someone went missing? I had nothing to do with it, it’s total coincidence that I hated him-Hodges: Maybe he doesn’t like us, Der. That right, Dickie?

Dick: *flabbergasted* No!! It’s a long story! After I left I ran out of gas and then some girl crashed into my bike and sent it flying off the cliff but I dove off it first and then I had to walk to the nearest motel on bare feet because I gave her my shoes and then I met this half bear half man and I’ll be pleased to tell you that it was a beary bearable encounter once he got his bearings hahahahaha- *progressively climbing out of the car as the story goes on*

Bruce: Dick! Get back in the car! *having one hand on the steering wheel and grabbing the back of his shirt with the other to keep his wayward son from falling out*

Dick: Wait- *accidently twisting too far and nearly braining himself on the speeding asphalt*

Rommey: DICK!

Bruce: DICK!

Rommey, Derricka, Izzy, and Manes: *grabbing the front half to prevent Dick from becoming like two-face*

Bruce: *letting go of the wheel to grab Dick’s bottom half for the same reason*

Tim: *high pitched screaming from the back* DICK! Tₕₑ Wₕₑₑₗ! ₜₕₑ Wₕₑₑₗ!!!

Bruce: *struggling to pull his son in while the motorcade struggles to pull him out to sit on a bike thus leading to Dick hanging in limbo out the window of a car going 80mph on a freeway* GRAB THE WHEEL TIM

Tim: *sacrificing a few ribs on the edge of the front car seat* IM TRYING! I CANT REACH THE CRUISE CONTROL AND DONT LEAN BACK AND OH MY GOD SIGN POST! SIGN POST! THE POST! THE POSSSTTTTT!!!

Dick, Bruce, Tim, and motorcade: *furious screaming and shouting and panicking*

*2 hours later*

*Arriving at the manor*

Jason: damn what happened to you lot, you look like you went through hell and back.

Bruce and Tim: *drained, pale-faced, messy, sweating, and heaving*

Dick: *a curl of hair falling elegantly into his shining eyes* I just had the time of my life, Jay!

Jason who is well acquainted with Dick’s “Time of the life”s: ah. My condolences.

Tim: Never again. *flopping on the ground and cater-pilling his way up the stairs*

Damian: Father, this is such disgraceful attire! Fix yourself at once, mother would be embarrassed by such a visage! What in holy reincarnation have you been doing?!

Bruce: Never again, Dick.

Dick: it’s nothing Dami, they were just helping me.

Damian: Father, I am ashamed of you. Why must you devolve to such a state when you assist Grayson, he is perfectly capable of extraordinary feats without your input. I suggest you refrain from interfering with his success again.

Bruce:

Bruce: Damian, you-

Dick: Bruce. *smiling pleasantly*

Jason: *immediately sneaking off*

Bruce’s life momentarily flashing before his eyes: …..nothing. Go finish your homework. *trudging off to whine to Alfred about how no one’s gonna believe him*

Dick: *sincerely* what a great day! 😊

[radroller]

BATMAN COSTUME RATINGS

First I critiqued Captain Britain's closet of costumes, then Hank Pym's unending undertaking of unique uniforms, but now i'm bagging the biggest bass on the boat: BATMAN. And on Batman Day no less!!! While I’m hard-pressed to think of a major Batman design that is outright bad, but how do they stack up against each other? Also for simplicity’s sake we’ll be looking at Bruce Wayne’s different costumes, as i could make an entire separate post about the other Batmen and their costumes. Now, without further ado:

1939 Original: 6/10

A striking silhoutte brought on by the ears and cowl, a menacing visage with piercing eyes, and ever-charming purple gloves! Batman’s characterization as a merciless crimefighter didnt last beyond the year of his debut, but those initial appearances laid the impression of someone who fiercely combats evildoers by striking fear into their hearts. The problem is that these early appearances lacked consistency, a consequence of them still figuring stuff out. Sure whenever we reference back to Original Batman nowadays it’s excellent pulpy noir fun, just look at the upcoming Caped Crusader, but if you actually read the original comics Batman can sometimes look kinda…stupid. Particularly in his very first story, not being able to see his ears in profile shots is just WRONG. But still, those unforgettable vibes win out in the end, and are what carry on from this take on the character to this day!

40s/50s Batman: 6/10

The turn of the decade brought big changes for Batman, now he was colorful, barrel chested, and smiles aplenty! Presumably this change was made to appeal to younger readers (alongside the debut of Robin soon after) in a way that the scarier original Batman look didnt manage to. More emphasis was put on Batman’s status as a daring adventurer, a resourceful super sleuth, and fatherly figure to the kids at home and his ward Dick Grayson. Naturally this is reflected in his costume! The shortened ears and more expressive eyes exchange the creepiness of the original design for a sleeker look with friendlier features. The cape has become slightly shorter as well, and is more often used as a cape than a cloak so as not to conceal Batman’s muscular figure. But the biggest innovations by far are the new gloves with the iconic forearm blades, and a friend that’ll be with Batman for decades to come: the color blue!!! Just a fun look for all the giant typewriters, Zur En Arrh, cavaliers, and boners.

60s Yellow Oval: 8/10

As the Silver Age chugged along so did Batman stories, and it was a mixed bag for the guy. While the more stern and serious demeanor that became more prevalent with him (despite remaining approachable and kind) led to what i feel is one of the quintessential characterizations of the character, the routine in the comics began to wear a little thin at this point. This was compounded by some of the sorriest supervillains with the lamest gimmicks you’d ever see, with even the ones that would see eventual promise like Poison Ivy not achieving their full potential for decades to come. However at the same time Batman was now a TV star thanks to the 1966 show, and experienced a surge of popularity as a result, at least for the few years it was airing. It was an interesting time for Batman, but not so much his costume as it pretty much remained the same with one exception: the iconic yellow oval. And while that isnt much i sure do love it for the color balance, it really brings a little extra something during this blue period for the Batsuit.

Bronze Age: 10/10

Now THIS is some good shit right here. The 70s marked a shift back to Batman’s gothic roots thanks in large to Denny O’Neil’s time with the character and the art of industry greats like Neal Adams, Jim Aparo, Gil Kane, and Dick Giordano reflected that. And this suit….GOD. While largely the same as his 60s design as that was still his most recognizable look thanks to the TV show, the taller ears and MUCH longer cape gave Batman a more dramatic and cool air than ever before. Not as scary as he was originally yet not as campy as he had since become, a happy medium! At the same time, this is the bluest Batman ever was, which i’ve always found interesting. I always took it as Batman not shedding the most important things he gained over the previous 30 years, the warmth and compassion he was capable of alongside being the Dark Knight Detective. It incorporates all of the best choices about Batman designs into one ultimate look. I can’t think of much that tops it, and maybe DC couldnt either given that it was still being used well into the early 90s, well after much darker looks had been shown in blockbusters like DKR, Batman Year One, and The Killing Joke. It’s just that good!

Troika: 6/10

I ADORE this suit. The all-black look of the 1989 movie is so striking to see in comic form…at least in theory. You see I call it the Troika suit because that’s the name of the arc that first featured it, but the image i use comes from much later when it was refined to look more…well, like Batman. The eponymous storyline had him looking like a feverdream with foot-tall ears and a cape so huge it was as if he was wrapped in goth bedsheets. Idk if they were influenced by Todd McFarlane’s Batman art and later successes with Spawn but i am not a fan. It’s just peak 90s excess, but in a much uglier way than Azrael’s batsuit ever was imo. Though i must stress, in a less exaggerated artstyle this suit is perfectly solid, even great, and i love seeing it in Chuck Dixon’s later 90s Bat books. So i give it a decent rating regardless.

No Man’s Land: 7/10

Speaking of late 90s: this suit technically appeared before the aforementioned arc, I personally associate it more with JLA, but No Man’s Land is definitely the most significant thing that happened during its tenure. It’s basically just the Troika suit with a dark grey bodysuit. Not much more to it than that, really. And while i actually prefer the Troika suit to it, this one is much less often a nightmare for me to look at, so it wins out ever so slightly. Only other thing to mention is that it sometimes includes pointy shoulders that I’m mostly neutral towards.

Hush: 9/10

Once again this suit was actually seen previously in the Officer Down storyline, but it was the artwork of Jim Lee in the Hush arc that cemented it as the definitive modern take on Batman’s costume. Much like with the Bronze Age suit we have a design drawing from the strengths previous ones: a long flowing cape, a huger bat symbol than ever before, and an overall darker color scheme evoking all the blockbuster Batman stories from the 80s, the Animated Series, and various movies. It’s easy to see why it’s lasted so long, even after Bruce would go on to change and update his look he’ll still be wearing this in crossover events, non-continuity books, or even main continuity ones where he had a different outfit at the time but nobody gave a fuck. It’s sleek, it’s relatively easy to draw, and it’s striking in team lineups, a perfectly functional good-looking design. Despite the fact that i associate it with a depiction of Batman i’ve long grown weary of, the fact is that this suit is a classic and deserves the use it gets…though it isn’t a favorite. In my opinion it’s just a little too quintessential, in a vacuum it’s the perfect look but next to some of these other looks from over the years it’s lacking a certain something to push it to the top.

Batman Inc: 8/10

In retrospect I think it was a poor choice to make Dick Grayson’s Batman suit basically identical to Bruce’s then-current one before he suffered a bad case of being dead (but not really). DC let Dick keep being Batman so as not to seem like they were demoting him (got over that pretty quick), and thus when Bruce returned to life he had to be given a different suit to differentiate the two. If anything Dick should’ve had the more distinct look, because they could’ve or would’ve gone farther with it than what they did with ol Bruceman. As a result half of the time you can only tell them apart based on musculature. That’s my ONE criticism with this suit, it isn’t much of a change at all from his modern-classic appearance. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the return of the yellow oval for as long as it lasted, but just about everything else added (the speed lines, utility belt, loss of the black undies) I’m kinda neutral on. It’s an amazing suit and I have super fond memories of it but I just don’t have much to say beyond that.

New 52: 5/10

Im not gonna beat a dead horse when it comes to the New 52, especially with Batman, because he actually fared better than just about anyone else. The more edgy, less colorful aesthetics a lot of the reboot books were pushing fit him pretty well given we were between Dark Knight movies and he mostly wears black and grey anyway. But this suit design....damn. I get what they're going for but it comes out so damn busy, and for no real reason. I was neutral on the speed lines from the Batman Inc suit but this is just too much! And how about the bat symbol peels off? Why? It's just a choice I can't fathom, even the hyper grounded Batman movies don't have stuff like that going on with the suits. This coupled with it being the least colorful Batsuit by a significant margin, even compared to the Hush suit and even when not in the dour muted lighting FCO Plascencia used during darkest arcs on the main Batman book. But critically, I have to say that even among the lame redesigns of the reboot, this suit always strikes me as dull. Partially because, once again, it's playing it safe with Batman's overall look. It makes all the changes they did make feel like obligations, like they're admitting there was nothing wrong with Batman but everyone else was getting huge updates so he needed some greeble thrown on. And I think this is a large part of why a lot about this design steadily got ignored by artists. Or at least toned down, I think overtime it mostly came out looking like his Batman Inc look without the yellow oval. The one thing I will say I genuinely love about the New 52 suit is the armor detailing on the gloves and boots. I don't think it's entirely necessary for a Batsuit, but it's really cool nonetheless. A nice innovation from a suit I consider passable at best.

Rebirth: 10/10

To preface: this is maybe my favorite Batman look ever. After three years of what is basically the same suit this feels like a breath of fresh air. And that's crazy because it's by no means a huge departure from what came before. But what it brings to the table is SO cool and slick in all the ways i love a Batman suit to be with JUST the right amount of color. And that color is purple, with this lovely new cape lining! Coupled with a lovely complimentary yellow lining on the now-black utility belt and a border on the bat symbol that makes it pop! I love that latter choice, it's a perfect compromise between the classic and yellow-oval varieties of the bat symbol. Just a nice color palette in general, I wonder if Snyder and Capullo got attached to the color scheme of the original Batman costume when they referenced it in Zero Year. It's like Batman coming full circle in terms of design, a neat little note to end on for the history of his various looks.....

Conclusion

....Or it would be, but Batman has reverted to the Hush suit as I'm fairly certain he always will at this point. And it's a shame, though unavoidable given the status of Batman as DC's big cash cow. That said I'm not going to end this post harping on the woes of brand homogeneity, we're here to talk about Batman! The epic highs and lows of his pointy eared silhouette, the cape that trails his crusade against evil, and the symbol that he wears proudly to signify his undying dedication to that endeavor. Batman will forever be one of the most striking superheroes of all time on looks alone, and a compelling figure in the realm of comics. But what do you think? What's your favorite Batman costume? Is it one of the minor ones I didn't list?

[halfdent]

Perhaps  𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄  had  contrived  such  events  to  unfold  this  way  .  The  young  man  clad  in  black  and  blue  .  They  had  a  lot  behind  them  didn't  they  .  Throwing  out  𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓  for  a  bit  of  humanity  ,  spare  them  the  tougher  blows  ,  maybe  .  No  .  This  was  𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐘'𝐒  undoing  wasn't  it  ?  Clarity  whenever  the  two-tones  on  the  @youngheroics  ( Dick Grayson / 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 ) ensemble  reflected  to  color  the  side  of  his  visage  unscathed  by  the  elongated  twisting  scars  .

To  see  death  at  the  brutality  of  a  man  gone  mad  and  come  back  from  all  that  -  It  rots  the  soul  ,  he  saw  it  in  his  eyes  just  now  .  Every  time  they  meet  even  .  A  recognizable  glint  in  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  ran  with  the  code  .  No  spill  blood  .  They  knew  better  ,  they  knew  the  look  .  That  time  they  could've  executed  their  old  man  on  public  television  .  It  wouldn't  fix  what  was  broken  on  them  ;  it  didn't  matter  .  Things  turned  out  the  way  they  always  do  . 𝐁𝐔𝐓  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓  𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄  .

❝  𝐃𝐎  𝐈𝐓  .  ❞    Knees  bled  through  the  linen  on  their  suit  ,  wheezing  out  for  breath  .  There  was  no  way  𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄  could  retaliate  now  .  Their  body  was  too  broken  .  ❝  -  This  city  would  thank  you  for  it  .   ❞    Head  craned  down  he  knew  he  could  persuade  him  -  at  least  it  was  the  only  and  last  hope  he  has  left  .   ❝  𝐈  -  would  thank  you  for  it  .  ❞    Eyes  now  found  the  youngest  . Pleading .

[thedickgraysonrp]

Closed Starter | @mr007pennyworth

The footfall of hooves crushing the gradient autumn leaves reverberated against the graveled highway to the grounds of Castle Wayne as a stallion galloping approached, its rider a welcome face; Richard Grayson, Sir Grayson, though he prefers his inner circles to refer to him as Dick most of the time.

A murky puddle of late autumn drizzle got splashed as he crossed the stone bridge, the gates opening before him without so much as stopping to request entry, his visage too familiar to be unrecognizable even by the newest of guards. Riding past the high arch of the opened portcullis and gatehouse, he slows to a walk as he enters the outer courtyard, veering his horse towards the stables.

Having been sent by his highness King Wayne as an escort to a diplomatic errand that took nearly a day's worth of travel, Sir Grayson returned more than exhausted; encountering bandits on the byways just outside Wayne's domain on his way back only added to his building fatigue. However, the mission was not for naught; his assistance proved essential.

He is glad to be home, though. Thanking a stable hand who held the reins to allow Dick a safe dismount, the man does just so, albeit more clumsily than expected due to the breastplate he is currently parading about in. Dick groans in annoyance as he fiddles with its straps, trying to get that damn thing off. He usually wore nothing more than a gambeson, and even that felt too cumbersome most of the time. He has to admit, though; the wide blue V embellishment across his chest armor feels just right.

Lord Alfred should be home, too, and it was almost dinner time. There's nothing like a hearty meal to exchange words and discuss the next training session.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Artificial Intellegence

by siren_of_the_ocean "Ritsu!" Tim greets this Visage like an old friend. Bruce isn't sure how to feel about that. Because this isn't a person Bruce recognises as one of Tim's friends. Not an old classmate. Nothing. And Bruce knows all of Tim's friends. Words: 676, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 101 of Tim Drake AU's Fandoms: Assassination Classroom, Red Robin (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Batfamily Members, Ritsu (Assassination Classroom) Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Class 3-E (Assassination Classroom) & Tim Drake, Tim drake & Ritsu (Assassination classroom) Additional Tags: Crack, Crack Crossover, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake is a Menace, Tim Drake is a secretive little shit via https://ift.tt/odPaef4

[a-regular-amount-of-spiders]

Interwoven with you Ch1

AO3

Art (and the comic that inspired this!) by the amazing AllINeedIsOneDream

Jason crouched low in the damp evening grass, his heart drumming a fast cadence in sync with the thrum of nerves running through his small frame. The cicada's scream sounds like an alarm telling everything in the night that he shouldn't be here. Their screeching filled his ears and the warm claustrophobic summer air pressed in on him, suffocating his lungs. It was late, and Dick would surely panic if he had the faintest idea what Jason was doing. Still, that worry wasn’t enough to stop him, Jason wasn't sure if anything would be enough. He wasn’t the only person out in these woods, nearly half the kingdom had spilled into the sprawling forest every night for the past year. All of them searching for the same thing, a miracle.

Jason never really believed in fairy tales or all the mystical ponderings of a bedtime story, but for once in his life he really needs to be wrong. He allows himself to foster the tiny sliver of hope, gifted to him by his only friend. That hope is the only thing that keeps him company among the grim tangle of the trees as he searches for a delicate piece of moonlight that fell from the heavens and bloomed. That hope is what trapped him as he stumbled over branches, and ignored the thorns tugging on his skin and clothes because he desperately sought that mystical flower. Jason had been hearing of it for as long as he could remember and, in all the stories he’d heard, they all had one thing in common. That this little drop of the heavens could heal anything. There was also always a price to be paid, but what did that matter when it could heal the only person who’d been willing to take a chance on him since his mother died. Prince Richard Grayson, but Jason had been calling him Dick ever since they met in a grimy back alley. When he had looked past the grubby orphan to the clever, cheerful kid that was trying to claw his way to the surface.

Initially he’d followed the guards as they searched, assuming they might have had some kind of lead, but they were moving too slowly. Jason knew what someone looked like, what his mom looked like, when they died and every day made brough Dick closer and closer to that visage. He knew the guards weren’t just slow, they were too inefficient. They carried blazing torches that ate away the darkness, which of course was reasonable, and safe, and a great way to keep yourself from noticing the faint glow of a flower in the distance. So Jason crept out on his own. Dick’s fine clothing was far too big on his malnourished frame as he soiled them with blood and dirt. He may well be the only person on his own, and the only person who would notice if he disappeared was asleep more often than he wasn’t these days. He was being stupid, reckless.

Tears welled up, and the summer air had nothing to do with the hot pain of terror and impending grief that welled closer and closer to the surface as Jason found nothing. Uselessly stumbling through the wood, he couldn’t hear anyone anymore, and the clammy sheen of sweat had cooled him enough to leave him shivering. Shaking and helpless to save the only person he had left until- He stopped, breath catching. A shock of white hair standing out in the dark, covered swiftly by a hood. A sallow green light Jason wouldn’t have even noticed if it hadn't been for the fact that it was the only source of light remotely near them. He watched in fascination as the figure removed a false covering from a flower. The petals held a sort of cosmic beauty to them, a pearly glow that no one would have ever expected to see beneath crafted leaves. Jason decided, whoever that man was, he deserved to die. He deserved an arrow between the eyes for the knowledge he chose to hide from the kingdom. He squinted, trying to memorize as many features as he could of the man who nearly prevented them from curing the prince. White hair, tall hulking body. In the distance, he heard the clamoring of the guards. The stranger’s head shot up at the cacophony of metal. He had one eye. He hid the flower so swiftly Jason hardly even saw him move. The Stranger melted into the shadows, and the guards, they were here but they didn’t see the false bush, didn’t see the flower. Jason held his breath until he was certain the soldiers were closer than the Stranger, and scrambled over to the covering. Tiny hands trembled as they lifted the dome young branches, cut and knotted together, and a pale light graced Jason’s face.

“Guards! Over here, I found it!” He yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. A sob makes its way out unbidden, his chest heaving as the events of the night catch up to him “I found it” he says, quiet, like it’s a prayer to himself.

The guards rush over, Captain Gordon at the head of them. “Jason? What are you doing out here?” Gordon asked, frown etching the lines on his face ever deeper. Jason looks up from where he kneels on the wet ground choking down his tears.

“I found it. It’ll save him, right? Dick’s gonna be okay?” He tries to keep himself together, he’s supposed to be the tough one. The strong one, but he’s tired. He’s tired, and overwhelmed, not even ten, so he unravels and cries. Jim’s face softens immediately, and he scoops up the boy despite the incoherent protests, as though the embrace might shield him from the exhaustion and intrusive thoughts soon to settle into his bones.

“Rest easy lad, you’ve done well.” He then instructed his soldiers to retrieve the flower and deliver it to Alfred immediately. He mounted his horse, keeping Jason tucked against his chest as they hastened back to the castle. Jason had only been in the palace a few times. He hadn’t even known Dick was the prince until a guard snatched him up by the cloak and Jason tried to fight them. Dick had laughed, in that bright and unburdened way Jason hadn’t heard him do in months, and then thanked him for being his knight in shining armor. Jason would never tell him the way the words taken hold in his heart. The way that being important, being wanted, had kept him warm when the cold streets of Gotham could not. The palace was cold and intimidating, gothic architecture as intricate as it was overbearing. He felt like a dirty rat scuttling across a clean kitchen, contaminating everything he touched. He shivered, the air felt cold and sterile, and followed after Gordon.The man had been reluctant to put him down at first, more so upon seeing his wobbly stride, but Jason skittered away as best he could when the captain seemed to get too close. He was glad they were on stone, because he’d seen some of the fine carpet the palace had and doesn’t even want to imagine the way leaving muddy footprints on them would make him feel. The way that shame would curl in his belly like an old friend. There’s a vice on his lungs, keeping him from breathing right and filling his lungs with cotton as he wonders if Dick will actually get better. He’d seen a lot of people get that sick before. He’d seen his mother get sick just like this. He’d never seen any of them last very long.

In the heart of the palace, they brought the flower to Alfred, the king’s advisor, personal doctor, and closest friend. Also, the only adult Jason trusted. He scurried over to Alfred’s side, watching the old man take the plant, and clean it ever so carefully. Weathered hands deftly separating roots, and stripping away the years laid upon it. He was preparing some sort of brew, using unlabeled bottles that filled the room with a nearly suffocating herbal smell. Jason swallowed the need to cough, and failed to find reassurance in the old man’s calmness due to the worry creasing his gray brows.

“Will it really help him?” Jason hated how weak he sounded, a vulnerability that revealed how easily he could shatter any moment. Alfred’s shoulders slump, he felt his long years weighing down on him as wizened blue eyes meet a young and steely gaze. He delicately lifts the prepared blossom, placing it into the carefully made tea. The pearlescent glow seeps into solution, a mellow calmness that contrasts the tightly wound tension threaded into the entire country.

“I believe that it will. This is magic more powerful than I have ever seen, but not dissimilar to much of my previous research. I can only hope that the price will not be too much to pay.” He explains, prim and forthright in the way he always was, in the way that made a jaded kid like Jason trust him.

“The price? Like the stories?” Jason asks, hesitant, staring at the steeping concoction, unable to look away from their last resort.

“Magic always has a price, be it one’s memory, their beauty, or perhaps a burden to bear. In this case I believe it is his memory that will be most affected.” Alfred answers, as he lifts the infusion, standing to leave, and Jason hurries after him, the dirt he tracks onto the fine carpets now forgotten.

“Memory? Dick could, forget me?” Jason started with the part he could understand and what a terrifying thought that was. Would Dick want him as he is now? Clingy and scared? Or would he send Jason away, and refuse to touch someone so beneath him.

“Perhaps, there are remedies for the mind in much the same manner as the body, but he would need to physically recover before we set to healing anything else..” Alfred’s words were wrapped in the sort of certainty that only comes from decades of experience.

“Why? Why can’t we give him all the healing sh- stuff at once?” Jason sulks, as the watchmen open the doors to the Prince’s chambers. The room was never lavish in the way most people expect from royalty. Rather his room was filled with trinkets and the beginnings of new projects and ideas that Dick flitted back and forth between when he was home instead of out and exploring. Most prominently featured was circus paraphernalia, one of Dick’s favorite things in the world to see. The ever present mess had been cleaned a long time ago, shortly after the prince’s health sharply declined.

“Many of the herbs I would use to restore his memory are primarily used to induce sleep. As weak as he is now, giving him such a thing could prevent him from waking up at all.” Alfred informs him, not stopping Jason from dogging his steps as he approaches the Prince’s bedside. Jason glanced at the King for a moment. King Bruce had always seemed like this indomitable, untouchable patriarch. That was not what he saw now, hunched over his son’s bedside with red rimmed eyes and greasy hair was a man on the verge of breaking into a million pieces. The dark look in his eyes promised to take everything with him. The King does not say anything as he helps Alfred sit Dick up. Dick’s eyes opened drowsily, the bold blue was dull and tattered. Jason tries to remember what he looked like before, and hates how blurry the image is in his mind.

“Jay” Dick’s voice crackled, his lungs rattling with each difficult breath. He still smiles, it’s nothing like it used to be, which was a knife in Jason’s chest.

“Dad, this is.” Dick coughs, it’s wet and red and horrid. “This is Jason. We should…” He blinked slowly, his face was so very gaunt then. “We should keep him” Dick forces out the words, like they’re so important. Like Jason matters right now, like Dick will be around long enough for any of that. The King looks like he’s just swallowed broken glass.

“Of course Chum. He can stay as long as you want.” The King's voice is a low rumble full of gravel. “Now, can you drink this for me?” He presses the rim of the cup to Dick’s lips, Jason guides the Prince’s hands to hold the warm ceramic.

“It hurts t’ swallow Dad” Dick mutters, a whine that ghosts the overdramatic complaints of the past. Jason ignored the way everyone else’s expression cracked open with fresh concern and sorrow. “I know chum, just. Try for me, okay?” Bruce insists, fingers brushing aside once soft curls that now felt like brittle straw. The melodic baritone was rough, but comforting. A subtle strength that ran deep and untouchable, supporting everyone around him.

“Mmkay” Dick hums, sipping sluggishly and tentatively at the tea, every simple action sapping more and more of him away.. Watching him feels like it takes an eternity, but the more he has, the faster he drinks. The death rattle of his lungs goes away, and his breathing evens out. His head starts to droop, but he’s not so pallid now any longer. “Can I sleep now?” Dick yawns, leaning back into his plush pillows. “I’m tired” His head lolls to the side, frail body sinking into the downy bedding.

“No!” Jason yelps, unable to stop himself. His fear rose to the surface ferociously. If Dick sleeps now, when they’re so very close, and doesn’t wake up, Jason doesn’t know what he’ll do. It feels like losing everything all over again, like watching his mom die on their rickety bed as his dad screams and hollers through the locked door. He slumps over the arm that he can reach, holding onto it as though Jason alone can tether his friend to the mortal coil.

“It’s alright lad, this is normal. I believe the cure is working. It’s alright. This is not dissimilar to the healings I have seen in the past. He will wake from this, I know it.” Alfred reassures, patting Jason on the shoulder as Dick grins at him. It’s closer to what once was, what once was his, and the jagged edges of Jason’s heart start to smooth.

“See? I’ll be okay Jay. Just like I said…” Dick muttered as he fell into a heavy sleep, always putting everyone else above himself. Jason stays resolutely by his side, him and the King forming an unspoken bond in their shared vigil.

“Why hasn’t he woken up yet?” Jason gritted out, pacing up and down the length of the room. The soft carpet pressed into the bandages covering his feet, and he could feel the dried clumps of mud he had tracked in crunch underneath his heavy step. It had been two days, but Dick hadn’t fully woken up yet. There had been brief moments of wakefulness, but all lacked coherence. Jason stroked the green feathers of Robin, the little bird that Dick had raised, and worried his lip between his teeth as he stared at the still body of his friend. Well, brother now. Bruce had adopted him just yesterday. Officially due to his contribution in saving the life of the prince, but realistically it was because Dick had wanted him to.

“He will, given time. He was exposed to a great deal of powerful magic, yet his health has improved substantially and continues to do so.” Alfred responds patiently, finishing the third and last check up of the day. He rolled down his starched sleeves, standing up carefully. “You however, Prince Jason, are deteriorating the longer you neglect your needs to stay by his side.” He arched a gray brow in that politely disapproving manner that made even an unyielding man like the King reconsider his behavior.

Jason scoffs, still bristling at the finery associated with his new title. “He needs me here.” He plops down by Dick’s bedside, grabbing his too cold hand.

“Because of the stranger you saw?” Alfred doesn’t look at Jason as he speaks, but the boy still feels as though he’s being pried at. “No. Yes. Maybe. He was using the flower for something, and whatever it is he wont have liked to lose it. Especially given he didn’t take the King up on the reward offered. Everyone knows what the flower was used for. There’s just no way he doesn’t know. What if he hurts him, what if- "Jason was cut off when a wrinkled hand squeezed his shoulder.

“There are sentries outside his doors at all times, Prince Jason. He will be alright if you sleep properly for one evening” Alfred insists, but leaves him be all the same when he does not answer. Jason stays by his side, unable to look away from the steady rise and fall of Dick’s chest. Eventually, hours after dusk, Jason falls asleep with his head resting on their linked hands. He startled awake disoriented and in someone's arms, being laid onto a silken bed. Jason is shoving himself away before he’s fully awake, realizing that he’s just pushed the King in the same moment he realizes that he can no longer see Dick. He makes a choked sound, tumbling onto the ground, deaf to Bruce trying to calm him down over the rushing in his ears as he slams the door open, looking down the endless hallway stretching out nightmarishly far, heart in his throat as he realizes he doesn’t know where to go. Bruce grabs him before he can run, grip a vice around Jason’s wrist, and interrupts him before he can start screaming.

“Down the hall, first door on the left” Bruce has barely finished speaking in that calm baritone before Jason is running, not caring if Bruce follows or not. He’ll replay this night a thousand times in his mind. Replay it with anger, with regret, with near crippling self hatred. Bruce will do the same, but it will bring neither of them solace. When Jason throws open the door to Dick’s room, he makes contact with a one eyed man, cradling his brother in his arms. He staggered after them, but slipped in the blood of the Prince’s former sentries and crashed into the warm, soaked carpet. Jason was helpless, always helpless, as he watched the stranger look down on him with disdain before he disappeared off the balcony. The currents billow in the night and Jason stared blankly, everything around him fizzing into senseless noise as his world fell apart. \

Neither Bruce nor Alfred will be able to forget the sight of Jason, covered in cooling blood, weeping quietly on the floor. They will not forget the feeling of loss that never quite went away. They will never forgive themselves for not listening, and for not being there soon enough. The search went on for months, but no one ever found a trace of the stranger. Not even the King himself, for all his genius, could come close to an answer. It took weeks for Jason to stop crying quietly, curled up in his brother’s bed, every night. Over the years Bruce took in two more sons, but every year on the first day of spring, they released lanterns for the first prince, in hopes that he might come home. Eventually though, even Jason stopped checking every face in the crowd.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Doing this in broad daylight is a terrible idea, Arsenal is sure of it. The only reason they even got this far is due to the sheer amount of people coming and going for the festival. Even then, the security is strict as it ever was in Gotham, so their little group had no chance of getting into the building by any method other than the roof. He yanks Flash back by the collar of his brown cloak to press up against another spire, to avoid the guard patrolling the roof. Both of them generally wear red, but today finds them in mottled green and brown clothes to blend into the environment. Gotham is marginally easier to break into during the day, so they cannot afford to stand out.

“Arsenal, I’ll be fine. They’ll never see me coming.” Flash reassures, even though it sounds closer to whining, and Arsenal scowls. He opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted by the interloper in their dynamic duo.

“Relax A-” Ravager says, voice always edged with bitterness “The security isn’t all that good.” He rolls his armored shoulders, ignoring the way his companions cringe at the sound of the armor clinking together.

“Dude” Flash crinkled his nose, sharing a look with Arsenal that makes it clear they’re never going to work with this guy again, and glances around the corner. “We literally have a four minute window between the distraction and getting out of here. I don’t wanna hear my getaway guy not taking this seriously.” His viridian eyes are intense, clear and focused in a way that is often unsettling when not paired with a smile.

“Come off it Flash, we’re talking about the same Gotham that lost two princes aren’t we?” Ravager smirks, not bothering to help them set up the small pulley system by the sunroof. “Seriously, they never even found the first one. I can’t imagine taking a dead kid’s crown will be any harder than butchering a prince.”

“Shut up, asshole.” Arsenal snaps, knuckles white as he grips his bow. The reminder of who the crown belonged to makes him bristle, and nearly falter. He can only hope that is has been long enough for the significance of it to have faded. He reminds himself that even if it hasn’t, the royal family will be able to find the crown right after he’s sold it off. No harm done.

“That’s messed up man” Flash swallows heavily, but he knows they need the money and thus doesn’t tell Ravager to screw himself. “I know you’re not really from here, but just looking at the princes wrong is bad news.” He secures the rope around his waist, checking the length for the tenth time. “When the second prince disappeared, it felt like the King was going to tear all of Gotham down piece by piece.” Flash shuddered at the memory. Ravager just rolled his eyes, clearly ready to bicker more.

“Enough. We need to move.” Arsenal interrupts, and ducks out from behind the spire, slinging a wire such that the rock tied to the end wraps it around the bars of a metal gate. Roy is glad he’d had the forethought to sabotage the lock early in the morning, because he doesn’t need to leave the roof to slowly pull the gate open. The collection of ducks relaxing in the gated pond squawk and waddle to the entrance of their enclosure curiously. The pond is only ever visited by the youngest prince, Damian. They’d been scouting the palace for a few weeks, and Damian always came to feed them around the same time every morning. Arsenal lets the wire fall into the grass, lighting the chain of firecrackers in hand before throwing them near the back of the pond. The bangs start just as the prince rounds the corner, and a flurry of panicked quacking and rapidly flapping wings cued Ravager to lower Flash down into the building. Arsenal listens closely to Prince Damian shouting in surprise, and the rising chaos of the palace staff chasing over twenty panicked ducks across the manicured royal gardens.

Flash for his part, sprints to the pedestal the crown was placed upon as soon as his feet touch the ground. The guards are distracted by Arsenal’s manufactured dilemma unfolding outside the opposite windows. He lifts the crown hesitantly;y, surprised when he doesn’t set off any sort of trap. He tugs the rope, relieved as he’s hoisted away unnoticed. He’s nearly to the window when the doors open, and a willowy teenager stalks in, eyes going wide as he immediately spots the Flash, stealing a crown that is only displayed for a week each year.

“Hey! Stop!” He yells, watchmen whirling around as Flash scrambles onto the roof.

“We gotta run, A, come on!” Flash darts over to his companion, grabbing the man’s arm before taking off in a dead sprint across the rooftop. Sure-footed even on the steep and uneven tiles, Flash drags Arsenal ahead, leaving Ravager to hastily catch up. Arrows fly past them as they clamor down from the high palace roofs, slipping into the cover of the alleyways that will lead them out of the country. Neither Arsenal nor Flash bother to wait for or direct Ravager, nearly leaving him behind several times. Cobblestone changed to dirt below their feet as they crossed the threshold between Gotham and the dense woods surrounding it.

They don’t stop running until Gotham is long past out of sight. Arsenal leans heavily against a tree as he catches his breath. He snickers when he sees his and the Flash’s wanted posters dispersed among the trees.

“What the hell happened?” Ravager snaps, rage twisting his face. His cheeks were a blotchy red from exertion, his chest heaved as he tried to disguise how much the mad sprint had taken out of him.

“Prince Timothy wasn’t supposed to be there at that time.” Flash quips, eyebrow raised. “There’s not really anything we could have done to prevent that.”

“We almost got caught because someone was off schedule?” He questions incredulously, hand darting towards the hilt of his sword “I thought you two were supposed to be competent.”

“And we are. He was off schedule by two hours. We still got the crown, and kept our lives. Don’t like it? Break into Wayne castle yourself next time.” Arsenal snarls “But don’t come crying to me when you realize how much work you didn’t realize we had to do.”

“Maybe I should just take the entire crown to compensate myself for putting up with you two idiots” Ravager takes a threatening step forward as Arsenal’s hand darts toward his quiver. They're interrupted by Flash’s loud groan.

“Seriously?” He yanks the wanted poster off one of the nearby trees “They never get my face right!” He shows off the newly acquired portrait, and indeed the artist had rendered him far too impishly. The drawing only represented him vaguely, face stretched too wide and features drawn too close together. The ridiculousness of the complaint sends Arsenal into a fit of laughter and Ravager just gives them both a disgusted sneer.

“Who cares Flash? Let’s just go!” Arsenal dismisses him even as he plays up his giggling, knowing that Flash had intentionally diffused the situation.

“Who cares? Like you have any right to complain, when yours looks like this!” Flash rips the much more flattering wanted poster of Arsenal off the tree, waving it in his face. Arsenal doesn’t stop laughing, and Flash takes a piece of charcoal from his belt and points it threateningly at the poster. “Maybe I should give you something to complain about-”

The brief moment is broken by the barking of guard dogs echoing as they find the scent of their prey. The trio curse and break out into a run once again. Flash takes the lead, ever the fastest, and also unfortunately takes a wrong turn. Taking the low ground to avoid arrow fire was all well and good until they came upon a sheer wall of rock blocking the path.

“What now, geniuses?” Ravager hisses.

“We’ll go up.” Arsenal smirks, wrapping an arm around Flash’s waist as he aims his wrist mounted crossbow and shoots an arrow bound to a rope that begins reeling them up into the trees. “Are we just gonna leave him?” Flash asks urgently, his sense of responsibility tugging him back. “Flash, guy’s an asshole. He deserves whatever he gets.” Arsenal grabs his partners wrist, pulling him into the underbrush.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tim hates the weeks leading up to spring. When he was younger it was signified by an overarching sadness leeching the vigor from Gotham. Now that he’s older, and has become a prince, he hates it for what it does to his family. Tim had only met Dick Grayson once, and he certainly hadn’t known he was the prince at the time. He’d been in a circus, separated from his parents and only four years old. Dick had taken his hands and looked at him with the bluest eyes and sweetest smile Tim had ever seen. It’s the first time Tim remembers someone looking at him like he’s someone precious. Like he’s someone who can be loved. Dick had shown him a few magic tricks, and swept him up in his arms with fantastical stories spilling off his tongue. Tim remembers being disappointed when they finally found his parents, and obsessively searching for the older boy every day after. He never spoke to Dick again, but saw him fairly often. The first prince had a habit of sneaking out and talking to anyone and everyone. It made him highly popular with his people, but for Tim it became one of many things Bruce would never allow. No one knows why Dick got sick, but he may have caught it from someone he spoke to, so his sons aren’t supposed to get close to strangers at all. Jason always blamed himself for it, since the disease was so similar to the one his mom had caught, and while Tim had managed to earn his older brother’s respect, he’d never been able to say his mind after the stubbornness settled in. The whole family was like that really, even Dick. On rare occasions Bruce, or Alfred, or Jason would talk about the eldest son, his kindness or his anger. The insane things the boy chose to do around the palace before he slowed down. Despite being half the reason for Tim having the most overbearing father in existence, Tim can’t help but idolize Dick somewhat. The way Jason, with all his scars and trauma, softened as he spoke of their older brother wasn’t something Tim ever saw him do otherwise. Tim had only known Jason as an angry, hurt young man, but he often thinks of the memorable night when Alfred broke down and told him about the happy, cheerful child he had once been. How enthusiastically he tottered in the shadow of Dick Grayson. For that matter, even Damian seemed to cling to Dick’s old journals, and Tim wonders if it’s because Dick wrote them when he was about Damian’s age. Or perhaps he wanted to know what drove his father to adopt Dick in the first place. Tim wasn’t glad for the fact that Damian was old enough to be upset that the first of spring was coming. It was hard on all of them, Alfred locked himself in the apothecary, Jason would get quiet, angrier than normal, and oh so very reckless. He’d sneak out the castle and go back to the habits he had picked up when he was trying to dismember Gotham’s foundation to prove a point. Tim knows that he has a tendency to pour over the accounts from that night over and over again. As though this time there will suddenly be something new. A breakthrough he just missed before. However, the worst of them all was Bruce.

Tim remembers the senseless violence and aggression that the King fell into when Jason was assumed dead. Enough for the people to wonder if Gotham would become a place where criminals were killed, instead of being reformed. He’d had to step in to keep the kingdom from falling apart, and stayed to keep Bruce from breaking under Jason's heartbroken hands. Tim isn’t sure what Dick would have done differently, but he likes to think the man would appreciate Tim’s hard work.

Today he was running late. Normally he would have paid his respects to the crown hours ago, but he’d been up late scouring witness reports and immigration documents. Searching for anyone that matched Jason’s description of the Stranger. As Tim walked down the hall to the brightly lit room Alfred set up every year for the festival. It was the room Dick used to practice in all the time, although all the bars and acrobatics equipment had been broken by Bruce years ago in a fit of grief.

His thoughtful stroll turned into him bolting down the hall when a series of loud bangs and squawking ducks sent his heart rate through the roof. He threw the doors open in time to see the guards distracted, and really Tim might be starting to get why Jason hates them, and a red headed thief being hoisted through the window. With his brother’s crown. Tim shouts at him, but of course he doesn’t stop, and Tim turns on his heels. He heads straight to the stables without even stopping to berate the useless guards, barking out clipped commands for those he does pass. He’s on his horse and in pursuit first, leaving the guards scrambling to catch up, and passing his wide eyed kid brother. Tim thinks Damian protested his departure, or asked to come with, but Tim didn’t have time to soothe him right then.

Tim is angry, he’s incensed when he sees the trio run away, and furious when he sees the redheads grapple up from the dead end ditch they almost got cornered in. Tim doesn’t even care to examine the man they caught, because he wants each of these criminals to understand exactly what they’d taken from him, from his family. The crown isn’t the only thing they had to remember him by, but it is a symbol, it is the center of the shrine they made to mourn their loss. His heart pounds in his chest because he can’t watch his dad lose anything more. By the same hand, Tim is desperate to prove himself. Bruce has a chokehold on their comings and goings, always dictatorial and playing it safe. Tim wants to prove that if he would just let them, his sons can help. His sons can be there for him.

So when the trees thicken and his horse stalls, and the soldier’s heavy armor gets caught in the barbs and entwined oaken limbs, Tim leaps off his horse in pursuit. He darts through the thickets, lighter on his feet than anyone else in the palace, following streaks of red as they try to escape him. Tim feels a certain level of obsession creep in. He needs to know why, he needs to know what they know, do they know the stranger? His brother? He hopes he’s able to interrogate them when they’re brought in.

They come upon a cliff, and Tim can’t see the skinnier one, but the one with the bow- Arsenal, he recognizes now- is standing on a branch stretched out over the chasm with his bow pulled taught. Unfortunately for them, Tim knows Arsenal and his partner don’t kill, and has never hurt kids. Tim’s never really been grateful to look about 4 years younger than his 16 years, but he is when he sees Arsenal hesitate, and lunges for the satchel around the man’s waist. He feels the flexible wood of the bow tight against his neck as he slips the crown out of the bag. Rage fades neatly into bubbling hysteria as he realizes he may be completely over his head. He tries to slip out of Arsenal’s grasp, the same way he’s done hundreds of times before. Arsenal just adjusts his grip and eliminates what little slack there was between Tim’s neck and the bow. Tim feels his airway get cut off and he’s struggling against the hold of a man over twice his size when he hears the branch snap. His stomach lurches as the weightlessness of falling hits him, and Arsenal lets go of him to grab at the canopy and slow his descent. Tim manages to hold tight to the crown, and meets the foliage with his face. While it does slow his descent it also hurts and floods his body with a light, vague feeling. When the ground knocked his breath out of him, he barely managed to push himself to his feet, not quickly but faster than Arsenal. He feels his advantage growing for just a moment. He’s already thinking through all the questions he has as he pulls the rope from his belt, until his thoughts are cut off by something thwacking into his skull so hard his brain turns off. The last thought he manages is: oh right, Flash. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dick wakes up the same way he does most mornings; to his bird chirping and sunlight streaming through narrow windows. The morning light bathes the stone walls in a golden hue, highlighting the deep blue of his long hair as it adorned the rafters criss-crossing over his bed. He stretches as he sits up, smiling as his little green bird lands on his shoulder and nuzzles against his cheek.

“Good morning Robin.” He greets softly, reaching to his bedside to get a handful of seeds, watching fondly as his pet carefully pecks them up. He vaults out of bed to start his morning routine, flipping down to the base of the tower along the bars and grips that his Father had installed for him. He uses his long locks as rope, to swing from beam to beam. The magic within it keeps it from breaking or getting too tangled. At least Dick thinks that’s how it works, his Father had always refused to let Dick touch his long ponytail, let alone tug on it to test the tensile strength. Instead Father had only told him that he was unique, and shouldn’t worry about it, since he’d never have to hide that from anyone here. Dick had always hated how that made it sound like he would never be anywhere else.

He lands with a near eerie level of grace, full of energy and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He goes through the motions his Father had taught him, cleaning weapons, practicing form, and training strength. Then he hefted himself onto the counter to pick the lock on the sweets cabinet. It’s a game they play, Father locks it up better and better, and Dick finds new ways to break into it. He grabs the sweet buns waiting inside, biting into the soft bread with a happy hum. All alone in the tower for most of every day, he has become an expert in finding a number of ways to occupy himself, but reading and swinging about the rafters are his favorite. Today though, he goes about the morning with more intent, double checking his charts of the stars in preparation for the discussion he’ll have to have with his Father. He finishes his breakfast, swinging between the books he’s referencing, and the charts he’s creating on a makeshift swing of hair.

He keeps an eye on the clock, taking a break every hour or two. First he runs through the forms Father had taught him, all uncanny balance and control. Then he practices his newest skill, crotchet. He’s working on a series of small birds and bats. They’re soft and cute, and Dick smiles when he glances at the basket in the corner full of the little plush creatures. Shifting tasks helps him from getting too anxious, but as the arrival of his guardian draws ever closer and closer, he finds himself running over the upcoming conversation repeatedly in his head.

Dick is pacing back and forth in front of the mirror muttering an imaginary conversation under his breath when he hears a low voice call from below.

“Let down your hair, little bird”

DIck’s head shot up from the charts, and he quickly straightened them on his desk. His Father has no patience for messes. He throws open the window, tossing his hair down the side of the tower, feeling the tug of his Father crating a foothold. Dick tries not to think of the dirt he’ll have to clean out. It never seems to catch or stick in his hair, but he dislikes the idea of it enough to clean his hair frequently regardless. He pulls his father up, using a hook as a fulcrum, straining only slightly. His Father takes up the entire opening of the window as he steps in, all muscle and imposing self control. A single blue eye darts over his features, sharp and assessing.

“Are you well? You seemed to struggle today.” He says, almost concerned, but Dick knows better than to trust it fully.

“I’m well father, it wasn’t any trouble” He chirps, bright and cheerful, and only forced a little. The way his father’s eye narrows suggests that he doesn’t buy the excuse.

“Then why are you moving so slowly?” His father asks, with an air of casualness that precedes real anger. Dick hurries to help him disarm, taking his Father’s swords, armor, and miscellaneous weapons and laying them out across the table next to the window. He bounds across the room to get his cleaning supplies, nervous under the familiar cold calculation.

“Your form is sloppy. You’ve been slacking, haven’t you, little bird?”

Dick’s jaw clenched. He wanted to retort, to snap back, but he bit his tongue.It was always easier to back down, and agree. He watches his father remove his gloves and coat, showing sluggishly bleeding cuts stretching up his arms.

“I’ll work on it, Father.” Dick mutters, hating to agree, and by the way the man’s gaze flicks to him in narrow judgment, Father has picked up on exactly what Dick is doing.

“We’ll work on it. I’ll make sure you can handle yourself.” He sighs, sitting down “Otherwise I’d just be sending you out to die”

Dick bristles at the comment. Die? He’s been preparing for the outside for as long as he can remember, without any guarantee that he’d ever see it again. He wasn’t a fragile child anymore, he knew he could handle whatever the world threw at him. But still he said nothing, because he knew better than that. Father indicates the chair in front of him, grabbing the brush on the nearby stand.

“Sit, your hair is a mess again. I’ll brush it for you.” He gestures for him to sit. Dick wants to roll his eyes and as ‘yes my hair is messy, you totally don’t want me to heal your very injured arms’ and if he hadn’t wanted something he absolutely would have done it.

He only sighs quietly, and sits down, enjoying the feeling of the brush running through his hair and the trace of fingers against his scalp as they manipulate his hair to lay correctly. Dick sings softly, an old song in a language he didn’t know, but one that felt arcane and powerful all the same. He watches in the mirror as a soft blue glow cascades through his locks. He wants to spit out the words in a rush, but Dick was tamping down every annoying impulse to avoid stoking father’s temper.

When the brushing ended, Dick saw his father relax, as much as he ever did. Dick takes a deep breath, turning around to face Father, seeing the calm, expectant look awaiting him.

“I want to go outside.” Dick is proud of how even his voice is when he speaks. His father’s brows climb in incredulity, a cold rage passing over his face before it’s covered with a false sense of casualness.

“You know, I’ve been out there Kid. It’s no fairy tale.” His voice is laced with condescension.

“I’m not a child, I know what can happen.” Dick asserts, and tries not to regret it at the stubborn set of his father’s jaw.

“Do you? Last I recall your only experience being outside was being kidnapped. You didn’t even get the chance to see the worst of it. The war, the disease, the assassin’s who’d kill you for half a coin…” His voice is low, and deliberate. He crowds into Dick’s personal space, towering over him.

“I’m not the same kid as I was, I can handle myself” Dick jutted his jaw, refusing to look away, to back down even as he had to crane his neck up.

“And how would you know that? You think a few books and some light training makes you ready for the world? Last time you were there you forgot who you were Dick, who I was. You forgot your family.” His father tucks some of his hair behind his ears.

“I know I’m not the same because I’m getting better everyday, Father all I want is to see some lights-” Dick knows he’s pleading, and worse he’s keenly aware that it never really works.

“Lights? You mean the stars? You can see those through your window” The dismissal comes quickly and full of derision.

“No” Dick turns and pulls out everything he’s been charted “This is different, I’ve charted stars and these only come once a year, and always in the same place.”

“Absolutely not. Last time I took you to see something, you were kidnapped at a circus. They attacked you, they cut your hair, they stole you from me.” His father growled, harshly folding up the carefully drawn charts. Dick tried not to flinch at the sudden movement.

“Dad, please. I’ve never asked you to go outside since then, I just want to see these lights. I feel like I need to.” Dick tried to clamp down on the desperation edging into his voice. He doesn’t think he succeeded. “I’m strong enough, you trained me yourself!”

“You think you’re strong enough?” He asks, expression darkening as he stalked towards the mounted weapons on the wall. “You think that just because I, a man who still comes how injured every week, trained you that you can survive? I get hurt because some people have heard that I know of you. If you’re actually there, what do you think they’ll do? How far will they go for your magic little bird?”

Dick flinches as Slade Father takes a bo staff from the wall, spinning it around dangerously. Dick jumps back, pulling his heavy wooden escrima sticks from the shelf near his bed, just fast enough to block the heavy down swing of the staff. Slade uses his full weight against him to bear down on his block until Dick slips away by ducking away from the blow. He keeps himself out of reach, only engaging against Slade when he absolutely has to, internally debating if hitting Slade will prove his point or piss the man off. Eventually, Dick is able to knock the bo staff away by throwing all his weight into a parry, and lands a few good blows on Slade. He’s so surprised that he misses the staff sweeping his feet out from under him, and has to cover his head when several harsh blows rain down on him. Dick had trained with him before, trained until his muscles screamed and his body ached. This was different, it wasn’t training. Slade was proving a point.

His father stops when he sees Dick start to curl up on himself, Slade always hit hard and mercilessly, and sighs heavily.

“You’re not strong enough Dick. You’ve never been strong enough, and you’re lucky I’m here to protect you” Father says with a tone that borders on kind as he helps Dick back to his feet.

Dick swallows down tears that he knows would only make father’s case for him, biting back the worn argument that it was hard for Dick to fight his father, in a way he knows it wouldn’t be to fight someone trying to hurt him.

“I’m not asking to go alone! If you came with me—” Dick tried, as he gripped his father’s hand.

“No. You think those lights mean something. But they don’t, it’s a fantasy. If not a trick of the sky, then of men who would seek to use you. “ His voice mocking, tearing into him “You’d risk everything for a fantasy?”

“It’s not a fantasy” Dick implores, all but begging his dad to just understand him, just this once but everything felt like a dead end. “I see them every year, I know they’re real. I know there’s something-” Dick cuts himself off as soon as he sees Slade raise the staff again, letting go and stumbling back into his wardrobe, wooden knobs digging into the bruises on his back.

“You don’t get it. Out there, you’re nothing. I am nothing, I will try to protect you but there is every chance that I utterly fail. Then I’d have to watch this world tear you apart, take you from me again.” His father sighs, setting the staff aside and approaching Dick to take his face in his hands. “Here, you’re safe.” He says quietly and Dick feels guilt choke out his protests, resolve crumbling under the concerned blue eye. “I already lost you once, little bird, and sometimes I wonder if I ever got you back.”

The words may as well have been a physical blow for the way they knocked Dick’s air out of his lungs. Not for the first time he wishes he could recall what he was like before, what Slade felt he had lost. A familiar doubt crushes him down. He leans into the comfort of his father’s arms, faintly shaking.

Slade strokes his hair, hugging him warmly in a way he so rarely ever does. “I cannot bear to lose you. You’re never leave this tower, Dick. Not ever again” He says, tone leaving no space for dissent.

Dick slumps against him, heart sinking into familiar depths. He wanted to scream, or fight, or even run away, but he cannot. The weight of guilt and expectation weighs heavily on him.

"I… I understand," Dick murmured, his voice hollow.

Slade’s grip on his shoulder tightened for a moment before he pulled Dick into an embrace, one that was both possessive and oppressive. "Good," Slade whispered against his hair. "I love you, little bird. I won’t let anyone else have you."

As Slade releases him, Dick clenches his hands behind his back, nodding pleasantly at the promise of return in the early afternoon. His throat feels tight as his mind races. He wonders now, if he’s doomed to spend his whole life in his tower. He can’t do that, he’ll have to figure out a way to convince his father, and failing that…

Dick needs to think of a way to get as far away as possible, even if the guilt kills him.

[faeriekit]

No one asked me for this one; I just started scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Note: this does refer to the extremely vaguely covered events that made Connor leave the JL, which I was vague on because I don't like rehashing YJ canon and don't like how this arc was treated in the narrative. It's mostly about how I think Batman failed to raise Dick Grayson as anything other than a sidekick, though, so... And Tucker's here!!

8) A Last Talk

“This is a Batburger,” Pops points out, hands in his jacket pockets.

Conner looks up. It certainly is. The restaurant looks like a Burger Queen, except all the colors are gray and kind of sad. The façade is pretty boring; and yet, through the street-side windows, Conner can see that the restaurant is packed with busy people.

“It reminds me of the Nasty Burger I grew up going to,” Pops says wistfully, taking in all of the eatery’s mediocre visage. “The one time I grew up by it, of course. This one’s pretty fun though; all the stuff is themed after Batman’s villains. You ever had Jokerized fries?”

He can’t say that he has. “Sounds radioactive.”

“Yeah, probably. You should be fine, though. We can split a medium and you can decide if you like it or not.”

Conner shrugs, and Pops hides a snicker with a hand. Conner follows Pops through the push door and into the burger joint, and together they queue up at the cash register.

The cashier is in the worst Robin outfit Conner has ever seen. It’s ill fitting. It’s slumpy. It’s poorly made. It looks like it smells.

It’s wonderful. He puts a whole extra dollar in the tip jar.  

Pops orders the Robin Wings and a side of Jokerized fries and Conner gets the eponymous Bat Burger—with extra cheese, no tomatoes—and a seat at a poorly cleaned table, with soap streaks visible across the clear plastic coating.

Gross, Conner admires, and is grateful he can’t catch human illnesses. Pops is the one to wait for their food, but Conner secures the table, checking his phone for texts from Dani— or perhaps even his Step-Mom. She doesn’t usually have a phone, and she isn’t usually even in his dimension to use it, but sometimes he’ll get gnarled texts with slithering letters that writhe through his cellphone screen like worms, and that’s usually her asking if he’s eaten enough or packed enough underwear.

He lifts his head to glance out the window—

—And on the street, through a smoggy window, someone stares back at him. Conner would like to think that he can’t recognize them, but.

Well.

He’s seen Robin without his mask more than once, and the dinky sunglasses Batman insists on don’t really hide too much when you can memorize someone down to their pores at a glance.

Conner looks away. He doesn’t really…want to see anyone from the team. Especially not someone who was complicit in that…mess. He lets his gaze fall into the middle distance, resists the urge to put his face on the gross table, and appropriately zones out.

It means he doesn’t see Robin enter the restaurant until the teen is practically at his table. Bats might have quiet steps, but even with his superhearing, Conner genuinely just hadn’t been paying attention.

…He slowly sits upright out of his slump. Rob looks. Nervous.

“Hey,” Robin says, and conjures a smile that’s a little too bright for the situation. “Long time no see.”

“…Yeah,” Conner says, because he’s been actively avoiding anyone who’s ever been League affiliated for a year and a half.

“How are you?”

Conner doesn’t really want to play this game. “Why are you here?”

Robin frowns. “In…Gotham?” he tries, circling around the issue. “I live here. Why wouldn’t I be—“

“Why are you talking to me?” Conner interrupts. He knows it’s rude, but they’re past rudeness. Long past. “I don’t really want to see you.”

Robin winces quietly, without movement, but Conner can see the microscopic ways his lips flatten, his posture shifts ever-so-slightly forward. “I can’t— I saw you in the window, wanted to say hi. Come on, Conner. Aren’t we friends?”

Conner thinks about knowing that people are dead, knowing that someone’s betrayed them, and then knowing everyone wanted to play them for their feelings because none of it was true but fooling them was. Knowing that his teammates would let anyone divide them with an order, because obedience was more important than a cohesive dynamic. “You haven’t treated me like a friend. Why would I want to talk?”

Robin looks as though Conner’s slapped him, which is pretty rude, considering Robin hurt him first.

“Conner—“

“We were teammates,” Conner says, and that’s all there is to it. “And now we’re not. That’s it.”

“Come on,” Robin groans, as if Conner’s holding something back from him and Robin’s done nothing to deserve it. He’s in his real people clothes—dark colors, a little too nice. No wear and tear. Thick textiles. “We’ve known each other for how long? You know I didn’t want to but, you know how B gets! I didn’t exactly have much of a choice!”

I wouldn’t have done it, Conner thinks. He can’t imagine listening to anyone who would tell him to lie to his team like that—not even his father, not Pops, not his Step-Mom, not Grandma or Grandpa Kent.

But Robin’s only parent is Batman. And Batman is…

Sometimes Robin came back from training tired and full of nervous energy, a hair too afraid and a little too quiet and too loud, and Conner has to wonder how much more Batman is a trainer than a parent.

Conner can see Pops heading back with food, though, and he isn’t going to take Robin’s company over Pops’s when he came to Gotham specifically to bother Pops at his job.

“If you keep listening to Batman when he makes bad decisions,” Conner decides to point out, barely even looking at Robin, “You’re going to lose more than friends. But you’ll lose those too.”

Robin opens his mouth for a defense, but Pops slides into the booth before Robin can find the words.

Pops doesn’t even notice. A plastic tray laden with colorfully-wrapped food comes down. “Chicken for me, burger for you—fries for us both. I got some diet soda for myself, but I didn’t know what you wanted so you get a paper cup.”

“Sweet.” Conner’s not against that. Dani’s shown him how to mix the fountain drinks to make all kinds of strange concoctions. “Thanks, Pops.”

“Anything for my favorite stepson,” Pops says cheerily. It’s a line he can only say because his other stepkid is a girl. “Oh, who’s this?”

Robin takes a last look at their table—a human step parent in business casual, a half-human Conner in sweats and a hoodie, and whatever else Rob sees in their easy lunch date— and leaves. Conner doesn’t wonder what the kid vigilante’s complicated expression means as he charges away, mainly because if he does, he’s going to drag himself back down into the inevitability of caring for people who can’t properly care for him back.

Robin will fix himself eventually.

…Or he won’t. That’s always a possibility.

It’s not really Conner’s business anymore. “One of my old teammates,” Conner explains. It’s been over for a year by now. The wound is there, but if he prods at it, it hurts less every day. When he shares some of the details with his Step-Mother, father, and Pops, it hurts even less than that.

Pop’s eyebrows rise. He knows what happened. Conner’s explained it before, in little bits and pieces. “Oh really?”

On the other hand, Conner knows that Pops doesn’t really follow superheroes all that much. He sort of knows that Conner has friends, and that some of them have powers. If face to face with Batman, though, Conner’s like 50% sure he’d ask the Caped Crusader where his Mardi Gras parade’s gone.

It’s a silly thought. He hides a smile with his burger before Pops can ask about it. “Mmhmm. His dad is…strict.”

“Hm,” says Pops. He drinks from a comedically overlarge cup with a picture of the Penguin on it, who is just some human with bad fashion taste. “You know, you could always reconcile a little in the future.”

Conner’s nose crinkles. He takes another bite of burger.

He doesn’t really want to.

Pops can more than tell. “In the future,” he clarifies, eyebrows rising up towards his hairline. “The far, far future, if you want it to be. And as acquaintances, rather than teammates. If you’re not in a position where you can hurt each other, that saves you a lot of the heartbreak.”

…Conner looks at the table. He’ll think about it.

In the meantime, though, he has to mix as many sodas in the fountain as possible, and try a Jokerized fry, whatever that is, and take one of Pops’s wings when the man pretends he isn’t looking.

The wings are good. The meat parts between his teeth very softly, and the fries kind of tingle in his mouth the way paralyzing gas does. The burger’s fine and it’s warm. The soda is a pure nightmare, and he drinks it all anyway because it’s sugar, and because he can.

Pops talks about his job. Pops talks about the dogs who live in the apartment next to him. Pops shows him cooking videos his saved to his phone, because he’s worried that Conner hasn’t cooked all that often before living with Dani and with their father, and Conner spends a lot of time alone.

It’s sweet. Conner likes wandering, but he likes company too. He doesn’t miss the league, per se, but he misses dorm rooms. Having people his age be so close and so present. That space to socialize. That time when socializing was safe to do so.

Wandering with Dani is sometimes like that, but sometimes she needs space and so does he, and going back to his bedroom in his father’s home isn’t the same as the quarters he used to sleep in.

“You could go to a public school again,” Pops suggests, but Conner knows that eventually, someone is going to notice he doesn’t age quite like he should. It is what it is. He’ll be fine.

Conner walks Pops home to his apartment after their meal.

Pops keeps an arm across Conner’s shoulders, and Conner appreciates the warmth.

Blister Pack 🩹💉👻

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Blister Pack is a dp x dc au brought to you by this prompt from @stealingyourbones​ and @mikami1992​: What if the Project Kr cloning process required a touch more refinement than human DNA?

(Well, a hurt/comfort Ghost!Conner AU, obviously 😉👻)

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[vigilantesx]

[saviorpattcrn]

Dick Grayson making it his life mission to embarrass Bruce with his quotes to the press

[streetb1rd]

tag drop til isola approves my application

[movedyoakkemae]

THIS  MAKES  ME  SO  FUCKING  EMOTIONAL.

nightwing  (  1996  )  #142  |  DO  NOT  REBLOG.