#waynes going to be fine

[stevieschrodinger]

“Rob, come on!”

“Don’t you ‘come on!’ me!”

Steve immediately snorts a laugh.

Rob gets all flustered, “I didn’t- I mean- oh fuck you very much Harrington.”

“Don’t worry Rob,” Steve chokes out around his laughter, “I’ll try not to come- try not to get it- oh my god,” Steve dissolves into breathless laughter.

Rob slaps the manila file into Steve’s hands, “I don’t have time for your bullshit,” and she marches off down the corridor, kitten heals clacking on the linoleum.

Steve jogs to catch up, “what would Vicki say?” Steve asks, mock scandalized.

She cuts her eyes at him, scowling from behind her too long bangs, “don’t even joke.”

Steve opens the file while Robin pulls out her key card and straightens her jacket. What she wears is far more stylish than what she did when they were teenagers, but she’s never quite grown out of being a little gangly. Where Steve filled out even further, what with the morning runs and evening swims, weekends spent at the local gym and basketball court, Robin has always remained very slim. She looks good today though, she’s definitely grown up, but thank god she never grew out of being Robin – for some reason today she’s paired an emerald green jacket with navy pinstripe pants and shiny, cherry red shoes and somehow, it kind of, sort of, works.

It’s probably the colorful scarf pulling it together, or something.

“The files a little light,” Steve comments as she activates the security lock and holds the door open for him to pass through.

“Yeap. First fourteen years are...pretty vague. I’ve tracked the parents; the mother’s been dead a few years,” Steve makes a face, “and the dad is a guest of the state,” Steve can feel his face crumple even further. “Yeah. He’d been in and out for a while, assault, aggravated assault, theft, possession, possession with intent, honestly it’s a laundry list, the one that stuck was manslaughter.”

��Oh man, not the mom,” Robin makes a face in answer, “fucking hell.”

Robin holds up her badge for security to see, and they get buzzed through. Steve’s nose tickles with all the Omega scents.

“Luckily he wasn’t around at the end, I don’t know if he even knows about his parents. They kicked him out when he presented,” Steve tuts, “yeah, I know, but it was actually the best thing they ever did for him. He was picked up by his uncle, dad’s brother. The guy had regular, full time employment, suddenly the kid’s got medical records, there’s regular prescriptions for blockers and birth control, his school attendance goes from fifty five percent to ninety seven.”

“So the uncle is a good guy?”

Robin sighs, nods, “hopefully he pulls through.”

Steve continues to scan the file as Robin stops them at the final doorway, leaning against the closed door, “says here he’s non verbal?”

“Most of the time, it’s behavioral, he can speak, does, occasionally. We picked him up from the hospital; he’d gone in with his uncle, cardiac arrest that led to some complications, he's had a couple of surgeries already, but he might be in for a while. He's waiting for a pacemaker now, I think.”

“Shitty.”

“Yeah. Steve, listen a second. This kid...it could be anything. He was clearly malnourished growing up, this could be a trauma response. He might suffer with PTSD, might get separation anxiety-”

“Yeah, Rob, I get it.”

“I just,” she deflates a little, hopeless, “this isn’t the place for him. The other Omega, they mean well, they try and include him, and you know what they’re like, curious about new people, but that just drives him away. He doesn’t come out of his room much. Stopped coming into the dining hall for meals; I tried to wait it out, thought if he got hungry enough he’d cave,” she spreads her hands, “nada. I had to cave; he just eats in his room. And he’s terrible with food. Basically unless it’s been shaped into a nugget or came out of a can, he doesn’t get it. Like he’s never even seen real food before...this just...it’s not the place for him here Steve. All the others, it’s like...like a camp out for them, you know? Not him though, he needs some stability. He needs a home.”

“I get it Rob, it’s not my first rodeo.”

“I know, I know, that’s why I called you first, obviously...it’s just. I know it’s a lot. And I know it’s hard on you, after.”

Steve thinks of Dustin, who still calls him the first Sunday of every month without fail; how he’s expecting his first pup with his mate Suzie. Thinks of Max, how fierce she is, how close they got even in the short time they were together. Her mom made it through rehab though, and got custody back. She still drops by sometimes, and Steve loves to see her. The last time she brought her new boyfriend, Lucas, with her, looking for approval from the only father figure she’s ever really had. The Byers boys who came into his care when their mother had some sort of psychotic episode. How the Beta Jonathan had been so stand offish, where Will, too young to have presented yet, had sort Steve out to cuddle into every night. It was bittersweet, the day Joyce got custody back; Steve was glad it worked out for them, but he was still devastated to see them go.

He’s helped out with a lot of kids over the last six years; he can do this.

“It is...but it’s worth it.”

“Steve,” Robin touches his arm, briefly, “this one will be worse. Fostering kids is one thing, being a temporary pack Alpha for them...Eddie is two months off being eighteen years old, legally able to take a mate, potentially sexually active-”

“Rob, I’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. And if he needs me,” Steve shrugs, “it is what it is.”

“Steve,” she tries again, voice gentle, “I just need you to be sure.”

Steve’s only had one other Omega in his care who was old enough to need Steve in a sexual manner, as well as all the other needs that the people in his temporary pack often have; when she left it was...bad. Neither of them ever say Nancy’s name out loud, haven’t for a couple of years. But Steve knows now, what it is he’s getting into.

He knows this has the potential to be painful, he’s broken enough bonds now. Pack scent bonds; it’s unavoidable. It’s the support of an Alpha, it’s exactly what Steve is there to provide. What happens after will not be Eddie’s problem; it’ll be Steve’s.

And he won’t make the mistake he made with Nancy. This time he’ll remember that Eddie’s going to leave, won’t let himself fall into the illusion that it’s real. He knows now, that it hurts.

Just like it has every other time, when his new pack leaves.

“It’ll be fine Rob. I’ll be fine.”

She bites her lip, not looking sure at all, but she nods and leans more against the door, pushing it open with her shoulder as Steve follows her though. There’s laughter along the hall, two young Omega playing chase rush past them, “take it outside please!” Robin yells after them.

Steve tags along, knows all the doorways are bedrooms; young Omega on this wing, all in need of a safe haven. Steve can hear the bustle and chatter of the dining room, the clatter and scrape of cutlery loud as they pass the doorway. At the very end of the hall, the last door stands propped open by a plastic chair, there’s a red plastic tray with a plate sitting on it. There’s evidence of crumbs and sauce from what had been eaten, but the peas haven’t been touched. The window is open too, letting in a fresh breeze. The Omega is curled up, wedged in the corner of the room on his single bed, a book held open in his hand as he stares at them in the doorway.

“You know you won’t die if you eat a green thing, right?” Robin asks him.

He tilts his head, his curly hair shifting, and purses his lips, kind of frowning with one eyebrow quirked up, to Steve is sort of says, ‘why take the risk?’. Steve has to school his features so he doesn’t laugh.

“Okay Eddie, this is Steve, and he’s been kind enough to offer to put a roof over your head for the next little while, how does that sound?”

Eddie shrugs.

“Good enough for me,” Robin replies like Eddie’s spoken, “okay, pack your things.”

It’s not a scowl, not really, but the way Eddie side eyes the radio means...well, Steve’s not even sure what it means, “you can change it, if you like.”

Eddie huffs and shrugs, crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in the car seat, looking out of the window. The next song comes on; Steve pretty sure it’s Taylor Swift, and Eddie suddenly lunges for the radio. He presses the seek button until he hits something that, to Steve, sounds like two angry guitars hate fucking in a bear infested mine, but he lets it go since Eddie doesn’t turn it up any louder.

Steve carries Eddie’s unfortunately light bag of belongings into the house, “we can go shopping, maybe tomorrow or the day after. I don’t know if you know how this works or not, but you have a state budget, or rather, I do, for you. So don’t worry, if you need anything, just ask.”

He leaves Eddie’s bag at the foot of the stairs, Eddie cautiously following him as Steve points out the blindingly obvious, “lounge, kitchen, through there is the garage, that’s out to the yard.” Eddie eyes are huge in his head, darting around like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Utility through there, bring me your basket when you need, I’ll show you how to use the machines. That’s my office, I work from home two days a week, but I have to go into the office for three,” there’s a distinct spike of anxiety in the air, “but that isn’t for a couple of weeks, or until your Alpha is better, so don’t worry yet. One of the perks; you get me PTO.”

Eddie frowns at him, “Paid Time Off.”

Eddie frowns again like Steve’s presented him with an alien. Never mind.

“Okay, upstairs, this is my room,” Steve opens the door, watches as Eddie scans the room with poorly disguised interest. The bed is neatly made, the thick comforter and pillows all fluffed up. The carpet a deep gray and the rest of the room dark rich wood with some splashes of forest green, “now, I’ll show you your room, but it’s entirely up to you where you sleep. I under stand that your uncle was your familial Alpha and you lived in close quarters so...where you sleep is up to you. If you need that.”

Eddie’s gone so red Steve worries his head might explode; Steve, somehow, manages not to laugh at him. He shows Eddie to the next door down, “this is your room, I will never come in here unless you explicitly invite me or I think there’s a genuine cause for concern, okay? There’s a lock on the door, but I do have a master. So if you don’t want me barging in, you need to let me know you’re okay when I ask, okay?”

Eddie nods.

“Good, I need to be clear about that from the start,” Steve puts Eddie’s bag down in the threshold, “there’s extra nesting materials in the top of the wardrobe, the bathroom is through there, help yourself to all the toiletries, they’re for you. Feel free to chill out for a bit, get cleaned up, I’ll do food for about six ish.”

And Steve leaves him to it.

Steve’s chicken parm is, even if he says so himself, pretty damn good. His sauce is ninety percent blended vegetables; carrots, tomatoes, bell peppers; a trick he learned when trying to hide more vegetables in the kids food. He’s got a similar recipe for mac and cheese that no one has ever complained about, even though the sauce is at least fifty percent carrot.

Also, he figures the breaded chicken is just, like, a giant chicken nugget, right?

So that has to look sort of familiar. And you can get spaghetti out of a can so, surely, this isn't so different.

If Eddie doesn’t like cheese...well, that’s just unnatural. Steve’ll just have to take him back to Robin.

Steve’s got everything on plates and is about to call for Eddie, but the kid appears in the doorway, exactly six oclock. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself, uncertainty coloring the air, but he’s here, that’s the important thing.

They eat together in the breakfast nook, Eddie picks at his food rather than just eating. Steve tries to match his pace, suspicious that as soon as Steve stops eating, Eddie will stop too. He’s right.

Steve makes a mental note to do a grocery shop and go heavy on the snacks. Steve can see the evidence of Eddie growing up malnourished. He’s too pale, his eyes far too large in his face, his joints protrude and his clothes hang off his frame.

There’s no conversation, but Steve doesn’t push it. It’s not time yet.

They watch TV for a while before bed, Eddie curled up tight at the opposite end of the couch, as far from Steve as he can get. Steve adopts a relaxed posture, lets himself sink down. Pulls a blankets off the back of the couch to go across his knees and leaves another in the middle, an obvious hint to Eddie if he wants it. He doesn’t touch it.

Eddie slips away after an hour, heads upstairs. Steve watches the kid go but doesn’t say anything. It’s a pretty solid start; he’s had much, much worse. Eddie doesn’t appear to be any kind of flight risk, which is a huge plus in Steve’s book.

He messages Rob with an update before pulling out his laptop and responding to some emails. He might legitimately have a couple of weeks off work, but that doesn’t mean he wants to return to a landslide of unanswered messages when he does go back.

He heads to bed a little after. Showers and goes through his night time routine; it’s only nine but it’s been a bit of a day, and Steve intends to read for a while. It’s thirty minutes before he hears Eddie’s door open and close. The creak of the stairs. Steve sneaks to his own door, opens it a little and stands there, ears straining.

Listens as the front door rattles but doesn’t open. The key is right there, Eddie’s not trying to escape; he’s checking the house is secure. Steve hears the fridge door a few moments later, then the TV, turned down low.

Steve goes back to bed, happy that Eddie is already making himself at home. He’s asleep thirty minutes after that. And he sleeps well, until something disturbs him, the bed covers shifting. Eddie freezes when he realizes he’s woken Steve. Steve’s still half asleep, and it’s easy to just not make a big deal of it, he yawns, lifting the covers. Eddie slips in, rolling over and wriggling back, allowing himself to be the little spoon. Steve throws a leg, an arm, and the covers over Eddie’s slim frame, and easily goes back to sleep.

When Steve wakes up, Eddie’s gone again.

Steve finds Eddie on the couch. It’s a scene he’s used to, the TV displaying the little, ‘are you still watching?’ box. He’s had a lot of kids who can’t sleep without company, or background noise, or something, and finding them on the couch is pretty normal.

What’s not normal is the position Eddie is sleeping in, his head hanging off the edge, one arm flopped awkwardly above his head and the other bent underneath him, one leg hooked over the back of the couch. He’s snoring. It’s...kind of loud.

And also kind of adorable. Steve pushes those feelings down reminds himself; he cannot get attached to this one.

He knows how much it hurts.

[oifaaa]

It's funny how opinions can change over time for instance I used to want Bruce to be a good parent but then I realised how fucking boring that is to read at the end of the day comics are soap operas and I'm here for the drama

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve’s parents send him on a gap year after high school in hopes that it’ll get him ready to apply to colleges and become a proper adult. They let him choose any of their three vacation homes so he chooses their condo in Paris.

He’s expected to find a job and himself.

The bakery down the block from the condo is owned by two old men who don’t wanna open anymore because they like sleeping in and sipping on their coffee on their balcony. Steve is happy to take over.

Especially when he sees the guy who works at the wine store across the road.

He’s in by 8 every morning, waving to the people coming in and out of the bookshop next to him and the bike repair shop next to them. His smile is contagious, and Steve often finds himself completely distracted by it even if he’s helping customers.

His long hair is always down when he gets there, but by the time Steve sees him leave in the afternoon, it’s pulled up and he has a sweaty sheen across his skin.

Steve decides to visit on his day off, maybe grab a bottle of wine even though he hates every wine he’s ever had to sip on at family functions.

But the man isn’t there when he stops by, or at least not at the counter. An older man is there, wrapping a bottle in paper for a customer who seems like they visit often.

It’s a small store, no bigger than the bakery, so it’s not like the guy could be hiding somewhere.

“Looking for something?” The older man asks as he walks around the counter towards Steve with a smile.

“Oh. Um.”

“You’re lookin’ for Ed right?” The old man’s smile turned into a smirk. “Ed! Customer!”

The man Steve had been seeing every morning and afternoon was suddenly rushing from the back of the store, clipboard in hand, hair sticking to his neck and forehead.

“Hi! What can I help you with?”

Steve could think of quite a few things he could help him with, but it probably wasn’t appropriate to say in front of someone else in his place of work.

“Sorry. Do you need me to speak French?” The man, Ed, asked in flawless French.

“No,” Steve assured. “I work in the bakery across the street. Just wanted to come by and say hi.”

Ed’s brows furrowed as he turned to the older guy who was already back at the counter trying to look busy.

“Does David need a bottle for something? He usually has Wayne pick his pairings.”

Steve shook his head. “No, not that I know of. I’ve just…um. Well, this is actually weirder now that I’m here. So I think I’ll go. Sorry to waste your time!”

Steve turned to go, but a hand grabbed his arm, tugging him back.

“Are you always this awkward?” Ed asked. Steve looked up from his feet to see him smiling. “It’s kind of cute.”

“Steve.”

“Steve. How about you come taste our sample bottle for the day? Maybe it’ll take the edge off,” Eddie offered, gesturing towards a side table that had an open bottle of wine and small sample glasses. “You like rosé?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Then let’s find out.”

Turns out Steve didn’t mind rosé that much, but maybe that was the company. The flavor was a bit less bitter than he was used to, going down much smoother without leaving a burning sensation on his tongue.

And later, after Eddie had talked to him for nearly an hour about himself and the store and his uncle who took him in and worked for him, Steve leaned in and got a taste of the rosé on Eddie’s tongue.

Steve decided he liked wine more than he thought.

[bambeebirdie]

Okay consider Bruce Wayne is the very well known bankroller for the Justice League. Batman is still part of the league, but they don’t know he’s Bruce Wayne. So, due to Bruce Wayne being such a well known figure and very obviously connected to the Justice League, that has kinda made him a target for certain people which means the Justice League has decided to assign one of their members to help keep him safe. Insert notorious billionaire fighter Superman becoming the part time bodyguard of Bruce Wayne in this epic superbat romance

[starry-bi-sky]

my martha knight au in a nutshell:

Danny/Martha: see up here?

Danny/Martha: *taps skull*

Danny/Martha: intense psychological damage

-----------

Danny/Martha: *upon finding out she's pregnant*

Danny/Martha: oh my god i cant be a mom, I'm fifteen and homeless--

Danny/Martha: im going to be a terrible mother--

Danny/Martha: i live in a cAR--

Danny/Martha: what if the baby inherits my powers? Oh no--

-------------

Danny/Martha post giving birth: i've only had Bruce for a minute and a half but if anything were to happen to him i won't even need to fuse with Vlad, I'm razing this goddamn planet to the ground myself

Danny, to Baby Bruce: you are the last remaining thread of my sanity. I'm going to give you the world :)

---------------

Danny/Martha prior to getting pregnant: Fuck it, if everything in my life has led to this moment, i'm allowed to make one stupid decision. I'm getting drunk and getting laid

---------------

Danny/Martha while Bruce was a toddler: i swear to fucking god i am going to kill the next person who talks to me--

Bruce: hi mommy!! i brought you something!!!

Danny/Martha, immediately flipping on a dime: hi baby!! what do you have?

Bruce, a weird child like his mother: a spider :)

---------------

Danny/Martha, talking to Falcone after he made an unsavory comment at her and Bruce: If you ever come near me or my son again, I will dig up your shithead father's corpse and make you eat his skin.

Danny/Martha: do you understand me

Falcone:... crystal, ma'am

---------------

Danny/Martha new in Gotham: *getting mugged*

Danny/Martha: *grabs man's arm*

Danny/Martha: I AM GOING TO BREAK YOU IN HALF LIKE A TWIG, FUCK BOY, DO YOU HEAR THE WORDS COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH--

(she then proceeds to terrorize Gotham's night life for the next extended period of time, mostly unintentionally)

---------------

Danny/Martha: Danny Fenton?? No. you must be mistaken, my name is Martha Knight.

Danny/Martha: this here is my littlest knight, Bruce.

Danny/Martha: I made him all by myself :]

[fallen-jpg]

"those criminals you were chasing, bruce? i handled them."

[haveihitanerve]

Somebody: Jasons so angry and aggressive and kills people- hes the most violent batfamily member Bruce-I-would-have-killed-joker-had-fucking-superman-not-stopped-me-and-I-would-do-it-again-if-any-harm-befalls-my-family-also-i-beat-up-people-daily-as-therapy-wayne: what? Dick-i-was-planning-a-mans-murder-at-age-eight-and-would-have-done-it-also-i-didn't-have-superman-so-i-did-kill-joker-Grayson-Wayne: huh? Tim-My-body-count-is-probably-six-digits-by-now-but-it-doesn't-count-if-bruce-doesn't-know-stalker-Drake-Wayne: repeat that? Damian-i-came-with-the-katana-and-a-body-count-at-age-eight-wayne: what did you say about Ahki? Stephanie-i-will-crack-mad-funny-jokes-while-beating-your-face-in-with-a-brick-Brown-Wayne: waht? Barbara-i-wouldn't-but-like-i-could-and-i-know-you-and-your-entire-family-extending-to-your-great-uncle-thirteen-times-removed-Gordon-Wayne: *typing on keyboard* what was that? Duke-I-created-a-cult-about-robin-and-also-i-was-raised-in-gotham: sorry?

[spacedace]

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

-

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

[scraps-n-starters]

Dead Serious Arranged Marriage aus are fun

If I were to do one I'd play with it a little. Give one or both of them a bit of forewarning.

A careful message from Talia, an arrangement set in soul and stone with the opening of the pits. A bit of research, an awareness of the inherent cruelty and callousness of the unliving.

A file flagged with familiar purple as Danny attempts to sort through the mess left by his predecessors. A Crown Prince as his heart still beats, but an Heir Apparent nonetheless.

A cautious meeting between affianced.

(One wary and wise, with word that any Heir Apparent of The Tyrant is not a foe to be trifled with)

(One can tell much by the ghosts the other leaves behind. A Nursemaid with tales of the vicious culture of the League. Test assassins that tell of what one will do to survive. Failed clones, empty echoes, unable to live their own lives but neither left with room for error or mercy. All drowned out by dozens of soft mewls and memories of warm hands and gentle goodbyes. You cannot rescue every animal that comes into your hands. But the echoes of attempts exist. Desert coarse fur and shared water. Danny was a goner before they'd ever even met.)

Likely a warning at 16, a meeting at 17, and a courtship lasting an age and a half

But that's alright

They've got all the time in the world

[automaticsoulharmony]

Tim standing up on Kons back while he flies: how’s it going guys?

Damian embarrassed as Jon carries him bridal style while they fly: how the fuck?!

Bruce using all his core strength as he simply holds Clark’s hands and hangs: Tim, what are you?

Tim: it’s called TTK losers

[tianhai03]

had to do poster making as an exercise and the theme was superheroes, so of course i drew mr. vengeance for it🦇

[star-wars-lycanwing-bat]

IRL conversation as the batfam

With myself as Dick Grayson, my dad as Bruce Wayne, and my brother as Tim Drake.

Dick busy hugging Bruce

Bruce: Do you want me to hug you like you hug me?

Dick very excited: yes!

Bruce starts hugging tighter than any human being would have found comfortable: *hears Dick's back crack* are you ok‽!

Dick having to time of his life: absolutely

Dick: my turn!

Dick hugs Bruce so tight that he can't breathe properly and then let's go

Bruce wheezing: *cough* x3

Tim teasingly: are you embracing your inner Santa Claus?

Bruce still wheezing: the only thing I'm embracing is oxygen.

Dick: I love you too!

[cassandracain52]

My Batfamily piercing headcanons

(note: these are just my personal headcanons)

Dick: Has thought about getting a piercing but always ends up deciding against it because he doesn't like needles

Jason: Got his nose pierced when he was 14 and never told Bruce(don't ask how he hid it idk readers choice). Was pissed to find the hole had closed after his dip in the Lazarus pit, so he got it re-pierced but doesn't wear it often, usually just at night. And no of course it doesn't have anything to do with the fact he still hasn't told Bruce. Nope not at all

Tim: Got his left ear pierced when he was 15 because Steph told him a bunch of other skaterboarders were doing it and he ended up liking it. (she lied she just thought it would make Tim look hot. She was right) He doesn't wear it on patrol or for important meetings, but he still makes sure to wear it often enough to not let it close

Stephanie: Has both her ears pierced as well as a double helix piercing and a smiley piercing. She wants to get more but keeps changing her mind as to where.

Cass: Only has her ears pierced and that's only because Steph and Babs did it for her. Doesn't trust needles (see Batgirls #2)

Barbara: Has both ears pierced and got her belly button pierced when she was a teenager. Her belly button piercing ended up closing after she kept it out too long when recovering from getting shot and hasn't gotten around to getting it redone.

Duke: Has no piercings or a particular desire to change that fact, but he isn't really against the idea either. (Stephanie is determined to get that boy an eyebrow piercing because he would "totally own that look")

Damian: Went kinda crazy with it after Alfred died and he went off on his own. First Nika convinced him to get his eyebrow pierced and it just escalated from there. At present he has a grand total of 7 piercings with plans to get more. His piercings currently include his ear lobes, snake bites, his eyebrow, his nostril, and his septum. When Dick first saw him with all his piercings in he nearly passed out

Bruce: Had some wild teen years and got his ears, tongue, and septum pierced. Stopped wearing them when he traveled to train and they ended up closing. The only evidence they ever existed is a few stray paparazzi photos/videos and Alfred's word(he is sworn to secrecy)

Alfred: Everyone thinks the answer is a big fat "NO" as to if he's ever had a piercing but in reality he has had exactly One. When he was very young, before he met the Wayne's, he lost a bet and let an army buddy pierce his nose. A great deal of alcohol was also involved. He took it out after a few weeks when it got infected because the needle hadn't been sterilized and they were still out traveling around North Africa with little supplies. They never spoke of it again.

[erinwantstowrite]

will damian warm up to peter in halloween au like he did in lof ?

they'll be besties in no time, no one can withstand peter being peter

[timblrdrake]

Pookie

You promised you wouldn't hurt them

siiiiiiigh i literally run a company…anyways

Not here, kitten whiskers, daddy will discuss it later.

^please read this with the disdain and dread only a teenager running on 3 hours of sleep can supply

[ghost-bxrd]

How would Talon!Dick react to Jason falling off a tall building during patrol? 🦉

He would freeze.

Dick could be standing on the adjacent building, or see from farther away as Jason tips over the edge, but either way: he would freeze. Because he wasn’t prepared for this.

Any other situation and he would have leapt straight to Jason’s rescue. (During the times where Jason was still new to grapples and roof hopping Dick was never more than a few meters behind him, plucking him out of free fall more than once.)

But this? It’s not supposed to happen. Jason never falls. Never loses his balance. Not anymore.

And Dick would be stuck watching Jason’s face twist from surprise to outright terror as he goes plummeting, unable to get his body to move. The image of his parents superimposed over the very real, very present threat of the same thing happening to Jason. But still, he can’t move. Everything feels stuffed with cotton and there’s this distracted realization that Dick is about to watch him die. That he could have prevented this, but didn’t. That he’s just standing there, seeing his world end in slow motion and why can’t he move—

Bruce catches Jason, because Batman always has Robin’s back. And Dick collapses where he stands, in shock, shaking like crazy long after Jason and Bruce check up on him and Jason is safely nestled in his arms.

This happens once. Only once. If Jason ever falls again after that, Dick would leap straight off the rooftops after him.