#and that's just one example. she's been on a mission to upset every marginalized group that exists.
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to begin with, take warning (1/3)
[read on ao3]
1 | 2 | 3
Dick watched Damian physically try to not show his nerves on his face for a full ten minutes—with the success of a trained actor and the failure of a nervous fourteen-year-old playing it off to his older brother—when he caved. They had just driven past the Welcome to Gotham! billboard with “u sure?” and “go back to metropolis cuck!!!” graffitied in looping, hot pink script on the side. It’d be another twenty-five minutes of traffic before they made it to central downtown, and Dick could only stand so much of not-twitchy, not-nervous, I’m-above-this Damian before he burst into laughter and caused some problems.
So he said, “It’s okay to be nervous.”
And from the passenger side, feet up on the dash, looking at his phone, Damian snapped, “I’m not nervous! What is there to be nervous about? It’s an American high school. Big deal. Last week, I stopped a planet-wide catastrophe that would have killed billions in another galaxy, and every night, unless you don’t know, we fight actual monsters and supervillains who actively try to kill us. Some have even succeeded. This is nothing.”
“Yeah,” said Dick, “maybe don’t mention all that on the first day.”
“I know that.”
“And I think you mean ‘my friends and I went to space and stopped a war.’ You know you have to give them credit, too.”
“They’re not my friends,” said Damian. “I work with them. Father isn’t friends with every member of the Justice League, yet he’s worked with near every one of them on League missions. They are my colleagues.”
“So what you’re saying is that you are organizing and leading team missions?” Dick could not keep the amusement out of his voice. “What happened to ‘Teams are unnecessary and a waste of time’? What about the Titans? I know they invited you back.”
“Timothy leads the Titans,” said Damian. “And there’s no room for two Robins on the same team.”
“Mm, don’t know about that, but I also know neither of you would play nice long enough to really try. So no team, okay,” Dick agreed, “and you just happen to be having adventures with other underaged heroes of no relation to you on a periodic basis. And they’re not your friends.”
Damian blinked away from his phone—success!—and scowled. “I do not get your obsession with making friends, Richard,” he said.
Dick splayed his hands on the steering wheel. “I’m glad to see you hanging out with kids your own age, is all. It’s good for you.”
Damian snorted and looked out the window. Gotham’s littered streets and the growing mob of early-morning commuters blurred gray in the smog. In tones of great solemnity he said, “That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? I am going to school to learn how to maintain a secret identity and cultivate a normal public persona. I will be surrounded by kids my own age, and I will be sure to make connections that I will treasure for the rest of my life. These next four years will be the happiest of my life, I know it.”
Dick laughed, and Damian smirked.
“Alright, smartass, I get it. You’re Damian Wayne, haver of too many titles and not leader of any teams, and you’re not nervous about going to high school. I believe you.”
They stopped at a light. Gotham Academy was a few blocks ahead. If they walked, they could be there in ten minutes. Driving as they were in the morning congestion, it would take at least fifteen. Dick didn’t mind. He hummed to himself, waiting. Damian went back to his phone. The light turned green. Dick eased his foot off the brake. They advanced slowly and made it to the front of the line of cars, when the light blinked yellow, then red, and they stopped again.
Damian said, “Father says you were a good student. Well-liked. Studious. Only Robin’s duties caused problems.”
“Bruce said that?” Dick rolled his eyes. “Of course, he did. School was fine,” he said, “though I was mostly focused on being Robin and then the Titans at the time. It was nice, I think. It seems so long ago. But it was hard to have a life there when the most important parts of my life were somewhere else.”
“Wait, Grayson,” Damian said, gleefully, “were you unpopular?”
Dick chuckled, and the light turned green again. “I don’t know what you mean, Dames. I didn’t have that much trouble, and I had a good group of friends. But sometimes I thought it was all a waste of time, time I should’ve spent being Robin. It wasn’t easy hiding parts of myself from my classmates. Keeping the secret meant I couldn’t really be myself or talk to anyone about anything other than school.”
“Until the Titans,” said Damian.
“Until the Titans,” agreed Dick. He glanced at Damian, still with his marginally tense shoulders. “If it counts for anything,” he said, “I don’t think it was a waste of time now. I’m glad I went. I think this is a good thing.”
“Tt,” Damian tutted, but his look was speculative.
“I won’t lie to you and say you will love school. But give it a chance. You might end up liking it.”
“Ever the optimist.”
Dick pulled up into the line of cars for day student drop-off. Gotham Academy stretched across the block, its front tower looming darkly over them in the morning fog. Teenagers in uniform and cheery-looking adults were wandering about, huddling in groups or directing the flow of foot traffic to the entrance and around the side of the façade.
“Got your schedule? Know where you’re going?” Dick asked.
Damian glowered at him.
Dick chuckled. “Right, right, ‘course you do. So I’ll pick you up at four o’clock, okay?”
“And not a minute later,” threatened Damian. And then he set his shoulders, got out of the car, slammed the door, and marched away like he was going into battle.
Dick couldn’t help himself. As he pulled away, he rolled down the window and shouted, “Have a great day at school, Damian! Love ya!”
Without turning around, Damian flipped him the bird.
A whistle blew, and in the rear view Dick saw an upset-looking woman, probably an administrator, point at Damian and loudly scold, “Young man!”
Dick winced, sympathetic yet unrepentant, and merged back into traffic.
Whoops.
•
Yanez knew this would happen, but she had thought it would be at least until midday. Homeroom hadn’t even started. She was busy alternating between threatening her teachers to smile and look happy to be here and smiling half-encouragingly, half-threateningly at students and shepherding them away from their hormonal clusters, when Headmaster Hammer cut a line through the crowd and headed straight to her. A sour-faced Damian Wayne kept pace behind him.
“Good morning,” she greeted, raising an eyebrow, and silently prayed for patience. “Can I help you?”
“Principal Yanez,” said Hammer. He motioned Damian in front of him. “Your student is in need of a reminder of our disciplinary code of conduct.”
Yanez did not miss the emphasis on your. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Hammer was still smarting over his demotion from Grand Headmaster of Gotham Academy, with the full powers that entailed, to “Grand Headmaster” of Gotham Academy, a purely honorary title that delegated tasks to the grammar, middle, and upper level administration that Gotham Academy had been divided into. She ignored him and looked down at the dark-haired boy in front of her. He glared back, defiant.
Ah. One of those.
“Damian Wayne, right?” she asked. “Isn’t it too early to be getting in trouble on the first day of school?”
“That depends on your definition of trouble, I suppose,” Damian said. To her surprise, he had the barest hint of an accent. British, maybe. He stuck out his hand. “You must be Samantha Yanez, the Head Principal for grades nine through twelve.”
Bemused, Yanez shook his hand. “That’s me.”
“I can only hope you are better than your predecessor,” said Damian. He glanced at Hammer and managed to make it seem like he was looking down his nose at him, despite being a full foot shorter. “He left much to be desired.”
“Note that down, Principal. Another perfect example of abhorrent and disrespectful student behavior,” said Hammer.
Yanez frowned. “What happened? Perhaps we should take this in my office.”
Already Yanez could see the curious bubble of students starting to form, talking behind their hands or blatantly recording on their phones.
“Certainly,” said Hammer. “It will help expedite the expulsion process.”
“That remains to be seen, Headmaster,” said Yanez.
She led them back to her office, past the crowds of mingling students and through the arching stone hallway that had been commandeered for the clerical staff. She took a seat behind her desk and indicated for them to sit. She tried not to be too annoyed when Hammer went instead to stand behind her, looming over like a gnarled skeleton.
“Okay,” she said. “Damian. Why don’t you explain to me why Headmaster Hammer has brought you in here? He’s threatening expulsion, but I only reserve that option for the most extreme of cases. Think this merits that?”
“Hardly,” scoffed Damian. “My brother was dropping me off and I flipped him off.”
“You—you flipped him off? You put your middle finger up at him?”
“Yes.”
Yanez barely resisted the urge to laugh and glanced at Hammer. His expression was thunderous. She looked back at Damian and waited, but he did not elaborate. “Why did you flip him off?” she asked.
“He is an embarrassment to me.”
“All brothers are embarrassing to their siblings, especially younger ones. Is there more?”
“No.”
“He has treated every administrator that tried to correct his behavior with rancor and disrespect,” said Hammer.
“Hrm.” Yanez steepled her fingers together. “Headmaster Hammer, could Damian and I have the room? I’ll take care of this. I’m sure you are very busy, and I know Principal Trammer could use the help with the elementary kids.”
Hammer scowled—Yanez knew he hated dealing with the primary school kids—but did not argue and took his leave.
When he was gone, Yanez took a moment to study the young boy in front of her. Petulant and angry, dark-haired, brown-skinned, and light-eyed, something tense and haughty in his shoulders—he looked every bit like any of the troubled kids Yanez had taught over her decades-long career. And yet nothing like them at all. There was something different in the set of his chin, the sharpness of his gaze, his crossed arms, like he was looking for danger and ready to meet it.
“Do you want to be here, Damian?” she asked.
Damian’s mouth twisted. “In this room, wasting my time? Not particularly.”
“Well, we can agree on that,” said Yanez. “But I meant here, Gotham Academy.”
Damian shrugged. “My family insists this will be an enriching opportunity.”
“They’re probably right. But I have looked at your records. You tested out of most of the core subjects, and your home-schooling portfolio is very impressive. Yet you are signed up for the standard ninth-grade honors track. When your Father and I met this summer to discuss the terms of your enrollment, he told me you insisted on it.”
Finally some of the animosity slipped from Damian’s face. He seemed intrigued. “You spoke with my father?”
“Only the once and very briefly,” said Yanez, “but yes. He said re-enrolling at Gotham Academy and coming back to school was your idea.”
Damian scowled.
“So I believe some part of you wants to be here, wants to be a student. Is that accurate?” she asked.
“I already regret it,” Damian muttered.
Yanez smiled. “Not the resounding yes I wanted to hear, but I’ll take it.” She reached into a side drawer and pulled out a quarter-sheet of yellow paper and scrawled down a few details. “If you want to be here, then being a student means abiding by some ground rules. Respect others, respect yourself, respect the school.”
“My respect is earned,” said Damian, “not freely given because of some archaic code of conduct.”
“Then you’re already miles ahead of most of the people in this building,” said Yanez. She handed him the slip of paper. “Respect is earned, yes, but you have to give people the chance to earn it in the first place. That means holding off on rude gestures and comments when it can be helped, which is most times. I am giving you two days of community lunch tutoring for flipping your brother off on school grounds and insulting the administrators.”
“Community lunch tutoring?” Damian echoed, scanning the slip.
“It is similar to detention, but instead you tutor other students and help them with their assignments. Report to the technology atrium during your lunchtime today and tomorrow.”
“Sounds dumb,” said Damian. “Why not just expel me?”
“For expressing your feelings and saying mean things to grown adults?” Yanez chuckled and shook her head. “Damian, this is a high school. If I expelled every bratty kid with no respect for authority and a penchant for dramatics, I would be out of a job. If you want to flip people off and bad-mouth teachers and administrators, that’s your business. It is not in my power to stop you, not fully anyway. You’re a smart kid. If you want to be a delinquent then at least be smart about it. If you get caught or the wrong adult overhears you, then you and I will be meeting more often, the repercussions will not be as merciful, and I will have to do a lot more paperwork. And Damian?”
She waited until she had his full attention, and he looked up, curious.
“I hate paperwork,” she said. “Don't let it come to that.” She waved a hand. “Now get out of my office. You’re late.”
next ->
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★ THE 2018 MTH AUCTION IS OFFICIALLY CLOSED ★
The auction is officially over! Phew. We’re exhausted and in need of some delicious shawarma.
We hope you all managed to win the auctions that you really wanted and that this week has been as thrilling and enjoyable for you as it has been for us.
Firstly, we’d like to say a huge thank you to everyone who supported us this week: creators, bidders, signal boosters, our design team, and everyone who cheered us on. We’re immensely touched by the kindness and generosity you all showed in contributing to the auction and giving encouragement to creators and bidders alike.
An automatic email has been sent out to all of the winning bidders. As there are so many of you, it may take a couple of hours for everyone to receive this email. Creators will also be emailed about the next steps of the donation process within the next 48 hours, and we’ll be posting further instructions on Tumblr shortly.
To cap off our event, we want to say a few words about how Marvel Trumps Hate was founded. Our fellow mod nostalgicatsea came up with the idea of a Marvel fandom charity auction because of everything that has happened over the past year—and especially the past few months—not only in the U.S. under the Trump administration but globally as well. She knew others in the Marvel community felt the same way as she did—upset and angry over what was going on, and over the helplessness that sometimes washed over them with every news update. As another policy put people, especially those marginalized and at risk, in harm’s way. As influential figures failed to face consequences for immoral actions due to the privilege they held. As a catastrophic disaster destroyed countless lives.
And she knew that everyone—not just her friends and not just the fandoms she was in—would want to do something about it, to turn that outrage and anger into a positive force. Just as Fury did in The Avengers, she wanted “to bring together a group of remarkable people” and “see if they could become something more...if they could work together...to fight the battles [they couldn’t fight alone].” Not just one fandom. Not just two. All of them. The entire Marvel fandom as a unified front, with as many Marvel universes, fandoms, ships, and characters represented as possible.
The team assembled over the summer and—inspired by previous fandom charity auctions such as Fandom Trumps Hate, Stony Trumps Hate, and Fandom Loves Puerto Rico—decided to firmly adhere to our policy of being inclusive, so that as many people could participate as possible to fight hate, bigotry, and violence with love, acceptance, and generosity. We were confident that others would believe in our mission statement and our goal to raise money for organizations working to protect civil rights, marginalized and oppressed communities, and the environment. After all, we're all here because we love superheroes and are inspired by them. We talk about them, we make works about them, and we can follow their example and do some good too.
We were right. We are, and forever will be, grateful to each and every one of you who took a stand and got involved. You proved what the father of our fellow fic writer Kamala Khan once said: “There are always people who rush in to help. And...they are blessed."
Thank you again for making the auction as wonderful as it has been. We can’t begin to express how much it meant to us to have the fandom we love so much come together to make a positive impact, and we’re looking forward to being blessed with many beautiful fanworks over the coming year!
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