#batman is increasingly annoyed by this kid | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

superbattrash · 2 years

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a small Part of Alfred will always see Bruce as his baby even if he isn't very outwardly affectionate about it.Clark and Dick stumble across a book of bruce baby photos Alfred secretly keeps and he gives his commentary in his typical Alfred way. Bruce walks in on the cooing and is like ohshitthisisembarissingileavewhydoesheevenhavethesegottaplaythisoff

Just found this page and I am in love btw

Hi sweetie! Sorry about the wait (it did give me time to incorporate the other parts of your prompt though). I wasn’t sure if you wanted Dick as a child or an adult, so I had a wise soul (Thanks, Alpaca, you da real MVP) help me pick one. I hope we picked right! :D

I also had to stop myself from writing more than this - I was beginning to stray from the prompt, as is typical Misha fashion, oops. Oh well, I hope you like it!

There’s a concerning amount of giggling going on in the living room. Not that Bruce minds the giggling - he hasn’t heard it like this in a while, but it’s not a bad sound.

What’s concerning is the fact that he hasn’t seen Clark anywhere and the giggling is very clearly Dick having fun at someone’s expense. There’s really only one potential victim and while it may be Bruce’s paranoia talking, he does know his son and Dick only has one laugh designed to make fun of Bruce. It’s the one that’s booming through the halls this second. Bruce should’ve known better than to leave Clark unattended in the manor while Dick’s home. It’s rare that they have a moment without any of the kids around, but Bruce was almost certain today was one of those rare moments. He should’ve remembered that Dick visiting meant Dick sticking around even after the others had left. Bruce had just figured he’d go with his brothers to the movie. That’s why he’d suggested it. To get at least a few hours alone with Clark.

They’re supposed to have a date night - Clark insists on it and Bruce pretends it’s Clark’s idea in the first place and not something Bruce hinted at for three and a half weeks. No matter whose idea it originally was though, Bruce had some last-minute bat related details to take care of and Clark, the ever graceful not to mention gorgeous oaf of a man had of course merely pecked Bruce on the cheek and said he’d wander around the manor for a minute.

That the minute turned to half an hour isn’t Clark’s fault obviously, but Bruce can’t really be held entirely accountable when his boyfriend is the most patient and understanding man in the history of forever. Still, he should’ve left Clark in the kitchen, or his office. The bedroom, even. He could’ve made a little comment on how Batman likes everything prepared beforehand, or something equally sleazy sounding. Clark would’ve enjoyed that too. But no, of course Bruce’s mind has been too preoccupied with his work, with the mission. He’s getting better at prioritizing differently, but he’s just human. He slips up every once in a while.

Like now, letting Clark roam free along the halls when Richard Grayson just so happens to also be present at the Wayne manor. Bruce should’ve seen it coming from miles away; not only is Dick the biggest Superman fan out there, he’s also a little shit who likes embarrassing or otherwise annoy his father. Normally he wouldn’t mind. It’s a good thing that Clark and Dick get along. But the giggles are piercing his eardrums and he gets increasingly anxious when Clark’s booming laughter joins in. What could be so funny?

Bruce walks towards the living room faster.

“That can’t be Bruce,” Dick laughs and Bruce’s steps falter. He narrows his eyes and walks more quietly. It’s not like Clark won’t hear him approaching either way, but he can image it’ll take him more than half a second this way.

“It’s like he’s never aged at all,” Dick’s voice rings out.

“Look at the little button nose,” Clark coos, and Bruce freezes in the doorway.

Button nose? Just what in the world are they doing in there? If Bruce was an ordinary man, he’d say he was afraid to enter the room, but instead he pretends he has to listen for a few more minutes before he’s truly assessed the situation.

“Did he get that fixed?” Clark asks.

“Oh no, he grew out of that naturally, I’m afraid,” adds Alfred’s voice and Bruce feels betrayal seep into his bones. Alfred wouldn’t- would he?

They’d had this talk before, of course, about Alfred’s weird habit of photographing every moment of Bruce’s childhood. They’d come to a truce of sorts with Bruce allowing Alfred to keep the old pictures if only he’d hide them away never to be seen by anyone else.

Bruce was… Bruce had been a cute child, even he had to admit as much. Chubby and round, expressive blue eyes, a button nose and a few freckles over his cheeks from being outside in the sun too long. Being cute wasn’t exactly at the top of Bruce’s list of accomplishments though and after his parents died, he had a hard time even looking at pictures of himself from before that night. Because that child was gone, his life torn from his body just as much as it had been from his parents that night. At least the life he was supposed to have. So Alfred had silently bowed his head, letting Bruce decide not to have the photos displayed.

At least until now it seems.

“There’s no way those freckles aren’t photoshopped,” Dick says.

Bruce frowns from his hidden position. As if he’d spend precious time photoshopping dots onto his own face just to appear cuter. Youth these days… Bruce hasn’t had freckles in years and he’s certain Alfred has truly betrayed him when he peeks around the corner of the door. Just as he’s predicted Clark and Dick are sitting on the sofa, a large book open in Clark’s lap. He should’ve burned it when he had the chance.

“They didn’t alter photos back then.” Clark flinches and looks apologetically at Alfred. “I mean, not that they’re that old-”

“It’s quite alright, Master Kent,” Alfred reassures. “We did indeed not alter our photos back in the day. Although we wouldn’t have had any need to with Master Bruce’s photos. Those freckles are entirely natural.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not, Master Richard.”

“He’s always had dark hair, huh?” Clark asks carefully.

“From the moment he was born, Master Kent,” Alfred agrees. There’s something almost like pride in his voice. Bruce doesn’t want to think about what photos they’re looking at. He can barely remember which photos Alfred has.

“Too bad he won’t grow it out, look how glossy and soft it looks.” Dick points to another photo.

Bruce feels a knot form in his throat. He can’t remember the last time Dick looked at him with such joy – it’s not that they’re not close anymore, but life in Gotham took its toll on Dick. He’s doing better though; Bruce just wishes he didn’t have to look at these old photos to be this happy in the manor. He’d rather nobody ever looked at these photos, but especially Clark and Dick. There’s no reason for them to see what Bruce was like as a child. He’s not like that anymore. Gone are the freckles and the carefree smiles, as well as the wild hair. They’re pictures of a happy child and Bruce is no longer a child.

The happiness part he’s working on. Clark is helping him.

Bruce has heard enough, and he clears his throat discreetly. Alfred doesn’t move an inch. Bruce rolls his eyes, knowing with every fiber of his body that Alfred is well aware he’s there. He’s doing this on purpose.

“Alfred,” he calls quietly. Dick is blabbering loud enough that he hasn’t heard him.

Alfred doesn’t move, but there is a slight tilt to his lips and Bruce wants to stomp his foot like a petulant child.

“Alfred,” he hisses and finally Alfred takes the few steps closer towards the door Bruce needs him to, so that they can talk in private. Well, sort of private, anyway. At least Clark is considerate enough to pretend like he can’t hear their whispered conversation.

“I thought we agreed to keep those hidden,” Bruce says, crossing his arms over his chest to emphasize his annoyance. Alfred, as always, doesn’t give a shit about Bruce’s embarrassment.

“You agreed, sir, I merely complied,” he says as he raises an eyebrow. Bruce deflates like a soggy balloon instantly.

“That’s-” Bruce tries to come up with a decent response, but as is often the case with Alfred, he falls short. “Alfred,” he says instead, voice clearly portraying how displeased he is.

“Bruce,” Alfred echoes in the same voice and Bruce blinks in surprise.

The astonishment must be clear as day on his face because Alfred smiles that secretive yet somehow completely disarming smile of his.

“Look at them,” he says then, and Bruce does.

He’s never been able to disobey Alfred, has never wanted to either. And as always Alfred is right. There’s nothing wrong with the image he’s looking at – it’s his boyfriend and his son looking at photos. It’s not that bad. For a brief moment he just looks at them, enjoying the way Dick is nearly sitting on top of Clark to point out a certain picture.

“They’re enjoying themselves,” Alfred points out, as if Bruce can’t tell that on his own. He avoids saying ‘as am I,’ but Bruce can tell he wants to.

There’s something very domestic about watching his eldest son smile and wave his arms around excitedly. So maybe it isn’t such a bad thing that he’s making fun of Bruce’s baby pictures. It’s not like there’s actually something to be embarrassed about. And Clark is following his every word; Bruce can tell from the way his eyes are focused on Dick’s.

It’s not so bad.

“I don’t get why you still have those,” Bruce still mutters, just to get the last word.

“Because they’re precious to me,” Alfred says, and Bruce can’t find any response to that. The lump in his throat blocks the words from coming out either way, even if he did find something fitting to say. Of course, Alfred must have the final word. He always wins, the old bastard.

Alfred bumps their shoulders together gently and Bruce sends him a shaky smile. Because they’re precious to me. Because you’re precious to me. He doesn’t have to hear the words from Alfred’s mouth to understand them. They don’t talk much about the days before his parents’ murder and he knows that’s his fault. He never realized that maybe Alfred would like to talk about it though, talk about what Bruce was like as a child. Bruce knows how he feels when someone asks about his children and even if Alfred isn’t his blood, he’s the closest thing to a father Bruce has. He should’ve been more considerate.

Dick finally notices him and snatches the photo album from Clark’s lap to hold it up. He looks to Clark and then to the photo album before locking eyes with Bruce.

“Look how similar they are,” he says with a grin.

“It is my face,” Bruce deadpans as he finally walks into the living room.

“Yeah, but who would’ve thought you’d been such a cute baby.”

“A cute baby?” Bruce holds a hand to his chest in mock-hurt. “I was obviously the cutest baby.”

It makes Dick laugh, which was his goal. He really can’t remember what he looked like as a kid. It can’t be that much different from now. He steps closer to peek over Clark’s shoulder. Huh. So maybe there’s something about that. It’s a very cute baby indeed looking back at him from all the pictures and- just how many does Alfred have of him in nothing but a diaper? He turns to glare at his butler. In true Alfred fashion he merely raises an elegant eyebrow.

“The expression’s different though, baby-you didn’t frown like that,” Dick says as he reaches up to try to smooth out the line between Bruce’s brows. He’s too quick for Bruce to swat at him, dancing around his father like natural gymnast he is. Bruce is both proud and annoyed, which is very much on brand emotions whenever Dick is near him.

“Doesn’t make you any less cute though,” Clark chimes in.

“Ew,” Dick says just as Bruce mutters: “Shut up.”

Alfred stands in the doorway and watches his boys bicker for a while longer. He knows it was a risk to leave the photo album out on the sofa, but it turned out alright after all. Sometimes all Bruce Wayne needs to see reason is a little push. Alfred doesn’t mind being the one pushing. Especially when it means he gets to share the pictures of Bruce’s first day of school. Those are a favorite of Master Kent’s as well, and Alfred silently thanks the higher powers that Clark can’t get Bruce pregnant. He’s pretty sure they’d have babies running around nonstop and Alfred is too old for infants.

He wouldn’t mind another child though. Maybe he should hint at adoption. Master Kent is more than ready to take the bait judging from the heart eyes he’s been sending the photo album all afternoon. Alfred smiles as he leaves for the kitchen. It’s time for tea.

#misha answers #misha writes #did I read this through at all? no #am I going to before posting? also no #enjoy #superbat #superbat fanfiction #Superman/Batman #superman x batman #clark kent/bruce wayne #clark kent x bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dick Grayson

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 2 months

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Character Description: Ana Patterson (Sweet Sacrifice)

(Art is by me. Please don't steal).

Fandom: Batman

Basics

Gender: Female

Full Name: Ana Louise Patterson

Alias: Patient No. 1

Affiliation: Civilian

Age: Twenty–five

Nationality: American

Race: Human

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Birthday: September 15th

Zodiac Sign (Astrology): Virgo

Blood Type: A

Occupation:

· Pickpocket/Receiver

Social Class: Low

Scent: Lilac

Most Fitting Song for Theme Song: Sweet Sacrifice by Evanescence

Portrayed by: Michelle Trachtenberg

Appearance

Initial Impression: Like she's timid.

Height: 139 centimeters; 5 foot 5 inches

Weight: 54 kilograms; 120 pounds

Body Type: Slim with little or no muscle mass.

Face Shape: Oval

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Hair Style: Long, thick, and wavy.

Eye Color: Green

Complexion: Pale

Best Physical Feature: Her eyes

Worst Physical Feature: In her opinion, her worst physical feature would be her freckles. They are light, but she has a few across the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks. She feels that the feature makes her look young.

Physical Quirks/Abnormalities: Cracks fingers increasingly. Thrives in hot weather, hates cold weather.

Scars: She has a scar line from a stab wound on her lower abdominal area.

Civilian Dress Style: Cotton, often torn. Her outfits are primarily thick, presumably for warmth.

Personality

Initial Impression: Brave

Most Endearing Trait: Calmness

Least Endearing Trait: Anger

General Attitude Towards Characters: Sociable unless there is a strong dislike for them.

Annoying Habits: Unable to sit motionless for long amounts of time.

Good Habits: She shows compassion.

Hobbies: Listening to music, taking walks, singing.

Skills: Blending in, gaining the trust of others, good listening skills, lying, strategic thinking, sleight–of–hand, survival skills, swift–footedness, and self–defense.

General Likes: Chocolate and literature

General Dislikes: Violence and bullies.

General Fears: Snakes, spiders, needles.

Greatest Fear: Death/blood

Acquaintances: Rebekah Cross, Jesse Collins, Andrew Lawton, Natalie Bell, Lucus Butler, and Lenore Anderson.

Most Common Expression: Blithe

Favorite Color: Purple

Favorite Food: Pasta

Least Favorite Food: Anything spicy.

Background

Educational Background: Home Schooled

Family Background: Was raised by George and Melissa Patterson up until they were murdered, then she stayed with a foster family for a couple of months before she ran away. She joined a Fence and was taught to survive out on the streets.

Full Biography: She was born in Bludhaven, New York to George and Melissa Patterson. When she was sixteen, a group of burglars broke into her home and attacked her family. Her mother and father were killed, and Ana was stabbed. She survived but was put in foster care for the time being. Her new family were farmers who were not ideal people. The final straw for Ana was when she fell into a pit of slaughtered animals and after a long sweltering day, she was rescued. She ran away and ended up on the streets of Gotham where she met Lenore and Rebekah.

Relationship with Canon Cast

· Bruce Wayne (as Batman): She has different values on the Dark Knight per the way he conducts himself. She thinks that what he stands for is justice for the people of Gotham, but she doesn't value his way of doing so in high regard. To her, Batman is an angry kid with a hammer and everything he sees is a nail.

· Bruce Wayne (as himself): Having not met him, other than the few times she's seen him on television, Ana admires Bruce. Unlike the other rich occupants of Gotham, he seems the most concerned with the outcome of the city.

· Dick Grayson (as Robin): Much like her views of Batman, Ana neither likes nor dislikes Robin.

· Dick Grayson (as himself): Having only met him once, and on less than ideal terms, she doesn't much care for him.

Relationship with Non-Canon Cast

· Rebekah Cross: Her voice of reason. She feels obligated to protect her.

· Lenore Anderson: The teacher. She respects Lenore for her knowledge of the life they live. As an older sister figure, Ana looks up to her.

· Andrew Lawton: A strange, yet interesting man. Ana envies his imagination.

· Natalie Bell: Ana neither likes nor dislikes her. She understands her attitude toward the situation but doesn't appreciate the negative approach she uses.

· Jesse Collins: An optimist. She likes him the most because of his friendly nature.

· Lucas Butler: While outspoken, she doesn't find him irritating as some do. His insight into their situation is appreciated.

#batman fandom #oc: ana patterson #oc #oc profile

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izzymrdb · 1 year

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I posted 13,994 times in 2022

That's 11,840 more posts than 2021!

43 posts created (0%)

13,951 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@megamindsupremacy

@jouster-ari

@phoenixyfriend

@batshit-birds

@greenfiredragonfly

I tagged 5,987 of my posts in 2022

#oh - 5,764 posts

#queue? - 5,761 posts

#jason todd - 312 posts

#batman - 309 posts

#dc - 303 posts

#tim drake - 286 posts

#bruce wayne - 250 posts

#dick grayson - 246 posts

#batfam - 231 posts

#red hood - 188 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#the person he’s talking to is like ‘what do you mean ‘seems fake’ it’s like. newton’s first law. did you never take a physics class?’

My Top Posts in 2022:

My favourite thing from the "Cersei used to swap places with Jaime so she could have sword fighting and politics lessons" is that it implies that Jaime wore a dress and went to Cersei's embroidery and sewing lessons. I have yet to see anyone address this beyond a vague 'yea, Jaime pretended to be Cersei with a dress'. guys. guys. Jaime probably had to attend multiple lessons with a septa and learn how to make pretty stitches. Fuck all your 'Cersei is a great lord and mother but a bad queen' rants, I want to hear your 'Jaime is a good lady and knight but a bad lord' rants. Give me detailed analysis of what lady lessons Jaime would be best in. I bet that it's dancing and one time with Brienne he got distracted and started doing all the lady's moves by instinct and everyone watching just blue-screened because he is way better and more practised at the feminine moves than the masculine ones.

49 notes - Posted December 5, 2022

duke thomas is the most likely to rick-roll the batcomputer and barbara gordon is the most likely to help him and saying that it's tim and steph is lies and slander because that implies that tim is a good enough hacker to do so and also willing to listen to steph when she vents about bruce and comes up with her newest idea to annoy the man

128 notes - Posted October 27, 2022

Duke headcanon:

That boy has no shadow. None. Sometimes he has two. He needs to make a conscious effort to have the right amount of shadows. He often forgets and freaks his siblings out.

2,528 notes - Posted September 16, 2022

Working with kids is a gift and a blessing and also a practice of hearing increasingly extremely concerning things and I bet Batman knows exactly how I feel. I bet sometimes he’ll be on patrol with one of the chaotic little buggers and they’ll start spouting off some weird shit like,,,,

“And Charizards my favourite because he’s like a dragon but he’s also not so he’ll be my friend and not eat me. But I think if I ask nicely he’ll burn my furby and eat him.” (Real quote from one of my students)

And Batman has to just look down at his kid and be like “…that’s nice Robin” and move on

3,945 notes - Posted August 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

There’s a ‘Teenage Dirtbag’ trend on TikTok and everyone keeps commenting “omg this is Jason Todd”

No. Jason Todd was your polite theatre kid. Tim Drake, Terry McGinnis, Duke Thomas, and Stephanie Brown were the teenage dirtbags. Tim was a skateboarding 90s kid, Terry got arrested, Duke started a gang, and Steph was a teen mom.

5,024 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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brisbookmark · 3 years

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The Three Times Jason Wasn’t Saved- and The One Time he Was

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: detailed descriptions of torture, angst, character death, blood, needles, knives/ cutting, batfam au where the gangs all here, Robin!Jason, reader can summon weapons, sad ending

One

His head hangs, he doesn't have the energy. His feet barely touch the ground, and yet he makes no move to stand himself up. They're tingly and fuzzy and cold, as are his hands that are tied above his head.

Jason Todd hangs in chains like a slaughtered pig, and his breathing is hoarse. His dull blue eyes land on the bloodied crowbar laying on the floor. It's his blood, and it makes him groan in pain. Hyper realization of his injuries hits him and he whimpers. It's low, pathetic, and his breathing picks up.

He doesn’t remember how to wear clothes that aren’t covered in dirt and grime and acid. The fabric of his robin suit sticks to his skin, blending with his wounds. Every small move of limb sends fires of pain throughout his body, and he tries his hardest not to make a sound.

The Asylum wing is freezing and he’s cold, skin almost blue. He shivers every once in a while- it’s different from when the Asylum is scorching hot and he feels like he’s in hell where he belongs. The hair he used to keep so elegantly messy, it's dirty and scorched and matted and greasy against his head.

And he’s scared.

He knows that if he looks up, he'll see pictures. Taped to the dusty and damp walls of Arkham Asylum. Red circles trace each of their faces, and whether or not it's paint or blood he doesn't want to know.

It’s blood, it’s always been blood.

He can't bear to see their faces right now. Barbara, happy and smiling next to Dick as they enjoy a Gotham carnival. They're happy without him, he always held them back. He was too dependent on Barbara as a sister figure and was just an annoying kid to Dick, they're better now.

Bruce. With a child on his shoulders. The son Jason could never be. A new Robin, one that could properly fulfill his duties. He was the failure, he was never going to be what Dick Grayson was. Maybe his replacement could, his replacement wouldn't let himself get captured.

Barbara and Selina and Alfred who had only ever taken care of him.

All with red targets around them. Everyone he'd ever cared for. Marked.

Everyone except Y/N, who's picture lay in pieces on the ground. Unlike the others, it wasn't taken by Joker's goons, and it wasn't recent.

It was her student ID from their first year at Gotham Academy. She was young, really young, eyes still bright and skin untainted by the scars of vigilante work. And she wasn't even looking at the camera but rather off to the side, caught by surprise when the photographer flashed his equipment. She hated pictures, and going to school was never a part of the deal. She’s mid laughing and so alive and happy in a world where Jason never hurt her.

He'd stolen it soon after it was taken, sticking it in his wallet so she'd be forced to ask him for his own. You couldn't access the Academy Library without one after all.

And the Joker had found it in his pocket and took it and ruined it and tore it and left her in pieces in the corner, her name never spoken from the maniac again.

Jason assumed that was good. Better to be left in silence than threatened and marked for death. Hell, he couldn’t remember how long it's been since he’s seen her, and he softly starts to whisper her name. She promised him a night out once he found his mother,

No, he couldn’t.

Maybe the Joker couldn’t find her, hadn’t figured out her identity. He could keep her safe.

"What's that my boy?"

"No.. no," Robin pleads, the voice of nails on a chalkboard sending fear into his every bone. "Not again, not again."

The Joker comes into view and a weak cry comes from Jason's lips. His body jerks and another cough wracks his body, warm blood spilling from his mouth. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, punctured lung, he has no idea what it could be. If only Alfred were here, or Dick. To let him rest as they fixed him up, took care of him.

His chin is grabbed harshly, the bruising making it worse. The Joker laughs, pushing his face upwards and close to his own. He can smell death and acid on this villain, and Jason whimpers again.

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

The robin doesn't answer. He can't keep track. He tried counting the amount of times Joker visited him, but then again, that was most likely more than once a day. And sometimes it was Harley, or a low level goon dressed like Batman and Nightwing and Batigrl and her.

Time is a blur to him, he's been in pain too long. Everything hurts, even if someone were to save him now, he feels practically gone already.

He wanted someone to save him.

"What about it Jason? You think Bats will come? Save his precious son?" The Joker prods, mouth wide.

Jason wants to say it. But the words dont leave his mouth.

"Go on, don't be scared Jason. Tell me, tell dear old Joker."

"HE'LL COME FOR ME!" he yells, and it uses all his strength to just move his jaw.

"Even when he's better off without you?" The Joker asks, and he bends down to lift the bloodied crowbar.

No. Please, anything but that.

"He's going to! He has to!" Jason screams, and then tears start streaming down his cheeks.

The metal finds its way onto his hip, sending his body swaying helplessly as he cries.

"Tell me, who's hurting you?" The Joker asks, grin never leaving his face as he hits Jason again.

"Please stop, I'll do anything," the boy pleads, desperately trying to think of anything else. If only the Joker would end him now, let him go free.

"Who's hurting you Jason?"

"YOU!" He shrieks, the crowbar smacking painfully across his chest and ripping at the skin. It's like his lungs have collapsed, he no longer has bones.

"Wrong!"

"The, the Joker-"

"WRONG AGAIN MY BOY."

Jason looks up at the pictures on the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pours into his mouth and he spits it out, shaking in his chains. "Batman.. batman is hurting me."

The next hit never comes. "Attaboy," The Joker mutters, and then he leaves.

Two

He returns the next morning. Jason assumes it's the next morning, as he's in a new purple suit. Harley gave him a dosage some odd amount of time ago, it must be a new day. His limbs are numb, his wrists are cracked and bleeding. He tries to keep his tongue in his mouth but his jaw is slack and disfigured, it’s increasingly difficult.

Jason hasn't slept in days. Dark circles accessorize his black eyes, it's a miracle he can see at all.

The green haired man sets a timer in the corner of the room, and the Robin's brain goes into endless loops of trauma. The crowbar, the explosion that almost killed him. His mind wandered to warm arms pulling him out, thinking Bruce had pulled him from the rubble. Except it wasn't his father at all.

Batman hadn't even tried.

"Jason." The Joker says sweetly, walking around the boy like a predator. The robin is helpless, he's lost all feeling in his limbs. "I thought I might tell you a story today."

The dark haired boy stays silent. He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream, he prays to a god he doesn't know for it all to stop. A bullet, a poison, the world ends in a fiery explosion, he didn't care.

"Jason."

"Just kill me already," he pleads, voice cracking and desperate.

Loud laughter echoes through the room. Jason's head hurts from the sheer volume, and it doesn't stop. It gets louder, and it carries around, and Jason lets out hushed breaths.

"I can't kill you boy, we're a great team you and I! Would you like to hear my story?"

Jason closes his eyes in anticipation for today's beating.

The Joker grabs his face again, and Jason is groggy. Fading in and out of consciousness. But as his eyes are forced open and the first thing he sees is a blade, Jason screams.

It's a dull knife, long and serrated and bloody and dirty. And in its reflection is the lunatic's face, grinning like mad. The light catches on the razor as the Joker's eyes go wide.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" He sneers, and Jason cries. He struggles to get away, hanging helplessly from his suspension. Nothing works, and two goons from the shadows hold him still with no thought towards his bruised and broken body.

He's in agony, and he's begging. He's in insurmountable pain and he can't do anything about it. The razor is brought to Jason's lips, presses to the side of his mouth with dull pressure.

He’s muffled now, and he continues fighting.

"Just,, like, this!!" The Joker yells, dragging the blade upward through Jason's skin at a slow agonizing pace. He wants this to be slow and torturous, and Jason only cries and shakes. It hurts, god it hurts, he's being cut open, and the blood and tears mix and cause him more pain,

He almost wishes for the crowbar again and once the knife is finished on one side, he screams again. His blood bleeds from the blade and falls onto the floor, joining the rest from the past days. Months? It couldn’t have been years.

“Such a handsome young man,” the joker croons, erupting into even more laughter. “Tell me what brought the chicks in, your crippling daddy issues or your criminal record?”

Jason couldn’t answer if he tried. The Joker grabs his face, almost smelling his newfound wounds, and then pulls back, leaving him in a hanging sway.

“Let me go..” he pleads, mouth sore. His bright blue eyes are so devoid of color it hurts, and he closes them. Blood and dirt clumps on his pretty eyelashes.

“Now I don’t think I can do that dear Jason.”

Joker licks the blade clean, it catches on the man's tongue and cuts him, not that he cares. Jason's glad he's not forced to swallow the damn thing.

Well, be careful what you wish for.

Its sharp edge is brought down his jaw, down his neck, so close to his jugular veins, if only he could shift and catch himself on the blade, he could end it all.

He starts crying.

He doesn’t know when he stops.

The Asylum walls go black, and he's shrieking. Harley Quinn brings a bat to his body as the Joker moves his knife, and it finds solace along Jason's cold chest.

One cut. Two cuts. Jason screams more. His throat is raw, he doesn't even know where his terror is coming from anymore, it'd been beaten out of him.

"Bruce-, bruce stop-"

The Joker laughs. "AHA, the boys learning, don't you see? That's right, that's right."

The cuts are few, and after a while they're bearable. The hardest part to deal with is Harley"s high squeals as she beats him. She calls him cute, handsome, a songbird.

Songbird.

"You can't.."

"I can't what Jay darling? Hmm?? What can't I do?" The Queen of crime pouts, and Jason sees red.

"Don't say that," he spits, finding his voice. "That name isn't for you bitch."

The next time the knife touches his skin, it's coated in acid. And he's yelling for it to stop, he's pleading, thrashing around.

His kicks find Harley and he's flown forward and backward, still chained to the ceiling. Its desperate.

"JAY DARLIING," she sings. "Puddin what else gets our birdie going?? Mm? What makes him sing like a good pet. Oh this is exciting!"

"SHUT UP-"

"Jay," Harley flutters her eyelashes, bringing herself close to his face. "Baby? Love? Is it sweetheart?" Her mouth is wide, eyes deranged. "Perhaps it's Mister J! He stares into her gaze, and for a second the jester flinches.

If Jason wasn't suspended and restrained, he'd kill her. He knew it and she knew it and Joker most definitely knew.

"Well Jason, kill her then! Do it loverboy, why won't you end her?" He croons, and Harley feigns sadness.

"I-" he starts, unwilling to let himself hang in shame. How could he do this?

"Oh come on angel! Why don't you try?" She shrieks, and then Jason is shouting, further tearing into the cuts along his mouth as he brings his legs up, attempting to wrap them around Harley's neck.

He doesn't get very far. Someone holds him steady, and the stinging knife is brought back to his chest. An H. An A. Another H and an A.

Straight across his chest, and then it begins again. Jason's breathing is labored from his attempt to retaliate, and he slips back into his daze of unconsciousness. He can't do this much longer.

THE.

Jason can see it in the mirror on the opposite wall. He doesn't remember when that got put there. If he could reach something with his feet he could throw it. Break the glass, pick it up with his feet again perhaps, end this torture-

JOKES.

Jason feels like vomiting.

ON.

Jason vomits on the ground in front of him. Sweat sticks to his skin and he's pale, he feels a fever growing on him. The knife continues lower to his bruised skin. This couldn't get worse, could it.

YOU.

The words are engraved on his body, marred by the blood dripping from it. Jason's eyes roll to the back of his head. The trauma puts him to sleep, and the Harley Quinn whispers another "Jay Darling" into his ear before departing.

Three

Y/N’s picture is gone now, he can't even piece it together in his mind anymore. The scraps are scattered and disintegrated into dust.

This time he hears Harley before Joker, she's hanging off of the clown's arm, looking at him with the adoration of a psychopath. In her hands is a long poker, tip red hot, and she swings it without a care in the world. She giggles as her love comes closer to the half dead boy, untying his chains.

Jason lands on the floor, a crumpled heap of skin and broken bones. His head hits the ground, but it's the most beautiful thing he's touched in a long time.

He doesn't move, curling into a protective ball.

"Mister J our bird isn't moving," Harley whines, kicking him in the back. He groans, shielding himself as best he could. There's nothing on the ground that's usable, not even a sharp stick or rock, there's a used abandoned needle but it sends him into nausea.

The Joker's laughing brings him back to reality as he attempts to crawl away. The floor is appalling, disgusting, a mix of wax and blood and body fluids that he wished he could forget, but he's let go.

Jason slams his hands on the cement, using the force to wake him up and pull himself forward. His legs don't work, he's going delirious again, and then there's the sizzle of water behind him.

"Where are you going birdie?" Harley asks, and the Joker takes another step closer.

"No, no, NO-" Jason pleads. Please let him go, dead or alive he doesn't care. Just get him out of here, make it stop. It's the only word he knows at the moment, every syllable is tortuous to pronounce. He bangs his head on the cement. God he’s going insane.

Stop touching him. Stop hurting him.

He’s been beaten and tortured and degraded in the worst ways possible. He couldn’t remember what it was like to be human. And still, this was the worst pain yet.

He's pinned down as the hot poker nears his face, the symbol bright red on the end. Like a branded piece of meat. His flesh burns and sizzles as the Joker gives more pressure, and Jason's never screamed louder.

It's in the intense silence within which he screams with his whole body. It forces its way from deep in his throat, demonic and angry and scared.

He's hiding a truth from himself, and soon he's not screaming from the burning, but rather that he's stuck here. Forever.

Edged with the tantalisingly sweet release of death, the Joker will never give it to him.

The Joker will never let him die, he will never let him go. And now his cursed J is on Jason’s cheek, he’ll forever be the Joker’s pet.

When the brand stick is taken off his skin, Jason is sweating and pale and falls asleep.

"What a shame you couldn't handle it."

Y/N runs through the hallway with desperation. She'd tracked down Harley one night and by some god forsaken miracle, the deranged woman had blood on her skirts.

Another miracle hadY/N sneaking into Wayne Manor to ask Barbara to help her, analyzing the blood samples to track down the Joker.

They found something better.

For a second she believed Bruce's high end, most technologically advanced equipment was wrong. Babs assured her it wasn't. That was Jason's blood on Harley, less than two weeks old.

"Jason?"

The boy looks up, whimpering. He almost doesn't hear her.

"Oh Jay," she whispers from the hallway. She's just a shadow but Jason knows it's her. No one has ever said his name with such gentleness.

The woman lets out a sob. He's here, he's alive, he's gonna be okay.

Jason holds back sobs of his own as she runs to him. Her fingers are first to touch him, resting on his chest and trailing over his scars, his wounds and his blood. His torn clothes, the dirt and acid burns. Her hand stops over his heart, beating so slow she would have believed him to be dead.

But this is Jason. He's not dying anytime soon. Especially not if she can help it.

Tears stream down her face as she wraps her arms around him, holding him close.

He's gonna be okay.

Y/N is immediately supporting him as she conjures a knife to cut him down. His arms are free and he nearly goes unconscious.

She catches him before he can fall. It's not like the Joker when he needs to crawl away like a wounded puppy. He welcomes the other presence in the damp room, shaking. Jason lifts his head, and he doesn't even have to move until she's at his side. It's so different.. he forgot what this feels like.

Jason forgot what it felt like to have emotions besides fear.

He curls into her lap, slowly using her body to sit up.

"Jay look at me, please," she murmurs, holding his face and brushing the hair out of those colorless eyes. "Oh my god I knew it.. I knew you were alive.. Jay I'm so sorry-" she stops herself, kissing the top of his blood matted head.

That doesn't matter now.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, you're okay sweetheart. Stay awake okay? Okay. Stay awake for me please."

Jason nods, hanging onto her. If he lets go, she'll leave. He'll lose her and he'll be stuck here again. She'll fade away.

It hurts to move, every bone and every limb is on fire. Then she's grabbing him and they're standing up, she's practically half carrying him.

Mumbles of his name fill the empty asylum wing. Js and Jason's and Jay's pass her lips as if just repeating it is gonna make him alright.

One step, and Jason crumbles. He can't walk, it's a miracle he can feel his legs at all. "I'm not going anywhere," he mutters.

She doesn't say anything. She knows.

Footsteps in the background. Walking, jogging, running.

Maniacal laughs and snarls and spit.

Y/N bends her knees and slings him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and then she starts running. Down one hallway and then the next, the Arkham Asylum is a maze.

"Jay, side of my mask, the-"

"Comms," he finishes, holding the button to turn it on.

"Bat? Batgirl, do you read me?" The girl whispers, ducking into an alcove.

"I'm here. Did you..?"

"I've got him. Babs, he's alive, Jason's alive, he's breathing-" It feels so good to say, to not just breathe an empty statement.

Crying comes from the other side of the comms. Barbara composes herself enough to speak, but even then, emotion hangs in her voice. "Let's bring him home then, where are you right now? Dicks outside the Asylum with Bruce, don't worry about the thugs or the cameras, we have it covered."

"I'LL FIND YOU BIRDIE!"

"The Joker's here," Y/N tells Barbara and the air hangs with a pregnant pause.

"Okay, Tim's gonna have you turn right, we got his signal."

The woman turns, ducking into the darkness.

"Y/N,." Jason wheezes, hanging onto her shoulders with the strength he could muster.

"Jason if this is one of, one of your 'if we don't make it out' speeches-"

"Nevermind," he replies, wishing he had the energy and the ability to smile. She does, she smiles for the both of them- even if he can't see it from this angle.

"God I'm going to make him pay for this. Writhing and screaming and begging for me to end him," she threatens, listening for the next of Barbara’s directions.

She's told to go right and through a door.

There's two sets of footsteps now.

Y/N continues, trying to fill the silence. The Joker won’t track her voice, the alarms are too loud. "That doesn't matter now, I guess. You're alive and I- we thought you were dead and it took so long for me to accept that, and I still don't know how I found you but I did and Jay I'm so proud of you-"

"Hey this doesn't mean you can give me a speech of your own," Jason interrupts, and she cracks another smile. She’s rambling like she always does when she overthinks, and he closes his eyes to imagine that they’re once again on a Gotham skyscraper with a bottle of champagne. Spilling secrets and laughing like they weren’t masked vigilantes with secret identities.

"I love you Jason, and you're not leaving me again."

"HAHA I LOVE THIS GAME-" The Joker yells. His psychotic grin fills Jason’s vision as the maniac throws open a hatch, jumping down into the room. Jason is dropped to the ground and Y/N has her sword in hand, stepping in between the two men.

His vision is blurry, he can’t see anything, and the ground is warm.

He can’t succumb. Jason stands up again, grabbing a pistol from Y/N’s leg and he shoots. The feel of a gun trigger isn’t unfamiliar.

Yelling fills the room, as does the clash of metal and fists, Jason smiles as the Joker cries out in pain. Another door opens, there’s girlish laughter now, and so many footsteps. He keeps shooting, dropping enemies like a second nature because he was Jason Peter fucking Todd.

Jason’s ribs get stomped on again and he loses his gun, and metal echoes on the ground as something is dropped. Three gunshots ring through the room.

No.

The Joker and the Harlequin keep laughing in glee, and Jason blacks out from crying again.

Cold hands grab his face. The man who laughs is, well, laughing and pulling Jason’s face close to his own. The smell of death fills his senses and Jason opens his eyes.

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x oc #jason todd imagines #red hood x reader #red hood #dc #batfam #batfam x reader #jason todd hcs #redhood hcs #arkham knight #titans #titans jason

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scandalsavagefanfic · 3 years

Note

Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is.

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative.

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency.

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him.

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine.

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

#Batman #red hood #batman: urban legends #nice art #shit story #or at least shit characterization #jason todd deserves better #this response got long and I didn't edit it #please forgive any errors #and/or unclear spots #spoilers

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Stalker X Stalker, Part 6

First

Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever

Just remembered I had a plot so oops

Marinette wasn’t stupid. Nino had a brother only a few years older than Robin, and that brother had never acted so young or clingy at Robin’s age (and it surely wasn’t a thing about Robin, because she had yet to see him cling to anyone else). She knew that Robin was just using her to mess with Red Robin.

But she didn’t particularly mind. It was kind of funny to watch Red getting all worked up over his little brother and friend being close. She was glad she had her mask, because otherwise she definitely would have given away the act by this point.

Robin, for his part, had been upping things more and more every time he saw her. She wasn’t sure whether this was because he knew that she knew or because he was testing the limits of what he could do without her saying anything.

Red looked like he was at his wit’s end with Robin held out a hand for Marinette right before crossing a street. She took it, which was when he finally snapped:

“He’s twelve, not five!”

She pulled her face into a mock frown. “Are you saying that twelve-year-olds should get hit by cars, Red?”

Red Robin sputtered.

“Miss Ladybug, why is he so mean to me?” Robin asked with wide eyes. She could see the corner of his lips twitching in an effort not to smile.

She winked. His eyes narrowed just slightly then he widened them back to their wide-eyed sadness.

“I don’t know, sweetie. He’s just a meanie, I guess.”

Red Robin threw his hands up in either anger or defeat. It didn’t really matter which one it was, they counted it as a win.

Tim wasn’t surprised to walk into the Batcave one day and see Marinette’s face on the Batcomputer. The only thing he didn’t know was whether she was up there because they had figured out her identity or because Tim had started hanging out with her as a civilian.

He took a long sip of his coffee as he considered this, then he trudged over. Might as well find out.

“Hey guys,” he announced his presence.

He watched Duke out of the corner of his eyes. Duke was the newest of them, he could usually count on him to have more pronounced reactions.

Duke didn’t seem all that awkward. So it must have been them finding out her identity.

Tim sidled up beside them. “Sure that’s her?”

Bruce, never one for using his words when he didn’t have to, held up a small container of blood.

He hummed his understanding and intended for that to be the end of the conversation… but it was getting increasingly hard to ignore the eyes boreing into the side of his head. Tim fought to keep a straight face and unclench his jaw and ignore the stupid ‘d-d-don’t be suspicious’ song playing in his head.

And then Cass tapped him on the shoulder and he cursed quietly.

“Fine. Fine. I knew. Happy?”

Cass was not. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I saw her run into an alleyway and I followed -- obviously, it’s Gotham and alleyways are dangerous -- and she transformed right in front of me.”

She nodded and let it go.

Bruce, however, did not.

“You knew her identity and didn’t think to tell us?”

“I thought to tell you, I just didn’t,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Ah. The Disappointed Dad Stare. He had certainly not missed that.

His grin melted into an awkward smile. “It felt weird to reveal her. She clearly cares about her identity since she hasn’t told us herself yet, I figured I’d respect that as long as I could.”

“... you weren’t making progress on her identity on purpose. God, that makes so much more sense,” muttered Steph.

He shrugged. “Easy to avoid someone’s identity when you know who it is.”

Bruce was still looking at him disapprovingly.

“Don’t worry, I have contingencies,” Tim said.

His father relaxed, finally. He motioned for him to go on.

“Well, a few need confirmation. I still don’t know if her yoyo can be cut and it’s hard to tell if other people can unzip her hood or not. But if the hood is open then The Flash or Superman can easily get the earrings from her -- beyond those she’d just a normal person with some fighting skills, same contingencies as The Arrows or any of us. If not then Green Lantern can probably neutralize her.”

Bruce nodded.

The other kids looked mildly concerned.

“Wait, he has contingencies for us?” Duke said.

Bruce was back to looking dismayed. Tim showed them all where their files were (he wouldn’t hack them for them, obviously, he didn’t want to break the news of exactly how messed up Bruce’s contingencies were). He could practically see all the sweat beading itself on his forehead beneath his cowl.

(Tim hid his smile. He’d finally gotten revenge for the time he’d made him stay inside after The Chloroform Incident. And revenge was sweet.)

… it wasn’t until he started seeing his siblings on the rooftop across from Marinette’s apartment that he thought that, maybe, he should have gotten them into their files. It definitely would have distracted them from the Marinette Is Ladybug situation.

At least Cass trusted Marinette -- she would have slipped up and showed her intentions at least once by now -- and therefore wasn’t likely to come by. Cass would be the one to figure out that Tim coming up to the roof was more than him just checking on his siblings.

The first person that came by was Damian. Fair enough, he’d been around Marinette the shortest amount of time and what little friendship they had was based on his lies.

Now, the youngest sibling sat, cross-legged on the rooftop. He was sketching in his sketchbook between quick glances over at Marinette. He looked up when Tim pulled himself over the side and squinted at him.

“Drake.”

“Dami,” Tim greeted, because it always annoyed his younger brother when he used the nickname. “Having fun spying on Marinette?”

Damian was silent for a few moments before clicking his tongue. “She needs to close her blinds more often.”

“Aw, do you care about her?” Tim teased, reaching over to ruffle his brother’s hair.

He pushed his hand away. “She’s a Gothamite and is therefore under our protection.”

Tim snickered and shook his head, taking a seat beside him on the rooftop. “We can tell Duke about it once everyone else has had their chance at checking her out. He’s the only one that can get away with asking her to close it.”

Damian nodded firmly.

Tim hid the fond smile on his face by diverting his brother’s attention: “So, what’re you sketching?”

Damian’s eyes lit up.

The next person to drop by was Bruce himself. He was sitting there, in all black despite the fact that it was less useful during the day, with full spy equipment.

Tim dropped down beside him and was offered a set of headphones. The two of them stayed there in silence for a long time, listening to Marinette going about her day. She was currently cooking something and singing along to a song:

“I always feel like... somebOdy’s watching meeEe… andIhavenoprivacy~.”

Tim was choosing to ignore the song choice in favor of giggling about her inability to hit the notes. He could feel Bruce watching him out of the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t say anything and neither did Tim.

Next was Steph.

Steph raised her eyebrows at Tim when she saw him.

“Come here often?” She asked in a tone that was only half-joking.

“Only recently,” he lied. “Trying to figure out if any of you trust my judgement.”

“Doubtful.”

“Yeah, Duke is my last hope.”

She snickered and shook her head. “To be fair, you’re whipped. You could have been biased.”

“But I’m not.”

“But you’re not,” she conceded, then turned her gaze back on Marinette. “She’s cute. I approve.”

“Glad to know you trust her.”

“I wasn’t talking about it like that and you know it,” Steph said with a wink.

Tim blushed and pushed her face away. “You’re the worst.”

Marinette was having a little difficulty figuring out the not-quite-a-language that the bats spoke with her. She wanted to learn it because she cared about Black Bat and, though she could use ASL, it was clear that she wasn’t comfortable with any particular language… but wow was it hard to learn a language when there wasn’t any actual language involved.

Thankfully, Signal had said he would teach her since he had learned it the most recently and therefore might have an easier time teaching it.

Now, it was just after they had finished their lessons for the day and the two of them were relaxing together between their patrols. He had his head in her lap as they both scrolled through Twitter, occasionally laughing and showing each other the dumb things that the other bats had supposedly done. Her favorite so far was the picture someone had discreetly taken of Robin while he was petting their dog.

And then Signal suddenly sat up straight, eyes so wide beneath his domino that she swore that the lenses were going to pop out.

“Uh --?”

“We need to go,” he said.

She felt his hand wrap around her wrist and now she was being dragged somewhere else --.

There was a rush of air and next thing she knew she was being held just barely off the ground.

She blinked all the dryness out of her eyes and then looked up to see that her captor was none other than Superman himself. He had grabbed both of them and taken them to where the Batcomputer was, holding her by her hood and Signal by the back of his shirt. He looked angry, but not particularly at her. She followed his gaze to where Batman was sitting in his Batchair.

“B --.”

“Batman,” said Batman sternly.

Oh, so Superman got to know his secret identity and she didn’t?

(She was ignoring the fact that Batman’s civilian name started with a B.)

“Batman, what do I have here?”

“Two children?”

“Two. Metas.”

“Technically, Ladybug isn’t a meta. Her powers were given to her by a god that lives in her earrings,” Batman informed him.

Marinette tried not to smile too much. Look at how much he had grown. He was using her excuses now.

Superman’s eyes narrowed. She’d say something about how ‘if looks could kill, Batman would be dead’... but, considering the fact that Superman could kill someone with a single look, it didn’t really work.

“And is the god allowed in Gotham?”

Batman didn’t have an excuse for that one. He just grunted a specific grunt which Marinette had learned meant: “What’s your point?”

Superman also knew this specific grunt, apparently. “My point is that the last time I was in Gotham you put kryptonite in my coffee! You said no metas, and we listened, but now you have two!”

“They’re my kids.”

Marinette blinked. “News to me.”

Signal tried to reach across Superman to punch her arm. Superman was a very wide not-man, so he came up short.

“Do you want to be kicked out of Gotham?”

“Guess I’ve always wanted family here,” she said quickly.

Superman squinted at them for a long time before, finally, dropping them.

“You’re lifting your no meta rule.”

“No --.”

“Yes. If even you’re not going to listen to it, neither should we.”

Batman didn’t seem happy. Superman didn’t seem to care. Probably because he was a good head taller and had far more superpowers than Batman did.

Superman left soon after.

Marinette knew it wasn’t the time, because Batman was back to his Batbrooding, but she couldn’t help the grin slowly spreading across her face.

“So, Dad, can I have the new Xbox for Christmas?”

Duke had visited Marinette. Tim hadn’t seen him visit, but he definitely had because Marinette had closed her blinds and they hadn’t been open in days. She was still in Gotham, though, she had gone on patrols and, as far as he could tell, she didn’t have any places in Gotham in her name. She had to still be in the apartment, so Duke must have visited as Signal and told her to close them.

And he should have been happy about this. It was far safer that way. The less people knew that there was a woman living alone in that apartment the better.

… but he couldn’t help but be concerned.

The blinds being closed was his best indication of when she was about to leave or currently not home. He didn’t like that he no longer had a way of figuring that out. How was he supposed to watch over her while she was getting groceries if he never knew when she was going?

He gives her a necklace with a tracker in it the next time he sees her as Tim.

She raised her eyebrows at the box he was holding out to her. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to propose?” She joked, but he could hear the slight wariness bleeding into her tone.

He grins easily. “It’s just to thank you for the outfit you’re making me.”

“You pay me,” she said. “That’s thanks enough for me.”

“Maybe I just feel a little bad about guilting you into making it in the first place.”

She hesitates, but he could see the shiny red gem inlaid in it winning her over. It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t a gold digger, she was a fashion designer and he had purposefully chosen a common gem color so she’d be more inclined to wear it more often. It worked with a lot of outfits and it came from someone she -- hopefully -- considered a friend? There was little reason to say no.

As expected, she gave in.

She turned around and he carefully clasped it behind her neck. He pressed a tiny kiss to the back of her head.

When she turned back around her face was redder than the gem. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Ready to go?”

She nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her along to the newest attraction.

Marinette fell back on her bed with a huff.

“Tikkiiiiiiiii,” she complained.

The kwami slipped out of her purse and came up to float above her face. “Did you enjoy your date?”

“It wasn’t --!”

Tikki laughed at her dismay. Because Tikki sucked.

She dropped the pillow back beside herself and curled up in what had used to be Tim’s jacket (she wasn’t joking when she’d taken it, he was never getting it back).

“Tim better be Red Robin. I’m not doing the whole ‘two crushes at once’ thing again.”

You know, there were actually times where Tim felt bad about chipping Marinette. He wasn’t out of it enough to think that it wasn’t messed up, he knew that there was a reason he didn’t want the other bats to know.

And he knew that, if he had to keep his habits from fellow bats, his habits had to be pretty bad. Every single one of them had a tendency to watch over their loved ones from time to time, it just came with the territory of having friends that are a) vigilantes/heroes/Rogues, b) stupid enough to live in Gotham, or c) an unfortunate mix of both. And, really, when you have the entire world at your fingertips it’s hard not to cross a few lines from time to time.

But Tim couldn’t bring himself to care about that line when she didn’t seem to care about her own safety.

She left the house constantly. Tim was beginning to suspect that she’d had her blinds open so often in order to feel closer to people rather than because she liked sunning herself. This would be fine… if she wasn’t leaving as a civilian. Marinette cared about her secret identity almost as much as Bruce did, so he knew that she probably wouldn’t try too hard to escape attackers for fear of them finding out who she was through her very particular fighting style. The bats had drilled her on the best ways to deal with being held at gunpoint and everything, but not every criminal was completely predictable. Bruce’s parents were a prime example of that.

She also had a tendency to take food without checking to see if it was laced. She did it especially when Tim handed her food and, while he liked that she trusted him, he didn’t love that she was as trusting of him as she was.

Marinette had trouble detecting when people were watching her, too. He figured it was just a byproduct of having most of the stuff she did as Ladybug filmed by tv crews and random civilians… but understanding why she was like that didn’t make him any less concerned about it.

Most damning, however, was how she dealt with catcalling.

Tim never felt a need to intervene when any of his siblings got catcalled on the job. He could trust them to tell whoever it was to stop with however much politeness was correct for the situation (usually not that much).

(The only exception was Damian because, unlike everyone else, Damian was still very obviously a minor. And even then the temptation to beat them up was mostly sated by the fact that Damian knew far more nonlethal ways to hurt them than he did.)

But the few times Marinette had gotten catcalled in front of him she… had just very politely asked them not to say that? And, when they didn’t stop, she had just sat there in her discomfort until they were done?

And Tim had done nothing but watch in stunned silence the first few times. It hadn’t been on purpose, he had just… not been expecting it. She usually acted far more confident, usually had some sort of retort on her tongue, why was this any different?

He didn’t know. Both he and Steph had tried to ask but she shut down both times and they didn’t want her to be more upset than she already was so they’d stopped trying.

The bats just silently agreed to check in on her through comms when she was quiet for too long and, if she didn’t respond, head towards her last known location and start looking.

So, yeah, his paranoia wasn’t completely unfounded.

Marinette blinked at the envelope Black Bat had handed her.

She turned it over in her hands, wondering if it was some kind of test, but that wasn’t really as much of a Black Bat thing as it was a Batman or Red Robin thing. So, she figured it probably wasn’t dangerous. She still found herself examining it. It was done in an old style, with a rough and slightly yellowed paper, a red wax seal with a pointy hat emblem she didn’t recognize, and ‘Ladybug’ written across the front in gorgeous calligraphy.

“Uh…?”

Black Bat only smiled at her and made a motion to open it.

Marinette hesitantly opened the letter and pulled out more weird paper. It was splattered with something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. In the same elegant script that had decorated the front, it read:

Your spirit has been summoned to my annual Halloween Party!

Dress to kill!

This was followed by a bunch of directions and timings and stuff about RSVP-ing.

Marinette looked at Black Bat, somehow even more confused than she had been before.

Thankfully, Red Robin chose that moment to run down the stairs, waving his invitation excitedly.

He stopped short when he saw Marinette already holding her invitation and huffed, sending Black Bat a halfhearted glare. “I wanted to tell her.”

Black Bat’s smile morphed into a smirk.

“Rude,” Red said. Then, he turned to Marinette. “We got invited to his Halloween Party!”

“Yeah… whose Halloween Party, exactly?”

“Scarecrow’s, of course!”

… what?

#stalker x stalker #maribat #shutterbug #timmari #timari #timinette #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #marinette: all the rogues are dangerous and smart i need to expect the unexpected #scarecrow: im having a halloween party!!#marinette: ... i guess that IS unexpected...

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kafka-ish · 4 years

Text

jealousy is a disease, get well soon | r.t.

richie gets a new girlfriend. she’s smart, popular, and pretty. but where does that leave y/n?

word count: 4,657

warnings/included: nsfw (smut, public sex), cliffhanger, kinda angsty, fem!reader

request: (from anonymous) “jealous richie tozier x reader smut?”

a/n: i feel like richie is ooc in this one but lmk what you think

Three months, eight days, and six hours. It had been three months, eight days, and six antagonizing hours since Richie Tozier started dating Vicki Horowitz.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Richie would still make his usual appearance at the lunch table with the Losers. He’d crack his usual jokes, then be on his way. He’d still walk with y/n to the library after school and he’d still make googly eyes at the cheerleaders who frequented the young adult section and hadn’t bothered to change from their uniforms yet.

But as the days got shorter and the timeline of Richie’s relationship got longer, something changed. Richie’s mouth became less trashy. He found the way his hairline was supposed to part. And along the way, the graphic tees he wore were now button-ups in a solid shade.

“What are you thinking about?” y/n asked. The question wasn’t foreign to Richie, but his answer was new to her ears.

They were sitting in the school library, as opposed to the public one they’d usually go to. Richie’s head rested in her lap; his mess of hair strewn all over the skirt of y/n’s dress—but she didn’t mind. He was sneaking a smoke even though there were no windows and offered her one of his cigs even though he knew becoming one step closer to death wasn’t something y/n was particularly fond of.

y/n accepted the cigarette anyway. She didn’t light it but tucked it behind her ear for safekeeping—a souvenir. Because this was the first time they’d hung out in weeks. Just the two of them; skipping their lunch period in an empty library because who even reads anymore?

“Nothin’ I really wanna tell you about, kid.” Richie stopped calling y/n sweetheart and babe long ago. Icky Vicki—a name y/n came up with without Richie’s knowledge—had requested she be the only babe or sweetheart in his life. And that’s how it was so on and so forth.

The heart beating in y/n’s chest grew increasingly louder because Richie used to tell her everything. Her hand left his scalp which she was once massaging under the tangles that were somehow still soft and lush. His eyebrows furrowed when she started to pull away from him.

“You’re disgusting, Tozier.” y/n then realized she didn’t have to ask Richie what he was thinking about. He was thinking about his girlfriend and the nights they’d shared on multiple occasions.

“What did I do?” He was now sitting up and facing his friend. Could he even call her a friend anymore? When was the last time they hung out? Richie stomped out his half-smoked Marlboro on the rug of the library, not caring that it would leave a mark, with the brand-new sneakers Vicki bought for him. His hands dug around in the front pocket of his jeans, searching for the Altoids container he kept on him at all times. Cinnamon. He downed half the box, the same way you’d chug a beer at a frat party because I hate it when you smoke, Rich echoed in his ears everytime he contemplated the pack of Marlboros that burned a hole in his other pocket.

y/n didn’t say anything. She got up, smoothed out her dress where Richie had left wrinkles, and stalked off.

It wasn’t like y/n to be jealous. When Bill got his first girlfriend, she jumped for joy and asked for her contact info so they could have sleepovers and give each other makeovers. When Mike started flirting with the new girl who moved into the plot of land next to his, y/n didn’t bat an eye.

So what was different this time?

y/n didn’t waste her precious time thinking about it. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t let Richie Tozier consume her thoughts, at least not consciously, during her restless nights and grey days. She assumed it wasn’t worth it to let Richie and his icky girlfriend get the best of her. Because that would mean they won.

The two hadn’t hung out since then.

They weren’t in a fight, but they weren’t on each other’s good sides. Necessarily.

Richie opted to spend the rest of the week with Vicki and y/n managed to get by the way she usually had for the past three months.

“Maybe you’re jealous?” Beverly offered. y/n found herself spending a lot more time with Bev now that she marked out Richie’s name with a red marker from her list of friends.

y/n scoffed and handed Beverly her right hand for her to paint. Jealous? That’s absurd. She admired her newly painted left hand. The dark green color surprisingly complimented her undertones perfectly.

“Why would I be jealous?” y/n couldn’t bring herself to look at her friend. She didn’t want her eyes to give away a reality she wasn’t ready to face, and she didn’t want to find a look in Beverly’s that only confirmed what she was suggesting.

“Oh, come on.” Beverly’s head threw back—a sign that she was becoming annoyed with her friend’s stubbornness and groaned. “Put two and two together. You and Richie used to spend every day together.” Her hands left y/n’s to make a sort of sandwiching motion. “Now you don’t.” They spread apart. Beverly shrugged nonchalantly as y/n started to realize something it seemed everyone already knew.

“I can’t believe you think I’m jealous of Richie.” Was all y/n could bring herself to say. But her thoughts wandered exactly where Beverly predicted.

To Richie Tozier, who was expectedly hanging out with one Vicki Horowitz. They were walking the cement of the strip mall. It was something Vicki did often, even before she had a boyfriend, and something Richie did often now that Vicki had attached himself to her like a dog on a leash.

“What do you think about that dress?” Vicki stopped outside of a small boutique. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground and her right arm was linked with Richie’s left while her free hand pointed to a small, black dress that allowed for practically no breathing space.

“’S cool,” Richie said with no sign of interest. He’d sworn they passed that dress three times by now and the pavement under his feet felt like the entryway to Satan’s humble abode.

“Cool?” Richie didn’t notice his girlfriend’s trimmed eyebrow shoot up in disbelief at the boy whose arm she held onto. “Well, what do you think of the dress on me?” Her voice dipped an octave lower and her eyes had that knowing look they always did before she was about to take a standardized test. Or when they were about to do it. Maybe that’s how Vicki roped Richie into this relationship.

Four months ago, Richie would have never thought of dating Vicki Horowitz. Not because she was out of his league. Every girl was out of his league, according to the dopes he called friends. But Richie never thought about batting an eye in Vicki Horowtiz’s direction. She was a governor’s scholar and the school’s class president ever since 1990. She was also a member of the same student council y/n was on, but to think he could score both of them would be a page from a fairytale.

It was a fairytale the day Vicki Horowitz had come up to him and the Losers at lunch, asking if she could have a word with him, no not you, him.

“What’s cookin, good-lookin’?” And Richie scolded himself for those being the first words spoken to the Vicki Horowitz.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Her blazing blue eyes rolled playfully, and Richie smiled because the only other time a girl had called him anything remotely close to cute was when y/n straightened out his collar and fluffed up his hair at homecoming. Don’t you clean up nice. “I want you to go out with me.”

“What sorta charity case are you workin’ here, hot stuff?” In Richie’s mind, he had every right to be incredulous. Girls didn’t ask him out. Girls didn’t even say yes when he asked them out.

And maybe it was a charity case when, a month in, Vicki had convinced Richie to iron his jeans and wear shirts that were only one color. Maybe it was a charity case when Richie found himself eating lunch with Vicki’s group of friends instead of his—talking about scholarship programs and studying abroad instead of the new werewolf movie that somehow scared the cripes out of him and when Batman’s new comic issue would be released. Maybe it was a charity case when Richie no longer used words like fuck and shit and began popping mints like they were drugs because Vicki wouldn’t let him smoke around her.

His white lace-ups kicked mindlessly at the sidewalk he stood at. He pondered the question even though there wasn’t much to ponder about. “Then I’d say that dress just got hot,” Richie smirked, and Vicki slapped him in the side.

Of course, you would were the words he expected to hear. But as much as Richie wanted her to be, Vicki wasn’t y/n and instead said, “Did you go over the vocab packet I slipped in your locker?

“I got it.” Richie’s free hand took residence in his pocket. He felt around for the box of Marlboros there and wondered if he should light one in front of her. Three months—almost four, he’d been in this relationship, and ever since a month ago he was beginning to think it was one-sided. “I, uh, didn’t get the chance to go over it.” He coughed and looked down at her, not expecting to see her eyes burning through his.

“You smell like cinnamon,” Vicki said. Her gaze softened but Richie wasn’t impressed. What was it about her? Was it her who changed, or him? Richie’s mind couldn’t wander any further—his thoughts sliced by Vicki’s voice. “What’s up with you?” She wasn’t usually the concerned type, but Richie knew she was being genuine when her eyes started hopelessly searching his.

“I’m tired,” Richie lied. “Y’know, we’ve been walkin’ so much. Ye ole feet need a rest.” Richie laughed but Vicki didn’t. She didn’t usually find him funny. She didn’t usually find anything funny except for small dogs in purses and grammatical mistakes.

“You could’ve just said so.” It was one of the few times she let up, but she was good. She was good at a lot of things, actually.

Vicki drove him home in silence. It wasn’t a talking kind of day and the radio was left untouched since neither of them could agree on a music station.

“Call me.” Were her last words to him before he stepped out of her daddy’s Mercedes.

Richie didn’t say anything. He stepped inside his house, his back slumped against the front door as he finished his thoughts from earlier that day in the comfort of his own home.

Why, out of everyone in Derry, would Vicki Horowitz choose to date someone like Richie Tozier? Of course, he’d be an idiot—which he wasn’t (that’s debatable)—to pass up an opportunity to go out with someone as eclectic as her. His thoughts betrayed him, finding their way to Vicki’s long, blonde hair and always rosy cheeks.

Obviously, he’d miss her if he broke things off between them. But there was something else that twisted his gut, telling him to do so.

And Richie always trusted his gut. He’d trust it if it told him to pick C on his math test or if it told him to jump off the golden gate bridge.

It was Monday, in the corner behind Derry High where everyone smoked, where the breakup took place. Richie had the decency to break it off somewhere private and Vicki had the decency to not cry or beg him to stay.

“Hey.” Richie’s voice was soft. His back stabilized by the bricks behind him and Vicki didn’t need to question what this was about.

“Hi.” Her tone held the same solemnness as his. “The least you could do was invite me somewhere nicer to break up with me.” It was the only time Richie laughed at one of her jokes and the last time he would. And though he wanted to, Richie couldn’t be surprised that Vicki already knew what he called her over for. She was a smart girl with a smart mouth to match.

“You know?” He stood up straight and took a drag from his cigarette.

“If you weren’t smoking, I would’ve thought otherwise,” Vicki said truthfully. Just then, a flood of students burst through the doors of Derry High. School was out. “I’m not fond of it, but I’m not going to hold you back.”

Richie wanted to scoff. He thought of the one afternoon when Vicki spent an hour combing through his hair, so the strands laid straight and naturally began to part to the side. He thought of how she scolded his unhealthy use of recreational drugs to the point he had to live a double life. He thought of how his time was no longer spent with his friends, but with her.

I’m not going to hold you back my ass.

But this was no time to argue.

Richie put out the cigarette, barely smoked, and walked away. Away from button-up shirts. Away from vocabulary packets and the debate of the use ‘impact’ in place of ‘effect’. Away from Vicki.

His rough footsteps hit the ground under him with a thump. Richie knew exactly where he was going. And maybe it was wrong that his first instinct was to cross the path of a certain someone after he had just called things off with his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend. But maybe Richie didn’t care.

It took him approximately ten minutes to walk to the Derry Public Library and approximately two minutes for an indescribable feeling to tear through his stomach. His feet lurched forward, but Richie steadied himself by reaching for one of the wooden shelves of the bookcase he stood behind.

It was y/n. As he expected, she was sitting at one of the desks. But her nose wasn’t stuck in her chem book, cramming for tomorrow’s test. It was pointed towards Matt Brimmer, upturned, along with her crinkled eyes and dazed smile. Was Matt Brimmer really that funny?

Richie knew he could make her smile like that. He knew he could make her smile even wider. So, he didn’t know why he was having seconds thoughts right now. The other voices in his head, telling him how inferior he was to so-called Matt Brimmer. Matt Brimmer on the football team. Matt Brimmer with the golden hair. Matt Brimmer the golden boy.

Everyone knew who Matthew Brimmer was; it’d be a crime not to. Although he wasn’t the Quarterback, he was the main reason Derry High’s football team got any of the wins they had. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but his prince charming smile and locks that reminded Richie of that Rapunzel story made up for it. He got by.

Richie had two options. He could go home and feel sorry for himself or he could wait for y/n and confront her after her study session. Was what they were doing even considered studying?

He opted for the second since he had already spent enough time feeling sorry for himself. And one dreadful hour later of mindlessly picking at his shoe and flipping through various pages of children’s books, Richie caught y/n alone, about to leave the already dark library.

The lights were dimmed, and the sun outside had already set. There was no sign of the librarian or her volunteers when y/n’s worn in high-tops came into his eyeline. He was sitting cross-legged, with a book in his lap. But his mind wasn’t on the pages.

Richie’s doe eyes widened under his magnifying lenses when they trailed up the skin of his friend’s bare legs that had stopped in their tracks. y/n was wearing a denim mini skirt in the middle of winter and how she hadn’t attracted goosebumps yet was a question he’d save for later.

“H-hey!” Richie bounced to his feet, standing at his full height.

“Hi.” y/n eyed him skeptically. She was holding a book in one hand. Her other hand was attached to the strap of her backpack.

“I saw you with Matt,” Richie blurted out. His own words surprised him because although he wasn’t shy—far from it—he wasn’t confrontational either. No. That was Bill. Bill would be the type to ask about the guy you had just got done cuddling with at the football game even though he was your boyfriend. But y/n and Richie weren’t dating, and Richie didn’t like her like that. Did he?

“Okay.” Was all y/n said. Her face was blank, void of any emotion. A sign. And her eyes bore into his, the way a police car’s emergency lights catch you when you’re speeding.

She was about to leave, probably to return her book, until Richie’s hand coiled around her wrist.

“What?” The irritableness in y/n’s tone became slightly more palatable. The one word struck Richie’s core and the voice in his head telling him telling him that this would be a good idea was now making its retreat.

“Matt Brimmer, eh?”

“Please.” Her expression grew more disgusted by the second; eyebrows raised; lips puckered as if she had just sucked the life out of a lemon. “You’re the last person who gets to commentate on my love life.”

Richie’s heart panged at the last words. Love life. If this were true—if y/n were dating Matt Brimmer—Richie quite literally wouldn’t know what to do with himself. His face didn’t show it, but right now, he was a guest at his funeral. Everyone was wearing black except him and Stan was giving the eulogy.

Only Richie would do what Richie did next. It was an awful act of…whatever because this newfound feeling in his chest was too much for him to take. Both of his hands cupped either side of her cheeks which were now hot, but not from embarrassment. He dove in for a kiss, both of his lips capturing her bottom one. The quietest moan rolled off her tongue, but before any more noises could be made, she pulled away.

“You have a girlfriend,” y/n said, as much as she didn’t want to. “and I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re with Wonderboy.” Richie heaved out a sigh loud enough for y/n to forget what had just happened moments ago and raise her eyebrows, only to ask what’s wrong. In fact, she did oh so conveniently forget about his actions from earlier, and her right eyebrow quirked.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked and Richie didn’t realize how much he missed that question until now. How much he missed her.

The color in his eyes seemed to darken—like they were hooded by a shadow—and she was sure it wasn’t the doing of the lack of lighting in the room.

But Richie didn’t reply. His lips trailed back to hers again. The two melded into each other like iron being welded. This time y/n didn’t pull away. She lingered long enough to taste the cigarette he’d hardly smoked earlier and mints he didn’t swallow whole this time.

It was Richie who broke the kiss, only to press one onto her neck. The tip of his pointed nose tickled as it grazed the skin of her cheekbone and his chapped lips felt new and exciting when they left kisses below her ear.

“Richie.” y/n would be ashamed to admit this was something she’d been waiting for. That this very moment was a scene from her dreams that she hadn’t got the proper amount of time to explore because she’d awoken before the climax.

“You’ll have to be quiet, doll,” Richie mumbled against her skin. y/n could’ve fainted right then and there, but she refrained; wanting to experience this moment fully conscious. His fingers found their way to her side, gripping the fabric of her white mock neck casually as if this were something they’d done hundreds of times before. There was something about the way he handled her that made y/n insecure. Just knowing he had practiced these types of moves on girls before her had sparked a light in the pit of darkness that was her stomach. Her hands flew to his cheeks. The pad of her thumbs ran across his pale skin now blossoming pink.

Richie twisted their position, backing y/n into the case of books behind her—full to the shelf. His hands ghosted their way under her top, brushing her bare midsection. It was soft but cold, even under the sweater textile. It didn’t help that his hands could substitute for ice.

y/n giggled—a sound so sweet he’d cherish ‘til the end of time. A sound he’d never heard from Vicki’s lips. Her breath, smelling of lemon lozenges, fanned his face in a hot cloud. Richie wanted more. If he had any less dignity, he’d beg for more.

It’s not like y/n wanted to giggle during this new act of intimacy between them. To be frank, she was…upset. Who was Richie Tozier to leave her hanging for a girl who wore frilly chiffon blouses on Wednesday only to wear her jeans low rise so everyone and their grandmother could see her pink lace thong peeking from them on Friday? Who was Richie Tozier to leave her hanging at all? The late nights she’d spent at the Derry Public Library alone, in hopes the certain someone she snuck glances at during their passing period and her Pre-Calculus class only left an empty feeling in her heart and a rotten aftertaste in her mind. To let Richie know he was the reason for her pleasure and the hand between her thighs at night would be letting him win.

But what’s life without a few losses?

Richie’s movements never stopped—they were quick, but enough to send sparks to the one place y/n needed attention the most. His hands traveled lower, eventually reaching the hem of her skirt that ended just four inches above the knee. Distractedly, he pinched the thick material between his thumb and index finger. The roughness of the denim somehow satisfyingly scratched the edge of his fingers—drawing him out of his trance.

He lifted her skirt—revealing y/n’s ballerina pink underwear Richie only got to see at the quarry. There was no time for them to completely undress—and if they did, it’d be far too scandalous (as if what they were doing right now wasn’t already sinful).

Richie’s head whipped away from y/n’s neck; his eyes frantically darting around the space around them, seeing if anyone was nearby. y/n’s hands once again took his face in them, directing his attention back to her. Richie smiled as soon as her features came into view: black mascara smudged on her bottom lash line and the lipstick previously on her lips found a new home on her frenulum. She was mind-blowingly good looking even in a disordered state.

His hands left her upper thigh—where he had been leaving feathery strokes. y/n presumed he was about to unbuckle his belt. But he didn’t. He stood there, silently appreciating the scene displayed before him, and also wishing they had more time or had a setup more comfortable. His hands rested at the silver clasp of his belt, daring to make a move but also frozen in time.

“What are you waiting for?” y/n sniped, and Richie’s confidence level was found through the roof; like the green health bar when you first slip a quarter into the Street Fighter machine.

Nimbly, Richie’s fingers went to undo his belt and slip off his jeans and boxers underneath. It didn’t take long for his lips to crash against hers. A bruise would be left later for memories’ sake. His tongue swiped her bottom lip, tasting birthday cake in the process.

y/n’s own hands were small, but they made an effort to run through his hair, feeling the left-over gel from yesterday and the abnormal amount of times it had been brushed through. She tugged at the roots, eliciting a groan from him that was luckily muffled by y/n’s mouth.

His hands found their original place on the curve of y/n’s hips. But first, he made quick to strip her of her undergarments. An innocent shade for a not so innocent act. Richie was fast to slip in—not giving y/n the time to adjust around him. She whimpered and he swore he could feel a tear against both of their cheeks.

“You’re dripping.” Richie didn’t address the quiet tears that rolled down the slope of her face, too concentrated on the feeling of something else rolling against him. y/n’s hips perked up, a desperate attempt to meet his; ardent and needy. He took it as a sign. His thrusts sped up, coated in her silk.

The substance shared between them was like glue holding their bodies together. Richie’s hands surprised y/n when they squeezed the back of her legs, urging her to jump up, and stabilizing her when she did. Her legs coiled around his, allowing for Richie to find a deeper spot none of her other hookups could.

“Can Matt Brimmer fuck you like this?” Despite the shivers his words sent down her spine, y/n finally knew what this was about. She had her suspicions, but his words only confirmed them.

His voice was hushed, only for her to hear, but she supposed if he screamed it no one would hear them in the seemingly vacant building.

y/n didn’t reply. She felt her eyes roll back and his hips snap in unpredictable paces against hers. It was rare—exceptional, even—that y/n found release this fast. She could blame it on the thrill of potentially getting caught. Their bodies covered yet splayed out inappropriately for anyone to walk in on. She could blame it on Richie; that she was finally attached at the hip, literally, with her lifelong best friend and not-so-guilty pleasure fuck whenever Beverly and she ran out of sleepover games. Her grip on his hair tightened as well as the walls around him. The prolonged whines she had been biting between her teeth turned into heavy pants—her breath mixing with his.

Miraculous, it was, that Richie was able to remain noiseless when he came. He stayed inside her for a second more, dwelling in the ecstasy the two had shared for as long as he could. It was only until y/n’s eyes greeted Richie’s when he pulled out and redressed his half-naked body.

She wasn’t glaring this time, but she didn’t look happy either. Usually, girls were supposed to be happy after sex. Second thoughts started to litter his mind. Richie couldn’t help but think he came short. But he was relieved when y/n spoke up.

“Can Vicki Horowitz make you feel that way?” Her skirt was now properly covering her thighs and she must’ve pulled her underwear up and Richie hadn’t noticed. y/n left him with a quick peck to the lips, smirking into it as she did. It was dominant. Possessive. The last of what Richie saw of her was the back of her now messy hair when she picked up her backpack and walked out—through the maze of books and out the glass doors.

Richie was in awe. Still in a post-orgasmic condition, his fingers ran to his neck, tracing over the newly forming blemish y/n left as a trade for the dozens he gave her. Richie stood there a few minutes more. His palm pressed against the mark only to leave so his index finger could trace his lips that a gracious residue of berry lipstick and saliva mixture tacked onto.

He’d catch her tomorrow.

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phis-corner · 3 years

Note

How about #34 and #9 on the fluff/angst list?Ship is yours to decide

34- “Please don’t do this.” 9- “You meant too much to me.” | Platonic Timari

Note: reverse robins au, where Tim was the one captured by Joker instead, choosing to take his own life instead of break under torture. Marinette, having given up LB post Hawkmoth’s defeat, chooses to take up her dead brother’s mantle after seeing Bruce spiral. She is also Bruce’s biological child in this au.

I got reaaaally into reverse robins, and this is the result.

TW: suicide mention

Her father and Alfred are being increasingly shifty about the Red Hood, abruptly stopping conversations when she enters the room and changing the subject when she brings up the mysterious man who’s been picking off the corrupted people in this city.

So she makes a plan to look into it in her own time, carefully watching and observing to find a free time slot, and seizes the opportunity.

Dad is at a WE meeting because Lucius threatened him with no gadgets for a month if he didn’t show again, Alfred is asleep (because he is actually human, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary), and Damian is in Bludhaven with Jon, both working their respective day jobs as an officer in the BPD and a journalist.

Marinette silently logs into the Batcomputer, bypassing the security on Hood’s file with a little help from Oracle (hey, Steph was being kept out of the dark too, and they were both curious.)

She reads the basic information, and scrolls down to the DNA section.

Her blood runs cold when she sees the information listed there, because how can it be a match?

He’s dead.

Dead.

Captured by the Joker, tortured near the breaking point, before taking his own life with a shard of broken glass to preserve their secrets.

She watched them lower his body into the ground. Watched as his friends and family stood there, under the clear blue sky, which seemed too pretty for such a terrible day.

Watched as his teammates broke down around his grave, as Bruce’s face crumpled when everyone else is gone.

Watched Damian, two weeks later, finally show up and leave a single purple hyacinth, kneeling in front of the headstone and tracing the letter with a single finger, head bowed, before leaving.

She searched up the meaning of the flower. I am sorry, please forgive me.

She mourned him.

Mourned a brother, so kind and intelligent, who never really knew how much he meant to all of them.

She has her own suspicions about how he was captured in the first place, but pointing fingers would do more harm than good.

Her father spiraled again, after he died.

She didn’t want to do it. Didn’t want to introduce a new Robin, and slowly let the world forget about the second. Robin should have died with Tim.

But Batman will not stop, and as long as he keeps fighting, he’ll need a Robin to hold him back.

Marinette dons the costume, two months after they bury him, and tries to forget that this uniform, his spare, still smells like him.

She’s wearing a dead boy’s clothes.

Alfred helps her make a new one after that first night.

Eventually, he does accept her as Robin. He trains her harder than he did both Damian and Tim.

She pushes through.

And now, four years later, there’s evidence proclaiming that he’s alive.

Alive, and on a killing spree, weeding out Gotham’s corrupt at the very center, strategically taking people out to topple the system.

A laugh escapes her, even as her shoulders shake with tears, because the methods are so familiar, so Tim, that she doesn’t know how she didn’t notice earlier.

She asks Jason to cover for her that night.

He agrees without any questions, seeing the serious look on her face. Marinette has never been more grateful for the boy she and Dad found stealing the tires of the Batmobile.

After Batman leaves (Robin is benched until Red Hood is taken care of, whatever that means), and she pretends to go to bed, she opens her closet and pushes against the hidden panel in the back wall, revealing a spare uniform.

Robin escapes out her window, even though she knows that Alfred will have been alerted by the window opening.

Too bad for them, though, because she removed all the trackers except the emergency beacon, which can only be activated from her side.

The Red Hood is elusive, but she knows his tricks. She keeps up with him as he turns corner after corner, jumps from building to building, until he stops on the roof of Wayne Enterprises.

“Robin.” He says, helmet filtering out any signs that it’s her brother underneath. “But you’re not really Robin, are you? You’re wearing a dead boy’s clothes.”

She can’t help it, she flinches at how casually he speaks of his own death.

“Tim.” She tugs at the uniform, which has never fit right, despite it being tailored to her exact measurements. “What happened to you?”

“What happened? I died, that’s what happened.” The helmet comes off with a click and a hiss of air, and then it’s just her brother, older, eyes violent green, face twisted into a sneer. “I went off to follow the lead on the Joker myself, since Big Bird shut the door in my face and told me it wouldn’t amount to anything, got myself captured, and ended my own life to preserve their secrets. But you should know all of that, Replacement.”

The nickname is like a dagger to the heart. “I never wanted to replace you, the same way you didn’t want to replace Damian.” She says steadily, staring straight into his eyes even as her heart skitters frantically. “I was keeping Robin’s legacy alive.”

“Robin should have died with me.”

“You know as much as I do that Batman needs a Robin, and Batman would not stop fighting as long as he lives.” She replies. “I never wanted to be Robin, Tim. It’s been four years, and it still feels like it doesn’t fit. But there was nobody else to do it, no one else to bring him out of that spiral.”

Tim is silent for a moment, so she continues.

“Come home, Tim. Please. We’ve all missed you so much. Dad isn’t the same anymore. No one is. We can be a family again.”

“Don’t you see, Marinette? I was never meant to be Robin, either. I was just that one annoying kid who wouldn’t leave Bruce alone, the one who blackmailed him into letting a second Robin out onto the streets. Even after I moved in, I was just that one kid who never really belonged, the outsider trying to insert himself into a family, pretending that Bruce cared for me as much as he did his biological children. Bruce only allowed me to stay in the Manor because I knew his secret. Damian made no effort to hide his disgust around me. You- you were the only one in that house who treated me like an equal.”

He draws a gun and points it at her, and she hears the safety click off. “But you’re Robin. He shouldn’t have made another child Robin. He should have said no, let the legacy die.”

“Tim,” She pleads. “Please don’t do this.”

Something in his eyes waver for a moment, fading to blue, before they harden into acid green again. “You meant too much to me. Let’s see if you mean enough to Batman too, enough for him to arrive on time.”

The gun goes off with a bang, and she feels the bullet enter through a crack in her armor, burying itself in her torso. The pain is nothing new, but overwhelming all the same as her entire body seems to be on fire.

The last thing she does before everything goes black is calibrate the beacon to send the signal to Nightwing only, before smashing the button with all her remaining strength.

I hope Flamebird gets them here on time.

There are two reasons why she chooses to send it to Nightwing, and Nightwing only. One being because Damian doesn’t know that Tim is alive, and despite everything, he deserves to.

The other?

She doesn’t trust her father to make it.

permanent tags

@wannajointhecrabcult @miraculous-simmer7 @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @fantasyislive @chocolateherringtacofan @junarvion @susiej1118 @aestheticnpoetic @toodaloo-kangaroo @ladybug-182 @itsmeevie01 @g-arya @souleateralicestein @nightstarblue @i-is-mysterious @moonystars14 @vixen-uchiha @the-flapdoodle-noodle @labschaos @nathleigh @jalaluvsu @kaithehero @iamablinkmarvelarmy

unspecified @momothefemur @indecisive-mess-named-me @laurcad123 @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @sassakitty @fusser90

#maribat #platonic timari #ambiguous ending #my writing

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squireofgeekdom · 3 years

Text

yknow what i would love? batfam sitcom

the intro starts dramatically - batman standing on a rooftop, silhouetted against the night sky, a solitary protector, a dark knight ...

suddenly! lights from across the street illuminate -

a whole ridiculous, chaotic family on the rooftop with him! roll upbeat sitcom credits

featuring:

- Bruce’s love of & devotion to the trashfire that is the city of Gotham, to the point of absurdity, see:

- Batman, holding up someone under the influence of fear toxin, completely unperturbed as they try repeatedly to stab him: ‘do you see that? they had a swiss army knife in their boot. that’s the kind of ingenuity and preparedness you only see in the people of Gotham. We have the best people in the country -’ *supervillain runs past behind him*

- Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne, having been caught outside a downtown donut shop carrying a ridiculous number of boxes of donuts, while standing in front of a dumpster that is literally on fire, and asked about why he continues to invest so much in Gotham/keep his business there: ‘Gotham is the best city in the country and way better than Starling City and another thing -’

- If Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne is known for two things it’s for absurd levels of generosity and spoiling his kids rotten. If he’s known for three things it’s for absurd levels of generosity, spoiling his kids rotten, and chaotic energy. If he’s known for four things it’s for absurd levels of generosity, spoiling his kids rotten, chaotic energy, and being really annoyed if the press misreports that he’s a billionaire, he has ethics

- The number of things in the city named after Thomas and Martha Wayne because Bruce Wayne funds them reaches comic levels of absurdity. There’s a montage, and then more of them keep showing up in the background.

- Crime doesn’t pay but Wayne Enterprises does. Every few episodes a henchman from a previous episode will just. Show up in the background working at WE.

- Cass expressed an interest in ballet and now Gotham has a fully funded ballet troupe and extra money to refurbish the old theater. At least one episode is Bruce getting through increasingly convoluted obstacles to get to Cass’s ballet recital.

- Gotham’s animal shelters are fully funded and no one knows what kind of animal Damian will bring home next. Increasingly odd pets wander through the background of Wayne manor shots. There is at least one pet centric pov episode.

- The other kids warned Steph and Duke to express an interest in something only if they want their name on a building dedicated to it. They took this as a challenge to see the most absurd things Bruce would name after them.

- There’s a Jason Todd memorial wing of the Gotham library that keeps getting tagged with ‘I’m not dead’

- Bruce Wayne is asked for comment: *meme voice* sometimes i can still hear his voice

- *on patrol* ‘Wait, where’s Jason’ *sound of gunshots* *sighs* ‘Dick, please go get your brother and tell him he’s grounded.’ ‘... dad, he’s 23.’ Tim: ‘wait, how come Jason gets to be 23 and I’m still 17?’

- Bruce Wayne leaves tip jars stuffed with hundreds. By pure coincidence, so does Batman.

- All of Gotham’s regular citizens know who the Batfam are. None of the villains do. Both heroes and villains are convinced the Batfam have airtight secret identities. All of Gotham’s regular citizens think it’s really obvious, but play along with not knowing who they are because they like the Batfam, although there are occasionally near misses: (Holy Musical B@man voice) ‘thanks for saving me, Bruce man - I mean Bat Wayne - fuck!’ The Batfam comes up with increasingly absurd excuses for these slip ups other than their identities having been discovered. Alfred knows what’s up.

- *there is A Crime* *dramatic build up to a fight* *cut to Batman sitting with the scared kid caught in the crossfire in the foreground, while the batkids beat up the villain in the background*

- Batman: *pulling out various things that could not possibly fit within the same pocket of his utility belt* Do you need a tissue? a teddy bear? a blanket? a cup of tea?

- The utility belt breaks the laws of physics more than anything else on the show

more to come as things come to mind that make me laugh

#squire in the batcave #batfam #batfam sitcom

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yall-hate-kids-tourney · 4 months

Text

Who has been screwed over by the fandom more?

Propaganda below the cut

Damian Wayne:

HES JUST A LITTLE BABY GUY!!!!! Little baby man raised as an assassin and learning how to be a real person <3. But because he was kind of a dick and also a little stabby early-on, especially to the fandom's main "so sad uwu depressed baby" blorbo (and also he's not white), people treat him like he's satan incarnate

Jason Todd:

Robin, Jason Todd, THE hated child character. In the 1980s, Batman comics had become increasingly dark and gritty. According to editor O'Neil himself, the courted audience wasn't kids but 19-40 year old men with disposable income. Batman's child sidekick, Robin, was offensively campy and childish. Fans called him wimpy, annoying, dumb, bratty, etc. Also people complained that Batman acting like an affectionate dad was unmanly and gay. Robin acts violent and emotional and people are like "ew he's so childish and emotional"—and then Batman literally acts just as murderously and emotionally within literally the same exact story and people are like "wow he's so dark and tortured". So in 1988 (after brutalizing Batgirl to get rid of her for being too bright and nice and kid-friendly), DC held a paid poll for fans to vote for Robin to live or die. O'Neil claims he heard a fan (a grown man with a dayjob as a lawyer) programmed a phone to spam kill votes. One fanguy claimed that he sold his Mercedes to buy kill votes (probably an exaggeration but still). By less than 1% margin, the vote decided to kill Robin in a spectacularly violent way. Anyway the 1989 Batman movie brought in a huge wave of new child comicbook fans who liked the new Robin (a very cool teenage high school Robin with a driver's license and a girlfriend), and DC started a separate Robin-less Batman series called Legends of the Dark Knight to make the anti-Robin writers and fans happy. But to this day, many fans agree it was a good idea to kill off the other Robin so that his foolish death reminds other characters to never be childish and stupid again. Bonus: the current Robin (usually a traumatized 10-year-old) has also been facing some pretty loud hatred for over 15 years.

#yall hate kids tourney #round 1a #dc #dc comics #batman #batfamily #dc robin #batman comics #batman and robin #damian wayne #jason todd #cw child death

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octalove · 4 years

Text

Back Then

(Batsis/Jason Todd/Dick Grayson)

Description: Reader’s little brother is having some trouble adjusting to his new life. Sad toward the end.

The sun was bashfully hiding behind some thin gray clouds, not unusual for any given afternoon. Leaning against my still-warm black Maybach 57, I tried not to grow impatient. “Maybe he joined an after school activity.” Dick mumbled through the Twix bar I’d picked up for him at the vending machine during lunch. He was sitting in the front seat, with the window rolled down, listening to Adele. I rolled my eyes, knowing full well that Jason Peter Todd would rather be skinned than join an after school activity. Still, though, Gotham Preparatory School for Boys had let out eleven minutes ago, and most of the other boys had gotten into their parent’s cars and sped away to their uptown abodes. Dick and I had come straight from Gotham Academy, punctual as usual, so as to avoid a folly of disapproving glares from dad and Alfred at dinner tonight. Where the hell was that kid?

“Maybe he ran away. Joined the circus.” Dick tried again. “Maybe I’m gonna put you in a circus.” “Back in a circus.” He corrected with a grin. Finally, at 4:15, Jason emerged from the school’s artfully carved wooden doors. His head was bowed, dark hair sticking up in all different directions, brow furrowed. He looked small in his school uniform, plaid socks and disheveled blazer. He hugged a book to his chest. A leathery hand lay on his shoulder, attached to a spindly man in his late 50’s, with receding salt and pepper hair, and golden oval glasses perched on his beak-like nose. I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms, and upon spotting me, the man turned pale as a ghost, just as Jason looked up to reveal a purple bruise under his eye. He snapped his gaze back down. Dick quickly assessed the situation as well, and hopped out of the car, standing equal to me at a solid 5’8, but with all the toned muscle of a gymnast since walking age. We were about to play good cop bad cop- me, the polite, sophisticated elder sister who didn’t want to involve her egregiously powerful father, unless provoked by lack of cooperation, and Dick, the ill-tempered 15-year-old brother ready to raise hell if he didn’t get a good idea of what the fuck happened.

“Headmaster Ellison.” I said tersely, smoothing out my Gotham Academy uniform. I was thoroughly familiar with him from Dick’s days at the prep school- he’d called him Headmaster Hellison, and had a catalogue of grievances as long as his list of unfinished assignments.

“Ah, Miss Wayne. You look lovely today.” I had to steel my face into something vaguely agreeable, because even though it appeared he was the one afraid of me, I was 17 and in a schoolgirl skirt, and something about getting complimented by old men always skeeved me.

“What happened?” I cut right to the point, deciding small talk might soften my resolve, and I was in the mood for this to piss me off.

“Well, you see, we had a small incident today-“

“It’s okay! Can we go home?” Jason piped up abruptly and nervously, eyes pleading with me to let it go. Unfortunately, Waynes skewed toward long grudges.

“Come here, let me see.” I said more softly. Stiffly, Jason trudged across the neatly cut grass, still avoiding my eye. The bruise itself wasn’t bad, but I could tell it had just begun to bloom.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. “Jason has been encountering some problems with some of the other boys. This wouldn’t be the first incident, but it did escalate this time-“

“Not the first incident?” I clipped.

“It never got physical before, just some small verbal altercations that we easily handled.”

“Obviously they weren’t handled.” It was Dick’s turn to interrupt. It always struck me how he could make his voice go from lazily playful to stark and authoritative, biting off words almost as effectively as dad. Who needed Batman and Robin when Y/N Wayne and Dick Grayson were on the case?

“Please, can we just go? I’m okay, honest.” Jason begged, grabbing my hand and tugging just a little. His bronzed face was all swollen and puffy- not just from the fight. I could tell his eyes were rimmed with red. But he looked at me with all the determination and bravado of a street rat from Gotham, and my heart always bled for him in that regard. I sighed.

“Well, I have violin practice here shortly, Headmaster Ellison, so I’m going to take my brother home,” I bit off the brother part with a special zeal to emphasize that Jason Todd, no matter his name or background, was a Wayne, and I was his reminder. “And my father will be calling this evening to handle it once he gets off work.” Work that includes being able to liquidize this whole school right into his bank account in the time it takes to send an email.

“Get in, Jason.” I said. He did.

After a silent ride home, in which Dick tried to coax the full story out of an increasingly moody Jason, we arrived back at the manor whereupon I briefed Alfred, concerned, supportive, and called dad, exasperated, quiet. I let my little brother stew in his room until later that night, when I finally got tired of waiting him out and knocked on the door.

“Jaybird.” I cooed softly.

“…”

“Jay. If I open this door and you’re not there, I will set up the largest manhunt this city has ever witnessed.”

“I’m okay.” A quiet voice called back, sounding annoyed.

“May I come in?” I asked.

“…”

“Ok.”

I cracked the door open. He was balled up in his window nook, engrossed in a book. The room was dark, and he was reading with a flashlight, which was really unnecessary because he had about a dozen lamps, including a really cool lava lamp that Dick had gotten him. He’d changed out of his uniform and into pants and a hoodie, his hood pulled over with the strings pulled taut. He glanced down at the keys in my hand, narrowing his eyes.

“Come on.” I said.

“Where?”

“You haven’t eaten since you got home, kiddo.” His gaze fell askance. When it came to Jason, food was the way to ensure the answer was yes, whatever the question was.

“Can you bring me back something?” He grumbled quietly after a moment. I shook my head.

“I’m going to Sherman’s. Dine in only. One time offer.” I said with a smile. He frowned.

“I don’t wanna talk to Bruce.”

“Bruce isn’t coming. Just you and me. And we don’t even have to talk.” After some consideration, he pulled himself from his nook and brushed past me on his way out. I grinned to myself. Too easy.

Sherman’s Diner was the finest restaurant experience in Gotham City. The reflection of the neon lights skewed across puddles which danced with the drizzling rain. Fuchsia, cyan, lime green, red. Cracked white tiles and a sign with Sherman himself; a little plump chef man who, despite his jovial countenance and enthusiastic smile, appeared to be weeping tears of rust. Inside, the floor was unswept, the tables a bit sticky from all the no-show teenage staff of the payroll, and one of the lights above a lonely booth flickered. Jason loved it. The waitresses loved him.

“Come on in and sit down, hun, we’ll get ya some coffee!” A blonde woman called from behind the counter. One thing about Gothamites and Diners, black coffee was a 24/7 ordeal; 9pm on a school night was no exception. I let Jason pick the booth- he usually went for the same one, creature of habit that he was. We slid into the cool, torn red leather and neither of us needed to look at the menu. We sipped our coffees quietly for a while- Jason pretending to like it because it was the worldly thing to do. He’d never admit that he only started after he saw that dad and I always passed on sugar and cream.

It seemed our little evening standoff was going to bleed into the night. I took it as an opportunity to show him how patient I could be when necessary. The waitress- Darcy- set down a small slice of Oreo cake on the table. For him. Finally, he sighed, taking a bite of it.

“I hate school.” He mumbled.

“The school? Or the kids?” He didn’t answer. “What happened, Jay? Last week you loved school.”

“I like English.” He offered.

“Jason.” I said, leaning forward and folding my hands on the table. Food hadn’t worked. Patience was out the window. It was time to apply pressure. “If you don’t tell me who hit you, I, on my honor as a Wayne, am obligated to track down every snotty little boy who ever set foot in Gotham Prep and hit their snotty little faces to see how they like it.”

Jason’s lips tugged into a smile, which he fought, and eventually lost. So he hid it behind his cake. But after a minute, his smile fell. Something else crossed his face and he looked out the window.

“I hit first.” He said quietly. Solemnly. I blinked at him, surprised.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Jared Mullins. I hit him first.”

“Why?”

He sniffed, furrowing his brow to try and fool me into believing he was something tougher than a ten year old boy. Maybe he was. Tougher than the likes of whoever the hell Jared Mullins was. “He said…”

I waited.

“He said I was poor. Said I don’t belong at the school. That Bruce only took me in cause he felt sorry for me.”

“Sounds like he deserved to get hit.” I sipped my coffee. He didn’t smile again. A beat passed in its place.

“I don’t know why I hit him.”

“Because it was a stupid thing to say.” He shook his head.

“That’s not it. He was right.”

My heart fluttered in my chest. “Jason! The fuck he was. You know that’s not true.” Alfred would’ve been appalled to have me cuss in front of him, as if it wasn’t a large majority of his vocabulary since before he came to the manor.

“You don’t get it.” He said, eyes glued to the rain on the window. “You’re his daughter. His real daughter.”

“And Dick isn’t his real son?” Dick was usually the one to advise him when his legitimacy came into question, not me. Because in truth, I didn’t understand. Jason didn’t answer the question. A plate of chicken tenders and fries appeared, but they went untouched.

“Look at me please.” He did.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re not dad’s real son. And it definitely doesn’t matter that Jared whoever the hell thinks so or not. Dad took you in because of who you are, and everything you’re going to be. You belong in this family and wherever else you go, because you’re worthy of everything Gotham has to offer- and more.”

Jason’s face crumpled a little before he composed himself, blinking fast and wrestling with the emotion. He didn’t say thanks, but that was thanks enough.

“Hey. Did you see how scared Headmaster Hellison was?” I asked smugly.

A small smile. “Yeah.”

“That’s because you’re one of us. And we scare the piss out of people like him and Jared Mullins. Cause we’re a damn good family.”

Jason smiled at me. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

People like us

I watched- all I could do was watch. There was no way in hell I could stop him. The Jason that stood before me was 6’3 and impenetrable. Even if I thought I could get the gun from his hand, I wasn’t going to save anyone. The only thing about himself he kept when he drug himself out of the grave was his stubborn conviction. Anyone he wanted dead would wind up that way.

Scare the piss out of people like him.

The man let out a guttural, desperate noise as he tried to crawl away, pale as a ghost as Jason stood over him. He was a criminal, to be sure, but not one willing to die for his trade. Evidently, that wasn’t enough.

Cause we’re a damn good family.

“Red Hood! Stand down, now.” Batman’s voice snarled, echoing off of the concrete walls and floor. I flinched. Jason didn’t. A single shot, blood spatter, all the rest. His red monochrome helmet was on the ground, black hair all mussed and disheveled from the fight. A bruise was blooming under his eye.

His gaze flicked up, landing on me. Any trace, any remnant of my brother was gone. The man who came back was a dejected, solemn thing, who carried this dark look in his eye and looked like he could eat me whole. I tried to convey something to him with my eyes. It didn’t appear to take effect.

“You’re late to the party.” His voice rumbled in his chest, and he turned his attention to Batman.

I tried not to let my voice shake as I stepped forward.

“We’re here now.” I said.

His jaw clenched at the sound of my voice. Something grim passed his features.

“Yeah. I guess we are.”

192 notes · View notes