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rainygothherowolf · 3 years

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Jasonette- Little Sister Pt.1

Here ~ Next ~ Last

Jason was annoyed, he didn't understand why he had to babysit a bunch of annoying teenagers. Bruce tried to make the excuse of keeping them safe while Joker was on the loose, but that didn't mean the head of security of an international company should be following some stupid tourists.

On top of that, his little sister's birthday was coming up. It was hardly a week away but Jason was already feeling the guilt, she would have turned fifteen this year. Jason remembered how a six-year-old Marinette would go on and on about when she became a teenager.

// Flashback, 12 years ago //

"Jay-Jay!" A small half-Asian girl with midnight hair exclaimed, her bright blue eyes shining with excitement as her hands shot up, asking to be held.

"Alright, alright, jeez I just got back, pixie! And you're getting to old for this!" A fourteen-year-old Jason picked up the far too light girl, balancing her on his hip as he fished the granola bar out of his back pocket. "Are you hungry?" Marinette shook her head 'no', pushing the food towards him.

"I ate yesterday, it's your turn." Marinette pouted but took the food anyways.

"Wanna share?" She offered, Jason shook his head. He insisted she eat, and eventually she did.

"Now, I have to go back." Marinette frowned, "I just came to bring your food. I'll be back soon, see you tomorrow." Jason gave his little honorary sister a hug before tucking her into bed, using both her blanket and his.

"When I'm big, like you, I'm gonna make you stay!" Jason chuckled softly before tucking her in again, on the inside he was proud. She was so smart, she'd grow-up to become an amazing person, Jason just had to make sure she lived long enough to do it.

// Flashback ends //

Jason never saw Marinette again, that was the night Batman found him and took him in. His life had changed so much since that night, if only he hadn't been so stupid and told Bruce about Marinette, Jason was convinced he would have taken her in too. But now it was too late, apparently she'd been adopted by some couple in Europe but the case was sealed and without telling Tim or Bruce he'd never get his hands on them.

The second robin was pulled out of his thoughts when Dick approached him, strangely not at work.

"What?" Dick seemed to get more and more excited as he walked with Jason.

"Where are you going, Jay?" Jason glared at his brother, shoving him off.

"I have to go babysit some french class that Bruce invited."

"Hey, you never know- it could be fun!" Jason just rolled his eyes at his older brother's golden retriever-like mentality. They turned a corner and boarded the elevator.

"What are you even doing here, aren't you supposed to be working?"

"I got the afternoon off."

"Great, wanna take my place?" Dick looked at his watch before responding.

"No, trust me, you're the better person for the job." Jason was confused by that, but the elevator doors opened and a quick glance at his own watch told Jason he was late.

"Whatever." Jason huffed as he walked to the lobby, but Dick just followed him as he messed with his phone. Odd.

Marinette was excited, her class had been selected by Wayne Enterprises for a class trip! She was so happy that she'd get to see Gotham again. No one knew that Marinette had grown up in the states and been adopted by the Dupain's, not that anyone cared. The class was quick to fall into Lila Rossi's trap, it hurt Marinette to see her friends leave her but she'd be okay. She had Tiki and her parents.

She might not have Jason, but she'd be okay. She had to be, Ladybug couldn't be emotional compromised.

Lila suddenly pulled Marinette from her revere when she gasped,

"Oh my goodness, you won't tell anyone right? Bruce always hates when people find out, our family is really serious about privacy... but you won't say anything right?" The class was quick to give their assurances before Lila continued to spin her web of lies. She was prattling about some rich boyfriend of hers and how she’s practically family.

Instead of listening to the mindless Italian, Marinette decided to take in the modern lobby. The walls were a sharp white that went well with the dark marble floors. There was a sleek receptionists desk with four busy-looking employee's. Everyone was dressed in business-wear so the french class stood out like a sore thumb. The room had tall ceilings with an understated, modern chandelier and rounded sofas. The seating was scattered throughout the large lobby.

Their tour guide was a nice blond man named Mark, he that said they were going to begin as soon as a security guard assigned to escort them arrived. Marinette was waiting near Mark and Mme. Bustier, keeping her distance from Lila's coffee and her class' harsh glares.

"Later, Dick." An almost familiar voice called, it was gruffer and deeper than it used to be but Marinette instantly recognized it.

"Jay-Jay?" Marinette called out, softly, disbelievingly, it wasn’t the first time she’d thought she heard the voice but the bluenette couldn’t help but hope. He caught it and their eyes met. Marinette could feel her eyes fill with unshed tears as she took Jason in, he was much taller with dark hair and an odd white tuft on the front. His face had matured since she'd last seen him, he now had sharp features and a strong jawline, his eyes were unmistakable. He was dressed in a suit but on top of his shirt was a bullet proof vest, sure she couldn't remember much but his voice had always calmed her and the thought of the skinny fourteen year old smirking would always make her smile, it was almost instinctual.

"Pixie pop?" He sounded like he couldn't believe his eyes, behind the shock was relief- and grief. Marinette slowly walked towards Jason, stopping right in front of him.

Jason couldn't believe it. After all these years they finally found each other again. Regret and disappointment washed over him in waves. Her eyes looked broken. He never should have left her, he should have found her sooner, he should have told Bruce, he should have done something- anything.

"Marine-?" Jason tried to speak but was cut off, Marinette had slapped him. Hard. The harsh noise of her hand hitting his skin got everyone to stop in their tracks, even the eternally busy receptionists. His cheek stung, she was stronger than she looked. He didn't stop her.

"Idiot." Before Jason even knew what was happening Marinette was hugging him, jumping to reach her arms around his neck.

He did his best to shove back his self loathing for another time, right now he had to focus on Marinette.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry." Jason just kept apologizing as he hugged her back, a stray tear seared his cheek. Marinette cut him off with a flick to his ear- he used to do that when she was bratty.

"Where did you go? Why did you leave me? I was alone. And you promised!" Marinette spoke, pushing through the tears, through the emotion- all Jason could do was dip his head in shame. He always promised they'd stay together, no matter what.

"A lot of stuff happened, Pixie. Let's get out of here- yeah?" Marinette nodded before hugging Jason again, this time around the waist.

"I missed you, you big idiot. You’re the worst brother ever, you owe me a lot of candy." Jason relaxed at the word brother, even if he had years to make up for it was better than losing his little sister for good.

"See! I told you he was looking into it for a reason, pay up!" Dick exclaimed, that got Jason's attention. Dick and the rest of his siblings saw his glare and quieted. Damian wasn't even paying attention, he was on his phone. Tim saw the glare but still payed Dick, grumbling as he did so.

"Go be idiots somewhere else."

"No way! She said brother! That makes us her brothers too!" Marinette jumped at the conclusion, Jason growled. He glared again, but the tiny person clinging to Jason took the edge off.

"Dick Grayson." The original Robin introduced himself politely, "Nice to meet you." She greeted the boy politely, wiping her tears away with her left while she shook his hand with her right.

"Tim Drake." The most exhausted of the group introduced, he was about to do something to the youngest- whose head was still buried in his phone- but was interrupted.

"Of course the slut has an american sugar daddy!" Lila loudly announced laughing, the rest of the class joined in- some more hesitantly than others. Jason noticed Marinette try to make herself smaller, hugging him tighter- this wasn't anything new to her.

Jason glared, the boys eyed him- worried about the genuinely deadly look in his eye.

"What did you call her?" Jason asked in perfect french, the children flinched. Mme Bustier stood between the students and Jason, looking nervous but determined.

"Please don't intimidate my students." The woman tried to sound firm but failed miserably.

"Then maybe you should stop your students from bullying their classmate, or did you not hear the brunette insult another student?!" Caline didn't know whether or not to answer but decided to stay quiet.

"Any of you brats insult my little sister again and you won't wanna know what happens." Jason quietly threatened, meaning every word.

"Little sister?" Alya exclaimed, "Please! Marinette is an only child, if you're going to lie at least be convincing! You don't know her at all, the lying bully is just trying to steal the spotlight again!" Jason was pissed and took a threatening step towards the girl, but deep down he knew she was right, he didn't know Marinette. But the one thing he did know was that he was her brother, and no one messed with his family.

For once, Jason's brothers were quiet. Dick and Tim were waiting to see how Jason would handle everything, waiting to see if they needed to intervene. Damian was on his laptop, not giving anyone a second glance. It seemed to Jason he had been paying attention because Damian assumed he'd be in the lobby long enough the take out his computer.

The entire exchange from the moment the insult was given to now had taken no longer than a minute but Marinette was still clinging to Jason until he tried to walk towards Alya again, she had whispered something to Lila that made her laugh and when Jason tried to move forward Marinette released him and grabbed his suit coat, trying to pull him back. Sure the pulls were weak but she meant it.

"You'll just make it worse, Jay." He huffed, there was no way in hell he was going to let Marinette anywhere near the moronic class ever again.

"Fine, let’s call security and get them out of here."

"Hey you can't do that, we were invited by Bruce Wayne himself." Jason continued as if the bespectacled brunette hadn't spoken.

"Oh wait! I am security! Get out."

"Jason-"

"B! Great, you can tell them to leave! I'm outta-here!"

"You're not going anywhere, Jason, and the class is scheduled for a tour. Tim, call Lucius. Ask him to cover for us and get someone who isn't the head of security to escort the tour. Never touch my email again." Tim sheepishly agreed, dialing Lucius' number.

Bruce then turned to the French class as they stared in awe, Caline blushed softly.

"You must be Mme Bustier?" She nodded, "I'm Bruce Wayne, my apologies for the delay, the tour will be starting shortly. If it's alright with you, may Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng be excused from the tour?" Bruce spoke in pristine French, the teacher could only nod in response to the older man's rehearsed smile.

"Mr. Wayne! Can I get a quote for an article?" Alya asked without thinking.

"What's your article about?" Bruce asked, curious.

"Uh-" Alya blushed before trying to disappear into the crowd, he politely ignored her outburst.

"It was a pleasure meeting all of you, but if you'd excuse me I have other things to attend to-"

"Wait! Aren't you going to greet Lila?" The billionaire looked confused for a moment before he noticed one girl looking particularly distressed.

"I'm sorry to say I don't know anyone by that name, now if you'll excuse me-"

"What do you mean? Lila Rossi, your honorary niece! She practically lived with you when her mother worked at the embassy here in Gotham! Your youngest son, Damian's childhood friend! Her boyfriend!" The boy on his laptop snorted at Rose's statement.

"I am not in a relationship with anyone, and I have no childhood friends." Damian shut his laptop as he ran a hand through his hair making a good portion of the class blush, Marinette couldn't help but think 'He's too good looking for his own good'. His dark hair and tan skin highlighted his jade eyes, a business suit adding to her professional demeanor. His shorter, swoopy hair was mesmerizing... and his arms were thick and seemed strong, the veins on his hand clearly visible as it moved through his silky locks. Jason seemed to catch onto her train of thought and hastily covered her eyes.

"No." Marinette giggled, coming back to reality when the boy was shielded from view. He was as protective as ever. She remembered how he'd get when the other kids used to get close to Marinette, being a little girl meant pity cash from adults and was a solid partner on the streets of Gotham. Marinette moved his hand to watch the long awaited fall of Liar Rossi.

"What do you mean?" Nino exclaimed.

"If that wasn't true, what else did you lie about?" Kim exclaimed, Alix seconded.

"Nothing, I swear." The brunette pleaded, desperately trying to convince the class.

"Does this mean you don't know those music producers you promised I'd get to meet?" Nino demanded, the class began to circle around Lila, all asking about promises she'd made

"And the acting internship?" Milene asked.

"Do you even know Ladybug?"

"Or Jagged Stone?"

"Was anything you said true?" The class continued to ask her questions, Lila looked shaken as her not-so-carefully crafted web of lies fell apart.

"Was what you said about Marinette true?"

"Did she even bully you?"

"I knew she wouldn't say such horrible things!"

"Yeah, Marinette never would have hurt anyone! I can't believe we fell for your lies!" Everyone began to yell at Lila, blaming her for all the awful things they did to her. Jason could hardly stand it, pulling Marinette into another hug- she had been dealing with morons.

"Class! Now is not the time, we have a tour. Unless you want the trip to end early I suggest you quiet down!" Mme Bustier was ignored. Mike whistled, loudly.

"Alright! It's time for the tour, so quiet down!" The tour guide quickly took a head count and led the class away, an artificial smile in place. Everyone was either glaring at the Lila girl or looking at Marinette as they walked away.

"Sorry about them, they can get pretty loud." Marinette tried to play the whole thing off, they let her.

"Bruce Wayne."

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, it's an honor to meet you sir. Thank you for the trip!" Bruce gave his three younger sons a look, Damian was back on his laptop but was quick to defend himself.

"I, for one, had no part in this, father. They bet on why Jason looked into some girl's adoption file."

"And you knew?" Damian stopped typing and looked up.

"Maybe... but you can't prove anything." Tim smirked before he remembered what he was going to do before any of the drama came up.

"Damian! Introduce yourself!" The boy who looked to be a little older than Marinette rolled his eyes with a sigh but approached the girl nonetheless, glaring at Tim before looking at Marinette for the first time. His scowl morphed into something else as he studied her.

Marinette noticed his examining her and blushed, but looked back at him just as interested.

"... Damian Wayne."

"Marinette." They shook hands, neither taking their eyes off each other. Jason looked between the two teenagers, first at Damian then to his little sister before going back to Damian and then back to Marinette before it stopped on Damian's- Jason.exe stopped working before it went into overdrive.

As if on instinct, Jason put a hand on each of their shoulders pushing them apart. Their longer-then-normal hand shake ended as they eyes snapped to Jason.

"Don't even think about it. No way in hell, brat, keep your slimy paws off my sister." Marinette blushed heavily, averting her eyes in embarrassment.

Dick and Tim howled in laughter when they heard Damian's response, Bruce smirked.

"She's your sister, not mine."

#Daminette #Maribat #Jasonette #DamianWayne #JasonTodd #MarinetteDupain-Cheng #AU #miraculous fandom #MiraculousLadybug #Ladybug #DC #Zagg #Crossover #Fanfic

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bonyarishitafuan · 3 years

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A lot of people probably are gonna hate me for this, and if you disagree with what I’m about to say, please don't bother to respond, just ignore me completely and move on, go make yourself happy.

It’s just that I honestly don't see how this:

can be the same as this:

Personally, I don't care for Dick-lite Pre-Crisis Jason at all, because he’s never seemed to me a real character with any real personality of his own, and I just really don’t buy the idea of a teenager, with still very recently murdered parents that might as well be every bit as the same kind of loving parents and positive influences to their kid as the Flying Graysons, getting over the loss of their old parents’ and accepting someone they’ve only just met around the time their parents died as his true new parent in practically no time at all...especially when it’s happened in a world where a preteen could end up spending the rest of his adulthood fighting crimes in a bat suit after witnessing his parents being gunned down by a mugger.

The only thing Pre-Crisis/Earth 1 Jason Robin seemed to have going on was being a son to Batman/Bruce (and a son to Nocturna, because clearly if he could’ve gotten over his real dad so easily, why wouldn’t he have also gotten over his real mom and come to think of this mysterious criminal lady as his true new mom when she had wanted so much for him to be her son and they had lived together for like a week)--and I feel that if the executives at the time had really wanted Bruce to become a dad, they'd probably just let him settle down and give him a biological child as in the Golden Age, but instead they gave him a second Robin; and the way they laid themselves out to make the relationship between him and this second Robin to be exactly father-and-son despite the fact that Bruce would’ve had to be real stupid to actively endangering a young person whom he consider his own little boy by bringing him to fight crimes just never sits right with me.

It always seems to me like they’re just trying to retcon the original Batman and Robin relationship without actually retconning Bruce and Dick, who hadn’t really been Bruce’s adopted kid just then and had often regarded his mentor Bruce as more of his older brother/closest friend rather than just plain old “dad”--It’s like they’re just trying to remove every implication that there's ever anything gay/creepy in the original Batman and Robin dynamic, simply by bringing in another Robin character, one with the exact same backstory as Dick and nothing that could actually differentiate him from Dick (except him being originally blond-haired and himself outright telling people that he’s “not Dick” in one of his few featurings in the New Titans where he’s portrayed as every bit as much as a smart, decent, capable young person equipped to be a successful young hero just as Dick Robin or Tim Robin would’ve easily been portrayed), and making his relationship with Batman to be plainly, unequivocally father-and-son, then with there being no actual difference between Robin II and Robin I and the two Robins being virtually the same, sure the viewers would see that the relationship between Batman and Robin II and the relationship between Batman and Robin I are very much the same too, and no one could say if there’s any resemblance of a gay couple with a creepy age difference in the original Batman and Robin’s dynamic ever again since they’ve always been father and son.

It just feels so manipulative to me and I hate it, but that’s just how I feel and I’m not saying that it’s truly the case. I’m sorry if this offends anyone who loves Earth 1 Jason. If you love him, that’s great. There’s nothing wrong to love a wholesome Robin and his altogether wholesome relationship with Batman, nor there’s anything wrong to love Red Hood Jason but prefer his softer New52 version which would’ve certainly seemed to be a less drastic change from his Pre52 version if he’s more like his Earth 1 counterpart to begin with.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong to prefer one version of a character to another, to just say fuck canon and recreate a character you love into the way you could enjoy them most and have all the fun you want with them.

What gets to me and drives me bonkers, is when people couldn’t just be happy with their headcanon, but have to go out of their way to tell other people that it’s fact that Pre-Crsis/Earth 1 Jason and Post-Crisis/New Earth Jason are the same character, while in actuality, they weren’t even meant to be the same in the first place.

If DC had ever wanted to just keep using Pre-Crisis Jason but give him a new backstory, they would just follow up on whatever he had been doing with Bruce as his pre-crisis self while casually throwing in his new backstory at some point, just as they did with a lot of other characters such as Donna post-crisis, not give him a full reintroduction in Batman #408 and rewrite his relationship with Bruce from the ground up.

It just makes me want to scream, when people, who never seems to have a lot of problems with Under the Hood and maybe also Lost Days, have to go out and call every portrayal of Pre-52 Jason and some of the more recent Red Hood Jason that shares a resemblance to him wrong for not portraying Jason as that sweet little bookworm he really truly was, and that an entire different life experience just cannot change a character in any substantial way, and Jason being an angry kid with aggressive and violent tendencies is just something that had never been established until the more recent retcon/the OOC work of Jim Starlin, while in truth Pre-Crisis Jason with the exact same backstory as Dick just simply cannot be the same as Crime Alley Kid Jason, who doesn’t even have the same biological parents as Pre-Crisis Jason to provide him with the same gene that the Flying Todds, which were Joe and Trina Todd, had created their son with.

If Pre-Crisis Jason and Post-Crisis Jason are one and the same, then it’d mean Dick is also very much the same as Jason is the same as Tim is the same as Damian is the same as Bruce and no one character is truly unique and special because every character ever made is just an alternate version of another character.

It had been shown most clearly since his first appearance that Post-Crisis/New Earth Jason, other than literally being a different kid with the same name, was nothing like his pre-crisis counterpart, but rather a bold, outspoken, confrontational, fully independent and proactive ghetto kid, who had got some serious stones to rob Batman’s gear, actually succeed in taking the tire off the freaking Batmobile and getting away originally, and had only run into Batman when he had come back to steal more, and called Batman a “big boob” after he had given him a good hit right in his Bat stomach.

This precious cupcake here↓

↑...that was often used as a proof that the NE Angry Robin Jason is a later retcon/ mere misconception had actually only ever existed in Detective Comics #569-573 during the earlier part of the writer Mike Barr’s run. These 5 issues from Barr are all notably 60s-ish, and while they’re published after CoIE and Batman Year one, it’s clear that they’re Earth 1 stories, seeing that they’re written with characters such as Earth 1 Catwoman. It was only in #574 that Jason’s New Earth origin was first introduced in Detective Comics, right before Batman Year Two; and although the issue was still written by Mike Barr and it did seem to have followed directly after #573, the previous issue was ended with the caption of “The New Origin of Batman”, and the tone of #574 as well as the writer’s latter issues and his portrayal of Jason Robin were no longer the same.

↑Detective Comics #574↑

It was stated by Bruce repeatedly, in both his own title and Detective Comics, that the reason he had taken in NE Jason as his new Robin was to save him from walking down the wrong path and to provide an outlet for his rage.

While no doubt Jim Starlin’s NE Jason Robin (that everyone hates) was the most aggressive and violent, it had never contradicted how the character was initially written by Max Allen Collins, the writer of Batman #408.

↑Batman #410 by Collins↑

↑ Batman #411 by Collins, after Jason had found out that Willis was murdered by Two-Face and Bruce had been hiding the information from him ↑

Although in the end of Batman #411, Jason did seem to have gotten over his anger and saved Two-Face’s life, judging by the way he’d talked about his dad Willis in his first introduction and the fact that he’d never before bothered to find out what had happened to the man the whole time while he’s in the manor where he had all the resources to acquire the information, it was doubtful that he and Willis had had a good relationship, and what he’d felt for his crook dad then could hardly be the same as what he felt later in “The Diplomat’s Son” story.

NE Jason had always been consistent in being a fearless, proactive, feisty individual with a hot temper, even in the hand of a writer with a much mellower sense of writing like Mike Barr.

↑ Jason and Bruce encountered Two-Face again in Detective Comics #580-581 by Barrs ↑

It had been established from the get-go that NE Jason Robin was the type of kid who would challenge Batman and go out handling a criminal on his own without consulting him or anyone else first, and was morally questionable with tendencies to aggression and violence, which was perfectly understandable for someone with his background--Only at the beginning it’s easy to brush these things off, because there's never any real consequence to his behavior and so Bruce was okay when he’d behaved this way at the beginning, and since Jason’d still got a lot to learn and was eager to learn from Bruce at the beginning, it would only be right that he’s more agreeable and willing to obey Bruce, but once he had completed his training and been allowed on the field, it would also only be right for him to feel like he had learnt enough and gotten the hang of the business already, and so just easily slipped into his old habit of handling things on his own, just as he had always been while he had been surviving in the Crime Alley on his own before Bruce came along.

NE Jason Robin wasn’t suddenly turned from 0-100 in The Diplomat’s Son story (though I really doubt that it’d be impossible for someone, especially someone around Jason’s age, to go from 0-100 if they have to deal with what Jason had dealt with in the story)--

↓ This didn’t happen until after the diplomat’s son was let go by the police due to his status, and on his way out of the police station where he’d been initially brought in by Jason and Bruce for raping and kidnapping an innocent woman, the mofo called his victim right in front of Jason and Bruce and threatened her on the phone, which led the woman to immediately commit suicide.

I’ve always thought it’s a good story and a lot more tasteful than it’s usually given credit for. It wouldn’t even have been the first time a “teenage superhero” has killed in the DCU (whether it was accidental or intentional); it’s certainly not something so dark and controversial that DC wouldn’t go for it, they could’ve easily just gone for it and had Jason Robin murder a criminal then, except they never really showed that he did. The audience just naturally assumed that he did because the whole scene was shown through Bruce’s view, and Bruce could see that even if Jason didn’t really kill the rapist then, he might very well be capable of it, and it makes the whole Under the Hood storyline as well as the continuation of Red Hood Jason possible.

The concept of Under the Hood and the continuing existence of Red Hood Jason works, instead of just being a complete character assassination like One-Year-Later Cass, only with Jason being his post-crisis version with all of his very established traits and his very established problems with Bruce.

If Under the Hood Jason is indeed Earth 1 Jason or similar to him, he would really need to be under some outside influence for him to do the things he had done, for there’s just no other justification for his action.

He would really have to be driven mad by the effect of the Lazarus Pit (which has only ever been showed to exist momentarily on other characters), he would have to be incapacitated the whole time, unable to control his own action or even form any conscious decision--and it would only make it extremely possible for him to do something truly awful such as killing some innocent or other heroes or even someone in the Batfam, since he wouldn’t be able to stop himself even if he wanted to, or be able to tell if that’s wrong; that’s what being incapacitated means, that’s why people who’s committed crimes, even as bad as murders, cannot be held legally accountable when they’re proven to be mentally ill--and if that’s truly the case, then Bruce as well as Dick (who had a pretty amicable relationship with Earth 1 Jason) and everybody else who has any knowledge about the matter would all have to be some real awful persons to not lift a finger to help him, by making it a point to stop him from committing any more murder that he wouldn’t have committed if he could help it, and figuring out a way to relieve him from the influence by means of the various science and magic overflowing in their world, like they’ve repeatedly done for many others who’ve been in the similar position, and eventually getting him the hell out of this altogether traumatic crime-fighting life, so he could finally begin to heal from his extensive traumas, including being forced to kill which has always been a very common cause of PTSD for soldiers at war; and even if Jason doesn’t leave the crime-fighting life forever, he could no longer continue operating as the Red Hood; it’d just make no sense for him to keep up the identity previously belonged to his murderer, and have it constantly remind him of how he didn’t just get brutally murdered, he was also forced into becoming a murderer himself, which.he never would’ve become if he wasn’t literally out of his mind.

Moreover, there could never have been a Tim Robin (even if Tim didn’t go by Robin but something else), if the Jason who died in A Death in the Family had the same disposition as Earth 1 Jason and none of his NE traits which was the one and only justification Bruce had for taking in Tim as his third teenage partner, seeing that Tim is patient and careful and cooperative with all the qualities to become the same kind of hero like Dick, and not at all “reckless” and “rebellious” like NE Jason, and so he’s likely to turn out like Dick and not get himself killed like Jason (that’s the only true significant retcon Pre52 Jason had. Although NE Jason Robin could be rather reckless and rebellious, that’s certainly not why he had gotten killed. They just made Bruce and everyone pretend that that’s what killed him, so it wouldn’t seem so utterly horrible for Bruce to endanger another teenage kid with no superpower or any previous fighting training by bringing them in the business that had already gotten one kid killed, and also for Dick and everyone else to just let him).

It’s a complete disregard of facts and logic to call Earth 1 Jason and Red Hood Jason the same character, which doesn’t really matter as long as it’s only headcanon; but when people push it as a fact, it really just sound to me like they’re saying that it’s wrong to like Pre 52 Jason/Post-Crisis Jason Robin, which I very much do because I actually think he’s an interesting character with an interesting and more coherent story than a lot of other DC characters.

It’s like they’re saying that it’s just plain wrong and unnatural for a person to have aggressive and violent tendencies and be inclined to criminal behavior simply because they had grown up in a most crime-infested place and had to rely on themselves and learned to do what it takes to survive since before twelve, or become more and more violent simply because they’ve been made to work in an extremely violent environment and have never been provided with any kind of actual aid for their mental health the entire time.

It’s like that if a person, after being brutally murdered and then coming back to find that their mentor/guardian who was the closest thing they had to a family and was also responsible for their death in a major way just didn’t seem to be giving any shit about that at all, is filled with such murderous rage that they could very well just go out and kill a bunch of criminals, but they aren’t actually a smol whump baby with no absolutely agency of their own that must be protected at all times all along, then they’re just no good at all and don’t deserve any love or respect or understanding.

...I don’t like myself for ranting about this. I hope I could just not give any shit about this dumb thing, but it’d been driving me crazy and I’d just got to let it out.

#dc #DC comics #jason todd #batman #red hood #Robin II

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samiralula01 · 4 years

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Jason Todd is the Anti-Batman

* A pointless rambling of the relationship and parallels between Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd.

Picture this opening scene: There are two boys in a dark alley.

One is dressed in an expensive suit with a tie his dead father helped him with only earlier that evening. His hands are stained red with the same blood now puddled on the grimy cement. His face is in shock.

The second boy is dressed in tattered jeans and hoodie. His hands are stained with tires grease and are clutching a tire iron. His face is in shock.

Decades later, there are two more scenes to consider.

A seriously injured man sits slumped over in his father’s study. Without warning, a bat crashes through the window, and everything falls into place. He now knows what he needs to do.

Elsewhere, an emotionally distraught teenager is curled up into a fetal position on a hotel room floor. Heart wrenching cries can be heard from him. But it is only momentary. He now knows what he needs to do.

These two individuals are Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd. While they are both broken and determined men, Batman is a hero. The Red Hood is not. He is the anti-Batman and this is why.

Two Boys in an Alleyway

Despite similarities in their stories’ early themes and elements, Bruce and Jason came to walk down very different paths. One of justice, and the other vengeance. Batman is determined to protect the innocent and Jason more so on punishing the guilty. Both their ideologies have intrinsic flaws, of course, and will naturally clash often. But this wasn’t always the case.

Before they became a father and son perpetually in mourning for who they once were and what could have been, Bruce and Jason were remarkably similar. The two are cut from the same cloth and Bruce knows this better than anyone else.

In the Dumpster Slasher three-part story line, (Batman #414, #421, #422) Bruce becomes emotional. Violent. He sits in the batcave alone that night and contemplates his emotions.

“Nearly blew it. I let it get too personal. Lost my detachment...nearly lost control. Almost beat Cutter to death. Wouldn’t have been any big loss.”

Only one issue later, at the end of this story arc, Robin is out on the streets and becomes angry when he happens upon a pimp is threatening a prostitute with a knife. Now, I want you to compare his line here to Bruce’s and note what Jim Gordon said to him as well.

Batman: "I think he’s had enough, Robin. What were you trying to do, kill him?" Robin (Jason): “Would it’ve been that big of a loss if I had?”

It is important to note here that Batman is not worried or upset just because Jason roughs up a pimp. That would be hypocritical considering his own earlier actions. If anything, it’s because one of the main reasons Batman even takes in these kids, these ‘robins,’ is because he doesn’t want them to be like him.

And Jason was acting just like him.

Jason can and has screwed up and failed due to his own actions, but it was never the reason Batman became upset with him. His reactions in the comics when Jason does things like running ahead and ‘jumping the gun,’ are more like this:

He either makes a teaching moment out of it or is attempts to understand Jason’s reasons in doing any such thing. When Bruce does become harsh in his discipline, it’s either when he feels as though Jason has endangered his own life or as I said, he acts too much like him.

While there are quite a few more similarities between Bruce and Jason that makes them alike, such as both being introverted and interested in obtaining all sorts of knowledge that they might not even feel is relevant, they are both, at the core of their characters, deeply caring and compassionate people.

The differences only start to show with how they act on it.

The Not-So Dynamic Duo?

“What happened to you as a child, the terror, the pain, the horrors (...) you were broken, and I thought I could put the pieces back together. I thought I could do for you what could never be done for me. Make you whole.”

Hot take. Jason Todd is a villain and is best written as a villain.

Not in that campy way like he’s written during Dick and Damian’s Batman and Robin run while wearing that stupid pill-headed hood, (although, I grant he has a few lines that are enjoyable to read) but in all his serious, vengeful and downright brutal motives.

The Red Hood is the perfect Batman villain because he’s so different from what the widely perceived perfect foil to the controlled and disciplined Bat is...the Joker.

The Red Hood was vengeance at its purest. It is justice without being tempered by mercy. It is the rage of victims who were forgotten to become statistics. While other vigilantes wait for a cure, hope for rehabilitation, and pretend their system works, the Red Hood is a man of no such faith.

And this makes him a villain. And a damn good one.

During the Red Hood’s time as a crime lord in Gotham, he goes around blowing up buildings. He throws grenades into trucks. He mows down his competition with gunfire. Batman comes upon the bloodied hanged corpse of a man he was finished interrogating.

But what is so compelling about this all is that before all the murder, all the guns and explosions, Jason Todd was a very different little boy. And all the great and memorable villains start that way.

The Joker is not someone you’re meant to sympathize with or even understand. In fact, I find him more terrifying because he’s unknown. He has no backstory (unless you want to believe the one he gave in Killing Joke, but the clown has a new story for every face he meets) and seemingly does what he does for a laugh of all things.

Jason Todd is in pain. He’s traumatized. Betrayed. Buried. Replaced. He is no one’s son because his father abandoned him.

Once upon a time, Jason Todd was a boy who saved himself. One of the biggest lies that Batman himself perpetuates is that he saved Jason from a life of crime. He tells Alfred that Jason was always dangerous. Bruce simply took him off the streets before he could be any worse.

But I don’t believe that’s true.

Jason grew up surrounded by crime, poverty, substance abuse and yet this amazing kid saved himself everyday by making a conscious choice to be kind and care about school, care about keeping his mother alive for over a year when he was just a child himself. That amazing kid was magic.

Jason Todd as Robin was magic.

“Jason smiles. A bright smile. The kind Robin, the Boy Wonder should have.”

A good portion of his character’s assassination was in order to push the Tim is the perfect Robin idea. It was editorial decisions. The same ‘suits’ who insisted that Tim Drake be the Robin in the New Adventures cartoon despite having Jason’s backstory and personality. But I digress on that.

Jason Todd was an introverted, studious, and emphatic person. He wanted to make friends with other kids his age even though he was a loner at heart. He joined the school baseball team and was a class officer, even if his training kept him from most social interactions.

He was also very much in tune with non-verbal cues and small changes in the environment around him. He was a thoughtful person who could be found admiring the stars or passing by scenery. When he teams up with the New Teen Titans, we get to see these aspects of his personality:

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful before. We’re actually riding above the clouds.”

“Every so often, I notice you become awfully agitated...like something was going on you didn’t want to be part of. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take Bruce long to fall in love with this boy and ask to legally adopt him. He found him to be smart, thoughtful, quick at learning and funny as hell. Their first meeting opens with Batman laughing in the very same alley his heart was ripped out decades earlier.

Even in the Rebirth canon, (RHATO #48) we see that Bruce is already set on taking in Jason while he’s still with Ma Gunn’s school. He likes this kid. A lot.

“Butler, actually. You’ll meet him someday, I’m sure.”

Jason Todd was happy. Most of the time. Unfortunately, he still wrestled with depression and would sleep all day on occasion and could be found crying hidden away on his own, withdrawn from the concerned Bruce and Alfred.

In A Death in the Family, Alfred and Bruce sit down and discuss Jason’s worsening mental health, particularly after the Diplomat’s Son where Jason becomes witness to sexual assault, suicide and the failings of both Batman and the GCPD to protect innocent people. Barbara, his tutor, someone he cared about and got along with, is also shot a few months earlier.

Bruce thinks Jason has become suicidal. Alfred does not disagree with this theory and supplements it with things he’s observed himself about the ‘lad.’

“I’ve come upon him, several times, looking at that battered old photograph of his mother and father, crying. When he’s seen me, he’s hidden the picture and left the room, refusing to talk.”

It is then that Jason discovers the truth about his mother at the worst possible time, when he’s not even thinking straight, and thus leads way to the tragedy that will be his murder at the hand’s of the Joker.

The Curse of Jason Todd

“Do you have any idea what you have done?! Do you? You have no inkling of what you’ve created -- what you have unleashed! You have set free a curse upon this world!”

Red Hood: Lost Days, which depicts Jason’s dark post-resurrection origin, opens with Ra’s al Ghul bellowing this line, the steam from the Lazarus Pit still rising off of him.

I’m not going to analyze this line, I’m just using it to supplement a point of mine I hope I’m getting through well enough. The Red Hood is a compelling, tragic villain. He is similar to Batman in ways that Bruce always knew and may have even feared because of how intimately he knows his own deepest, darkest thoughts. Jason is the perfect foil as an antagonist for him because of what he represents to Bruce.

And it’s not his anger, or his rage, or even his brutality.

It’s his compassion. His caring. His emotions. And how they can open up the worst parts of themselves.

Both are motivated by preventing whatever trauma happened to them from ever happening to anyone else. They both trained for years with this motivation. And they’ve both acted out on the very person who inflicted their trauma onto them.

Here’s where their paths start to differ, however, and what separates them with a line of morality.

They both get angry. They both care so damn much. About Gotham, about innocents, about each other. They both get too emotionally invested and deal with consequences related to that. To manage with that, Bruce shuts down. He creates all these choices, rules and symbols. He uses every ounce of his self control to keep them.

Bruce Wayne is not a good person. He forces himself to be with discipline and will. He chooses to be a good man and constantly pushes himself to live up to that. Because it’d be too damn easy to be just like the Red Hood.

Jason doesn’t understand that. Because no matter what Bruce had done or will do, he doesn’t hate him. He can’t. Despite his denial of the fact to different people, he still thinks of Bruce as his father. This great figure that so many others revere and are even intimidated by.

He’s not the only bat-kid to think of Bruce in this light despite the fact that the man is not. It took Dick years to overcome that perception. Tim only just started to begin understanding this true nature after his own father was murdered.

But even if he did understand his (once)father, he still became the complete opposite of him despite so many early parallels. He doesn’t hold back his words and emotions, he doesn’t go into a state of controlled dissociation or emotional disengagement.

Jason Todd—the Red Hood—is Batman without all his rules and control. In a way, he’s what the darkest part of Batman himself wants to be. Jason does what Batman can’t do when it’s needed.

Because in Batman’s book, life beats out justice. Even if he could take down abusers and murderers, he won’t. He will choose saving and protecting lives over the apprehension of killers...he always does.

Batman is justice. Red Hood is vengeance.

Jason is a victim’s fantasy. He punishes and kills the guilty. Something Batman won’t do.

He is the anti-Batman for better or for worse.

#jason todd #bruce wayne #comic meta

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 4 years

Note

Halloween prompt: Alfred is getting increasingly annoyed at whoever is eating the halloween candy. No one will confess. (Bruce is sitting in a corner somewhere with a bag of... [insert Batfamily appropriate candy here])

Three Musketeers

Rating: G 1,844 words Gen AO3

Bristol was technically in Gotham City limits. Though the gilted mansions and private woods with pastures and stables seemed like a whole other world in comparison. The residents liked to think so too, especially because – despite Gotham’s robust public transportation system – it was almost impossible to reach the rich suburb from the city proper. It was because they lived in this separate world that Bristol’s wealthy residents often fought to receive special treatment or even secede from the city all together.

Except when it came to Halloween.

The residents of Bristol were more than happy to hold their trick-or-treat night during the same time as the rest of Gotham. Mostly, because it discouraged the city’s poorer residents from coming out to ask for literal handouts from them. The time it would take to sit in train stations and bus stops to get there ate up a large chunk of trick-or-treat’s two-hour window. And the walk from the last stop and between the houses took up the rest.

Despite all this, many made the trek out to Wayne Manor and its residents always made it well worth the work.

It was known that the Manor didn’t simply give out full-sized candy bars, no, they gave a whole bag of king’s sized bars. And from the entrance way to the ballroom off to the side were decked out and fitted to be a haunted house with games and entertainment and even more snacks. There was no reason to go anywhere else when you went to Wayne Manor.

Except, this year the seemingly endless supply of candy was mysteriously missing in the week leading up to the big night. Which was ironic considering the Manor was populated by detectives.

Alfred was suspicious. And annoyed. But mostly suspicious. He had raised the world’s greatest detective and then helped raise the current world’s greatest detective. In addition to the other seven vigilantes he’d actively cared for over the years. And countless others who hadn’t lived under his roof. Which meant that he was extremely hard to pull something over on. Extremely.

Yet, his stockpile of trick-or-treat candy was gone. Completely. And his list of suspects was long and skilled.

First, was Barbara because he loved the young woman dearly but she was a bit of a chocolate fiend. Also, if he could rule her out then he could enlist her assistance. It was easy enough to make her coffee just the way she liked and message her to come to the kitchen when she was working in the Cave one evening. She was happy enough to come up, thinking it was just for a chat but knowing something was up when Alfred passed her the mug.

They studied each other from across the long wooden table that took up the far side of the kitchen. Alfred sipped his tea from the good china that after the last family debacle was his alone to use. Barbara narrowed her eyes as her glasses slipped down her nose. They were playing a high stakes game of chicken and they both knew it.

Barbara broke first. “Is there something you wanted to talk about, Alfred?” she asked sweetly, setting her coffee down and pushing her glasses back up in the same movement.

“Now that you mention it, yes. I was wondering if you happened to know where my trick-or-treat supply is disappearing to?” Alfred’s lips turned up in kindness, but his eyes were hard and steady as he held her gaze.

An adult, a seasoned crimefighter, an honest to god superhero and yet Barbara wanted to wriggle in her chair, knot her fingers in the hem of her t-shirt, under that look. Pure willpower was the only thing that stopped her. Though it didn’t extend to her mouth. “No, I’ve been out of town most of the week.”

This was true, Alfred knew, but not necessarily an airtight alibi.

“Besides,” Barbara continued, “I have a Costco card. The Birds and I split it. If I wanted to eat a whole bag of candy, I’d just buy my own.”

Alfred nodded, lifting his tea to take another sip. He accepted that answer, she knew better than to lie to him. “In that case, might I enlist your skills to uncover the real culprit?”

This was what Alfred had truly wanted to ask, they both knew, and Barbara smiled in delight at the prospect. “I’d love to.”

The next suspect was Tim. He knew exactly how to cover his tracks and misdirect their attention. Tim was sly, smart, and still technically a teenaged boy so sugar was irresistible. Barbara set the trap, crashing the Batcomputer one afternoon when everyone else was out. This forced Tim up, out of the Cave and to Alfred lying in wait in the kitchen.

Tim had climbed up onto a kitchen chair to get at the stash of poptarts on the top shelf of the cabinet above the stove. Proving that he had means, motive, and a record.

“Master Timothy,” Alfred drawled as he stepped out of the shadows. Bruce had to learn the skill from somewhere.

Startling, Tim whirled around and nearly fell from the chair. Dropping the silver packet in the process. It landed on the tile with a crunch. “Look I need the brain power to get the computer back up,” he said hastily, glancing guiltily between Alfred and the fallen junk food.

“I am not here to reprimand you about the poptarts,” Alfred said and Tim immediately relaxed, shooting him a relieved little grin. “But I may have to reprimand you for sneaking something else,” Alfred continued, causing Tim’s face to fall.

“I swear, I only had the one Monster the other week. And I split it with Kon ‘cause we were trying to keep Bart from drinking it. Me and him on an energy drink bouncing round the Tower is way better than a speedster on an energy drink.” Tim’s eyes were wide and the blood that had drained from his face made the boy almost impossibly paler.

Alfred lifted an eyebrow at the confession. Not what he was looking for but good to know all the same. “And what of the candy for trick-or-treat?”

Tim’s brows drew together in confusion. “Uh, I don’t know? I suggested we get milkyways but if you got snickers again then I’m not going to complain.”

“So, you did not eat the supply?” Alfred confirmed, though the fact that Tim was already feeling guilty and hesitant to lie on top of the fact that he had no idea Alfred had purchased boxes of three musketeers cleared him of the crime.

“No?” Tim shook his head as he shrugged.

Satisfied, Alfred nodded. “Enjoy your poptarts, Master Timothy. I shall be moving them shortly.”

“It wasn’t Jason,” Barbara said over the phone. “I have a couple different angles of him being in Paraguay all last week.”

“I never suspected him to begin with,” Alfred admitted as he pushed the shopping cart, restocking for the big night tomorrow. “He never liked three musketeers. Dark chocolate kit-kats are a separate story.” He smiled at the memory of a young Jason carrying a huge box of the candy bars to drop in the cart during his first Halloween with them.

“Cass and Dick are out too,” she continued. “Cass laughed at me when I even suggested it and then confirmed Dick was telling the truth when I questioned him.”

Alfred hummed. Richard had been his next guess, though he was more likely to take them to hand out while on patrol or pass on to his friends’ children than to eat himself. “Master Damian is innocent as well. He scoffed at the implication he would, quote, ‘stoop so low as to steal candy from children.’ He also vouched for Master Duke and neither were anywhere near the spare pantry recently to begin with.”

“Security cameras confirm that.”

“That leaves Miss Stephanie,” Alfred frowned. Stephanie tended to decline any offers of assistance from the Manor’s residents that weren’t directly related to masked vigilantism. Though she recently had allowed Alfred to slip her gas money when she visited during daylight hours. The thought of her taking the Halloween candy just did not sit right with him. It was almost as impossible to imagine as Damian taking it. Cassandra was more likely to be playing a trick on them all, having hidden it for some soon to be revealed reason. “Are you positive Miss Cassandra is not the culprit?”

Barbara chuckled. “I mean, not really. But at the same time why would she? Though why would Steph either? I don’t think it was either of them but I can vouch for Steph. She hasn’t been anywhere near the Cave or the Manor since last month. What with school she’s been staying close.”

“Which leaves us back to the beginning,” Alfred sighed and got in line. “We could create a sting operation though I’d loathe to lose this supply as well. There’s nearly no candy left in the entire state.”

“That I believe. Alright, I’ve got the feed from the events kitchen running on one of my screens. I’ll keep an eye on it for the rest of the night, see if anyone stupid enough to try it again.”

“Thank you, Miss Barbara. I really appreciate your assistance in this matter,” Alfred told her before exchanging their goodbyes. He had plans for a little stakeout of his own.

Placing the boxes in the spare pantry, Alfred settled himself on a stool next to the industrial fridge in the dark. He typed out a careful message in the family’s groupchat informing them all that the missing candy had been replaced and politely asking that it not disappear again before the next night. They would all be getting ready to go out for the night so there is no doubt they would see it. And he would have plenty of time to wait for them to strike.

Hours later, the family was returning and Alfred was still lying in wait. A creak echoed in from the ballroom where decorations were mostly in place. The light padding of rubber soles on the marble tile came closer and closer. Alfred leant further back into the shadows as the door swung open. He held his breath, waiting as the guilty party walked into the kitchen proper, headed directly towards the pantry. Alfred slipped from his hiding spot, keeping low as he crept around the island to come up behind the culprit.

Alfred contained his gasp of shock and annoyance as he flipped on the light. Forcing the candy thief to whirl on him. “Master Bruce!” Alfred scolded. He hadn’t thought his first charge would do such a thing and hadn’t even considered him as a suspect.

Having the good sense to look ashamed and like a ten-year-old boy again, Bruce offered a wavering grin in apology. “You bought three musketeers,” he said as his only defense.

Alfred frowned as he crossed his arms. “And your penance will be handing them out tomorrow night.”

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miss-choco-chips · 5 years

Text

Twisted soulmates

BIG Thank you to @iphoenixrising who let me babble on chat about this idea, and to @the-sky-is-a-lie who is an awesome sweetheart and read and edited this for me (THANK YOU!)

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

Tim has three names on one wrist. His soulmates. Tim has one name on the other wrist. His nemesis.

...or are they?

Tim gets his first mark the night the Graysons fell, ‘Richard John Grayson’ forever tattooed on him, the otherwise unblemished white skin of his left wrist almost shining in contrast to the new addition.

Young, he might be, but not stupid; never stupid. Neither of his parents would approve of a circus artist, perfect as he may be in Tim’s wide opened eyes, so he had to be smart about this. His mind hasn’t stopped whirling since the little touch that burned Dick’s name on him and vice versa, all kind of plans on how to broach the subject with the adults, how to make Dick like him beyond the promised love of a soulmate, every possibility dancing through his eyes, while his parents look for their seats at the stands none the wiser.

He's planning on asking his mom to stay after the show, so he might properly introduce himself to this marvelous trapezist, maybe proclaim an interest in the training - anything that could improve his overall abilities was a good thing in Janet’s eyes, and having her on board would be enough to force his father to accept. He’s excited at the prospect, and a part of him thinks Dick, up the trapeze getting ready for his act, feels the same. That he could feel, through the bond that snapped in place when the other kid first touched him, an echo of his own happiness, a joy at finding, so soon in life, something as beautiful as this.

He’s going to stay after the show. He’ll talk to Dick, introduce himself properly, be as mature as possible- Dick wouldn’t want a dumb kid as his soulmate. Maybe even make friends with this wonderful boy that can fly and is destined to love him.

(Love him, him, him. He can’t wrap his head around this strange concept of being on the receiving end of something strong and wonderful. He might cry.)

Then the tragedy occurs, and Tim's too traumatized to think about doing anything about it. He can't pester a grieving boy with this. They are kids after all, and it’s not like their bond is going anywhere.

(I don’t want to wait, please don’t forget about me, please love me.)

---.---

Dick has just been adopted, his entire worldview had changed, adding a soulmate to care about would be just too mean of him. Tim can take care of himself, even when sometimes, after his parents left for yet another trip, he yearns for someone to hold his hand after a nightmare. To brush his hair back and hug him.

But that’s just the child in him. He doesn’t need it to live, it’s just a silly comfort thing to wish for, like the baby blanket his mother had made the servants take away once Tim turned four. So he keeps quiet. He waits.

Dick’s name is on his left wrist, after all. He is his soulmate.

----.----

He gets his second mark years later, when the Batcave’s security is breached and some strange men attack Bruce. The giant penny is too tall, but he still get a good look at the man below it, and something in his gut twists. It all makes sense a few minutes later, when Bruce is fighting someone else and the man in green robes pushes Tim aside, holding him hostage to get the Batman’s cooperation.

The skin on his wrist, the one that doesn't have Dick's promised love tattooed on it, burns. He doesn’t dare look down, aware of how taking your eyes from the predator in the room could mean instant death. He doesn’t need to, anyway; he already knows.

Tim’s pretty sure this is his nemesis, because no way he'd be destined to hate Dick and love this criminal, and they are on opposite wrists. So… getting away is the first step on his ‘do not interact with this terrorist until I’m significantly better at defending myself’ plan. Easy peasy.

He catches the side glance the man shoots him, because of course he also felt the burn, and there’s curiosity there. Something akin to amusement, which, Tim can get behind, he’s also seeing the irony of this, the utterly ridiculousness of him being important enough in the grand scheme of things to warrant being tattooed on this man’s skin.

There’s also possessiveness there, which isn’t fun at all. Stranger danger, his mind screams at him.

His nemesis shouldn’t be possessive of him, unless he has a really fucked up view of his enemies, in a ‘their death is mine, and mine only’ way. Because this is his nemesis, there's no doubt in his mind of that.

Dick is on his other wrist, after all, and he is his soulmate.

----.----

Bruce goes mental when he finds out later, and almost blows a gasket. Ra’s, as Tim later finds out his nemesis is called, is suddenly one upping the Joker on Batman’s high priority enemies list, which means only a glimpse of him anywhere near the city borders would warrant a call to Superman, Bruce’s ultimate last resort. That’s how big this is.

Young Justice has split feelings on the matter. Cissie and Cassie, ever the bloodthirsty ones in Tim’s humble opinion, suggest tracking the man down before he can get to their leader, and taking him out of the game. Probably permanently. Kon seems torn, half with the girls, half with Bart, who finds the whole thing amusing and exciting. Ra’s Al Ghul, one of the most dangerous enemies the Justice League ever faced, and little old Robin is his fated enemy. Not Superman, not Wonder Woman, not Batman himself; just their Rob. That, according to the speedster, is so, so, so crash. The rest of the team, if they have opinions, keep them to themselves. It takes a while to calm the room down and focus on their mission of the day, but he eventually succeeds.

Dick, on his part, comes back from where he was brooding with the Titans after a fight with his mentor to fret over Tim, and everything is right in the world.

He isn't afraid of Ra's. He has his new family, new friends, and soulmate.

----.----

There’s something on his pillow when he gets back from the weekend with his friends.

A perfect rose, white as snow, thorns so sharp Tim knows they would pierce skin if touched. Not that he would be so stupid as to do it, not when foes like Ivy existed.

But… there’s a ribbon, and it sends ice through his veins. A red ribbon, tied at the stem’s exact center. A flower with a ribbon, the universal symbol of soulmates.

He’s pretty sure Dick’s back in San Francisco. Which leaves...

No.

He squares his shoulders and searches in his bag for his Robin gauntlets, protecting his hands with them as he disposes of the rose.

His right hand stings a little through the entire process.

----.----

When he gets his third mark, he's honestly surprised. As well as on the edge of unconsciousness from blood loss.

The blood flooding his airways is his, and the building that he believed was his safe place would never feel like that again. His knocked out friends litter the hallways, the bo staff he tried to use to defend himself long lost to the fight, as this man, his hero, his Robin, his apparent Soulmate, tries to kill him.

(Their eyes meet and they feel it at the same time, the twist in their stomachs, which is what stops Jason's blade. Tim’s hand raises up, weakly, and carefully brushes against the one holding the knife. It burns, and everything goes black for a minute.)

(Jason stops breathing. He has the Joker on one hand, and was markless on the other until now, so this runt has to be his soulmate. No way it's the deranged clown. Which means he almost....)

Jason runs away (this is Jason, his wrist claims, not the mysterious Red Hood any longer) and Tim patches himself up, does damage control with his friends, calls Batman. His heart is beating twice as fast as usual, but he tries to be logical; Jason is on the same wrist as Dick, who is his soulmate, and opposite to Ra's, who's most likely his nemesis. Ergo, Jason's gotta be his soulmate.

His confused, probably traumatized, totally not in his right mind soulmate.

He's gotta be patient and wait. Jason surely will get better, will come back to Tim, will fix this mistake he almost made, will... will love him.

Dick is his soulmate, and calls him ‘little brother’, which hurts, but he says it with such warmth that it soothes the ache. Dick loves him.

Jason will, too, someday.

----.----

A few weeks later, he wakes up in the middle of the night, conscious of the feeling of being watched from the shadows of his room.

There’s the teddy bear Steph won for him at the fair some months ago, sitting on the chair near his bed where he last put it, but… odd. There’s something about it that’s not quite normal, something that wasn’t there when he went to sleep half an hour ago.

It took him less than a minute to spot it, which would still be shameful if Bruce ever found out, but he sees the unusual shine in the bear’s eye and groans, more tired than rightfully angry, feeling like the moody teenager he never actually was.

A hidden camera. This was the fifth of the year, what the hell?

Pissed off, he gets up and takes the scissors he leaves by his bedside (can’t exactly go to sleep with a birdarang there, his dad might check on him at night and freak out, but sleeping without a weapon in easy reach just makes him uncomfortable) and makes quick work of the bear, getting the device out with as minimal damage to the plushie as possible. He’ll fix it later.

Beyond done, one hand opens the window with more strength than absolutely necessary, the other flying back to gather momentum and throw the thing right at the supposedly empty shadow on the roof of the building across the street. He’s not surprised when a dark gloved hand catches it, the rest of the body still perfectly concealed by the night. Fucking ninja.

No words needed, he slams the window shut again and grumbles his way to his desk, turning on his lamp. He’s not falling asleep again tonight, so might as well work on some cases.

----.----

His fourth mark is both exciting and like a bucket of cold water.

It's a fucking kid.

Is this how Dick felt when he first got Tim's mark? No wonder he avoided talking about the subject, this was uncomfortable as fuck. Granted, it didn't necessarily have to be a romantic soulmate, platonic soulmates were a thing too, but... still. Awkward.

Even worse because the kid didn't have another mark and, as Tim was his first, was convinced he had to be his fated nemesis. No matter how hard Tim tried to explain the opposite; after the heart stilling moment where he extended his hand for a shake and was slapped away, thus providing the skin to skin contact needed for the bond to form, the brat was sure it was nothing but a ruse to get him to lower his defenses or something. God this kid was fucked up.

So. In short. There were two of his soulmates trying to kill him. Great.

But... Dick was on the same wrist as them. Dick loved him. Dick was his soulmate. So Damian... Damian had to be, as well. Maybe he'd grow out if his hate, maybe it was just a phase.

Maybe.

----.----

His mother and father were dead. Steph was dead. His two best friends were dead.

Tim was numb, going through the motions but not really feeling anything. His only source of emotion, nowadays, was his constant rage at Damian, and the adrenaline while fighting a bad guy.

He barely slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he properly ate. The manor wasn’t comforting enough with the little assassin roaming around for him to get any shut eye, and how could Tim be sure he wasn’t going to poison his food?

Sleeping in safe houses seemed the smarter move, even when they weren’t really safe at all, judging by the ‘gifts’ that kept appearing every time he turned his back. Food - sealed and untempered with - files on whatever case he was working on, a brand of turkish coffee that he would gladly down even if it contained poison…

Flowers, hundreds of them, all white in color, tiny red ribbons tying their stems.

Tim shivered at the meaning, but no longer minded the feeling of eyes on him while he slept. Looking for hidden cameras was too much effort to be worth it, as long as there were none in the bathroom and his walk in closet. He couldn’t care less, these days.

----.----

Jason tried to kill him. Again. In the middle of a Pit Episode, even after all Tim had done to help him, to mend their relationship.

Damian was even worse, abusing Tim any way he could, any time he got the chance to get away with it. And it was a startlingly large amount of times, considering their family should be more attentive to attempted murder. None of Tim's effort to bond ever bore fruit.

But he's still convinced they are his soulmates, so he's gotta be patient. They have to be.

Because Dick is his soulmate, and they share a wrist.

Because Dick...

----.----

Dick betrayed him. In the worst possible way, in the most vulnerable moment of his life. When Tim needed him the most.

Jason tried to kill him.

Damian tried to kill him.

Dick betrayed him (which was, arguably, worse).

Dick was his soulmate. Jason was his soulmate. Damian was his soulmate.

They had to be.

----.----

His quest for Batman would’ve been a lonely affair, if not for the honeyed voice whispering in his ear. The silent eyes he felt on his skin wherever he went, more heavy than his three assassin escorts’ stares.

What a crazy world it was, where Tim’s nemesis believed in him, while his first soulmate, the one he loved almost his entire life, claimed delusion. Where his nemesis sent his people to keep him alive, to keep others out of his way, while his other two sought his death.

What a crazy world indeed.

----.----

-I think we need to talk, Timothy. About this bond we share.

-I’m listening.

Timothy, he said, but it didn’t sound like his name at all.

In his mind, it echoed something scary, something that made him shiver and tense.

It sounded like Mine.

----.----

Ra's al Ghul was probably his soulmate.

He's gotta be. Because there's no way Tim's fated to love three people that are just going to break his heart again and again and again.

When he goes to the League for help looking for Bruce, he steels himself in place when Ra's’ voice in his ear makes him want to flinch. He grits his teeth at the viper like words murmured in soft tones. Makes himself accept when Ra's offers to train him in the ninja arts after he successfully brought his mentor back. Clenches his fists when he's asked to dinner in a dimly lit French restaurant.

Ra's didn't retaliate when Tim blew up half his bases. He kept giving Tim pointers and praises. Seeking his company.

So he breathes in.

He forgave Damian for being a killer, Jason for being one, too. He surely can find it in himself to forgive his actual soulmate for being a criminal.

In time.

Right?

...Right?

----.----

Something dark and victorious twists in Ra’s chest when the Detective doesn’t flinch away from his touch, and silently accepts the white rose and red ribbon he presents before guiding him deep into the restaurant. There’s acceptance in Timothy’s eyes, reluctant but hopeful, even if he stirs away from any ‘dangerous’ topics of conversation and very firmly drops a drug test pill in his glass of water the second the waitress turns her back on them.

Ra’s doesn’t comment on it, merely mirrors the act on his own wine (one could never be too sure, not when an enemy as interesting as this is seated across from him) before raising it for a toast. Not that the Detective was aware of the reason.

He’s got a lot to celebrate.

Deceiving this one wasn’t easy, after all.

----.----

Later that night, alone in his room, Tim turns in the bed, his back to the cameras on the far end of the room. The movement is slow, lazy, following his usual sleeping patterns. A clumsy hand pats the mattress, blindly looking for a pillow and dragging it to his chest, face hidden by its softness. He goes lax again, peaceful and oblivious to the world around him to any lingering eye.

Once he’s sure there’s no way anyone could see him, Tim lets a slow, dangerous smile creep on his face, his heartbeat thundering in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins, feeling so alive it’s almost painful after all the numbness.

Ra’s was looking so smug, like the cat that got the canary. Oh, he tried to hide it, but Tim had made it his life's mission since he was twelve to understand the man to his truest essence, to be able to read him as one would a book, and practice had taught him how to play him like a cheap kazoo.

He probably shouldn’t smile, safe as he is in hiding his face in the pillow, but he can’t help it.

Deceiving Ra’s, soulmate or not, wasn’t easy.

#Tim Drake #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #bruce wayne #ra's al ghul #Ra's is creepy #but he's smart about it #OR IS HE #Young Justice #Timdick #Jaytim #damitim #ra'stim #soulmates au #nemesis au #which one is each though #my writting

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futurewriter2000 · 3 years

Text

Journal entry (21.11.2020)

Something to get off my chest.

I was afraid to write this on Tumblr because I don’t want people to think that I’m always complaining and trying to make others pity me but fuck what people hink because this is my blog and I can write anything I want. It’s for my own benefit.

I want to talk about my family and I don’t know why but it’s been bugging me so much lately. It might be the lack of sleep but every night before I go to bed I feel this sad ball in my throat and this anger forming in the bottom of my stomach because I couldn’t believe how my family manipulated me through life. And I get it, manipulating a kid when it’s still a kid. The innocent manipulation, like going to the dentists and santa claus will not give you presents if you don’t clean your room (even though I’m a Muslim and don’t celebrate Christmas) but just an example.

And my parents were strict, both of them my whole childhood and teenage years. It’s now that I’m 20 that both of them sort of softened up but you know what? I feel like that doesn’t give me any justice.

I hate my dad. I hate my mum too for doing this to me; using my lifelong childhood wish, the one you just wanted your whole life, you know. And mine was a bit dumb but I had always wanted to rescue a dog from a shelter and I always wanted to adopt the oldest one, the one that was there the longest because I know I don’t have much time with them but I want them to feel home. I want them to feel what home is, at least once in their life. I don’t want to buy an expensive purse dog that will literally get home with a snap of a fingers. No, I want to rescue the dog that looks a bit different from other dogs because it’s a mix of breeds and was a cast out. I know he’s probably traumatized from life but I want him or her to feel love. I want to share that love with someone who will appreaciate it and I believe that dogs, as loyal as they are, deserve so much more love then they are given. I had always wanted a dog. For myself and for that specific dog because I just know how much of a dog can mean in one life time but our time is long but theirs is short and I just want them to have a taste of life when all they are, are locked inside a cage.

That was my unfulfiled wish since I was 7 years old. And now I’m 20 years old and still dogless. Not one dog. But I think the cruelest thing my dad ever did to me was promise me a dog when I was so weak. I was studying for my final exams and I was beyond exhausted. Beyond I just wanted to sleep for months in my bed but he came, promising me a dog- how I deserve it, how I wished for it and that night I wept for three hours from joy but you know what happened?

I realised what he wanted.

He wanted a dog. He wanted a specific dog breed from Bosnia with a black head and white body. It was that specific. He wanted the furry one, big one...

And know we have a flat and that dog is meant to be outside because it’s a dog that protects the house. That dog breed is a protector, not just a pet to lay all day in a flat and I just knew that this breed of dog would be miserable in this flat... with us....

I think I cried when my sister told me that dad said; “It’s her dog but I choose the breed and I choose what dog.”

But the choice was part of my wish. I wanted a rescue, not a specific breed. That wouldn’t be my dog. That dog would be his wish, not mine and I think that I cried so much that night at this realisation that he had manipulated me yet again because it still brings such pain and suffering for me. Hope... I had hope, man. I always have hope and that hope is always faded into the dark pit of disappointment. It’s like somebody kicked a child and that child is me- the child in me is so brutally burnt, kicked, punched, broken constantly and I think that was the last straw for my dad.

Maybe that’s why I’m so petty and rude to him. Because he had just done me so wrong throughout life (besides this stupid dog wish he had done plenty of things that police would have to take care of but never did because we never called the police).

I guess, I can’t with my mom either. She just left me here. She promised me she’ll take me with her but she just left. That shit hurts like a motherfucker man.

And my sister? She’s the worst, right behind my dad because she had always made me feel less than I am. She ruined my self-confidence, she had crushed me emotionally and the reason I am shy, the reason I don’t do half of the things is because of her. I hate when people say, we’re sisters, we’re supposed to love each other. I can’t love somebody like this. I do love her but every day less cuz every day she makes me feel less. She had never motivated me, only brought me down, she was never there. It was always her friends more than me, her more than me... I can’t open up, I used to hate my breasts because they are a bit bigger, much bigger than hers and every time she saw them she made a nasty comment about it and said they were disgusting. My breasts are normal. They are beautiful. I finally realised that my body image is my business- my breasts are my business. She hated everything on my body so I hated it too. I hated my body so much because of her. My teeth, my ears, my hands, my breasts, my stomach, my legs, thighs, my eyebrows, my chin, my lips, my voice, my laugh, even my vagina man... how can you be that cruel to a girl who’s going through puberty. She was so cruel and the worst part is that she never realised that. She still doesn’t just how ignorant she is.

I became cold after I turned 16. Not because I wanted to. I just thought I was so cold all the time. I felt like I had nothing to offer, not my knowledge, not desire, not joy, not pride... nothing... and that was like a constant pain that everybody never saw but made fun of.

My dad made fun of my passion for art and music, even my biggest passion like writing.

My mum never believed in me. Never. She thought I would fall apart and that she can fix me into a person she wants me to be. I was not supposed to suffer like her but she wanted me to in a way. Not in a bad way, she just wanted me to constantly be a chair for her to sit on, always by her side but I was falling apart and she wasn’t there. She left... And it was not the leaving that broke me... it was the fact that she promised that she’ll find us a home and take me with her but now it’s gonna be 3 years from that promise and I went through ton shit with my dad and I’m planning to go to the capital next year. I don’t ever want to live here.

My sister made me hate myself. She was the pretty sister, the smart sister, the responsible sister and every time I wanted to come out of her shadow, she pushed me right back in. She got more than me, she’s the princess in the family and well, I’m appereantly the bad guy in the family.

You see, nobody in my family, nobody, not my cousins, not anybody... nobody believes I grew out of that kid. Of that kid that lied and kept making a rucus in the house. That kid was gone by the age of 11 and family never meant family to me.

My best friend’s (at the time- 2 years ago) family was felt more home and family than my own family .Do you know how fucked up that is?

I can never forgive my dad for 13. 4. 2018 and 7. 9. 2018. Those days are the most clear days in my life and I hate them both. I just can’t seem to forget them... I can’t forgive my dad period. I feel like I will always be angry with him because he created this ugly flaws in me that come out when he’s around and god I hate them.

I say that leaving my family will be the happiest day in my life. I feel like I could just disappear into the world and never look back. Not to anybody in my life. Not to my “friends”, not to “family”- I’d just leave and throw away my phone and throw away my past and just live like I have the world in my hands.

But of course, I’m not heartless and I would reach out to my mom. I know she didn’t mean to do the things she did to me- the bad things I mean. She is actually someone really strong. She had much worse life then me, twice or three tim much worse life and she never deserved what she got with my dad. She sacrifcied so much and I love her for that. Maybe she left me but I would never leave her.

So, yeah. Let’s disappear.

#journal entry

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skeletonsloverockcandy · 4 years

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Case #014278 “The Bird House”

Summary: "Statement of Rita Langston regarding what she referred to as the Bird House. Original statement given August 27, 2014. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins."

-in the style of a Season 1 script format episode, no spoilers except for some themes

Warnings: Blood, Canon-typical violence, paranoia, fear of being watched, grotesque monster, eye-trauma, peer pressure, taxidermy animals, canon-typical fear

Fandom: The Magnus Archives/TMA

Characters: Jonathan Sims (The Archivist), (Martin, Tim, and Sasha are only mentioned), Original Characters for the sake of the statement

Word Count: 5,302

Ao3 Link

[Click]

Archivist:

Statement of Rita Langston regarding what she referred to as the Bird House. Original statement given August 27, 2014. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

Archivist [Cont.]:

I really don’t know why I’m here right now. I know what I did was stupid, but I don’t know why I’m telling you this. [Slight Pause] I guess...I guess because you’re the only people who will believe me.

This is what you do, right? All the supernatural and spooky stuff? If I had met you before I would have chocked it up as a load of hogwash, but now…I’m not so sure.

See really I was just being a stupid teenager, a stupid kid really. I’ve never been very bright, not because I wasn’t smart. No, I aced all my classes. No, I was stupid because I did stupid things. Dangerous things. Things that will get you in trouble.

I wasn’t a stranger to the odd bet and occasional peer pressure. Didn’t have much restraint if I’m being honest, didn’t care much. Just kept looking for something thrilling to do to keep from being bored. I should’ve stopped, but I didn’t. I guess this time I took it too far.[A break, as if considering] Well, not really. All I did was be somewhere I clearly wasn’t supposed to be, not that unusual for me. But I guess trespassing was going to have consequences one of these days.

[A deep breath in and out]Maybe I should give you some context. See, I mentioned I did a lot of stupid stuff, yeah? Well, a lot of that is due to my buddy, Nicole. [Slight breathy laugh] Nicole and I got into all sorts of trouble, mostly me though, since I was the one they bet to do most of the stupid things. Like the time they bet me to egg Mr. Benedict’s house because he was being a real arsehole to them after they flunked their last test. Or the time Nicole bet me to skinny dip in the Thames in the middle of the night because they said it’d be funny. Not sure how funny it was, but you get the idea.

The point is that Nicole and I did this sort of stuff all the time, so it wasn’t that odd to me when they bet me to go into that house.

See, there was this house that we noticed coming home from school one day. We had decided to change up our route home to pass by the market and pick up some snacks on the way to my house since Nicole was planning on staying over that night. Coming back from the market, my backpack full of the snacks we had bought with Nicole’s pocket money, we passed a house we had never seen before. I had lived in this area my whole life, and I had never seen this house before. Neither had Nicole, and we were both pretty confused, especially with how big it was.

It was large, and wooden, and dark brown, and looked sagged down with age, as if it had been there centuries but then recently restored. It had recently rained too, y’know, so the wood looked even darker and more sinister against the steely gray sky.

And, though I don’t think I noticed it at the time, there were an unusual number of birds around the house. Y’know, crows perched on the shingles, ravens circling overhead, even the odd owl or two tucked into the corners of the high rafters on the porch. It was bloody creepy, I tell you. I think at first Nicole and I just assumed it had been newly constructed and we just hadn’t passed by the area in a while, but as we got closer, we got a better look at the detail on the thing, and it seemed down right Victorian. It had all the, I don’t know the word exactly, but all the fancy things that you could tell it had been built to look Victorian. I think it also had all these intricate carvings on the posts and the trim on the roof and porch that you could just tell. So my point is that we could tell it wasn’t new. And the whole thing was surrounded by this iron gate, real old fashioned thing and went up to about my mid section. Real brazen old thing, and I could tell it’d be so easy to jump over, that it was basically begging to be trespassed in.

If I’m being perfectly honest here, the thing was a little weird, but not enough to be too bothered by, not enough to just Waltz in. I was planning on excusing it to just not noticing it before due to the Mendela effect, or whatever it is that I’d heard about online, and going home, but apparently Nicole had other ideas. They told me that they would bet money it was haunted. I didn’t really believe in ghosts that much, but as old and grand as the house looked I wouldn’t have doubted them if they had walked in there and came out screaming that they had seen one. I’d said, yeah, I could buy that, but that we really had to get home if they were going to stay over. They asked me if I was scared, and I said no. Thinking back, I can’t remember if I was really scared or not, but knowing what I know now, I know I definitely should have been.

They asked me to prove I wasn’t scared, and I asked how? I already knew what they were going to say, but I let them say it anyway. They said I could prove it by going into the house. I asked if now was really the best time, didn’t we have to go home? They proposed a compromise. We would go to my house so my parents wouldn’t worry, but then after dark, when everyone was asleep, we would sneak back here and I would go inside and Nicole would stand watch. I said this didn’t really seem like a fair deal to me, since Nicole was making all the rules, but Nicole said it was compromise enough to prove I wasn’t a coward. I didn’t know if I agreed with that, but I didn’t like being called a coward, and, like I said, I wasn’t shy to the forces of peer pressure. Besides, even I had to admit I was curious. Eventually I agreed and we put Nicole’s plan into motion.

Sneaking out wasn’t that hard since this was hardly the first time Nicole and I had done something like this, and to this day, I still don’t know if we were never caught because we were just that good, or if my parents simply didn’t care, but either way we left the house without issue.

We made sure to bring torches and Nicole brought my bag with the snacks we had bought because they said they’d get bored and hungry if we were out there all night. We walked to where we last saw the house and I swear it looked even more ominous at night. With it being cloudy and all, it was real dark too, the only light other than our torches being from a street lamp a block away. Gave the house a weird looming feel to it. And...I know it seems weird, but it felt like the house was watching us. As we got nearer it just seemed real quiet and you could just barely see the outlines of all the birds perched on the house. It felt like they were watching us, and waiting for...something. At the time I didn’t know what. [Static, barely audible, slowly starts to buzz on the recorder]

Regardless, the closer Nicole and I got, the more nervous I became. I started to worry someone was looking at us through the windows of one of the other houses nearby, that they would somehow know what we were doing. I don’t know why thinking about that started to freak me out, I’d never been afraid of getting in trouble before. Not really. I’d done enough stupid stuff to almost forget to be afraid of getting caught, but for some reason with this house...I don’t know. What we were doing wasn’t even supposed to be that bad, just walk into a probably abandoned building, prove I wasn’t a coward, and walk out. Nicole seemed to be feeling some apprehension too, but I knew that we were both too stubborn to not go through with it. Not after they had bet me. We were both too competitive for that.

We got to the iron gate and Nicole gave me a bit of a look, as if to tell me to ‘get on with it’. I rolled my eyes at them, but jumped over the gate regardless. This is where things got really weird.

[The static begins to grow slightly more audible, but still deftly in the background]

I suddenly felt as if all the birds perched on the house were watching me. As if all their heads turned in unison to look at me. I couldn’t tell this for sure, like I said it was dark, but it just gave me this feeling.

[Static fades away almost imperceptibly] I must have frozen up or something because I heard Nicole ask what the fuss was about? I said I didn’t know, something just felt...off. They taunted me and said I really was scared then, and for a moment my anger and pride overcame my apprehension. I shot them a glare then strode off towards the front of the house, ignoring the prickle on the back of my neck that made it feel like someone was looking at me. I reached the front door and Nicole asked what I was waiting for. I know it’s a bit childish, but I stuck my tongue out at them for that, then I gave a tug at the door.

It was unlocked for some reason, though at the time I thought that made sense because it was likely abandoned, and I opened the door. I turned back one last time to look at Nicole’s face as I gave them a smug look and I went in.

As soon as I passed the threshold, a breeze rushed behind me and pulled the door closed. I think at this point it was starting to set in how much of a bad idea this was turning to be, but I had made my bed now, might as well lie in it.

[A deep, steadying breath] I turned on my torch and swallowed thickly as the dusty air sank down my throat. In the torch light it was just as creepy indoors as it was outdoors. Everything seemed to be made out of the same dark, old wood: the walls, the floor, the ceiling, it all began to blend together. The furniture seemed to be made of a dark red velvet and was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. I thought back to Nicole’s earlier theory about the house being haunted, then I shook my head. Just because it was a spooky old house didn’t necessarily mean there were ghosts, it just meant it was creepy. I thought about turning around now that I’d gone in and going back to Nicole, since I’d technically done my end of the compromise. Then I thought of their face and their taunting and how they’d make fun of me for being in there less than five minutes, and I stubbornly resolved to stay in the house as long as possible, I’d show them I wasn’t a coward.

My mind made up, I ventured further into the foyer then turned into the living room. I shown my torch around and saw what I would consider to be a ‘classic haunted house’ aesthetic. There were stuffed birds on pedestals and mounted on the wall and in ornate, decorative cages. Crows and ravens and owls and ducks and mocking birds seemed to be looking at me from almost every surface. There were portraits too, portraits that lined the mantel to the fireplace in the center of the room. Portraits of more birds, not in flight as you’d expect of a painting of a bird, no they were close ups and side views so the viewer got a real detailed view of their eyes. And that’s another thing, whoever had decorated this room had positioned all the stuffed birds and the portraits so it looked like they were watching whoever walked in from the foyer, looking at them straight on.

[The static faintly begins to fade in again]

I was very unnerved by this, already feeling an uncomfortable ‘watched’ feeling, like someone knew I was in their house. But the house still looked like it hadn’t been lived in in years, so there couldn’t have been anyone there. As I stepped further into the living room, I half expected the birds to turn their heads to continue watching me, but they kept diligently looking at the same spot in the foyer, which I’ll admit, did relieve me somewhat.

There were doors on either side of the walls to the left and right of the living room, and I thought as long as I was staying, I might as well explore. So I did. I pulled open one of the doors to the left and looked down to see a long hallway. I stepped forward and the old wood creaked under my sneakers, and I suddenly felt very sure I wasn’t alone. [Static volume increases ever so slightly] I’m not sure what did it since I had done a load of things that would have drawn someone’s attention since I had been there, had there been anyone, but in the very instant, I didn’t just feel it, I knew I was being watched.

I didn’t know where and I didn’t know who, but there was someone in this house with me, and they knew I was there. That overwhelming realization sent me off on a quick pace down the hall because for some reason, I felt if I went back to the room with the birds, it would give away where I was. It...it’s silly but, I thought whoever knew I was there would be able to see me through the birds’ eyes, like they were security cameras or something. So I took off down the hallway, for some reason now so sure I was being watched, chased even, and now overtaken with this urge to hide, to run, to make sure I wasn’t being watched anymore, that no one was looking at me.

[Fear begins to lace into his voice] Doors lined the hallway, blurring past, my squeaky footsteps giving my location away to the presence I felt was drawing ever nearer, looking at me, judging me, tracking me, knowing me. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew something was following me. I didn’t like it. Feeling seen. Exposed even.

I opened one of the doors to my right and ducked inside, shutting off my torch and holding my breath.[A beat of silence] After a moment, the feeling passed, and I breathed out, [Audible exhale as he continues] feeling slightly more at ease now that there was a door between me and whatever was causing me to feel like I was being followed. I thought rationally again that there likely hadn’t been anyone in this house in a long time, so I was probably just overreacting. I hadn’t heard anybody else’s footsteps, I hadn’t heard any breathing, so no one was chasing me, I was alone. That’s what I told myself to help keep myself calm, otherwise I'd have nearly had a heart attack. [Static that had been faintly buzzing in the background fades again]

After another few minutes of heavy breathing, I finally turned my torch back on and looked around the room I had hid in.

It looked to be a study of some sort. There were bookshelves and a desk with a couple of what seemed to be thick old volumes of childrens’ stories strewn about its surface. There was also a small table with an ornately detailed tablecloth surrounded by chairs and also piled high with books of different sizes and shapes and colors, though they all looked incredibly old. I got closer to investigate them, the books I mean, because while they looked like ordinary books, something just seemed not-right about them. The children’s books on the desk were most visible as they had large illustrated covers that were the easiest to see from a distance. As I got closer though, I saw what unsettled me about them.

Most of the covers depicted children laughing and playing, or otherwise some vaguely-cartoonish animal, all together each volume remaining unique in comparison to the others around it, except for one feature. The eyes. [The whine of the recorder can be heard along with a brief, but audible crackle]

The eyes on all of the figures were too large, and they looked like they had been pasted on from another drawing. Staring at them, it just filled me with this overwhelming sense of dread. It felt like as soon as I had made eye contact with them, this one novel with a girl in pigtails on the front in particular, that I was suddenly known. Like all my secrets, all my thoughts, all the things I would never tell a single soul, they were all found out. [Voice becomes slightly more hysterical, more fast, more afraid] That by looking at them, they now had all this information, my whole life, and it had been sucked up and written down for anyone to read. Anyone to know. It made my skin crawl. I couldn’t stand it, I had to look away,[Suddenly sounds exhausted] I thought...I thought it might help to ease the sudden pain and fear from realization of being known. And just when I broke eye contact, that’s when I heard it.

Faintly, just outside the door, I heard the smallest bit of breeze, and I knew, I knew it was the thing in the house again. I’m not sure how but I did. I quickly dived under the table with the tablecloth and turned off my torch again. There was a slight pause, but then I heard the tell-tale creak of a door opening, [in the background we can barely hear the faintest creak] and I knew that Something was inside.

[Voice drops to that of a whisper] I stayed as still and quiet as I could, and I’m not sure how long it was, but it was enough for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I had the feeling that something was in the middle of the room, just waiting for me. I was hoping and praying it didn’t know I was there, when I looked up. My eyes had adjusted, but it was still dark, even so, I could just barely make out the underside of the table and the tablecloth. I squinted to try and make it out and lifted up my hand to touch the table. [An inhale] My stomach sank. I had been right. Under the table, I thought I had seen dozens upon dozens of eyes carved into to underside of the table, and the intricate designs on the tablecloth that were too hard to see properly from afar were thousands of tiny embroidered eyes. And I was hit by an awful realization.

Whatever it was just outside the tablecloth, it saw me. It knew I was there. It had been watching me the whole time. And it knew I was under the table, it was just waiting for me to figure that out.

As if on cue with my realization, I felt the thing in the room draw closer, and, agonizingly slowly, begin to lift the edge of the tablecloth.

I felt panic begin to swell in my throat and I didn’t know whether to freeze or push myself back to the far end of the table to create as much distance between me and it as possible. I barely had time to make up my mind however, because a long, slender, black cone-shaped thing jolted beneath the cloth and grabbed my ankle.

At this, I thought, to hell with standing still, and I began thrashing and squirming and clinging onto the legs of the table as it began to drag me out. [In the background we hear the soft sound of a person being dragged along a wood floor, interlaced with a now growing static] Wasn’t enough though, and as I got pulled further and further out, I realized what had grabbed my leg was a giant black beak.

And that beak was connected to an enormous bird. It loomed over me, feathers pitch black except for a frill around its face that made it look as if it were wearing a pure white mask. And the mask accentuated the most striking feature about this living nightmare-bird, its eyes. Its eyes were stunning, an indescribable color, and very very large.

Sharp too. It felt like they pierced my very soul, as if I were being slowly torn apart and digested the longer I looked into them. I felt overwhelmingly like this bird was learning everything about me, pulling it out of me, like it was eating my thoughts, experiences and memories.[The crackle of the recorder becomes more audible and weaves its way into his voice]

I was overcome by fear. I didn’t know what to do. I think I would have just sat there in terror and let it pull out everything I had ever known if it weren’t for my torch. It must have bumped the ground just right, or maybe I squeezed it on in my immobilized panic, but it turned on right then. [Static abruptly cuts off]

Light flashed into the creature’s eyes and it blinked and recoiled at the sudden change. It wasn’t much, but it blinking seemed just enough to break me out of my stupor. I fell back, standing and leaning as far away from the thing as possible.

I stumbled into the desk and my hand brushed against something. Might’ve been a pen, might’ve been a letter opener, all I know is that it was long and sharp. My torch was dropped on the ground from when I retreated, but it still lit up the room. I went to look back at the creature and it seemed to have just enough time to recover because it let out an unnatural, guttural screech, and looked back at me with those God-awful eyes again.[Voice becomes more hysterical again, almost enraged] I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand being looked at, couldn’t stand it being there and knowing it. It filled me with such fear and rage. Next thing I know the thing tries to leer closer, and I think this was the point where it was too much.

There was another guttural screech, but this time it was coming from my throat and it was burning it raw. I lunged for it with the thing in my hand. [Voice increasing in volume and emotion until it’s practically shouting] I just couldn’t stand it looking at me anymore. Couldn’t stand its Goddamned eyes looking at me anymore. I couldn’t stand it! Couldn't stand it! Couldn’t stand it! [A deep, steadying breath]

It’s kind of foggy what happened next. I’m not sure how many times I stabbed that thing before I dropped what I was holding, but it was certainly enough to blind it. [A sick sounding, terrible whine starts faintly in the background] God, it made such...awful noises, and the space where its eyes used to be oozed this terrible, thick blood. It was slumped down and seemed to be moaning with pain. I was horrified. I knew I had to get out of there.

I ran past it and through the hall, not looking back until I reached the door to the living room with all the birds. I slammed the door shut behind me and saw all the stuffed birds seemed to be recoiled on their perches in pain. Even the portraits seemed frozen in awful terror as their now hollow eyes dripped blood.

I bolted into the foyer and out the front door, sprinting across the lawn and leaping over the iron gate. I didn’t stop until I heard someone shout and grab my arm. I spasmed again, trying to pull them off me, until I realized the person who caught me was talking to me and sounded familiar. It was Nicole.

They had to practically tackle me to get me to stop, and I think they were going to make some joke about me being scared when I saw the blood run out of their face as they realized I was covered in blood. Thick, dark, blood.

They jumped away from me and asked me what happened. I don’t know what I answered, if I answered at all. I was in a right state. And for some reason I still had the terrible feeling we were being watched. I looked around desperately, I’m sure I looked right paranoid to them. I’m pretty sure I was stammering to them about this and that but I don’t remember what. Eventually I just said I wanted to go home and they helped me back to my place. We washed the blood, or whatever it was that was oozing from that thing, off of me as quietly as we could in the bathroom, and we never told my parents. I still haven’t.

I wasn’t able to talk about anything for the next few days. Nicole kept coming over and prompting me, but I don’t know if I was just in shock or some of that same fear of them knowing, them judging me, that kept me from talking. I think I eventually told them their initial ghost theory had been right, because I don’t know what else could’ve been inside that house. They looked...disturbed, though maybe also intrigued, I don’t know, I was only partially looking at them since I hadn’t been able to force myself to make eye contact with anyone since that night.

They recommended I come here, said they had heard this place investigated all sorts of paranormal happenings, and it might help with getting what happened off my chest, since I still hadn’t told them the whole story. I said I wasn’t sure, but we all know how that conversation ended, given where I am now. I always gave in so easily to peer pressure.

The thing is though, this did help me get things off my chest. [Slightly panicked] But...I can’t help but equate it to that terrible feeling from before. Being here, I still have that terrible feeling of being watched. And after you handed me that pen and paper when I walked in, I started pouring my words out, easily, and I feel once again, that I’m being known. I. Do. Not. Like. It.

You have my statement now, so quit looking at me. Quit it! Please, please I just want it to stop. Maybe then, I can finally have some peace.

Statement Ends.

Archivist:

I’m not sure what to add to this statement. We were unable to locate the house that Ms. Rita Langston claims she encountered as the address she provided does not exist. I had sent Martin to investigate the general area described where Ms. Langston’s neighborhood is, and he reported back that there was no such house to be found, even after searching in circles for what he said was two hours, so it appears we have a dead end there. Though that doesn’t seem that unusual given the nature of how Ms. Langston claims it appeared. We were also unable to get a follow up interview with Ms. Langston as she stated she ‘wouldn’t be going to that hell-hole again’, in reference to the institute, when Sasha tracked her down. However, with some digging, Tim was able to locate Ms. Langston’s friend Nicole, whose full name we discovered was Nicole Frank, and ask for details regarding her case.

Nicole confirmed that Rita and them had seen what looked to be an old abandoned house pop up in Rita’s neighborhood and that they had dared Rita to go inside. According to Nicole, Rita was in the house for about thirty minutes before running out at a full sprint. She did not respond to Nicole’s shouts and said they were forced to grapple her to get her to stop. They also confirmed that Rita had a thick, dark substance of some sort splattered on her arms and shirt and began babbling incoherently when they questioned her. What I find most disturbing about this apparent confirmation that prevents me from writing this off as some prank by a couple of juvenile delinquents is that Nicole provided a video that confirms what Nicole had witnessed at least. Apparently they were playing on their phone whilst waiting outside the house and heard a noise. Wanting to have footage to tease Rita with later at being scared, they pressed record just in time for Rita to run out of the house.

The video is a minute and twenty-four seconds long and shows a 14 to 16 year old woman, who Sasha confirmed to be Ms. Langston, running out of an old wooden house. The video continues as the camera starts to shake, as presumably the person holding it began chasing after her, until the camera is dropped suddenly at what Nicole claims to be the impact where they tackled her. The camera now is facing upwards towards the blacked sky and after that all we have is the audio before the camera moves a bit as Nicole picks up their phone and stops recording. I’ll play the audio for you now.

Audio Transcript:

[Heavy breathing and mumbling]

[The audio sounds distant and not close to the phone, as if it had been dropped nearby]

[A scared and almost incoherent female voice, presumably Rita Langston]

“Please, no, gotta get away, it..it’s blind, it’s blind. I think I killed it. Oh God, Oh God, stop, stop, no, get away...Stop it! Stop looking at me! Looking..looking at me…”

[Another voice, presumably Nicole Frank]

“Rita? Rita! What the hell happened in there? Snap out of it!”

[The muttering continues but becomes quieter and trails off]

[We hear fabric rustles and the sound of a small scrape on the tarmac, presumably as Nicole picks up their phone, and the audio abruptly ends]

Archivist:

While there certainly seems to be supporting evidence of this event occurring, there’s not much we could follow up on. The books in the house are what give this case most of its credence, though, as any of them could potentially be Leitners, [Slight pause] and if they are...well, it’s probably a good thing we can’t find that house then. If I’d found a study full of Jurgan Leitner’s books, I’d have half a mind to burn down that house myself. I have far too much experience with Leitners to know how dangerous they can be.

If some person or creature encountered a particularly dangerous Leitner, it is not outside of the realm of possibility to consider they might have transformed into the creature Ms. Langston described. And if they did...well...I pity the monster on the receiving end.

[Click]

#tma #the magnus archives #the magnus institute #tma s1 #tma fic #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma fanfic #tma jon #jonathan sims #tma fake ep #my writing #my post #skele writes #skele writing #my fic #eye centric fic #posting this on tumblr finally

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

Twist of Fate (1/1)

Summary: Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for leave in a while.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who wanted Battle Buddies with one of them trying to win a stuffed toy at a carnival booth. :D?

(Read on AO3)

Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for leave in a while. Always a critical mission here or world-threatening crisis there. Enormous mountain of paperwork to forge through with command breaking down their necks, that kind of thing.

So this?

A chance to unwind for a few hours on (relatively) friendly soil before someone back at HQ secures them transport back home is a nice break.

Jeremy’s charming a booth operator, Ryan can hear him from here. He’s using that atrocious southern accent of his that slips every other sentence. Can never hold on to accent for long, will swing from southern to some mangled form of British or other to an approximation of Australian.

Irish, sometimes, when he’s feeling a little family pride.

Half a dozen other accents that would rightly insult their native speakers if they even recognized them for what they were. (Jeremy...he’s just bad at accents.)

Ryan can’t help the fond little grin that breaks out as Jeremy walks towards him. Smirking like an asshole and two heaping plates of amusement park food.

Greasy, covered in cheese, and likely to contribute to heart problems somewhere down the line just looking at it.

“The hell is that?” he asks, as Jeremy hands Ryan one of the plates, gesturing towards an area with picnic tables under canvas awnings.

Jeremy, because he’s Jeremy, shrugs and shovels a sporkful of the stuff in his mouth.

“Who knows,” he says, “Lorna gave it to us for free and promised there’s less than ten percent rat meat in it.”

That -

Okay, yes.

They are in Los Santos, cesspool of the great and beautiful state of San Andreas, so that’s a thing. (Only here, Ryan knows, would that kind of statement be something to be proud of.)

“Let’s never come back here again,” Ryan says, because any percent of rat meat in anything is too much.

Jeremy, because he’s Jeremy, laughs at him like he thinks Ryan’s joking. (He’s not, but really, what are the odds they’ll end up back here again anyway?

========

Ryan must have been a horrible human being in a past life because they end up in Los Santos again.

To be fair, it’s probably the safest place for them to be now what with the whole thing with the agency and all.

“Wow,” Jeremy says, limping a little. “This places smells worse than I remember.”

To be fair they didn’t exactly take the scenic tour through Los Santos’ sewers the last time they were here.

Oversight on their part because it’s just lovely down here.

“Less talking, more walking,” Ryan grunts, and it’s mostly the bruised ribs talking. “Also, yes.”

Jeremy snorts, moving closer and being all so subtle about worrying about Ryan falling on his face and into ankle-deep sewage as they trudge along.

One of Ryan’s old contacts has set up business in Los Santos, ought to be able to help them out, if they can find him.

Just gotta keep the cops from finding them after the commotion they got pulled into. Daylight robbery and comical ineptitude on the part of the cops that had them mistaking Ryan and Jeremy as the robbers, and they’ve only been in Los Santos for a few hours.

It’s been a hell of a day. (Week? Month? He’s lost track by now.)

========

Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for time off in a while. Always a job here or a heist there. Cops on their assess because Jeremy just won’t let this whole damn Rimmy Tim business go and people notice. (People in Los Santos are just different than people anywhere else. Sniff that shit out like you wouldn’t believe.)

Still.

Every once in a while they manage to get some time to themselves away from the chaos of the crew. Get the opportunity to walk around the city without someone looking at them and pegging them as public enemy number one.

They end up back at Del Perro Pier where they got their first real look at Los Santos all those years ago. (A lifetime ago.)

It’s changed a lot since then, chic little restaurants and cafe’s replacing most of the outdoor eating areas. Food vendor booths with their questionable foods boasting about the lack of rat meat in their dishes like that was the selling point that would convince people to hand over their money.

Although...he’s not so sure the food these chic little restaurants and cafe’s are selling are much better when he thinks about it.

Ryan still doesn’t know what they had for lunch, but it was tasty enough and odds are good they won’t live to deal with the consequences anyway.

Not with the way the Fakes approach life, all chaos and anarchy and this careless disregard for their own mortality like they’re racing the clock. (Everyone’s always running out of time, more so here in Los Santos than anywhere else Ryan’s been.)

Jeremy nudges Ryan with his elbow, tips his head towards the midway and waggles his eyebrows.

“You know,” he says, grin on his face and mischief in his voice. “We never did get the chance to really check this place out before.”

That sounds ominous, given it’s Jeremy and nothing’s exploded or even combusted around them for, oh, a good couple of hours.

“Huh,” Ryan says, and lets Jeremy drag him towards trouble.

========

So here’s the thing, right.

The two of them, they’re doing alright for themselves these days.

The agency’s one of those bad memories behind them they don’t have to worry about anymore thanks to a judicious application of explosives and planing and petty vindictiveness. (Mostly the explosives.

They’re part of a crew that doesn’t want them want to claw their own skin off, might even feel like family. (The stupidly annoying kind you’d do just about anything for, but would be a mistake to let certain members know because they’d never hear the end of it, but there you go.)

High up enough in the food chain here in Los Santos without their status in the crew they could get by just fine if things ever fell apart. (Unlikely as that is.)

So why, Ryan wonders, why is he losing his goddamned mind over an amusement park game booth?

Ridiculous little pellet gun in his hands and the faces of horrendously drawn clowns laughing at him as he fails to hit a single bullseye even though he’s a damn good marksman. Hell of a sniper, even if he’s gotten a little rusty over the years with Jeremy on overwatch while he gets up close and personal, uses his size and reputation for maximum effect.

The booth operator is a bored looking teenager with this tiniest of tiny smirks tugging at the corner of her mouth and obviously laughing at Ryan and his repeated failure to win the grand prize.

A whole stack of consolation tickets and one or two low-level monstrosities meant to be some form of adorable animal, but no luck with the giant purple and orange abomination Jeremy had eyed before moving on. Or trying to, before he realized Ryan had forked over money trying to win it for him. And failed and failed and failed.

Ryan shouldn’t even care about it this much, he knows that.

They’re hardened criminal types now, and battle-weary spec ops operatives loaned out to some hush-hush secret agency before then. No room in their lives for sentiment or nostalgia and all that because those were weaknesses they didn’t need.

Jeremy had done the smart thing, passing the stupid little stuffed animal by, but Ryan?

Stupid, idiot Ryan had noticed the little flicker of a smile on Jeremy's face, some bit of childhood nostalgia or something else, and in all his infinite stupidity decided he’d give winning it a try because why the hell not?

They’d sacrificed enough to get where they are, and something frivolous like this was more than deserved.

All Ryan had to do was hit the bullseye on all the targets in a set amount of time and the damn stuffed dragon was theirs – Jeremy’s, whatever.

Seemed simple enough, which should have been a warning sign.

“Son of a bitch,” Ryan hisses, and sets down more money for another go at the stupid targets in front of him.

Jeremy’s not quite at the point of laughing at him, but the asshole’s certainly enjoying Ryan’s complete failure to win this game.

Stupid goddamned rigged game.

Ryan was one of the agency’s best marksmen, had all these certificates and cute little trophies from “friendly” competitions – and all that to back it up. (Not to mention the carefully redacted files and trail of bodies that set of skills netted him.)

He’s up there when it comes to snipers you can find in Los Santos – maybe not as good as Ray, but then again who is anymore – but he can hold his own.

And yet somehow he’s finding it nigh impossible to shoot a goddamned clown in the goddamned nose.

Nightmarish renditions of the things painted on wood and laughing at him every time he clips the outer ring around them.

“Ryan,” Jeremy says, the way he does when the situation has spun out wildly out of control in a manner that isn’t exactly life-threatening but still the kind of disaster where Ryan just wants to set the world on fire. “Oh my God, Ryan.”

Ryan glares at Jeremy because that’s not helpful, and – still laughing it up – Jeremy takes the toy gun from him and takes a turn.

Hits the bullseye every damn time even though his aim’s sure to be off with the way he’s still giggling like an idiot.

Grins up at Ryan as he shoves the stuffed dragon in his hands and a moment later gasps in overblown surprise at the sight of it in all its tacky glory.

“Oh, Ryan,” he says, hands on his face like that kid from that one movie, look of surprise and utter delight on his face. “You shouldn’t have!”

The feigned surprise and soft joy is ruined by the giggling he can’t seem to stop, but when he takes the dragon from Ryan and leans up for a quick kiss to his cheek, it’s a little more tolerable.

Okay, a lot, because Jeremy is happy, even if it’s at Ryan’s expense.

All bright joy and clear laughter and Ryan’s heart does this little flip in his chest because it’s been a long, long time since they’ve had the luxury for either and he intends to hold on to it as long as he can.

#jeremwood #ragehappy #battle buddies #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #Anon #Prompt Fills

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incoherentbabblings · 5 years

Text

First Date (3/9)

Tim has one more test to pass before Bruce will allow him out as Robin. Like Dick and Jason before him, he has to avoid being caught by Batman for one night. He has already failed once, and is determined to succeed this time. Determination which might not count for much when Stephanie Brown is on the run from the mob. Her mother kidnapped as a way to threaten her father, Stephanie manages to escape and run into Tim. Unable to leave Stephanie alone when she is in need, Tim decides to try and multi-task. All he has to do is rescue Stephanie’s mother, take down the mob, avoid Batman, and get Stephanie to agree to a proper date all in one night. Absolute anarchy ensues. Ao3 link here!

It was not even nine o’clock and Tim had already failed the test. He had made the foolish choice of choosing to linger in the start area, hoping to slip under Bruce’s nose when he chased a false lead. It hadn’t happened, and Bruce watched from up high as Tim weaved through the crowds in Gotham city centre. He had heard the sounds of a shooting around the corner, the pharmacy on Broad Street, and Bruce watched from up high as Tim began to make his way towards the junction when a blond teenager crashed past the crowd. Unable to stop himself from interfering, Tim punched the man chasing her unconscious.

Bruce hummed to himself. It was a very good punch.

He watched as Tim picked up the girl and made their way to the hospital. It seemed she had been shot.

“B?”

“Yes Oracle?”

Barbara’s mechanic voice filtered through the earpiece in the Bat’s cowl.

“Shooting not far from you. Looks like a woman was taken. A girl was shot at. No other casualties.”

“I’ve just seen her. Tim has taken the girl to the hospital.”

“Tim?” Back in the Clock Tower, Barbara leaned back in her chair. She clenched her fists in front of her keyboard. Bruce had seen Tim? Already? “Oh no.”

“It’s over Oracle.”

Gulping loudly, Barbara tried to think a way around Bruce’s fatalism. She decided not to acknowledge Bruce’s statement. Instead, Barbara side stepped it. “How is he?”

“I haven’t confronted him yet. The girl needed help getting to the hospital. He’s with her now inside.”

Barbara took a breath, seeing an opportunity to delay Tim’s failure lecture. “The woman who was taken, I took a look at the CCTV in the area. She was taken in a black VW. I can find and follow the car?”

“Do that.”

“Yes boss. And… oop, there we go. Got a match on her face.”

“Anyone of importance… to the mob?”

The slow correction made Barbara want to snap, but she repressed it, and tried to remain light in tone.

“Her name is Crystal Brown, Arthur Brown’s wife… Looks like the Cluemaster made some enemies.”

“The girl then must be their daughter?”

Some taps indicated Barbara was doing some quick searches. “Stephanie? Looks like it.” Barbara clicked her fingers as she looked up the girl. “She’s a year older than Tim, they live up just across the river in Gotham County.”

“Master Bruce?” Alfred’s voice interrupted them. “Phone call from Central Hospital. One of their nurses has been kidnapped on her way home from work. A Crystal Brown? Her daughter is being treated for a gunshot wound, though apparently it is not severe.”

“We’re tracking Crystal. Anything more about the daughter?”

“They claimed that she was going somewhere safe. Could not or would not give specifics.”

“One moment.” Firing a grappling gun, Batman swung across the rooftops, landing to peer down at the hospital. He would catch Tim’s attention, ensure Stephanie was safe, then pursue the mother.

Barbara sucked air in between her teeth. Oh! An opening! Mom and daughter were separated. Maybe if Bruce was focused on Crystal, Tim could be lost to him again watching over Stephanie, and he could get back in this hide and seek game. If Tim was taking Stephanie somewhere safe, that meant hiding out the night in the city… if Tim was smart. Barbara liked to think Tim was smart, but he was also like Dick in that he liked to be a hero. Weighing up what was smart versus what was right was a problem each of them grappled with, some better than others.

Ideally Bruce would look for Crystal, and Tim would watch over Stephanie. Getting the two boys to line up in that though, especially when Tim was out of earshot, could be nigh impossible. She could only try to help Tim. To do that she would help Crystal. To do that Bruce had to follow up on Mrs Brown, and leave Stephanie to Tim. A win-win situation for all. But how to pull Bruce away from watching Tim? How to ensure Tim wouldn’t get any bright ideas of being the hero to both women?

She began tapping her fingers against her desk, screwing up her lips as she searched through CCTV footage for the number plate and car that had left the pharmacy not too long ago.

Tricky tricky.

Bruce waited patiently for ten minutes. Before either Stephanie or Tim emerged from the hospital however, the man Tim had punched out stirred across the way, rolling over into a puddle of Stephanie’s sick and blood. Groaning, he pushed himself up, and pulled out his phone, remaining sat on the wet cold floor of the street.

There was no way Bruce could have listened into the conversation. He was too high up and the streets were heaving with people out for the night. Maybe he could…

“Taking the more direct approach sir?” Alfred queried, seemingly reading Bruce’s mind.

“You’ll have to question him. He’s another lead to find out what they want with Crystal. You can find out through him.” Oracle cut in, almost breathless in her delivery. Barbara was trying to get Bruce off Tim’s tail, and Bruce knew that.

She was right though; he couldn’t let the man leave. He would know where they were taking Crystal, and what they wanted with Stephanie.

Tim would have to wait. He watched as the man entered an alleyway to try and compose himself, then shot over above him, ready to yank him up to the rooftop.

Time to talk.

*****

Stephanie shoved her way through several people, instinctively holding herself low as they bolted through the crowds. Clambering up the stairs was difficult, but she managed it somehow, and sliding through the gate quickly led to a panicked thought before Tim yelled for her to jump over, which she managed, pushing up and over the gate card readers. When she landed on the other side her leg gave out, and she crumbled to the floor. Pushing herself forward, she managed to build back up to a run, catching up to Tim, who had his hand out still for her to hold. His grip was cold and stiff, but he wasn’t shaking or sweating. Tim wasn’t afraid of these guys. She looked back for a moment to see them struggling with the gates, pushing back at being refused access by the testy technology.

Exiting onto the street she pulled Tim left, away from places like Crime Alley. He followed willingly, looking for a way out for them.

“We need to go up high.”

“The roofs?” Looking up at the tenements and slums, she couldn’t see any public buildings for them to go through. There were only smaller stores, barricaded up tight for the evening, and endless blocks of flats. Maybe one of the front doors had a broken lock, but it would slow them down and give the men a chance to catch up for every locked door they tried.

Tim yoinked her across the road, jarring her shoulder joint and pulling her down an alley.

She didn’t have time to protest as he was already climbing the stair framing that ran up the side of the building, using momentum to help thrust himself up a flight at a time. He paused two stories up, looking down to see she wasn’t following.

“Do you need a hand?” He asked sincerely. In the dark his eyes managed to remain bright, but otherwise he had somehow managed to blend in with the shadows.

Stephanie gulped, looking down the alley. There was a congregation of folk who were eyeing the pair suspiciously, but she could hear the mobsters shouting, they were gaining quickly on them.

She shook her head and jumped, pulling herself up and over the railings. Pushing off the wall, she managed to leap high enough for Tim to grab her arm. He swung her up back and forth until she could cling to the stairwell, which she then was able to climb to reach the roof. Tim showed off, practically parkouring his way past her.

She got to the roof after he did. Copying Tim, she held herself low once more. They both peered over the edge, watching as the stupid men realised they’d lost them on the other side of the street. The five men split apart, heading down different alleys and streets, trying to track Stephanie down. One of them stayed behind and pulled out his phone. Tim leaned forward eagerly, wanting to hear what was said.

“We found her, she got off the subway at the Bowery. We followed her to Perry and 27th but…”

He trailed off as someone responded.

“Well I don’t know! There was some boy with her. Little skinny prick.”

Tim gently snorted, and Stephanie nudged his shoulder with her head. A soft familiar headbutt that made his heart stutter.

“Gawd, do you really need her? Isn’t the wife enough to make Brown show up with the money?”

Stephanie jolted, and instinctively Tim tightened his hold, trying to comfort the sudden tenseness.

“I’m sure the Bat has bigger fish to fry tonight. A shootout at a pharmacy isn’t high on the list…fine. Fine. We’ll keep looking. Fine.”

And that was that and the call ended. He dialled someone else, asked for their location, and ran off to catch up with them.

There was silence as Tim and Stephanie caught their breath and tried to piece together what they could.

“My dad pissed off the mob.”

“Looks like it.”

“They want to use my mom and me as leverage. As if he cares.”

“Hey,” Tim nudged her. “If they want Arthur to show his face, they won’t kill your mom until they have the both of you and her in the one place.”

“They could be hurting her or –”

“They won’t. This is the mob, not Zsasz or Black Mask. They want money they’re owed. There’s no point doing anything before that. They’re pragmatic. Your mom’s just collateral.”

She let go off his hand, letting it hang limp. “…How can you just say it like that. My mother is not collateral damage. Her life is in danger.”

Tim realised he’d overstepped by her flat tone.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be! This is just a fun adventure for you is it?”

“No!” He burst out, contrite. “God no. I’m sorry, I was trying to make you feel better.”

Her face turned beetroot with anger. Oh God.

“How?! By telling me that my mom is gonna die, but it’s fine, since it won’t be until I’m with her to get my brain blown out too?”

“It means we have time!”

“We? Who the hell do you think you are?”

She pushed away from the ledge, pacing back and forth. Tim saw her start to sniff and her eyes grow wet. She was scared, hurt and trying to trust a stranger. It was a lot for one night.

“Stephanie… I know this is awful. I know how awful it is with your mom. Please believe me. I know you don’t know what to do, and I know you feel like you’re stuck with me. I mean… if you want me to go—”

“No. You’re the reason I am not dead probably. Three times over now.” She whirled and looked at him kneeling on the roof. “Who are you?”

Why are you the way you are?

He heaved a sigh, hearing the unasked question, and stood up. “My full name is Timothy Jackson Drake. My parents formed Drake Industries. Have you heard of it?”

She wrinkled her nose. He was loaded then. “Yeah, a little.”

“My mom… she died a few years ago. My dad nearly did too. Some guy was hired to poison them.”

“Why?”

He looked back down on the street. The Bowery was incapable of being quiet, and the sounds of sirens, distant gun shots and shouting echoed through the air.

“…I’m sorry.” Stephanie said. “It’s none of my business. I’m sorry that you lost her.”

“…Not your fault.” He shrugged uselessly. “I don’t want anyone else to hurt like that.”

She peered at him. “That’s very noble of you.”

She wasn’t being sarcastic. Tim laughed sadly all the same and shrugged a little helplessly. Stephanie fell a little more in awe of him.

“I don’t want you to leave me.” She whispered.

He looked her straight in the eye. “Then I promise I won’t. Not until you’re safe in Bristol.”

She moved closer to him, close enough that they were nearly nose to nose. He really wasn’t that tall.

“Then what?”

“I’ll contact Batman.”

“And that’ll be that. I won’t see you again?”

She saw him try to restrain himself from looking shocked. He once again appeared overly earnest in his usual sweet manner. Stephanie caught herself staring at his open mouth.

“Can I see you again?”

“…Maybe. If this mess gets sorted…”

“When this mess is sorted.”

“Hmm. Then yes.”

She tried to lean in closer, until they were sharing their breath, but it seemed Tim was looking absentmindedly at the floor. His eyes were a hundred miles away, sparkling with hope.

“We can go on a proper date then.” He said, smiling mostly to himself. He realised instantly he hadn’t meant to say that out loud and his smile slid off his face.

Stephanie choked and stared at him, reeling at his openness. “Excuse me?”

“Nothingifyouwantittobenothing.”

“Excuse me?”

This boy was bonkers. Stephanie knew it. As loopy as half the people in this freak show of a city. But he was so earnest it was genuinely disconcerting. She couldn’t make her mind up if she was disturbed or flattered by his obvious interest. It was shallow of her, but having a cute, well-meaning boy offer to take her on a date was making her preen internally, and for a moment she flattered herself at catching a rich boy’s attention.

She was abruptly reminded of the worst aspects of her parents when she thought it, and her warm chest froze in disappointment at herself. Besides, she couldn’t trust this boy, no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much she tried. Actions and words were always in conflict, and even he couldn’t make the world fit around what she wanted. She tried to remind herself that his promises were unrealistic.

Maybe he was genuinely psycho under all that blushing and gentle demeanour. An angry ticking time bomb that knew how to manipulate vulnerable girls. Teenage boys were good at that.

But no. The mortified expression on Tim’s face was pointed internally, and she couldn’t see much anger in him at all. In the two hours she’d known him, he’d either been on the physically defensive, acting like a brick wall with a fist, or when he himself was attacked verbally or physically, he either ran or curled inward, becoming small and nimble. He didn’t instigate. His ego was placed on actual founded skills.

Stephanie wasn’t the best at reading people, but she soon convinced herself that Tim just wore his heart on his sleeve. She felt her cheeks grow warm in the rooftop breeze.

“I’m sorry.” Tim muttered again.

“You need to stop apologising.” Stephanie said, reaching for his hand. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just not used to being someone as –”

“Dweebish?”

“Genuine as you.” Tim was staring at their interlocked hands. “I do want to get to know you better. I want to see you again. But I can’t think about it just yet. I can’t stop thinking about my mom.”

“Well… how about you tell me about her.” Tim said. He tugged Stephanie back towards the stairwell, and the two slowly began to descend.

“Umm… What do you want to know about her?”

“She’s a nurse right?”

“Yeah. An A&E nurse mostly. It’s real hard on her.”

“I can imagine.”

“She’s addicted to painkillers.” She blurted out. Tim turned, looking at her sadly. Stephanie shrugged uselessly. “I don’t know if dad did a number on her, or mentally she just needs an escape, or both but… I dunno. It sucks. She’s only sober when she’s at work.”

“How long has she been an addict?”

Stephanie frowned, thinking hard. “…I don’t remember… a time when she wasn’t… I don’t think…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“No but…”

They plopped down on the ground, Tim poking his head round the corner.

“We can grab the 82 from here.”

“Okay.”

They walked, and Stephanie moved closer to Tim, almost burying into his side.

“What about you? Your mom? Is it painful to think of her?”

Tim blinked, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Not so much anymore. We weren’t super close. I spent so much time worrying about my dad. He took a long time to recover. He’s still recovering in a way. I guess I just… regret that she wasn’t there, when I was a kid. And now she never will be.”

If Stephanie could take one small comfort from her own relationship with her mother, it was that it still had the potential to be functional. Maybe even loving. Perhaps it was foolish, but Stephanie still hoped, deep down. Tim didn’t have that chance.

“What do you remember about her?”

“Uhhh… She changed hair colour a lot. She dyed it blonde, red, black, brown… She used to always bring me back stuff from abroad. A lot of it was pretty much expensive junk… but I’ve kept it all.”

Stephanie smiled.

“Was she nice? Do you have a photo?”

“I uurrr… I don’t have my phone on me right now.”

She frowned, lips pressed together as they waited by the bus stop. A few others were also waiting, everyone minding their own business thankfully, though Stephanie felt like one of them was leering at the couple, though his face was hidden under a hoodie.

“Okay seriously… what were you doing in the centre of Gotham tonight?”

Tim anxiously scratched the back of his head. “Gosh…hard to explain.”

“Try.”

He was saved by the arrival of the bus. Stephanie went to get on, but Tim tugged her back, insisting to get on first. He didn’t step all the way on to start with, curving his head around the aisle, narrowing his eyes when inspecting those on board. Stephanie huffed and gave a gentle push on his back. Tripping up the stairs, he smiled awkwardly at the severely depressed looking driver. Possibly the worst shift to have on the already dodgy Gotham bus system, Stephanie couldn’t fault him for having such a no-nonsense face on.

They quickly paid and headed for the middle rows, Stephanie sitting in the aisle seat. The bus was nearly full. There was a guy behind them dressed only in a tank top and speedo swimming trunks. Stephanie tried not to ogle in horror. She reached in her bag and pulled out her phone. Tim’s eyes bugged out his head in a sudden realisation.

“Oh no. Turn that off.”

“I was gonna check if news had caught on about my mom…”

Her pleading made him sympathetic, but he shook his head. Reluctantly, she turned it over and took off the back, pulling out the battery, SIM card and SD card, putting it all back in her little bag. The man behind them began insistently kicking her chair. She felt her eyes roll up into her head, and she tried to keep her temper in check. Not worth it not worth it not worth it…

“I hate this.” She confessed.

“Being helpless? I get that.”

Stephanie thought of what he had said about his mother, and knew he was being honest.

“How did you learn to fight so good anyway?”

“I pushed and pushed and pushed the right people.” He sounded faintly amused as he spoke, like he was recalling a funny memory.

She leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. “Was one of those people Batman?”

“Uh.” His face showed he’d put his foot in it, and he screwed up his lips trying to think of an answer. His lack of response gave her the confirmation she needed. A violent kick from behind made her jerk forward, and with a hiss she tried to continue their conversation.

“How’d you find him?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Could he teach me the same stuff as you?”

“I mean he could…don’t think he would though. He didn’t exactly take to me with open arms.” Tim paused, staring at their feet. Stephanie had put one foot in between his, as if she liked being wrapped around him in some way. Tim smiled absentmindedly, but then grew sad once more. “Still don’t think he has actually.”

“That’s not surprising.”

Tim scoffed and looked at her, eyebrow raised. “In what way?”

“That a guy in a bat suit is easily impressed. Like he’s the kind of guy where nothing’s ever good enough. You’d have to like…save the world from Superman to get his approval or something. I dunno.”

She’d hit the nail on the head, uttering something Tim had heard from Dick a dozen times before. At first, he’d thought Dick was just jaded by his view of Bruce, but overtime Tim saw the truth in the statement.

Or maybe Tim was slowly becoming jaded too. What could he do to impress Bruce? Like really really impress him?

A lightbulb pinged on in Tim’s head.

A very stupid lightbulb.

“I can do that.” He whispered out loud.

“Huh-Ow!” Her query turned to a cry of shock. The speedo man behind them had decided Stephanie’s hair was worth pulling hard. Her head snapped back a broken gasp escaping her. Tim whirled around and she jerked out of her seat violently. “What is your problem?” She asked, looming over the guy.

“Sit down!” The bus driver angrily called back.

“Stephanie.” Tim quietly urged.

“No! What is your problem?” She asked again.

The man was utterly off his face, Tim and Stephanie knew that just from looking at him. But it didn’t stop either of them from being horrified when he looked up at Stephanie and called her several names that even a tattooed bloke down the aisle gasped at.

Stephanie gawked for a moment.

Tim grew angry, and began to kneel on his seat. “Hey you can’t just –”

He didn’t get to finish, as Stephanie recovered her senses enough to utterly lose her rag. She slapped Mr. Speedo. Hard.

His head whipped to the side, slap and neck making a sickening snap each. Her face was white with anger. Everyone in the bus oooed like teenagers at the potential of a fight. Tim felt his stomach drop at the violence and the anxiety it produced. Another part of him couldn’t help but find the whole thing cathartic for Stephanie and satisfying for himself to see such a man be smacked down like that. He breathed an impressed laugh.

The bus driver was not as amused, throwing the breaks on and opening the doors. Stephanie lost her footing on her weak leg and stumbled down the aisle. Tim instinctively jolted up to prevent her from falling. He grabbed her wrist and corrected her balance.

“Off!” Was all the bus driver said. No, he truly did not suffer any sort of misbehaviour.

Stephanie whirled away, humiliated, and Tim followed.

They got off and Stephanie waited until the bus drove away. Once it was out of sight, she screeched. It was so piercing Tim actually winced and took a step backwards.

With a huff she bent in half and struggled to get her breathing back under control. Tim waited patiently next to her.

“That was impressive. To stand up for yourself like that.” He tried to sound positive, but she shook her head, eyes wet as the adrenaline faded.

“Even dogs fight back when you kick them.”

“You’re not a bitch, or anything else he called you.”

“You don’t know that.”

He only sighed. She was incapable of taking reassurances. He doubted after learning of her mother and father that she’d ever received positive affirmation in her life.

He gave up then and looked around.

“Where to next?” Asked Stephanie, the crown of her head still facing the floor.

“Um…” Looking around, Tim tried to catch his bearings. There were five people brawling with each other across the street. Didn’t look like a mugging, just drunk people being drunk. Tim cut his losses and decided to leave them alone. There was a convenience store open down the way, which meant they were getting into slightly better territory.

Slightly.

For Gotham.

If they walked the route of the bus, they’d eventually arrive at the monorail, where they could head up and get back on the subway to Bristol, without doubling back to where the mob were searching for them.

“What were you saying earlier? Before the shit grabbed my hair?” Poisonous loathing leaked into her voice when Stephanie asked Tim her questions. She was still pretty angry.

But oh yes. Tim’s bright idea.

Tim thought they’d lost the mob for now. He also thought he was still out of sight for Bruce. It had just gone quarter to eleven. Three hours gone, nine to go. Easy peasy. Bruce must have caught on to the kidnapping news, right? He would be pursuing that. Not Tim.

But what if he hadn’t? And Stephanie’s mom had been abandoned by any competent form of authority?

Or what if Bruce had found out, but was hunting for Stephanie. Did he know she was with Tim?

Oh God. What if Bruce had already found him?

If that were true, then why couldn’t Tim go after Crystal? Stephanie wasn’t a troublesome load, she was half fire half angry slapping. She could climb and run and jump better than most civilians. She wouldn’t be a burden.

She’d said she hated being helpless…

Okay, so he was deviating slightly from the initial plan. He could make it work. He was more than capable.

They needed a lead though. Information on where Crystal had been taken. Tim stared at the convenience store.

Another equally stupid light bulb went off in Tim’s head.

“You hungry? Need to pee or anything?”

“I want a shower so I can get the puke out of my hair.”

“Right right. Makes sense. A sink then. I just… I have an idea.”

“Huh?”

“You want to not be helpless. Let’s stop running. Let’s find your mom.”

She finally unbent her back, peering at him suspiciously, but curious nonetheless.

“Expand please.”

#dc #timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #my fic tag

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

Text

Black Canary: New Wings #3

I'm suddenly hungry for cheesecake.

A friend of mine on Twitter has been retweeting #PitMad tweets and I'm losing my mind. If you don't know what Pitch Wars is, it's a thing that takes place on Twitter. Specific days are set aside for up and coming writers to Tweet out short synopsis of their novel idea in the hopes that an agent will love their unique vision and turn them into the next...well, I don't know anybody that ever became a famous writer thanks to Pitch Wars. I'm sure it's happened because there's no way agents could pass up some of these terrific pitches! Especially the ones that begin with two pop culture media hits, implying a wacky mash-up of the two ideas! "PULP FICTION X 101 DALMATIANS! Can Jules convince Vinnie that dog's have personality before he decimates the local Dalmatian population? 'What do I look like, motherfucker? Dead motherfucking dog motherfucking storage?!'" How come the agents are knocking down my door after that pitch?! It seems the majority of pitches my friend has retweeted have been of the "Teenager discovers magic secret about their family!" variety. "Bartlett doesn't find themselves fitting in at school so they go online to discover a magic tumble blog where everybody's wishes come true. But when porn is banned from the site, are the granted wishes even worth bothering with?!" Here's my other young adult novel pitch: "Randall, a syphilitic werewolf, doesn't believe in science. But when an asteroid heading toward Earth threatens to destroy everything, he teams up with eleven year old science fair winner, Bethany Hateswolves, and a box of raccoons to save humanity." I know that was a joke pitch but I kind of want to write it now. I probably shouldn't be tweeting joke pitches with the #PitMad hashtag because how will prospective agents be able to tell the real ones from my totally awesome ones? I wonder what this Black Canary pitch might have looked like? "Black Canary ditches Ollie to fight side-by-side with Vietnamese radio jock Gan Nguyen against white supremacists infiltrating the U.S. government. If that's too on the nose, maybe make the white supremacists werewolves!"

This is some absolutely beautiful and insightful writing. I can't wait to read the letters of butthurt 90s readers!

These panels finally got me to Google Sarah Byam and it turns out she wrote some stories for Elfquest and, at the moment I read that, I thought, "Oh! I felt like the name was familiar." Even though before that moment, I hadn't really thought that the name was that familiar! I think my brain is gaslighting me. She also wrote something called Billi 99 (the tag line for the 4 issue series: "It's 1999... Do You Know Where Your Civil Rights Are?") which I'm almost certainly going to have to dig up, even if Tim Sale was the artist on it. I don't have anything bad to say about Tim Sale! It's just his style (which he has in abundance and which is a good thing to have!) isn't up my back alley. Last issue, I said the guy running the crack house was the Senator's son. That was my mistake. It looks like he's just some renegade dealer whose going to fuck up the Senator's plan to destroy minorities with crack cocaine. Somehow. I'm not sure how. You'd realize I'm too dumb to understand the plot if you'd remember that thing I said earlier about not comprehending what I was reading last issue. I blame all the acid I took in my twenties even though I don't mean that. I can't be mad at you, acid trips in my twenties. You were the best! Also, I think the guy I've been calling Senator Garrenger is actually Senator Garrenger's son. Now it makes sense why he looks like a child in a man's suit! That was probably a clue as were the narration and dialogue use to explain the plot which I'm fairly certain I read but who knows? Maybe I was having a flashback. Black Canary explains the plot to the Seattle Chief of Police which helps my brain go, "Oh! Okay! I'm following this now!" Maybe my complaint that it's hard to follow comic books when there's a full month between each chapter has been wrong this entire time. Because I've just read two issues of a comic book in two days and I'm still confused by the third issue! Has it been my stupid brain all this time? Fucking idiot. You're making me look like a jerk, brain! If only you were as smart as I tell people you are! I want to make clear: my inability to follow the plot is not a fault with the writing. It's totally me and whatever distractions and inherent biases kept me from comprehending the story. Maybe I shouldn't be reading political twitter posts between every page of the comic book. Hell, sometimes I even put the book down for an hour or so while I play a little bit of the super cheap computer role playing game, The Quest, that I bought on GOG. It's so terrible in so many ways but not in any way that makes playing it not enjoyable. Do you understand what I mean?! A lot of superhero books purport to be about how you don't have to have super powers to be a hero. They inspire us and we inspire them. But few have ever done it as well as this scene from Black Canary:

How much has been written about super heroes as gatekeepers? Maybe all the Green Lanterns where Hal Jordan is all, "Fuck you, Guy Gardner! You're my shitty back-up!"

All these reviews on this series aren't my usual style. I feel like I'm edging into actual reviewer territory.

With that ass, she can keep my gate any time!

Ah, I feel much better now! Welcome back to the front, acid-brain-damaged me! I would have only scanned her ass so y'all could get a nice, close-up view of it but then I thought I'd be doing this panel a disservice. Notice how Black Canary's entire body is drawn, exploding outside of the panel lines? It's like this panel is declaring, "Black Canary is more than just her ass! I know! That's quite a claim to make but look! She is also a head and feet, you sexist pigs!" Man, I'm really getting political! Here's another take about the panel above that proves I'm an actual reviewer and not just a dumb online jerk who doesn't mind people thinking he jerks off to comic book pictures: Black Canary's ass looks like it was drawn by Chris Ware. Black Canary hunts down the drug dealer, Drake, whom I thought was the Senator's son while also thinking the Senator's son was the Senator! He almost kills both Black Canary and Gan but his gun runs out of ammunition due to shooting rats in the sewers. That was a scene from earlier that I didn't think was important and now I know why it was important! To show that Drake is a fool who doesn't do the smart gun owner thing: always reload! While Drake is being taken to the police chief by Black Canary, he gets shot in the head by the white supremacist assassin. He escapes but Black Canary and Gan find clues that link the drug operation to a Neo-Nazi camp outside of Seattle. They go to investigate in hopes of finding a link to the Senator. But before Black Canary can find one, she and Gan are caught by the racists! And no Green Arrow in sight (or on site!) to save the day! Black Canary: New Wings #3 Rating: A. For a comic book that I could barely get excited about reading because the covers are so uninspiring, it's really surprised me! Hopefully there will be some letters from a bunch of "I'm not a racist but" racists soon!

Not the exact letter I was looking for but good enough! "Too much talk about things that matter!"

#Black Canary #Sarah Byam #Trevor Von Eeden #Dick Giordano #DC #DC Comics

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rainybookshop · 5 years

Text

Rain-Fogged Windows

listen y'all I was re-watching Jurassic Park and I noticed that the windows of Alan and Ian's Jeep were REAL fogged up before they got out of the car and...this happened.

Fandom: Jurassic Park

Pairing: Alan Grant/Ian Malcolm, pre Alan Grant/Ellie Sattler/Ian Malcolm

Words: 1103

Read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729571

Alan is absolutely infuriated with Ian Malcolm. With his relentless pursuit of Ellie (or any woman alive, by the sounds of it), with the way he always laughs at his own jokes, with his need to bring clothes that are completely unsuited to the tropical climate just so he can saunter around in leather pants and leave his dress shirt casually opened in a way that calls attention to the toned muscles of his chest.

Not that Alan’s noticed.

And now they’re stuck together, in a tacky Jeep in the middle of a remote island in a tropical rainstorm, unable to move while literal dinosaurs roam free. Alan wonders if any of Ian’s stupid Chaos Theory could ever have predicted something like this before realizing that yes, this was exactly what Ian was talking about, and it makes him hate him a little bit more.

They’re both frozen in the front of the jeep, Alan praying to a God he doesn’t really believe in that his theories about the T-Rex’s limited eyesight are actually right, when a particularly ominous thud reverberates through the car and Ian grips Alan’s knee, his knuckles white. They wait with bated breath, straining to see anything through the thick curtain of rain. Alan’s bracing himself for an impact, for an earth-shattering roar, for lethal jaws to crash through the window and tear him apart, but the silence stretches on. And a moment later, the thuds sound again, a little fainter than before, and Alan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as the T-Rex passes right by them.

He realizes, then, that Ian’s hand is still resting on his knee. They glance at each other – Ian’s tanned skin has gone noticeably paler, and he’s sure the hunted look in his eyes matches Alan’s.

That’s, of course, when the light goes on in the car up ahead, with Lex waving the flashlight around like a beacon.

“Turn it off,” Alan hisses, his stomach dropping as he sees the T-Rex turn towards the light and advance hungrily – he’s not sure how they’re going to stop it now.

He watches in horror as the T-Rex inspects the car, trying to find the source of the light. Ian’s hand on his knee squeezes tighter, and Alan glances over at him again. If the kids don’t shut that light off, they’re probably all going to die – the T-Rex won’t abandon the Jeeps if she thinks there’s prey inside, and they’re basically sitting ducks. Despite the terror written all over his face, Ian looks like he’s gearing up to say something, and honestly if he makes another sarcastic quip, Alan might kill him before the T-Rex does.

So Alan leans forward instead, just enough for it to be an invitation. His body is thrumming with adrenaline and his heart is pounding and Ian is maddeningly, stupidly attractive. He sees the second Ian gets it, his eyes widening in surprise, before Ian’s leaning forward too and they’re kissing. Alan tangles his fingers in Ian’s thick hair, tugging him closer, and Ian makes this little punched-out sound into his mouth in response that goes straight to Alan’s gut. Ian brings both hands up to frame Alan’s face as he slips his tongue into his mouth, and Alan would be really annoyed that Ian’s such a good kisser if he wasn’t enjoying this so much.

When Ian reaches for his belt buckle, Alan freezes, just for a second. It’s not that he doesn’t want to – which is a whole revelation he probably won’t live long enough to piece together - but it’s jarring enough that it brings him back to the present. To Jurassic Park, and the hungry T-Rex in close proximity, and the kids left alone in the Jeep up ahead.

He can see the moment it hits Ian too, and they pull back from each another as one, panting slightly for breath. Ian hurriedly wipes away at the steamed-up windows, which Alan doesn’t have a chance to be embarrassed about – they’re as bad as teenagers at the drive-in – because the kids look like they’re 2 seconds away from being eaten. The T-Rex has punched in the roof and the kids are cowering beneath it, although Alan is grudgingly impressed they’re holding up the glass to protect themselves. Alan takes one look at Tim and Lex screaming – clear as day even through the sheets of rain – and he jumps into action, searching for a survival kit he hopes Hammond was smart enough to put in the Jeeps. Thankfully, he finds it, bringing the flares back with him into the front. What he’s thinking is crazy, and he’s probably going to get himself killed, but he can’t sit idle and let those kids die.

He glances over at Ian, at his blown pupils and kiss-swollen lips and hair that’s in even more disarray than usual, and he lets himself regret, just for a second, that this is just another in a long line of things that he’ll never get the chance to do. Then he steels himself, throws open the door, and lights the flare.

***

Of course, Ian has to light his flare too, in a stupid, self-sacrificing gesture that just might save both Alan and the kids, and the pang he feels as he watches Ian lead the T-Rex away makes him think that maybe he doesn’t hate Ian after all.

***

He has to tell Ellie of course, once they’re at the hospital on the main land, battered and broken but somehow still alive. He’s not sure what he expected – they’ve survived raptors and T-Rexes and herds of Gallimimus, he’s pretty sure him kissing another man before a near-death experience doesn’t rate very highly right now – but he’s still taken aback when, after staring at him in surprise for a moment, she snorts with laughter, bringing up her hand to stifle the sound as she giggles.

Alan resolutely does not blush as she laughs good-naturedly, lacing her fingers through his affectionately.

“I would have kissed him too,” she admits once she’s caught her breath, her voice laced with amusement.

Alan’s not sure if it’s the exhaustion, or the exhilaration of surviving at least a dozen near-death experiences in the span of 24 hours, but what comes out of his mouth is “You could.”

Ellie pauses for a second, frozen in shock, before she gets the sort of calculating gleam in her eyes that usually precedes adventures that make “tenacious” seem like a woefully inadequate way to describe her.

“I could,” she replies, grinning thoughtfully at Alan. Ian isn’t going to know what hit him.

#jurassic park #ian x alan #ian x alan x ellie #dinot3 #Fic #missing scene #making out #nothing like almost getting eaten by a t-rex to prompt a sexuality crisis

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

Text

653.

Do you struggle to articulate your thoughts and feelings? >> I do. Outworld, anyway.

Have you ever watched a Sons of Anarchy? >> No.

Do you want to see The Woman In Black? >> I never got around to watching it, it never piqued my interest enough.

Has a random guy ever asked you for your phone number? >> Yes. I’m so glad those days are over.

Has a guy ever pulled over to ask for your number or call you hot? >> Probably.

How attracted are you to the last person that kissed you? >> There is no way in which I am not attracted to Can Calah.

Name something that you are doing tonight. >> Fucking around online.

Are you a jealous person? >> Not in the slightest.

Do you like February? >> I mean, there’s really nothing much to like, per se? It’s not a very interesting month.

Where have you lived throughout your life? >> Quite a few places.

Have you ever known a white supremacist? >> Sure, online. Maybe in meatspace too, if they were covert.

What were you doing an hour ago? >> I was either watching Hannibal or reading my emails.

In regards to who do you think 'what if?'? >> ???

Do you like the smell of a barbecue? >> Sure do.

Do you get excited when you find Sanrio products at Wal-Mart? >> I don’t recall ever having a distinct experience of finding Sanrio products at Walmart. But I don’t imagine it’d surprise me or anything, considering Hello Kitty is a widely distributed brand...

Are you 420 friendly? >> Yes. I can’t really partake because of personal issues, but I support its usage for those who enjoy it.

Do you own a Champion's sport bra? >> No.

Do you watch Justified? >> No.

How many cups of tea of coffee do you have in a day? >> Zero, most of the time. I might have a cup of tea or two if I can manage to get my executive function on board. I love tea but making it is a different story...

Do you own a varsity jacket? >> No.

Dolce Vita or Jeffrey Campbell? >> What?

Ryan Gosling or Channing Tatum? >> Ryan Gosling, only because of like. Drive.

Has anyone ever called you apathetic or unemotional? >> Certainly.

Would you rather someone you loved passionately hate you or be indifferent to you? >> I can’t imagine feeling that intensely for someone who doesn’t have any positive feelings towards me whatsoever. It just doesn’t add up for me personally.

Have you read Wuthering Heights or Jane Eyre? >> No.

I bet you miss somebody right now? >> Well, you lost that bet.

What are you planning on doing after this? >> Probably check out what’s going on on my dashboard for a bit.

How much money do you spend in a month on clothes or accessories? >> Usually none. I haven’t bought any new wearables since October.

What was the last clothing item you wore that doesn't belong to you? >> Probably some t-shirt of Sparrow’s. We have similar tastes in t-shirts and wear the same size.

Do you watch Jersey Shore? >> No.

Do you have a thing with someone? >> What...

Do you have any bruises on either of your legs? >> No.

Who was the last person to touch your stomach? >> The last person outworld to touch my stomach would have probably been a doctor or something.

Something tragic just happened. Does your facial expression show it? >> I mean, I guess it depends... the flatness of my affect is an ever-changing element.

Who is the cleverest (crafty) person you know? >> *shrug*

Do you think people who know a lot of facts are really smart? >> I think they’re people who have a great ability in retaining information. Which one could argue is a factor in intelligence, I’d imagine.

Do you ever feel like strangers look mad at you? >> Er, sometimes, I guess.

Do you own anything with your state or providence's name on it? >> No.

How often do you hold back from saying what you are thinking? >> Quite often, because people don’t really need or necessarily want to know what I’m thinking all the time?

Do you like the Paranormal Activity movies? >> Never seen them.

How do you like your oatmeal? >> Thick and still chewy, with milk and clarified butter and maple syrup and cinnamon.

Do you have siblings under the age of 12? >> No.

Are you going to any concerts this summer? >> I don’t know what I’m doing this summer, it’s months away.

What do you watch on TV on a Monday? >> So, I don’t watch regular television. Tuesday? Wednesday? Thursday? Friday? Saturday? Sunday?

Is there anything you want that you can't have? >> Sure, like a well-functioning brain.

Does it make you feel better when an ex starts dating someone unattractive? >> ---

How many brick and mortar schools have you attended? >> Like, 12.

How do you feel about opiates? >> I don’t have any feelings about them.

Do you like True Blood? >> God, I loved that show so much. I might rewatch it just because it’s utterly ridiculous and stupid and fun. Also because Lafayette is in it and I have rarely loved a character more than him.

What's your newest perfume? >> ---

What's your favorite perfume? >> I use a roll-on oil that you can buy, like, on the streets in big urban areas. Which makes it hard to get for me. There’s also one of those hippie stores in the mall that sells a roll-on that’s close enough, I guess. But nothing beats the street-vendor version.

Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, or Tom Felton? >> No.

Are you a Hunger Games fan? >> I did like the books.

What's your favorite way to eat peanut butter? >> On toast.

What is the last thing you stole? >> I don’t remember the last time I stole something. I finally quit like 5 years ago or so.

Urban Outfitters or Forever21? >> No.

American Eagle or Macy's? >> Mm.

PacSun or Zumiez? >> Nah.

Can you play any musical instruments? >> Nope.

Do you think Selena Gomez is cute? >> I have no opinion on Selena Gomez.

Do you fall in infatuation easily? >> I don’t fall in infatuation at all.

Who has initiated most of your first kisses? >> ---

Do you have Netflix? >> Yes. Honestly, I’m beginning to hate Netflix, but I keep it for the household (and for our friend that also uses my account).

Do you have a good memory? >> Yeah, it’s fine.

What did you wear to bed last-night? >> Same shit I’m wearing right now.

What gives you anxiety? >> Oh, you know. Stuff.

What's the last movie that really scared you? >> I can’t think of any movie I felt that way about.

How did you get the shirt you're wearing? >> I bought it. Probably at Hot Topic.

Why do some guys take shirtless mirror pictures when they don't have abs? >> Because they fucking want to lmao god

Do you think lines are as good as abs? >> What. Also fuck abs.

Do you like bows? >> I like bowties...

Have you ever made a 'haul' YouTube video? >> No.

Have you ever been to Indiana? >> I’ve rode through it on the way to Chicago.

Do you straighten your hair almost every day? >> No.

What kind of a guy do you imagine when you hear the name 'Tim'? >> I don’t imagine any kind of person.

What brand is starting to invade your closet? >> None.

Have you ever seen those Flapjack cartoons? >> No.

Has a boyfriend ever made you breakfast? >> Sure. Raven did that a lot. He was a good lad.

Do you think all porn stars are whores? >> No. In fact, I don’t think any porn stars are whores, because I think whore is a derogatory term and I have no business calling people that when they’re just trying to make a living doing something they (presumably) enjoy. Just like everyone else.

Would you date an 18 year old at the age you are now? >> No. I also wouldn’t date, period, but. Definitely not a teenager.

Do you like cinnamon bacon? >> I’ve never had it, but it sounds like it might be good.

Do you like Epic Meal Time? >> I’ve never watched it.

Have you ever starved yourself? >> No. I never had the willpower. Which is a good thing, I’d imagine.

What do you gather your change in? >> I don’t get enough change to need a place to put it.

Do you like to play Angry Birds? >> I tried it back when it was popular, but it didn’t stick.

Are you more likely to show affection through your words or your actions? >> Actions.

Would you agree that all love is conditional? >> I mean, it is for me. I can’t say that it is for everyone else because I’m not everyone else and people experience love in all sorts of ways.

Do you listen to Darwin Deez or Birdy? >> No.

Do you think Mac Miller is overrated? >> I don’t even know anything about Mac Miller. Except that he’s dead? I think? Might be confusing him with someone else for all I know.

Do you know who Mac Lethal is? >> No.

Do you like Cheez-Its? >> No.

What color is your so's car? >> Sparrow’s car is silver.

Do you believe in God? >> God just doesn’t really factor into my life most of the time.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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douxreviews · 5 years

Text

Galaxy Quest Review

“Never give up. Never surrender.”

This affectionate parody of Star Trek is one of my favorite science fiction comedies. The fans at the 2013 Trek Convention in Las Vegas even ranked it the seventh best Trek film at the time. I knew Trek fans were smart.

Warning: Spoilers abound. They also frolic and cavort.

Galaxy Quest stars Tim Allen as Jason Nesmith/Cmdr. Taggart/Capt. Kirk. Sigourney Weaver plays Gwen DeMarco/ Lt. Madison/Uhura/Troi. Alan Rickman plays Alexander Dane/Dr. Lazarus/Spock/Picard. Tony Shalhoub plays Fred Kwan/Tech Sgt. Chen/Scotty/Sulu. Sam Rockwell plays Guy Fleegman/Crewman Number Six/Redshirt. Daryl Mitchell plays Tommy Webber/Lt. Laredo/Wesley Crusher. You got that? Good, moving on.

We also get some great aliens played by Enrico Colantoni as Mathesar, Missi Pyle as Laliari, and Rainn Wilson as Lahnk. The way that they portrayed their characters as so sweet and naïve - that was both hilarious and endearing.

Now, I’m a long-time fan of Star Trek, so I really enjoy all the digs at the series and their stars. I’m not a big Tim Allen fan, but he does a good job here channeling Kirk. Once he gets on that space ship he really does embody the tagline, “Never give up. Never surrender.” He leads his crew to victory and it is really fun to see them triumph. All the stars seem to be having a good time and they really make this a joy to watch. My favorite characters were probably Fred and Guy because Tony Shalhoub played Fred as so nonchalant, calm and cuddly, and Sam Rockwell was so hysterical as Guy as he constantly thought that he was going to die at any moment because of his Redshirt character.

There are too many in-jokes to mention, but my favorite ones were probably Fred Kwan squinting when he plays Chen (as if that makes him look Asian), Tommy being a kid at the helm, the self-destruct stopping at one second because it always does, and Guy being an unnamed security officer. It’s not safe to be unnamed and to wear a red shirt on a science fiction TV show, ask anyone.

The crew trying to fly their ship without really knowing how to do so - that’s comedy gold. I love the part where Tommy scrapes The Protector along the side of the launch bay and everyone leans…like that is going to help. Hey, I do that when I’m watching my bowling ball head toward the gutter, but that’s a different matter. Gwen is great as she has nothing to do but irritate everyone as she just repeats what the computer says and states the obvious.

My favorite sequence is what happens on the planet and then what happens right after aboard the ship as the crew tries to find a way to rescue Jason. That digital conveyor mishap is inspired in its execution and just kills me every time. Well, it killed the pig lizard creature also, I guess. I won’t quote the whole scene, but I’m sorely tempted to do so. The scene of Jason and Gwen going through the chomper hallway is also wonderful.

There are some young fans helping out our heroes. I still can’t decide if they are realistically characterized or not. I guess they might have been at the time this movie was made, but now they don’t seem to fit any teenager that I know. Regardless, they help the ship land; crashing right into the convention center where the whole adventure started.

I really like the ending when the crew comes out of the ship one by one and the audience is cheering. Our heroes have just survived an incredible experience and they get to share their triumph with their fans, even though the fans think that the whole thing is just a part of the show.

By Grabthar’s Hammer… Bits and Pieces:

General Sarris was an okay villain, but it was a little convenient that he knew that the Historical Documents were a TV show, with little explanation. He doesn’t look like someone who spends a lot of time watching theatricals.

The Thermians were so great. A whole race of beings who don’t even know what falsehood means and just wants to hug everyone. It’s so sad that there were so few of them left.

The Protector’s registration number is NTE-3120. NTE stands for: Not the Enterprise.

I love the little aliens on the planet. They’re so cute. In the movie, they speak in alien-speak with subtitles, but I remember watching trailers of the movie that had them say these lines: “What is it?” “I don’t know.” “Let’s hit it with a rock.” My husband and I still quote that rock line all the time.

Computer: “Negative, there is no replacement Beryllium Sphere on board.” Gwen: “No, there is no replacement Beryllium Sphere on board.” Tommy: “You know, that is really getting annoying.” Gwen: “Look, I have one job on this lousy ship. It’s stupid, but I’m gonna do it! Okay?”

Alexander: “Could they be the miners?” Fred: “Sure, they’re like three years old.” Alexander: “Miners, not minors!” Fred: “You lost me.”

Guy: “Did you guys ever watch the show?” Gwen: “See, they’re trying to help the little hurt one.” (The other aliens attack him.) Gwen: “Let’s get out of here before one of those things kills Guy.”

Guy: “We’re doing episode 81?” Tommy: “Whatever, the one with the hologram.” Gwen: “How the hell is Fred supposed to project a hologram?” Guy: “We’re doing episode 81, Jason?” Jason: “It’s a rough plan, Guy, what does it matter if we are doing episode 81 or not?” Guy: (yelling hysterically) “Because I DIED in episode 81!”

Gwen: “What is this thing?... I mean, it serves no purpose for there to be a bunch of chompy, crushy things in the middle of a hallway. No, I mean we shouldn’t have to do this… it makes no logical sense, why is it here?” Jason: “’Cause it’s on the television show.” Gwen: “Well, forget it! I’m not doing it! This episode was badly written!”

I have probably seen this movie at least a dozen times and still laugh at all the jokes and get teary-eyed at the end when the audience is cheering. Fandom can be a lovely thing and this movie is an affable and fond spoof of an iconic series.

Mallena loves her DVR, her Pug, anything in the sci-fi, fantasy, and supernatural genres, and her family. Well, maybe not in that exact order.

#Galaxy Quest #Tim Allen #Sigourney Weaver #Alan Rickman #Sam Rockwell #Doux Reviews #Movie Reviews #something from the archive

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thesinglesjukebox · 5 years

Video

youtube

BILLIE EILISH - BAD GUY

[6.93]

The Jukebox has thoughts on Billie Eilish? Well, duh.

Andy Hutchins: Nothing clicked for me with Billie Eilish until "Bad Guy." I understood the appeal intellectually, because it has sometimes been my wheelhouse: "Prodigy-cast makes off-kilter pop music from a perspective with more than a little precociousness and possibly a feminine spin that serves to disrupt rather than reify" is my jam for months at a time, sometimes. But some combination of prodigy and precociousness sometimes striking me as preciousness -- something that I've occasionally found issue with in the work of Sky Ferreira and Solange and Lorde and Cher Lloyd and fka twigs and Haim and Kacey Musgraves and Lana Del Rey and so many women who have occupied this same treacherous lane where deviating from delivering what is expected from a young woman making pop music can offend the sensibilities (or engage the biases) of even someone who has strained to stave off the stupidity of dismissing music made by young women and largely intended for young women -- and what I read as a deliberately dark and standoffish aesthetic put me off of Eilish, whose stuff just didn't compel me. Everything clicks for me with Billie Eilish now that I've heard "Bad Guy," which I reckon is pathetic on my part, because so much of the DNA of "Bad Guy" is in other work she's done that the things that differentiate it as The Hit and The Breakthrough come down to tempo and a kooky synth run in the hook that every third YouTube commenter thinks is stolen from Plants vs. Zombies. But "Bad Guy" is also an unassailable pop song and has come along at a time when bulletproof ones are not occupying the charts -- the closest competition in the current top 40 by my sight is, like, a Katy Perry song whose verses let down its magnificent hook, a bunch of drowsy-to-dire Khalid and Halsey tunes, a C- effort from Taylor Swift, and a microwaved Lizzo track that I've known of for a while and don't consider her best stuff -- and so it stands out even more from the pop metagame than the larger Eilish oeuvre does from a host of less realized tunes. And I'm a sucker for an unassailable pop song, especially one with a vocal initially delivered so low that it demands attention to the dial in the car but that is by turns brightly funny ("...duh!") and world-weary and campy to the hilt (the titular phrase being stretched to a titanium crocodile's rasp), a relentless bass line that sounds like a monster's heartbeat echoing in a cave, and lyrics that constitute a semi-sincere embrace of some Lolita tropes and a more powerful sarcastic destruction of them while somehow also being fully ready for Instagram captions and Twitter display names and ... well, no one's on Tumblr anymore. But that's hardly Billie's fault, and I'm not docking points for only barely failing to raise the dead with a virtuosic song that makes me this glad to be alive. [10]

Alfred Soto: There's a reason this song has become the breakout hit besides its insidious keyboard hook: Billie Eilish sings not mumbles the gender bending hook. Otherwise a ditty that the top 40 could use more of; its quietness is a tonic. [8]

Joshua Copperman: Sounds great, looks great (if possibly plagarized), memes great. The deadpan anti-sexuality of "might-seduce-your-dad type" is "Guys My Age" done right. The delivery of "my soul, so cynical" like even that is too earnest of a statement. The only weak part is the ending switch-up. But you knew all that already. Duh. Besides the cries of "industry plant!" there's also the ongoing sense that Eilish is a music writers' idea of what a 17-year-old Tumblr-born pop star would sound like. And sure, she's a young music writers' dream; I have a byline at Billboard because of her. But also, it's genuinely smart music that is mostly set to age well, even if it's hard to tell if it m a t t e r s. Who knows what 17-year-olds of any predilection towards seducing dads are actually listening to; I'm 21 and finding that out is only getting more difficult, if maybe not more necessary. If teens still control popular culture, if anyone does, who knows if this really does reflect them, or if its bottomless angst is mocked like Limp Bizkit? Is "Bad Guy" just "Heathens" for the late-2010s? Does this really represent the next generation? And which next generation; the shit-talking saviors, or the ones just like their parents and the radicalized alt-right kids? There's no easy answer to any of these, no "duh" to shrug them off. But there is Eilish and co. applying the daily grind of apocalyptic dread to smaller-scale topics. Processing death on "Bury a Friend," processing one's own body image on "idontwannabeyouanymore," processing changing gender roles here. Finding your place in 2019 is a lot for anyone. No one is getting it right. What Eilish does instead is turn that uncertainty to playfulness, confidently existing within the mess instead of trying to find her spot. [8]

Leah Isobel: I was on Tumblr in 2011, so "might seduce your dad type" doesn't feel as provocative as she might intend. (Also, Halsey did the exact same thing.) Besides, pop is a space for fantasy and role-playing, and she's not the first 16-year old bad girl to make adults freak out a little. What gets me is that the song itself is a brilliant production piece in search of an equally compelling melody; the biggest hooks here are an audible eye-roll and a Tim Burton rip. I love the idea of Billie as a goth-teen-pop star, and the choice to swerve into a spooky outro instead of a more traditional structure is genuinely a lot of fun, but this all feels like so much posturing -- normal for a teenager, but not that compelling to listen to on its own. [6]

Katherine St Asaph: If Billie Eilish is the Gen Z Fiona Apple, which I've heard from about three separate people even before the Discourse started, then "Bad Guy" is her "Criminal," down to it being creep flypaper. Everyone quotes that one dad line a bit too eagerly, like they're subconsciously thinking that if they have the pithiest take they just might get to be the dad. (It isn't even the most suggestive line.) There's a strong case for the dad being the bad guy, if only because he's, well, the guy. But "Bad Guy" lives in the world of teenage politics, where the guys just are and the girls get their badness thrust upon them, and their choices are to shrink away or play along. Duh. ("Bad Guy" : "duh" :: "Your Love Is My Drug" : "I like your beard.") But all this is pretty serious analysis for a fundamentally trolly song: half-mumbling the melody to a beat I'm pretty sure I made in a high school to go with a video project; rhyming bad/mad/sad/dad like a Mavis Beacon keyboarding tutorial (or whatever the kids have now; maybe they're just born typing); crooning an exceedingly Lana Del Rey-ish "I'm only good at being bad" then immediately cutting that crap for a bassy, fuck-off breakdown; filling only about 60% of the song with, like, song. [6]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Not the most impressive or cohesive Billie Eilish song, but it is the one most likely to remind you of how fun her music can be (that she included the Invisalign skit in the video helps). The coda is fine, but the best reversal is found elsewhere: the nonchalant cries of duh followed by a cartoonish synth melody, underlining just how playful the song's darker elements are. [6]

Josh Langhoff: Eilish sometimes sounds like the Cardigans if they only did Black Sabbath covers, "evil" squeezed between an extra set of scare quotes, and sometimes she's Nellie McKay on downers, ennui shaped like wit but without the laughs. Sometimes she's good and sometimes she sings ballads. And somehow that combination produced "Bad Guy," the elusive Somehow Perfect Pop Song That Sounds Like Nothing Else On The Radio. I can't say I love it, but all her murmuring and posturing makes Top 40 radio seem, after too many years, like a playground of endless possibility. What'd we do to deserve this and "Old Town Road"? [8]

Jessica Doyle: Yes. Some are red, and some are blue. Some are old, and some are new. Some are sad, and some are glad, and some are very, very bad. Why are they sad and glad and bad? I do not know. Go ask why that menacing bass and Eilish's whisper didn't deserve better lyrics. [4]

Tobi Tella: Billie Eilish's artistic direction and style of music makes it seem almost impossible for her to make a legitimate banger, but this fits in perfectly with the rest of her album tone-wise and also completely slaps. The simplicity of the production, literally created in a bedroom just adds to the perfect low-key vibe. The lyrics do make Billie sound a little like a teenager who will cringe reading them in 10 years, but as an 18 year old, sometimes doing stupid stuff you know is destructive and immature is FUN, and this completely captures that feeling. [8]

Will Adams: I love love love the idea of this shifty, close mic'd oddball dancepop song being as big of a mainstream hit as it is, even if it's one of the more slight offerings from the album. Extra point for the coda, where Billie drops the coy and reminds you how quick she is to put her foot on your neck. [7]

Pedro João Santos: The coda lamentably inverts the light heart of "Bad Guy": the colourful, whispered titillation conjugated with what's left unsaid, a sort of puerile pleasure dutifully translated by the Theremin-esque synths; not the heady, overlong consummation that it unfolds onto by the end. I must say I'm exhilarated that someone knew how to ape "Las de La Intuición" nearly 15 years on, although startled by the fact that it was Billie Eilish the one to do it. [7]

Scott Mildenhall: Done well, it's enjoyable to hear a musician having such fun, but especially so when one unexpected element of a song comes in to underline just how much fun they're having. In this case, it's the gloopy searchlight noise, playing out like the theme tune to a 1970s cop show set in space, in a way that cannot be anything but gleefully goofy. Such bold and playful invention is something pop music would suffer without. Extra points for the consideration to leave a gap before the outro so that radio stations can cut it out. [8]

Iris Xie: I still think this song should've been cut off at the 2:14 mark, because it said everything it needed to say. [5]

Katie Gill: That purposefully obnoxious "duh" sums up what Eilish wants to say more than the rest of the song combined (and is currently in the running for my favorite 2 seconds of 2019 pop music). This image of her as the bad guy isn't serious. It's bratty and playful, more her creating something she can have fun with instead of taking herself seriously. Unfortunately, that something interesting here is buried in a three minute piece that somehow manages to be three completely different songs which never actually coheres to a single whole. [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Billie Eilish #pop #music #music review #writing

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catie-does-things · 6 years

Text

Happy Birthday, Katie!

@iamfitzwilliamdarcy

I wrote you an angst fic ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If a Body Catch a Body Coming Through the Rye

The night Jason Todd inexplicably comes back from the dead, he ends up, just as inexplicably, on the doorstep of thirteen-year-old Tim Drake.

ao3

Tim’s house is roughly two miles from Wayne Manor as the crow flies, closer to three by road. He knows this because he’s checked it on a map, carefully measured the distance and done the calculations. But there are no other houses in between, which means that Tim is, technically, next door neighbors with Bruce Wayne. He’s mentioned this a couple times to other kids at school, but no one really seems impressed by it, any more than they are by all the other things Tim knows about geography or history or computers.

Being next door neighbors with Bruce Wayne means that Tim is also, technically, next door neighbors with Batman. Tim figured this out, too, though he knows better than to tell any of his classmates about that, even if he is pretty sure it’s the one thing that maybe would impress them. A secret like that is just too important, too big to tell, no matter how cool it is.

But Tim knows as much about Batman as he does about anything else. He’s smart, he’s observant, and he’s got nothing but time on his hands, shut up in the big house by himself most days. That’s how he knows that Bruce Wayne’s older ward, Dick Grayson, used to be Robin, and is now living in Bludhaven operating as Nightwing. It’s how he knows Jason Todd replaced Dick as Robin a few years ago. It’s how he knows, or at least suspects, what must have really happened to Jason, because it wasn’t that long after the tragic and mysterious death of Bruce Wayne’s younger ward that the Joker was finally taken into custody - alive, but only just barely.

Tim has pieced together from news articles and police reports he maybe kinda wasn’t supposed to see nearly all of the sad story of Jason Todd, and his imagination has filled in the rest. He thinks, probably, it must be nice to have someone care about you as much as Batman obviously cared about his Robin. And he’s starting to think, based on what he’s seen of the caped crusader’s activity lately, that Batman actually needed Robin as much as Robin needed him.

So yes, Tim is a veritable expert when it comes to all things Batman related. That’s how, when a bruised and battered teenage boy just a couple years older than Tim himself turns up on his doorstep one stormy night, Tim knows without a doubt that this is Jason Todd - a scared, confused, but inexplicably very much alive Jason Todd.

“Bruce?” Jason calls out frantically as he drips on the front hall carpet, eyes roving wildly as if he expects his guardian to appear anywhere, at any moment - which, Tim supposes, is not a totally crazy thing to expect when your guardian is also Batman. But Tim is fairly certain Batman is not lurking somewhere in his house at this moment, so he focuses on the problem at hand.

“Bruce isn’t here,” Tim says carefully. Jason’s eyes snap to him, and his shoulders tense, as if he is just noticing the younger boy exists, even though Tim had dragged him in out of the rain a minute ago. “It’s okay,” Tim says. “He’s not here, but I can help you find him.”

Jason stares at him, quietly dripping for another moment - he’s wearing a dark suit that looks like it was probably expensive, though now it’s dirty and torn, and Tim notices his knuckles are bloody. There’s a clap of thunder as Tim wonders if this is really what it looks like, if the dead Robin really just dug himself out of his own grave, or if maybe there is such a thing as ghosts after all...

“Where am I?” Jason asks quietly as the last echoes of the thunder die away, speaking to Tim directly for the first time. “What happened?”

“You’re...not far from home,” Tim hesitantly answers the first question, the easier one. But before he can think of something diplomatic to say to the second, Jason suddenly clutches his head and groans in pain.

“Are you okay?” Tim asks, taking a step towards the older boy in concern, then mentally scolds himself. Of course he’s not okay, he’s supposed to be dead, who knows what kind of injuries he still has…

Jason doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t fight as Tim guides him into the first floor guest bedroom which is never used. He collapses onto the bed, instantly muddying then clean sheets, which Tim finds oddly reassuring. He’s pretty sure a ghost wouldn’t track mud everywhere. But Jason is also muttering something incoherent, which is less reassuring. Tim knows a lot of things, and the fact that he is not a qualified medical professional is definitely one of them. He reaches for the phone, to call for help.

He freezes with his thumb hovering over the number 9. He hesitates, because Jason Todd is legally dead, and if he turns up in an emergency room that would raise all kinds of questions, which might eventually turn into Batman questions. Not good.

He can’t call his dad, for the same reason. But there is one person he can call. Leaving Jason, who doesn’t appear to be going anywhere, Tim retreats to the kitchen and consults the list of emergency contacts they keep on the side of the fridge. The Drakes are, after all, neighbors with Bruce Wayne.

Tim has never dialed this number before, and he double checks that he’s entered the right digits before he hits the green call button. The phone rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Wayne Manor,” a polite, accented voice responds on the other end of the line. “Alfred Pennyworth speaking.”

“Mr. Pennyworth,” Tim begins nervously. “It’s Tim Drake. I’m…” The word neighbor dies on his tongue. They’re only technically neighbors, they don’t really know each other at all. “I’m Jack Drake’s son?” he says instead, wincing at how it sounds like a question.

“Yes, Master Drake, I know you you are,” the voice replies patiently. “What can I do for you?”

“My mom and dad are out of town,” Tim says without thinking. Why would he lead with that? Stupid. “And there’s this guy - a kid, little older than me - anyway, he’s here, and he looks like...” Like he just dug himself out of the grave? Like he’s the dead Robin you don’t think I know about? Tim tries to rally his nerve. “Jason Todd,” he concludes. “It’s Jason.”

There’s a long silence. “Master Drake,” Alfred finally says, no longer sounding patient, a hint of anger in his voice instead. “I don’t know if this phone call is motivated by boredom or loneliness, but frankly, a cruel joke like that is not an appropriate answer to either. Whatever you…”

“I’m not joking!” Tim cuts him off desperately, heading back towards the guest room. “It’s really him! I don’t know how, but it is!” He finds Jason where he left him, thankfully, lying on his back on the bed, but he’s still incoherent. “He was asking for Bruce a moment ago,” Tim finishes lamely.

Jason groans in pain again, rolling onto his side and curling around himself, and Alfred must be able to hear it on his end, because his tone has softened a little when he speaks. “Obviously there is someone there who is not well,” Alfred says. “I don’t know what made you think it could be...someone it clearly can’t be.” There’s a hitch in his voice, and it doesn’t escape Tim’s notice that Alfred can’t say Jason’s name. “But I suggest you call emergency services instead.”

“Obviously I thought of that,” Tim replies, growing annoyed, just a little. On the bed, Jason is still clearly in distress, but doesn’t seem to be dying. Well, dying again, he supposed. “But I wasn’t sure if Mr. Wayne would want people knowing…” Tim trails off, not sure if he should voice the big secret, even to Alfred, over the phone.

Alfred sighs. “I still don’t know what kind of ideas you have about Mr. Wayne or…”

Jason’s eyes have fluttered open again, and he’s looking at the phone in Tim’s hand intently. “Alfred?” he cries out, suddenly sitting up. He lunges, grabbing for the phone, and Tim instinctively scurries back. Jason falls to the floor, and Tim drops the phone, swearing. Jason gets to it before he can recover.

“Alfred?” Jason asks again, voice shaking as he grips the phone, bloodied knuckles tight. “Where’s Bruce?”

There’s a pause before Tim can hear Alfred say something in reply, though he can’t make out the exact words. Jason, still on the floor, sits up, leaning back against the bed. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Alfred, what happened?” he asks, free hand grasping at his own damp hair. Tim thinks he sounds like he might be about to cry, and looks away, embarrassed.

Jason listens to Alfred speak for what seems to Tim a very long time. There are a few unmistakable sniffles from the older boy, which Tim does his best to ignore, before he quietly says, “Okay.” He repeats the word several times, like a broken record, before Tim feels a cold hand on his wrist and starts in surprise. Jason has gotten to his feet and is holding the phone out to him.

Tim takes the phone, reminding himself that Jason probably just has cold hands from being out in the rain, not for any supernatural reason. But that’s a meager reassurance when he’s dealing with the undead. “Now do you believe me?” he asks Alfred, trying to conceal how unsettled he is by all of this. “It’s him! You’ve got to tell Mr. Wayne!”

“I am...more inclined to believe you, yes,” Alfred replies. “But this is an...extremely delicate and unusual situation. I will not be telling Mr. Wayne anything until…”

“Tell me what?” a deeper voice says in the background. There’s a hasty click as Alfred hangs up the phone, presumably to lie to Bruce Wayne about the phone call - say it was telemarketers, or a prank call like he’d initially assumed. Tim hopes Bruce is sharp enough to see through it and press for the truth. Probably he would. Batman, after all.

Tim lets the hand holding the phone to his ear fall to his side, and gives Jason his full attention once again. He’s just standing there now, staring at his feet. Hearing Alfred seems to have calmed him, perhaps too much. If he’s really hurt, he shouldn’t be so calm.

Tim thinks about calling 911 again, but Jason’s still standing on his own two feet in spite of how battered he looks, so he figures he can hold off a little, just in case Batman descends upon his house in the next half hour or so to reclaim his wayward ward. He’s both hoping and dreading that that might just happen.

“I can...get you something clean to wear?” Tim offers hesitantly. Jason doesn’t respond. “Or are you...hungry?” The older boy can’t have eaten in...well, it’s been a while since he died. He should be hungry, right?

But Jason just reaches out slowly and takes the phone from Tim’s hand, looking at it sadly, like he doesn’t know how to work it and is wondering why it’s silent now. Tim decides to make clean clothes his priority and heads upstairs to grab some of his dad’s sweats - Jason is too tall for any of his own clothes - and some first aid supplies from the bathroom while he’s at it.

He hears a faint thud as he comes back down the stairs and finds Jason sitting on the floor again, head in his hands, the phone lying broken a few feet away and a scuff mark on the opposite wall. He looks up as Tim enters the room, but is clearly disappointed.

“Where’s Bruce?” he says yet again.

“I dunno,” Tim answers honestly. “On his way, I hope.” He offers Jason the clothes. “Do you want to change?”

Jason looks down at himself, then holds out his dirty, mangled hands and studies them in confusion. “What happened?” He really does seem to have a limited vocabulary right now.

“I have no idea,” Tim tells him, which is also the truth. He has no clue how this is possible, that Jason is here. If he had more information about the circumstances of his death, or supposed death, maybe he could figure out a theory, but as things stand he’s totally lost. “I guess that makes two of us,” he concludes aloud, talking as much to himself as to Jason.

Jason gives him a strange look. “Who are you?” At least it’s a new question.

“I’m nobody,” Tim says with a shrug, tossing the clothes on the bed. He doesn’t think Jason’s really in a state to absorb new information right now. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll leave those here for you to get dressed, and I’ll come back in a few minutes to see if...if we can do anything about your hands, okay?”

Jason keeps giving him that weird look and doesn’t say anything, so Tim steps out of the room, leaving the door open a crack just in case. He heads back to the kitchen, picks up the non-broken phone in there, and is about to dial 911, Batman and his secrets be damned, when there’s another clap of thunder followed by a pounding at the front door.

Tim is almost afraid to answer - Batman wouldn’t bother to knock, surely, and what if it’s yet another member of the undead come to haunt him? But he screws up his courage and opens the door anyway.

It’s not Batman, but Bruce Wayne who has come to claim his child.

“You figured out Alfred was lying,” Tim comments as he gestures for Mr. Wayne to come in. He’s wearing a raincoat but it’s unbuttoned, and he has no hat or umbrella, like he came here in haste. The headlights are still glowing on the fancy car in the driveway.

“Alfred doesn’t lie to me,” Mr. Wayne says sternly. “He told me exactly what you said. Where is he?”

Tim point silently towards where the guest room door is still ajar, and Mr. Wayne moves with swiftness that surprises Tim, even knowing he’s Batman. There’s a sort of strangled cry from Jason when Mr. Wayne disappears into the room. Tim hangs back, unsure of his place in all this. It feels like it would be intruding to join them. He retreats to the kitchen again, to return the phone to its cradle. He doesn’t think he’ll be making any more calls tonight.

It’s nearly an hour later when Mr. Wayne comes to find him in the living room. Tim looks up from his copy of Catcher in the Rye, which he’s reading for school but also likes, no matter how much his classmates complain about it. Mr. Wayne has taken off his raincoat at some point, but the front of his shirt is still damp, whether from the rain or because Jason has been crying on him, Tim can’t say. Mr. Wayne is very good at hiding it, but Tim suspects he might have been crying as well. He closes his book and sets it aside, knowing he made the right choice to leave them alone.

“How did he end up here?” Mr. Wayne asks curtly.

Tim shrugs at this latest question he can’t answer. “I don’t know,” he says again, knowing Mr. Wayne won’t be satisfied with that. He’s not satisfied with it himself, but it’s all he’s got at the moment. “I don’t think he really...knew where he was going.”

Sure enough, Tim can practically see the wheels turning as the corners of Mr. Wayne’s mouth pull downwards and his brow furrows. He knows how Jason wound up at the Drake house is only a secondary question to how he wound up among the living at all, but Tim isn’t ready to start speculating on that, and Mr. Wayne apparently decides it’s not worth pressing him.

“Thank you for calling me,” Mr. Wayne says at last, and though his tone is still far from warm, there is sincerity in his words. “I’ll take care of him. You don’t need to worry about anything else. When your parents get home…”

“I won’t tell them,” Tim interrupts impulsively. “I mean, if you don’t want me to. I’ll clean up the guest room and everything, and they’re not going to ask a lot of questions about what went on while they were gone, so it won’t be hard.” Mr. Wayne gives him an appraising look, and Tim gets to his feet, looking the man straight in the eye as he works up his courage one last time. “I know you’re...a very private man, Mr. Wayne,” he says pointedly. “I can keep your secrets.”

“Can you, now,” Mr. Wayne replies flatly. He looks like he wants to ask more questions. It may be Bruce Wayne who came for Jason, but it’s Batman who’s staring Tim down now.

Tim flounders under the scrutiny. He’s not prepared for this, doesn’t know what to say. He’d never planned on letting anyone know what he knew, even Bruce Wayne himself, let alone imagined it would happen under such tense and unusual circumstances.

“Jason needs you,” Tim finally says, deflecting the man’s attention away from him. Sure enough, Mr. Wayne’s jaw tightens, and he looks back towards the guest room. “And I think you need him, too,” Tim adds softly.

Mr. Wayne nods absently. “I’m going to take Jason home now,” he says. He has no trouble saying the boy’s name, evidently, though having seen him back from the dead might have something to do with that. He turns back to Tim, and gives him one last piercing look. “But I’ll want to talk to you another time.”

Tim nods, then helps Mr. Wayne get Jason to the car. The thunder has stopped, but it’s still raining heavily, and they all get soaked again - Jason never had bothered to change his clothes, but Mr. Wayne puts his own raincoat on him. They get Jason settled in the back seat, and he reluctantly lets go of Mr. Wayne’s hand, giving Tim that strange look again as the car door closes.

Mr. Wayne looks down at Tim. “Thank you,” he says again. Tim nods, then runs back to the shelter of the front porch as Mr. Wayne gets in the driver’s side of the car. He watches the tail lights pull down the driveway, turn left at the street, and disappear into the night on what he knows will be a roughly three mile drive back to Wayne Manor, where Alfred Pennyworth probably has everything Jason will need ready and waiting - better first aid than anything Tim could have provided, clothes that will fit him properly, a hot meal, warm bath, and clean bed.

With a sigh, Tim heads back inside his own empty house to strip the dirty sheets off the guest bed, wondering if Mr. Wayne is really going to bother ever speaking to him again.

#iamfitzwilliamdarcy #jason todd #tim drake #catie writes things #same bat tag same bat time

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