envysparkler

[envysparkler]

I remember Natalia! She was so fun lol

She is indeed very fun. Outsider POV in Gotham is always a riot.

#envy answers

[envysparkler]

Is the 'snippet's tag little drabble sor sneak peeks of fics?

Sometimes they're sneak peeks of fics that will be completed, but currently I'm clearing out my WIPs, so everything that's going to be uploaded over the next month or so are scenes from stories I'm not going to continue. So sometimes they belong to longer fics, but the majority of the time that's all there is to that particular idea.

#envy answers

[envysparkler]

The Joker has a captured Robin, and he wants the Red Hood.

Jason is innocently watching TV when it gets interrupted by Joker's broadcast. The clown is in a warehouse with Robin!Tim and a bomb. He demands the Red Hood as his ransom. For the sake of plot, Bruce and Dick are away/off-world.

Jason gets in touch with Oracle to track down the location, she warns him it's a trap, he knows, she won't give the location to him unless he promises he won't give himself up.

“Don’t worry, Oracle.  I have no intention of walking through that door.”

Switch to Tim POV, he tells the Joker that there's a snowball's chance in hell that Hood would come for him and there's no point in torturing him. Before the Joker can get too worked up, there's the sharp whistle of a sniper shot.

Joker falls dead to the floor, bullet through his skull.

Unfortunately, the clown has one last trick. Dead man's trigger, a bomb, twenty seconds left on the timer.

Jason comes rappelling through the skylight (not the door, ha, Oracle), frees Robin from the chair--who's trying to warn him about the timer--and attaches Robin to the rappel line. Robin goes flying up out of the warehouse. Jason finds someplace to weather the explosion.

It was always going to come down to an explosion.

Dialogue fading in and out, someone shouting for Red Hood. Begging for Jason to respond. Shifting rubble.

Jason wakes up in the Cave surrounded by his very worried family and finally realizes how much he still means to them.

#fic ideas #tim&jay etc #the joker dies #as always #explosions #hostage situation

[envysparkler]

It had been a regular Friday—normal patrol, doing the rounds, Bruce hovering over all of them in spirit because he was laid up with a sprained ankle, and, of course, interrupted by a wannabe Rogue that was either insanely dangerous or ridiculously stupid.  Or, as in tonight’s case, both at the same time.

Magic.  Wondrous, terrible magic.  There was a reason Batman did his best to keep magic out of Gotham.  It was too unpredictable and they were all only human.  Their sole defense against magic was to dodge.  And keep dodging.  Damn, this guy was really fast at casting spells.

Dick hadn’t been paying much attention to his spiel—something something power something something Gotham something something everyone will know my name—because he’d graduated the point where he wasn’t the one who had to do the detective work—that was what younger siblings were for—and he merely calculated the height of those hanging lights and if one would crash and hit the magician if he cut them properly.

There was a yelp as Red Robin and Robin accidentally dove in the same direction to avoid a spell and ended up sprawling out on the ground.  Dick was on the other side of the magician, too far to help, but Red Hood stepped forward, growling, “Hey, you Hogwarts reject, did you learn aim from the Imperial Stormtroopers?”

Dick marked another point in Hood’s I-swear-we’re-not-family-fuck-off-Dickhead-or-I’ll-shoot-you-and-also-if-you-get-shot-I’ll-kill-you-myself column.  At this point, the only person who probably still believed Hood’s protestations of rebelliousness was Bruce.

Hood fired a warning shot from his gun.

The magician attacked on instinct.

Hood didn’t get out of the way fast enough.

Everyone in the warehouse saw the gray beam of light hit Hood square in the chest.  Dick’s heart dropped somewhere below his stomach, Red Robin made a sharp cry, and even Robin took a step towards Hood, though it was already too late.

Hood’s figure winked out.

No, something in Dick screamed, already whirling towards the magician—and was stopped by a tiny, scratchy little meow.

Dick swiveled back.  There was an unbelievably small baby kitten on the ground where Hood had just been, all black with a tiny little spot of white on his forehead.

Red Robin made a choked sound.  Robin had frozen in place.  “Oops,” the magician said, sounding distinctly sheepish.

Before anyone could react, the magician disappeared with a crack.

“Hood?” Dick tried, struggling to keep his voice level.  The baby kitten made another sharp cry, and took a tottering step forward.

Dick couldn’t control himself anymore.

“Oh my god.”  He was so tiny.  He could fit into Dick’s palm.  Maybe-Hood hissed when Dick scooped him up, putting up a valiant effort to gnaw Dick’s fingers off even if those teeny tiny little teeth—and that little pink tongue—could barely put a dent in Dick’s gloves.

“Is that really Hood?” Red Robin said, a strange expression on his face, like Christmas had come early and he wasn’t ready to believe it.  “What if—what if the guy just…sent Hood somewhere, and replaced him with a kitten?”

“It would be an improvement,” Robin muttered.

Probably-Hood stopped chewing Dick’s fingers to shoot Robin the dirtiest look a baby kitten could muster, and Dick could see the consternation visibly melt off of Robin’s face as his baby brother resisted the urge to coo.

“Even if this isn’t Hood, we need to get back to the Cave and figure out what that spell was,” Dick said, studying the kitten.  “Hmm, little guy?  Are you my little brother?  Give me a meow for yes, and continue trying to bite my fingers for no.”

Most-Definitely-Hood hissed at him again.

“This is the best day of my life,” Dick grinned.  “Bruce is going to freak out.”

~#~

Bruce was, indeed, freaking out.  “What happened?” he nearly shouted as they got out of the Batmobile, waiting in the garage—and judging by Alfred’s visible aura of disapproval, clearly against orders.

Dick, climbing out of the passenger seat, had to make a flailing catch as the baby kitten attempted to make a break for it.  “Shh,” he said.  “You’re going to scare Jason.”

Bruce stopped and stared.  Tim, exiting the driver’s side, broke down again into the giggling fit that had nearly caused him to crash the car.  Damian looked visibly amused.

Bruce blinked at the car, as if expecting a hulking six foot two former crime lord to get out.  And then looked at Dick and the tiny little kitten hissing in his hands.  Back at the car.  Back at Dick.

“What?” he finally said, voice weak.

“At least Damian isn’t going to adopt him,” Dick said, firmly detaching tiny kitten claws from his gloves to deposit the furiously hissing kitten into Bruce’s grasp.  Jason squawked, loudly, and attempted to escape, but Bruce’s reflexes were too fast.

He slowly drew the little ball of fur up to his face, face slack, ignoring the way the kitten pricked his palms.  “You’re joking,” Bruce said flatly.

“Would I joke about something like this?” Dick asked, wounded.  Bruce gave him a Look.  “Okay, yeah, I would totally joke about something like this, I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before, but no, our little magician problem waved his staff and it hit Jay and,” Dick waggled his fingers at the puffed-up kitten.

Bruce still didn’t look convinced.

“Of course,” Dick said to the kitten, “if this isn’t Jason, that means it’s a lost little kitten that needs to go to the vet and get lots of shots—”

Jason reacted predictably to the idea of needles and neatly clambered up Bruce’s arm, clinging to the man’s shoulder and hissing at Dick from his perch.

Dick turned the shit-eating grin to his father, “Believe me now?”

Bruce was wincing and trying to extract Jason’s claws from his skin.  “Jason got turned into a cat?  How do we undo the spell?”

“Frankly, Father, I find the current state of affairs significantly more agreeable,” Damian said, returning after changing.  “You have to admit that Todd is more tolerable like this.”

The kitten didn’t have time to take offense before Tim piped up, his face still splotchy from laughing too hard, “Yeah, he’s all cute and cuddly.”

Jason made a low growling rumble that showed clearly what he thought of that sentiment.  Unfortunately for him, it just made him look cuter.

“Boys, stop teasing your brother,” Bruce said firmly, finally managing to finagle Jason’s claws free of his shirt and tuck him into the curve of his elbow.  “Of course we’re going to figure out how to get him back.”

Jason made a loud hiss and scratched Bruce.  Bruce, startled, loosened his grip, and Jason leapt free like a bullet.  Dick dove for him and missed, Tim jumped out of the way as Jason went streaking past, and soon the black kitten was no longer visible.

“Well, that was entirely predictable,” Damian said, staring in the direction Jason had gone.

#my snippets #cantrip catnip #magical animal transformation #to end the spell you have to be kissed by the person who's loved you the longest

[envysparkler]

Natalia gets out of the car to stare at a row of oceanfront warehouses that are, remarkably, not on fire.

“Huh,” she says to her partner.  “I thought you said Hood called this in.”

“I did!” Isha remarks, as upbeat as ever.  “Maybe he’s gotten therapy for those pyromaniac tendencies.”

Natalia snorts.  Fat chance.  The Bats are allergic to therapy—anyone who dresses up to fight crime is certainly not dealing with their feelings in a constructive manner.  Before she can point out to Isha that every one of the agents in their office are woefully behind on their mandated therapy—it’s hard finding a decent therapist that isn’t also moonlighting at Arkham, and no one wants to drive to Metropolis and traumatize those poor counselors—her phone rings.

She stares at the familiar name and exhales slowly.  “Boyfriend?” Isha remarks with a knowing smile.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Natalia snaps.  She’s not supposed to be answering personal calls while she’s doing her job, but Rafa can and will start calling everyone around her if she doesn’t pick up.  He’s gotten a bit clingy since he found out that Deathstroke is her neighbor.  Isha, for some reason, finds it cute.

“Hi Rafa, good evening, I haven’t been murdered yet,” she answers, turning away from Isha’s smirk.

“That sounds great, queriña,” Rafa chirps.  “How are the neighbors?”

“Existing,” Natalia replies.  “You know, you really have to stop these check-in calls.  Dick isn’t going to hurt me, Slade doesn’t take contracts in Gotham, and people have stopped believing me when I say you’re not my boyfriend.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“Rafa,” Natalia rolls her eyes.

“You would not be having these problems if you came back to San Diego like I suggested,” Rafa offers.

“I’d love to come back to San Diego,” Natalia says, “I really would, if it weren’t for the minor problem of all the people there that want me dead.”

“Gotham has people who want you dead,” Rafa says darkly.

“Gotham also has people who want me alive,” Natalia says.

“I want you alive.”

“And if Gustavo del Toro asked you to again get rid of the pesky FBI-agent-shaped thorn in his side, this time permanently?”

Silence.

“Goodbye, Rafa,” she says with a tone of finality, and cuts the call.  She’s lost patience with his protectiveness, coming as it does with terms and conditions.   She’d consider changing her number, but it didn’t work the last time, and besides, she has bigger problems than a sulky assassin on the other side of the country.

“How’s the boyfriend doing, Agent Padilla?” a mechanized voice asks.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Natalia growls as she spins to face the Red Hood.  Hood raises gloved hands in the universal sign of placation.  “Did your explosives fail to detonate or did you run out of bombs, Hood?  I know it’s too much to hope that you decided not to make our jobs more difficult by setting all our evidence on fire.”

“I prefer to think of it as cleansing.”

“And I prefer to get home to bed at a reasonable hour, but clearly that isn’t working out for me,” Natalia says coolly.  “What do you have for us?”

#my snippets #outsider pov #deleted scene #from a follow-up to 'seeing is believing'

[envysparkler]

Clark swore he only turned away for a moment but when he looked back, there was a silhouette in the formerly empty corner.  He jumped, inhaling sharply, before he registered the bat cowl.

“Do you have to sneak up on people?” Clark asked, half irritation, half relief as he willed his heart to slow down.  He was Kryptonian, but the Bat of Gotham was another beast entirely.  Clark was giving serious thought to Hal’s claim that the Bat was a spook.

Surely a man like this couldn’t be human.

Batman’s expression shifted imperceptibly under the cowl and Clark could practically hear the terse ‘well maybe if you were aware of your surroundings’.  Batman didn’t voice it aloud, he never voiced it aloud, but the weight of his disdain was apparent.

Clark blew out a sharp breath, “So, what are you here for?”  He tried to remember if there was any activity near Gotham lately—nothing would step on Batman’s toes quite as much as breaking his one rule—

“Kon-El.”

Clark tensed all the way up.  He couldn’t help it, it had been over two years since he’d found Kon, but he was still overprotective of the kid.  With a megalomaniac for a father and the end of a species for his legacy, Kon had a weighty burden to shoulder, and Clark would absolutely protect him from it as much as possible.

“What about Kon?” Clark asked levelly.

“He propositioned Tim.”  The words nearly came out in a hiss and Clark blinked.  Kon had told him of his plan to ask Tim out, Clark’s discreet inquiries seemed to conclude that the boy fancied Kon back, Clark couldn’t see what the problem was.  Tim was seventeen, six months senior to Kon, and he had dated previously.

Which meant that either this was a gay thing or a meta thing.

“So?” Clark leaned back, narrowing his eyes as he kept his voice deliberately casual.  “What about it?  I think they’d make a cute couple.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Batman hissed, vehement.  Clark narrowed his eyes further.  “It will not happen.  I forbid it.  You will tell Kon-El to stay away from my son.”

“They work on the same team,” Clark pointed out, starting to get angry.

“Tim will be leaving the Titans.”

“Because Kon asked him out?” Clark asked, incredulous.  The sheer overreaction was ridiculous.

“Yes.”

“Does Tim want to leave?” Clark asked.  He didn’t know the details of how Kon was planning to ask Tim out, but it was possible that he’d accidentally offended him.  “Maybe I should talk to him—”

“No!”

Clark stared.  Batman didn’t shout.  Batman never shouted.  Batman certainly didn’t ball his hands into fists like he was contemplating punching Clark.  Whatever this was about, it was causing the man to lose his infamous composure.

“You will not talk to Tim.  Your son,” Batman twisted the word and Clark came perilously close to seeing red—“will not talk to Tim.  This will never happen again.  Is that understood?”

Clark took five deep breaths to be able to speak without shouting.  “No,” he said as calmly as he could.  “I don’t understand.  I don’t know why you’re so upset about this.  If there’s a problem, and if the kids can’t solve it on their own, then it becomes my business—”

“There is no problem,” Batman ground out through gritted teeth.

“That’s not what it sounds like to me,” Clark said sharply.  “I don’t know if this is homophobia or xenophobia, but our kids are doing a better job of getting along than we are, and that’s something to be encouraged.”

Batman was silent for so long that Clark actually got out of his chair to make sure the guy was still there.  “Getting along,” the vigilante said finally, words slow and faintly bitter.

“What?”

“This is about getting along,” Batman said.  Clark didn’t know whether it was a question.

“I guess?” he answered.  Kon wouldn’t have asked Tim out unless they’d gotten to know each other, breaking the long-held isolation of the Bats.

Batman’s jaw tightened.  “Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”  Clark was very confused.

“Okay,” Batman repeated.  “We can…get along.”  Clark stared blankly at him.  “Now tell your son to stop.”

Clark immediately protested, but was sidetracked as Batman pulled off his cowl.  Batman never unmasked even though they all knew who he was, and Clark’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Bruce Wayne’s glittering gray eyes glaring at him.

“Wait,” Clark said, shaking his head, “I’m not telling Kon to stop.  Why are you—”

“Then what do you want,” Bruce snapped.

“For what?”  Clark was keenly aware that he’d lost the thread of this conversation somewhere and he didn’t know where.

“To call your son off!” Bruce said, face narrowed into a glower, but Clark caught the edge of a crack in his tone.  “Do you want me to get on my knees?  Suck you off?  Fuck you?  You—”

“What,” Clark’s voice was the one that cracked this time, embarrassingly high as he swiftly backed away.  “What the fuck.  What are you talking about?!”

“You said,” Bruce said, and Clark abruptly realized that the terseness to his tone was because he pausing to swallow more often.  “You wanted us to get along.”

“Not like that.”

“Kon-El propositioned my son.”

“Kon asked Tim on a date,” Clark said, voice still too high with dawning horror, “because he likes Tim.  Because that’s what kids do when they like one of their friends!”

“Typically,” Bruce said quietly, and Clark could see the fractures in his eyes, “they don’t also have the power to immobilize said friend.”

Clark stared at him, frozen in shock and horror.  He’d been wrong, then, it wasn’t the idea of his son dating a meta that Bruce didn’t like, except it kind of was, it was the idea of his son dating someone with the ability to overpower him.

“Why would you think,” Clark whispered, “that Kon would ever do that?”  Kon was a good kid, a hero, he loved helping people, if Bruce dared to breathe one word about Lex, Clark would eviscerate him—

But no.  Bruce didn’t say Lex’s name.  He didn’t say anything at all, just stared at Clark with a blank expression.  He looked…tense.  Anxious.  There were dark circles under his eyes and the lines on his face skewed to exhaustion.  He hadn’t relaxed his fists.

Clark walked back over to him, slow and even, posture unthreatening.  When Clark was two steps away, Bruce shifted ever-so-slightly, a flinch, a brace for a punch there could be no bracing against.

Clark stopped.  He turned and sat back down in his chair.

“Batman,” he said slowly, heart heavy and aching, “I’m not going to hurt you or your son.  Neither is Kon.  This wasn’t a—a threat, or whatever you thought it was.”  Because Bruce had clearly thought it was a threat, if he came here to bargain Clark into taking him instead.  “Tim does not have to agree to Kon’s date.  If he says no, Kon will leave him alone.  If he wishes to leave the Titans, he can.”

I am not the monster you so clearly think I am, he wanted to scream.

“If that’s all you came here for,” he said, turning back to the reports, “You can leave.”  Clark didn’t know if he could stop himself from venting his feelings if Batman stayed.

#my snippets #bruclark #timkon #bruce is terrified of clark #and unfortunately very good at hiding it #protective bruce

[envysparkler]

Of all the people Bruce expects to see on his doorstep on a Sunday morning, Talia al Ghul is very, very low on the list.  Frankly, he’s surprised she bothered to knock.

“Oh,” Talia says, lips pursing in disappointment as he looms in the doorway, “it’s you.”  She rocks on her heels, like she’s attempting to peer around him.

“This is my house,” Bruce says, half-offended and half-bewildered.  She’s not alone, there’s a child scowling up at him—they’re making League assassins smaller and smaller these days—but Bruce ignores him and focuses on the greater threat.  “I’ve already told Ra’s al Ghul that Gotham is off-limits—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this isn’t about him,” Talia waves him off and saunters forward, stepping over the threshold and into the house like it belongs to her.  The child follows her, only pausing to sneer at Bruce, and Bruce is left standing on his porch, thoroughly dismissed.

Talia always did have a way of getting what she wanted, and damn anything in her way.  It takes a moment for Bruce to shake the old, lingering fondness and remember that a deadly assassin is inside his house.

Alfred is going to kill him.

“Wait!  Talia!”  He catches up to her near the kitchen, where she is surveying the cereal boxes on the counter with palpable distaste.  The child looks like he’s trying to test them for poison, or possibly poison them himself, but Bruce doesn’t have time to worry about that, because she’s found—

“Uh, Bruce?” Tim’s voice cracks high, out of his chair and holding both his cereal bowl and his spoon ready to throw.  “Did you forget to tell me you had company?”

“Timothy Drake,” Talia says, cold enough to create icicles.  She studies him for a long moment, skipping from his Superboy pajamas to his bleary face to the overfull mug of coffee on the table.  “You are one of Lady Shiva’s.”

The child’s scowl deepens.

“Yes?” Tim looks at Bruce desperately, like it’s a test and he’s looking for the answer.  Bruce shrugs.

“She mentioned you were passable,” Talia sniffs.  “For a boy.”

Tim looks a mixture of outraged and pleased, but Bruce is more concerned with why Talia is here, standing in his home years after she gave back his mother’s ring.  Talia only reveals whatever she wants to reveal, and while she does only ever tells the truth, she lets him draw incorrect conclusions from those truths all on his own.  It means Ra’s isn’t involved in whatever brought her here, but that could mean anything from the old schemer being dead to Talia being on the run, and Bruce is not nearly awake for an imminent League invasion.

“Where’s Alfred?” Talia finally finishes her survey of the kitchen and rests her cool gaze on him.

That would be the reason Bruce is barely awake.  He only managed to drag himself from bed with the reminder that there was an unsupervised teenager in his house.  Unfortunately, he’d got there too late to save the coffeemaker.

“What do you want with Alfred?” Tim asks, on the verge of hostile.  The child draws himself up like a hissing, spitting snake, and only stays still by virtue of Talia’s hand on his shoulder.  Talia, for her part, merely looks inconvenienced.

“Well, this would’ve been several times simpler had he been here,” she sighs.  “I could’ve dropped off Damian for a spot of tea and gotten on with my business.”

“And what is your business?” Bruce presses.

Talia heaves another sigh—this time dramatic and put upon.  It’s an act, Bruce can tell, but that doesn’t help him, not when Talia turns to him and widens her eyes, looking up through her lashes.  “Unfortunately, Beloved, your son takes after you in terms of vanishing skills, and I’ve finally managed to track him down here, so I really must get going before he infiltrates that sorry excuse of a prison and finishes decapitating that clown you keep alive for some unfathomable reason.”

There’s a lot packed into that statement, and Bruce is still untangling ‘your son takes after you in terms of vanishing skills’ with the knowledge that Nightwing is supposed to be safely inside Bludhaven and the growing horror that Dick might’ve accidentally started a war with the League of Assassins, so it’s Tim that inhales first, staring at the child in sharp shock and then up at Talia, before finally turning towards Bruce.

“You have a kid with Talia al Ghul?!”

~#~

Talia, of course, does not bother to explain anything.  She merely instructs the child—Damian—to behave before vanishing back out the front door, and Bruce’s attempt to follow her is met with a katana and a high-pitched demand for a duel.  It becomes apparent that Talia’s version of behaving doesn’t match Bruce’s, because it takes several minutes and one shallowly bleeding slice before Bruce can extricate himself.

The child—his child—Damian leaves him alone then, looking disappointed in his swordsmanship skills, and turns instead to badgering Tim, who despite favoring a bo staff—“a clearly inferior weapon unsuited to anything but sloppy pulverization,” comes out crisp and clear-edged, much like Bruce himself when he was younger and his only point of reference was Alfred—is judged a suitable opponent on the basis of Lady Shiva’s reference.

Bruce is maybe a little sulky that a child—his child—has dismissed him in favor of a teenager with a pillow crease on his cheek, but he suppresses the emotion to dart to the Batcomputer so he can ask Nightwing what the hell he’s been up to.

Unfortunately, Dick’s response is both confused and irritated, which means Bruce has to waste time explaining the situation lest his eldest give him the silent treatment again, and Dick signs off with a promise to drop by, clearly excited at the prospect of a new sibling.

Bruce doesn’t warn him that this one is more apt to stab him than hug him.  Dick can figure that out for himself.

But with that distraction out of the way, he’s left to ruminate on Talia’s words.  She wasn’t talking about Dick, and clearly not about Tim, and not Damian, and Bruce has no other sons.  The thought drives a pang through him, a loss he will always carry, and he finds himself in front of the case with Jason’s uniform, as though it can help him solve the puzzle.

Is there another child out there he doesn’t know about?  He’d swear that he doesn’t have another with Talia, but he has no idea when or how Damian was conceived, so it’s the most likely explanation. 

#my snippets #bruce is so confused #all part of talia's plan #meanwhile jason is off having fun! with! explosives! #(and clowns)

[envysparkler]

Hi! Absolute adore your fics, they are such a comfort read!! Would actually love your help in fic finding if that’s ok? I can’t remember any details which is super unhelpful, except for the fact that Tim tries to use the batcomputer and Barbara locks him out and plays Disco duck! No worries if you can’t, hope your day goes well!

Unfortunately, I don't believe I've read/remember this fic.

#envy answers #fic finder

[envysparkler]

“Father,” Talia began conciliatorily, but Ra’s al Ghul was in no mood to be conciliated.

“No,” he said sharply, looming above her as she bowed her head in supplication.  His eyes flashed green, like jade in the sun, and surrounding the room were the silent sentinels of the Head’s personal guard.  “My decision is final.”

It was the heights of folly to argue with the Demon’s Head.  Talia gave it a try anyway.

“Please, Father,” she murmured.  “I beg your forbearance.  It was a child’s mistake, impulsive and accidental.  Please have mercy—”

“He murdered the best poisoner this side of the Iron Curtain,” Ra’s snapped, pacing around her, “by disemboweling him and then hanging him from his own guts.”  Talia winced, expression concealed by the fall of her hair.  “And you call this impulse?”

“The man tested poisons on children!” Talia protested.

“If I ended everyone who I had qualms with, I’d hardly have time for anything else,” Ra’s said, completing his circle and seating himself on the rough-hewn stone chair that served as a throne.  “I said no, and I meant it.”

“Please,” Talia begged again, “let me temper him, let me teach him—”

“He has murdered more than half his teachers.  Are you certain you’re willing to take that risk?”

Talia shoved upright in a rush of indignation.  “He isn’t killing indiscriminately!”  Ra’s raised an eyebrow and she flushed at being caught out.  “Father,” she said in a tone that was meant to be a reprimand and yet came out more a whine.

“No, daughter,” Ra’s said, stern and implacable.  “I allowed you your freedom when you brought the boy home, I allowed you your tests, your secrecy from the Bats.  I even allowed you the Lazarus Pit, when it was clear that little else would work.  But I refuse to let your wayward project rampage through every half-decent connection I have until no one at all will return my call or accept my reference.”

“You exaggerate, Father.”

“Slade Wilson turned down a contract without even glancing at it last month,” Ra’s said through gritted teeth.

Talia winced again.  In retrospect, perhaps Jason’s intimately graphic threat about ripping off Deathstroke’s balls at the first available opportunity hadn’t been all that…discreet.  However, it had mainly been the fault of whoever was idiotic enough to leave out that unfortunate picture of the mercenary pinning down Nightwing, and Talia had managed to calm Jason down with only one destroyed training room and a couple of minor casualties, and packed him off the very next day so he could rampage in peace.  She’d defy Ra’s to do any better.

“Father—”

“No.  I refuse to shelter him.  I refuse to send him away from training.  I want the boy gone, Talia.”

“So you will have me throw him out in the cold?” Talia hissed, stung, as she straightened to her feet.  “A child I have cared for and protected?  You will have me abandon him?”

Ra’s al Ghul, famed and feared Demon’s Head, rolled his eyes.

#my snippets #ra's has had enough #in his defense #jason is a lot to put up with #plus he's killing most of his acquaintances

[envysparkler]

if your still doing fic finding (which i completely understand if u arent), but if u are if u could help me find this one, where i don’t remember what happened before but it was an arkham breakout and there was some crazy plan by the rogues and they lauched these missiles that had airborne ebola(?) i don’t remember what virus it was, and tim has a cut in his suit and was panicking abt getting sick and he ended up getting sick for a week but just him out of the entire batfam and was upset that he didnt realize what was happening. if it helps i think it was a tim joins batfam pre-jason death and the death doesnt happen, i think

It might be this one!

#envy answers #fic finder #sounded like a shutterbug story

[envysparkler]

Jason might’ve mentioned a passing interest in meeting Robin—the old Robin, because he was going to be the new Robin, only judging from the low, furious conversation and the death glares, Bruce hadn’t exactly mentioned that to Nightwing—but he wasn’t expecting Bruce to leave him alone with the guy.

“Justice League emergency,” Bruce had interrupted, cutting off Dick’s half-hearted tour of the parts of the Cave Jason hadn’t explored, and disappeared through a zeta tube with a simple behave for Jason and a growled watch over him for Dick.  Leaving Jason with the guy that spent the entire visit seething in unconcealed distaste.

Alfred wasn’t home, he had left on one of his rare days off, or perhaps he was aware of the cloud of tension that formed whenever Dick and Bruce got too close to each other, and Jason understood that heroes and emergencies were a part of life, but he didn’t enjoy that that meant that Jason and Dick were left alone in the abruptly resoundingly empty Cave.

“Right,” Dick muttered, not quite under his breath, “I don’t know why I ever expect anything different.”  The bitterness was palpable.  “Two and half goddamn hours, and he leaves to space.”

Jason shrunk back slightly.  It had been clear from the start that this visit was not for him, and his desire to meeting the original Robin had fast dwindled in favor of getting out of ground zero before Bruce and Dick actually started yelling.

Dick blew out a sharp breath and turned on his heel, suddenly enough that Jason flinched.  Dick froze, staring at him like he’d forgotten that Jason existed.  Jason couldn’t read the expression on his face, and didn’t think he wanted to.

“Jason,” Dick said, carefully pronouncing his name.  His blue eyes were sharp and cold.  “So.  New Robin, huh.”  His face stretched into a smile that looked warm for all that it was plastic.

“Yup,” Jason said, inching back another step.  “Uh, it was nice to meet you.  I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Where are you going?”  Perfectly level, calm and even, but it still forced a chill down his spine.

Jason had been terrified of Batman, but terrified in the way he was of shadows and ghosts.  Abstract.  Not real.  Once Batman had proved himself to be human, all that was left was a man—large and trained and dangerous, but who got scolded by his butler and forgot to put on matching socks and bought Jason a stepstool to reach the books on the tallest shelves.

Bruce wasn’t scary.

Not the way that Richard Grayson seemed to be.  Quicksilver manipulation of his expressions, smiling when he didn’t mean it, and cold, cold eyes—Jason wasn’t reminded of monsters or demons.  He was reminded of the gang members that watched him ducking into alleys with just a little too much intent, the narrowed eyes of his mother’s dealer, the bright, fake smiles that marked the cops he had to run from.

And Jason was here with him, all alone.  Robin—Nightwing—trained and dangerous and currently looking at Jason like he wanted to leave him in pieces for Bruce to find.

Jason had read a book with facts about robins just last week.  Robins are territorial birds, and disputes can get physical.  Fights to the death often occur.

“Upstairs?”  Jason hated the way it turned into a question.  “I was reading a book, and—um, I wanted to finish it?”

“We haven’t finished our tour,” Dick said, and Jason had preferred the low-voiced hiss to the casual neutrality.  “Come on, there’s lots of cool stuff here I bet Bruce hasn’t shown you yet.”

Jason dithered in place, casting a glance at the stairs—Dick was already walking away, heading for the back of the Cave—but as much as common sense was shrieking at him to stay away, go upstairs, don’t stay down in the dimly lit cave with the guy that hates you, Jason was still the kid that looked at the Batmobile and decided to steal some tires.

“Fine,” Jason said, hurrying up to match Dick’s pace.  “But I don’t know what you can show me that Bruce hasn’t already.”

“Oh,” Dick’s expression twitched, something flashing for a second, “You’d be surprised.”

~#~

Jason, mouth agape and neck protesting as he stared up at the acrobatics equipment, was speechless.  Dick was breathless and flushed and grinning widely, and fuck, this was what Jason had wanted to see.  Not Bruce’s sulky other son, or the cold, dangerous Nightwing, but Robin.

“Bruce showed you that yet?” Dick teased, calling down to him from where he was swinging upside down from the ring.

“How do you do that?” Jason breathed out, too amazed to feign at disinterest.  Dick had moved like he was an actual fucking bird, like gravity was for lesser things.

“Practice,” Dick laughed, flipping off from the ring and flopping down on the safety net.  Even across the rope, he was all fluidity and grace, flipping once more before he reached the ground.

“Bullshit,” Jason rebutted, looking up at the silks and the ropes and the swings, the scaffolding, the way Dick flew—“Tell me the truth. You’re a meta, aren’t you.”

Dick laughed again, bright and twinkling.  He looked much happier than the sullen teenager that had met Bruce’s hesitant hope with a scowl.  “Nope, just practice.  Grew up in the circus.  I could fly before I could run.”

“That’s so cool,” Jason said, looking back up at the scaffolding.  “Can you teach me how to do that?”  Flying through the air, spinning and flipping without a care in the world, unbound by physical constraints…it sounded like the best thing in the world.  It sounded like freedom.

It took him too long to realize that Dick hadn’t responded.  He turned towards the older boy and saw Dick stock still, expression frozen in a pinched grimace.  When he saw Jason staring at him, he turned away.  “Sure,” Dick said, in a voice that wasn’t even remotely believable, and Jason flushed at the reminder that Dick didn’t want him here.  “Maybe later.  You need a lot of training first.  How about you show me what Bruce is teaching you so far?”

There was a bite to the words, and Jason had too much of Gotham in him to not respond to the challenge.  “Was that an offer to kick your ass?” Jason retorted, stalking past Dick and towards the sparring area.  Need a lot of training first.  Well, while perfect Richard Grayson had been growing up in the goddamn circus, Jason had been living on the streets.  He knew how to fight.  “I’m ready when you are, Dick.”

That cold smile was back, like Dick was trying to figure out just where he wanted to stick the knife, and Jason thrummed impatiently on the balls of his feet as Dick slowly made his way to the sparring area.

#my snippets #dick&jay #first meeting

[envysparkler]

Is there more to the grim au? How does the Joker feel to a grim?

Alas, no. Most of what I'm posting snippets for is all I have for that particular idea as I'm cleaning out all my old stuff. And a lot of the ideas were only ~vibes~ and nothing else. 😂

The Joker probably feels strangely like an attraction: because of how much he kills and causes death and destruction in his wake, grims would be drawn to it to help guide the lost souls.

#envy answers #grim au #aka jason has his own personal tracker for the joker

[envysparkler]

Have you ever come across a fic where Dick gets cursed to do exactly what he’s told and nothing else?

Yup, here it is!

#envy answers #fic finder

[envysparkler]

hello! i was stopping by to ask if the link to join the etc whump server was open to anyone? i didn’t want to assume and wanted to check to make sure

It's open to anyone 18+! Though I believe the link will expire after a week.

#envy answers

[envysparkler]

“Okay, you know what?  I just got back to the planet and I’m too tired to deal with this.  You can find us when you’re ready to talk like a civilized person.”  Dick held his hand out for Jason, who took it, his scowl melting back to a wary look.

“You’re not going anywhere with him.”

“And how are you going to stop me?” Dick asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

“You think I’m just going to let you kidnap my son?” Bruce asked, every word clipped and furious.

Dick rolled his eyes and chuckled mirthlessly, “I’m not kidnapping him, he’s my brother—”

“Not legally.”

If the room had been tense before, Bruce had just taken a knife and torn it to shreds.  Jason was gaping, his eyes wide with shock.  Bruce’s face was a roiling mass of emotions, locked behind a seething mask.  Dick—

Dick’s face went blank, smile dying, expression closing off from the split-second of hurt that had bloomed across it.  He let go of Jason’s hand.  “Right,” he said flatly, turning away from them all, “Well, you know how to find me, Little Wing.”

He walked out without another sound.

#my snippets #dick takes baby jay with him to space #this has other consequences

[envysparkler]

“Cass is the favorite.”

Bruce paused in the hallway, head tilted in the direction of the kitchen.  He wasn’t aware that anyone was still up.

“Definitely.”

Bruce was aware that Tim had coordinated tonight’s patrol as Damian was sick with the flu and Bruce was laid up with a couple of injuries—they must’ve just gotten back.

“She can read everything on his face and he never has to say a word—the old man must’ve been thrilled when he found her.”

Bruce frowned.  His plan to return to his bedroom was put on hold as he lurked in the shadow of the den, listening carefully.

“And…Dick is the next favorite.”

“Of course, he’s the Golden Boy.  Follows orders like the perfect soldier.”  There was a dark twist of bitterness to the words.

“Tim’s next.”

“No, it’s definitely Babs.  She’s actually good at her job.”

“Nah, I have to go with Steph.  Babs calls B out on his bullshit.  You, baby bird, melt into the shadows and don’t make a peep.”

“Tim, then Babs.”  When he heard the scratching of pencil on paper, Bruce realized they were actually writing this down.

“Then the demon brat.”

“Depending on what kind of scene he’s caused in the past week.”  A laugh, low and not very amused.

“Then me and Jason.  The outsiders.  Last on the list.”

A scoff.  “No, Blondie, then you.  I’m not on this fucking list.”

“Jason—”

“We’re ranking his kids remember?  Not the vaguely estranged undead mob boss that comes to bail your asses out of trouble.”

“You’re his son, Jason.”  Bruce was gripping the door frame so hard his dislocated shoulder twinged.

“All evidence says otherwise.”

“Well, I’m not his kid either.  So I guess both me and Jason are off this list.”

“You’re his kid, Blondie.  You have a room in this house.”

“I don’t use it.”

“Neither does little Red, and he’s the one running the company.”

“You have a room here too, Jason.”

“No, I have a fucking shrine to the fifteen-year-old kid who was murdered in Ethiopia.”

It landed flat and whatever camaraderie had been underneath the bitterness and snark dissipated instantly.  It left a heavy tension in the air.

“I don’t want it anyway.  Look what happens to the poor bastards at the top of the list.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cass—dear, darling, favorite Cass.  She disappears whenever anyone is talking to B.  Probably too painful to watch.”

“I hadn’t noticed that.”  Quiet.  Guilty.

“And the Golden Boy.  Trying to hold the family together while everybody in it tears it apart.  Timbo here, who’s hoping that if he slinks further into the shadows everyone might actually forget he exists.”

“Hey, I don’t—”

“Babs is stuck working for a boss who constantly undermines her, the demon brat doesn’t know if he should be listening to Dick or Bruce, and you, Blondie, for the great honor of being last on the list, are the only one of us that actually managed to slap B.”

#my snippets #batfam angst #bruce tries to be a good parent #he's not very good at it

[envysparkler]

When Jason died, he’d still been a runt.  A black dog that could barely reach Bruce’s knees, more fur than shadows, eyes that had not yet started turning red.  He easily fit into the lap of whoever was holding him, wriggled into nooks in the Manor that Batman would never be able to follow, had an unerring ability to stumble upon dead bodies.

Jason had felt his own death before he ever laid eyes on the bomb.  It was a horrible thing, knowing you were going to die but not knowing how or when.  Knowing that Batman would be too late.  Knowing that this was the end.

A Grim’s power was always stronger closer to death.  To someone else’s death.  To their own.

The Joker left, not because he was done playing games, but because something in those blue eyes had begun turning red and there was a flicker of fear amidst that carefully calculated crazy.  The Joker left before Jason Todd started leaking shadows.

The bomb went off.  A baby Grim died.

But you couldn’t kill something that belonged to Death.

Jason woke up.  Jason came back.  Jason opened eyes of liquid green fire, and fully transformed, he stood higher than most men, a terrifying amalgam of shadows and fear.  A giant canine, solid black and reeking of Death.

Because that was the thing about Grims.  Their full powers only kicked in after death.

~#~

Tim shuddered as he walked towards the control room, fighting the subconscious chill.  The thermostats all registered the temperature as a balmy seventy-four degrees, but he’d been shivering for the last ten minutes and he was determined to find the source of the problem.

It was dark, the sky outside so cloudy it looked like night, and even the lights seemed dimmer than they usually were.  Just perception, Tim tried to convince himself, darting glances over his shoulder at an empty hallway, but it didn’t quite stick.

The darkness closed over him like molasses, sticky, slow and inextricable.

~#~

Tim woke in a rush, like someone had jolted him, and struggled blindly up in the instinctive reaction to an alarm, before his mind woke all the way up and helpfully pointed out that he was restrained.

Before Tim could register anything more than an increased heartbeat, the binds tightened, and a low voice said smoothly into his ear, “Calm down.  Deep breaths.”

Calm down?  Calm down?  Tim felt like he’d gone five rounds with Crane, and he was being restrained, and the room was too dark to make out any significant details, and—

Something slid through his hair, pressure on the right side of a massage.  “Shh,” the voice instructed.  “Your heart rate is too high.  Robin, slow down.”

Tim instantly untensed, the reaction ingrained after years of hearing the same words in Batman’s growl.  The voice was on the edge of familiar, and it was enough to bypass his climbing anxiety and drop him into a lull.

Had he been hit with fear toxin?  He didn’t remember—and then Tim went very, very still when his mind pulled up what he did remember.

“Robin?” the low voice asked.

Tim started, voice scratchy, “There was a—” A dog?  A wolf?  What could he even use to describe such a monster?  “A creature.”  Tim swallowed, and opened his mouth again, to try and detail specifics, but they were nowhere to be found.

Red eyes.  Tall, taller than him, filling the entire corridor, black and shadowy and Tim had been unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to think—

“Robin, calm down!” the voice cursed right into his ear and Tim felt himself being pulled up.  The restraints across his chest was a pair of arms, one hand pressed flat above his heart, the other stroking through his hair.  His legs were pinned by a boot-clad leg clamped around his knees, and Tim became aware that he was half-reclined in someone’s lap.

“The creature’s gone,” the voice said.  “He’s gone and not coming back, stop panicking.”  The voice sounded on the verge of panic itself.  “Just—just breathe, goddammit.”

Tim obediently breathed.  In and out, slipping into the breathing pattern Bruce had taught him—a breathing pattern mirrored by the man holding him, and things gradually began to break through Tim’s spiral.

Details.  Facts.  Conjecture.

Detail—the voice sounded very, very familiar.  Hoarser than he remembered, but familiar.

Fact—Tim was still in Titans Tower, still in one of the most fortified bases on the planet.  There was no one else visible.  They appeared to be alone.

Conjecture—Tim let out a slow breath and kept his limbs relaxed, waiting for his captor to release his breath before Tim twisted as fast he could.  He wasn’t aiming to break their grip, just to see—

Green eyes in a surprised expression.  A random white lock of hair.  A familiar, set, stubborn jaw.

“Jason?” Tim felt like he was drowning again.

#my snippets #tt au #jason is a grim #he's very good at being scary #unfortunately this has consequences