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#Tim: *flashes back to the assassins laughing*
dcxdpdabbles · 5 months
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Ghost king danny goes on a reincarnation vacation to the dc universe by ClockWork, he ends up as a mortician/coroner and chats up the dead and is super creepy and has to go to Arkham to claim a body there (idk how-) and ends up freaking out the prisoners but also makes some friends and is just all around having a good time and Batman is concerned why this guy just feels weird and why Jason likes him enough to call him a friend
"This is Daniel Fenton." Bruce starts clicking the button on his wrist computer so an image of a young man in his early twenties appears on the hologram. "He is the mortician working at Gotham Funeral Home and Crematorium. Recently, he has been the talk of the underworld for his actions in Arkham."
"Actions?" Tim asks, reading over the files that Bruce had downloaded into their own wrist computers. He pauses at the old-school photo of Daniel Fenton smiling shyly at the camera. Two rows below him is Jason's equally bashful smile when he was fourteen.
Huh.
"A patient was found dead in her room. Daniel went over to claim the body, but while there, he made a few of the inmates uncomfortable." Bruce pulls up a security camera footage of Fenton strolling down the hall, pushing the cart with the body covered by a white sheet.
The way his lips are shaped tells the Bats he whistles even if there is no sound.
It looks normal- even if he seems just a tad too cheerful for picking up a dead person- until he passes by Two-Face's room. The man flipped his quarter and then started shouting at Fenton.
They couldn't make out his words, but whatever the mortician said had Two-face laughing so hard he fell to the ground.
Then, the camera glitched as if there were some kind of interference. They watched it clear up with Fenton walking away and Two-Face sitting on the ground, staring at a wall with a blank expression.
"What happened?" Dick asks.
"It's unclear what Fenton did to him, but Harvey has been unresponsive since. This was three days ago."
"Shit," Steph swears, which pretty much sums up everyone's thoughts.
"Yeah, Danny has that effect on people," Jason speaks up, shrugging his shoulder at the looks he receives. "What? Danny has always been weird, but I doubt he is dangerous."
"You are acquainted with Fenton?" Damian asks, and Jason shrugs again.
"We were in the same graduating class. I spoke to him more after I died and came back, but I wouldn't meet up with him for a drink or anything."
"You don't drink."
"Exactly, Timbos."
Bruce clears his throat. "In any case, I want you all to keep an eye on him."
"B, seriously, the guy is harmless. He cried the other day over a book character's death-"
"How would you know that?" Cass cuts Jason off, a teasing smile on her face even though her eyes are narrowed with suspicion.
"We're in the same book club. Not another word." Jason grunts.
Dick, who has been staring at the class photo that Tim has seen, snaps his figures. "I know him! He's the weird kid who told people he was the reincarnation of the Ghost King on vacation! Claimed he was a powerful afterlife entity. Didn't you get caught with him behind the bleachers, Jason-"
"Shut it Dickface!" Jason screeches face a bright red suddenly. " That was one time, and I was fourteen!"
Bruce's frown is suddenly more profound. "I had forgotten about that particular detention. Jason, are you compromised for this mission?"
"What!? I am not!" The second oldest yelled, balling his hands "In fact, I bet I could get Danny to tell me what he did!"
"Good. Go get that done." Dick waves his hand at him in a dismissive motion. "Don't come back without the little crazy mortician's number."
Tim smiles as Jason explodes, but his eyes never leave Heavy Dent's image on the security camera. There is something about the way his eyes are hazy that set bells off in his head.
He is sure he sees flashes of green on Dent's pupils. He saw similar flashes in a file inside the League of Assassins while searching for Bruce.
It was the warning of ghosts.
Was Fenton's teenage lies not so fatuous after all? He'll have to investigate.
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isfjmel-phleg · 8 months
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I'm a big fan of those moments in stories where a character who has previously been utterly obnoxious lets a bit of the façade slip and you get to see for the first time what's really behind it and how they might be capable of growth after all--and you have to completely recontextualize your understanding of them.
For instance...
When Kon is introduced, he's a showboating egomaniac who is rude, violent, or inappropriate with just about everyone and has a massive sense of entitlement. There's an incident in which his showing-off leads to the destruction of a Daily Planet helicopter and the death of its pilot. Steel, who had to step in to deal with the problem, grabs Kon up by the scruff of his neck and gives him a severe talking-to. Kon's initial response is to get defensive and angry, but after flying off alone, he self-examines for the first time in his very short life and has to come to terms with his own selfishness (and goes back and apologizes later). This will be the start of a pattern for him: he often reacts in anger but he's also capable of rethinking and learning from mistakes. The attention-seeking is a role that he was created to play, and behind it there's a child with no guidance who wants to do the right thing but doesn't know how.
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(Superman: The Man of Steel #23)
Bart is introduced trying to kill Wally on sight and, after getting his aging straightened out, proceeds to be a reckless, thoughtless, petulant nuisance. This is compounded by the fact that we see him almost exclusively from the perspective of Wally, who can't stand him. After Wally passes over Bart as his intended successor before a potentially fatal mission (it's actually a ruse to try to motivate him to learn), Bart and Jesse Quick spend some time together, and he opens up enough to reveal that he's determined to prove himself, he cares about Wally more than he lets on, and he still hasn't adjusted to not being in his own time. He's a displaced child from the future, transported to an era in which he is scolded and belittled for doing things according to the definition of normal he was raised with, which accounts for his near-constant frustration. And yeah, he could use an attitude adjustment, but he's not just being annoying to be annoying. He's even capable of loyalty, however begrudging, to the cousin who has made no secret of his disdain for him. There's complexity here.
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(The Flash 1987 #98)
Thad is introduced as a villain and presented as such for most of his appearances--until we're given his narration during the time he spends impersonating Bart and we find out that his motivations are not limited to his murder mission. There are moments previously that hint at his being more pitiable than evil, but I think we first see what he really wants out of life after one of the social interactions that he loathes results in his managing to make "his" friends laugh. He's not just a supervillain bent on revenge; he's a kid getting his first taste of being liked and accepted on his own terms and realizing what he has missed out on his whole long, long lonely life. This complicates our understanding of him and makes his defeat in the climax more tragic than triumphant.
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(Impulse #65)
Damian is awful when he first shows up. He attacks his father, refuses to follow even the most reasonable of instructions, loudly insists that no one can make him do anything, cusses out Alfred, throws a tantrum when his father won't let him have a laptop or a sword, insults and rejects food, steals the Robin uniform and goes out and beheads a criminal, tries to kill Tim, and generally behaves like a spoiled brat. It's made clear that this behavior is a product of his upbringing, with its horrifying combination of violence and indulgence. But the moment when we first see the vulnerability behind it is when Damian spills his mother's plans to his father and adds frantically, "See? I can be useful!" The ruthless assassin is really just a ten-year-old boy who is desperate to help the father whose respect he longs for. Given guidance and love, he could be better, and will be, but it's a long, difficult road there.
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(Batman #658)
There are further examples, I'm sure, but these are the ones that stand out from what I've read.
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tired-inyxe · 1 month
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WIP - Batfam/Dc Tag Masterlist
This is ridiculously long so m putting it under cut, m gonna add more (YES MORE. THERES A LOTTA CHARACTERS OK???) tags when I feel like it but I wanna finalize my main master post later
#bat anatomy -batfam masterpost (and everything else dc)
#going batty -batfam analysis (typically angry)
#mailing pipe bombs -enraged at dc's writers
#honey im taking the kids -stuff about dc's poor treatment of the batkids (they're mine now fuck u)
#the bat -abt batman in all its forms (persona not a specific character)
#the bird -abt robin in all its forms (ditto)
#the shadows -abt every other persona in all their forms(because normal ppl dont know em)
#bernards pegboard -crack headcanons
#sandbox -headcanons
#my story now -my personal batfam timeline/story (because dc sucks at writing
#shoved in mahogany 6 feet under -wasted potential of any/all characters
#revived wings -my view of a bat characters true potential
#case files -panels/pages that I use for evidence abt canon
#bamboozled -fun canon comic panels that make me laugh
#goth cake -batfam art
#dysfunctional worms -batfam writing
#cave screeches -rambles, usually angry
#bats and birds -any and all posts that contain any of em
#batcape -anything Bruce
#disco girl -anything Dick
#pride and prejudice -anything Jason
#skateboards and spite -anything Tim
#kittens and knives -anything Damian
#dayshift -anything Duke
#potato waffles -anything Steph
#ballet shoes -anything Cass
#spot of tea -anything Alfred
#all seeing snark -anything Babs
#handmade guns and gender envy -anything Harper
#jaded red -anything Kate
#lack the worms dc edition -any character i dont know/care about enough to make a custom tag for (m sorry)
#revolving door -Rogues gallery
#REFORM THE DAMN JUSTICE SYSTEM YOU BILLIONAIRE -me complaining about dc's inability to make Bruce use his fuckin money and power to change the city, also any arkham/blackgate rants
#i stabbed him hes dead -anything joker
#bats and hounds -anything Harley
#eco friendly -anything Ivy
#shot him he's dead too -anything Black Mask
#strawman argument -anything Scarecrow
#your wife is dead -anything Mr Freeze (sorry not sorry)
#bipolar ableism but gay -anything Harvey
#scared of seals -anything Penguin
#neon green twink -anything Riddler
#broke b's spine -anything Bane
#leather catgirl -anything Selina
#back in the cell -every other rogue I don't care about
#god forbid a woman have hobbies -anything Thalia
#withering gamer -anything Ra's
#magic mountain dew -Lazarus pit
#assassin gamers -League of Assasins
#competent idiots -Justice League
#its just an s -anything Clark
#unbreakable porcelain -anything Diana
#retired at the speed of light -anything Barry
#zooming with the big leagues now -anything Wally
#h in adhd -anything the Flash persona
#neon green with a ring -anything Hal
#weak to yellow -anything Green lantern persona
#blowing bubbles -anything Arthur
#he stole the braincell -anything Jhon (theres an accent mark somewhere in there ill fix it later)
#batson but not yet adopted -anything Billy
#cigarette ash -anything Constantine
#fics favorite magician -anything Zatanna
#hijacked the mainframe -anything Cyborg
#signature chili -anything Ollie
#screech metal -anything Black Canary
#under the roundtable -everyone else in the Justice League
#every band eventually -og Teen Titans (they broke up)
#saltwater bubble blower -anything Garth
#tectonic shifter -anything Terra
#red threads and all -anything Red X
#i exploded him yw -anything Slade
#stronger than steel -anything Donna (might change)
#shapeshifting greenbean -anything Gar
#goth girls inspiration -anything Raven
#international incidents the team -Young Justice
#test tube baby -Anything Kon
#meep meep -anything Bart
#girlbossed zeus -anything Cassie
#rags to the grave -anything Greta
#arrows notched red -anything Cissie
#mosh pit winner -anything Anita
#panic at the disco -anything Slobo
again, theres still more. dc is an 80 year long series theres so many guys. also not sold on some of these so various tags may be subject to change
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abyssal-ali · 3 months
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wwyditnfuo - 5: then we kiss, and you know I won't ever tell
M | 1.6k | Ao3 | Masterlist | Main Masterlist | CW: Steph gets a little bloodthirsty, kidnapping, implied/mentioned torture/murder, relationship talk (ew), slight Tim bashing ig?
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Chapter 4 ->
Steph glanced around the noisy, flashing-light-covered dance floor that was a front for Black Mask’s headquarters. She and Jason had agreed to arrive separately and meet up later, like they had the first time they’d met here.
Someone behind her brushed her arm, a slip of paper sliding into her sweaty palm.
“Meet me at the place we first met.”
She glanced up and around, spying the edge of Jason’s jacket disappearing around the doorway to the less legal part of the establishment.
~~~
“I can’t believe I’m doing this again,” Steph mumbled against Jason’s neck as they huddled in the dimly lit hallway.
“Not you two again,” scoffed Mask, coming up behind them with Li and two bodyguards.
“What can I say, you have such a welcoming atmosphere here,” shrugged Jason, dropping a smoke bomb at his feet.
Steph used the darkness to take out the bodyguards before they could call for help, leaving Li to Jason. He incapacitated her easily enough and turned to Mask, who had his handgun out, waiting for the smoke to finish clearing.
The lights in the deserted hallway flickered and went out, thanks to Jason’s hacker lieutenant outside.
With swift, precise movements, Jason disarmed Mask and jabbed a needle in his neck, pressing the plunger and knocking Mask out.
Steph high-fived him with glee. Giving him a quick peck on the lips, she danced down the hall to their exit point, keeping an eye out for reinforcements. 
Mask was loaded into the back of the truck and driven to the warehouse Jason had specially prepared for him.
Having already decided she’d let Jason deal with Mask once they took him down, she headed back to his main warehouse to check with his lieutenants that the seizing and distribution of Mask’s assets was going smoothly. The business assassination she could deal with; the physical, not so much.
~~~
Jason peeked into her room, still smelling like his shower. 
“Hey, Jay.”
“Hey. You okay?”
“...yeah? I didn’t get a scratch on me; we’ve trained too much for that.”
“I know,” he smiled. “I meant emotionally and mentally. Any regrets about helping me, maybe, or some still-raw PTSD?”
She shook her head slowly. “I actually feel good. No qualms popping up. Maybe that should worry me, but right now I’m just relieved that we’ve actually done something about it. I’m glad you took point on it, because if it was up to me, I’d have just gone and stabbed him in the heart or something and wouldn’t have considered the vacuum his lack of presence would’ve opened up.”
“That’s why partners are good to have,” he mused. “May I hug you?”
She blinked, but nodded. “Sure. Are you okay?”
His arms wrapped around her, his large frame secure and comforting. “I’m fine. But just because you’re fine doesn’t mean you don’t want or need a hug.”
“Oh. That’s thoughtful of you.” She leaned against his chest, listening to his steady heart rate as she thought over their plans.
“Is he dead?”
“Not yet,” his voice was a nice rumble in her ear.
“Can I watch?”
“Of course.”
~~~
The door creaked open, letting the light cast long shadows of their figures across the cement floor.
Mask was tied up securely, his suit torn and bloodied, matching his body and creepy face. 
Steph had thought she would feel more…something…but all she felt was satisfaction and rage, mingled in equal parts.
“So this is what it’s like to be tied up by someone bigger and more powerful than you, hurting you for the pleasure of it,” she spat.
The eye that could open looked at her with a burning gaze.
“You probably don’t even remember me,” she crouched by his chair, staying a safe distance away. “You tortured me and laughed when I cried–just because you could. I don’t know and I don’t think I want to know how many people you have harmed like that, but I’m glad you get to experience being on the receiving end this time.”
Mask stayed quiet. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know if it was by choice or if Jason had done something.
“I’ve said my piece.” She said quietly to Jason, who offered her a hand. She took it.
Once she was standing again, she turned on her heel and spat at the cause of her nightmares. “Rot in hell.”
Standing a safe distance away, she watched as Jason’s bullet ended his life.
~~~
“Want another hug?” Jason knocked on her door again.
She nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist and sniffing his neck. “Your soap smells good.”
“Thanks.”
They stood there in comfortable silence for a few minutes, revelling in the peace of the moment.
“Want pitas for supper?”
“Oooh, that sounds good. Yes, please.”
“Want to help me make them?”
Steph pulled away slightly to look up at him. “Me? In your kitchen?”
“I know, will wonders never cease,” he grinned, showing a bit of dimple. “As long as I’m there, you should be fine.”
“Okay,” she agreed, following him to the kitchen. He pulled out a bunch of spices, mixed them in a large bowl, and dumped ground beef in. “Have at it,” he gestured her to the bowl.
“Just…mix it together?”
“Yep! I’ll get you a plate and then all you have to do is squish the beef into rectangular patties and put them on it.”
She looked at the bowl dubiously but set to work while Jason puttered around at the counter behind her.
“So…about our partnership…” she started cautiously. “I guess it’s over now, since our goal has been achieved?”
“Looks that way,” Jason said cryptically, drizzling oil in a pan.
She sighed inaudibly, slapping the next patty into shape a little more forcefully than was required.
“You’re gonna be busy for a bit with taking care of Mask’s assets?”
“Probably. I’ve got Bill to take care of some of it; why?”
“Just wondering what you’ll be up to now.” She shaped the last patty slowly. “I’ve got the last exams for this semester next week and then I’ll be available again.”
“Mhm,” he replied, not listening as he sliced cucumbers with neat, quick motions. Of course he was a whiz with a knife in the kitchen as well as in the streets. “Good luck with that.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled out plates and glasses and set up their usual spots on the island.
~~~
“You haven’t been trying to hint about that conversation we had at the beginning of our partnership, have you?” Jason stuffed the last bite in his mouth, chewing as he watched her carefully.
“I-uhm-what?”
“‘I wouldn’t be mad if we reconsidered it after our partnership dissolves,’ I believe were the words you used about our relationship.”
She glanced at her empty plate, suddenly wishing she hadn’t eaten her pita so fast. Ew, relationship talks. “I may have been wondering if you recalled it, yes.”
“Mhm. And you think the time has come for reconsidering?”
“...yes.”
“Could you tell me why you were reluctant about it in the first place? You had fewer reservations about a professional-slash-friendly relationship, but a romantic one tripped you up.”
“I don’t mix business and pleasure since my ill-fated farce of a relationship with Timothy Drake.”
“Harsh,” he said blandly.
“There was way too much of a power imbalance. We were too busy figuring out our lives and patrols to deal with a relationship, too. Plus, I was dealing with giving my baby up for adoption and all the baggage that came with having a teen pregnancy. It affected our working relationship, and we didn’t even have a proper talk about identities and all that. It was a disaster and ill-advised from the very beginning.”
“I see,” Jason said slowly. “That sounds like it was a difficult time.”
“It was. But at least I can use that as a benchmark to see how far I’ve grown, right?” She smiled sadly. “I just want to prove…to everyone, to myself…that I’ve matured past that girl and that I don’t make mistakes like that anymore.”
“Okay. Could you give me your reservations about having a romantic and working relationship, or just a romantic relationship with me?”
“That it won’t work out. We’ll drift apart as partners, in either sense. Troubles in one relationship will bleed into the other, and with a high-stakes job like vigilantism, we can’t afford squabbles that will distract us and quarrels that will leave us with blind spots and open antagonism, and then we’ll hurt each other because of our issues.”
“Valid reasons,” he agreed. “Can I tell you how I see it? Not pressuring you, just saying my point of view.”
She made a ‘go on’ gesture.
“I think that your relationship with Tim was your relationship with Tim. I’m not Tim, and you’re certainly not the girl you were at that time. We’re much more similar than you and Tim were (and I’m aware that being too similar can have its own challenges but that’s not the point right now). Our identities aren’t an issue and we already work well together as partners and get along just fine as friends. In my opinion, we’re basically dating but calling it friendship. The only thing that we aren’t doing as friends is sleeping in separate beds.”
Steph blinked. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Every relationship will have some issues. But so far, we’ve resolved them rather maturely. They haven’t carried over to patrols. I think, if we gave us a chance, we could be great together. But if you think differently, I’ll accept that. For now.”
“You make good points,” Steph agreed, running her finger around the rim of her glass.
“I thought,” he agreed smugly.
“I just…need a bit more time. To get over my fear of relationships. To process everything.”
“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he reached out and held her hand in his. “Whatever you decide.”
Chapter 6 (Final) ->
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elowenp · 3 years
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“What do you want?” Barbara asks, voice crackling with static.
It’s a silly question. Tim wants crime rates to go down. Tim wants Gotham to be a safer city. Tim wants to be a part of making that happen.
“A code name that isn’t stupid.” he says instead.
Barbara sighs. It doesn’t sound like a sigh though. It just sounds like the static’s getting louder.
~
“Bernard Dowd, scholar of the ages.” Tim laughs, arm slung round Bernard's shoulder. “I thought you were meant to be the fun one?”
“I am.” Bernard groans, “as soon as these exams are done I’ll be back to the usual student life. Getting drunk, going on dates, Gotham won’t know what’s hit it.”
“Going on dates?” Tim asks jokingly, even as a well hidden part of him turns slightly panicked. “Any successes an old friend should be hearing about?”
“Not really.” Bernard shrugs, jostling Tim’s arm. “Just a couple of girls I was better off friends with.” He pauses, thinking, before continuing with his voice involuntarily going a little higher. “Couple of guys too.”
“Huh.” Tim suddenly becomes very aware of all the places where his arm is touching Bernard. He doesn’t move it. “Better luck next time.”
Huh.
~
Tim’s been avoiding Dick. He’s been awkward around him lately, Tim thinks that Barbara must have said something. He’s not stupid enough to have done something to send Dick spiralling without noticing it.
“What do you want?” Dick asks, curious, without warning.
Tim wants to ask if Barbara put him up to this but he knows it’s a genuine question. Dick isn’t manipulative like that, not with family.
What does Tim want? Isn’t it a little late for Dick go be asking that question? All the things that happened after Bruce’s death put a canyon of distance between them. It’s slowly been growing smaller but it hasn’t disappeared. Neither of them have had time enough to spend together for that to happen.
An awful, bitter part of Tim that hasn’t stopped screaming since Robin wasn’t his any more wonders if Dick would even be asking if Damian wasn’t out of town right now.
“For us to go train surfing.” Tim says. Petty. Just so Dick will say no and his anger can feel righteous instead of ill-deserved.
“Okay.” Dick says instead. Easy and confident. Himself.
“Oh.” Tim’s anger fizzles into non-existence. “Okay.”
The canyon grows a little smaller.
~
“We should go to a skatepark.” Bernard says, a little giggly from the beer in his hand.
There’s a matching beer in Tim’s hand although it’s still practically full. If there’s an emergency he’ll be of no use drunk. “What? Why?”
“Why not? You were so good in high school! And you had fun doing it.” Bernard’s tone turns a little less giggly. “You should do more things you find fun.”
Tim is surprised enough that the “Okay.” slips out of his lips unbidden.
So maybe the beer bottle is a little less full than he’d like to admit.
They borrow a board from one of Bernard's flatmates and catch a bus to a skate park Tim remembers using when he was younger. As they go Tim tries to remember why he stopped. He tries to remember when he stopped. He can’t recall the answer to either question and annoyance rises in his chest over it.
Then Bernard is saying something and it has Tim snorting with laughter and he forgets his irritation.
Once they arrive Bernard settles himself at the top of one of the ramps like it’s a throne. “Entertain me!” he calls, “Impress me with your wheel-board magic.
Tim manages a kick-flip on his first attempt and Bernard makes a loud noise of approval.
A lot of stuff comes back to Tim fairly quickly. Most of skateboarding had been muscle memory for him and that’s something that being a vigilante hadn’t exactly hindered. As things return to him he regains some faint memories of why he’d stopped. Nothing specific, just that feeling of not having enough time. Of thinking that going to the skatepark wasn’t a particularly useful way to spend his hours while there was still real work to be done.
Tim’s always been a vigilante first, but he thinks there must have been a point when that wasn’t the only thing he was. Well, when it wasn’t the only thing he was that mattered.
“Come on!” Bernard shouts, teeth flashing white against Gotham’s grey-black sky. “I was promised entertainment!”
Tim laughs. He seems to do that a lot around Bernard these days.
He starts moving on the skateboard, deciding to leave the existentialism for another day.
~
First Dick and now Bruce. Tim’s family has really been making a habit of being weird around him lately.
He would normally think that the Bruce was worried about him, that Dick had passed along some bullshit about his mental health and Bruce was practicing some silent vigil. The problem with that theory is that Tim’s been getting better recently, so there wouldn’t be much point. At least he thinks he’s been getting better. It’s difficult to tell sometimes.
Bruce has definitely been acting weird around him though, so maybe he isn’t getting better. Maybe Bruce spotted something Tim didn’t and he’s on the road to insanity.
“What do you want?” Bruce asks one day as they’re both working in the cave. Not Batman. Bruce.
It’s a far stupider question than it was when Barbara or Dick asked it. Bruce is the person who made Tim’s desires what they are. He’s the one who took Tim’s obsession and carved it into a goal.
“What?” Tim asks, loud and confused and maybe a little angry. “What do you mean ‘what do I want’? I want the mission! What else am I supposed to want?”
Bruce stays silent for a moment and Tim imagines him turning the words over in his head. “Nothing else?” Bruce asks. He sounds sad and it makes the anger drain from Tim’s body. “Just the mission?”
“I don’t need anything else.” Tim says hollowly.
Bruce just nods, thinking. It makes Tim want to scream even as satisfaction rises in his chest.
It’s always been a point of pride that he can to lie to Batman. He’s hardly going to change his mind about that now.
~
“People keep asking me what I want.” Tim says, sat on Bernard's bed. “I don’t like it.”
Bernard's turns away from the laptop on his desk so he can look at Tim. “You ever tell them the truth?”
Tim shrugs. He isn’t sure what else to do. “Ish?”
Bernard smiles. “Anyone ever tell you you’re impossible, Tim Drake?”
“Only everyone I’ve ever met.”
Bernard barks out a laugh before sobering up and looking at Tim with ill-disguised curiosity. “Do you want to tell me the truth about it? Or did you just want to say the thing out loud?”
“I’m not sure.” Tim admits, and he has to stop himself from acting taken aback by the fact he actually said that. Tim never says when he’s uncertain. There isn’t room for it. Bernard must know that too because he looks at Tim in surprise, then scoots his chair closer to the bed so that he and Tim are almost touching.
Bernard looks very cautious. “You know that’s okay, right?”
“I-“ Tim starts, because is it? Is uncertainty the kind of luxury he can afford? “I want to want things. But it feels like I’ve forgotten how.”
“You’ve had a rough couple of years.”
“How do you-“
Bernard smiles knowingly. “You’re not as hard to read as you think, Tim. Well you are. But it’s not difficult to tell that some bad things must have happened since I last saw you.”
“Yeah.” Tim says hoarsely, thinking back to the burn of his muscles as he dug up Kon’s grave, the stinging of desert sand in his eyes, the moment of confusion when he woke up in a league of assassins base unsure if he’d had to die to get there. “Yeah. Bad things happened.” He shakes himself a little, because those aren’t the thoughts he wants lingering. He focuses back on Bernard who’s closer than Tim had realised, worry creased between his eyes. “What about you?” Tim asks, trying to exert some measure of control over the conversation. “What do you want?”
“Thought we were talking about you?” Tim might have let it go with that if not for the note of nervousness in Bernard's voice and the red creeping up the back of his neck.
“We can talk about both of us.”
“It’s not important right now.”
Tim reaches out then. He takes Bernard's hand in his because Bernard makes him laugh and he looks so nervous and Tim wants to. Bernard looks down at their hands in surprise and Tim doesn’t actually feel worried. Just expectant that Bernard is going to squeeze their fingers together more securely. He does. “You sure?” Tim asks.
Bernard just looks at him. Mouth parted with shock. He seems to come back to himself though and his expression of surprise turns into something more confident. More familiar. “What if I wanted you?” he asks, hesitancy and confidence rolled into one voice.
“Give me some time to remember how to want things, and I think I’ll want that too.” Tim replies, just as unsure and utterly certain.
Bernard tangles their fingers together a little more firmly in response and Tim feels more hopeful than he has in a long time.
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ayamari-no-goshi · 2 years
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To Join the Whispers (13)
AO3
More artwork!!!
Jason by crazydemigod666 and alt. version of Jason’s ghost form by Tumbling-Darkling
Fandoms: Danny Phantom (DP) / DC universe
Summary:  THIS   IS A CROSSOVER. A contact for the Batfamily passed along a rumor that  the League of  Assassins were investigating a small city called Amity  Park.The old man and Tim managed to find evidence of unusual  paranormal  activity in the town. While they weren’t entirely certain it  wasn’t  just infested with metas, the locals believed the entities that   haunted, for lack of a  better word, the town were actual ghosts. If  there was one thing Ra’s al Ghul didn’t need to get his grubby hands on,  it was ghosts.That’s probably why Jason was doing this. He had the  unfortunate luck to experience both death and resurrection in a way he’d  never recommend to anyone else.
Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, and questionable mental health
Parings: none
Notes: originally uploaded to AO3. Cross-posted to tumblr. Jason Todd-centric
It took quite a bit for Danny to finally coax Jason into agreeing to fly with him. He didn’t want to admit the concept scared him. He could pilot an aircraft with the best of them and maneuver the skyscrapers of Gotham like it was nothing. But flying without aid? No, that wasn’t something he was supposed to be able to do.
But Danny did make a good point that it would be good practice. He probably should get some in before returning to Gotham and dealing with whatever bullshit regimen Bruce decided to design for him to get everything under control.
First thing he had to do was switch to his ghost form which proved to be annoyingly harder than Danny made it out to be. The kid could do it without much effort, but he couldn’t really find the words to describe how it worked since he never really had to walk anyone through it before.
But, Jason had done it once already, so hypothetically, he should be able to do it again. Per the recordings, that happened when Plasmius grabbed hold of Danny. Just picturing it made his blood boil and the Pit stir. Or maybe it wasn’t exactly the Pit anymore. Doing the one thing he’d sworn to not purposely do, he focused on that feeling.
A bright light momentarily filled his vision. In alarm, he pushed his back against the wall of the staircase, but there didn’t seem to be any sign of danger. Unsure what to make of it, he checked himself over. He seemed okay, but why was he wearing his vest? That was still in the room, and why was it blue?
“You did it!” Jason looked over at Danny, who seemed to be trying to not to laugh. “I have no idea what you’ve gone through in Gotham to be that jumpy over a flash of light though.”
“You don’t want to know…” He murmured as he continued his examination. Overall, he didn’t feel too different with one major exception. Unlike in the hotel room where he could still easily feel his heartbeat, it was mostly masked by the humming sensation of his core. He didn’t particularly like it, but he guessed he was going to have to get used to it.
Running his hand over his face, he realized he was wearing his mask. It wasn’t there a moment ago. Confused, he removed it to find it was also the wrong color, but as he held it, it began to sublime causing him to drop it. “What the fuck?”
“It’s okay. That happens to this too if something rips a piece off,” Danny explained as pulled at his suit. “When you revert back, it seems to reset everything, and it’ll be back next time. I’m not exactly sure how it works.”
“Right… Is there anyway to change this?” He gestured to himself.
“I know there is because Plasmius wasn’t wearing that stupid getup when he got blasted in the face, but I haven’t really experimented with it.”
That was definitely something he’d have to investigate later. Just like the others, he was constantly updating his equipment and uniforms. It might end up being a fun project down the road to see what could and couldn’t be changed, especially the blue. He wasn’t sure how he felt wearing his brother’s color again.
“Anyways,” Danny gave a childish grin as he began to float, “let’s get you in the sky.”
Although Jason didn’t want to admit it, Danny was right. There was a freeing feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time as the kid pulled him through the air by the arm. While it didn’t quiet all of the turmoil in his mind, it helped.
At first, their flight was entirely Danny’s doing, saying he just wanted to get him used to the feeling, but after a while, he could tell at least some of the lift, levitation… whatever the correct term was, came from him. The kid seemed to notice it too and gave him a knowing grin but didn’t let go. That was oddly reassuring.
Their flight was cut short when Danny received a phone call from his sister. It didn’t last long, but she sounded distressed. Once he was done, Danny sighed before asking, “What did you guys do? My parents now think Batman and the other heroes are ghosts.”
“Don’t look at me. They came to that conclusion when Nightwing came to help. According to them, gymnastics are inhuman, or at least that’s what they made it sound like.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Danny let go of him as threw his hands in the air. While secretly happy he wasn’t plummeting to his second, or would it technically the third, death, Jason didn’t want to risk moving and having that change.
“Next thing you know, they’re going to plan a ghost hunting trip to Gotham and get themselves hurt because they’ve convinced themselves that… Oh, I don’t know, Poison Ivy or the Joker, or someone else is a ghost, and that they can handle it.” Danny’s shoulders sagged as he muttered. “Looks like me and Jazz will have to sabotage their work for a while again.”
Ignoring the flare in his chest when Danny mentioned the Joker, he decided to focus on the last part of Danny’s rant. “What do you mean again?”
The kid stared at him a moment in confusion before panic set in. “Crap! I’m sorry I let go! I forgot…” He grabbed Jason’s wrist and began leading him back towards the hotel. “Erm… but my parents tend to jump from one project to another pretty quickly, but when they get focused on one particular idea, like catching me or that time they convinced themselves Lake Eerie, the one with three E’s, was haunted, they’ll do whatever they think is necessary to remove the threat… And you’ve already seen the chaos they can make with the RV, so imagine that but worse.”
“Worse? Your parents are already on par with a force of nature in that thing.”
“Don’t I know it. The weather report has even started including sightings of it, so people know to be careful.”
“Seriously, how haven’t they been arrested yet.”
“I think the local police are afraid to. They’re mostly harmless to people who aren’t ghosts or halfas.”
A comfortable silence fell between them as the hotel started coming into view. If he wasn’t mistaken, it looked like there were a few familiar forms on the roof. How long had their flight lasted anyways? It didn’t seem like it was that long. But he hadn’t taken any of the tracking equipment with him when he went on the roof, and even if he did, it’d probably have gone offline judging by the glitches from the previous night. And knowing how the living embodiment of paranoia was, not knowing where he was for any length of time would send him into a tizzy.
That gave him an idea.
In retrospect, Jason shouldn’t have been surprised at how easily Danny agreed to help him. He’d seen glimpses of his playful side when he was interacting with his sister, but he honestly didn’t expect the kid to be willing to risk getting on the Bat’s bad side.
Danny turned them both invisible and intangible and slipped into the hotel room. After checking to make sure no one was there, Danny said his ‘goodbyes’ and headed home, leaving Jason by himself. Phasing through the wall wasn’t as bad as the trip through the ground, but it still made his skin crawl.
Deciding to wait a bit to trip the silent alarm Bruce set to protect their equipment, he elected to get a shower first and wash off any residual gunk from Plasmius’ stupid experiment. It was pretty rare for him to be able to get one without the risk of interruption when he was on family missions.
Well, that was the plan anyways. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror trying to look everywhere but his green eyes. The color unnerved him. But how the hell was he supposed to turn back to his human form? He should have asked Danny for a tip or something. Thankfully, the universe decided to give him a break, and that light from before flashed leaving him looking like his normal but exhausted self. Sighing in relief, he removed his uniform before taking one of the most satisfying showers in his life.
Pleasantly refreshed, he bagged his uniform since that was probably going to need to be decontaminated and sent a quick status update to Roy and Kori. While he still wasn’t sure what he should and shouldn’t tell them regarding his new status, he could at least mention he was exposed to Pit water again. Roy, at least, would know that meant he’d have to stay in Gotham for a bit for observation. Satisfied, he grabbed one of the books he brought with him for the plane flights, picked one of the chairs that would be visible from the door, and waited. It took five minutes longer than he expected for there to be a commotion at the door.
“I’m telling you he’s in there.” That sounded like Duke, who seemed exasperated. Guess the others didn’t believe him. “I saw him.”
“How could he be in there?” Tim argued. “We know no one came through the door or the windows.”
“Besides, he left his jacket on the roof.” Was it just him or did Dick sound worried?
“Did you imbeciles forget he could have just fallen through the roof?” Leave it to the demon brat to be able to insult everyone and still make the most sense. “Though considering Todd’s lack of control, he has probably found himself trapped in another piece of furniture.”
“Damian.” The old man sounded tired as someone unlocked the door.
As Bruce swung the door open, he stopped and stared once he caught sight of Jason lounging in the chair. The others, puzzled by that reaction, pushed around him to see what was wrong. With the exception of Duke, who donned a validated smirk, the others wore various degrees of surprise. All of them were in civies.
Jason couldn’t help himself as he closed his book and stood. “What’s wrong? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.” At the chorus of groans he received, he just snickered.
“You’re a jerk, you know that?” Dick threw his jacket at him before stealing his chair.
“Tell me something I don’t know. Oof.” Cass surprised him by giving him a tight hug around the middle. He froze, not knowing what to do other than pray his body remained solid. After what happened earlier, why would she risk it?
“You are okay.” She looked up and gave him a soft smile. “See? Not scared.”
Damian tutted as he found a seat of his own. “Todd, I would advise you to provide some form of a warning for future vanishings to prevent unnecessary distress.” Wait, was that demon speak for saying he was worried? That couldn’t be right. Maybe it was because Dick was upset? The kid did like him best.
“I take it you were with Danny.”
Jason watched the old man take a seat on the couch as Cass let go and moved to sit next to him. He wasn’t as tense as when he first walked in the door, but there was a hint of suspicion in his gaze. Ah yes, there was the paranoia he was so familiar with. “Yep. We discussed a few things.”
When Bruce raised an eyebrow, Jason just crossed his arms. What was said on the roof was private and personal, and he was going to respect that.
“Whatever he said seems to have put you in better spirits.” Everyone groaned as Dick grinned at his own pun.
“Where is he anyways?” Although he’d also taken a seat, Duke glanced around the room. “I don’t think he’s here.”
“Headed home after dropping me off.” Deciding he didn’t want to sit again, Jason hesitantly leaned against the wall near Dick’s chair. Thankfully, this time he didn’t have any trouble with intangibility. It didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen again later though. “His sister called him. Apparently, their parents are seriously considering that all costumed heroes might be ghosts.”
“You know, I’m not sure if I’m insulted or flattered they thought I couldn’t be human because of the acrobatics.”
“I’d take it as a compliment,” Tim told their bother as he made himself comfortable on a different chair. “But there’s no telling what those two might make if left alone.”
“I agree. There’s also a risk of them drawing unwanted attention from any number of criminals, especially after our unintentionally involvement with them,” Bruce added. “A contract with either Wayne Tech or Chemicals or even Star Labs might work for now, but with how rapidly they seem to be able to create weaponry, we might have to put them in their own lab.” He glanced at Jason. “The fewer people who know or have access to their research, the better.”
“I think the bigger problem would be if Plasmius tried that crap on someone else. We know he’s fucked around with cloning experiments. Who’s to say he wouldn’t get desperate enough to try it on someone else?” Once he was certain he had these abilities under control, he was going to dismantle everything that asshole worked for.
Tim hummed for a moment while he considered the idea. “I think it’s unlikely, at least for now. He’s going to be too interested in you.”
“Just what I wanted.”
“But, while I think it’s unlikely because of how closely he’s guarded the secret of his powers, he might sell that knowledge to someone else who might want to create super soldiers.”
“An army of people with powers like Plasmius and Danny…” Duke shivered for a moment before giving a sideways glance towards Jason. “We could barely hold our own against Plasmius.”
“Speak for yourself, Thomas.”
“I’m not sure it could be easily replicated…” Jason tried to keep his expression neutral as he crossed his arms. This event was being filed under things that happened that he didn’t want to talk about. “Danny’s probably been exposed to ectoplasm or whatever since birth. We know Plasmius was working with it prior to his accident… and I was fucked up by the Pit.” He couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice. Ra’s and Talia would have saved everyone, including himself, a lot of grief if they just left him dead.
“What?” he snapped at Dick, who gave him a concerned frown. “Call it a hunch, but if someone tried to repeat it on someone who wasn’t already somewhat contaminated by ectoplasm, the Pit, or whatever, when the experiment,” he growled the word, “happens, I doubt they’d survive. And I’ll personally dismantle anyone who thinks doing that to someone else is a good idea.” No one else needed to experience that type of pain.
“We’ll keep a watch for any evidence of that,” Bruce promised as his expression softened slightly. How shocking. They were actually on the same page for once. “However, I believe the more likely response will be Plasmius more willing to work with known criminals.”
They debated for a while which criminals might be most likely to reach out to Plasmius. Channels would have to be closely monitored and plans would have to be made regarding the response and what may or may not happen. The biggest concern by far was Luthor. They might have to introduce Danny to the Justice League so the others could learn what to expect from ghosts and how to response. And much to Bruce’s annoyance, he admitted Constantine might be their best bet on creating countermeasures.
They also had to watch how the police investigation progressed with Vlad. If things went well, he might get hit with some real charges. However, they knew it was unlikely to stick. The police didn’t know about his powers and wouldn’t be able to stop him from possessing the court. Dick joked maybe they could sic Lois Lane on him. If anyone would be able to bring that connection to light, it was her. Big blue wouldn’t appreciate it though, especially after the warning he got about Plasmius’ powers.
Then there was the Anti-Ecto Acts. Danny hadn’t been kidding when he said anyone involved with him risked being arrested. The specific way it was worded made it difficult for the kid, and by extension Jason, be classified as metas. Judging by Bruce’s expression, he was going to work on dismantling them as soon as possible.
As evening neared, there was talk about getting food. Dick, Tim, Duke, and even Damian, who didn’t trust the others to find something he’d eat, decided to go get takeout for them. Jason wanted to go too, but Bruce quickly put a stop to that. They couldn’t risk him having an incident in public after all. Noticing the tension between them, Cass decided she’d head out with the others. Traitor.
Pissed, he retreated to the bedroom so he wouldn’t risk the man seeing any other slip up. Didn’t need to prove to him he was a liability now. He might as well get some practice in before the plane flight home. He didn’t want to risk falling through the damn thing.
Practicing ended up just being a lot of frustration and cursing. He still didn’t have a good idea of how to trigger the powers, and he was dead set on not transforming. Maybe once he had time to process and accept it, but right now, it frightened him. But he did have a small comfort knowing Danny also struggled with acceptance at first too.
Inevitably, Bruce ended up watching him from the doorway. “Come to gloat over how uncontrolled I am?” he hissed as he sat down on the bed. “Or maybe you’re happy it’ll be easier to take me down if I decide to turn on you and the others.”
“Jason.”
“What? You’re probably sorry you even asked me to come here. I bring unnecessary problems with me wherever I go, and I doubt the others want me around.”
“Jason!” Instead of the neutrality the man tended to wear around his family members, his brow furrowed as a muscle moved in his jaw. He let some of the tension out of his shoulders before he sat down on the bed next to him. “I… I know our relationship hasn’t been great since you came back.” Bruce ignored his snort. “There was a time last night when I thought I’d lose you again. I… we… weren’t sure if you were alive or not when we pulled you out of that thing. Then Plasmius grabbed you…”
An uneasy feeling filled his chest, making him rub the area above his core. Was that simply from Bruce being candid for once? “Is that why you were so angry at Danny?”
“He was the only one who could have prevented that, and he wasn’t there.”
“Don’t be too hard on the kid. While I didn’t exactly enjoy that experience, I got out unscathed.”
An uneasy silence fell between them until Bruce ruffled his hair before standing. “I’m currently debating on whether or not we should have a zeta tube between Amity and Gotham. Danny probably has questions about himself which we could help with without it being leaked to the wrong hands, and I know you’d feel more comfortable if we at least offer him the chance for proper training.” He actually smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to adopt him, but he and his sister will be welcome at the manor if his situation at home changes.”
Jason nodded, uncertain how to reply. Danny did need support and training, and even though there was the chance he still might not accept it, the choice would be his to make. He also had a sinking suspicion Bruce wanted it this way so Danny would be available to help him adjust. It wasn’t a terrible idea, but he was rarely home for any length of time. He didn’t belong there. Not anymore anyways.
“Alfred misses you. Anyways, I think I hear the others.”
Jason hesitantly followed Bruce into the living room area of the suite just in time to watch Tim and Damian stumble through the door, fighting with each other. “Do I even want to know?”
“It’s just the usual,” Dick tiredly explained before he brightened up. “Look who we ran into!” He moved out of the way to show Danny, who hesitantly rubbed his neck. “Hope it’s okay we invited him.”
Bruce smirked at him for some reason before donning his more public persona and beckoned Danny in while Dick tried to separate their younger siblings. The key word was tried. Duke carefully moved around them while he and Cass put what smelled like Thai on the dining table.
“Should we do something about them?” the kid hesitantly asked as he watched the fight.
“Why? Means more food for us.”
“You better not touch my dinner, Todd.” Damian hissed as he turned his attention away from Tim and towards the table.
When Danny sent him a confused look, he just winked. Sometimes, it was just better to suggest Damian wouldn’t get something if he continued to be a brat instead of trying to directly stop him. If it worked, it wasn’t stupid.
Dinner was relatively fun. Since Danny had been so surprised again and again during the fight with Plasmius, they decided to share more stories with him. The kid listened in awe at some of their exploits, especially during the early years. Dick must have sensed how hard he could be on himself, so he was the one who started some of the stories about their mess-ups in the field, and the pranks they pulled on each other.
Some of the stories were new to him too. There was a lot he’d had missed over the years, and it just reminded him of how unsure he was regarding his place with the others.
“So, Jason, you never did explain how you broke your friend out of prison.”
He broke out of his thoughts to see Duke waiting for a response with a raised eyebrow. “Dressed as a priest, infiltrated the prison, and broke Arsenal out.” His fork slipped through his fingers as a momentary flicker of intangibility happened. He’d been hoping there wouldn’t be an issue during dinner. “Damn it.”
“Oh, no, you’re not getting away with not giving us details this time.” Dick poked him in the side a few times. “Spill.”
Sighing, more out of theatrics than actual annoyance, he launched into the story. Although Bruce frowned at him a few times, he didn’t openly admonish him for the more problematic parts of the story. The others laughed and groaned at various parts, especially when the breakout when south, and all bets were off.
“Um… So, I might have kind of caused a prison riot and breakout in the Ghost Zone once.”
Jason knew there was a reason he liked this kid.
After dinner, Danny was surprised to learn they’d be leaving in the morning. It almost seemed like he was hoping they’d stick around for a little longer, but Bruce hated leaving Gotham alone for too long. Too much could go wrong after all.
Catching the look Bruce gave him, he pulled Danny aside for a few moments and explained Bruce’s offer. When the kid didn’t immediately answer, Jason quickly made sure he knew that he didn’t have to agree if he didn’t want to. He just knew an offer like that would put him on edge with how Plasmius was. But Danny surprised him and agreed, saying it’d be nice get answers from a human who didn’t think he was some sort of evil obsessive entity.
Hesitantly, Jason also gave Danny the number to the phone that only his family, Roy, and Kori had access to. “Look, I might not always be able to answer immediately, but if you need me… I’ll do my best to respond.”
Danny’s response was to give him a hug. He really must have felt alone since the accident. Didn’t mean Jason had any idea what he was supposed to do so he awkwardly patted the kid’s head while glaring at his siblings who were silently teasing him for the display.
After Danny left, the night was surprisingly quiet for them. He did have a few more minor accidents involving his leg turning invisible for an hour which was unsettling to everyone, including him. But, he thankfully didn’t fall through a bed when he tried to get some shuteye so that was considered a win.
Unlike when they arrived, Vlad didn’t meet them though he did send a limo. Guess he wanted to demonstrate he was still outside of their reach, at least for now. It made his blood boil, but after Cass motioned to his eyes, he realized he couldn’t risk thinking about it for now. How in the world did Danny deal with all this shit?
He felt calmer when they were the plane and getting out of Amity. The feeling of the Pit, or more accurately the ambient ectoplasm, lessened, and his core seemed to settle. He hoped that meant there’d be fewer accidents.
About an hour into the flight, he got a text from Danny double checking it was the right number. Once it was confirmed, the kid surprised him by sending him two links. Turns out the two names Danny thought about calling him were the names of stars. For some reason, that gave him a warm feeling he wasn’t overly familiar with.
However, it had the unwanted effect of triggering him to change into his ghost form. “God fucking damnit,” he groaned. Now he had to figure out how to change back again. It was going to be a long flight home.
=== So, we are officially done this arc. Thank you all for coming on this weird ride with me. The only thing I knew I wanted going into this fic was an open ending so I can continue it later if the urge hit. Everything else has been a pleasant surprise. I do know I have some companion chapters to write from Tim's, Dick's, and Danny's POVs. Dunno about the others yet.
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americancowgirl19 · 3 years
Text
Eight Year
Summary: You’ve been missing for a long time but now you’re home and Dick isn’t about to let you distance yourself from him.
Warnings: Angst Fluff
Reader: Female Reader
Pairings: Dick Grayson x Reader
Word Count:
A/n: Act like Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian all grew up under the same roof with you for this one shot. Damian is still the only one that is Bruce’s biological child though.
Masterlist - Part Two (Old Times)
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If anyone asked where the best place in the Wayne Manor was, you’d tell them about the rooftop. You had to be extremely balanced and brave (or stupid) to be able to get to the peak. But once you got there, it would be the perfect place to see all of Gotham. If the wind was blowing right and you strained your ears to listen, you could even hear the hustle and bustle of the city despite being so far away. 
But that was when you were growing up. Everything’s different now. The roof was still an amazing place to be but it no longer held the peacefulness you craved as a child. Still, it was better than being in the middle of the family arguments occurring below you. Even then, you can’t completely escape it.
“I figured I’d find you up here,” 
You don’t even have to turn your head to know who was walking across the roof toward you with expert balance. The roof put distance between you and your other brothers except Dick. While they didn’t mind jumping from one building to another with Batman, the roof of Wayne manor was different. You had claimed it as your own and raised hell if anyone bothered you. Anyone other than Dick at least. You always had a soft spot for him.
“Shouldn’t you be in Bludhaven?” You ask, averting your gaze from the skyline of Gotham to the slanted shingles on the roof.
“Well, when you see on the news that Y/n Y/l/n came home for the first time in eight years you make a special trip,” Dick says, sitting in the spot he had claimed 15 years ago.
“You shouldn’t have wasted your time,” You mutter.
“Hey,” He lightly scolds. “You’re not a waste of time,” He tells you, his voice a little softer. You risk a glance at him. He gives you a small smile. You force one in return before looking down as it fades.
“Did I ever... hurt you?” You ask, your jaw clenching the instant the question is out in an attempt to hold yourself together.
“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself.” Dick states, shaking his head. “Nothing you did was you,”
“But it was, Dick.” You snap, looking at him. “Every kill, every fight, every injury was because of me. I was the one who did that, no one else.”
“Do you even remember what happened?” Dick asks, raising his eyebrows at you. “Remember what they forced you to do?” You hold his gaze before looking down. “It wasn’t you fault,” Dick says slowly trying to emphasize his point. “You didn’t have control over yourself, you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“I hate that I can’t remember,” You whisper. “Eight years of my life and nothing. All I remember is going to that party with you,” A small smile came onto your lips. “I convinced you to dance with me,”
“We danced all night,” Dick whispers, a smile of his own on his lips. It only lasts a few seconds before it fades. “I leave you for two minutes and you just... disappear,” You frown your eyebrows not liking the sound of his voice.
“You blame yourself? Dick...” You whisper, your shoulder deflating.
“We look after each other,” He says, looking at you. “It’s what we do. You have my back and I have yours, always. But the one time you actually need me and I’m in the kitchen doing a beer bong.” He growls, glaring at his fidgeting hands.
You push back the tears as your arms wrap around his arm. You hug his bicep and rest your head on his shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath and kisses the top of your head.
“I missed you so goddamn much,” Dick whispers, leaning against you. His head leaning on yours, his nose buried in your hair. Your eyes closed as you focus on him. You ignore the tear falling down your face.
Eight years ago you had been kidnapped by a group that you have no recollection of. They had you under their complete control. Not only did they kidnap you and turn your mind into mush, they experimented on you. They wanted to make you strong enough, powerful enough to be able to take down the Justice League and everyone associated with them.
They succeeded, sort of. While you couldn’t take down the entire Justice League, you were considerably stronger than you had been. They had a serum that changed your DNA. You had the enhancement and strength of Superman, the speed of Flash, and the power of Zatanna.
Bruce had an entire file on you. He had recordings of the experiments you went through that your captors had taken and notes on everything you did. One night when everyone was asleep or out patrolling the city, you looked through the file.
You don’t remember it but you had been the reason behind so many deaths. So many good people, sidekicks and full fledged League members fell by your hand. You didn’t know how you could show your face around anybody knowing what you had done.
You felt touched that your family had spent the last eight years searching for you and trying to find a way to get you back. Even after everything you had done, they never gave up on you. They wanted you back, they wanted to help you become yourself again.
Yes, you’re home now. Yes, you’re in control of your actions now. No, you don’t feel like you’re back to yourself again. Not even close.
Before you were kidnapped, you were the original Batgirl. You and Dick had been trained at the same time. You both took up the mantle as Batman’s sidekick at the same time. You did everything together.
So, when Dick transitioned to Nightwing you hung up your cape to become Nightshade. You both thought it was clever with a side of corny at the time which is the exact reason why you took a name so similar to his. Since you were no longer Batman’s sidekicks, you had free range to become your own persons. 
With Jason as Batman’s new Robin, Gotham was becoming crowded. Dick suggested Bludhaven and you followed him. You were there for three years before you were taken. Your absence happened a month before Jason’s death.
You family had no idea how they survived two tragedies so close to each other. 
Almost a year later a mysterious assassin emerges out of nowhere. It took them a while to figure out that it was you. When your identity was revealed, the decision on what to do with you split the League. 
Half the League wanted to get revenge for what you had done by death or isolation in an inescapable prison off world. The other half wanted to save and rehabilitate you. 
Batman, Nightwing, and Robin (Tim) were strong advocates of saving you. In fact it had been brought up more than once that if anyone tried to kill you or take you off world they would have to personally deal with them, mainly Dick.
Dick had just found out that you were alive, he had hoped that you were but now he knew. Now that he knew you were alive, no matter what you did, he was going to get you back and damn anybody who got in his way.
They knew off the bat that you weren’t in control of your actions thus making you innocent in their eyes. But not everybody believed you to be innocent. But as Dick told anybody who lobbied against you, nobody was killing you or taking you away while he was around.
It wasn’t until Red Hood’s identity was revealed as Jason did they finally have a chance at bringing you home. Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin (Dick), Damian (a couple of months before he would take up the Robin suit), and Superboy all went up against you one night.
This wasn’t the first time Nightwing, Robin and Damian had tried to get you but with Red Hood and Superboy on their side they became victorious. Red Hood gave them that extra person while Superboy was more equipped to handle your speed and strength.
You were taken to the watchtower. You stayed there for a long time and weren’t allowed to socialize until you had control of your mind back. About a week ago you were released to Batman. 
A couple of days ago the media caught word that Bruce Wayne’s long lost daughter has finally returned home which prompted Dick to come back to Gotham.
But while you are home with your family you can’t help but feel like an outsider. Since you’re return you feel as if there’s this wall between you and them. Bruce wasn’t completely sure how to act around you. Tim tried but you just couldn’t connect with him. Even Damian, the all confident biological kid of Bruce Wayne, felt awkward around you despite his relief that you were home. You haven’t seen Jason since you returned home but since your arrival to Gotham has been broadcasted you knew it wouldn’t be long until you two met up.
“I’m glad you’re here,” You whisper, snuggling into him more. 
“Where else would I be?” He mutters. You look up, your eyes meeting his. “My place will always be by your side,” He reassures you.
“Dick... I’m not the same person I was, ok?” You whisper. “I’m still adjusting and-” Dick’s lips meet yours before you can finish. You lean into him, your hand touching the side of his face.
“You’re it for me, pretty girl,” Dick whispers, smiling softly. “You’ve been mine since we were kids and I’m not giving you up just because you’re stronger, faster and weirder than me now,” He winks at you. You smile widely and laugh quietly.
“I thought after eight years-”
“No,” Dick whispers, shaking his head. “It’ll only ever be you, sweetheart. Only you,” You smile, snuggling into him.
“Master Grayson, Ms. Y/l/n,” Alfred hollers from the ground. You both look down. “Dinner is served,”
“Thank you, Alfred,” You replied loud enough for him to hear. Alfred nods and reenters the house. You sigh looking at Dick.
“Come on, you know how Alfred gets if he has to say things twice,” Dick says standing up. You take his hand and he pulls you to him. “You and me, just like it has been since we were 12. That hasn’t changed,” You grin, balancing yourself carefully as you drape your arms around his neck.
“Well, I wasn’t exactly kissing you when we were 12,” Dick smirks, holding your hips.
“Relationships evolve,” He shrugs. You smile, staring into his eyes.
“You make the world quiet, Dick Grayson.” You whisper to him. “You keep my mind straight,”
“You do that yourself... I just remind you to smile and relax very so often,” He tells you.
“I love you,” You whisper, pressing your lips against his.
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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years
Text
Phantom Children Ch. 8
What's this? An update! Massive thanks to my betas for helping me get through this chapter <3
In Which: A few answers are given to the family and Danny is rudely awoken
[Side note: If you wanna know the general ages of the batfam, its listed in the AO3 version. I also talk about katanas in the end notes ^-^]
AO3 | Prologue | 7 | [ 8 ] | 9 DAMIAN INFORMED TODD—and Drake when he arrived on his bike sometime later on—that the boy whose face is plastered across the monitor was neither a picture of himself nor of Father.
Drake took one glance at the monitor and sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this day was getting better.”
“What, did that café on 5th finally let customers supersize their drink?”
“God that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Drake sighed wistfully. “Nah, but I did get a lead on where some of that stolen Cadmus tech might’ve ended up. I was gonna spend the night following up on it, but I guess we have to deal with,” he gestured to the monitor, “whatever this is.”
Todd leaned against the edge of the computer, arms crossed over the red bat insignia on his chest. “What are we dealing with this time, brat? A clone? An alternate universe counterpart? Magic shenanigans?”
Maybe. Perhaps. All of those were perfectly valid conclusions for the enigma that was Daniel James Fenton. (Why Fenton and not al Ghul? Or even Wayne?)
Damian, too, was a genetic experiment; a ‘test tube baby’ as Drake put it at times. Damian was born for greatness, created to be perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect assassin. The perfect heir. Was this boy—Daniel—like him as well?
A failed one, then. Perhaps the precursor to Damian’s own existence. But that would not explain why the boy was allowed to exist for so long. His grandfather demanded perfection, especially from those of his own blood. If the boy was a failure, he would have been eliminated immediately, not sent to live with some eccentric scientists in the Midwest.
Damian was not naïve enough to think that his mother and grandfather did not keep secrets from him. On the contrary, he expected it. The League of Shadows dealt in secrets as often as it did in death. Certain information was worth its weight in gold, whether it was given or buried away.
But he could not help the sharp pang in his chest. A lightning strike, quick and electrifying at the notion that they kept secrets about their family from him.
His father’s face flashed in his mind. The shock turned into a slow, dawning horror. That flicker of light, of recognition, as he scrutinized the contents of the flash drive and cross-referenced it with a public database.
And grief.
Damian recognized the grief.
Alfred, too, nearly dropped his tray of fresh-baked cookies when he stepped in front of the monitor. His usual unflappable demeanor was momentarily broken at his father’s whispered “Sixteen years. Alfred— he’s sixteen years old.”
His father knew of the boy. He was allowed to know of Daniel when he was not allowed to know about Damian.
------
Grayson returned to the cave with a distinct lack of energy in his step. His mask dangled off the tips of his fingers, chin angled downwards and covered largely by his hand. For a split second, their eyes met. Grayson shifted his gaze away, scratching the back of his neck. Father told him, then. Damian wondered how much Father revealed to his favorite son.
Damian clucked his tongue and buried himself deeper into the chair, arms crossed and pointedly looking away. If it was not for his accursed ankle, he’d have headed out to the training ring to take his frustrations out on the dummies.
“Oh, thank god you’re here, Dickface. Damian’s completely out of it.”
Damian shot him a look. “Shut up, Todd.”
“Leave him alone, Jay. Is Tim back yet?”
Drake emerged from the changing room in a dark green shirt, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He took one long sip before exhaling. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“O-kay…” He pressed his hands together, mouth thinned into a grim line. “Uh, hey Tim, glad to see you back safe. Bruce is coming down soon to explain some things.” He let out a deep sigh, carding a hand through his hair. “This kind of thing would probably be better with the girls around, but I—god, I don’t know.”
Todd raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know whether to call Steph and Cass in Hong Kong, or don’t know what’s going on?”
“Yes.”
------
When Father arrived, Pennyworth following dutifully behind him, it was with an aching slowness in his gait. His steps measured and precise, preternaturally quiet as he made his way to stand by Damian’s chair. Damian sat up straighter, shoulders squared and back an inch away from the backrest. The rest, even Todd, stood at attention; an ingrained habit among Robins and an amusing instinct even among the senior heroes of the Justice League when it came to facing the Batman.
His father kept a steady hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian, shamefully, leaned into the touch; his head inclined towards his father’s hand so much so that he could feel the ends of his hair being pushed up slightly as he brushed against his father’s forearm.
He spoke with his usual monotone, as if he was heading a Justice League meeting as opposed to unveiling the secrets surrounding that boy. He brought forward the few photos they obtained from the flash drive. “A few weeks ago, we were alerted of suspicious movement from the League of Shadows in Amity Park, Illinois. Their objectives are, as of now, unclear, though it appears to be tied to the death of Amity Park resident, Daniel Fenton.”
One photo was a standard ID picture people get for their driver’s license, the lighting deliberately horrible so that any attempt to look decent would always end in failure. Another photo was a little better; a candid scene of him chatting with two others his age, a Caucasian girl in gothic-style clothes and an African-American holding a sleek, but still very outdated PDA. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hand reaching up to his face to stifle a laugh. There were other photos like this, some candid, others posed. At the forefront of each, a boy that looked too much like his father, too much like Damian.
His father glanced at the photos. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, he fixed them on some distant stalactite in the Cave. “Around six months ago, Daniel was pronounced dead in a vehicular accident. A body was present, but according to police reports, he was identified via his driver’s license as opposed to any kind of DNA profiling.” He leaned over Damian’s chair to pull up a profile of Masters. “Our source—Vladimir Masters, mayor of Amity and a friend of the Fenton family—indicated his belief that Daniel is actually alive. I am inclined to agree.”
“He’s your son, isn’t he,” Drake said, more of a statement than a question.
Father gave a curt nod. “I cannot say for certain until I can perform a DNA test, but I highly suspect that to be the case.”
“First the demon spawn, now this. Great.” Todd made a hand motion towards the screen. “You know, Bruce, not knowing you have a kid once might be a coincidence, but twice? How do you do that?”
“As of three hours ago, I was still under the impression that my son never made it to term.”
“What?”
“Over sixteen years ago I was involved in a mission that put Ra’s and I on the same side. During that time, Talia and I entered a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. Though initially ecstatic, she eventually led me to believe she miscarried the child and pushed me away. For what ends, I do not know, but trust me Jason, if I knew—” He paused, the hand that was not on Damian’s shoulder curled into a tight fist.
Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why she hid it from me then doesn’t matter. Why Talia wants him back now is important. Judging from Daniel’s records, he was adopted into the Fenton family as an infant and has since lived a seemingly normal life as a civilian. His adoptive parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are brilliant scientists and engineers focused on the field of paranormal studies. Eccentricities aside, they have zero connections to the League of Assassins or any other concerning parties.”
“So why now?” Dick asked, shifting his concerned gaze from Bruce to the static picture of Danny’s tired smile. “Why, after all this time, decide that now would be the best time to recover him?”
------
Danny’s experienced plenty of rude awakenings before, but waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to avoid his kidnapper-slash-assassin-slash-biological-mom launching a surprise attack takes the fucking cake. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but thank god for all those late night ghost attacks that conditioned him to be a light sleeper. And, of course, the League’s insistence that everyone be in optimal condition regardless of how little sleep you actually got.
Danny kicked Talia off of him, ripping his blanket away before scrambling to his feet. Seriously, if the universe decided to spontaneously give him powers again, he’d really like an upgrade to his ghost senses, please and thank you. Something that works on humans and not just ghosts. Like spidey-senses. He’d really, really like some spidey-senses.
“Your reaction times have improved considerably,” Talia said.
He eyed the katana sheathed beside his bedroll. “Thanks. Who could have guessed that constantly challenging someone to a spar in the unholy hours of morning would make them paranoid to sleep too much? Really, how am I supposed to grow taller at this rate? ” If he could just get it--
She smiled, taking a step forward. “Prepare yourself.”
“Heh.” Danny stepped further away from Talia, keeping his back to the mouth of the cave. One hand stretched in front of him and the other, coated in a green light, was kept hidden behind his back. “Am I actually gonna get some answers today?”
“Let us make it interesting. Last 10 minutes against me and I shall tell you more about your brother.” Talia twirled her blade. “If you happen to draw blood, you may ask any one thing of me.”
“Anything?”
“Within reason.”
His face caught between a grimace and a smile. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but if he had to be awake, then he’d better make the most of it. “Deal.”
Talia’s smile dropped. She veered her body to the right, barely dodging the streak of bright green that whizzed from behind her. The ectoplasmic energy that surrounded the katana bled away as the handle connected with Danny’s outstretched hand.
She quickly glanced back at Danny’s bedding. Beside it lay an empty sheath. “You have telekinesis?”
He shrugged. “It comes and goes.” Yeah, no way was Danny gonna admit that seven-out-of-ten-times he forgot that he had telekinesis. Besides, that shit was hard to do when he wasn’t Phantom.
“A surprise attack from behind is a sound strategy, Daniel. Though it’ll take a lot more than that to harm me.”
Danny pointed to the side of his cheek. “Are you sure about that?”
Talia frowned. She reached up to her face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek and came away with a thin streak of blood.
Danny grinned, pointing his blade at his opponent. “First blood goes to me.”
------
Fact: most fights don’t last long. An average street fight could last anywhere between 25 to 40 seconds, and sword fights rarely last over a minute. Like Talia said, the goal of a fight was to end it with as few injuries to oneself as possible. Humans, even the most skilled ones, can rarely last long in a fight. Prolonged combat is suicide; it makes you tired, makes your muscles heavy. It’s nothing like what Hollywood would have you believe.
Even with Danny’s own enhanced stamina and Talia holding back, he couldn’t last a full ten-minute spar. If Talia didn’t finish him within twenty-five seconds, then he’d fall by his own human limitations.
But the goal wasn’t to spar continuously for ten minutes.
He only had to last that long.
Danny sprinted out of the cave. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, a thin line of deep orange breaking apart the wide expanse of blue-black sky above. He couldn’t see shit; great news since that meant there’s a good chance Talia couldn’t either, but that doesn’t fix the fact that he can’t see.
Nearly stumbling on the ice, Danny veered to the left. The edges of the lake stopped at towering rocks twice Danny’s height, leaving little room for cover. Though if he remembered correctly, there should be a few crevices here and there to hide in.
“You’ll have to be faster than that, Daniel.”
Shit—
Danny stopped. He brought his sword up to parry Talia’s strike and twisted away, putting distance between them.
Well, so much for just avoiding her for 10 minutes.
He adjusted his grip, keeping his sword steady and eyes trained on Talia as they circled each other. Danny lunged with an overhead strike. Talia used one hand to block the downswing by gripping his wrists. She thrust her sword forward, the tip harshly poking Danny’s abdomen.
“Less than three minutes.” Talia let his wrist go, Danny’s arms slumping to his sides.
He sighed as he sheathed his sword. “Damn, I thought I’d last longer than that.”
“You made a good effort,” Talia assured him. “Putting as much distance between us at the beginning was a good strategy. You recognized the win conditions immediately and attempted a battle of attrition.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very proud of you habibi, especially as you managed to draw first blood.”
A warmth grew in Danny’s stomach at the words, heating his cheeks. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, honestly.”
“It was clever; half a second later and you might have even killed me. You are an al Ghul through and through” She brushed his hair out of his face. “What would you like as your prize, then?”
Danny’s heart clenched. He frowned, dropping his arm to his side. If I was such an al Ghul, then why didn’t you keep me? The question lodged itself in his throat, stifling his thoughts. It was something he’d been wondering for a while, actually, in the moments of solitude he had at the compound. Talia, during their training, would always remark at his potential. How talented he was, how adaptable he was, how much greater he would have been if he had been trained at a younger age.
Well then, why wasn’t he? Why did she give him up?
But each time he tried to ask, his tongue would turn to lead and the moment would pass, the question still left unsaid and simmering at the back of his mind. A Pandora’s Box that held none of the world’s evil but all of Danny’s possible shortcomings.
He could ask the question now.
He could.
He didn’t.
“Why did you take me?”
Talia tilted her head. “It is because you’re my son.”
“No. Not that. It has to be something more than that. You had sixteen years to come back for me—or, hell, you could have just never left me.” His breath hitched, fingers mussing his hair and hiding his eyes. “Why else did you take me?”
“It is true that there was more than one reason why we decided to retrieve you from Amity Park. One of which is because you are my son and an heir of the Demon’s Head.” Talia stilled. The dark skies of dawn made it impossible for him to read her. “The second reason was to protect you.”
“You kidnapped me…to protect me?”
“Knowledge of the ghosts of Amity have spread through the more insidious parts of the world. There are many out there who would pay exorbitant fees to study one of you or to use you.”
Use him? What did she mean by—
Oh.
Ghosts—Amity Park’s brand of ghosts—were a new element that the world had to contend with. Amity Park might have a crime rate of zero but that wasn’t the case everywhere else. Theft, assault, murder; the world was rampant with crimes and criminals clawing their way to the very top. Having ghosts, even ones with the most basic powerset, would be a huge advantage.
“There’s no way that would work,” Danny insisted. “Most ghosts just want to be left alone, and the ones that want to wreak havoc would never work with humans. The only reason they even work with halfas like me at times is because they still consider us as ghosts.”
“If my sources are to be believed, ghosts might not even get a choice.”
Danny’s blood curdled in his veins.
No.
Someone’s found a way to control ghosts.
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lifewithdavefarts · 3 years
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DaveFarts - Episode 13 “When She Finally Leaves” [Episode List] Dana spends the whole day at Dave’s place. When the girl leaves, Tim, who’s now Dave’s roommate, finds out how much gas a man can hold in just to not look gross in front of a girl.
When She Finally Leaves
In the last few weeks I’ve been spending more and more nights at Dave’s place, whether because I needed a place to work, write my essays, or simply to spend some quality time watching bad films and drinking beer. It was Dave himself to ask me to “marry him” (as he jokingly put it), basically becoming official roommates, which also meant dividing our tasks and obviously splitting the rent.
And honestly we were having a great time. We both had jobs, fortunately, which were not much but they did pay taxes for now and it was overall a great experience. Friend or not, Dave is an excellent roommate, being pretty good at cooking and organising chores; the same could be said for me actually, though in some cases we have our own preferences; for example Dave prefers cooking (the fact that I’m bad at it it’s purely coincidental) so we agreed I’ll be the one doing the dishes.
We also had our buds crashing over what is now *our* place a couple of times, which resulted in more bad films and beer, or even nerd stuff such as gaming together. Of course however, the person who most often came over is obviously Dana, Dave’s girlfriend. She’s pretty cool though we don’t really hang out with her when Dave’s not around, though as I said she’s pretty easy-going.
Tonight we’ve been watching a trash movie. Yes, the three of us. Don’t worry, I was a welcome addition today. Dave would usually just tell me to leave for a few hours if sex was on the table (sometimes literally on the table, the one where we eat our food…) as we respect each others enough to just be straightforward whenever we needed some privacy. Tonight however it was just chilling like three friends hanging out together (knowing however that Dave would just give me a signal should things get more heated up you know).
We were in the living room. I was on an armchair, working on my laptop, despite the poor wi-fi. On the long wide couch beside me, Dave and Dana chilling and watching the movie with more attention than me, my bud’s left arm around his girlfriend, sometimes making remarks on how bad it was. We all had a can of beer, because of course we did.
The couple brought some takeouts for dinner, some fast-food a few blocks from here (Dana’s idea, actually, which we were both thankful for). Dave, chilling next to Dana, was wearing his signature casual outfit: a grey shirt and pair of dark blue loose jeans, details that my gay-ass eyes immediately noticed and more than once stared at.
“Oh wow the helicopter just blew up I’m speechless.” Dave said, sarcastically.
“A Subversive Masterpiece: that’s what they were going for when they wrote this.” Dana added, and they both chuckled.
I also did my fair share of sarcastic remarks though work got most of my attention, even though it was nothing urgent, just me trying to get some stuff done as fast as possible.
“Did the shark just wink at him?” my bro commented.
“They’re best friends now.��� his girlfriend explained. What a great film.
After 15 more minutes the movie ended with the three of us clapping at a shot of a man and a shark exchanging a look of gratitude to each other, as the Sun set into the never-ending ocean. Drugs played a big role into the making of this move I’m 100% sure.
“Well, that was enlightening, but I gotta head back home. The Uber’s almost here.” Dana said, as she got up and reached for her purse and some other stuff.
“You’re really sure about that? Come on, stay here for the night.” Dave suggested. “I taught Tim to play dead. We can throw food at him.” he then joked.
“I can also bring you the newspaper upstairs, tomorrow morning.” I played along.
Dana chuckled in response. “I’m sure you’ll win the next contest you two, but I gotta wake up super early tomorrow.”
The couple walked towards the front door. The entrance was next to the living room, a few steps behind the couch. Dave and I sometimes darkly joked that any assassin could easily ambush us because whenever we’re on the couch anyone could sneak into the house behind us, with enough care (we then prefer to drink about it).
“Call me when you get home.” Dave said and the two shared a quick kiss.
In the meantime I moved on the bigger (and more comfortable) couch, more or less in Dana’s spot, as I also have better wi-fi reception there. I left my laptop on the small table in front of me because apparently all of my laptops have to be shitty and take some time to even the most basic stuff. As I inspected the wi-fi icon flashing on the screen, I heard Dave shutting the door and walking back to the couch. After a few steps his tall figure was already towering over me.
“Yeah the reception is pretty bad lately.” he commented, and then collapsed next to me.
Only a few seconds and he already had that well-known smirk drawn on his face; he then quickly adjusted his position. He completely laid down, extended his demin-clad legs, with his left one resting on the back of the couch, ending right behind my neck. In a moment, Dave ended up showing off his loose, almost-sagging jeans-clad ass directly next to me, as his legs trapped me into a gentle yet strong grip. Seeing both that “wall” made of jeans and my bro’s smirk at the same time was a sight I never truly got used to. He was just lying there, next to me, with his ass pointed at me, as if it was one big prank, even though he knew exactly how much I enjoyed that.
“Bro you’re ready?” he asked, still sporting that smirk.
When even Dave goes as far as asking me if I’m ready, then I knew that the fart was going to be gargantuan. And I realized why: Dana has been with us and my bro the entire day, so it’s possible that Dave just held all of his gas in for hours. We all experienced this, then when the girl leaves, men get to “relax”. Other than that, Dave had tons of beer and junk food. I stared at that denim butt, for the first time almost scared of what my bud was capable of; I knew a fart was coming, and I knew it was going to be big.
But what Dave said next really once again confirmed how chill he is around me.
“Believe me: you might want to get closer for this one.” he said, laughing a bit.
He sported weirdly reassuring smile, Dave’s millionth attempt at saying “It’s ok, Tim.” as he probably noticed now nervous I became when he assumed that pose.
The teasing bastard then went full bully on me and simply reached for my head with his long right arm and gently pulled me down, as if I was bowing to that still silent denim-clad ass. I just heard him laugh like an idiot, as it usually happens. Despite my head being down and in front of that ass, I could still see Dave’s face and that smirk. He raised his eyebrows and half-closed his eyes as he started pushing, but he didn’t need to put all that effort into ripping that blast.
It’s like the fart was barely contained in the first place: it immediately exploded with a loud sound right into my face. Dave closed his eyes and kept his smirk as the blast probably surprised him as well. It was low-pitched and dry, a completely natural gas-eruption that sounded like an engine. The stench was unbearable, a mixture of beer and junk food, surprise to no one.
While farting, Dave adjusted his position as bit, spreading his legs bit more, with my face getting almost planted into that denim-clad butt as he effortlessly kept ripping that immense flatulence. Hours and hours of gas being erupted as if I was in front of a dormant volcano that just woke up. And I feared that “hours” was what he was going for ‘cause after 20 seconds the fart didn’t even lose power.
Dave still had this smirk drawn on his face and occasionally stared down at me as he completely destroyed my face and nose with his incredible farting skills, skills that constantly let me speechless, fetish or not. He was the fart master, a showoff with a manly talent that I could only bow to and endure in the hop-
“Sorry, I forgot my house keys.”
The fart immediately stopped and it all went silent: It was Dana.
Dave turned his head to his girlfriend, greeting her with the stupidest smile you can think of.
“Oh stay there no worries, they’re right here.” I heard Dana say as she reached for keys, probably hanging right next to the door, my face still almost planted in my friend’s denim ass. That felt surreal.
I completely froze (not that I could move) but I knew that she couldn’t see me (just like I couldn’t see her) as I was lying down. All she could see from where she was standing was Dave’s head and his right leg resting on the back of the couch, since the entrance was behind our couch.
I was terrified, while Dave was doing his best not laugh like an idiot.
“What’s so funny?” Dana asked, laughing a bit herself, definitely noticing her boyfriend being weird.
My teasing bro quickly glanced down at me, almost losing it (and still holding holding the fart in, which didn’t stop the smell from burning my nostrils).
“N-nothing’” he stuttered. That’s it, he was gonna laugh like an idiot.
“Okay” I heard Dana, not really convinced of the boyfriend’s answer though.
There was a moment of awkward silence and then we heard a car honk, thank goodness.
“Oh… it’s my Uber. Bye!” the girl said, quickly leaving the house and shutting the door behind her.
Another moment of silence followed, Dave still staring at the entrance. I was shaking, I was legitimately scared that someone was gonna find out, which was weird given the hotness I was experiencing in that moment, even without the fart being ripped.
“Ok… where were we?” Dave asked, turning back to me, with a smirk. “Oh yeah!”
And he effortlessly resumed farting, just as loud, proud and powerful as it was before the interruption, directly into my face. The terror I experienced moments before was blown away by that incredibly blast and me being rock-hard, as it usually happens when Dave showoffs his gassy talent around me, or on me.
Dozens of seconds passed and at this point Dave just played along. He nodded at me, faking a serious expression, as if he was listening to something actually interesting instead of his own loud fart still going on strong; after about ten more seconds he checked the time on his wrist-watch and acted surprised, then stared down at me as if he wanted to say “damn that is long!”. We both however actually lost the track of time and he simply relaxed as if I wasn’t even in front of his ass, all while the fart was still being blasted in my face.
Dave then reached for my head again and gently pushed it inches closer to his roaring ass, and I felt the vibrations of his rip all over my face: it was literally an earthquake.
How long was it lasting? More than 1 minute perhaps? How much gas can a man hold in? Dave certainly was pushing for a record. All I knew is that I felt privileged witnessing that, even though I was beyond being a mere witness since no particle of gas missed my eyes and nostrils.
However (finally, actually), the fart seemingly started to lose power, the once-continuous sound starting to “stutter” and turning more into a fast series of loud farts, fired back-to-back. The show (because that’s what it was: a show) ended with a loud, 5 seconds blast, and Dave’s laughter.
I slowly got up, sweaty, my nose burning, with a startled look to which my bro reacted with another immature cackle. I was now sitting next to him as I was before, and looked back at my bud, who in the meantime re-adjusted his pose. He was still lying down, still kind of showing off his loose-sagging ass, but in a less “menacing” way: now he was just chilling.
“When’s Dana coming over again?” I joked. I mustered all the courage I had left to say that. I was impressed by the fact that I could still speak considering that all of my blood probably flooded my boner at that point.
Dave laughed at that lame joke, thank goodness. “As if I need Dana to blast you like this.”
He raised one leg, again showing off his sagging denim ass in my direction. He quickly sucked some air in and after a few moments and weird noises a loud 6 seconds fart erupted. For his standards, that’s basically a weak one.
My friend just casually joking and bragging about facefarting me and then farting on command to prove it made me lose it, as I felt my boner… dampening. He didn’t notice it but he knew that I had a hard-on, that’s for sure.
I didn’t want to just rush into the bathroom so I just stared at my laptop, still on the table, in front of me: the wi-fi signal was stronger than ever. I jokingly like to think that Dave’s blast was so powerful it actually influenced the signal somehow and improved it.
I turned to my bud, still lying on his side of the couch, just checking his phone and being… casually hot.
“Thanks man.” I said, not for the wi-fi though.
He lowered his phone, revealing a blank reaction “Really?” he said, rolling his eyes, with a bored expression. “Stop being cringe and do the dishes.”
Fuck, I totally forgot about those. We had takeout food but we still used some of our dishes. I immediately got up and rushed to the kitchen, hoping that Dave was distracted by his phone enough to not notice by boner through my sweatpants.
Once in the kitchen, a place that wasn’t tainted by Dave’s gas, my nostrils could still feel my bro’s fart-stench. That’s how soaked up in his gas I was. Even my ears needed some time to adjust to the silence, now that I didn’t have a deafening fart being ripped right into my skull. 
And I just knew that this wasn’t the last time this was gonna happen. I’m Dave’s roommate, and being roomies means we have to divide our tasks: he’s the farter, I’m the sniffer.
End of Episode 13
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daringyounggrayson · 3 years
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Could you do 25 or 30 for Bruce and Dick? I’d really like for you to make Bruce say those words to his son!
I think we would all like to see that! oh, and for this one, I’m mixing things up: Bruce took Dick in as his ward but never went on to adopt him. 
25: “You know I love you, right?”
30: “I love you, okay? I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”
AO3
"Mr. Wayne!” a photographer calls, waving his arm toward their small group as they try to make their way inside. “A picture of you and your sons, if you wouldn’t mind?” 
“Sure!” 
On cue, the four of them turn toward the camera with easy smiles. 
“Oh, sorry sir.” The photographer directs this at Dick. “Could I just get his sons for this shot?”
Dick doesn’t blame the reporter, honestly. He was probably assigned to get pictures of the Waynes, and when you google the Waynes, Dick’s name doesn’t pop-up—at least, not under family. And it makes sense; he was never adopted, so he’s legally not part of the Wayne family. Dick’s relation is just a small, unimportant detail. And to outsiders, especially people outside of Gotham or people who simply don’t keep up with Wayne Family News, Dick looks like more of a family friend, if anything. 
It’s an honest mistake, and Dick doesn’t take it personally. Unfortunately, that doesn't make it any less awkward. 
Dick glances at Bruce, trying to decide what to do. This evening will be long enough as it is, and if Bruce would rather let it go and get through the photos as quickly as possible, Dick wouldn't blame him. And it’s not like Dick needs his face on another magazine. 
Bruce tightens his hold on Dick’s shoulder, decision made.
“If you don’t mind,” Bruce pipes up with a charming voice, “I would like Richard to be in the photo. I did raise him for a decade, after all.” Bruce laughs to ease the tension, and Dick joins him to tell the photographer it’s okay.
The photographer’s eyes go wide, face going slightly pink. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. I, er, here—” he holds the camera up “—smile!” The camera flashes twice. “Perfect. Have a nice evening!” And then the photographer is gone.
“I think I’m going to run ahead,” Dick says. “Find me when you can.”
“Dick, you don't—”
“It’s fine, B. Seriously.” Dick grins.
Bruce frowns. 
Dick shrugs and ducks away from his group, heading toward the building. He ignores the flashing of cameras and calls from the various photographers, and he ignores the three pairs of eyes that dig into his back as he goes.
oOo
All in all, the party was uneventful and the four of them excused themselves early after receiving an alert that Scarecrow had been spotted on the other side of town. If Scarecrow hadn’t been spotted terrorizing civilians with fear gas, Dick might’ve been able to enjoy the free ticket out of the gala.
“Shit,” Tim mutters.
“What?” Dick asks, not taking his eyes off of Scarecrow.
“Forgot to grab a new rebreather. I still have the busted one from the other night.”
Dick pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath before grabbing his own rebreather. “Here.”
Tim pushes it back toward him, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I messed up; I can deal with the consequences.”
“I’m offering you the solution,” Dick insists, pushing back. “We don’t have time to argue. Take the rebreather so we can move in.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, I don’t need you to protect me like I’m,” Tim looks away, down, “like I’m Robin. Besides, I think we both know that I’ll be able to handle fear gas better than you.”
Dick clenches his jaw, then relaxes it. Not the time. “Maybe, but I’m in charge right now. So: take the rebreather or you’re playing look-out for the rest of the night.”
Tim’s head shoots up, eyes scanning Dick to see how serious he is. Tim takes the rebreather, shoving it into his belt. “Happy?”
“Thrilled. Let’s go.”
oOo
If anyone had to get gassed, Dick’s glad it was him. Even though he has an objectively bad reaction and treatment isn’t always effective, he has more experience and can deal with it better than his siblings. During and after. On top of that, Tim was and continues to be his responsibility; his top priority was getting Tim home safe. From those perspectives, it was logical for Dick to take the lungful of fear toxin.
Then there’s the selfish, probably more powerful perspective: Dick can’t stand seeing Tim on fear gas. The screaming, the tears, the things he says, the inability to comfort him and take the pain away. It’s awful to see once, and Dick’s seen it countless times, in real life and in nightmares. He’d do anything to avoid it—for Tim’s sake and, when Dick’s being honest, his own. He knows his family probably feels the same way about him, but that just means they’d act out of selfishness too. 
Tonight, Dick had more say, so Tim got the rebreather and Dick got more than a lungful of gas.
“Sorry again,” Tim mumbles, passing Dick a fresh ice pack. “About the rebreather.”
Dick takes the ice pack and presses it against his right shoulder, which he agitated at some point during their fight with Scarecrow. “’S fine. Knowing you, you’ll triple check next time to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“No kidding,” Tim mumbles, running a hand through his hair. He stifles a yawn. “Need anything else?”
“Nah.” Dick starts reciting pi in his head, trying to drown out the voices he knows aren’t real. “Get some sleep. And good work tonight.”
Even with the gassing, he and Tim were able to take down Scarecrow fairly easily. It’s nice to know that the two of them can still work well together, even when the circumstances aren’t entirely ideal.
“Thanks, you too.” Tim bounces on the balls of his feet and fails to stifle another yawn. This time, Dick yawns too. “You don’t want company or anything?”
“I’m good. Besides, I’ll probably just try to sleep until Alfred is happy with the blood work.”
Tim shrugs and takes a few steps backward. “If you change your mind.”
“Night, Timmers.”
“Night.” Tim turns around and makes his exit.
Dick throws his good arm over his eyes and tries to sleep.
oOo
Unconsciousness comes in waves, broken by adrenaline spikes and Alfred or Bruce checking on him. But no matter his consciousness status, Dick’s reality is shadowed and manipulated by voices and figures, hallucinations and lies that feel like absolute truths. It’s hard to tell the difference between sleep and wakefulness, but the shaking is a good tell. He doesn’t usually shake in his nightmares.
He's in his room, lying in his bed and shaking. He doesn’t remember coming here, but that doesn’t say much. He’d been having a dream, something that felt real, but wrong. Something adjacent to reality.
A camera kept flashing in his face, the photographer morphing into something less and less human. And Bruce, Bruce had been there. Yelling at him, telling him to—
No. That hadn’t happened, and now that he’s awake, Dick can barely remember the lies.
Dick kicks at his sheets, trying to reach the cool air above them. At first it’s a relief, but soon it’s not enough because he’s hot and sweaty and something keeps telling him to run. He glances out the window, trying to figure out if he could survive the fall—
No. He’s fine. He’s fine.
Dick pushes himself upright, takes some deep breaths, tries to recite pi. 
He jumps at the knock on his door.
“Dick?” the door creaks open to reveal Bruce, who enters the room before Dick can answer. “What are you still doing here?”
“I—” Dick feels hot, his palms are sweating again and he can feel his heart pounding against his chest, trying to escape. He blinks, twists the skin on his forearm until it hurts.
Bruce is in front of him, sitting down on the bed. “I trained you to be a detective. Can’t you piece together the clues? You’re not wanted. Get out of my house and stay away from my family.”
Dick shakes his head, fists his hair. The room feels like it’s getting smaller, twisted and darker. Louder. Wrong. This is a sign, but Dick can’t remember for what. “But you—no. You trusted me with Damian, you said—” 
What had Bruce said? He’s a master manipulator when he wants to be, needs to be. He might’ve trusted him with Damian, or maybe, just maybe, he was only trying to protect Alfred in case Damian had been given orders to assassinate them. He’d already attacked Tim, after all, and keeping that fact in mind, Bruce would have needed to consider safety and who he’d be willing to lose in order to protect someone else. Dick’s death and its repercussions would have felt minuscule if it meant Alfred would be saved.
Hands tug at his wrists. It’s three fourteen. The voice is lying.
“Shh. Take a breath.” Dick tries, but it’s like his chest has stalled. “Tell me how many posters are in your room.”
“There’s—”
“Take them and go. I don’t want any trace of you left in this house.”
“Dick, you’re alright. Take a breath.” Hands are on Dick’s shoulders, trying to restrain him. He brushes them off, tries to get to the window. “I’m out of patience. I won’t be subtle any longer—I’ve regretted taking you in from the moment you moved in. Go!”  
His fingers barely brush against the window’s lock before he’s slammed into the ground. His shoulder pops, making him grunt.
“You’re not thinking clearly. Focus. Wait it out.”
Dick struggles against the weight on top of him, but it doesn’t give, not even when he resorts to biting. The hands simply shift from his chest to his stomach, and his attacker doesn’t even make a sound.
The voices in his head build up. There are millions, all shouting conspiracies at him, all of them sounding too true. His heart pounds so hard that it must be bruising his chest, and he’s so hot that his brain must be about to melt. And, and—he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He’s going to die. This is it—he’s going to die.
A hand forces his head down, and it’s not until then that he realizes he’s been slamming it against the ground in an attempt to silence the voices.
“Shh, shh. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”
“Leave! Jump out the window, you’d be doing everyone a favor!”
Dick tries to lift his head again, but the hold is firm. There’s not enough room to hit it against the ground, there’s not enough room to shut the voices out.
“No one will miss you!”
The familiar feeling of a needle slides into his arm.
“Shh.”
Something happens. The room shifts, he shifts, and he realizes that he’s no longer shaking. It’s a sign.
The hallucinations shift into a nightmare that feels too real.
oOo
Dick wakes up to nausea and a headache. He tries to move his hand to rub at his head only to find that he’s been restrained. Bad night then.
He opens his eyes and turns his head. There’s an empty chair by his bed and the bedroom door is cracked open. 
“Bruce,” he calls. 
Damian steps into view, pushing the door open a little wider. The quick response tells Dick that Damian has been listening from the hallway. “Father is answering a call from Kent. Would you like me to collect him?”
"It can wait.” 
Damian still hasn’t entered the room, and it makes Dick wonder how much he’d heard last night, how much last night has to do with the distance, the hesitance. He doesn’t remember seeing Damian at all, but he probably came back when Dick was still in the Cave. And even if they hadn’t seen each other, it’s not like Dick’s bedroom is soundproof.
“Everything okay, kiddo?” He can remember Bruce having a handful of especially bad reactions to fear gas from when Dick was a kid—they’d been terrifying, seeing Bruce like that had made them terrifying.
“Of course. You are the one who was incapacitated.” Damian tugs on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, pulling it halfway down his hand. “But you are alright now?”
Dick quirks his lips into a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Good. I imagine last night was quite difficult,” Damian begins. “Titus woke up several times.” Damian tugs on his sleeve again, he looks like he wants to ask something.
Damian’s head turns abruptly, and whatever he sees causes him to take a step back. Into the hallway, he says, “Richard is awake.”
Now that he’s paying attention, Dick can hear Bruce’s footsteps. Bruce pauses outside of Dick’s bedroom, and he and Damian exchange words in quiet voices that Dick can’t understand. Then Bruce steps inside and closes the door behind him. 
“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks.
“Lucid,” Dick starts. Bruce tilts his head, expectant. “Not great overall, and I still feel a little on edge, but I think the worst of it is over.”
“Hnn.” Bruce looks him over for a moment, trying to confirm Dick’s self-evaluation. He must pass because soon Bruce is taking off the restraints. 
“Did I . . .” Dick tries to think back to last night and work out what was nightmare and what was hallucination and what was reality. “Did I try to jump out a window last night?”
“Yes. I had to hold you down until a sedative was administered. After that, we decided it would be safer to use restraints until the toxin wore off.”
Dick sits up as the last of the restraints are removed. He stretches his ankles and wrists. “Did the antidote not work or something?”
“It either wore off early or the toxin was stronger than usual. Possibly both, considering how you reacted to additional doses,” Bruce explains. 
Dick frowns. “How many doses did you give me?”  
“Three. You probably won’t need a fourth, but we’ll check your blood in a few hours to make sure that the traces still in your system are gone, or at least decreasing.”
Dick groans and slides back down against his pillow, draping his arms over his face. The fear toxin antidote, while helpful, isn’t without side-effects. With three doses, those effects will stick around for days.
Bruce, the bastard, has the audacity to chuckle at him. Dick blindly throws a pillow at him, smiling when he hears it meet its target.
Then, “Are you hungry?”
“Not even a little.”
Bruce runs a hand through Dick’s hair. “Sleep.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice. 
oOo
Dick wakes up alone again, but this time the chair is gone and the door is completely shut. It’s a good sign, and since Dick isn’t currently disoriented, very much preferred. 
It’s much later in the day now, a little past noon, but he knows he could very easily close his eyes and sleep for another few hours. Possibly until the next morning. But to his misfortune, his stomach growls in protest.
With a dramatic sigh that no one can hear, he gets out of bed, quickly showers and dresses, and goes downstairs to find something to eat.
"I was just about to check on you," Alfred says when he spots him entering the kitchen. "How are you feeling?"
Dick shrugs. “Tired.” It’s a side-effect of the antidote, but the nightmares probably hadn’t helped. “Did you guys have lunch already?”
“It would seem that everyone has gotten a rather late start to the day. We were just about to settle in for a brunch of sorts.”
“Do you need help?” Dick asks.
Alfred points toward a tray of what looks like buckwheat pancakes. “If you could bring that tray into the dining room, please.”
Dick hums and grabs the tray, carrying it into the dining room with Alfred behind him. He’s just setting the tray down when Titus storms in, running into his legs with a force that threatens to knock him over.
He takes a step back with a small laugh, reaching down to pet Titus. His tail thumps against the ground as he takes a seat on top of Dick’s feet.
“Master Damian!” Alfred shouts, setting a bowl of fruit down on the table.
“What’s up with you, buddy?” Dick asks the dog as he bends down to pet him better. Titus doesn’t usually tackle him, especially not when they just saw each other the day before. “What’s goin’ on?”
Alfred tsks to the room at large.
“Yes, Pennyworth?” Damian asks when he eventually reaches the room.
“What have I told you about animals in the dining room, especially during meal times?”
Damian rolls his eyes, prompting another “Master Damian!” from Alfred. Dick almost laughs, but the adult in him tells him to stand up and keep his mouth shut.
“Titus, come,” Damian says.
Titus whines.
“Titus, come,” Damian repeats.
Titus obeys, tail low as Damian leads him out of the room.
“And please gather the others before returning.”
Damian mumbles something under his breath that Alfred claims to have heard. Despite the resistance, Tim comes into the room a minute later, so Damian must’ve done as Alfred asked.
“Morning,” Tim says. He juts his thumb toward the hall. “What’s Damian mad about?”
“Oh.” Dick huffs a small laugh. “Titus ran in here and Alfred kind of went off on him.”
“Ugh, and I missed it? Bummer.” Tim takes a seat next to him and steals a piece of fruit from the bowl. “Feeling any better? Bruce said you had a rough night.”
Sometimes a little fear toxin exposure can be so mundane and minuscule that it isn’t mentioned the following morning. Dick wishes this was one of those times.
“Yup.” Dick taps his fingers on the table. “What happened to your ankle? You didn’t report it last night.”
Tim looks down at the ACE bandage wrapped around his left foot. “Oh. Just an old injury that started acting up this morning. I can still kick your ass at sparring later, though.”
Dick snorts and grabs one of the buckwheat pancakes, deciding he can’t wait any longer. “You wish.”
oOo
Breakfast is uneventful, aside from Dick literally falling asleep on the table. Bruce shakes him awake after everyone’s finished eating and then drags Dick down to the Cave to check his blood levels. Titus joins them, pressing himself against Dick’s legs and nearly tripping him as they make their way down the Cave’s stairs.
One blood test later and they learn that the toxin levels haven’t budged. Bruce decides to give him another dose of the antidote.
“Fourth time’s the charm, right?” Dick says.
“Hnn.”
Bruce sets a timer on his phone, just like he used to do in the early days. Draw blood, antidote, set a timer, draw more blood. That had been the routine for so much of his life.
Although, Dick supposes, they hadn’t really had antidotes back then; they’d had attempts at treatments. Desperate attempts to manage symptoms. There was no testing to guarantee their effectiveness or safety, and their chemical makeup had been based purely on theory and desperation. It was better than nothing, but it was risky, so they took precautions: monitoring each other not only for effectiveness but also for the inevitable side effects.
Dick will never forget the time an “antidote” caused his throat to swell up and chest to stall. The timer had only had a minute left, too—they’d increased the time after that, and Dick hadn’t complained about having to wait the whole time for almost a year.
These days, monitoring isn’t always part of the routine, and when it is, it’s mostly to check for effectiveness. But since this is Dick’s fourth dose in a relatively short timeframe, his risk for adverse effects is higher and he needs to be monitored to make sure he doesn’t keel over. Bruce will probably force him to stay at the manor until all side effects of the treatment subside, longer if new side effects arise.
“Have you been able to get any restful sleep?”
Dick jerks as he’s pulled from his thoughts. “Uh,” he starts, needing a second to process what Bruce just said. “No. Not really, no.”
“Someone can patrol in Bludhaven while you recover.”
It’s an offer, Bruce trying to be helpful. Dick knows that, but something makes it feel like an order, proof that Bruce thinks he’s incompetent.
“I’m fine on my own.”
Funny how Dick’s still trying to prove that, after all these years. He remembers when he was eight and first moved in with Bruce, how he’d been adamant about not needing a parent, not needing Bruce, but he became attached anyway. He’d told himself Bruce was a want, not a need, but that hadn’t been true, not in the early days.
Then things shifted. He grew up and no longer needed Bruce, but he’d wanted him. Dick had lied to himself again, telling himself that Bruce was the last person he wanted. The lie was easier to believe on some days than on others, but it had been even harder to convince himself that Bruce felt the same way. That even if Bruce didn’t need Dick, he wanted him.
That feeling of uncertainty, insecurity, had been with Dick since he was a kid, and it had persisted and worsened as he’d gotten older. It had been exacerbated after Two-Face nearly killed him and Bruce promptly fired him from being Robin. He was twelve and lost back then, and in what he now knows was just his twisted, hurt kid-brain, he’d convinced himself that Bruce didn’t need nor want him, as Robin or anything else.
Back then, he’d been certain that pity and guilt were the only things stopping Bruce from tossing Dick out onto the streets. He’d felt like a burden, and he’d hated everything about his life in those moments. So, he’d done the only thing he could think of—he ran.
And Bruce—Bruce didn’t chase him.
That was—maybe is—the important bit, the part that Dick still thinks about. Not the initial rejection, not being fired—that Bruce didn’t come after him.
After all, that’s what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? For Bruce to prove him wrong, for Bruce to chase after him, fight for him. To want him.
Bruce fought for Jason, then for Tim and, eventually, Damian. It’s clear that they are and always will be wanted, and Dick knows it’s stupid, but he doesn’t always know if that’s true for himself. At the end of the day, his brothers all have Bruce’s name, and all Dick has is a man who stopped being his legal guardian when he turned eighteen.
Dick is useful, even needed on the rare occasion, but he’s not always sure that he’s wanted. And he desperately needs to be wanted.
“Something’s . . . bothering you.” Bruce’s brows are furrowed, searching Dick’s face and trying to find the clues that will tell him what went wrong and where.
Dick scratches behind Titus’s ears, looking at him instead of Bruce. “Just the toxin.”
“Hnn.” Bruce sits down next to Dick, grunting slightly as he settles. “I imagine that the photographer’s comments last night didn’t help.”
Sometimes Dick hates how well Bruce knows him.
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Maybe. But fear toxin twists things, and it’s been known to draw on recent events, especially the latest versions.”
Dick says nothing, just nods in acknowledgment as he attends to Titus.
“Dick, you are my family, in every sense of the word. And I . . . I was bothered by the comment last night that implied otherwise.”
Bruce reaches over and squeezes Dick’s knee, and Dick wonders how much he’d said last night when the fear toxin was in control.
“You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just—” Dick sighs, leans his head against Bruce’s shoulder, squeezes his eyes shut. “Sometimes I don’t.”
Bruce shifts. He cups the back of Dick’s head and pulls him toward his chest, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I love you, okay? And you are wanted here. So, so wanted.” Bruce holds him in a tight hug and traces circles into his hair. “I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”
Dick hugs him back and nods into his chest. It doesn’t fix everything, but it makes it better. And sometimes that’s all anyone needs.
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Hey I love your...everything about dick Grayson. I have a terrible memory but I remember someone saying they think dick Grayson has ADHD and I think it was you? If it was can you talk about it a little more? Like, give some examples of traits? I love that headcanon but as someone not that knowledgeable of this stuff I wanted to get someone else's pov on the topic
agh thank you!! and yea, that was me, in this post. that was just me rambling a bit and me jotting stuff down, but i did say if you wanted more i’d be happy to give more. and so, in headcanon format, here is more.
One of Dick Grayson’s defining traits is that he could not sit still. Everybody had noticed it, everybody had commented on it, and everyone pretended to find it annoying while also knowing that his constant fidgeting, bouncing, leaping, talking, and laughing was a comfort. The buzz of energy surrounding him was a constant, and prompted many many people to offhandedly remark to Bruce, “He’s probably got ADHD.” Green Arrow, when Robin was talking Flash’s ear off when he first met the Justice League. A socialite in a dress with a borderline-obscene neckline when Dick came up to him for the eighth time that night, drawing his attention to something new. Even Harley Quinn, as he jumped around her in circles after they’d tied her up to a pole in a warehouse while Bruce copied the data, although she said it with a fond little grin and a bit more, well, educated style.
And if he was being honest? Bruce agreed with all of them. Just, in a different way. 
Dick’s hyperfixiations were a sight to behold. He’d find something interesting to label as his New favourite thing ever, Bruce!!, absorb everything there was to know about the topic, then move on to something new in a month. Which had always been the problem. Bruce couldn’t begin to count the nights he had to coerce Dick into coming downstairs, leaving his rare igneous rock collection or his college-level textbook about nerve paralysis or his new batch of poisonous flowers, and eating something, or going to bed. There was a reason Dick was underweight for most of his life, and still was as an adult.
It was in his “all or nothing” attitude, the way he threw his entire self into the job, or whatever needed to be done. But if he decided something wasn’t worth it, or that he was done, he dropped it entirely, with no lost love. His impulse control was bad, but that was something Bruce could help him with, train him to keep a level head or make the right choice. Though, making choices was another thing to tackle altogether. Choice paralysis was the best way to describe it. If Dick didn’t absolutely make up his mind about something, then he was split, caught between two different choices, and he couldn’t say no to either. 
Jason may have rage coursing through his blood, but his anger was solid, dependable, reliable. Dick’s mood swings, however, were monsters that Bruce had been trying to understand since Dick was a child, his kindness and understanding changing to harsh words and accusatory looks so fast it gave Bruce whiplash. Jason seemed to be one of the few who could wade his way through them, never trying to change him or stop him, just trying to understand him.
Tim’s internal clock may be blown and shot to hell, but it was out of willpower, determination. He had work to do, and he would power through his tiredness until it was done. (And then he’d grab an oversized superboy t-shirt and crash for a couple days on end.) Dick, on the other hand, could not sleep. Lying in a bed made him restless, but sitting in the kitchen hunched over a mug of chamomile tea made gave him a headache. Dick had once told him, in the hours where it was too early to be morning but too late to be night, that he just wanted his brain to stop for once, to just shut off. Bruce didn’t have an answer. Tim, apparently, had an answer, because he would sit up with Dick in that kitchen, turning the lights down low, and talking with him about this cool new spot he found for his photography, or some changes he’s thinking of making to his suit. Tim’s quiet rambling seemed to ease the headache, at least.
Cass and Dick may not have many things in common, at first glance. They never bonded the way they did to other members of the family, the way Cass and Steph learned to laugh together or the way Dick and Jason finally reached an understanding, and were able to just spend time together. Bruce actually thought Cass would get along with Damian, given their shared assassin history. But Damian just looked at him strange, and said “I’m not the one who was raised as a human weapon.” And that...that was true. Cass may have been isolated and alone, and Dick might have been raised with love and affection, but Bruce couldn’t deny that the two of them had been raised, as Damian put it, human weapons. And despite Dick’s ease and grace and innate flexibility, Bruce knew that Dick itched at his skin, sometimes felt uncomfortable and not in control in his own body. But then he saw Dick with Cass one day, stretching and going over some basic yoga poses, the silence between them thick with something heavy and grateful. Bruce memorized the content and peaceful look on his children’s faces, then left as quietly as he’d entered. 
Bruce was no stranger to Stephanie’s self esteem issues, overhearing her in front of the mirror many a time, clothed in the Robin costume and telling herself, in between gritted teeth, “I deserve to be here. I’m good enough. I’ve got this.” As for Dick, his self esteem issues were a tad different. His constant need to make people like him, his jokes and quips that were aimed to make people think he was funny, think he was worth it, his absolute terror of rejection, the way he broke off relationships and had trouble maintaining the ones he did have under the philosophy of leaving before they rejected him for real. A whisper in the back of Bruce’s mind whispered Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, though neither of them were fond of labels. But it wasn’t hard to miss the easy stream of compliments flowing back and forth between Dick and Steph, usually good natured teasing, but no less sincere. It helped them more than they realized.
People may say Damian was violent, rude, and prone to outbursts. And this was true, for the most part. Bruce knew Damian was still getting a handle on his emotions, but he also knew the kid actually meditated in his free time, and most of his actions were well planned and thought out. Dick, on the other hand, had outbursts frequently. He’d just gotten much better at controlling them, or maybe just blowing up at Bruce and hiding them from the rest of the family. And his emotions were a hurricane, a whirlwind of raw power. Regulating him had long since gone out the window. Luckily, Damian seemed think the opposite (or maybe Bruce had given up too early). Dick never actually seemed to enjoy meditating with Damian, but controlling their tempers was something the two of them were working on together, one backing the other up or slow them down, and vice versa. 
Every time someone came up to him, telling him Dick was just so cheerful and hyper and constantly in motion, Bruce was brought back to the first week in the manor, Alfred raising his eyebrow at Bruce after Dick’s latest antics had landed him in his room, refusing to open the door for anyone. Bruce knew Alfred was running through a mental checklist in his head, same as him. Alfred had told him, “This is going to be quite a bit of trouble, Master Bruce.” Bruce had shown his weary agreement. Then Alfred had nodded resolutely, and said “I suppose we shall just love him right, then.”
Bruce knew without a doubt that Alfred had succeeded in that particular promise. But Bruce was still asking himself whether or not he had. 
ADHD is,,,,,,,hard to write. tag list: @comicsandhoney @dangerduckjpeg @yesboopityboop @birdy-bat-writes @astroherogirl @anothertimdrakestan @thebatsandbirdsofgotham @subtleappreciation
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consumeconstantly · 4 years
Text
Who Are You (and what will you become?)
1(you are here)| 2 | 3 | 4
Summary: “Over the years, I have found that blood means very little.” 
The ice clicks against the glass almost inaudibly, condensation dripping down the side. 
“So tell me, M. Wayne, why do you think I should even begin to consider you my father?” (all biodad bruce can be read as stand alone but are posted in chronological order)
__________________________________________________
At the tender age of nineteen, Marinette Dupain-Cheng has already become a jaded woman. It doesn’t shine through very often, hidden behind a carefully crafted facade of Parisian-brand carefree attractiveness and pigtailed youthfulness, but there exists, in Marinette, a certain bitterness.
“For a vigilante, you’re not very secretive,” Marinette remarks, keeping her tone measured, almost playful, so as not to draw attention to herself. 
“Marinette.” Bruce inclines his head and allows the bartender to serve him a whiskey sour. He doesn’t drink alcohol because it alters his mental state in ways that are unpleasant, but ordering a drink helps him fit in, and with Marinette, the person he wants to talk to, right at his side, he can’t have his normal ginger ale substitute. “It’s good to see you.”
“Mmm.” She takes a sip of her French 75, playing up an interest that Bruce knows is a lie. “M. Wayne, you say that as though we’re familiar with each other.”
“Sabine and I were close,” he says. 
Sabine is one of the few people who knew about his existence as Batman that didn’t live in Gotham. Many years ago, they were friends. Colleagues. (More.) Of course she told her daughter about who he was. How could she not have? 
Sabine is-- she was--
“Close, you call it,” she says with mock awe, words slurring together. “Closer than close, really. Too close for comfort— at least, too close for you.”
When Bruce and Sabine’s paths crossed all those years ago, he was struggling trying to raise Dick. Sabine was equal parts a mother and a mentor to Dick in all the ways that Bruce couldn’t be. When she left for Paris so abruptly after the two of them parted ways, Dick didn’t take it very well. Even moreso when communications halted permanently. The fact that the radio silence coincided with Marinette’s birth is something only Bruce is privy to.
However awkwardly he and Sabine left off, it doesn’t change the facts. Bruce’s lips thin. “I’m here to offer you a home.”
Swirling her French, Marinette taps at her phone, swiping away at a few messages that she’s not interested in. “I’m nineteen and more than capable of taking care of myself. Though I suppose it stands to reason that it would be difficult for you to know that, what with how busy your extracurriculars keep you.”
“I’m not doubting your capabilities.” He’s looked into what Marinette has been up to over the past nineteen years of her life. He’s never been particularly concerned with her upbringing, not with a woman like Sabine at the helm of her childhood. Bruce was right not to be worried; Marinette has grown into a multi talented, extremely well connected entrepreneur based on her own hard work. Judging by the crowd that she runs with and the multiple charities that she supports both financially and with her own time, she will be a force to be reckoned with in a few years; Tim regularly extols the virtues of the brand MDC, and if he knew that he was sisters with the designer, he’d never stop raving about her. MDC is already being compared to the likes of Dior and Gabriel when they were first starting out. Her finances aren’t anything to scoff at, and at a few galas and charity parties that he’s had to entertain, anyone who's had the privilege to wear an MDC original talks about how sweet and kind the head designer is while complimenting the CEO’s business savvy.
Bruce has to admit that he’s impressed by how she manages to keep her identities separate. No one suspects the head designer to also be manning publicity and business. 
He’s been watching her for the past day, and he has to say, for somebody whose parents just died, she carries herself with remarkable ease. If not for the red around her eyes and line of shots on the bartop, Bruce would believe that Tom and Sabine’s death didn’t phase her at all. 
“There’s a but, isn’t there?” Marinette says bitterly.
She’s right in that assumption. As skillful as Marinette is in her field, she has no practical combat experience. A brief stint in fencing and martial arts but nothing beyond that. Even if she practiced martial arts for years, that wouldn’t be enough to convince Bruce to let her go off on her own. Martial arts as a hobby is an entirely different game than fighting for one’s life. 
Marinette is simply not the kind of person who can face down a League member and come out of it alive. 
“It’s for your safety.”
For the first time since entering the bar, Bruce sees a flash of true emotion cross Marinette’s eyes. It’s hard to see the color of her eyes in the dim lighting, but it’s impossible not to see Sabine in how her eyes narrow. Perhaps the dim lighting makes it easier to; in the light of day, Marinette’s eye color— it’s too similar to the shade he sees in the mirror. 
“My safety? What about my parent’s safety?” 
At that, Bruce internally cringes while keeping his face carefully blank. Tom and Sabine… their end wasn’t pretty. Not the most gruesome deaths he’s ever seen, but it was up there. Bruce never thought the League would do something as cruel as desecrating the corpses of the people they murdered. They may be assassins for hire, but most times, they do have some sort of morals. 
The worst part about it is that their death is most likely a result of Sabine’s past relationship with him. Last month, a tabloid that drew comparisons between Marinette and Bruce. It didn’t take long for another person to dredge up pictures from when he was still with Sabine. Tom and Sabine didn’t have enemies well-off enough to hire the League. But Bruce? Bruce did. 
“I’m not interested in any protection you have to offer me.” Marinette shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not like you. I won’t become a vigilante out of rage or as a coping mechanism. I’m not going to go chasing after the League in a foolish pursuit of misguided justice.”
But Marinette doesn’t understand. She has a target on her back with her newfound association to him.  
“I haven’t been active in your life--”
“Understatement of the year,” Marinette mutters.
“--but I’m not going to let you die when I can prevent it.”
Downing the rest of her French, she takes the Moscow Mule away from Bruce’s hands, eyeing the liquor up on display. She drinks the cold alcohol and revels in the burn that slides down her throat. Marinette swipes on one of the notifications she’s received on her phone in order to respond to it. “You’re a good man, Bruce. But your desire to protect me— what does it stem from? What do we have in common? Why would you use your time and effort on what’s essentially a stranger?”
Bruce has no good answer for this, but he has an obvious one. As soon as it leaves his tongue, it feels wrong. “We share the same blood.”
He can’t bring himself to call Marinette his daughter. That means that he would be her father and he’s not deserving of that title.
Marinette pockets her phone, eyes trained on a set of unusually shaped glasses on the shelves. “If that’s your answer, M. Wayne, let me tell you something. Over the years, I have found that blood means very little.” 
The bartender comes around and tops off the whiskey sour. The ice clicks against the glass almost inaudibly, condensation dripping down the side. Bruce can’t tell whether the bartender knows Marinette or not, but he certainly looks concerned enough to, with how his eyes shift between Marinette and himself rapid fire. When the bartender’s gaze settles on Bruce, mouth turned downward, clearly suspicious of his presence, Marinette just waves him off with a gentle smile. 
Her smile turns up the same way Tom’s did. She’s right; family is more than blood. 
“Your answer to why you want to protect me is that we share blood, but you speak nothing of our relationship. Shouldn’t that have been the first thing you brought up?”
Bruce shifts uncomfortably on the bar stool. Marinette just laughs at his apparent awkwardness. “Talking of blood relations seems to be something you don’t enjoy, and yet the entire premise of your protection rests on it. Tell me, M. Wayne, do you think I should even begin to consider you my father?”
Even as inebriated as Marinette must be, she brings up points that he himself wondered on his way to Paris. Wanting to see Marinette safe goes beyond a simple duty to morality and virtue. Though Bruce is known for adopting kids with tragic backstories, it simply isn’t feasible to adopt every single one he comes across. To bring Marinette into his family at this age, to expose her to the life he lives would be beyond cruel. In essence he’d be replacing two parents with a ticking time bomb: himself. 
“Don’t consider me a parent, just a guardian. It’s in my best interest to see you safe, and the best way to do that is to have you move to Gotham, where my colleagues and I can assure you around the clock protection.”
At first, he distanced himself from Sabine and Marinette because he didn’t want to disrupt her current relationship with Tom. Even if the two of them insisted that he could still be part of Marinette’s life, it just didn’t feel right to have the title of father when he wasn’t the one to put in any of the hard work. Then, as Tom and Sabine grew more comfortable in their life together, settled down and opened up a bakery, he was blindsided by Jason’s death. As his daughter grew older and older, there were just too many things in his own life for him to ever hope to kindle a relationship with Marinette.
Marinette laughs, but it’s really more of a bark. Her voice is too hoarse for it to come out any other way. Bruce can’t imagine how much she’s cried this past week. “If you wanted to keep me safe, where were you a week ago? Where were you two years ago? Where were you when I was thirteen? M. Wayne, I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you throughout the years, and I’ve always brushed them off as nothing more than tabloid gossip. But perhaps they got one thing right about you: you’re a liar.”
Marinette stands, swaying slightly.
“This— if you truly want me to uproot my life, I need more than you saying it’s in your best interest. I need—” Marinette reaches up to her earrings and allows her eyes to flutter shut. She needs more than a distant guardian. She needs someone to confide in. Someone she trusts. “It was nice meeting you, but I don’t need your pity. Not now.”
As she weaves through the crowd, Bruce can’t help but wonder whether he made the right decision all those years ago to not be apart of her life.
@biodad-bruce-month
Late to the game as always. This will be a multichapter fic but all parts can be read as one shots (and also as always anything posted to tumblr is never checked for accuracy and stuff so whoop)! They’ll be released in chronological order. If you want to get tagged in all things maribat, instead of commenting it under a fic, I’d appreciate an ask or a dm instead! I haven’t been able to go back through all the previous comments and create a taglist yet but perhaps. eventually. 
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thr-333 · 3 years
Text
Drastic Measures- Part 13
@daminette-december2019-2020
~Trapped~
This is gonna be fun!
Ao3
First < Previous > Next
-----------
“Adrien I can't go down for breakfast,” Marinette hides under the blankets.
“Yes you can,” Adrien gives up tugging on the blankets and jumps on top of her.
“But Damian-” Marinette groans partly at his weight on top of her.
“Has no idea your Ladybug and moreover doesn't know your soulmate is Robin, and it doesn't mean you can’t like him so get up and come to breakfast,”
“Stop being reasonable and helpful,” Marinette pushes him off, getting up herself.
“I’ll try my best, now come on let's go,” Marinette sulks as she follows him downstairs, basically having to be pushed into the dining room.
“Is something wrong Marinette?” Dick asks, by now Marinette has labeled him the only one in the family not in denial that feelings exist.
“She’s just tired,” Adrien says for her when she can’t bring herself to answer, still sulking as she takes a seat, “Say I was looking around, why is there an entire circus set up in the gym?”
“Oh, I used to be an acrobat,” That interesting little revelation is cut short by an all too familiar feeling.
“Really? That's so-”
“Hey, Adrien I just remembered the thing we had to do today,”
“The thing?” Marinette gives him a sharp look and his face lights up with realization, “Oh right! The thing, can’t go forgetting the thing, bye!”
 ---
 “Sooo that was suspicious,” Dick muses as the two practically sprint out of the room.
“Put your masks on, we’re following them,” Bruce orders, they haven’t yet forgotten she’s the daughter of an assassin.
They head down the cave to gear up, following the tracking device on Marinette’s bike. However, when they reach it the bike is unattended and the two aren’t anywhere in sight. They hear a commotion nearby moving to check it out.
“It’s another Akuma attack,” Dick reports Ladybug and Chat Noir already on the scene.
“Oh my god,” Tim gasps, “Marinette's Hawkmoth!”
“Hawkmoths a man,” Red Hood deadpans, they would just ignore it if Tim’s sleep-deprived revelations weren’t right more often than not.
“Fine then she’s Mayura,” Tim waves them off, “Adrien’s hawkmoth,”
“What are you talking about?” Robin snaps, watching the battle below, anyone the Akuma hit’s disappearing.
“They leave and then there's an Akuma attack, they showed up just as Ladybug and Chat Noir did to stop Hawkmoth,” Tim rambles, “It’s all highly suspicious,”
“I’ve looked through the files, neither have been akumatized,” Batman adds, evidence stacking, “And their class was an Akuma hot spot,”
“Oh my god,” Dicks realization mirrors Tim’s, “Marinette's hawkmoth,”
“Again, Marinette would be Mayura,” Tim corrects.
“We need to tell Ladybug about this,” Robin decides dropping down onto the street.
“Hey, Robin here to help? Could you go around their left it’s a blind spot and we need to grab- are you listening?” Ladybug turns to him, simultaneously deflecting a blast lucky charm in one hand.
“Ladybug there's something I need to tell you,” Robin hesitates Marinette truly didn’t seem like the type but Ladybug has been fighting Hawkmoth for years if there's even a slight chance Marinette is Hawkmoth Ladybug has to know.
“If this is about yesterday now’s not really the time,” Ladybug says with a cold fed up tone that honestly takes Damian off guard, “It didn’t mean anything,”
“It’s no- what do you mean didn’t mean anything,” Robin gets sidetracked from his point, dodging a blast getting further from Ladybug.
“Soul mates they aren’t romantic or even involved so it doesn't mean anything,” She dodges another blast, Chat Noir getting thrown around somewhere, “I really need you to go around their left,”
“But they are real,” Damian clings to that fact and stays by her side. “And you are my soul mate,”
“Well yes but-”
“Ladybug!” Chat calls, tangled up in washing lines with the Akuma advancing.
“In a minute!” She shouts, fully turning towards Robin now.
“Ok I’ll just hang out then,” Chat swings gently in the wind.
“Really the only way a soul mate affects you is if they die,” Damian's stomach churns, “And still even when that happens the effects are minimal if there is little connection, so we should probably just leave each other alone,”
Robin is frozen as Ladybug moves too late to save Chat from the blast, when the light is gone he has disappeared.
“What are you- I’m not going to just ignore this!” He snaps, Ladybug comes back glaring at him.
“Well I am, I have worked too long and too hard trying to beat Hawkmoth to risk it all for someone I don’t even know wearing a mask,” Ladybug is glowering at him, glowing red eyes brutally honest and true, “I’ve put everything else in my life aside to defeat Hawkmoth, don't think I have a problem putting you aside too,”
“You can’t just- I know who Hawkmoth is!” Robin shouts as she goes to leave, sure she won't come back to him if she leaves.
“What?!” It’s then the rest of his family come to join them, Nightwing pulling Ladybug out of the way of another blast, “Who?!”
“Marinette Dupain-cheng,”
“WHAT?!”
“Again Marinette would be-” Tim doesn't get to finish as they all get hit by a blast.
Light envelopes them all, there is no pain which is either a good sign or a very bad sign. When Robin opens his eyes they are all standing in a stark white container of sorts. Chat Noir is there giving him a wave as they all regain their bearings.
“Why? Why would you think Marinette is Hawkmoth?” Ladybug asks, Chat Noir bursts out laughing for some reason.
“Actually we think she’s Mayura,” Tim supplies, “Adrien Agreste is Hawkmoth,”
“What?!” Chat Noir stands up, enough room for them all to face each other.
“Marinette isn’t Hawkmoth,” Ladybug pinches the bridge of her nose still holding a lucky charm going to waste.
“She’s- I give up,” Tim throws his hands up turning towards the wall in search of a way to get out.
“How do you know!?” Damian snaps, anger and betrayal still clawing at his insides.
“I just do!” Ladybug yells back volume increasing, Chat Noir tries to get her attention but no one is getting through to either of them.
“You trust her more than me?” Damian isn’t sure why he says it, just that he’s angry enough he doesn't care.
“Uh yeah, substantially more,” Ladybug crosses her arms a smug smile on her face, Robin bristles ready to change that.
“She ran away to Gotham as Hawkmoth arrived, she’s never been akumatized even after her class was specifically targeted! Shes the daughter of an infamous assassin!” Robins practically screaming at this point, everyone giving them as much space as possible, “How can she not be Hawkmoth!”
“She’s just not!” Ladybugs earrings beep, Chat now desperately trying to get her attention.
“If she’s not Hawkmoth that means-” Damian cuts himself off reframing all the evidence, conversations rushing back to him all at once, “Marinette?”
“No,” The earring beeps for the last time, transformation falling to reveal Marinette, “Wow great timing Tikki,”
“I’m sorry,” A little red bug thing lands in Marinette's open hands, the lucky charm is gone now.
“Don't be, more importantly,” Marinette turns to Damian glaring something fierce, “How do you know who I am?”
“You’re… Ladybug?” Robin says quietly still trying to process… everything.
“Does that mean Chat Noir’s Adrien?” Dick interrupts.
Damian's still playing catch up. Marinette's Ladybug and Ladybug is Marinette. Ladybug who protects Gotham. Marinette who left her family to be Ladybug. Ladybug who he had been talking to every night. Marinette who he spent every day with.
“How do you know that!?” Chat Noir, no, Adrien shouts.
“That's strictly-” Ladybug always seemed so strong with the mask Robin figured she was someone amazing outside of it. And he was right. Marinette was kind and smart, gave her all to a pet store branch Damian would have otherwise made someone else's responsibility. She left her family, never telling anyone she was Ladybug. It would have been so hard. And now she had been forced to reveal her identity to them, it wasn't fair she deserved… “ROBIN!”
Damian snapped back to reality, in one hand he had his domino mask and his face was bare. On one side was his father looking furious and the other side was…. Marinettte.
“Damian?” Marinette asks, they stare at each other until Marinette lets out a small giggle, Damian huffs in amusement too.
“Why would you ever-”
“Mr Wayne?” Marinette cuts off Batman's rant, her revelation not really helping things.
“You have compromised everyone’s identity,” Batman growls from his look Damian realizes he really messed up.
“She revealed hers,” He tries to defend, "And many heroes already know,"
“You can’t-”
“How about we save this until after we escape?” Marinette cuts in transforming back to Ladybug, so clearly the same person now just with different eyes and hair, “Adrien?”
Chat Noir uses his cataclysm to escape the container, it breaking their little piece of reality and sending them back in a flash of light. He has to run off before his transformation falls leaving the rest to the tense bat fam to help Ladybug out. It was easy to defeat the Akuma from there. Although they may have been stalling somewhat. No one particularly wanting to face Batman's wrath. Hawkmoth was preferable.
--------
No taglist :P
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jarengrimoire · 2 years
Text
...Souvenir? (Chimaera AU)
A Young Justice Fanfiction
The Team celebrates the success of another mission. However, the Team’s newest member seems to have brought back a souvenir.....
~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~
M’Gann blinked as the Team filtered out of the back of the Bioship. Looking at the group as they dispersed into The Cave, she couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong.
She couldn’t place it. She cupped a hand under her chin as her eyes narrowed. They scanned over each member as they milled about, chatting. She’d only taken 6 of them for the mission....
Jaime and Gar were laughing over some of the knockouts they’d scored on some of the League of Shadows assassins they’d fought. Besides the faint ice cream stains on their uniforms; they’d been thrown into an ice cream vendor’s stand; they weren’t any different.
Cissie was checking her quiver, taking stock of her trick arrows. Tim and Cassie were holding hands, whispering to each other and sharing small smiles. M’Gann smirked. She had a feeling she knew what they would be up to.
That left the newest of the bunch, Atalanteia, or as she’d said she preferred, Teia. The Atlantean was walking away from the group, both hands behind her back as she hummed a soft tune.
M’Gann’s lips twitched. Teia’s normal attire was nearly identical to Queen Mera’s. The only real difference was the black color and the gloves she wore. Which made it more than a little odd that the teenager was wearing a teal-colored hoodie over said outfit.
“Teia?” M’Gann called.
The Atlantean stiffened mid-step. Behind M’Gann, the entire team had stopped, watching with matching grins as Teia turned, flashing a smile that was far, far too innocent to be genuine.
“Yes, Miss Martian?” The girl batted her eyelashes. Sparkle Sparkle. The picture of innocence that was her expression was completely at odds with the way she’d begun to fidget, shifting from foot to foot. M’Gann stifled a chuckle. Teia couldn’t be more obvious if she tried.
Her eyes drifted down to the hoodie, then back up to...wait, it was moving. Teia’s hoodie shifted around her stomach, twisting and bulging. M’Gann crossed both arms over her chest, one eyebrow raised as she pinned Teia with a knowing smile.
“I think I saw that hoodie go flying down the street when we were fighting those shadows....so, why exactly are you wearing it?”
Teia blinked, reaching up with one hand and placing her palm under her chin. “U-um...I was...cold?”
M’Gann’s blank stare elicited a nervous look from the girl. A cold Atlantean...?
The hoodie continued to shift. Finally, M'Gann reached out with one hand. Her telekinetic powers tugged at the shifting mass under the hoodie, pulling it up through the piece of clothing’s collar to reveal....
A cat. A black cat.
“Teia,” M’Gann began slowly. The teenager fumbled for the small mammal, clutching it against her chest as she opened and closed her mouth, no doubt considering her answer.
“Um....Souvenir?” she asked hopefully, tilting her head to one side as the cat blinked and mirrored the same movement. M’Gann chuckled as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“We’re putting the cat back.”
~~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~~
A little something silly I wrote up. This will be my first public foray into the world of fanfiction, so, I hope whoever reads it enjoys!
This is also a light introduction to one of the main component characters of this particular AU, Atalanteia, or Teia. She is, of course, Atlantean. Her origins and relations to the other characters are something that I’m going to let develop organically as I post some more of these. Although, I will give you all a little hint: 
“Cadmus Mortuus Et; Humanitas Fiet Chimaera”
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suttttton · 3 years
Text
Don’t Feel Safe
Febuwhump, Day 2: “i can’t take this anymore
***
After the Prentiss incident—after he finds out that Gertrude was murdered—Jon starts sleeping with a knife under his pillow. His sleep is light and troubled, and every creaking noise in his small flat has him sitting bolt upright, clutching the knife in both hands.
He knows that there’s no one there. He knows that it was just his neighbors, moving around upstairs. Or the wind, or the pipes, or one of the million other things that make noises in old buildings.
But he also knows that someone has come to kill him, that they are in his flat, that any minute now they’ll come through his bedroom door, and his knife will be a very paltry defense against their gun.
It’s better, when he’s exploring the tunnels. He’s on his feet, moving, not a sitting duck. His hip aches where the worms burrowed into bone, and there’s something living in the tunnels that is probably dangerous. But if he’s going to be afraid anyway, he might as well be afraid for a good reason.
Here’s the thing: Jon knows that there is no mysterious Archivist Assassin coming after him. That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t know why Gertrude was murdered, but it’s hard to imagine a circumstance where the sole motive was her position as Head Archivist.
But.
He thinks about being shot constantly. Enough that it’s hard to think clearly about anything else. What would it feel like, for a bullet to enter his lung, his heart? What would it feel like to die?
He’s afraid, all the time, of a threat that he knows doesn’t actually exist. It’s maddening. More than once in the weeks of his ‘recovery’, it brings him to tears.
And then he goes back to work.
And.
Something.
Is.
Wrong.
He doesn’t know what it is. They all seem normal enough. Sasha, Martin, and Tim all greet him when he comes in. Elias schedules a meeting with him to discuss “strategies for moving forward” that is just as boring and pointless as every meeting with Elias. When he returns downstairs, he finds that Martin has left a mug of tea on his desk.
None of this is strange.
But something—Something is wrong.
An image flashes through Jon’s mind, of poison in the tea. Choking and dying on the floor of his office, just out of reach of help. Would his assistants even help him? Or would they just gather around, watching as the breath is slowly squeezed out of his lungs, reveling in their victory?
He pours out the tea in the break room sink without drinking any of it.
Martin sees, and looks hurt, and Jon feels guilty. But it’s—He can’t—
He needs to figure out what is wrong here. Then he’ll be able to trust Martin’s tea again. Then he’ll be able to sit through an entire meeting with Elias without imagining the other man suddenly pulling a gun on him.
His assistants are not planning on murdering him.
His boss is not planning on murdering him.
A third-party assassin is not planning on murdering him.
(Did Gertrude think that no one was planning on murdering her? Did she let her guard down? She was just an old lady, what grudge could anyone possibly have had—)
Jon goes through his assistants’ desks, searching for clues. Things to prove their innocence. (Things to prove their guilt.) Sasha is unhappy with him, when she catches him. She tells Tim, and now they both glare at him whenever he comes into a room. They’re waiting for him to apologize for the breach of privacy.
(He’s angered them; they’re waiting for the right opportunity to strike and kill him.)
But that’s the least of his worries, because Martin is lying to him.
(Martin murdered Gertrude, Jon is next.)
But no. That’s ridiculous. Why would Martin have murdered Gertrude?
(You’re next, you’re next.)
He follows Martin on his lunch break. He goes to a cafe, just down the street. Orders a soup and a sandwich. He sees Jon while he’s looking for a table, and Jon—runs.
When Martin comes back, he comes into Jon’s office, closing the door behind him.
(This is it, this is when he kills you.)
But… He doesn’t. Because he didn’t kill Gertrude, obviously he didn’t kill Gertrude. Martin would never kill anyone. He lied on his CV, of all things, and that’s so ridiculous and, and normal, Jon could almost laugh with it.
But there’s still Tim, and Sasha, and Elias. And something is still wrong.
He follows Sasha on her lunch break. She goes to a wax museum, which isn’t evidence, but which is… Odd. He asks her about it, and her eyes narrow in a way that lets him know he didn’t play it off casually enough. She has a new boyfriend who works there.
That makes sense.
He follows Tim on his lunch break, and Tim spots him, cornering him before he can run off. He’s angry, but also… Jon doesn’t know. Tired? Sad?
Jon is exhausted.
“You need to trust me,” Tim is saying. “You can’t honestly believe that I’m the one who killed Gertrude.”
He’s right. Jon doesn’t believe that, not really. And he really, really wants to trust Tim.
(He might kill you when you’re not in public.)
Jon goes to Tim’s flat, settles himself behind a row of trash cans, watching. It’s cold, and he isn’t even sure what he’s looking for, at this point. He just needs—something. Some reassurance. He misses Tim, misses the easy rhythm of their friendship. So he watches, and waits, and—
Tim comes out, looking angry, heading right towards his hiding place. Jon straightens and starts to walk away, trying to play it off casually. He wasn’t watching Tim’s flat, he’s just taking a walk. Happenstance.
Tim grabs his shoulder, and Jon freezes.
“Why are you watching my flat,” Tim says, his voice low.
Tim is stronger than Jon. If he wanted, he could pull Jon inside, hold him down, slash his throat with a kitchen knife. Jon’s blood would spray everywhere, and with his voice box severed, he couldn’t even cry out at the pain.
But Tim wouldn’t go for something so messy, probably. That would be hard to clean up. Hard to hide.
And Tim wouldn’t murder Jon in the first place.
(He could, though.)
“I’m not watching your flat,” Jon tries, not meeting Tim’s eyes. It’s a bad lie, and he can tell from the way Tim leans back, taking a deep, loud breath, that Tim doesn’t remotely believe it.
(Even if he doesn’t murder you, he could hurt you quite badly.)
But he won’t, it’s Tim, and he wouldn’t—
“I can’t do this any more, Jon,” Tim says. His voice is loud. “I’m not going to have you watching my home. That’s—absolutely ridiculous. I’ve asked you, again and again, to trust me. How hard is it? I’m your friend, or I thought I was, at least.”
And Jon—Jon finds that he can’t do this either. He wants to flinch away from Tim, to run off to where it’s at least marginally safer, but he’s so tired. “Do you think I like this? You think I’d—What, that I’d choose to sit outside your apartment for hours, in the dead of winter?”
“I think you very clearly are choosing that,” Tim says.
Tim says it likes it’s obvious, but it isn’t. “This isn’t my choice,” Jon says, wrapping his arms around himself. “I want to trust you,” he says. “I miss you. I keep hoping I’ll find any evidence proving that you didn’t kill Gertrude, but—”
“Jon, you’ve known me for years,” Tim says. “I’m your friend. Isn’t that evidence enough?”
“That isn’t—” Jon’s breath catches in his throat, because Tim doesn’t understand. And maybe there’s a reason for that. Maybe Jon is just being unreasonable. Maybe he does just need to—to try harder.
But god, he’s so tired already. He can’t try harder than he’s already trying. He’s losing Tim, and it’s his own fault, and—his vision blurs with tears, and he sniffs, trying to blink them away.
“Jon?” Tim says, and his voice is gentler now.
Jon just shakes his head, turning away, pulling his arms closer around him. It’s fine, he’ll be fine. He’ll go home, lay down and sleep for a while. He isn’t so scared when he’s asleep.
(If you let your guard down, the person who killed Gertrude will get you too.)
But Tim grabs his shoulder, again, and Jon almost hopes that Tim will try to kill him. Just to get it over with.
But Tim is still just talking. “Jon, I’m—Well, I’m not going to apologize, because you’re the one stalking me. But—do you want to come inside and—talk about it? I want to know what I’m missing here.”
(He’s trying to get you alone, the perfect opportunity to kill you.)
No, he’s not. That’s just what Tim is like, with his friends. Accommodating. Always wanting to understand the reasons behind all of their annoying little tics.
Jon knows that Tim isn’t going to kill him.
But his heart is hammering anyway, and he’s shaking, not from the cold, but with certainty that he is walking to his death.
But he is so, so tired.
He takes a breath. “Okay.”
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highonchocolate · 3 years
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Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 7
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As Marinette made her way out of the room, Dick turned back to Jason and Tim, the two of them wearing identical frowns he knew were mirrored on his face. “That conversation was not normal at all. That stuff she said about the man being over 150 years old..I get the feeling she isn’t just a regular civilian after all.” Tim and Jason nodded in agreement. “Do you think she was talking about the Lazarus Pits?” Tim asked, pulling up his computer and beginning a new search on their guest. “That man she was talking about seemed to be her mentor, but I didn’t understand the last sentence she said. It wasn’t in any language I know.” “She sounded fuckin’ terrified after hearing whatever that friend of hers told her.” Jason inputted, leaning forward. “Maybe we can try to hear the other end of the conversation, maybe that will help.” Dick said, turning to Tim hopefully. “Yeah, okay, just give me like fifteen minutes. I have to find her phone on the Manor WiFi and go from there, since she took it with her and I can't just directly hack in.” Dick nodded. “Do we want to tell Bruce now, or wait until we’re sure nothing crazy is going on?” “Let’s wait, I don’t need the old man getting worked up, only for this to be a false alarm.” Jason sighed, hands fiddling absentmindedly at the empty space where his guns usually sat. 
Noticing the movement, Dick laughed inwardly. ‘It’s like a little baby looking for his teddy bear!’ He wasn’t dumb enough to say it out loud though, he knew Jason would probably shoot him in the kneecaps if he dared to insinuate he used his guns as teddy bears. 
“I got it.” Tim’s voice interrupted his train of thought, fingers flying over the keyboard as he pulled up the call. They leaned forward to hear as he pressed play.
---
Flopping down onto her bed, Marinette let out an exhausted sigh before grabbing her pillow and screaming into it. Tikki rushed to comfort her, flying up to her face and gently nudging her cheek. “It’s okay Marinette-” Her sentence was immediately cut off by another loud groan/wail. “Tikki! What am I supposed to do?! Talia probably knows the Miraculi are active in Paris! What if she targets Maman and Papa? Oh no I’m such an awful Guardian Tikki! I’m going to get everyone killed!” 
She was interrupted by Wayzz, who flew over with a warm cup of tea balanced precariously on his paws. Since he couldn’t see over the top, he nearly crashed into Kaalki, who let out a little shriek and sped out of the way. Her lips twitched upwards at the sight, and she quickly grabbed the tea before it could fall. 
“Marinette you’re not an awful Guardian! Nobody can figure out a Holder’s identity unless they catch them detransforming, or the Holder tells them. So your parents aren’t in any danger!” Tikki explained, nestling in her hair and reached down to pat her on the forehead reassuringly. “Well not in any more danger than usual, what with the Akuma attacks happening almost every other day.” The girl quipped. “But the League could still try and talk to us after an Akuma attack before we detransform. Or they could just follow us until we detransform, and then attack our families.” She rolled over in bed, letting out a yelp when she jostled her foot. 
“Hey Roarr,” She called out. “Didn’t you say that the Order is more powerful than the League, even now?” The striped pink Kwami nodded in agreement. “Yes, Marinette. You are one of the strongest Guardians in history, and since your team is composed entirely of True Holders, the Order is definitely stronger than the League right now.” As she turned the information over in her mind, bits and pieces of a plan began to form. “Well, I could tell them I’m the Guardian...and maybe that will discourage them from trying to attack the rest of the team?” Before any of the Kwami could respond she sat up excitedly. “Oh I know! I’ll tell them I am the Guardian, and part of the Order. And warn them of the consequences that will occur if they try and attack any of us. And even if they do try, I can just transform and take them down using Mullo, Trixx, and Tikki!” She pumped a fist in the air proudly, before turning to the Kwami to see what they thought. Tikki and Wayzz looked like they were contemplating the idea, the rest of the Kwami were either vehemently shaking their heads, or nodding vigorously. Finally Tikki spoke up “I think...that would be alright, but only if they approach you first, okay?” Marinette nodded. “Of course! There is no way I’m actively going to look for ninja assassins!”
---
“Hey Chloé, what’s up?” Marinette’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Maribug! Fu’s completely lost it!”  The other girl-Chloé shrieked over the phone. “Tone it down a bit, Chlo. What do you mean?” Marinette asked. “He won’t stop mumbling to himself, and at random times he’ll just stare at the wall blankly!” The girl answered, though at a much quieter volume. “Well, I think that behavior should be normal for a man that just had memories from over 150 years of his life erased.” Marinette responded in French. 
At that, Jason reached over and paused the recording. “So their mentor is this ‘Fu’ guy, and he had his memories erased. That’s not normal Pit stuff. When I was dunked in, I still remembered everything, I just also wanted to kill everything I came across. Same with all the other fuckers that used it. Memory loss wasn’t a thing.” “Okay, so we can cross off the Pits, but that still doesn’t explain this dude being that old.” Tim agreed. “Let’s keep listening I guess.”
“No he says the Demon is coming!” At those words, the three of them tensed, but continued to listen. “Chloé,” Marinette spoke, “you need to tell me his exact words. Now.” Her voice hardened at the end, and the other girl immediately became serious. “It was mostly mumbling, and I couldn’t make out most of what he said, but I heard something about Al Guhl, and eternal life.” This time Dick was the one who hit the pause button. “How the fuck does she know about the League?!” Jason burst out, looking unsettled and angry. “I don’t know, but we might have to keep an eye on her.” Tim stated, looking worried at the idea of them hosting an assassin in their house. “Okay, let’s see if they say anything about being a part of the League.�� Dick frowned, reaching over to press play. 
“You’re absolutely sure he said that? You weren’t just hearing things?”  Marinette asked, voice filled with barely-concealed panic. “Yeah, that's exactly what he said. Is something wrong?” Chloé responded, sounding worried. Marinette let out a strained laugh. She said something in another language, which caused the other to inhale sharply and let out a curse. “Yeah, we’re totally fucked.” 
“Okay then, looks like she’s not a part of the League I guess.” Dick frowned. “Maybe the League is an enemy of hers? Sorry, theirs?” “Okay maybe, but what does anything in Paris have to do with the League?” Tim responded. “I don’t know, maybe we can ask the rest of the JL if they’ve heard anything from Paris, or France in general.” He said, standing up and stretching. “Why can’t our lives be fucking  normal  for once?!” Jason groaned as they headed to the Cave.
---
“HI everyone!” Lila sang as she entered the classroom on Monday. “You’ll never guess where I went this weekend!” Pausing, she waited expectantly for the excited exclamations of her classmates wondering where she went, who she met, and how many celebrities she had turned down because they wanted to date her. But when no one responded, she felt her smile turn cold. 
Looking at Marinette’s empty chair, her mouth twisted into a smirk, ready to spin new tales of her exploits in foreign countries. Poisoned words, dripping in honey to hide their bitter taste, spilled from her lips. “Oh is Marinette still gone? I didn’t think she could get any worse, but now she’s skipping school as well?!” Faking sadness, she made her lower lip wobble; shoulders hunching in on herself in a false display of timidness. “I tried asking her for a second chance to prove myself since she hates me so much, but she slammed her door in my face and told me to get out!” Still, there was nothing but silence. She looked up, and saw her classmates huddled together around Adrien’s desk.
Gritting her teeth, she sauntered over to them, heels clicking against the hardwood floor. “Hey guys, what’s up?” She asked, voice sweetened to cover up the irritation. “Oh hey Lila!” Mylene looked up, noticing her presence. “What’s up?” She repeated, pushing back the frustration beginning to bleed into her tone. “Oh, well Marinette’s in America now!” Alya told her, nearly vibrating with excitement. “We don’t know where exactly, but maybe she’ll meet some celebrities while she’s there!” “Really?!” Lila exclaimed, forcing enthusiasm into her tone. “That’s so cool. You know, I went to America last month, and I met Lois Lane! She wanted me to intern for her, but I recommended you instead!” “Oh, that’s cool Lila. But aren’t you wondering where Marinette is?” Rose asked eagerly. She felt a white-hot bolt of anger flash through her veins. “Of course I am!” She lied, hatred welling up inside her. “Here, tell me more!” 
As she sat down next to Alya and listened to her ramble, she couldn’t help the furious thoughts running through her mind. ‘I had finally gotten rid of her, and what does she do? Continue to hog all the attention even when she’s across the sea!’ 
This would not do. She needed to make sure they all forgot about Marinette. With a plan in mind, she plastered on a knife-edged smile and began to enact her scheme. 
---
@laurcad123, @liquid-luck-00
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