I want a fic where Robin is adopted.
The only parents she has ever known are her own and the only time being adopted has ever bothered her was when Amanda St. James made fun of her for it in the third grade. But Robin told her that at least her parents wanted her and were not just stuck with her like Amanda’s parents, “And maybe that’s why your Mom and Dad are so unhappy all the time.”
She got in trouble for making Amanda cry and went back to never thinking about her birthparents. She had no interest in knowing anything about them and it stayed like that until she turned sixteen.
On her sixteenth birthday, her mom gave her a letter written to her by her birthmother. Robin doesn’t read it immediately, but eventually gives in to her own curiosity. She reads it over twice before her mind snags on a sentence, ‘I wanted to give you and your brother a better life…’ … you and your brother…. You and your brother…. You and-
“I have a brother.”
This eats at Robin, especially after her dad’s call to the adoption agency goes nowhere. It eats at her so much that she finally gives in – Fred Benson swears up and down that Nancy Wheeler is the best investigator on the school paper – and asks for help.
Nancy says yes and is maybe a little too invested in finding the truth, but honestly, Robin is having fun and she wants to find her apparent twin. She wants to know about his life. Settle the whole nurture over nature thing.
They hit a lot of walls, a lot of dead ends. They break a few rules and maybe commit a felony. They enlist Jonathan Byers to help and even Eddie Munson at one point because he knows how to pick locks, and it’s all for nothing.
One day when they have everything they’ve found spread out across the Wheeler’s dining room table, Steve comes over to pick up Dustin. He looks down at the whole mess and points at her birth certificate like, “Hey, we were born on the same day.”
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Ghost blobs lead someone to Danny
(There is a part 2 now)
Batman froze at the floating blob, nearly the same color of lauzus waters and glowed even brighter. It seemed to notice him and ziped over to him at an alarming speed. Batman tensed ready to strike. But the thing just hovered in front of him and humming? It sounded desperate and worried, despite sound completely inhuman. His lack of response on seemed to increase the noise it made now make odd movements in one direction.
Before he could blink suddenly he was swarmed with the things. Some started pushing at his back and face. Others grabbed at his cape and tried tugging him forward. All of them humming the same desperate tune. Against his better judgement, a feeling in his chest told him to follow. "Alright" He whispered to the odd blobs. "Lead the way." Several bolted away as he chased behind them. A few stayed with him flying next to him or tucked into his cape.
He followed them over buildings until they reached a warehouse district. He was lead to an area designated for demolition. Finally the blobs float to the ground stoping at a warehouse with a door left ajar.
When Batman pushed the doors open he saw nothing, he stood still for a moment. He nearly thought it was a trap. Before the familiar gentle push urged him on. The ones leading him before flew behind a pile of trash and just barely he could see a faint glow behind it.
When Batman walked behind the trash pile, he froze. A dozen more blobs were there all crowding around a dimly glowing child. The white haired child was curled up and seemed to be bleeding lauzrus green. Batman rushed over and grabbed the child's wrist to feel for a pulse. His heart lurched when he found one, and it lurched again when the boy moved. He whimpered and weakly tried pulling away.
He sprang into action and pulled the boy to himself. He grabbed his bandages and gently uncurled the boy to see his wounds. He froze again at the Y-shaped cut on his chest and the countless other cuts left on him. "Please- please stop." Batman snapped back to when the boy spoke. "It's alright, you're safe now." He said softly, he wrapped the boy up as best he could. "What's your name?" He asked as he gently picked the boy up.
The boy was humming like the blobs he realized, it was far weaker like a buzzing in his hands. "Danny" The boy replied, Batman nearly didn't hear him. "I'll keep you safe Danny, I promise." At that Danny seemed to relax and melt into him. Batman called the Batmobile.
The blobs followed them outside a few seemed to fly away before coming back. Like they were patrolling the area. Others were comforting Danny, rubbing up against him or humming a different sound possibly to reassure him. "What are they?" Batman asks, hoping to get some information before the boy could pass out. "Blob ghosts." He muttered.
"Ghosts?"
"It's what I am, but I'm really bad at it" Danny mumbled the last part to himself but Batman caught it. A ghost entity? It would explain the lack of a pulse and even the wounds. A ghost haunted with his own autoposy scars. Before he could ask more the bat mobile stopped in front of them.
Batman hopped inside and gently place Danny in the passenger seat, buckling him in. The blob ghosts followed tucking into the back in a quick flurry. And like that Batman set off. He called Alfred. "Alfred, prepare the medbay. I have a severely injured unknown."
"Right away"
Batman barely managed to keep the boy awake all the way to the Batcave. Batman tries to ignore Alfred's shocked face as he sees Danny and the swarm of blob ghosts that follow them. "You didn't say they were this unknown."
"Danny says that they are 'blob ghosts' and claims he is a ghost as well. But that he is bad at it some how." Batman explained as they rushed to the medbay. When Batman set the boy down a white ring of light appeared around the boy it split and passed over him. They were left with a very human looking boy who was now bleeding red, mixing in with the green.
He and Alfred shared a look of shock. Before having to push the feeling away to help the boy.
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you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.
you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.
he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.
a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.
he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.
you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.
people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.
wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.
also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.
he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."
you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.
"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."
he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.
you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.
is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?
you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.
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I have some advice to writers in fandom: if you start to feel like fandom is making you dislike your own writing, get the hell out. Do not wait, do not pull halfway out, fucking go. Fandoms are vicious and there are people out there who make themselves feel better by tearing others down. Waiting for likes teaches you to externalize your sense of self-worth. Reblogs and follower counts become unspoken competitions.
Leave with your sense of self-worth intact. Loving your writing is worth more than anything you could possibly get out of fandom, I promise you.
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