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umbrellacam · 1 year

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Reading A Lonely Place of Dying is so interesting in so many ways, but the question I'm still rotating in my mind is about Dick, and specifically why he ends up smiling and soft-advocating for Tim to be Bruce's Robin, after he had his morality crisis over young heroes with Jason's death.

So when he finds out about Jason's death, Dick feels guilty over giving Jason his Robin costume and not being there when he died:

New Teen Titans #55

To the extent that, later in the same issue, he unilaterally fires 15-year-old Danny Chase from the Titans, over Donna and Kory's objections, citing what happened to Jason. He even expresses doubt over his own young age when he became Robin, wondering whether that was a mistake:

New Teen Titans #55

However, when Dick visits Bruce in Gotham to both express his condolences over Jason's death and also confront him over not telling Dick about it, he explicitly rejects Bruce's implication of blame:

New Teen Titans #55

And later, when the Gargoyle is mentally torturing him over his past failures to the Titans, to Bruce, and Jason, Dick breaks through his self-blame issues and firmly asserts that there was nothing he could have done to prevent Jason's death.

Secret Origins (Vol. 2) #3

But understanding his lack of blame logically isn't the same as being totally past it, as it's part of Dick's larger cycle of guilt, as he acknowledges to his therapist:

The New Titans #57

So how does Dick get from here, still wrestling with guilt and feeling ambivalent about the idea of young heroes as a whole, to the end of A Lonely Place of Dying, where he smiles and basically urges Bruce to give Tim a chance to become Robin?

Like, yes, Dick then spends the entirety of Batman: Year Three worried about Bruce's tenuous mental state after Jason's death, reaching out to him in the midst of Batman's reckless, violent spiral, trying to both express care and to call his mentor and hero back to his foundations of crime-fighting through careful detective work, not through brutality - and getting rejected by Bruce over and over. Even while being proud of Dick's methods and the hero he's grown into, Bruce just can't seem to pull himself out of his own morass of self-destruction. Dick eventually has to leave him to it, though he clearly hasn't stopped worrying about Bruce by the start of ALPoD.

Yes, Tim impresses Dick multiple times over the course of ALPoD. First at the circus with his reflexes and his quick thinking (apparently almost as much as he irritates and baffles Dick with his stubborn evasiveness and pushy presumption, lol this total gremlin). Then at Wayne Manor when Tim goes through his deduction of Batman's and Robin's identities, although this one is more an implication through Dick's decision to show Tim the Cave immediately afterward, and Alfred's words to Tim.

Batman #441

And yet Alfred's sentiment here is immediately contradicted when Tim insistently pushes the Robin costume at Dick, and Dick gets pissed off, saying that, "When Jason died, he took Robin with him. And no matter how much anybody may want it - you can't bring back the dead."

The New Titans #61

How does Dick go from this to accepting Tim as the new potential Robin all of two issues later!! This boy's emotions are so mixed up, lol.

I feel like while Dick is clearly angered by Tim's presumptions, kind of baffled and creeped-out by the sort of parasocial fixation Tim has on both Bruce/Batman and Dick/Robin, below the surface he's also genuinely absorbing Tim's driving love and care for them both. Like, he's way too ticked off to show it or even think of it consciously at the moment - and it's hard to process!! despite that day at Haly's Circus tying them together a decade ago, this kid is a rando, it's out of nowhere, it's wild to be confronted with!! - but on some level he has to be touched by Tim's care and passion for their legacy. He wouldn't make his heel-turn later and smile at Tim so approvingly otherwise.

Like, Dick wants Bruce to have a partner that cares for him that much, that forces him to care for himself in a way that he clearly hasn't been since Jason's death. And Dick is both afraid and aware that he can't fill that role anymore - that he can try to stand beside Batman as Nightwing and support him that way, but he can't stand behind Bruce in his protective shadow again, can't cramp himself back into Robin.

So even as Dick is making line-faces at this bizarre kid pushing himself at them, talking about Jason and Dick and Bruce and what Batman needs like he knows better than Dick, UGH… Dick is also considering… is maybe moved a bit by that star-bright conviction and overflowing love in the face of all the doubts that seem to plague both Bruce and Dick lately… is maybe hoping, seeing a possible light in the dark. Not on a conscious level, perhaps, but it's maybe churning below the surface with everything else Dick is thinking about.

Anyway, Dick still tracks Batman down and tries being a supportive partner as Nightwing, even going "I'm here. Always," when Batman finally brings himself to admit that he needs help. Only to IMMEDIATELY run face-first into Bruce's control issues and post-Jason-disregarding-orders trauma - "You're not with the Titans now. If you want to be with me, you follow my orders. Now do as I say." (The New Titans #61) Oof, instant I'm-NIGHTWING-not-ROBIN friction, but Dick swallows it for now.

Then Two-Face blows up a building on top of both of them, and Tim (and Alfred!) have to rescue them both. By the time that they've been dug out, Alfred and Dick are both praising Tim's potential to a very baffled and alarmed, verging on angry, Batman lol. Dick and Alfred then grin at each other while young Tim struggles against his intimidation and argues the tremendously (and understandably!) reluctant Batman to a standstill.

Batman #442

As they drive away afterward (Bruce, Dick and Tim in the Batmobile to track down Two-Face - using the tracker Tim planted on him, good job Timmy!! - and Alfred toward home in a separate car), we get the following thought-bubbles:

Bruce: Even if he's right, I don't want another partner. Dick: Bruce, for once, think with your heart, not with cold logic. Tim: He doesn't want me, but he hasn't said no. So just do your best… Alfred: …One way or another, the rest will take care of itself.

Batman #442

"Think with your heart, not with cold logic" - so does Dick's line here mean that this is what he himself is doing at this point? Setting aside his logic, his fears and reservations about young heroes, about Jason's death, about putting another young boy in the Robin costume - because Tim joining them, maybe becoming Bruce's new partner, feels right? Because everything that Tim has shown of himself so far means the kid deserves a chance, at least? Because Bruce's caution after Jason's death would mean that he'll make sure to 'do it right this time'? Because Tim's passion and conviction could be what Batman needs, and - maybe as much if not more than that - could be something that deserves to be nurtured into something great, despite Dick's own (and Bruce's) fears?

Because Dick has to be wrestling with and at least quelling (if not fully letting go of) his fears about the risks to young heroes in these issues, it doesn't make sense for him to be okay with Tim as Robin otherwise. And it can't all be about what use Tim could be to Bruce - the leash he could put on Batman's out of control behavior. That's far too selfish and manipulative as a sole motive for Dick Grayson; especially after Jason, he wouldn't encourage a kid to jump into the meat-grinder of vigilantism solely to save Bruce or preserve the legacy of Batman & Robin.

I feel like Dick has to also be seeing something in Tim here, his potential, his determination, the good that he can and wants desperately to do, that Dick has to respect, has to think deserves a shot. When Alfred goes, "The boy should be a politician!" and Dick replies, "He'd do more good with Bruce," (Batman #442; panels above), it does feel like he's thinking of the difference Tim himself could make in the world. Dick has to be remembering why he himself could not be put off from the vigilante life when he was even younger than Tim, why Jason also went out there and did his best every night. To help people, in a way that mattered.

Anyway, Tim also puts in a good showing when they confront Two-Face, despite giving Bruce a near heart-attack over this strange unfamiliar boy wearing his son's uniform when Tim briefly appears to have been crushed - only for him to have saved himself and warned Batman and Nightwing of danger through his quick thinking.

Afterward, Alfred and Dick both advocate for Tim, so Dick is clearly pulling for Tim to be given a chance. Dick's smile here, my heart.

Batman #442

I still wish they'd been a little more explicit with the turn of Dick's mindset here, but at the same time I guess it's pretty effective as show-not-tell!

All in all, I feel like ALPoD was very effective storytelling, well done Marv, hugely enjoyable read, and I can't wait to read more.

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that1emowitch · 1 month

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At the end of the world / Or the last thing I see / You are never coming home, never coming home

Prompt from @tuna-f-b: Do you still do request? If yes and angst is o.k: what would happend i all the bats died? Like how would the hero community react. The supers alone. Clark having to deal with losing his best friend(?) and the kids he basically co parented- as well as seeing his sons lose their best friends(?) Specially as ships that would be awesome angst

A/N: I'm not crying you're crying (Also, for those who don't know, Izzy is Duke's canon gf and one of the Robins from We Are Robin)

Words: 2504

TW: Mentions of blood, Major character death, Coping with loss, Self-blame, Mentions of relapse (drugs)

“If you’re watching this, I am either deceased or indefinitely unable to continue my duties as Batman. But the world still needs Batman. Gotham still needs Batman. My son Damian Wayne, if he is an adult, shall inherit my mantle— if not, Dick Grayson will take over until he is. In the event that he, too, is unavailable for any reason, the mantle goes to Tim Drake, after him, to Cassandra Cain, then Duke Thomas, then Stephanie Brown, then Jason Todd, should he accept it.”

In the video recording, Batman pauses, taking a deep breath.

“In the unfortunate event that the entire family is… deceased… I have a list of contingency plans on both the Bat-Computer and the Justice League’s primary databases. Oracle will help you access it, but in her… absence… the password is “a6ghr83kc02m”.”

Then video-Bruce takes off the cowl, his pale blue eyes looking straight into the camera.

“I know I was never the best with feelings. But I would like my children, my allies, and friends to know that I’m proud of you. And to my fellow Justice Leaguers… Diana and Clark, I am truly grateful for your companionship. I would never have made it this far without you. Barry, Arthur, Dinah, J’onn, you’ve all been good friends. Oliver, Hal… you’re not so bad either.”

Bruce turns around, and looks over his shoulder, the shadows of the Batcave making the scene even more dramatic.

“I wish you good luck.”

Then the clip ends.

A shuddering breath leaves Clark.

It’s real.

He’s really… They’re all…

He can’t do this anymore. He turns around and walks out the door, leaving the other core Justice Leaguers staring sombrely at the now-blank screen.

He doesn’t know when he started flying, when he started trying to escape. The walls of the Watchtower seem to be suffocating him, but he has enough sense not to just leave the airlock yet.

Instead he finds a corner by a window, far, far away from the others, where he can see a majestic view of Earth, the moon, and the Sun in perfect sync with each other.

He falls to his knees.

His breathing’s uneven, a tear rolls down his cheeks.

Then he feels a hand on his shoulder— soft, trembling, yet steady.

“Kal,” Diana whispers, sitting on the floor next to him. She doesn’t continue— she isn’t sure what to say.

“They’re all going to die, you know? We’re going to bury all of them. Everyone on Earth, everyone we know.” Clark’s voice trembles, in a way Superman’s never does. “It scares me so much.”

“Kal,” Diana says again, pulling Clark into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ve lost… We’ve lost so many of our friends. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to grieve.”

“How are you— how are you so—” Clark can’t form his words properly. He turns to Diana, to see her face tight with grief, eyes misty with unshed tears.

Her voice breaks slightly as she speaks. “I don’t want to believe they’re gone. But… we have to carry on. We’re the Justice League. Our people need us, Kal.”

“So we just go on and on? Forever?” Another tear runs down his cheek. “Ollie, Hal, Dinah, Lois, Jon, they’re all going to… they’re all going to die one day and we just have to… to go on?”

“I’m sorry, but it is the truth,” Diana whispers, her eyes stinging with hot tears. “We must find peace in the fact, right now, that Batman— Bruce, the Robins, they— they were so brave. Brave till the end. And they fell as warriors, defending our world. I’m sure they’ll all reach Elysium.”

“And Dickie, Damian, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke—” Clark’s voice is hoarse. “They were so young, just kids… I… I know Dick, Jay, Tim, Cass… they were adults, but… they’re gone, they’re gone…”

“They were heroes, like you and me. Don’t forget that.”

“I… I know, I just—” Another shuddering breath escapes Clark. “I just— I…”

“It’s okay,” Her voice is forcefully steady, but with an undertone of heartbreak. “It’s okay…”

Dinah looks around the room, her heart heavy.

Clark has left, Diana’s gone after him— both of them need their space, she knows. They were close to Bruce and the other Bats in a way no one else in this room was.

Was.

The word still weighs down on her.

Hal speaks up finally, breaking the deafening silence. “I always thought he hated me.”

No one replies for a long moment.

“I miss the kids,” Barry says finally, his voice quiet. “They were just… Robin was only 14. The others, even Nightwing, they had… they had their whole lives ahead of them.”

More silence.

“Jason, when he was Robin— do y'all remember? Kid was always my favorite,” Ollie says finally. “Was always so sassy. Roy loves him.”

Loves. Dinah winces, but doesn’t correct him. It’s easier to believe they’re just gone for a little while.

“Bruce was a good man,” Arthur adds. “They all were.”

“Tim was, I believe, the smartest,” J’onn says, somber. “It was his plan that allowed us to save Earth.”

“Damian!” Dinah says suddenly, jumping from her seat. “His… his mother. She shouldn’t have to find out from someone else.”

Everyone freezes, faces tight.

Dinah sighs, looking down. “I’ll do it.”

Then she leaves the room, dragging what feels like a heavy weight tied to her soul. She has to do this.

Roy’s sitting in a corner of his apartment, hugging his knees. All he can think of is Jason.

He’s never coming back.

He can still feel the lingering ‘goodbye’ kiss Jason gave him not two days ago, he can still hear him say, “I’ll be back before you know it, babe.”

He never came back.

He’s dead. Dead— dead dead dead DEAD DEAD—

“Small Red not okay?” A booming voice snaps Roy out of his thoughts. He looks up to see Bizarro’s pale blue skin and cold eyes looming over him. He’s crying. “Red him coming back.”

It takes Roy a second to register that Bizarro speaks backwards. It takes everything in him to not punch him for saying that, for giving him false hope.

He feels something he hasn’t felt in years— feels that whisper in his mind— one hit and it’ll all feel better. Just one hit.

NO! He screams mentally. He feels like bashing his head open.

Instead he lifts his dead eyes to survey the rest of the room— Kori’s on the couch, staring into space. Artemis has a crying Lian in her arms, she’s showing her something— old photos of Jason. Talking, whispering in a broken voice.

No, no he should be the one comforting Lian—

What’s he gonna say?

That— That Jason— That her Papa’s gone forever? That he’s never— he’s never coming back?

No— Jay— Jay deserved so much better, he— he already died once before, he’s been through so much, things were supposed to be better now— not— no, he’s—

Roy feels Bizarro sit beside him, gently patting his arm.

He snaps out of his thoughts again, turning to Jason’s former teammate, his eyes red-rimmed. His voice raw, he whispers, “Jay’s gone…”

Wally’s standing in the Hall of Heroes, staring up at the holographic projection of Dick— he looks so majestic, so mighty, staring ahead with nothing but hope and courage in his eyes.

Nothing like the cold, dead body that Wally held in his arms just two days ago.

He’s surrounded by his teammates, his friends— Kaldur, M’gann, Artemis, Zatanna, L’gann, Garth— yet he feels so alone.

He sees it again— Dick bleeding out it his arms, his wounds so fatal he died before help arrived. Wally’s the fastest man alive, damn it, yet he couldn’t even save his best friend— his boyfriend. He feels the moment when Dick’s breathing stopped, when his body went limp, when his grip on Wally’s hand loosened.

Everyone’s quiet. M’gann’s stress baking again, L’gann by her side. Artemis and Zatanna are sitting together, Garth’s lingering in a corner, and Kaldur’s standing right beside Wally— close enough for comfort but not so close he’s lurking. He’s shaking.

He can still hear it, hear Dick forcing out his last words, telling Wally it’s okay, that he loves him, that it’ll be fine.

It’s not fine. Not without you.

He wants to scream.

He wants to cry, yell, hit something, do anything.

But he can’t move.

So he just stands there, almost as still as the holographic projection of Dick before him.

Kon is left reeling.

Tim… Tim is…

Tim’s dead.

Tim’s really gone.

He thinks, for just a second, that this is how Tim and Cassie must have felt when he and Bart “died”.

Bart is sitting beside him on the couch, leaning on his side, Cassie’s got her head on his lap. Neither of them speak— Bart’s not even fidgeting— they’re all just trying to be there for each other.

The other Titans are up and about, but staying close for comfort. Jaime and Gar are making food for everyone in the kitchen, Raven and Vic have come back to the tower to make sure the others are okay, and he’s sure Karen’s around too, somewhere.

Yet he feels so empty.

Feels nothing at all.

How can he, when his best friend is dead?

Jon hasn’t spoken in a bit. Not when his Mom brought him his favorite soup, not when Grandma and Grandpa showed up to ‘help’ him and Dad through this, not when Krypto plopped down beside him to comfort him.

He hugs the dog close.

Krypto’s technically Kon’s, but Jon’s sure Kon wouldn’t mind if he stole Krypto for a day.

Another sob escapes him, and he buries his head in Krypto’s back. The dog whines, licking Jon’s hand.

He can’t believe Damian’s gone.

Really gone.

And he didn’t know just how much he would miss his friend.

Dinah finds Talia Al Ghul on a building in Metropolis, overlooking the city. Her face is tight with sorrow, but she keeps herself in check, her back straight, head held high.

She already knows, Dinah deduces.

“I… I’m sorry,” Dinah starts, unsure of what to say. She knows, from her experience as a psychologist, that ‘sorry’ is the last thing a grieving person wants to hear, but she doesn’t have anything else to say.

Talia doesn’t reply for a long time. Then she says, her voice numb, “I should have known, when bringing Damian into this life, that I would also be bringing him amidst the dangers that come with.”

Dinah’s brows furrow. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything at all.”

“I should have trained him better, I should have kept him close, I should—” Talia takes a shuddering breath. “I should have never brought him into this life.”

Dinah can’t argue with that— she knows how Damian had come to be, and it… wasn’t the best birth ever.

“Now leave, hero,” Talia says, her voice numb and cold. “Go back to protecting the world. Leave me be.”

Dinah wants to say something better, comfort the woman, but she can’t. So she just turns back, and leaves.

By the time Harper Row makes her way to the Clock Tower, there’s already quite a crowd there— Kate, Renee Montoya, Harley, Ivy, Silena, and Helena Bertinili— they’re crowding around Babs, comforting her. Luke Fox and Isabella Ortiz are at the computer, looking through something.

Harper tries to open her mouth to speak, but she can’t get the words out.

She makes her way over to Luke and Izzy, shoulders hunched.

Just three days ago she’d been hanging out with Duke and Izzy and Cass and Steph— they’d all been so carefree, so happy…

And now…

Once she gets close enough she realizes Izzy’s crying, and immediately wraps her arms around the shorter girl. Harper’s trying to hold back tears of her own, too. She feels Luke putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight.

No one speaks for a long time, they just stand together, seeking comfort in each other.

Then Babs rolls her wheelchair to the center of the room, wiping at her bloodshot eyes. But when she speaks, she sounds surprisingly steady. She’s compartmentalizing, Harper realizes. Putting away Barbara and bringing Oracle back.

“Gotham needs her heroes, now more than ever,” Oracle says, head held high. “We must honor our friends by doing the one thing they’d have wanted— to keep fighting. Keep Gotham safe.”

She sighs, her face tight to fight away tears. “Luke. Batman’s contingency plan, in the Robins’ absence, was to pass you the mantle of Batman. Do you accept?”

Luke’s eyes grow wide slightly, but he straightens himself, looking away. “I… I accept. Dad isn’t going to be happy, but… Gotham needs Batman.”

“Thank you.” Oracle nods at him. “As per Bruce’s will, all Wayne assets, the Manor, and the Batcave are split between Kate, me, Alfred, and Lucius. I… Lucius and I are still figuring out who’s going to take over Wayne Enterprises, but on the vigilante side, I’ve got a plan.”

She turns to Ivy, Harley, Kate, Silena and Helena. “The Birds of Prey are needed here, now more than ever. Dinah— Black canary has offered to help us with Gotham, too.”

Harley nods, sniffling. Beside her, Ivy speaks up, “The… Most Rogues aren’t happy about this. They’re not rampaging— Bane has fashioned his own version of the Batsuit, he’s going around ‘saving’ people, screaming that Batman never dies. The Joker’s searching for Lazarus Pits and Bruce’s body. Jervis Tetch and Nygma held a get-together yesterday, in the memory of the Bats. I… I think they might help us.”

Harper’s gotta admit, she’s quite surprised about this. Even Babs freezes, taking in this information.

“Gotham needs Robin as much as she needs Batman,” Izzy speaks up from beside her, her voice small but firm. “The Robins can come back, this time you can give us formal training so we can actually help.”

Oracle turns to Luke. “Taking on Robins is your decision, Batman.”

Luke winces at that title— it doesn’t feel like an honor to him, it just feels like an incessant reminder that he’s the last one left. Because his friends are dead. But he nods, anyway, not trusting himself to speak right now.

Then Oracle addresses Harper. “I… would you like to be Batgirl?”

Harper’s heart stops. Memories flash into her head— seeing Steph in the Batgirl costume, seeing Cass in the Batgirl suit, both of whom are now gone.

“N— No,” Harper stutters out, eyes tearful. “I can’t— I’m sorry, Babs. I appreciate the offer, but… Cass was Batgirl. I can’t take her place.”

“I understand.” Babs just nods, lips pursed, misty-eyed. “We will all need to work hand-in-hand until everything settles, we will need to be vigilant. Carry on Batman’s legacy, for as long as we may need to.”

No one speaks again.

They all just let it sink in, hearts heavy.

They’re going to have to do this alone now.

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an-entity-i-think · 2 years

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When the door opens, a lot of thoughts rush through Tim's head at lightning speed. If any telepaths were near, he's sure his mind would have given them mental whiplash because he felt like he was going Mach 20 from what the fuck to a very natural oh my god Bruce is going to fuck this up and ending up at I know exactly what to do in about five seconds.

A haughty looking Prince watched them with a straight spine and a scowl on his lips as he stood- proudly, happily, next to Talia Al Ghul who looks just as royal and proud beside him.

"I thought you'd be taller, Father."

If anything was different- anything at all, he's sure this scenario would have gone wrong.

Had Tim been any less prepared then he was anyways.

Because Tim is not oblivious to the fact that as Bruce has already allowed three children into his life in the past- it would make sense that Bruce would follow the trend and collect more as time went on.

Tim is prepared. He lived alone for the first thirteen years of his life wishing for a younger sibling to watch over and he has made plans for every scenario that he could possibly conceive.

His plans got even more convoluted as he joined the Wayne family and he promised himself that his relationship with his successor would be the best in the family because he wants to win at being a big brother.

He has been training for this his entire life.

So when Bruce- oh poor emotionally constipated Bruce who deflects big emotions with anger -looks at Talia with fire in his eyes at what Tim is sure is a valid anger about having a very clearly his child hidden from him for a decade opens his mouth, Tim does the smart thing and slaps his hand over Bruce's mouth without any hesitation or care.

Talia lifts an eyebrow in amusement as the young Prince's eyes widen fractionally in surprise.

Bruce goes back to being a still life painting in real life as he looks at him intently.

Tim does not care and looks at him sweetly in a way he knows that Bruce knows means that he'll tranq him if he doesn't think about his words.

Batman was very out of it when Tim became Robin.

Tim read a parenting book and decided boundaries were very important in a caretaker situation.

(Yes, Tim considers himself the caretaker in this situation. He thinks it's funny.)

(Bruce did not find it funny after being tranqed for the fifth time, but he could never find all the tranqs.)

"Bruce. Isn't it so wonderful that Talia has created such a gift to the world? It's almost like welcoming a child with love is a much higher priority than whatever you were about to say."

Bruce's left hand twitches in such a subtle way that allows Tim, who knows his partner very well from the past few years, to know that Bruce was surprised.

Tim nods acceptingly before giving Bruce his ability to speak back, and smiling at their guests nicely and genuinely.

Nodding his head to each in greeting, "Ms. Talia, Prince. Please come in for some tea."

He pretends not to notice the barely there shuffle of the Prince's right foot wanting to hide behind his mother, nor does he linger on the vaguest tightening of Talia's hand on her son's shoulder as she glances around them casually.

She smiles at him, politely sharp. She actually reminds Tim of his own mother- weilding the twitch of her lips like it could cut deeper than any hidden dagger.

"That sounds lovely."

#tim drake #damian wayne #damian al ghul #talia al ghul #bruce wayne #timothy drake #good mom talia #robin!Tim #it was going to be actual story but uh i gave up lol #tim takes dames on a tour and gives him an elaborate explanation on anything he could possibly need to know #'this is Alfred. he is your grandfather.' 'isnt he just the butler?' 'No. he raised bruce and bruce sees him as his father.'#'his word is above all.' dames: *furiously takes notes*#'dick grayson is the eldest. he is very kind and he means it- do not see this as a weakness. his anger is only for the most dire of times'#'...is he scary?' 'Never to us. never to you'#'jason is our other brother. he was the second but he was betrayed by his birthgiver and died at no fault of his own. he was amazing'#tim: *points solemnly at a portrait of him in the hallway*#damian: *squinting and wondering why he looks like the braindead warrior that his mother was taking care of*...huh #batfam #tim and damian #i imagine tim at 14ish and dames at 8 #talia brought his 2 yrs before canon #love talia <3 #entity writes dc #entity writes

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ofsappho · 1 year

Text

treehouse 🔞 (also available on ao3)

tags: smut, pregnancy, 🔞, mental illness, trauma, eventual happy ending

Dream of the Endless | Lord Morpheus x reader

It's a common story; you meet a tall, dark, and handsome man outside of a club and take him home that night. When he leaves, you don't think you'll ever see him again.

Now, what's less common is what happens a couple of weeks later, when you realize you're pregnant. But you only know his name, if that even is his real name: "Dream".

What exactly are you going to do now?

(title from the song Treehouse by Alex G) (originally posted on AO3)

You don’t usually do this kind of thing.

‘Thing’ here refers to venturing out of your apartment, alone, dressed to the nines and in search of trouble. The kind of thing that every other twenty-something you know does on a regular basis.

But it’s always been too hard for you to gather up the energy for such an effort. Depression can do that.

Tonight, though, you’re trying, even though you’re definitely the only person in this club without anyone else to accompany them.

The party feels like something out of that new Batman movie; bass reverberating through the soles of your sneakers and smoke curling through the air, heavy-fingered and tinged blood red from the colored lights.

You had choked down a panic attack on the walk from the train to the club, only making it down those few blocks of sidewalk by reminding yourself that you can leave whenever it stops being fun, over and over.

The ice in your drink is fully melted and in the whole hour you’ve wandered around, you’ve really only spoken to the very pretty bartender. She complimented your dress, and you would’ve complimented her eyes in return, but you’re aware that she was only being polite and doing her job.

Without much fanfare, you abandon your glass filled halfway with water and halfway with vodka sour next to all the other discarded glasses. This has officially stopped being fun, though whether or not it was ever fun to begin with is up for debate, and you take that as your cue to dip.

Once you’re outside, the cool air a pleasant balm on your sweat-sticky cheeks, you quickly snag a cigarette out of the carton in your purse. A raven watches you struggle to light it.

He’s a curious bird, calm as any human, and you win the staring contest between the two of you. When he cocks his head at the sound of your laughter, you swear he can practically understand you. You keep giggling as you crouch down and offer your shitty lighter to the raven. “Well? Are you gonna help me or just stand there making fun?”

“Matthew has always had a sense of humor.” At the sound of someone’s accented voice, as rich and deep as whiskey, you stand and turn to see a man looking at you and your new corvus buddy.

Oh fuck, he’s beautiful.

You go with beautiful as handsome is definitely the wrong word. The stranger is beautiful in a way that doesn’t quite seem humanly possible, like it breaks your brain a little bit to look at his brilliant eyes, to take in his high, sweeping cheekbones and plush mouth.

“The raven’s name is Matthew?”

“Yes.” You’re tempted to ask him if he, like, has a podcast or maybe records audiobooks. If he doesn’t, he should. He’d do super well.

Seriously. It’s catnip to you. The sound unfurls from his throat with a touch of rasp, but still purer and more resonant than any other voice you can recall.

You’re reminded of what priests say the voice of God sounds like. This is a very weird thing to come to mind when a random guy talks, especially as you aren’t really religious like that. He definitely could get a whole lot of people to do as he wished just by asking, you think. A God needs to have that quality. Or a cult leader.

You swallow down the heat inside that stokes hotter with every moment his bright gaze clings to your face, to the curve of your lips. His structured black coat fits across his proud shoulders well; it looks expensive and he appears to have an awfully good tailor.

You decide to go along with the bit. Bits are fun and talking to this man is exactly the kind of shenanigan you were hoping to stumble across. “That’s a good name. Did you give him that?”

He smiles knowingly. “He named himself.”

That’s funny. It makes sense; ravens are as clever as any person, the Internet says, so someone looking at one of those birds and feeling as though it named itself isn’t totally out of left field.

You hope he elaborates on that, but the stranger doesn’t seem inclined to help you out there. But you don’t want the silence to settle much longer. It might drive him away, and you’d like him to stick around longer. Maybe get his number. “Well, I hope he knows it suits him. Hey. You think you could light this for me? You saw me try it with Matthew, but I don’t think he has enough claws to make it work.” You hold out the lighter with shaky fingers, nervousness fighting desire in your veins.

When he takes it from you, his skin brushes yours. It’s almost electric. “…of course.”

You’ve never felt attracted to someone so fast. The wanting hits you like an avalanche; a dream of his palms on your hips and red marks on your skin from his teeth pours through your mind.

The man cups his other hand over the flame as you lean in, at last lighting your neglected smoke. Your lungs fill with him, not tobacco smoke. His scent, sharp and comforting all at once, makes you just as woozy, just as lightheaded as the nicotine does. “Thank you, I, um, appreciate it. Do you have a name, too?”

“You may call me Dream.”

Your best friend would appreciate his excellent grammar. Clever of him to use ‘might’; if you were a Fae trying to get his real name, he’s answered in exactly the way someone trying to not get fairy abducted should. These are the kinds of tidbits that amuse you, even if you won’t ever use them. So you’ve spent your life hoarding random information like this, just for funsies.

“Your choice of words there is noted, ‘Dream’.” Your smile warms your voice and he steps in a little closer, close enough that you have to tilt your head up a bit to maintain eye contact. Like staring at an eclipse. That’s bad for your eyesight, you tell yourself. But you can’t look away.

His lashes are as black as his thick, undone hair, framing a lidded and darkening gaze.“Were you just leaving?”

Oh fuck yeah. “Um, yeah, not really my scene. Kinda boring, at least for me. It’s a shame; I was hoping to actually make getting out of the house tonight worth it, but. No dice.” You haven’t done this game in quite awhile, but you still remember the rules. A bit of a tease at the end, just to imply that you’re interested. What can you do? He makes you bold, bolder than normal. You want him to want you.

“Pity.” A pause stretches between you and you feel your heart sink into your stomach, your anxiety revving up again. What if he just walks away and leaves you here, embarrassed and in your head for believing someone like you could attract someone like him?

“Do you still wish to make getting out of the house tonight worth it?” Your words sound out of place in his mouth, too modern.

What’s that joke about how some actors in period dramas clearly look like they know what an iPhone is? Dream is apparently the opposite of that. He seems entirely above petty concerns like lamenting the lack of decent hookups.

The discordance has you stifling a giggle.

You dream some more about his hand tangling in your hair and his body covering yours, his knee between your thighs. And the fire, deep in your belly, burns brighter and brighter. “Depends on what we’re doing.”

When Dream smiles, it’s beautiful and uncanny. He looks like a predator, and you’ve stumbled right where he wants you. It’s hot. You’re good with that. “You know what.”

“…yes.”

You can’t really remember how you got back to your apartment - Dream has been far too busy pressing his mouth to yours, devouring the heady, saliva-slick kisses you’re freely offering up, for you to pay attention to something like that.

As soon as you’ve made it inside the front door, he pins you against the wall to wrap an elegant, long-fingered hand in your hair, tipping your face towards him so he can nip at your bottom lip with sharp teeth. “You are… exquisite,” He murmurs against your lips, pupils blown so large that his eyes look like galaxies with an endless black hole in the center, pulling you towards his gravity.

You grow wetter at the sound of the lust roughening up the edges of his polished voice, at the awe in his words. “Please,” you moan as he bites aching marks into the column of your throat that are sure to bruise purple and red tomorrow. You want them to bruise, you want to have something left behind after this hookup ends, proof he was there.

You’re not even sure how to articulate what exactly you’re begging for. That’s beyond what your mind is capable of right now, as his hand fists in your hair and tightens until it’s the perfect amount of slightly painful and you’re gasping, desperate for more. Your hands have twisted into the collar of his coat this whole time and you don’t let go. The feeling of the cloth rounds you and more than anything, you don’t want him to back away.

Dream seems to understand your pleading - he lathes the bruises with his tongue and you would do anything he wanted, as long as he would do that between your thighs. His other hand trails against the swell of your breast, gently caressing them through your thin dress. You arch into his touch, his fingers rolling over your nipple, plucking at it before palming your chest once more.

You’re greedy - you want even more. With a frustrated groan, you shove your dress off about as fast as you’re capable of doing so, getting tangled in the sleeves in your enthusiasm. A whine escapes your chest - seriously?

You’re so horny at this point that any fumbling delay like this might cause a meltdown, especially in front of someone as hot as Dream, but he simply smiles affectionately and untangles you, soothing your ruffled feathers with his calm, steady touch. The dress flutters to the ground in a heap. “Be still,” He admonishes you, before sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of your body bared to him. “Fuck.”

Your underwear is soaked through and it clings to your thighs as you shift, desperately trying to relieve the yearning need inside.

Dream seems transfixed by you, utterly enraptured by your full breasts and the dip of your waist, the soft curves of your hips. Those pretty, blinding eyes almost glow in the dim light of your living room lamp and as his fingers leave your hair to trail down your neck, a line down your clavicle, his touch relishing in the softness of your skin, you’ve never felt more desired.

Then, he meets your round, hungry eyes. “Do you want this?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course,” You pant. He’s moving too slow for you; you yank him towards you again, your mouth vicious as you kiss him. Dream’s still fully clothed, which seems a bit unfair, but there’s something about the intentional vulnerability of standing before him mostly-naked that you secretly enjoy. He has the upper hand at the moment, and you’re actually pretty okay with that.

Impatience and a bratty touch of mischief briefly win out over the urge to please him, to revel in his affections, so you quickly slip away from his grasp and flee towards your bedroom, with Dream hot on your trail.

Before you make it all the way to your bed, still unmade from earlier today, he catches you by your waist, wrapping his hand around your jaw tight enough to leave fingerprints so he can expose the side of your neck to the burn of his lips.

You fully expect him to toss you down on the bed and have his way with you, but Dream lowers you down carefully with one hand cradling the back of your head and his eyes fixed on your face, possession and lust blossoming in his terrifyingly beautiful smile

You need him.

He peels off his clothes quickly. Underneath all those dark, rich fabrics, his lean, muscle-bound torso gleams in the moonlight like a marble statue of some old god. You’ve always loved Ancient Greece and their perfectly-sculpted effigies.

Then Dream is on you again. He sinks to his knees before you and his position doesn’t feel like submission, not when you’ve fully surrendered to him. His mouth trails down your body and his hands can’t stop touching you; you gasp as you writhe in his steady embrace holding you still.

Your underwear gets discarded in some corner of your room - you’ll look for it later, when your hookup leaves.

He hooks one of your legs on his shoulder and buries his head between your thighs. He’s like, really good at eating you out. You’re sort of shocked, because you haven’t had great experiences with this, but his tongue traces your clit and the overwhelming pleasure from Dream’s touch forces a desperate cry out of you.

He chuckles against your pussy, now teasing intentionally as he traces around your clit, around your dripping core, before returning to his task. Dream carefully sinks two fingers inside of you and his groan at how your cunt flutters around his fingers vibrates through you. You’re so full already, the pressure pinching a little, and he’s careful, so careful when he starts to move in and out of you, sucking at your clit to soothe the ache from the stretch.

You’re moaning, and you can’t even breathe, can’t catch your breath; it’s so fucking good, and you feel the beginning of an orgasm coiling inside you already.

Any pain completely dissipates as Dream’s mouth indulges you, tastes you like he wants nothing more than to eat you out for the rest of time. Your body instinctively twitches away, hips trying to escape his touch. The pleasure burns through your body like a wildfire, and the intensity is almost too much, especially when the pads of his fingers find a sensitive spot inside your trembling, hypersensitive cunt. “Fuck, Dream, fuck-“

When he pulls away from you, his mouth is slick with your arousal, and you watch him lick it from his lips. “Did I not say to be still?” He speaks quietly, evenly, a contrast to the needy whines you make at the loss of contact.

But his fingers don’t let up. Dream keeps moving them inside of you, and it’s hard to find the capacity to answer him when he intentionally brushes against that delicate, tender place.

You’d do anything for him to keep going. Anything. “No, you did, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry.”

He does nothing for a moment; even his fingers pause as you spasm around him. And just when you think he’s going to completely withdraw and punish you for not following his instructions, he absolves you. “Good girl.”

Dream braces his other arm against your hips so you can’t escape how he pleasures you, and even as your body jerks when he enters you again, picking up the pace and fucking you open, you can’t move away. He replaces his tongue on your clit with his thumb, pressing even circles into your sensitive flesh so he can watch your face twisted in ecstasy and the brilliant flush crawling up your tits towards your throat with hungry, star-bright eyes.

Dream needs you undone before him just much as you want him to take you apart.

You’re so wet that it’s obscene, his fingers dripping with you, and the sound your pussy makes with every movement is embarrassingly loud, almost as loud as your moans.

Your impending orgasm sparks back to life as he patiently builds you back up, your thighs trembling and eyes rolling at a particularly forceful thrust. When he fits another finger inside your soaked core, your eyes roll back in your head as you cry out in surprise. It’s too good, the pain and pleasure bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Fuck, you can feel it, right there, feel it threatening to pull you under like a riptide, and each movement pushes the breath out of your lungs. It takes a minute to realize Dream is matching his thumb teasing your clit with his careful, gentle pushes against that spot inside your pussy. He knows your body so well for someone you’ve never met before, and in his capable, clever hands, you’re so close to coming apart.

He’s still looking at you, completely enraptured by your back arching off the end and your eyes hazy with lust. Dream takes your clit into his mouth once more, tongue flicking against you as he chases your orgasm.

“Thank you, oh my god, I’m gonna come,” You beg helplessly, writhing and squirming against him, your body wound up so tight that it hurts.

“That’s it. Give it to me.”

He commands, and you obey, coming around his fingers with a drawn-out cry. You’re coming, and it eats you alive, the fall flooding through you like lightning. Dream helps you through it, bearing down, so your pussy trembles through your orgasm on his firm, clever hands. You feel yourself gush around him, and he groans at the feeling of it, slowing his fingers pumping in and out of you without stopping altogether, eking out every last bit of your pleasure that he can.

And Dream instinctively knows when you’re done, when you can’t give him any more, so he finally withdraws and licks his fingers clean of your cum.

You can’t totally feel your legs, and you need to finally catch your breath, but you look at him, pleased and benevolent and still desirous of you, and you know you can go another round.

You prop yourself up on shaky arms to meet his filthy, messy kiss; the taste of your salty musk blooms on your tongue, and he wraps his arms around your sweaty, heated body. “Will you fuck me? Please? I want it,” You ask when you break the kiss. You’re a quick study, and Dream seems to like it when you tell him that you want him.

His eyes are almost completely black when he answers you. “Yes.” Dream’s tone is menacing and dark, and fuck, if you don’t drip on your blankets at the promise in his voice.

You like submitting to him, like how he handles your body like it’s his, and before he can push you down, you flip over and sink down on your knees, back arched and face pressed into the bed. “Like this?” You realize you’re asking for permission, which is something maybe you should’ve negotiated beforehand.

But you shouldn’t have worried; he’s very much on the same page. “Yes.”

You wait for him to shift behind you. You can’t see Dream, and the anticipation sends a thrill down your spine. You’re exposed and vulnerable in this position, and he could do anything.

His hands caress your ass, your thighs, your curves, lingering indulgently. It’s as if you’re precious, as if you’re the most holy thing he’s ever touched.

After pressing a single, sweet kiss on the base of your spine, Dream kneels behind you, and you can feel his hips against your ass. He seems intent on soothing the tension out of you, patiently stroking your heated skin until you melt at his touch.

And when you’re soft and pliant, he pushes in.

He’s pretty big, big enough that even after three fingers and an orgasm, you still feel a pinch as he thrusts deeper. You involuntarily make a soft noise of discomfort; you don’t want him to think you’re not enjoying this, to draw away from you. But Dream takes his time, gently opening you up on his dick as you start to relax.

When he finally seats himself inside you, that slight noise of discomfort turns into a deep, contented sigh. You’re so full, your pussy stretched comfortably to its limits, and you go slack against the sheets. Your cum from your last orgasm is soon matched by a new well of arousal from the feeling of his dick in you, heavy and hard and incredible.

And when he starts moving, your pillow muffles your loud moans. He fucks you slowly at first, mindful of how tight you are. It’s so caring, and it works; you enjoy the leisurely build-up much more. Before long, you’re aching for everything else he can give you.

He doesn’t have you entirely out of your mind yet, so you slot your hips back against his to meet his thrusts. And when you clench particularly hard around his cock, Dream also groans. “Alright,” he says with a hint of amusement. “You can have it.”

He fucks you in earnest now, one hand fisted in your hair and holding you down as he moves in you faster and faster, tears forming in your eyes from how ridiculously good it feels. With each push, he takes pieces of your higher functioning abilities with him, so all that’s left is your body responding to his touches, your mind drunk on his dick. Dream is addictive and so completely good at this; he hits just the right angle that torments you with pleasure.

“Holy shit, fuck, that feels-“ you cut yourself off with a long moan as his dick presses against your most sensitive places. But Dream is fed up with the pillow muffling your sounds. He wants to hear them, wants you to scream and moan and cry out as much as you want, and he draws you up off the bed by your hair as he keeps pounding into you.

Your shaky arms barely support you, but you manage.

Dream keeps moving as he hisses into your ear. You can barely focus on what he’s saying, not when he’s stretching you out with each furious push and forcing you closer to your second orgasm of the night. “I need to hear you. You’ll let me hear you,” He promises before biting at your throat, sucking in another mark on your skin where you’ll struggle to conceal it.

“Yes, yes, yes,” You chant. Anything. Anything he wants.

Dream keeps hold of your hair to arch your spine in such a way that every time he enters you, his cock thrusts against that tender bit inside, and your cunt spasms around him.

He wants to hear you. And you let him. Wailing with every brutal thrust, eyes rolling back in your head. God, you don’t want this to end, but you’re not sure you can take much more; he’s already maxed you to your limits with how good Dream can make you feel at once. You can hear his deep grunts as you start fucking yourself back on his dick.

Your clit aches at the lack of contact, and he gently lets you slump against the bed once more so he can slip his hand around your hips and gently play with the sensitive nub.

Your orgasm is back with a vengeance. You edge towards it so quickly that it takes you by surprise, encouraged and beckoned by his fingers moving on your clit in tandem with his cock ruining you. You keep waiting and waiting to go over the edge before realizing that Dream is gatekeeping you from it, cleverly changing up how he fucks you to stave off your orgasm. To torture you. If you were capable of thought, you’d tell Dream he’s being cruel and beg him to let you come.

But you’re cock-drunk and boneless under him, so you take what he gives you with a pained, longing moan. No more pushing back against him, no more pleading. You just lie there and take it, and there’s maybe some saliva dripping out of the corner of your slack mouth. Yikes - hopefully, he doesn’t notice.

Dream can tell you’ve just about hit your limit. “Can I come inside you, sweet girl? Do you want me to?” You probably should’ve asked him about that before you started throwing down; maybe gotten out a condom or checked to see if he was clean.

But you’re on birth control, and really if he pulls out of you now, you think you might start crying for real. You want him to come inside you, to fill up your twitching cunt until he spills out of your spent body. Like. That’s hot as fuck. Suddenly, you need it as badly as you need to come.

“Yes, fuck, please.”

Dream begins fucking you in earnest again, and his fingers never let up between your legs. “Then I need you to come one more time. Do it for me.”

“I- I can’t-“

It’s just out of reach. Even though his cock feels incredible in you, even though your legs are quivering and tears run down your face from the pleasure he forces through your body, you can’t quite come. It’s driving you insane.

You get to the point where you stop making any noise at all, so twisted up in the sensations rushing through you that you don’t have the strength to do anything else besides tremble around him.

And then Dream tips you right over into it with a single, soft sentence, murmured into your ear. “I know you can.”

You come with a choked sound, blood rushing in your ears as you spill over around his dick. He rides you through it, fucking you through this orgasm that’s brutally wrecking you, that’s washed you clean of anything other than feeling Dream deep inside your quaking pussy.

He pounds into you once, then twice, before coming from the sensation of you fluttering around him. You feel his warmth fill you up inside, slick and silky. His cum spills a bit from your spent core when Dream finally pulls out.

He’s shaking, too, as he draws you into a tender embrace. You curl up into him on your side, body aching after it all. “You’re good at that. Like, really good.”

Dream smiles into your shoulder, where he has started pressing fond butterfly kisses into your sweaty, flushed skin. “And you are very good. You were very, very good for me, my dear.” You like being good for him. You have a praise kink in general, but being good for Dream somehow feels better, more meaningful, more special.

Just when you open your mouth to ask if he has any plans for the rest of the evening, he cuts you off with a voice undercut by regret and longing. “I cannot stay, unfortunately. My apologies; I don’t wish to leave you here so suddenly. But I have… to go.”

Oh.

You swallow down the quick flash of sadness.

You’re always a bit emotional after sex, and you like cuddling, but Dream doesn’t owe you any of that. He’s been nothing but polite and considerate, and you’ve just met him tonight. Even if you want him to stay, there’s no reason he should.

You know that the sadness and accompanying feelings of loss and inadequacy will soon build into something more substantial, messed up, and all-encompassing. And you’d rather not have Dream around when the dam breaks. He doesn’t have to do anything, and you have no right to make demands on his time.

You should get his phone number or something. But your phone is somewhere in the living room where you dropped your purse, and you really don’t feel like getting up.

Already your body is starting to crash now that the endorphins are gone, and you realize just how exhausted you are. A stroke of genius comes to mind. “It’s all good, don’t worry about it. You’ll leave your number for me? On the notepad by the door?”

“I- yes, I‘ll do that.” He looks at you for a long moment as if he wishes he could stay longer. Dream’s genuine remorse softens your heart. He’s a good guy, and it’s unfortunate that your time together had to be so short.

“I’ll see you around then,” You murmur quietly, asleep before you get to see him out.

139 notes · View notes

rottenpumpkin13 · 8 months

Note

Cadet Cloud hides Genesis’s copy of loveless just to shut him up. How bad is the Phoenix’s meltdown?

[Angeal and Sephiroth having lunch in the SOLDIER cafeteria]

Angeal: You know, I'm really proud of Genesis for being the bigger person and not murdering Cloud for hiding his LOVELESS copy.

Sephiroth: I wish I could say the same, but I found his reaction dubious. Do honestly believe Genesis would simply say "Alright" and go about his day without ulterior motives?

Angeal:

Sephiroth:

Angeal: No

Sephiroth, smugly: Mark my words, when–

[He's interrupted by the sound of static sounding from the speakers overhead. Someone taps the microphone twice before clearing their throat]

Joker!Genesis: For every hour that Cloud Strife does not return my book, I set something on fire.

[Sephiroth and Angeal exchange doubtful glances]

Angeal: He wouldn't.

[The sound of something exploding in the hallway outside catches everyone's attention. They look back and see a decorative plant completely engulfed in flames]

Sephiroth: He would.

[Zack appears out of nowhere, running frantically towards their table dressed head to toe in Robin Cosplay]

Zack: SEPHIROTH! SEPHIROTH! DO YOU REMEMBER THE BATMAN COSTUME I GOT YOU IN CASE OF EMERGENCIES?

Sephiroth: Yes.

Zack: WELL GO PUT IT ON! THIS IS THE EMERGENCY! LET'S GO!

[Zack and Sephiroth hurry out of the cafeteria]

Angeal: I wish I had normal friends.

#ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #genesis rhapsodos #sephiroth #ffvii crisis core #final fantasy #ff7r #angeal hewley #zack fair #cloud strife #final fantasy vii #ff7 crisis core #ff7cc #crisis core #the batman au no one knew they needed

101 notes · View notes

scintillyyy · 10 days

Text

anyway for funsies, i did fill out the assessing your parent's emotional immaturity questionnaire for jack & janet (& dana!) because again, i don't feel they were. quite as bad as they're oft accused of. (also. i'm on the side that at least they were probably more emotionally mature than bruce lmao lmao)

(as always this is subjective and based on my intepretation of them)

-My parent often overreacted to relatively minor things

so to start, we have no proof of this for janet (& she doesn't get mad at Tim showing up randomly at a dig site in batman #134. she does get pissy with jack during rite of passage but that's also probably reactionary to jack being jack & being dismissive of her which he shows more than once in the interaction we do see, so no it is. jack is. arguably a yes here bc he does have a tendency to do nothing or take the nuclear option. dana's a pretty solid no)

-My parent didn't express much empathy or emotional awareness

we're going to go no for janet & dana (they both show empathy & emotional concern/awareness for how tim might be feeling in the interactions we see). jack is. hm. *arguably* a no. i think there's a definite argument for yes for him, but jack is generally shown as *aware* and concerned when his son is going through something & often worried about his son. the problem is he never learns from his moment fo clarity, not that they don't exist imo.

-when it came to emotional closeness & feelings, my parents seemed uncomfortable and didn't go there

definite no for janet & dana. very strong leaning towards "no" for jack. whenever there's a conflict they do end up skirting around the real issue between them (tim is robin), but every conflict is often followed up by an affirmation that jack loves his son & is proud of him (see: after tim runs away, the christmas dinner they have during the NML event, jack's dying words) so he might not say it often, but i don't get the impression he's super *uncomfortable* going there, it's just that he only sees the need to go there when there's a Good Reason.

-my parent was often irritated by individual differences or different points of view

gonna go with a hard no for all three of them. janet seems only supportive of tim's interests. dana too. jack is. well. for some reason people seem to picture him as a fire and brimstone evangelical conservative when the fact of the matter is that he's a financial conservative who just doesn't care enough about social issues over his financial concerns (lower taxes). he'll gladly donate to save the rainforest fundraisers because that seems like a good thing. he doesn't particularly care that tim is into computers and he's not? he's vaguely supportive of that & it doesn't seem to bother him tim is a nerd (don't @ me about him misunderstanding tim and taking him to sports games. i assure you. tim ALSO likes sports quite a bit). honestly if tim came home and declared himself a liberal, jack doesn't seem the type to get upset about it (because he would just chalk it up to tim being young--it would probably amuse him more than anything--"i was dumb in my youth too, son haha" sort of deal.). he has friendlyish banter with his wife about how boys are vs. girls are (they have different opinions on that) & takes her poking at his sexism in stride at the circus.

-when i was growing up, my parent used me as a confidant but wasn't a confident for me

hard no all three. we never see janet do this & tim feels comfortable confiding everything in her in batman 134. dana definitely doesn't. jack also doesn't use tim as a confidant *and* we see him explicitly be a confidant for tim least once (when tim is dealing with the gun at school, he decides it is a tim drake problem and goes to his dad for help *because* it is a tim drake problem. robin can't confide in jack, but tim can bring up school issues with his dad and expect he'll be listened to)

-my parent often said & did things without thinking about other people's feelings

debatable one. jack is arguably yes, as he has a tendency to think and make decisions without really considering tim's view. dana no. janet. ehhhh. we don't really have enough evidence to say either way. i lean towards no, because we see her have more concern about tim possibly feeling nervous at the circus && the very empathetic consideration of the drakes to dick in choosing to send him the final photo of his parents so they probably did think about other people with careful consideration & tim says they're the ones who taught him to care about people. however, janet was also complicit in sending tim to boarding school without thinking of whether he was happy (though jack implies janet wouldn't want him to be far apart from tim) & they didn't necessarily notice tim's ruminating on the death they witnessed (altough remember: they *also* have their own personal trauma surrounding this) so. they did do some things without considering their son first.

-i didn't get much attention or sympathy from my parent, except maybe when i was sick

ooooh hard controversial here & could go either way for all three of them! so, obviously the jack & janet going away for long periods of time definitely leans to yes for them as them not being there means tim didn't have their attention. however! hugely complicated by the fact that the times they were home they genuinely wanted to spend time with their son--taking him with them to the opera & art galleries & monstery truck shows, calling to talk to him whenever they arrived back and he was still in school, & they care about his grades and general wellbeing & think of him while they're gone. & jack often is shown care about tim outside of the big events whenever he's home. dana is also arguably yes--she does some nice things like remember tim's birthday & teach him how to make soup when asked but the far larger part of her character is that she's jack's girlfriend/wife & is very clearly *not* tim's mom--she & him both draw the line of she's his stepmom, not his parent--and so she also doesn't pay enough attention to tim & also doesn't think it's her job to intervene in parenting tim affairs to actually notice anything that's going on with him. as much as she likes tim, she is also perfectly happy to go on trips with jack & leave tim behind for holidays, & get engaged without talking to tim first, start secretly dating jack without talking to tim first, ignore jack's treatment of his son so she doean't really notice how hurt tim gets by him.

-my parent was inconsistent--sometimes wise, sometimes unreasonable

okay. hard yes for jack. 100% him in a nutshell. no for dana. we truly don't have enough evidence either way for janet, but leaning towards no as she's never shown to be unreasonable with tim.

-if i became upset, my parent either said something superficial and unhelpful or got angry and sarcastic

debatable yes for jack on the angry part, but i'm personally leaning towards no, actually. like jack gets angry with tim's perceived disprespect (ie/ the TV incident). but when tim gets mad at him, really mad at him, or is genuinely upset about something jack does at least attempt to be understanding and comforting. like, he was super afraid tim would be upset about dana & didn't try to diminish his feelings at all about that or expect he'd be okay with it or get mad if he wasn't (i mean. tim was fine with it. but.). surprisingly, a fairly solid yea from dana here because while i like her she's queen of the superficial and generally unhelpful kindness that doesn't usually actually fix things, just tries to smooth ruffled feathers. the easy way out. janet, we can guess a fairly solid no given she thinks about tim being upset first & getting him out of that upsetting scene asap above all else at the circus.

-conversations generally centered around my parent's interests

fairly solid no all around. we know that janet listened attentively to tim's story in batman 134. jack does sometimes prefer to talk about his intetest but he also does try to understand and talk to tim about computers & school so, you can't say that in general he only talks about what he cares about. he just sometimes talks about what he likes. like all people do. did you know that just as parents should listen to their kids about their interests, kids should do the same for their parents. it's the basic two way street of relationships. and a no for dana. she likes when tim talks to her about anything.

-even polite disagreement could make my parents very defensive

no for janet & dana. we have nothing to indicate that was the case with either of them. debatably yes for jack, he does tend to go on the defensive when tim is accusing him of bad parenting but he also almost always realizes he's in the wrong and ends up agreeing with tim (he just. never learns and grow. but he does have the capability of recognizing he's wrong sometimes and trying to make amends). also there's nothing that imo indicates he would upset at a polite disagreement (since his and tim's disagreements tend to get very heated on both sides). like if tim were like "i don't want to go here for dinner, i'd rather go here" he doesn't seem like he'd get all "oh, so my dinner choices aren't good enough i guess", he'd probably be normal about it. he's shown disagreeing with dana (& janet at the circus) & he's fairly normal about those times.

-it was deflating to tell my parents about my successes because it didn't seem to matter

super hard no, all three. they're all extremely proud of tim when he chooses to do the right thing. jack brags about tim to randos at bars. they're clearly the type to be very exuberant & effusive over tim doing well at something (i hate to even bring n52 jack & janet in here but they were very proud of his gymnastics achievements there.). think of how happy jack was when tim lied and said he joined footballm tim's successes matter to them.

-facts and logic were no match for my parent's opinions

leaning towards no, all three. dana and janet we don't know for sure, but there's nothing to indicate this was the case with either. jack. jack does have strong opinions but tim was also able to very easily convince him to move back to gotham during NML after tim ran away. dana is able to change his mind quite easily by talking to him. he's definitely my way or the highway but not near as unchangeable as people like to imagine.

-my parent wasn't self reflective and rarely looked at his or her own role in a problem

once again, no all three. janet and dana we have no proof of this (actually when janet was kidnapped she did seem to reflect on everything, so). jack. hm. this is definitely a more debatable no, but the problem with jack is that he's not allowed to grow in the narrative so he can keep conflicting with tim. but whenever they have a conflict he's constantly questioning his own role in it (tim runs away, finding out tim is robin). however war games + identity crisis show that he was finally able to mature enough to accept he was part of the problem so even if he did have some immaturity around this, this was on it's way to getting better. then he died. so we never got the chance to see if it would stick.

-my parent tended to be a black & white thinker, and unreceptive to new ideas

definitely a no for janet, per batman 134. also a no for dana, she tends to be a little more flexible. and even a no for jack? homeboy was rooting for the side of child heroes during sins of youth. he probably likes status quo as much as the next person, so i don't think he's near as inflexible as one would think.

so idk. like, do they all demonstrate some emotional immaturity? yea. a bit. jack's the highest for sure. he's definitely got at least a couple of these, maybe even as high as 5 or 6, depending on how shitty you interpret jack to be. also consider we only ever really see him after he's been through several highly traumatic events (which does not excuse by any means, but can help explain). dana & janet both demonstrate a couple each, but aren't necessarily huge offenders on the emotional immaturity checklist.

which. i guess with doing this it's like. i don't think their parenting needs to be pathologized or anything truly. they were just. not great parents at time. & i'm not diminishing the harm of the neglect on tim, i like talking about that too. but sometimes it seems that people want to diagnose them with like "oh, they didn't really want tim/kids after all, they hated responsibility, they were too immature, they didn't see him as a person, they couldn't handle parenting, they had these issues that meant they sucked, etc"

when realistically. they just probably made some tough choices trying to consider what would be better for their son (stability and good education of boarding school vs. traipsing all over the world with them while they fought constantly), which did end up giving him some trauma *despite* what was probably their best intentions. they can be doing their best & still cause hurt. they were probably very unprepared for the *entire family* to witness an incredibly traumatic event & the long-term issues that would cause for all of them. nobody wants their marriage to start failing & that adds another issue to try to manage within the family. parenting wasn't a skill they naturally excelled at. it doesn't need to be some huge thing. they're just humans. and they make mistakes. they don't act in ideal ways.

#i mean i'm sorry i genuinely don't get the pervasive idea that they didn't want kids when they're both #shown to be extremely happy he exists.#did they struggle with parenting tim yes. but that doesn't mean they didn't want him.#anyways dana got counted in this too bc while i love her #she's not the perfect unproblematic best parent ever tim had #she also got to suck a bit in her own unique ways #and hell. half the times she doesn't count for these is because she definitely saw tim as jack's son not her own.#did she like him? immensely. was she his mom? no they mutually agreed on that #she was his step mom who came into his life when he was a teen & happy with that.#and happy to defer to jack as tim's parent

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sinvulkt · 3 months

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20 Questions For Writers

Wow, thank you so much for the tag @fanfictasia !! I've wanted to participate in something like this forever!! 🎶✨️✨️

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Right now? 66.

"Yes, as a star wars writer, I am very proud of that. No, I do not intend to change it anytime soon."

I really need to focus on (and finish) some of my WIPs, and that mean trying not to disperse my energy amidst one shots (no matter how much i love monthly challenges and fic exchange events). Also I'm very proud of that 66 count and want to appreciate it xd.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

321k words!!

(More or less 100k / year 🎶 little me would never believe that 0.0

My school exam results sure don't, with how they are dropping 🤣)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star wars mostly (Vaderkin or my OC Sinvulkt), then Marvel (Dr Strange), Dream SMP (Dream), Le Visiteur du Future (Renard) and more recently Batman (Bruce Wayne) as well as Avatar: the last airbender (Zuko).

Plus the original stories I am supposed to write but almost never end up doing xd (the engagement in fandom compared to original stories make the switch hard xd).

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. Dreamt of a Never Ending Sky (Dream SMP)

669 kudos

2. To Fly Free Under The Morning Sun (Star Wars)

480 kudos

3. On the Edge of Twilight (Star Wars)

380 kudos

4. Scales of Embers (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

353 kudos

5. Crash Landing on Space Australia (Star Wars)

319 kudos

I'll never know how my Dream SMP fic got so much engagement. Good timing at a moment the fandom was in effervescence, I guess. Scales of Embers scoring so high is also a surprise 0.0. I discovered it had that many kudos today. It’s a shame the Dr Strange fandom is small because I think my Dr Strange WIP What If Doctor Strange Lost His Humanity ? would have deserved a place here. It definitely does in my heart.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! As a reader, I always feel super happy when the author shows that they’ve read and appreciated my comments. I know that personality an author who answers make me more likely to want to drop a comment.

As an author, I absolutely want to show how much I love every single comments, so I try to answer them all. But I get a little overwhelmed sometimes, bcs lots of other stuff going on irl or another reason. As such, it can happen that I don't feel the energy to answer a comment on the spot. And if I don't answer it on the spot (using the power of the wiggy dizzy nice happy feeling of getting a comment), I don't necessarily have the energy to answer later on. I currently have something like 60 unanswered comments I think? TT.TT

But rest assured that whether I answered or not, I absolutely adore and cherish every single ones!! Comments are amazing! ✨️.✨️

(This kind of engagement is one of the only reason I managed to settle into such an active rythm of writing after years of trying then dropping the hobby~)

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Glance at my fics.

Uhhh... This is a hard question here... Many of them have angsty endings XD

Mostly the ones at the beginning (the worst written ones xd). I wonder why~

Also a lot of them don' have endings yet XD

I'll say amidst the 'old' fics from 2021, Day 8 - Screaming (Star Wars) would be the angstier one (or most horrible one ig xd).

But as far as recent fic go... While I haven't finished writing it bcs its wordcount exploded in my face, I already plotted / drafted it a few months ago and I know the ending, so I'll choose:

Batman’s Downfall (To Stand Alone) (Batman)

I noticed my kind of angst doesn’t have much success around these parts 🫠🤣. Oh well. I cherish it all the same :3.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sometimes I think I wrote too many fics. It's hard to select one.

Uhhh... My fluffiest works are one shots in Of Feathers and Freedom serie, but they are part of the series so it’s not really an 'ending'.

...

I'll answer for the crackiest story rather than the happiest ending bcs all my finished fics ending are ominous open ending at best xd.

The Blob Adventures Of Excentrics Jedi (Star Wars)

Because it's cute blob drawings of our crazy team of OC in taaoej, and I love them (although we are all angst lovers in taaoej, so it's more crack-angst, and we don't know the ending bcs there isn't really one. Not yet at least. Hopefully never).

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Just my own innervoice as far as I'm aware. But then I've always been rather clueless when people tried to 'hate on me'. The message usually just got lost somewhere in dreamspace immensity, never computing.

I've found the fandoms communities really welcoming at the very least!!

9. Do you write smut?

No.

I don't really enjoy reading smut. Nor romance for the matter. I don't think I'd enjoy writing it.

But maybe I'll try one day, for the sake of experimenting all genres.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I never did. I don't know why. Maybe I just never felt the need to mix characters and universes. There are amazing crossovers out there though, so who knows, maybe one day I'll try one.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of. In all honesty, I don't think my works are nearly popular enough to get stolen xd.

My writing style isn’t that good yet, and my dislike of romance when the majority of the fandom community is ship-powered means I end up in a corner quite niche. (A corner I love, that being said. Yay Crack, Angst and Gen~)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but maybe I'll translate some of mine in french someday. Be it only so that I do write fiction in my native language from time to time.

Anyone that wanna translate my fics, feel free to!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes, To Fly Free Under The Morning Sun (Star Wars)!!

I’m still waiting for my co-author @purpleopossum to come back to me / get back in star wars mood to continue that one. 🫠

Can’t say my hopes are that high up after all this time, but it’s the redemption | healing part of the serie and I don’t really have fun writing alone redemption | healing part... i prefer doing the whole mayhem that create the injury in the first place. And with how long some of my fics hiatus are (and I got no excuse for those xd), it’s only fair for me to wait. (I did write more other works for the dragon Vader serie in the meantime xd).

I made an oath to myself to never leave a work unfinished though, so we’ll see. If in several years purple still doesn’t wish to continue it, or if she inform me she is dropping the story, I’ll try to make some kind of ending. It’s part of the game i guess.

Alternatively, the The Amazing Adventures Of Excentrics Jedi universe is a group of star wars OCs that we made together with @pat-the-togorian , @asteral-feileacan , @ct2002-rema and Xylian. I don’t know if that count as co-writing? We usually write our OCs pov.

But in all cases, co-writting is very fun and I’d definitely do it again if other opportunities arise in the future.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

The absence of ship is my all-time favorite ship. Otherwise, "main character / digging their own grave" would be my 'favorite ship' since I tend to synch with idiots snarky jerks disasters.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

To Fly Free Under The Morning Sun (Star Wars) that I mentioned for question 13? 🤣

More seriously, I'll answer On the Edge of Twilight (Star Wars)

Because it's my vent fic. I know the main plot line, I vaguely know the current arc, but no one can predict where the next arc will go. It's all pure impulse and while I have a vague idea of 'ending', I refuse to plan a path towards it. This fic specifically, I want to keep pure impulse. So I'd love for it to become some kind of "The NeverEnding Story". :3

16. What’s your writing strengths?

I write.

No seriously, it's not something I did four years ago appart from vent poems here and there. Writing is in itself a huge writing strenght!

Otherwise I'm also a bottomless well of idea. It's pretty neat.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

... romance?

Or dialogues. Lastly I have a lot of frustration around the transition from dialogue / transition / dialogue. I feel like I'm crap at properly timing that.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

It's fun. I do it for games sometimes. Since apparently writing normally is not chllenging enough for my brain sometimes. It did teach me bits of mando'a.

Recently for Sēċan (Star Wars) I decided last minute to put the whole droid dialogue in morse, and I regret none of it.

I'm usually only doing it for one shots though, and never 'official existing' languages until now.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star wars :p

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Now that's another hard question, how am I supposed to select one.

I'm gonna answer the whole Of Feathers And Freedom (Star Wars) serie. Bcs wings. :3

Tag time~ (if you wish to)

@purpleopossum @pat-the-togorian @cinderfeather @beguilewritesstuff @purple-iris @dreaminghour @ravenite-void @trickstress333 @bluntblade @doctorgeekery @stewardofningishzida @jenae-0 @trickstress333 @kittonafoxgirl @pastelcourage @salparadiselost @kefalion @charlottevader @ravenstakeflight @starr234 @aelaer @sarcasticfirefighter @mckiwi @linzerj @sonderwalker @exomal @tonhalszendvics @nephilimswitchlight @firejay112 @only-here-for-the-star-wars @ajedilikehisfather @makaronik @chickadeechickadoo @dirtkid123 @numerousbees1106 @akizumy @25centsoda @udekai @wendingways @silvereddaye @in-company-of-misery @wisechaosglitter @kuraiarcoiris @alright-anakin @wyvunn you're more than welcome to join on the interview fun!! (Or to ignore the tagging if not interested xd).

I know I tagged. I lot of people. Some of you may recognise my pseud, some may not. But I thought it would be interesting to hear the answer of the various authors with whom I interacted on ao3 over the years, so I went and digged up those with tumblr I could find from my inbox 🤣

(Hopefully I didn’t bother any of you >.< - otherwise I apologize. Same for if I accidentally tagged a non-writer.)

I'd love to hear your answers! 🎶

#ask game #tag game #tagging game #20 questions #20 Questions For Writers #i got far too good at tracking down ao3 people's tumblr xd #it's the fault of the quotes under my tag fragments of imagination #since i try to always check if the author is on tumblr to tag them when i post one of those quotes #well i had a lot of fun #i love interactions XD #so that kind of ask game makes me happy #with it i can feel as a proud writer yay~#tumblr game #writing #writer on tumblr #fanfiction writer #yes this took me hours #wrll mostly the tracking and tagging xd #answering was worth it

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hollow-keys · 29 days

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I think a lot of people don't get that superheroes don't often have the morality of online leftist. They will see Batman go guns bad. Donate to charity. No killing. And assume his anti killing rules are routed in leftist ideology.

This isn't true. He supports state sanctioned killing in many comics. He is anti-vigilante killing. And on occasion even against self defense killing.

In Batman #420 Bruce locks KG Beast in a storage room and leaves him there to either find a way to escape himself or die (not seeming to care which, honestly if I am remembering correctly leaning towards death) but in Batman #422 he condemns Judy Koslosky's self defense killing of a serial killer who had already killed her sister because she lured him into attempting to kill her by following him around and glaring at him. Both give the villains the opportunity to survive KG Beast has to escape and Karl just has to resist the temptation to try to murder a woman.

There is Batman: The Hill where he defends the GCPD killing a 14 year old with a gun as necessary but in Batman: Under the Hood he condemns the death of Captain Nazi. This isn't the most leftist character in the world. Leftists don't tend to be okay with cops killing kids but against killing Nazis. It tends to be the other way around. I read Batman: The Hill and I do think the cops used undue force and should have at least attempted deescalation in that situation.

There is a lot to say about the vague morals of the characters. Batman does a lot for charity but he definitely classist in a lot of his appearances. Characters can be complex and imperfect. Just because he cares about people in poverty doesn't mean he doesn't look down on them.

Also the whole 'violently beat people okay' and 'child sidekick okay' because genre convention while killing bad. It's like . . . killing is also present in superhero comics? Deadpool, Wolverine, Crimson Avenger, the Spectre . . . killing is also part of the genre. It has nuance to it. But heroes have killed at least on occasion since the very beginning.

Yes, you get it! People on here take "doesn't kill/believes in redemption" to be inherently proof of support of rehabilitative justice and leftism when... it isn't lol. I've yapped about superheroes and copaganda before here (I think it's a good post, I'm proud of it) so I'll try not to repeat myself too much but a conservative can believe in people's ability to change and not killing or whatever while still supporting the structures of the police and prisons, still believing that people should be arrested and serve time, even the rest of their lives. And that's what people don't get.

The word cop has been so twisted by this site that people use it to mean "anyone who judges me" or "anyone I don't like." It's used to describe individual behaviour the person has a problem with which ends up obfuscating the fact that a cop isn't defined by their personal ideology or what type of violence they commit, they're defined by the fact they commit violence to uphold the state's power. Their personal thoughts and opinions can make them worse, more violent and more oppressive, but personal opinions do not change what they are. Batman is a paramilitary state operative, not a radical leftist. I'm sorry.

And yeah the charity defense also misunderstands the point because conservatives donate to charity all the time. Charity is used by the rich to launder their reputations. They give a tiny fraction of their wealth back to the people so people don't question the rest of their wealth. Narratively, this works the same way so writers can go "See! He tries helping people via kindness but Gotham is innately corrupt and people just choose to be evil here so of course he has to dress up as a bat every night." Narratively, his charity exists so the writers can justify why he has to be Batman and to make him look better. If he really meant to help people with his money, he wouldn't be a billionaire anymore.

You're right about killing being present in the genre since since forever. Not as consistently as other things, but still present for sure. People defend violence they enjoy as "just part of the genre" but condemn violence they don't as bad and wrong.

I support hitting superheroes with the leftist beam but the fact of the matter is that most aren't in text and Batman even less so than others.

And you can dislike this. Batman is a character who's been through a million different incarnations and interpretations and you can latch on to more liberal, understanding incarnations or make up your own but you cannot defend main universe Bruce by pretending he's something he's not.

Thanks for the ask!

#bruce wayne #anti bruce wayne #<- using anti tags makes me feel silly sometimes but people yell at you if you don't and i do need something to organise my criticism under #dc comics #asks #📨

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queer-cosette · 16 days

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AO3 tag game

Thank you for the tag @apopcornkernel my love kissing u /p

how many works do you have on ao3?

45 right now!

what's your total ao3 word count?

According to my stats page, 781,604! Holy smokes, Batman!

what fandoms do you write for?

Right now, mainly Heathers, but I've also written for Les Misérables, Derry Girls, Monster High, Miraculous Ladybug, Total Drama, Equestria Girls, and Rainbow High, and have posted some original work on AO3 too (mostly poetry).

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

mArinette (a Miraculous Ladybug easy A AU)

today I woke up wanting to kiss you (plotless Duncney fluff)

Cute Boys With Short Haircuts (Miraculous Ladybug angsty one-sided identity reveal)

Mistlejoke (Miraculous Ladybug christmas fluff)

Waitin' on the Sunrise (shameless fluffy JDonica porn with plot)

do you respond to comments?

I try to lol. Usually I'll respond in batches because executive dysfunction is The Worst

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooh, does original poetry count? Because if so, Kathryn, a midlength poem I wrote about Kathryn Howard the fifth wife of Henry VIII who was beheaded between the ages of 17 and 22. Or maybe these are times that can’t be weathered (and we have never been back there since then), a story about a Miraculous OC discovering Hawkmoth’s identity.

what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Personally, I think it’s The Dark Gate, part four of my Les Mis Winx Club AU. The happy ending is really earned and needed.

do you get hate on fics?

Not really since I stopped regularly writing for Miraculous Ladybug. Boy, that was a wild experience. The fandom was really big at the time and it was the post-Season 3 salt era, so Opinions were both abundant and poor in quality.

do you write smut? if so, what kind?

Yes indeed! I was born on the run (but I’ll die holding your hand) and Waitin’ on the Sunrise are both JDonica smut fics that I am very very proud of! They’re… very fluffy. You know that rule about how you see in fandom the stuff that was missing from the source material? Look, I just want my awful blorbos to be happy. And also to bang a lot.

do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

Does On Se Sent Comme Par Magie count? It’s really more fusion fic, it’s the characters of Les Mis living out the plot of Winx Club. Look, it just… it made sense in my head, y’know?

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know, and I hope it never happens!

have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I did write an English translation of a fic I wrote in my native Scots! Never posted it, though.

have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have tried and miserably failed. I just can’t do it, babes.

what's your all time favourite ship?

Probably JDonica. I just… he’d kill for her?? And he does?? Does it get more chewable than that??

what's a WIP you want to finish but sometimes doubt you ever will?

Oh god I haven’t actually written anything for two months. I need to get back to Waitin’ on the Sunrise, The Last Faery on Earth (Part 5 of OSSCPM), and The Mystery Solvers of Derry (Derry Girls SDMI AU).

what are your writing strengths?

According to my beta reader for OSSCPM, readability, characterisation, and cliffhangers.

what are your writing weaknesses?

I’m really bad for run-on sentences - it’s not my fault, okay, I started reading Les Mis when I was sixteen and impressionable, and Victor Hugo did a number on my psyche that I doubt will ever be reversed because unfortunately Vicky Huge-ho lives rent-free in my skull and whispers in my ear to just use more semicolons like the whore he is.

thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’ve written in Scots before, which was fun! I kind of want to do it again, but the Plot Bunnies aren’t cooperating right now.

first fandom you wrote for?

I think. Technically. It was a documentary about Sperm Whales that had a really sad ending that I saw when I was six and I wrote a little book that gave it a happier ending, if that counts? If not, probably Equestria Girls. Although, thank god, my early fic experiments are all stored on a hard drive that will never see the light of day again.

favorite fic you've written?

I was born on the run (but I’ll die holding your hand)!! Fluffy JDonica smut for the win!!

tagging: @theladyfae @private-bryan @galahadwilder @swxxtcidxr if yous want to xo

#coco speaks #tag game #love is stored in the tag game #coco writes

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superbattrash · 2 years

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Superbat: Through the haze part 2

Here we go, besties, the second and final part of the Black Mercy fic! Uh, what to be aware of this time? This is the ‘comfort’ part of the hurt/comfort. It is also the sad, feel-y part. Oh, and there are kisses.

In case you missed it, here’s part 1. ENJOY :D

It takes a while to get back to normal.

And ‘normal’ isn’t what it used to be, that’s for sure.

Bruce doesn’t want to talk about his dream, but Clark can guess enough to paint a pretty clear picture. The heartbreak on Bruce’s face when he’d pushed the cowl back had been enough for Clark to clutch at his own chest. It must’ve been everything he’s ever wanted, and Clark can do nothing to comfort him. Because he knows Bruce’s dreams aren’t mirroring his own. Clark dreams of working hard and being healthy. He dreams of a family and of keeping the world safe. He dreams of finding a balance between Superman and Clark Kent that doesn’t leave him tired at the end of the day.

He dreams of Bruce.

That’s why he reaches out for him, to comfort him without words, because he doesn’t have any to make Bruce feel better. Usually, Bruce isn’t exactly the hugging type, but he’s never reacted to Clark’s touch this strongly before.

Bruce flinches.

It’s almost as if Bruce was reaching for him; leaning towards him but then changes his mind at the last second and instead jerks his body away. Clark doesn’t understand; there is no reason for Bruce to feel ashamed, the Black Mercy had been altered. It isn’t his fault that it had attached itself to him – and he saved the child and his mother, so he should feel proud. Or at least whatever Batman’s equivalent of pride is. Yet Bruce curled in on himself, breathing rabid and Clark is left wondering if somehow the Black Mercy has given him nightmares instead of dreams.

He tries to talk to Bruce about it, but he won’t talk. Not to him, at least. Bruce asks them to leave, Clark and Diana. He brushes off their attempts at comfort and caring words and asks for J’onn to stay so they can talk. Clark tries not to take it personally, but it’s hard. He understands though; Bruce has been through enough and he needs time to gather his thoughts. He is Batman, after all, he does not like being vulnerable, least of all in front of people. Even if those people are his friends.

So, yes, Clark understands that Bruce needs to talk the experience through with J’onn and then needs rest. He understands that Bruce doesn’t feel the need to call and update him, it’s not like they won’t see each other at the Watchtower anyways. Clark does what he has to: he takes the Black Mercy to the Watchtower’s lab, makes sure it’s secure before flying back to Earth. He helps with a fire in Australia and then goes back home.

He tries to be patient. Bruce is okay. That’s what matters.

The only thing Clark doesn’t understand is why Bruce is avoiding him. At first, he accepts that Bruce needs time, it’s a given after what he’s been through. But when he sees Bruce at the Watchtower two mere days later, he thinks he’s okay, that they’re okay. At least okay enough that they can work together to get back to normal. That Bruce is okay with having Clark near.

It’s nothing too obvious, but Clark can tell. Bruce doesn’t wait for him after meetings. He’s the first one to leave, while he used to be the last one, always a word or two of advice (or teasing, at Clark liked to think of it) to give Superman at the end of a shift or mission.

Their schedules are changed. Superman and Batman are no longer on monitor duty together. It’s Clark favorite time of his week and he frowns but figures it’s a coincidence. Until it happens again. And again.

If it was only at the Watchtower, Clark would understand. If it was a Superman-Batman thing, he gets it. It’s tough having to go through the Black Mercy’s dreams, especially when they both know they weren’t designed for Batman. They were targeting Superman, and that’s a guilt Clark has to live with.

He figures Bruce is mad. Or frustrated. Both, maybe. But he’s never actively avoided Clark like this before. If he’s angry, he will eventually burst and scream at Clark, if he’s frustrated, he will snap at Clark, at Hal, at everybody. He’s easier to read than he thinks. Usually, that is.

Because Clark has no idea what Bruce is thinking these days. His stride is the same, his voice doesn’t waver, he doesn’t avoid looking at Clark if he asks a question. He’s responsive, he is there for missions and shifts, but that’s it.

And Clark is trying to be okay with that. That being Batman right now might be a trigger for Bruce – and that means spending any extra time at the Watchtower isn’t something Bruce is ready to do. That’s okay, that’s fine. But Clark and Bruce don’t just see each other as Superman and Batman. They’re friends, actual good friends outside of their work.

Clark is slowly going insane. It’s not like they have a standing Sunday night dinner date, that would be ridiculous (and it’s a thing that stays firmly in Clark’s fantasy), but they have been known to share the occasional meal. Talk through the latest mission or just to catch up. They have a diner they both like and it’s been a thing between them for the past year. Bruce will invite Clark when Superman’s had a tough week, and Clark will invite Bruce whenever the Joker has been particularly vicious. He knows how much that triggers every trauma in Bruce’s mind.

Clark tries to ask Bruce to meet him there on that first day back at the Watchtower, because if this doesn’t count as a bad day, he’s not sure what does. Bruce doesn’t avoid the question per se, but he doesn’t say yes. It’s okay, Clark understands. But Bruce doesn’t shy away from Diana or J’onn. He actively seeks J’onn out actually, which shouldn’t make Clark jealous, but it does. J’onn knows about his feelings, he would never do anything to purposefully hurt either Clark or Bruce, but it still hurts to see him with Bruce, when Bruce won’t spare a glance Clark’s way these days.

Clark can’t help but think through the situation. Is this because of the Black Mercy? He’s asked Bruce if he needs help examining it, but he was shot down so quick it felt like an actual rejection. While he does want to help, he also wants to know why it had reacted to his voice alone; why it had reached out for him – and if there’s a correlation between that and the fact that Clark is the only one Bruce is avoiding.

Did he somehow transfer some of his own dream scenario to Bruce? He hadn’t seen any vision, had only felt the plant on his wrist, but what if he’s somehow influenced Bruce’s dream and that is the real reason he woke up? Maybe Clark’s influence was so horrible Bruce instantly saw that it wasn’t real. What did he see? Clark’s mind is going in circles.

Is Bruce really okay? Are they?

***

When Bruce comes up from the cave and into the manor, his knees nearly give out. It’s so– it’s so empty. There’s no laughter, no loud noises ringing down the hall. The only sign of Thomas and Martha ever living here is their portrait over the fireplace and the untouched bedroom, Bruce still hasn’t gotten himself to redecorate.

Alfred finds him, as he leans against the bookcase, trying to catch his breath. Alfred knows, he always does, and Bruce feels horrible for the guilt he puts on Alfred’s face. He has to get it together. It was just a dream; he’s been through this before. It’ll pass and he’ll be fine.

Except Bruce isn’t fine, not even a little bit.

The first time Jason sneers at him, Bruce feels like his chest is being ripped open from the inside. He knows it isn’t Jason’s fault, it’s none of their faults, but he can’t help it. He feels like he’s going through losing him all over again, now that he knows what happiness, true happiness, looks like on Jason’s face.

“What do you want?” He snaps when Bruce has looked at him one time too many. And Bruce can’t tell him, can’t say anything. Because what he wants isn’t something he can have. He wants Jason happy; he wants Jason safe. He wants all his kids to be safe.

“Nothing,” he ends up saying, leaving Jason looking more confused than angry.

He’s not there for Bruce, he never really is these days, and that’s always been okay, because as long as Jason is still comfortable at the manor, in Bruce’s home, eventually they’ll be alright. But now – now that Bruce can see Jason’s carefree smile, can feel his arms around him in a half hug, can hear the echo of his voice calling him ‘dad’… He just needs more time.

Damian doesn’t understand why he’s acting weird, and it doesn’t help that he’s been in touch with his mother a lot. Talia calls Bruce, she tells him he’s gotta do better, that Damian is worried. Bruce assures her he’s fine. She doesn’t believe him. Why would she?

Bruce makes an effort.

He talks more with J’onn – or he thinks with J’onn. He doesn’t have to say anything, just allow J’onn into his mind, because he would never invade Bruce’s privacy like that without consent. J’onn doesn’t judge, would never, but Bruce still finds himself shameful when they talk through what happened.

Bruce has to work, has to do something with his time. He attends meeting at W.E, he goes on patrols, and he examines the Black Mercy. When he first saw it, the color confused him, but it makes sense that Mongul would try to alter his plants to be more effective. Thank God, it didn’t attach itself to Superman. Bruce isn’t sure how they’d have gotten through to him with an even stronger dream than last time.

“It seems this Black Mercy reacts to strong emotions,” J’onn says. He knows Bruce prefers to hear his voice through his ears, even if the telepathic thing can come in handy.

“Which means?”

“That it is harder to see through the illusions. You know this already.” J’onn seems to hesitate, which isn’t something he does a lot. Martians aren’t known for their subtlety. “Did your visions change at some point?”

“Why?” Bruce asks, suspicious.

There is no way J’onn can know exactly when or how Bruce’s dream changed – he can’t see through the Black Mercy, after all – and it better stay like that. He does not want another not-really-eyebrow raised at him for not being more honest with his own feelings. For a Martian J’onn is rather judgmental when it comes to other’s feelings, Bruce has noticed. He’s not sure how, because J’onn would never pry like that, but he’s certain J’onn knows about his feelings for Clark. Bruce can see it in his red eyes, the knowledge is there.

If someone has to know, at least Bruce is okay with it being J’onn. He can live with that secret being shared with the Martian. He would never tell.

“The plant–” J’onn gestures towards it. “It acted differently than what we have seen before.”

“How so?”

“It moved.” J’onn doesn’t elaborate but Bruce can see the image in his head as clear as if he’d seen it with his own eyes. J’onn is showing him how the plant seemed to be attracted to Clark – the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch.

Affection, J’onn’s voice echoes in his mind.

Bruce closes his eyes, shuts the images out. Reacts to strong emotions, that was an understatement. So he’d nearly dragged Clark into it with his carelessness. Of course. It wasn’t bad enough that he’d made up an entirely unachievable dream world, he could’ve endangered Clark too.

“I see.” Bruce can’t think of anything else to say.

He has no excuses, he doesn’t control what the Black Mercy does, but he can try to figure out why it reacted the way it did. So he tries to focus on that, on solving the riddle. It’s a comfortable area for him, it’s safe. It doesn’t involve thinking about his dream and it gives him something to do with his hands, with his mind.

It’s a distraction.

Bruce works. He avoids thinking too much and he tries not to feel the ache in his chest. It never goes away. Ever since Dream-Clark let go of his hand the first time, he’s felt it. He’d thought for a moment that it was the plant, that it had somehow bruised him, but there are no visible marks on his chest. It just… aches.

It gets a little easier with time. At home, he does better. He remains calm, he doesn’t think about his dreams too much; stops remembering every single detail when he lays alone in bed. His actual dreams get blurry too, doesn’t haunt him every waking hour.

Bruce just needs a little time. Time to focus and time to forget. It is easier and it gets better.

Until it doesn’t. Because while Bruce can go back to the silence of the manor and the forced conversations with Jason, he cannot avoid seeing Clark. And every time he’s thinking he’s doing alright, he has another mission, another monitor duty, another anything where Clark is near. He reschedules their shifts; he can do that. He doesn’t linger after mission reports, and he tries his best not to let Clark know he’s avoiding him.

It works. For a while.

Clark’s always been too smart for his own good – for Bruce’s good too. He keeps asking questions, keeps seeking Bruce out, always have something or other to say, a story to tell, a riddle to solve. Bruce is certain Clark can see straight through him by the fifth time he asks Bruce if he wants to have dinner.

Bruce can look at Clark now, sort of. He’s never been happier that the cowl has lenses than whenever he has to look Clark in the eye. There’s confusion there, hurt, and it makes Bruce’s entire soul curl into itself in shame. It isn’t Clark’s fault that he’s so caught up in a false reality, but he can’t be near him as long as that ache is still present in his chest.

So, Bruce starts avoiding the Watchtower altogether. He still shows up for missions, but unless he has no other choice, he’ll come directly from the cave. He stays in Gotham, which isn’t hard. A single alien attack on Metropolis has never deterred the villains of his hometown and for once Bruce is grateful that he has work to do. To focus on. Something to keep his mind occupied until the dreams leave him. Until he forgets.

Things with the kids get better. Bruce doesn’t have to swallow to look Jason in the eye; Dick stops looking at him like he’s sick. Tim starts listening again and Damian stops looking constipated whenever Bruce opens his mouth. He’s getting back to normal – it was just a dream, after all. He’s Batman, he doesn’t have time for silly dreams. The nightmares are fewer, and he can breathe, despite the constant dull throbbing in his chest. He can live with that; he will learn to live with that. It’s okay, he’s okay.

Until that one mission where it doesn’t matter if Bruce comes from the cave or the Watchtower. It doesn’t matter what choices he’s made, because when it comes down to it, there was no way he could avoid Clark forever. Especially not when Clark shouts a warning one second too late, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s entire frame, shielding him from an attack he should’ve been able to avoid on his own.

It was a normal mission, another alien attack and by God, if Bruce never sees another alien again, he will thank every star in the sky. He needs a break; Earth needs a damn break from all these attacks. He can’t really do anything about that now though, so instead he fights by the Justice League’s side, just as he’s supposed to do.

He doesn’t see the weapon, but Clark does. There’s a shout and Bruce turns, only to be engulfed in Clark’s strong arms, his cape flowing around them. Bruce freezes as his face is pressed into Clark’s chest, hears the loud thunder of his heart. He feels the way Clark’s body moves in jerks as bullets fly around them – as they dig themselves into Clark’s back. They must be stronger bullets, some alien design made to be able to penetrate Superman’s skin, because Bruce can’t see them fall to the ground. They’ll be okay though; the sun is high in the sky and Clark will be alright.

Bruce hears Diana’s rageful scream as she lands on the alien’s spaceship and tears the large weapon from its hinges, the sound of metal ripping loud in Bruce’s ears. The shooting stops, but Diana’s grunts of effort do not; she’s ripping the entire ship apart with her bare hands. Bruce knows they’re safe and tries to pull out of Clark’s arms. The arms that have fallen to Clark’s sides. Bruce realizes he’s the one holding them up, Clark’s weight suddenly heavy on Bruce’s shoulders.

Clark should be okay, shouldn’t feel this heavy in his arms.

Except the bullets aren’t normal bullet, they’re not iron nor any other kind of metal Bruce can identify by looking at them. He does recognize the sickly green glow though.

It’s kryptonite.

Bruce thinks fast. Diana has the ship under control – and of course it’s another invasion trying to kill Superman, what else could it be – so he doesn’t get slobby even as he hurries to rearrange their positions; pulling Clark’s arm over his shoulder and more or less dragging his body towards the batplane.

“You moron,” he can’t help but hiss. “You absolute moron. Why would you do that?”

Logically Bruce knows it’s Clark’s instincts, it always is when he throws himself between Bruce and an enemy, but this is ridiculous. His cape is nearly bulletproof and even if one or two bullets had gotten through, he still would’ve been better off than Clark is now, looking sick and sweating. His breathing is labored.

“You were in danger,” comes Clark’s voice. It’s strangled and soft like it’s taking every ounce of will he has to get the words through his throat.

“Stop talking.” He doesn’t mean it to come out as harsh as it does, but he can’t think with Clark’s feet dragging awkwardly underneath his body. And he’s not exactly light.

Bruce can’t very well get the kryptonite out while on the battlefield, but it seems like the others have it handled, so he straps Clark in the best he can and heads for the cave. While the Watchtower is equipped to extracts Kryptonite, Bruce is more comfortable in his own med bay back at the cave. He doesn’t admit that he’s feels more comfortable bringing Clark home, rather than have anyone else operate on him. It’s stupid, he knows, but Clark risked his life for Bruce – again – and he’s not about to let him die because of it.

“You still with me?” he asks as he does that thing he hates when Superman does to him. He lifts Clark up with a hand under his knees and one behind his back. He’s careful around the bullet wounds and ignores the blood coating his fingers. Bridal carry, Clark usually teases him, and what Bruce wouldn’t give to hear him say it right now.

Clark is quiet though, his breathing sounding ragged and strained, and Bruce hurries to lay him down. It’s a struggle, putting a man of Clark’s size face down on a gurney without help, but he manages. He knows Alfred will be coming down sooner rather than later but until then he’ll have to make do on his own.

“Come on, Kent, you still with me?” Bruce asks again, doing his best to keep his voice even. He pushes the cowl off, doesn’t need the lenses to see that Clark isn’t alright. The numbers flashes in front of his eyes, calculating Clark’s survival rate isn’t helping his racing heart.

Clark’s back is moving, he’s still breathing, but he isn’t saying anything. It doesn’t mean he’s not awake but that he doesn’t have energy to talk. Bruce would be more forgiving of that if the big oaf would at least open his eyes. Panic tears at Bruce’s throat and only years of practice helps him push it down. Later, he can panic later.

“Clark,” he calls. “Clark.”

A very soft grunt reaches his ears. It’s so faint Bruce almost thinks he’s imagined it, but then Clark’s eyelids flutter. He doesn’t move more than that, but it’s all the sign Bruce needs. He doesn’t need Clark to hold a conversation as long as he stays conscious.

Bruce knows he would’ve been livid if the roles had been reversed and Clark had cut through the batsuit, but he can’t figure out how else to get the stupid spandex material off Clark’s body. His usual scissors aren’t enough, and he has to resort to using a Batarang. Dick will love this story later – all his kids will. They’re going to rename it batscissors, and Bruce will never live it down. He’ll take it though, all of the teasing, even Jason’s holier than thou attitude while he tells Bruce how much of an idiot he is, that he doesn’t know how to undress a man, if only Clark pulls through.

He has to pull through. Of course, he will. He’s conscious, he’s still breathing. Bruce tires to focus on that, on the way Clark’s back is rising and falling, although raggedly, it’s still there.

The ache is back in full force, but Bruce ignores it, ignores the way his hands shake. He pushes the sleeves of Clark’s uniform down and frowns as he watches Clark’s skin try to heal over the bullet wounds. It is a disturbing sight, even for him. Clark’s body is working on autopilot, trying to fix the damage although that just encloses the poisonous crystal inside his skin. Bruce swallows thickly. He has to open all the wounds back up and pick out the kryptonite.

“Scalpel, sir?” Alfred’s calm voice floods over him and Bruce instantly relaxes the way he always does when Alfred is nearby.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

He throws his gloves somewhere on the floor before rushing through a wash of his hands. It’s not the bacteria that will kill Clark, but he doesn’t want to risk it any more than he has to. Alfred hands him a scalpel and a pair of tweezers. He knows better than to offer more help than that, but he stays by Bruce’s side, makes sure to catch all the bullets as Bruce plucks them from Clark’s back.

When Clark groans in pain Alfred is the one to pat his hand awkwardly because Bruce has his hands full. He doesn’t mean to count the bullets but when he pulls number fourteen out of Clark’s back, Bruce is starting to feel a little sick. Why the hell hadn’t Clark moved? All he’d had to do was dodge, push Bruce out of the way or even just fall to the damn ground.

He did not want to risk you getting hit, an intent voice sounds in his head and Bruce ignores how much it sounds like J’onn. Even the Martian can’t share his thoughts from this distance. At least Bruce doesn’t think so.

Clark whimpers and he sounds so young, so scared and Bruce’s heart clenches. He doesn’t mean to – he shouldn’t waste time – but he finds himself rubbing a hand over Clark’s shoulder blade to calm him down.

“Shh, I’m almost done,” Bruce mutters, thankful as Alfred wipes at his forehead so the sweat doesn’t drip into his eyes. It’s not the worst emergency operation he’s had to do – he still remembers the first time Tim took a bullet – but his nerves are shot and while he is feeling less agitated, he still doesn’t sleep much at night.

The pesky ache makes sure of it.

“Bruce,” Clark calls, whispers, and Bruce cannot, could never, deny that soft voice.

“I’m here,” he says as he gets the last bullet out and lets it drop into the bin Alfred is holding. “I’m right here.” He bites his tongue to keep the sweetheart from slipping out. A remnant from the dream, he’s sure. A moment’s weakness, if you will.

Clark groans again and Bruce knows from firsthand experience how uncomfortable these gurneys are. He’s tried to get the softest ones on the market but that doesn’t do much for a man of Clark’s stature. Bruce gnaws on his lower lip for a second before making a decision. He won’t make Clark move up to one of the manor’s bedrooms, even though there are plenty to choose from, but he does have a soft cot in the corner of the cave. He’s got more than one, actually, but the one he usually crashes on is softer and bigger than the others. Alfred has scolded him several times for making more of a home out of that pathetic excuse of a bed, than his own bedroom.

Bruce thanks any deity listening that the gurney has wheels on it, because he does not think he’s capable of carrying Clark to the other side of the cave right now. His hands are still soaked in blood, Clark’s blood, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that right now. Firstly, he has to make sure Clark is comfortable. He’ll drag one of his artificial UV lamps to the bed when he’s got Clark situated. It’s not as good as the actual sun, but it’s better than nothing. Clark will heal on his own, of course, but the sunlight will help speed the process up.

Bruce wheels the gurney most of the way to the cot and then maneuvers Clark’s mostly unconscious body onto it. He’s not as worried about Clark being unconscious now – his breathing has already evened out and his skin looks healthier already. The one sweating now is Bruce as he puts Clark down and awkwardly tugs the blanket up over his body. He wipes his brow, tries to breathe deep, but the ache has grown tenfold the past hour and he feels like his lungs won’t expand properly.

He knows he should grab the lamp, the UV light will help Clark, but he’s so tired he can barely see straight. He sits down next to the cot, just for a minute, just to catch his breath. He rests his head on his arms, turning his head to watch Clark’s face.

That’s how he falls asleep.

***

Clark wakes up slowly. He’s used to the light streaming in from his bedroom window and it takes him a while (0,2 seconds approximately) to figure out exactly where he is. Ah, the batcave. That’s why everything looks so dark and gloomy.

Clark feels warm pressure on his hand and sits up on his other elbow. He nearly swallows his tongue at the sight greeting him. Bruce in sitting next to the bed, knees tugged underneath him, resting his arms on the frame. He has one arm folded under his head, squishing his cheek and the other is stretched out towards Clark. Holding Clark’s hand. It’s covered in dry blood and Clark feels a little sick, because he knows Bruce hates the sight of blood.

Clark feels a persistent desire to turn his hand over, to hold Bruce’s hand back properly, to comfort him. He’s even thinking of actually doing it when Bruce stirs. It takes him a while, it seems, to realize where he is and what he’s doing on the floor of all places. Confusion strikes his handsome features and Clark waits until those steely eyes find his own before he speaks.

“Morning,” he says quietly. He doesn’t want to startle Bruce but saying nothing feels awkward. Bruce saved his life, it’s not the first time and it probably won’t be the last, there’s no reason for things to be awkward.

“Mornin’,” Bruce mutters back. Only then does his eyes fall to their joined hands. He pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned. He looks at Clark like he dares him to comment on it. As if Clark ever would.

When Clark doesn’t say anything, Bruce rearranges himself. He must be sore from sitting in that position. He sits back with a small wince, stretching his legs out for a moment.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

It’s the first question Clark has heard him utter in what feels like months. It hasn’t been more than a week, three at most. It’s also the first time Bruce has looked at him – really looked at him – since the incident with the Black Mercy. Clark wants the moment to go on forever. He feels as if his heart has swelled inside his chest.

“I’m fine,” he finally says. It’s true. He feels weirdly stiff, but he hasn’t been in the sun yet and he knows that will fix it. It always does. He’s never had a kryptonite incident he couldn’t get out of with Bruce’s help and a little tanning.

“Good,” Bruce says, his voice curt.

Bruce pushes himself up from the edge of the bed and stands on wobble legs. Clark can tell from the stiffness of Bruce’s movements that he’s in pain. That, and the small furrow between his brows deepens like it always does when he’s pretending, he isn’t hurting. How long has he been sleeping by Clark’s side? Has he been there all night? It’s morning, Clark can hear the birds chirping away outside, the manor’s gardens far enough from the city’s smog to let the little creatures live peacefully.

Clark sits up and places his feet on the floor. He’s naked from the waist up and it looks like the torso of his costume is torn apart. He should probably ask Bruce if he can borrow a shirt to fly home in. He raises his head to do just that, when he realizes Bruce is staring at him. As soon as their eyes meet, Bruce turns away again. As he watches Bruce’s back, the cape swaying with his every unsteady step, Clark can’t help but gnaw on his lower lip.

He watches as Bruce goes to the med bay and he hears the running water. Of course, Bruce would want to get cleaned up as quickly as possible. Clark feels at odds with himself. He knows he could just leave, should probably just leave. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay with Bruce, he wants to talk. He wants them to be okay.

Bruce reemerges, a fluffy towel in his hands as he’s drying them off. He doesn’t look surprised to see Clark still in the cave, but he doesn’t look happy either. He throws the towel in a bin and Clark is struck by how clean his hands suddenly look. Bruce glances at him again, frown still present, but he turns around before Clark has a chance to open his mouth. To start a proper conversation.

If only they could go back to how it was before. He wants to know what Bruce is thinking, what he is feeling. Granted, Batman has never been great at sharing, but they’re friends. He’s let Clark in. And now he could barely stand to look at him. It feels wrong and Clark’s skin feels too tight, and it has nothing to do with the kryptonite bullets from yesterday.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Spills out of his mouth without his permission and Clark feels his eyes grow wide. Oh no. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. He hadn’t meant to say it at all. Bruce needed his space; Clark was trying to be understanding and respectful!

“What?” Bruce grunts, barely glancing over his shoulder as he limps towards the computer. He’s still mostly in his batsuit and that cannot have been nice to sleep in. The thought makes Clark’s heart swell. Bruce did that for him.

Well, Clark’s already started digging, why not jump into the hole while he’s already here?

“You’re avoiding me,” he says. He tries not to make it sound like an accusation, but it sort of is. Bruce has been avoiding him and he has no idea why. It isn’t fair.

Bruce sighs dramatically and even with his back turned, Clark can tell he’s rolling his eyes. Clark stands from the bed, frustration buzzing underneath his skin. Why is Bruce being so difficult? Why won’t he talk to him?

“I’m not avoiding–” Bruce starts and Clark snaps.

“You can barely look at me!” He says, too loud, too harsh. The words feel like acid on his tongue, but he can’t regret them, not when it finally makes Bruce turn around again. His gaze is hard and unforgiving, but it is there. It is on Clark.

“You’re imagining things,” Bruce says, his voice steady. Too steady. He’s trying to sound calm. It’s the same voice he uses when one of the kids have been injured on a mission and Bruce is trying not to show how worried he is. Clark knows that voice.

“Don’t lie to me, Bruce,” he says.

“You’re being ridiculous.” It’s not denial, it’s not even an excuse. It’s just hollow words and Clark is tired of those.

“Was it because of what I did?” He asks as he takes a few steps closer. “Did I influence your dream? It was the only way to get the thing off you, but if it was so horrible, I’ll apologize. Just talk to me.”

“What do you mean ‘influence’?” Bruce asks, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I– It touched me, it was around my wrist,” Clark tries to explain. “I think we might have shared–”

“What did you see?” Bruce interrupts.

The panic is clear as day on his face and Clark feels his heart break a little. Is that why Bruce has been avoiding him? Because he’s afraid of what he’s seen in his dreams? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what would make Bruce Wayne happy, so Clark doesn’t understand why that’s what bothers Bruce so much. They’re friends, he must know that Clark has at least a slight idea of what he’s been dreaming about.

“Nothing,” he says honestly. “I didn’t see anything.”

It really is the truth, even though the bitter taste of a lie lingers on Clark’s tongue. He didn’t see anything, but he has been having a hard time forgetting the heat pooling in his stomach. He’d had a distinct feeling that Bruce felt it too, but he couldn’t be sure. Besides, it didn’t have anything to do with Bruce’s visions. The desire Clark felt wasn’t a part of Bruce’s fantasies. Unless he’d somehow transferred it. The thought alone scared him far more than any kryptonite weapon.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Bruce says as he crosses his arms over his chest. Yet another barrier Clark cannot get through.

“There isn’t.”

“So it’s okay for you to lie to me?”

“I’m not lying–” Clark tries. Bruce grunts at him and turns away again and Clark has had enough of this. He stalks up to Bruce’s back, grabs his shoulder and turns him until they’re face to face. “I am not lying.”

Bruce is quiet as he studies Clark’s face. Clark lets him. He won’t be seeing any lies in Clark’s eyes and at least he’s looking at him now. There’s a silent question in Bruce’s eyes but Clark cannot answer it before Bruce opens his mouth. It takes him a solid minute before he does.

“What do you think we shared?” Bruce asks him, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s–” Clark searches for the right words to describe what he felt. “A feeling, something– something warm.”

“Safe,” Bruce says.

“Yes,” Clark agrees. Not just safe though. He tries not to let his own embarrassment choke him, but it’s hard. He feels his cheeks heat up, but he has to be honest with Bruce. If this is why he’s been angry at Clark, he has to explain that he didn’t mean to let his own emotions influence or alter Bruce’s vision. “But also a physical warmth. A sort of– of desire.”

Bruce is quiet again. He’s still frowning but not nearly with as much anger as before. He looks more confused than anything. Once again Clark gathers up all the patience he possibly can and waits for Bruce to speak.

“You didn’t see anything?”

“I swear, Bruce, I didn’t see your dream.” Clark tries not to let the hurt show on his face, but he can’t help but ask: “What could be so horrible that you wouldn’t want me to see?”

“What you felt–” Bruce is being very careful with his words and Clark wishes he wouldn’t be. He wishes Bruce would just say whatever’s on his mind. “Was it your own? Did it come from the plant or from you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Did the feeling come from you or the plant? Did it influence you?”

“No,” Clark is quick to answer. The desire he’d felt had been his own. It had just come at a time he wasn’t prepared for it. Not really the time to think about Bruce’s lips or hands when he was in a coma-like state. “No, it’s– it was mine, my feelings, I wasn’t influenced by anything.”

It’s as close to a confession as he’s ever been, and Clark isn’t even sure it counts as a confession at all. He sure as hell isn’t sure Bruce understand what he’s trying to say and judging from the wild look in his eyes, he doesn’t.

To be fair Clark has never bragged with his ability to read people, so he supposes it shouldn’t surprise him when he’s wrong, especially when it comes to Bruce. But he still yelps as Bruce’s hands grab at the remnants of his uniform and pulls him close. His hands are dangerously close to a part of Clark he would rather keep hidden for now, given the confession he just made, but he cannot focus on it because in the next second Bruce’s lips are pressed against his own.

***

Bruce has no idea what in the world he’s doing. No, that’s not right, he knows exactly what he’s doing which makes it infinitively worse. He should’ve waited, asked, kept talking. Anything but crash his lips into Clark’s, but there is no way he can resist Clark’s confession. Because that’s what his words means, even Bruce can tell that much. Desire isn’t something you feel for friends. Clark reassures him it wasn’t the Black Mercy, and the relief Bruce feels overtakes his entire body.

He can’t not kiss Clark.

Kissing Clark is nothing like his dream. It is a hundred, no, a thousand times better. Because this is real and there’s no stupid alien plant on his chest, there’s no waking up with his chest feeling like it’s being torn apart. There’s always the possibility that Clark will push him away, reject him, but Bruce tries not to think about it.

He doesn’t have to worry, it seems, because a short moment later, Clark’s hands are wrapping around his waist, pulling him so close he can feel Clark’s heartbeat against his own chest. It’s intoxicating, feeling Clark’s hands run down his back, over his ass and grabbing the back of his thighs. Bruce feels a thrill as Clark lifts his off the ground and presses their bodies together, much closer, so much better.

Bruce barely feels Clark move before his ass lands on the desk. He’s pretty sure he’s sitting halfway on top of his own keyboard, but he can’t be bothered to do much other than wiggling around until he’s free of it. He is a little confused as to why Clark has deposited him on his desk; being Superman has a lot of perks and holding Bruce up without any effort must be counted as one of them. Their lips separate for a brief second and Bruce doesn’t whine, he doesn’t, but there is a distinct sound echoing in the cave. It must be Clark.

Bruce’s confusion is quickly washed away as Clark runs his hands up his thighs and even through the Kevlar, he can feel how warm they are. Clark cups his cheeks, holding his face still and tilting it up to lock their eyes together. Bruce raises his hands to hold onto Clark’s wrists as he tries to figure out what he wants.

“Did you dream of me?” Clark asks and his eyes are so intense, trailed on Bruce that he can only nod in response, a little jerk of his chin. “Did you not think I wanted you back?”

Bruce frowns at this. How the hell was he supposed to know Clark had feelings for him too? Much less wanted to do something about it. It’s not like it’s something they discuss on the regular. It’s not something anybody discusses. Bruce pulls back a little, but Clark’s hold on his face is relentless.

“You idiot,” Clark laughs. “World’s greatest detective, my ass.”

Bruce means to bite back, tell Clark just who the idiot is, but his mouth is soon preoccupied with opening up to Clark’s prodding tongue. Alright, he’ll argue later. They’ll have plenty of time.

Later turns out to actually be much later. Because Clark is relentless is more ways than one and apparently he’s been as frustrated as Bruce. When they finally come up for air, so to speak, Bruce looks like he’s been in a tornado; his cheeks flushed, his hair a mess and he’s halfway out of his uniform – Clark isn’t looking much better. Or, well, depending on who you ask he looks amazing. Much better than yesterday, at least. Bruce rather likes running his hands over Clark’s naked back when it’s not covered in bullet wounds.

“You really need to work on your communication skills,” Clark mutters. Before Bruce has a chance to respond, Clark’s arms are around him again, his hands pressed firmly against Bruce’s back. To assure him this is real, Bruce supposes. It’s a romantic gesture and although it isn’t exactly needed (Bruce is well aware of Clark’s feelings now, he’s been whispering them into Bruce’s skin for the past hour), it’s sweet all the same.

It’s leaves him with the same feeling he had when he was pulled into Dream-Clark’s arms. It’s home. And finally, finally, that dull ache is his chest is gone. It feels as if something has lodged itself into the hollow space in his heart and filled it out perfectly; that missing something finally settling where it’s supposed to be. That something is Clark.

The next time Bruce has monitor duty, Clark is with him. They enter the Watchtower together because Clark insisted that they spend as much time together as possible. Something about lost time and Bruce wants to roll his eyes, but he agrees, nonetheless. Never mind that he has already rescheduled all their monitor duties to be with each other. Oh well, Clark will notice eventually.

They nod at Wally and Diana as they head to the monitor room. There’s a polite greeting and Bruce feels a small weight lift off his shoulders. He hadn’t expected people to disapprove – not that it is any of their business, but Clark can’t keep a secret to safe his life – but he’s still relieved he doesn’t have to answer questions.

“So,” Flash states. Bruce doesn’t think he means to be as loud as he is. “Mom and dad made up, huh?”

There’s a distinct WHAP sound in the air and Bruce doesn’t have to turn around to know that Wally has toppled over from Diana’s smack. He can feel Clark chuckle and has to press his lips together to keep from smiling himself.

“So, Mom, do you wanna grab our lunch before we sit down?”

“Why do you assume I’m the mom?” Bruce raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

It’s nice, being back to normal. Better than normal, actually, Bruce thinks as he watches Clark hold up his hands in surrender, trying to explain his reasoning. This time he can’t keep the smile off his face.

They’ll be okay. They always are.

#misha writes #superbat: through the haze chapter 2 #superbat #superbat fic #Superman/Batman #superman x batman #clark kent x bruce wayne #clark kent/bruce wayne #superbat fanfiction

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