League Of Assassins - Tumblr Posts

Alright, random idea about the Twin AU, or any AU where Danny is an Al Ghul. Everyone knows that Ra's has an entire army of assassins, but what about the dead assassins? I doubt Ra's is dipping everybody in the Lazarus pit.

So, what if they went to the ghost zone?

And then when Danny dies, these assassins, who are extremely loyal to the Al Ghul family, immediately start following him.

The main assassin in charge, I'm gonna call him Carl, whose been around since the very beginning of the league, who was Ra's right hand man, starts acting as Danny's second in command basically becoming his Alfred.

Carl orders some of the assassins to help Danny out with some small stuff, like distracting some of the rouges so he gets to school on time, killing the hotdogs in the fridge so the little prince doesn't die of poisoning, setting off a Fenton invention so Danny get make a getaway. He definitely orders them to not interfere in big fights, unless Danny really needs the help, as a way for Danny to learn how to fight.

Carl has no idea who the GIW is, but he's gonna find out and then he's gonna blackmail/threaten/unalive some people.

Danny doesn't even know that he's suddenly gained a ghost army, all he knows is that there's a few helpful ghosts hanging around that really hate hotdogs. And then when Danny becomes the ghost king, hoo boy. The assassins replace the old ghost kings army, set up their own system and chains of command just completely change everything. Carl takes FrightKnights place as the king's right hand man/ bodyguard, makes sure all the members of the royal family are safe and is ready to fist fight the time ghost if he makes one more attempt to get his job.

Danny: I wanna be an astronaut. Carl who has no idea what that is: Sure, just let me do some info gathering and blackmail some people. Danny: What? And imagine the batfams reaction.

So, I'm gonna write about how Carl got his name, because why not? ------- The office Dani was currently in was decorated with weapons she didn't know the names of, maps of places that probably didn't exist anymore, and thousands of books in languages she didn't know. Normally she'd be trying to steal one of the maps or weapons (She always got caught) or begging the owner of those books to teach her the languages they were written in. (The old ghost aways looked happy when she asked him to teach her) But she had something more important to do now. Dani placed her chin on a glowing wooden desk as she stared at the ghost behind it, the ghost in question being Danny's second in command. The older ghost seemed unfazed by her staring, then again, he always seemed unfazed by everything. It was weird referring to him as 'Danny's second in command' when he probably had a name she could use, but the problem was that she didn't know it. He had never introduced himself, and she doesn't think she's ever heard anyone call something other than 'sir' or 'leader' She didn't think even Danny knew his name. "Can I help you, princess?" The ghost asked, he didn't look up from the complex forms on his desk, but Dani knew she had his attention. Dani thought about it for a second, was this going to be rude? Jazz said that things that might not be rude to humans would come across as rude to ghosts and vice versa, oh well she'd deal with it if it was. "What's your name?" The older ghost faltered as if caught off guard. "My name? I do not believe anyone has asked me that question in a long time." He admitted thoughtfully like he was searching his memory for the last time someone asked, it seemed to take him longer than it should have. "Well, what is it?" Dani questioned curiously, drawing him out of his thoughts. "Hmm, I do not remember it." He said unbothered, like it was something he had gotten used to. Dani gasped, eyes going wide. "How do you not remember it!?" Names were important, at least that's what Danny said when he gave her one, they weren't something you just forget. "As I said, it has been a long time since someone asked for it, or used it." Well that was sad. "So nobody knows your name?" She asked, there had be someone out there who knew him. The ghost paused. "Well, there is someone who might know it." Dani perked up, ready to go track down that random ghost and and get the information from them. He must have sensed her thoughts because he tacked on. " Unfortunately, I am unable to speak with him at this time. " the 'you can't either' was unspoken but heard. Dani deflated. "You could pick a new one?" She suggested, many of the other ghosts had given themselves new names upon their deaths. The older ghost waved his hand dismissively. "I see no need to, I have not needed a name for quite some time afterall." Dani bit her lip as she thought about what to do, she couldn't just leave him with no name, everybody had a name, even her. Though her name was given to her by Danny...Wait, that might actually work! "What if I gave you a name?" The ghost blinked at her in surprise, he was way too skilled to show outwardly but she knew by the way he actually looked up from his desk. "I suppose that would be alright." He said after a moment of hesitation. Dani grinned in a way that would've creeped out any and all humans, even Jazz, Tucker, and Sam. "I'm gonna call you Carl from now on!" She declared with cheer. The newly dubbed Carl stared at her for a second before he laughed. If Dani was feeling poetic, she'd describe the sound like tree branches when a gust of wind went through them, or the sound of a funeral parlours door creaking open. But Dani didn't have a poetic bone in her body, so she described the noise as quiet, very amused, unbelievably fond, and out of practice. Like he hadn't had a reason to laugh in a long time, the last time he laughed was probably around the time someone asked for his name. "I will use it well, princess." Carl promised making her grin become two time wider.

Alright, random idea about the Twin AU, or any AU where Danny is an Al Ghul. Everyone knows that Ra's has an entire army of assassins, but what about the dead assassins? I doubt Ra's is dipping everybody in the Lazarus pit.

So, what if they went to the ghost zone?

And then when Danny dies, these assassins, who are extremely loyal to the Al Ghul family, immediately start following him.

The main assassin in charge, I'm gonna call him Carl, whose been around since the very beginning of the league, who was Ra's right hand man, starts acting as Danny's second in command basically becoming his Alfred.

Carl orders some of the assassins to help Danny out with some small stuff, like distracting some of the rouges so he gets to school on time, killing the hotdogs in the fridge so the little prince doesn't die of poisoning, setting off a Fenton invention so Danny get make a getaway. He definitely orders them to not interfere in big fights, unless Danny really needs the help, as a way for Danny to learn how to fight.

Carl has no idea who the GIW is, but he's gonna find out and then he's gonna blackmail/threaten/unalive some people.

Danny doesn't even know that he's suddenly gained a ghost army, all he knows is that there's a few helpful ghosts hanging around that really hate hotdogs. And then when Danny becomes the ghost king, hoo boy. The assassins replace the old ghost kings army, set up their own system and chains of command just completely change everything. Carl takes FrightKnights place as the king's right hand man/ bodyguard, makes sure all the members of the royal family are safe and is ready to fist fight the time ghost if he makes one more attempt to get his job.

Danny: I wanna be an astronaut. Carl who has no idea what that is: Sure, just let me do some info gathering and blackmail some people. Danny: What? And imagine the batfams reaction.

Greg had been a professional hench for the past ten years. He was well adept in toxins. There were scare toxins, Joker™ toxins, pain toxins, and hallucination toxins. If you could think of something, the underground toxin industry could make it.

Greg, in all his henching, had never seen an inhibitons-lower-ing toxin. He was kind of jazzed (and honored) to be one of the first henches to use it. Especially because he got to use it on the Batman.

By some luck, Greg and two other henches and a goon (Greg didn't like working with goons) had managed to snag the Batman while he had been swinging around and patrolling. They had knocked him out and tied him to a chair and tied that chair to an old fridge and chained that fridge to a support beam in the old warehouse they were in.

Technically, the four of them where not working with anyone at the moment but padding your resume is important when applying for villainous positions. This would be perfect for Greg's 'Special Intel' section and with the job market how it was, you needed all the help you could get.

Greg nodded to his fellow henches and the goon (Goons. Gross) and he picked up the syringe of inhibition-lower-ing toxin that his friend the mad scientist had given him. He injected it in the Bat's neck through the fabric (Obviously he hadn't taken off his cowl, that would be plain rude). Then, Greg punched Batman in the face.

The four of them were excited when the Bat lurched himself forward in his bounds, thankful that the rope and the rope and the chain had worked. Greg, as senior hench on scene, was given the floor to start the questioning. "So, Mr. Batman" he said because he was a professional, "we have some questions for you."

The Bat squinted at Greg (or maybe his cowl was just malfunctioning? It's hard to tell with the weird white eyes) and growled, "What do you want, Greg?"

Okay, that's pretty cool. THE Batman knows his name. Greg, keeping his excitement at bay, questioned, "Why do you do what you do, Mr. Batman?" It was a fairly easy question, something simple to ease them into the interrogation. Nothing too loaded that would bring up anything that would make the Bat hostile.

"My parents were brutally murdered in front of me as a young boy. I promised them Vengeance™." Greg was not expecting that. Everything is cool. Everything is fine.

"Okayyyy, um, why do you work with Robin?" Perfect. Everyone who had seen Batman interact with Robin knew he was fond of the boy and likely his father. This is perfect.

"His parents were brutally murdered in front of him as a young boy. He promised them Vengeance™." How was Batman putting the ™ after Vengeance within conversation? Why did he have a traumatized child working with him? Many questions that Greg was not stupid enough to ask.

He was, however, stupid enough to ask, "Okayyy! Uh, why do you have so many different Robins?" Dear God, Greg was hoping that this would end up better than his previous lines of questioning. Even the goon was looking uncomfortable and he was a goon! The worst of all of Gotham's underbelly.

Batman looked down in sadness? Thoughtfulness? When the Bat looked up, his jaw was clenched. Oh dear. "My son stopped talking to me and my new son wanted to be Robin. Then my son died!" Why did Greg ask? "Then the neighbor kid asked me to be Robin so I wouldn't 'kill myself.'"

Everyone knew there were things you didn't need to see. Like your parents kissing. Or your Uncle dressed as Santa Clause. Or the man who dressed as a Bat and beat you up crying. "Then I was stuck in time and all my kids thought I was dead and my first son was Batman" huh, who knew? "And he made my youngest son Robin and now my second youngest son is angry."

Honestly, it was on Greg. Like, he knew that a person who did what Batman did couldn't be totally stable. But like, he wasn't expecting this! Now he just kind of felt bad for the guy.

The Batman, one of the most feared people in world, was not on truth toxin, he was on inhibition-lower-ing toxin. Meaning he didn't need a question to keep talking. The normally stoic vigilante just wouldn't. stop. taking. "-wanna pinch his chubby, little assassin cheeks when he's pouting!" Seriously, all of this? Miscalculation on Greg's part. One of the henches looked sympathetic while the other two looked like they were reconsidering their lives of crime. Greg was also questioning why he decided to regularly be on the opposite side of Batdad here.

"-the dead one? Less dead! He's the Red Hood now! He thinks I'm disappointed that he kills people but honestly? I understand it. All I'm disappointed about is the fact he hasn't married a nice, Jewish girl yet. I want grandbats! In fact, I was-"

Well, at least Greg could solve this issue. He had worked for the Red Hood a week or so ago (the guy offered good dental) and he had his number.

"What," ground out a voice on the other end of the line, "I'm in the middle of some family stuff." Greg winced at Mr. Hood's tone.

Hopefully he wouldn't be too annoyed that Greg was the reason for family stuff. "Uh, I have your family stuff right here."

The Red Hood (who he had just! cut! off!) went silent before quietly saying in a deadly tone, "I will slowly decapitate every barista who has ever spelled your name right if you don't give him back right now."

Greg, who was named Greg, gulped. That was several people. "You don't understand, Mr. Hood! I don't want him. You can take him before he tells us more about..."

Greg trailed off to hear, "-used to hit me with paper towel rolls and speak only in Hamlet quotes when he was upset!"

Greg spoke back into the phone "your Shakespeare habits."

Red Hood once again went silent. "I'll be there in five." and he hung up the phone. Greg, who had learned long ago that the Red Hood could do all, didn't question how he would get there without an address. Time to listen to more kid stories.

-

"-stealing coffee from the president, if you can picture it! Superman nearly throttled the two of them! But that doesn't compare to how angry he was when he saw what they did with the Queen's Crown. It was-" Greg was actually slightly disappointed when Batman's latest story was cut off by Red Hood kicking open the warehouse. All the other henches (and the damn goon) looked a little sad too.

Greg, who had sat criss cross apple sauce in front of Batman with the other villains, stood up and dusted his pants off. "Hi, Mr. Hood! Here's your dad! Not a scratch on him and the toxin will wear off soon!" Greg said quickly, attempting to walk away.

Hood grabbed him by his collar, "What did you learn about him? What did you-"

The Hood was cut off by a happily wriggling Bat, "My baby! Look at you! I was just telling these nice men about the time you got in an argument with a zookeeper about bats and birds! You were insistent that bats were a type of bird! It was so cute and then you said that she should 'shove her false information up her -'"

Hood cut off his father with a groan. He turned to Greg, "Help me get him out of here and I won't hurt you." Greg was happy to agree.

After cutting the rope and the rope and unlocking the chains, Batman happily threw himself at one of the most prolific murderers of Gotham and picked him up like a baby and started walking out the warehouse. "You know, I wouldn't have to tell total strangers about you if you gave me grandbats to talk to. I know this nice girl, she runs that deli on 23rd street with her grandparents? Anyway, she's single and she goes to-"

Greg and the other henches (and the goon) looked at each other, all conveying a general 'What the ever loving Fuck just happened?" vibe. Greg was pretty sure at least two of them were going to quit crime after that. At least his mad scientist friend would know that the inhibition-lower-ing toxin worked wonders.

Besides, maybe supervillains would want to hear about how many times each Robin had won their schools spelling bee?

"Cass, Jason and Damian bond over their time in the League of Assassins"

ACTUALLY they bond over all 3 of them being theater kids (Real and canon, I'm dc comics)

Finished the lines for Jason Redesign if he never left the league. Based on an mix of JL and the really cool Shinobi Statue of Jason I saw a few months back.

demon twins

I know people like to head cannon that Jasona and Damian were in the league of assassin's together and I do too because it would be cute and hilarious and so much more . Jason being in the League and taking care of Damian and seeing him as a brother while his mind is still messed up and teaching him stuff like art and, books that he likes, and maybe even thought Damian to talk the way he does. Damian being happy to have someone that loves him and happy to have a brother that teaches him stuff. But has anyone thought of the angst potential. Like Jason probably thinks that Damian want real and was a figment of his imagination so he never worries about it or tell anyone that he used to be in charge of taking care of a kid or ever goes back. Than we have Damian feeling betrayed that his brother never came back for him or members him. Just imagine Jason saying he'll come back for Damian so they could be happy together as a family and tells him stories but he never does and Damian learns that he can never rely on someone. Imagine how hurt Damian would be that Jason doesn't remember him. That would mean Jason would be first person that left Damian. And Jason would always feel as if he has to go back to something or someone but doesn't know why and when he sees Damian he just feels that he has to protect him. Just Jason looking at Damian and feels as if he needs to to do something. It's just a thought I have that feel like could translate great I'm the comic or show or movie because it has a lot potential. I just feel like it would be a great way to show another how Jason and Damian are similar or just a brotherly bond or why Damian is so distant from his siblings is because he feels like what happen with Jason will happen again.

DC Headcanon: دَيميَن الوِطواط

Seeing non-Arab writers trying to write Damian has been cringeworthy, hurtful, and hilarious for me as a Lebanese Arab woman. Just the other day, I was thinking about this. There are many examples, but one among them is the fact that Damian has actually unironically been dubbed إبن الخفشاء (Ibn El Khufashaa') which is the most edgelord teen fanfic thing. Yes, it means "Son Of The Bat." No, no one talks like that. We're Arabs, not Altmer. Jesus. Anyways, I was thinking about this and I was thinking about how we don't even use the word حفشاء / khufashaa' to refer to bats. We use the word وطواط (pronounced "wit-watt.") But witwaat is not formal language, it's dialect. While you would hear the word khufashaa' on the news, you would never use it in day-to-day speech. Similarly, you would never hear witwaat used on the news. The word witwaat is onomatopoeia, a word that is what it sounds like. (English examples include swish, rustle, crash, and whisper.) Witwaat is the sound of a bat flapping its wings. Honestly, for me, the imagery is adorable. So, I have a headcanon that in the League, the ninjas referred to Baby Damian as El-Witwaat. Jason started it. "Ibn El Khufashaa'," what the hell? This kid was his baby brother. Soon, all the ninjas were referring to Damian as El-Witwaat. Eventually, someone slipped and accidentally called him that in front of Raging-Pregnant-Hormones Talia. The whole room was still, everyone sucking in their breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, and... she loved it! She thought it was sooo CUTE! And thus, it caught on and became his affectionate childhood nickname from when he was in the League. The only one who doesn't call him Witwaat was his self-important tightass gRaAndfAtHEr. Honestly, it kind of slaps as a gangster name, too. I mean, El Chapo means "shorty." Witwaat has the right amount of casual cuteness to be intimidating. Of course, Damian, himself, doesn't see this, and in his attempts to be taken Seriously goes from loving it when he was little to hating it and refusing to respond to it. Except that Jason upon his return to Gotham had reintroduced the nickname and the Batfam loves it! And Bruce, too, eventually calls Damian that every once in a while. Hey, that's his boy. And he couldn't be more proud. And you know what? Maybe Damian doesn't think it's so bad after all. ("It's tolerable.")

Ra’s al Ghul Logic...

“I am the prophet come to remind the world that life is precious.”

Proceeds with plan to kill millions.

Jason Todd x Mom!Reader- Babybird Part One

More Jason Todd cause he is my son. This is pretty long, and there will be more parts. 

Warning: Graphic mentions of violence, mentions of nightmares

  You were woken up by a string of screams coming from the room opposite yours. In a matter of seconds, the duvet was thrown to the floor, and you had dashed across the hall to the room where Jason resided. The young boy was sitting up in the bed, the screaming had ceased, but his chest heaved up and down, and his shaggy black hair skewed the view of his usually youthful face. Carefully, you made your way towards the bed, speaking in such a soft tone Jason could barely hear you, but yet, in a voice that always managed to ground Jason after being rocked by a nightmare.    "Honey, it's okay," you hushed him as you gently lowered yourself to sit on the bed. Twelve-year-olds shouldn't be having dreams that bad, you thought. Jason seemed so tiny, and fragile, compared to such a large bed, as he curled in on himself, watching as you sat next to him.      This wasn't a rare occurrence, Jason had nightmares often. You supposed that was what happened when a child was thrown into an adults battle. Jason had heard and seen so much back with his biological parents. and when he took up the Robin mantle, that only seemed to make things worse. But Jason was like Dick and seemed to desperately seek Bruce's approval. Willing to fight alongside the Batman in order to spend time with him, to make Bruce proud. Bruce was your best friend, but if there was one thing you hated about him, it was his need to take in kids and allow them to fight beside him, to become sidekicks. Allow them to fight the heinous criminals of Gotham at such a young age.

     You watched sadly as Jason trembled, his breathing uneven, swaying slightly in place. You had dealt with situations like this before with him and knew by heart what to do. Carefully, you reached a hand out to brush the black mess of hair away from Jason's eyes, revealing tear coated and reddened cheeks, as well as bloodshot eyes. He was exhausted. It was rare, though, for dreams to be so severe that he had to rock back and forth, as well as not attempt to hide the flowing tears. Usually, you came in, checked if he was alright, he would force out a reply, and you stayed with him until he fell back asleep, but tonight was clearly not going to be like that. The dream had been too real. So much so that Jason clearly didn't want to deal with the aftermath alone.      As you brushed his tears away from his cheeks with timid fingertips, Jason would swear that it was the softest thing he had ever felt. No one was so gentle, and caring for him as you were. He wouldn't admit to how happy that made him. Even with your velvet touch to his cheeks, it wasn't enough to soothe away the pain that had been brought on by the dream. More fat tears rolled down Jason's cheeks. They were silent tears until you spoke.    "You're okay, Jason, it was a dream." A wretched sob escaped past Jason's lips, urging you to pull him close to you. Nuzzling into the crook of your neck, Jason continued to cry, some sobs quiet, while others were loud. No, this was more than a nightmare, it was a memory, you remembered from past experiences. Jason only cried so hard when it was something he was forced to relive. "Oh, Babybird," you cooed, raking your hands against his scalp. Pulling back from his hold slightly, which he whimpered at, you placed a kiss on his forehead. Then on his cheek, and the other, then back to his forehead. It hurt to see a child so vulnerable, in so much pain. Every instinct in you was telling you to hide him away, to tell Bruce he could no longer be his Robin. To keep him safe. Unharmed.    "Stay?" Of course, he wouldn't want you to leave, as evidenced by his tight hold around your waist. No child would want to be left alone after something like that. You nodded without speaking, continuing to hold him as he finished crying. It was a solid hour before he fell asleep in your arms, his breathing finally going back to being even. Peaceful.      You stayed with him for the rest of the night, occasionally fallings asleep, only to be jerked awake when he moved slightly in his sleep. The protective mode that had been activated when you first entered the room had yet to subside. All you wanted to do was keep him safe. Make sure that he was never put through something like what he has seen before again. That's what parents want for their children, and surely you were Jason's mother, as he was your son.

     Over the years you had spent with him, the bond had only grown stronger, and by the time he was fifteen, you had completely taken up the role of his mother. Which is why when he got on that plane to Ethiopia and never returned, you left. You put the blame so heavily on Bruce that you couldn't bear to be around him anymore. He should have never let Jason be Robin!      But Jason had been Robin, and the Joker had killed him. And when Bruce said he wouldn't get rid of the Joker for good, you left Gotham in general. For months you had disappeared, you knew full well that Bruce, Dick, and Barbara had been looking for you, needing to know that you were alive still. You were very much alive, though you knew they would never find you where you were.      Many months, almost a year and a half, after Jason's death, and your disappearance, Talia Al Ghul was the one to find you. You had met her back when you and Bruce were teenagers, and though she occasionally assisted her father in committing atrocities, you were still her friend. By your account, she had done many things to prove that she could be trusted. And so, you went with her, back to her home on the other side of the planet. So far away from Bruce, and Gotham, and away from everything that reminded you that you were a mother who had lost her son to a villain that should have been killed years before Jason was even born.      The League of Assassins were a group of people you were familiar with and often found yourself hating. They were trained to brutally kill the innocent, and you were trained to do the opposite. You were to save those who couldn't keep themselves safe. But the conflict you felt, and the pain that gripped your heart kept you there.      Everything had changed so suddenly. For years you were convinced that killing was wrong, even when it came to criminals. But as you sat beside Talia, you thought deeply, eyes trained on the two people that dueled each other in front of you. Was killing the evil people of the world so wrong?    "My new protege," Talia hummed, pointing to one of the people who battled the other. "He shows great promise." You watched in horror as her protege kicked their opponent's knees in, forcing them to the ground with a yelp. With the sword, he held in his hands, in one quick motion, the head of the opponent was detached, left to be taken away by a servant. Blood covered the ground, and sword, the smell was horrific, and you were forced to hold back a gag. Why were you here?    "I thought you had a son to take care of Talia," you remarked bitterly. A young son, in fact, a baby. You never could understand how she bared to be away from him, knowing what the people here could do. "How do you have time for a protege?" You stared at the boy she had been training as he let his sword fall to the ground, his shoulders slumped. His body language read loud and clear- he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to kill that person. You knew that look.    "My son is a baby, he knows not if I am present or otherwise. This boy needs my attention now," She said calmly, running a hand through her thick black hair. "I want to help him."    "By teaching him to murder?" You questioned, Talia rolled her eyes.    "By teaching him to do what is necessary," She corrected. You bit the inside of your cheek hard. Maybe she thought she was doing the right thing. "He has unused potential, I will show him how to use it."      You didn't belong with the League. Well- you weren't there for them. You didn't like them. You were there for Talia, your friend. But she was one of them, and it was her job to make more of them like her. Assassins. Killers. Half of yourself wanted to leave, but the other half told you that this was the only place for you.      You stood from where you sat next to Talia, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt. The body of the murdered man was being taken away, the sun shining against to puddles of blood.    "It is too hot here, I am going inside," You says, pulling at the headscarf you wore, feeling dizzy and sick. The protege, you noticed, had moved to sit on the ground, probably feeling as miserable as you, as he wore all black, not an inch of skin visible. You couldn't imagine how he was feeling, nor did you want to. Not a thing in the world could make you want to do what the Assassins were trained to do. Murder, train in harsh conditions and live under Ra's Al Ghul.      The heat of the desert was brutal, the sun beat down relentlessly, the air was still, and humid. Entirely different from Gotham, which rained almost at a constant, and was often cold and had a bitter wind. You found yourself longing for that familiar weather. Your home had always been the city, after all, and being away from it for so long was beginning to take a toll. Being away from your family did nothing to help.      Talia stood up as well, motioning for her apprentice to follow her. You dipped your head down, trying to avoid the sunlight. The headscarf you wore was lightly colored and did help a small amount in protecting your head and face from the harsh rays of the desert sun.    "My friend," she spoke kindly, you glanced up at her in acknowledgment. "If you wish to return home, I will understand." It was as if now she was reading your thoughts. You nodded slowly at this. "I can see your discomfort in being here, you are not happy."    "I won't be happy there either," You sighed.    "Happier then here, I believe." She was right. You didn't belong here. These weren't your people, and the desert was not your home. Gotham was your home. Dick, Barbara, and Bruce were your family, whether you hated Bruce or not. You would go back to Gotham. You were beginning to feel as if you had to return.      But the Joker was going to die when you arrived. No matter what Bruce said or did.

Babybird Part Two (Batmom Reader)

Momma is home and she is angry. Reader’s superhero name in Whitehawk. Enjoy. I love feedback.

There was a drastic change in the winds from the desert to Gotham city- the most notable being that Gotham’s wind was bitter and tasted of salt, and the winds of the desert were hot and dusty. You found that you didn’t particularly care for either as you hid your face in the high collar of the thick winter coat you had slipped on. Unfortunately, there were many places you would rather be than the city or the desert for that matter, but Gotham was where duty called- where your emotions told you to go, and with the loss of your son so fresh, you couldn’t bear to ignore how you felt.

Despite it being well past midnight, there were still handfuls of people pushing their way between others, weaving in between cars and buildings, and hailing taxis. Though the sheer amount of people walking far too slow was insufferable, you were grateful that the crowds of people gave you something to blend into. Something to hide in. As you shuffled amongst the groups of Gothamites, you were simply a citizen, not someone who was supposed to protect the masses.

You slipped into the bar you had been searching for, immediately bright neon green and blue lights leaked into your vision, giving you pause. When the interior of the bar became visible to you, the search for the man that brought you there in the first place began. Pushing past the drunks, half-naked women and men, and waiters, there was suddenly a pull on your hips, to which you quickly glanced down, ready to slap a hand away, but it was merely a red velvet rope. You had reached the back of the bar. A shout came from the left of you, capturing your attention rather rudely- but what else could you expect from a place like the one you found yourself in.

The man who had yelled stood well over six foot, and his suit hugged tightly to his broad shoulders, the sleek pistol in his pocket glistened in the dim lights of the room. Surely, most would be intimidated by a man such as that, but you found his presences merely an annoyance. A dog sent to retrieve you? You scoffed but had no choice but to trail after the man, heels stomping on the ground loudly.

The guard came to a stop in front of dark green curtains that concealed the meeting room, refusing to enter, much to your satisfaction. Shoving aside the material, your nose scrunched up at the smell of cigars. A burning sensation that left your eyes watering slightly, and throat covered in a dissatisfying taste. The man, short and pale, sat slouched in his extravagant chair, embroidered with lavish looking jewels, and lace. It was a shame that such a lovely piece of furniture was in the hands of such a vile man.

“Such a rarity,” the Penguin squeaked, “that a Bird comes willingly into my cage.” Indeed it was, you supposed, but you were desperate. “It is bold, my girl,” he said in a groan. You weren’t fond of being mocked, but there was no time, and this was no place, to mouth off with the indignant man. You took a seat in a much more dull chair beside him, elbows placed on the table with your chin in your palm.

“I will transfer the money, and you give me the information, that was the deal, correct?” you said, wanting to get out of the wretched bar as soon as you could, even if that meant skipping over the details. Cobblepot hummed, inhaling through the cigar he held between his red-stained fingers.

Before you had thought of entering the bar in the first place, you had sent a letter, proposing the money for the information you desired. Weeks later, you received a letter in return- he had accepted if you agreed to meet with him. And there you sat, a frown gracing your lips.

“To the point? Well, do you not know any better?” he said, leaning back. You did, but you had to move fast before the information went stale.

“Actually I do, so if I were you, I’d be careful,” you said hotly. You were in a hurry, not stupid. Smarter than the man you sat next to, but not to underestimate him either- he was anything but an idiot. The man laughed bitterly.

“The money?” he inquired, an eyebrow raised. You rolled your eyes, rummaging through the coat pocket for your phone, where you then confirmed the transfer. You showed the old man the information quickly, before shoving the phone back into its previous place. Penguin nodded quietly.

You waited for him to speak, a hand clenching the wooden side of the table. More smoke poured from his mouth, the smell harsh.

“The Blackbrick factory filled to the brim with his...goons. Maybe the blonde was there with him, I don’t frankly care. He looked mad as ever, stupid as well. No idea what the fool was up to, but it seems to me that you don’t care about that. What do you care so much about?” Penguin said, a dark eyebrow raised. He was crossing a line, and beyond that line were things you didn’t wish to discuss- especially with Oswald. When no further words were exchanged, he continued. “Who knows when he will move again if he even will. But the man is erratic, and the Big Bat seems- lazy. As of late. Good for me, not for you. And whatever you are planning on doing tonight, I sincerely hope it ends with the Joker disappearing for good.” And with that, you began the trek to Blackbrick factory.

It was hard to see from your vantage point in the rafters of the factory, but it would have to make due. There was a surprising lack of hiding places to take cover in the building and an absurd amount of thugs that wore masks similar to the clown himself. Cocky, you thought, he had done no such thing before you had left the city. Apparently Batman’s lack of attention as of late upset Joker.

The man, face painted white, marched across his makeshift stage, above the mass of thugs. He was wailing about something hysterically, none of which you could hear, and you didn’t particularly want to. His voice brought a growl out from the back of your throat. Harley stood behind him, her finger twirling in a blonde curl, a laugh of her own echoing off the stone walls. You stared intently at the two, like an animal hunting its prey. But your attention was quickly brought upward, to the opposite end of the room from where you were, on a separate vantage point.

Yellow, green, and red. Those were the colors that you saw that were so incredibly familiar, and painful. For what felt like an unreasonable amount of time, you couldn’t breathe. The air refusing to come out of your lungs, distracting you from the burning at your eyes. A pounding feeling at your chest and weak muscles came over you and weren’t sure if it was from the lack of oxygen or the feeling of utter despair. It couldn’t be. He was gone.

The colors moved in flashes as the small figure swung about the room. Closer and closer to you until he rammed directly into you, distracted by the thugs that were becoming rowdy, and excited by the words of the Joker. Before you could think about what you were doing, you grabbed the person roughly and proceeded to grapple back out of the factory- forgetting about what you had gone there to do. The child, you guessed from the sound of his voice, struggled against you, and eventually wiggled out of your hold, but you were already on the roof, away from the thugs.

You stared at him, eyes scanning over his suit- his Robin suit. He was small, but not as small as Dick and your son had been. It wasn’t hard to be larger than Jason, anyway, the boy had been malnourished his whole life.  He was older, maybe thirteen. Fourteen. The usual Robin age. As you stared at him, and he stared back wordlessly, your blood began to boil all over again. Not at the boy, but at the man you knew was responsible for him. Another one? Another child brought into the fight? Had he learned absolutely nothing? You wanted to scream but that would have brought unwanted attention. You had been so involved in your own thoughts you barely heard the words Robin spoke to you.

“A-are you, Whitehawk?” he said, voice unsteady. You relaxed the stare when you realized he was scared. You nodded. You wore your old suit that had been used back in the days of fighting alongside Batman. It had long since been retired, as you gave up crimefighting a year before you met Jason. The occasion called for a proper suit, however. But now you figured you weren’t going to get to use it. The boy's eyes visibly widened under his mask.

“Wait, you’re back? When did you get home?” he spoke to you as if he knew you. Naive. Bold. Young. You decided to humor the boy.

“A few hours ago, but I am not staying,” you said, and he frowned. He sat on the corner of the roof, peering through a broken window as to not lose track of the Joker.

“That sucks. We could use help here, with Batgirl and all,” he said, trailing off. You cocked your head to the side.

“What about Batgirl?” You inquired.

“Can’t be Batgirl in a wheelchair. She is Oracle though, and that’s cool.” Robin said. For the second time that night, the air got caught in your throat.

“What?” You choked out, hands balled into fists. Things only get worse in Gotham, you thought grimly. Robin glanced up at you, now his confusion mirroring yours.

“You don’t know? Nobody told you?” he questioned, sounding perplexed.

“Know what, Robin?” you said, voice cracking. He paused, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand.

“Joker shot her,” he spoke quietly, and you felt tears slip down your cheeks, under your mask. “He paralyzed her.” For a moment you felt guilty, but for what? Leaving Gotham without taking the kids with you? They would never willingly leave, they have a fascination with the city that you don’t share. A connection. You only harbor hatred for the grim place. The anger which you had felt all night somehow managed to get hotter. You knew coming back was a mistake, but it was too late to leave. Another child as Robin, Barbara paralyzed, and the Joker still breathing. You were stuck in Gotham now.

You had previously had second thoughts about offing the Joker, but you felt clear certainty now. You would choke the life out of him with your bare hands if you had to, and if anyone tried to stop you, they would regret it.

“Go home, Robin. I’ll take care of the factory.” You demanded, picking yourself up off of the cold roofing. Robin stood up as well.

“I don’t know, Boss said I need to be here,” he said, his voice unsure. You moved to where he stood, shoving him back slightly, away from the edge.

“Go, now. If it was so important he would be here.” You growled, readying your grapple again, finger on the trigger. But before you could pull it back, your shoulder was roughly yanked back, pulling you away from the edge roughly. You angerly steadied yourself, hurriedly pulling a throwing knife out of your utility belt. The black mass that stood in front of you, leering over, frowned at you. Robin stood behind him, cowering down slightly.

“I am here, (Y/N),” Batman spoke harshly. He was using his intimidation voice, which annoyed you to no end. You tightened your grip on the knife.

“Not the fight I was expecting,” you spoke slyly, “but I’ll take it.”

I'm feeling angsty so

Halfa Jason's ghost form is robin but his constantly bleeding lazerus water

okay. My brain just had to reboot for a while... because my fingers are itching to draw this right now!

I can't seem to find a way to make the beginning of this, but I think it would be on total accident...

Like... he was taking care of his own business and his brothers and father were there with him, especially Dick and Batman, when he 'go ghost' by total accident...

Bruce and Dick would have a mental breakdown when they see the Robin they both failed, while Tim would try to find out what happened and holding Damian back, who was screaming something about pit demons or something like that...

Dp x DC prompt #whatever

Guys this has been rotting in my brain for the past month and i think it has lots of potential.

So basically Danny & Damian childhood friends.

Somehow, someway (maybe after five years old Damian kills one too many instructors, which are irreplaceable, maybe his arrogance causes one too many failures) Talia convinces Ra's to put weekly 'play dates' with the other league's children. These play dates are supposed to show Damian his superiority over them, but also make him care for his future subjects.

What the two didn't account for, was, well... Children.

Damian wasn't the mildest child, not was he trying to be likeable. He didn't see the point. And when you add their parents repeating over and over again how important the new child is.. no wonder all of them were scared to even look at him.

The chosen child himself was quite happy with this development. He didn't want to be there in first place, especially because he was specifically forbidden from cutting down any annoyances. So it was a good thing none of them dared to come to 10 meters radius to him. He didn't mind the children immidietly bursting into tears, when they lock eyes. He didn't feel angry, because these weren't even children of any important people, with no obligations to be nice to him, and they didn't even dare to breath in his vicinity (seriously, a boy passed out because he didn't wish to breath when Damian was sitting few spaces next to him. It was ridiculous).

He didnt feel like an outsider, he felt like their leader. He didn't feel loneliness, he felt proud. He didn't, he did.

So.. when a child, always sitting in a corner staring at the sky, was cornered by several of the other children, he didn't do anything. He was someone they should follow, he did not owe them to solve their petty rivalries. (Even if they insulted the child for their expressionless face, for being unable to recognize their imaginery rules of some bigger game, for being different. Even when Damian started realizing with more and more terror, this would be him, if he wasn't All Ghul)

...

...maybe he should establish himself as a good leader, by helping them. This once at least.

Damian walked closer, only wanting to discuss whatever bullying problem was happening, but the moment the children saw him, they ran. Well, most of them at least.

Danyal was the child of some lower member of the league (maybe even someone who was under their protection, doesn't matter). He was a very quiet, some would even say antisocial. He would spend all his time staring at the stars and not mingling with his peers. He didn't often wore any sort of expression, but once Damian spend more time with him (unwillingly might he add, even if it was him who looked for the other boy, and maybe it wasn't unwillingly, but that's not something he wants to think about. Ever), he realized, Danyal was full of them. Every time he talked about the stars, mentioned the new book his parents gifted him, and as the time went, when Damian himself was mentioned, the demon's heir couldn't help but think the older boy would burst from them.

Damian still wasn't quite sure why he was hated by their his peers. He knew some people would find Danyal strange, but he didn't quite understood (wasn't he the same? Why was he brilliant perfect amazing but Danyal strange idiot weird?).

But what he did know for sure, was that Danyal was his. He was his subject, someone he took under his wing to protect, and in exchange, Danyal would look after him too. It might be helping him out with any assassination attempts, or telling him the stories of space, when the younger boy couldn't force his tongue to form words.

Or at least he had been.

The family Danyal was from was poor. So when one of the tougher times came, it wasn't strange one of their children had to go. And what choice it was, picking between healthy beautiful children and a 'ghost living in a body'.

Only Damian hated it. He didn't understand. While yes, Danyal was his subject, he had many of them. If he wanted to be a good leader, he can't just focus on one them. That would be unfair. He saw this choice being made so many times and he was never bothered by it, so why now—

In the end he never discovered the answer. He locked the question deep inside his chest, inside his heart, where nothing could ever reach. He was Al Ghul, he was too great to be caught of guard and be strucked in it.

So when years and years later, when he was already living with his father for some time, he saw a black haired, blue eyed teen with tan skin, and the same grin his friend subject had, of course it was natural he knocked him out and brought him into the manor.

Not because he missed Danyal or anything of course. He had to... Check if this was some sort of plot of his Mother. Naturally.

Alright, random idea about the Twin AU, or any AU where Danny is an Al Ghul. Everyone knows that Ra's has an entire army of assassins, but what about the dead assassins? I doubt Ra's is dipping everybody in the Lazarus pit.

So, what if they went to the ghost zone?

And then when Danny dies, these assassins, who are extremely loyal to the Al Ghul family, immediately start following him.

The main assassin in charge, I'm gonna call him Carl, whose been around since the very beginning of the league, who was Ra's right hand man, starts acting as Danny's second in command basically becoming his Alfred.

Carl orders some of the assassins to help Danny out with some small stuff, like distracting some of the rouges so he gets to school on time, killing the hotdogs in the fridge so the little prince doesn't die of poisoning, setting off a Fenton invention so Danny get make a getaway. He definitely orders them to not interfere in big fights, unless Danny really needs the help, as a way for Danny to learn how to fight.

Carl has no idea who the GIW is, but he's gonna find out and then he's gonna blackmail/threaten/unalive some people.

Danny doesn't even know that he's suddenly gained a ghost army, all he knows is that there's a few helpful ghosts hanging around that really hate hotdogs. And then when Danny becomes the ghost king, hoo boy. The assassins replace the old ghost kings army, set up their own system and chains of command just completely change everything. Carl takes FrightKnights place as the king's right hand man/ bodyguard, makes sure all the members of the royal family are safe and is ready to fist fight the time ghost if he makes one more attempt to get his job.

Danny: I wanna be an astronaut. Carl who has no idea what that is: Sure, just let me do some info gathering and blackmail some people. Danny: What? And imagine the batfams reaction.

Ra’s Al-Ghul Is Why We Batclan Can’t have Nice Relationships Things.

Ok, so. I am not someone who knows a lot about the DC fandom, but fics and the DCxDP crowd (who are why I’m here) have given me information and research binges have given me more. And here’s a take I haven’t seen about Jason’s death, and why Batman not killing Joker made things dangerous for Robins. Or did it?

Batman could not win. If Ra’s decided the only thing that would get his chosen heir, or at least son-in-law, into killing would be to kill Robin, it’s time to send his assassins in. Batman keeping to the “no-killing” rule is the only thing keeping a bunch of kids and teens from facing down, not the gangs and henchmen of Gotham, but a literal death cult.

Which is one thing that makes me wonder if that’s hadn’t been Ra’s’ plan, only manipulating the Joker into doing it for him. Which casts Batman undoing Nightwing’s killing of Joker in a very different light.

But there are other things that go along with that. And why Ra’s is a bit, fixated, on poor Tim. With how wrathful and brutal Batman became after, everything, it was only a matter of time before someone died. And then all Ra’s has to do is, wait. Drop hints or little reminders of the League, maybe have Talia swing by a few times. Allow the previous rapport to rebuild itself. In the meantime, build up Jason’s rage, anger, betrayal, and then unleash him on Gotham. Watch as the two brutal titans clashed, until Batman kills Red Hood. It would utterly destroy Bruce to have been the one to kill Jason a second time.

But, ah, there is a chance to fix this. The Lazarus Pit. Bruce will do anything to undo this fatal mistake, wrought at his hands and driven by his wrath. And in his grief stricken desperation, as he looks back on his rampage with despair, at all of the people he maimed, crippled, and killed in his agony, in steps Ra’s. Don’t worry, Ra’s has been collecting them. Fixing them. He does not agree with Bruce’s decision to leave, he still does not support Batman’s policies. But he knew it was important to Bruce so he took steps to ensure that no irreparable damage was done. Slowly, carefully, drawing a grateful Batman back into the fold. Wearing away at morals already cracked by grief and rage, using soft words where harshness has failed. Reviving Jason once again, keeping the two of them orbiting each other like binary stars, unable to leave, but always wanting to stay.

And it’s all foiled by one rich brat who’s stealthier than he has any right to be. Tim knows that Batman is going off the rails of sanity at an ever quickening pace. If he’s close enough for good pictures, he’s close enough for first aid and responder calls. So there is A Lot of damage and wreckage left in Batman’s wake, but nothing that isn’t salvageable. Ra’s won’t have a cadre of former henchmen and goons brainwashed into serving as Gotham’s foot soldiers but that would have been secondary. But Tim does more than that. Tim throws himself between Gotham and Batman because no one else will. Tim is a highly intelligent and self-sufficient child. His self-worth is in the toilet, thank you very much Drake bio-donors.

So Tim out-stubborns Batman and glues himself to his side and pulls him back. He cuts off the roaring rampage of revenge. Batman starts healing and Ra’s just can’t have that, oh no. But this is an easy enough fix, and it’s even better than the first plan. After all, loosing the last Robin to a violent villain led them to this point. How much worse would it be, to have started to heal, only to have it happen again? To destabilize that way again? Oh, Batman will never be able to resist, there had always been the possibility that Red Hood would win. Not high, and not an unworkable outcome, but snuffing out yet another Robin would ensure Red Hood would die, and then Ra’s would have another knife to twist Jason to his will. Taking pointer from his killer, not just his name, tsk tsk.

And it’s not like he couldn’t revive Tim as well, play the two of them off against each other and Bruce. Using their enmity and bitterness to wound Bruce, using Bruce to keep the two of them from spiraling out of control in their rivalry, make them resent Bruce for picking sides, rubbing salt into Jason that Bruce cared enough to avenge Tim but not him. Taunting Tim for what Bruce dragged them all into over Jason. Throw Damian into it just when it seemed to be settling into an uneasy dynamic equilibrium. Setting the boys on Blüdhaven, drawing in Bruce. See which way Bruce jumped, to protect Dick from the boys or if Bruce will try and recruit Nightwing for the League.

Ra’s has so much to gain from Joker killing Jason. It wouldn’t be difficult to send in a few assassins disguised as henchmen to plant the idea. Sacrifice a pawn or two, to gain a queen and rook.

The Feminine urge to write both

Forget keeping up with the kardashians but for the Waynes

I want keeping up with the freakin Al Ghuls

*In an Alternate Universe Where Pru and Tim met differently*

Tim : You’re an Assassin!?

Pru : We’ve known each other for literally two days. Why are you so shocked?

Tim : I just thought I’d get a normal friend for once..

Pru : What do you mean ‘for once’?

Pru : This isn’t going the way we planned!

Tim : Nope, not in the slightest... but it’s kind of thrilling! Though I could have done without the attempts on our lives.

DP X DC PROMPT: DANNY'S AN ASSASSIN?!

So Danny gets adopted by the Waynes somehow.

Now, he's a teenage vigilante, he knows all the signs. And he can clearly tell that Damian and Tim are sneaking out under the cover of night to fight crime as Robin and Red Robin.

While ordinarily this would lead to the connection between the Waynes being Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and various other assorted vigilantes, that's not what we're here for, so instead, what happens is that Danny thinks that his two absolutely normal little brothers are sneaking out, meeting strange people dressed in spandex and Kevlar on rooftops, and punching criminals.

He has no issue with this.

The only issue he has is that Tim and Damian are inexperienced, I mean, Damian's twelve or something like that, he can't have been Robin for long. He's not particularly willing to get back into heroism himself, though, so this leads to him casually dropping random tidbits of information that only an ex-vigilante/hero/assassin/other part of the caped community, would know into regular conversation.

Like, if Tim's using bandages on his hand, Danny will suddenly drop the fact that that particular brand is very absorbent and works really well to take care of large, bloody wounds, like bullet holes in important places.

If Damian's reading a book about different knives, and their creation processes (because be real, he totally would) Danny will read over his shoulder a bit and then just point out a knife that would particularly good for stabbing someone in the stomach, or slitting someone's throat. (he knows this because of a. his rogues trying to kill him and b. Dan likes sharp things.)

The three of them are watching some superhero movie or something, and Danny goes on a twelve-minute rant about how the fight scenes would never work that way.

Tim and Damian come to the conclusion that their new brother has been trained by the League of Assassins or something.

Here's the issue. Danny hasn't.

So Damian starts dropping little hints that he knows that Danny was part of the League, for example a reference to a technique that only a League member would know. Danny, who has been trained in hand-to-hand by Dan, who was trained by dead League assassins in the alternate timeline, knows the moves.

Danny is just happy that his baby brothers are taking his advice, and opening up to him too. Damian is even starting to talk about fighting with him, and he thinks that they might actually tell him about their nighttime activities soon.

Finally, the two confront him on it. And by that, I mean that like the emotionally constipated bats they are, they utterly fail in their interrogation because they can't just come out and say it out in the open.

Tim: so Danny, I noticed how you know a lot about fighting. and first aid, and stuff.

Damian: I have noticed this as well. Might I inquire as to where you gained these skills?

Danny just thinks that they have figured out his past as a vigilante and that they are worried about him being hurt.

Danny: Don't worry about it. I don't do that type of thing anymore.

Now that's a deflection if Tim's ever heard it.

Damian, digging for more information: I wish to know. Maybe I can learn from whoever it was that taught you?

Danny grimaces slightly before answering.

Danny: Trust me, kiddo, you don't wanna learn from the people who taught me this stuff. They squash you like a bug.

Tim and Damian take this as confirmation that Danny was involve in the League. Danny just means that pitting his rogue gallery, which consists of exclusively ghosts, against living boys would be unfair.