Jaspersgems - Jasper

I can't explain it, but Batman needs to be mythologized. In Gotham, that is.

Logically, they know he's just a man, made of skin and bones and blood, like all of them. Those who met him, who had the ill luck to, say he feels like the city itself.

When danger approaches, with the click of a gun or hiss of a knife, it’s not the police people pray to. There's a single name that rivals Gotham‘s, and it’s not them.

So much so, there's whispers of what might happen, about guidelines being stepped. Kinda like how if you're compared to Aphrodite, you might die.

Such as:

If you see a wounded bird, of any kind, take it to a vet, or nurture it back to health. You’ll get robbed otherwise.

Don't wear pearls. Just don't.

Never let your son walk alone at night. Never lay your hands on them, either. The Bat doesn't take kindly to it.

Today I was chatting with two guys and mentioned I was aroace. It went a little something like this.

A: wtf is that

B: it means she’s not attracted to people in that way

A: bro you can’t just not pick a side, that’s crazy

B: nah, it just means she’s spectator mode

A: OHHH IT MAKES SENSE NOW

I have never felt more validated or laughed so hard

how is trump alive?? like hes rlly gone thru his whole life like That …. and no one has ever just fuckin decked him?? gave him the ole one two? knocked his lights out??? incredible

i was talking to a friend yesterday about the knight terrors event and was just thinking i would love to see some sort of scenario where Dick and Bruce’s minds are melded (magically, technologically, any way really) temporarily and when they sleep their dreams are connected. so when one of them has a nightmare, it effects the other one and spirals in to some dual nightmare scenario

except it’s a million times worse than the typical “we are stuck in a bad situation together”, because Bruce dreams of himself as an 8 year old boy, and Dick’s nightmares consist of him hurting Bruce.

And now in this nightmare world Dick is routinely bringing physical and emotional harm to this frail child who keeps looking to him for comfort and safety after dealing with the rest of his family being ripped away.

Alfred, stitching up Bruce: and what do we think you perhaps should have done differently, master Bruce?

Bruce, delirious: I think I should have died with my parents

I really want to give baby Damian Martha Waynes eyes.

And then take them away before Bruce has a chance to see them.

Just like for one reason or another the Batfam ends up having to go to the League and Damian is sent off by Talia to join his peers in morning katas while the elder family members meet in her office for something.

And of course all of the Batfam are little snoops so they walk around her office and look at the documents and few pictures she has. And then suddenly Tim notices something.

"I thought Damian had your eyes Talia?" Tim says staring down at a picture of a 3 or 4 year old Damian with muddy green eyes rather than the bright almost toxic ones the family is used to.

"No, not at all, I don't even remember what color my eyes originally were." Talia responds barely digging through some files that Bruce needs.

"What does that mean?" Dick asks harshly.

" You didn't truly think the Al Ghul eyes were truly the Al Ghul eyes did you?" Talia scoffs "They're Lazarus eyes, why do you think Jason's eyes match ours?"

"I. I didn't think of that, huh" Jason mumbles dragging his hands along the different books Talia keeps.

"So... So when did Damian die?"

That brought silence to the room.

Jason stopped walking, Dick stopped breathing, Tim was looking sadly at Talia, eye shifting to Bruce as he stared at a wall.

"About 3 months before his 5th birthday, it was before my Father and I started to actually train him. An assassin snuck in after infiltrating the guard for a few months. Apparently he wanted Damians death to be slow. He perforated a lung, I managed to get there and kill the bastard, but Damian couldn't be saved without the pit." Talia says robotically.

"I do miss his eyes though, such a soft green" she almost whispers.

Bruce walks over to Tim, lightly taking the photo.

His breath shuttered for a moment.

He stroked his fingers over the eyes that he will never see again, that were taken from him far to soon. Both times.

"Those are my mother's eyes." He says

"He had my mother's eyes."

He stares, unable to do anything but mourn what he didn't know he lost again.

"Do you have more pictures from before?"

"Of course beloved, I'll make you copies"

The room remained silent spare the shuffling of papers and the drag of Bruce's finger over the glass frame

Dick: Are you talking to yourself?

Damian: It's the only way to have an intelligent conversation around here.

Sometimes I just sit here and think of the fact that every time someone hallucinates Jason Todd, they hallucinate him in his Robin mantle, barely out of it.

For everything that happened, actually, I think Jason would love to die as Bruce's son — except, he didn't.

He died no one's son. He died as Robin.

But most importantly, he was remembered like that. Like no one's son, just a failed sidekick. So now, when his family wants his ghost to haunt them for their mistakes, guilt and saviour complexes, they taint their memories of a boy that was their family once by moulding him in a faceless mantle.

Isn't that just Sad.

Bruce doesn’t know why Jason is mad at him. At this point, it seems to be an everyday thing.

Jason successfully integrates his way back into the family, making it possible for him to hang out with his brothers without being coerced by anyone. He comes and goes as he pleases and struts around the manor like it’s his home again.

Bruce couldn’t be happier.

So why is his second/third oldest mad at him? It seems like nowadays Jason gets mad at Bruce for breathing the wrong way, or walking too slow, or something completely nonsensical.

It all comes to a head when Jason confronts him in his office when Bruce was just finishing up some paperwork.

“What the fuck is your actual fucking problem?” Jason hissed angrily, slamming his fist down on Bruce’s mahogany table.

Bruce distantly hopes that it won’t leave a mark, but for now, he’s more focused on why his son is swearing at him.

“Hello Jason.” Bruce decides to start, giving him a second to collect his thoughts and mentally see if he’s done anything lately. “I’m afraid I don’t understand-“

“Bullshit! Absolute fucking bullshit!” Jason spat, cutting Bruce off.

Bruce’s eyebrows wrinkled slightly at the many curses directed at him. It’s not like he wasn’t used to it; Gotham is his home, but he just doesn’t know why.

“When was the last time you fucking talked to me?” Jason questioned, rounding the desk and jabbing a finger in Bruce’s shoulder.

This causes Bruce to blink, somehow even more confused than before. “I don’t understand. I’m talking to you right now. And we spoke yesterday.”

“No, you walked into the room looking for Golden Boy, saw me and said some fake ass greeting before turning and basically running away!” Jason swung his hands around, making Bruce lean back in his chair to avoid getting hit. “Why are you avoiding me? I thought… I thought you had forgiven me and stuff…”

“What? Of course I have! You’re always welcome here!”

“Then why are you avoiding me? You don’t invite me places, y-you barely speak to me nowadays…”

Bruce picked at the peeling arm of his swivel chair, peeling off a small portion of the black paint and ripping it into smaller pieces before dropping it on the ground. Alfred would probably make him clean it up. “I’m giving you space.”

Jason blinked, looking down at Bruce in confusion. “Space? Why are you giving me space- so much space? You're never fucking around anymore!”

“Well… because you hate me?”

“What..?”

“You told me…” Bruce says slowly, barely stopping himself from scratching at his arm in the tense silence, a habit Alfred made sure he broke. “You’ve told me multiple times how you hate me… and that I’m not your Dad.”

Jason gaped at Bruce, taking a moment to sit on the edge of Bruce’s desk, running a hand down his face. “Fuck Bruce! I-I wasn’t- ugh! I wasn’t being fucking serious!”

Bruce squints, his eyes darting around Jason's angry and confused expression.

“But… you said it? Why would you say that if you didn’t mean it?” Bruce asked quietly, his chest tightening like it does when he wants to cry.

He hasn’t felt this way in a long time. At least, not so strongly. The kind of feeling that you get when you know everyone around you understands something that you can’t. Why would Jason say something he didn’t mean?

Why did Bruce have to be so fucking stupid. He's supposed to be the world's greatest detective, so why does he always have a hard time deciphering what people mean? Especially his children.

“I don’t understand,” Bruce repeated, his eyes stinging as he flapped his hands before drumming them softly on the arm of his swivel chair, trying to calm himself down. “You’ve said it. You say it all the time.”

“Bruce-“

“All of you say it! You say that you hate me, so you hate me!” Bruce insisted, no longer looking at Jason, the study felt significantly smaller now. “Why would you say it if you don’t mean it? Why would you say something so mean?”

“… Dad…” Jason whispered softly, slowly taking Bruce’s hands in his own. Bruce hadn’t even noticed that his fingernails were painfully digging into the palm of his hand, leaving angry red half moons.

“Dad, if you think that we hate you, then why…?” Jason gestures widely, pointing at nothing in particular yet everything at the same time. “Why do you do this for us? Why are you still here?”

Bruce tilted his head in confusion. Not a single second of this conversation has made any sense to him but he knows this part, it is woven into the very fabric of his being. “Because I love you. I love all of you.”