magnoliasandarson

literature, music, and a penchant for problem causing she/her

[magnoliasandarson]

welcome to the blog

Hello, my dears, and welcome to my blog. I write about my hyper fixations, specifically my beloved emotionally bereft babies. Please feel free to stick around and leave some feedback, as this platform has become quite a time-consuming hobby, and I crave validation. See the below links for some of my favorites!

Timothy Drake:

Timposter Syndrome

Take a Break

Dick Grayson:

Dick Grayson Golden Boy

Million Dollar Smile

Jason Todd:

The Tragedy of Jason Todd

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Damian Wayne:

The Heir to All and None

The Second Soldier

Cassandra Cain:

Seen and Not Heard

Stephanie Brown:

Stained Glass

Batfam:

Selina Kyle Likes Tolerates 2 Batkids

Spoons and Knives

Hoax

Also, shout out to my cherished mutuals, @im-an-anthusiast and @the-lights-are-loud EDIT: i neglected one of the core four, big shout out to @squishykitty825 EDIT EDIT: i? got? another? @sleepy-boy-shit

EDIT EDIT EDIT: the team picked their favs

[magnoliasandarson]

ruination

I felt it from the moment we locked eyes- you were going to ruin my life. 

You held the door for me, walked between me and the street, lavished praises and joked like it was your one purpose in life. You made me happier than I thought possible. Old fantasies of red threads and invisible strings started tumbling through my head again, escaping a locked box of dreams and childhood desires.

I knew it when you whispered, I love you, every bit honest and true- you were going to ruin my life.

Two weeks later, still giggling through breathless I–love-you’s, I felt your chest shudder against my back, your body spasming through violent coughs. You were so new to my life, but the love I felt drove me to beg you to see a doctor. I sometimes wish I hadn’t.

We went to the park, the earliest blooms of spring a riot of pinks and green around our bench. You wrapped an arm around my shoulders, hand shaking even as you traced circles on my arm, and said the three words that would consume my every moment for the months to come, “I have cancer.”

It was stupid, we had only been together for a few months, but I had truly begun to see the future with you. I saw everything I could ever want when I looked into your eyes. When they sparkled with unshed tears as you swore you would understand if I walked away, I was sure- you were going to ruin my life.

I shut everything else in my life away. Work, school, and pretending I wasn’t scared out of my mind became my only priorities. Friendships faded, writing completely ceased. How could I focus on anything else? 

You knew me too well, you begged me not to worry, you stopped telling me about your appointments. Guilt rejoined my life like an old friend. How could I make this about me? I resolved to be your peace. You were too afraid to tell your family, too worried that the stress would make me leave you, too focused on everyone else to focus on healing. I prepped high nutrient foods, left bottles of natural gunk in the fridge, smiled and tried to be positive.

I loved you too much to let you ruin my life by leaving it.

I remember the night we met. You didn’t know then, about the tumor festering in your chest.

I remember the park when you told me. You had known for weeks that I was your future.

I remember when I begged you to talk to me, to let me carry some of your burden. You smiled in a stupid wry way, kissed my temple, and swore that this was just a minor setback.

I remember every kiss, every I love you, every tear shed, every terrifying cough.

I commit it all to memory, because I love you too much to forget it, because even if you’re taken from me, losing a second of what we are would ruin my life.

[magnoliasandarson]

Your writing is awe inspiring! You have an amazing talent with evoking emotion

guys i thought we agreed to stop being so nice!

All jokes aside, thank you so much. Writing here sometimes feels like a vacuum, and feedback always warms my heart.

[magnoliasandarson]

7-10 years

When I was little, I read that your skin completely replaces itself every seven-ten years. If you were to hug me at age five, my body at age twelve would have no memory of you. The thought brought me comfort; I held onto it through all the pain and bad.

One day, even the skin that you hurt so much would forget you. It felt like a distant finish line, but I eagerly awaited victory. It came with no celebration, just a day on a calendar.

It's been nine years. Nine. Behold a winner.

This skin has never felt your violence, or even the rare kindness. It's nonetheless riddled with a network of scars and deeper pains. They bear your signature.

I think of you now- You've aged, lived freely- You're beholden to the same biology I am.

Your skin can't remember the heat of my blood anymore. The way my bones fractured under yours. You can't remember how it felt for my bruised hand to seek yours.

It's not fair. I deserve to forget. You don't.

Your body should be a prison, like mine was. Every breath should hurt, and every step should ache. Your bones should remember the agony the way mine do.

It's been nine years. Nine. I still don't feel like a winner.

I see your face in every mirror, no outrunning genetics. I feel your boots when I breathe, forever pressing into my lungs. My skin remembers you in knotted ugly scars.

It's not fair. I was supposed to get a fresh start. I waited.

[magnoliasandarson]

birds of a feather (combined version)

Dick didn't know what to make of the kid. The new "Robin". He was a prick, plain and simple. Robin was supposed to be a beacon of hope and light; this runty asshole was not that. Maybe he was being too harsh, but the kid wasn't exactly trying with him.

He was here, though. Watching him and Bruce train. Bruce wanted him to teach the kid- show him how to fly. Dick had no interest in doing that. But he was still here, in his Nightwing suit, watching the New Dynamic Duo.

The kid was scrappy- quick on his feet. He was still a little asshole, quipping about Bruce being old and slow between hits. Bruce was humoring him, but Dick saw the moment he shifted from tolerating to teaching. Bruce caught the kid above the eye with a jab, dropping the kid. Dick almost winced in sympathy, almost.

The kid landed hard on his ass, scrambling backward. Bruce kicked out, and the kid blocked with his arms. Dick dropped down from the rafters; this was pointless. The kid wasn't Robin. Bruce didn't get to force him to train his replacement; he needed to get back to Blud.

"Stop!" The scream caught him off guard, and Dick turned back to the fight; Bruce had the kid locked in a chokehold, "Please, Willis."

Dick wasn't sure who the fuck Willis was, but he was sure that the kid was twelve, and if the kid wanted out, he would get out, "Let him go, Bruce." There is a steel to his voice that had only come out before when dealing with criminals.

Bruce didn't let go, "Work through it, Robin," Dick watched blood drip off Jason's face onto Bruce's arm, "fight through the panic."

Fuck this. The kid gasped, "'m sorry, Dad-"

Double fuck this- "Let him go," Dick triggered his escrima stick, sparks of blue crackling into existence, "now."

Bruce's face shifted, and he released the kid. He dropped like a stone, shaking like a leaf in the rain. Dick ditched his stick, falling to his knees next to the kid, his body separating the child from Bruce, "it's okay, Jay."

Dick reached a hand out, calling gently, "It's okay, kid," something in his chest cracked when Jason, fuck-when did the kid become Jason, flinched away, "Oh, Jason."

"Get the fuck away from me," Jason hissed, jumping to his feet, "stay the fuck away from me." His eyes were red with unshed tears, and a slow trickle of blood dripped out of his nose.

The crack in Dick's chest deepened to the size of the Grand Canyon. He had fucked this up. This wasn't his replacement; this was a child. A deeply traumatized child. He was going to kill Bruce. Dick stood slowly, kept his arms stretched out, hands palms up, and almost cooed, "It's alright Jaybird."

Bruce stepped forward, and Dick swung an arm out, pushing him back. The old man had gotten them into this mess; he would be no help getting them out. Jason's chest heaved as he scrubbed at his face, "I'm fine," his lower lip trembled, and didn't that break Dick's heart, "I can still train."

He knew he shouldn't- he knew it wasn't the right move- but Dick moved viper quick and wrapped the younger boy in his arms, swaying gently and petting sweaty curls.

"Lemme go," it was little more than a mumble, but Dick heard it loud and clear. He ignored it, tightening his grip and muttering reassurances. Bruce was lurking in the background, but that didn't matter. Right then, in that moment, it was just Jason and Dick. Not Bruce and definitely not Willis, whoever the fuck that was.

Dick had messed up things with the kid Jason from the jump, but he could fix it. He could teach him, fuck Bruce's training- birds of a feather fly together. No Bats allowed.

__________

Dick wasn’t sure what to make of the Redhood Jason. His baby brother, his Little Wing- back from the dead. He was gloriously and miraculously alive, but there was something different. For one, he was jacked. His Jaybird had been five-foot-nothing when they buried him, but he was now a tank given human form- well over six feet tall, at least two hundred pounds.

Then there was the less obvious. Jason had always been a dynamic fighter, explosive and quick on his feet, but where he once moved like lightning, he now moved like wildfire, fluid and lethal. Dick recognized the brutality, the swiftness. Somehow, Jason had been with the League of Assassins. It was easy to put two and two together; someone had dumped the corpse of his baby brother into the Lazarus Pit. His brother hadn’t turned away from the light; someone turned him. They would pay dearly. 

He went to Bruce immediately and demanded they kill call Talia. But Bruce didn’t react the way Dick expected. He didn’t fly to Nanda Parbat; he didn’t swear vengeance in the name of his son. Instead, he said, “This changes nothing,” and went to find the Redhood, stone-faced and deathly quiet.

Dick hesitated for all of a minute before suiting up and running after Bruce, taking care to stay just out of sight. He’d known Bruce for half his life and had spent about as much time cleaning up his messes; he knew when the elder was going to make a mistake he’d dearly regret. He wanted to be wrong. 

Still, Dick crouched in the rafters of the warehouse and watched. He wanted to sob, wanted to scream, wanted to rage as his Little Wing tossed the hog-tied Joker onto the ground in front of him. Keeping the fucking clown as a barrier between him and his father. His fingers flexed involuntarily around a WingDing as the Joker started cackling, “How sweet! It’s a family reunion!”

Jason yanked his helmet off and tossed it between him and Bruce- no man’s land. In a fucked-up way, Dick almost laughed. Jason was still Jason, even under all the rage and madness. Thank fuck Dick had found and defused that bomb- Jason’d probably go on too long, and they’d be blown to pieces. 

Any semblance of a smile faded away from his face when Jason spoke, “Ignoring what he's done in the past. Blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he's filled, the thousands who have suffered, the friends he's crippled.” Barbara’s agonized face as she stared at the Batgirl suit from her wheelchair flashed through Dick’s mind. His knuckles popped as he clenched his fists. Jason wasn’t wrong. Dick had believed- had known- what Jason was saying was true; he’d beaten the Joker to death with his bare hands, all for Bruce to bring him back. 

 Dick shifted his weight, ready to drop down in a split-second, “You know, I thought... I thought I'd be the last person you'd ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world, I would've done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshiping garbage and then send him off to hell!” Oh, Jaybird. This was all wrong, all so fucking wrong. Bruce had lost his mind when Jason died; why wasn’t Bruce telling him?

Finally, finally, Bruce opened his mouth, “You don't understand. I don't think you've ever understood.” Dick was going to kill Bruce. Then, he was going to cart his brother off to therapy and ice cream.

“What? That your moral code just won't allow for that? It's too hard to cross that line?” So much therapy and so much ice cream. Maybe even a trip to a bookstore. Or an island. Just anywhere but Gotham.

“No! God Almighty, no. It'd be too damned easy. All I've ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he's dealt out to others, and then... end him.” Barbara’s beaten form in a hospital bed, Jason’s tiny grave- Dick felt all too prepared to assume the burden for Bruce.

The Joker laughed again, “Aw, Batsy’s thinkin’ bout lil ol’ me!” Jason slammed a boot into the clown’s side, and Dick found himself almost cheering.

Bruce carried on, too stuck in his self-flagellation and morality, “But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place... I'll never come back.” Boo-fuckin-hoo, Dick would stop Bruce if he went too far. He'd done it before.

“Why? I'm not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I'm talking about him, just him. And doing it because... because he took me away from you.” Dick was afraid that if he exhaled, he’d scream. It took him months to realize that Jason wasn’t his usurper- that he was just a kid who needed a family. If Jason thought for a minute that Dick hadn’t wanted to burn the world to ashes-

“I can't. I'm sorry.” Fuck this.

Jason chuckled, low and uneven, and Dick felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, “You don’t have to. I will,” he pulled a gun from his hip, cocked the hammer, and lowered it to point at the Joker’s laughing face, “Him or me, Bruce. Either kill me, or I kill him.” No, no, no, no-

Bruce reached into his utility belt and drew a Batarang- NO

Time slowed. Was this how Wally felt?

Dick launched from the beam-

Jason turned away from the Joker, his mouth opened to speak-

The Batarang glinted in the flickering lights as it flew-

Dick screamed his brother’s name, arm outstretched-

“JASON!”

A river of red opened and poured out of Jason’s neck-

Jason fell to the ground, clutching his throat-

Dick was frozen. He was standing on solid ground. His brother was bleeding out ten feet away, with the Joker howling in laughter on the ground next to him. Dick could sense Bruce Batman behind him. Unmoving.  

It wasn’t something many people acknowledged- even in his own family- but Dick Grayson was a weapon given skin. He had trained with Raptor, Lady Shiva, and Deathstroke. They didn’t specialize in nonlethal force. Dick had mutilated, tortured, and killed in the name of justice. Batman just killed his brother. Carelessly, he flicked a Wingding into the Joker’s neck, slicing his carotid like Jason’s.

"Let him go," Dick triggered his escrima stick, sparks of bluecrackling into existence, "now."

He turned to face the man he had loved as a father who killed his brother, his voice uncharacteristically solemn and steady, “You killed my brother.” Blue lightning crackled into existence, drowning out the sound of the Joker’s dying giggles.

Bruce’s Batman’s face was carved from stone, even as he raised his fists, “You broke the code.”

“Fuck your code,” Dick launched himself at Batman, escrima sticks raised, “he was your son!”

Once upon a time, many years ago, Bruce had taught Dick to fight, but Dick wasn’t trying to fight his former mentor; he was trying to kill him. Batman swung at Nightwing, aiming to shatter bone and rend flesh. They had crossed the point of no return, and they both knew it, “He came back wrong.”

Dick roared in rage, primal and furious, not speaking a word, slamming a well-placed kick into Batman’s weak knee. He was done talking. He’d tried to talk to Bruce Batman for years. If the old man wanted to fight someone, he’d be reminded why Nightwing was his contingency plan.

Batman fell to one knee, slashing out with a Batarang, but Nightwing caught it with an escrima stick, knocking it from the elder’s hand, and slamming the other into the side of his head. Dick dodged a sloppy punch, flipping out of the way with agility Batman could never match. 

“Stand down, Nightwing,” Batman bellowed, “That’s enough!” He staggered back to his feet, catching the younger in the ribs with a gauntleted fist. The force of the punch threw Dick, tossed him through the air onto his back on the ground, a pained gasp leaving his lips.

Dick snarled, a horrifying imitation of the smile he was famous for, “Never again.” He’d never stand down again, not for Batman. He launched into the air off his shoulders, his feet connecting with the Bat symbol, knocking Batman onto the concrete. 

Nightwing knelt on the Batsuit, pressing a Wingding into his throat, “You slit his throat.” Tears blurred his vision as he cut through the armor, the blade touching his former mentor’s skin, drawing a single drop of beaded blood. 

“Dad?”

In a heartbeat, Dick was on the floor between the Joker’s corpse and his brother. He thought he was dead; he didn’t check- “Jason,” the word left his bloody lips like a prayer, “fuck, Jason.” He pressed his fingers to his brother’s throat- there was a thick scar under the gore but no open wound. Jason’s pulse was fast and erratic- but it was there.

“Dickie?” Jason’s voice was small, croaky. Batman had probably cut into his vocal cords when he threw that stupid Batarang. (You should call them Batarangs- like Bat and Boomerang!)

“I’m here, Little Wing,” tears dripped off his chin onto his brother’s face, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Distantly, Dick heard Batman jump out of a window. He didn’t care. He was holding his brother, his blessedly alive brother, fuck Batman. Birds of a feather stuck together.

[magnoliasandarson]

2024 (ish) Holiday Bats Series (in order)

Giver

Please Don't Call

Ice and Stone

Tiny Tim

Dynamic Duo

Window Watcher

Sleigh of Sorts

Coming soon: - One Step Ahead - Friendly Fire (Subject to title change) - Welcome Surprise (Subject to title change)

[magnoliasandarson]

a sleigh of sorts

Dick wasn’t religious, he didn’t care for capitalism (even though he kept claiming billionaires for family), but he was absolutely determined to embody the Christmas spirit. Dick had to make things right- and to do that, he had to abduct his siblings. 

He wasn’t doing this for selfish reasons, even if it might sound like this was for him. His siblings deserved a break; they deserved to feel loved and important. He owed them that. The gifts sitting on the floor in front of Tim’s legs were only part of the equation. Rounding them all up and being together was the much bigger part. 

So maybe he was driving like a maniac through empty Gotham streets because Duke was walking alone in the dark on Christmas Eve. Sure, Duke’s an extremely capable hero, but Dick’s his big brother. It’s his job to worry. He worries about all of them, which is why he has a screen fixed above his radio displaying their real-time locations on a grid map of Gotham. 

Tim had stared for all of five seconds at the tracking display before wisely deciding to drop it (Dick knew the younger had his own trackers), instead choosing to rapid-fire question the elder to determine the reason behind his new mentality, “Did Kori bring you weird candy again?”

Dick swung the pickup through a narrow corner, laughing when Tim muttered shit and reached for the handle above him, “Tim! Timmy! Timmers,” he turned down the best of the 80s channel just enough to be heard, “This is the holiday spirit! Get with it!” 

He was so tired of the family being so dark and miserable; they were a family, they loved each other, and they could be happy for ten minutes. Was it so hard to believe that Dick wanted to be with his family?

Tim shifted so his back was against the door and fixed him with a look, lips barely forming get with it as he processed what was happening. Even if the younger was actively doubting his sanity, Dick was quietly ecstatic that Tim was even slightly playing along. It meant he didn’t hate him as much as Dick feared he did. Maybe there was still a shot at them being close again. 

Without drawing attention to it, Dick reached forward and turned the dial on the heat up. He knew that Tim would be pissed if Dick asked him if he was cold, but he also knew that without a spleen, a cold could be a lot worse for Tim than the next person. He felt his brother’s eyes on his face but chose to keep staring ahead. If Tim wanted to talk, he would. Pushing with Tim never worked; Dick knew from pushing and fucking things up countless times. 

Instead, Dick loudly sang along to Princes of the Universe by Queen while speeding hazardously toward the yellow dot on his map. Sue him, but he color-coded his siblings. Not like Bruce hadn’t done it first. 

Tim finally snapped, slapping the dial on the radio to silence it before demanding, “Why are you trying so hard?” A glance away from the road showed Dick that Tim’s body language was completely closed off, posturing like they had all been trained to do during interrogations. 

Dick pursed his lips; he didn’t want to be mad- he couldn’t be mad at Tim for not trusting him to have good intentions. He had screwed up enough with the younger over the years, but he desperately wanted to make amends. He just needed Tim to accept the olive branch for what it was, “Because you deserve it,” Dick tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles popped, “this family is beyond messed up, but it’s a family. You’re my brother- and that means something to me, Tim.”

Tim stared for maybe a minute, eyes dark and shining in the low light of the truck cab, before nodding once and turning the dial on the radio up, the loud sounds of I Wanna Dance With Somebody filling the now-heavy air. 

Despite the tension hanging between them, Dick did what he knew to do, what all older siblings are obligated to do. He loudly sang along, putting his chest into every high note he could not reach. Even though Tim was definitely still dealing with emotional turmoil of his own, Dick caught him struggling not to smile at a spectacularly missed note. 

“There!” Tim interrupted, gesturing out the windshield at Duke, standing frozen on the darkened sidewalk, staring bewildered at the hurtling pickup blasting Whitney Houston. His jaw dropped when it screeched to a halt directly in front of him.

“Heya, Dukey, wanna hop in?” Dick grinned as he turned the radio down. 

Duke’s bewildered face soured at the nickname, “What-”

Tim cut him off as he leaned out the window, “C’mon, Dukey, it’s Christmas. Get with it.” 

Dick felt his face burn with how wide his smile grew, his brother was humoring him, but he was having fun. He knew it. The plan was working.

Duke’s eyebrows furrowed aggressively as he and Tim had some sort of eye conversation that Dick wasn’t privy to before he shrugged, “Getting with it,” and hopped into the back seat. 

The truck tires squealed as they took off, “Welcome aboard, Duke!” Dick turned the dial back up on the radio and started speeding to the purple and pink dots, “We’re on a mission to save Christmas; you in?”

Tim twisted in his seat to face the back, “Just say yes; otherwise, he gets emotional.”

“It’s true!”

Duke laughed, loud and bright, “Yeah, of course I’m in!” 

Dick eyed his newest brother in the rearview, watching as he immediately clocked the blood-staining Tim’s shirt. It was funny listening to Tim bitch at someone else for being concerned. It was even funnier watching Duke smack Tim on the back of the head for “being a spleenless jerk with no self-preservation or decency to let other people be concerned about you.”  People forget, but Duke was a poet. It made for hilarious arguments.

The trio sped down the mostly empty streets, and Dick felt lighter than he’d felt in a long time. He had some of his siblings with him- and they wanted to be there. They were going to go pick up Steph and Cass, ambush Jason before he could skip town, and coerce Jason into feeding them while watching holiday episodes of crime shows. 

Easy enough, they were Robins, after all. 

[magnoliasandarson]

Window Watcher

Bruce Wayne was a man lost, a rudderless ship floating aimlessly in dark water. He left his dinner table like a mourner from a graveside, silently pushing in his chair before walking to the study. The shiny, cheap tinsel mocked him from the banisters, and the portraits of his children on the walls followed him with judgmental glares. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, determined to shut out the damning faces and painfully optimistic decor his son had hung earlier that day.

He found himself at the old grandfather clock, fingers trembling as he moved the hands. It was hard not to think of his parents, of the way they had loved him so openly and joyously. He wondered what his mother would think of the way his children had fled her table, what his father would say about how his son was faring as a father. He didn’t have to think about it long; he knew he was disappointing them both.

The Batcomputer was a technological masterpiece, but it was also a tapestry of his children’s talents and creativity. Dick named it and helped create it, Jason added extremely detailed biographies of villains (more like novels), Tim and Babs (who wasn’t his- but was as good as) fine-tuned it into the marvel it was, Steph and Duke added colorful stickers illustrated by Damian to add ‘a bit of light’, and even Cass had created software. It was a testament to their skill, so it only fit now that Bruce sat down and used facial scanning software to locate them all (bar Damian).

Two pings at the cemetery immediately had his legs tensing to run for his suit. Tim and Jason. The plastic of the mouse under his hand started to give as he saw his boys sitting at the grave of Jason Todd, faces shining in the grainy footage. 

It was ironic, in a horrific and vile way, that he had forced Jason to his grave for a second time. That his inability to see his child as that instead of a rogue soldier was once again costing him everything. He was good at that, chasing off Jason… chasing off any of his children, really. It was strange; Bruce knew he could never stand to be ordered around, could barely tolerate not being the leader on Justice League missions, but his brilliant boy, the child whose fire matched his own- he expected to bend. 

Tim was a pale shadow next to shining stone. Even through grainy footage, Bruce could see the tight lines drawn across his son’s face. He was so serious; he’d always been that way; or that was how Bruce tried to think of his stoic son. If he was being honest with himself, he could recall a much smaller Tim smiling a rare grin as he explained a theory on a case. He could also remember shutting the boy down, ordering him to take his role seriously. The words were poison when they left his mouth; he had spent his entire caped career struggling to separate the mask from Bruce, but he expected a child to stay a vigilante at all times. 

Three separate alerts went off on a cross street seven blocks down from the graveyard; his eldest was blaring his truck horn at the crowd of stragglers stumbling their way through the crosswalk. Dick’s face was red, and he was clearly shouting obscenities, forever an untamable force. He was always so sure of his convictions, so fixated on family. Secretly, or maybe not so secretly, Bruce had become envious of his son- of how he parented the younger kids, of how they went first to him, of how he was passionate in all the ways Bruce was cold. The resentment festered in his chest, cruel and unforgiving. 

The computer chimed again, flicking through channels to land on Duke. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut briefly; the boy might never forgive him. Duke was walking through Gotham, hands jammed in his pockets and eyes trained down, headed towards his old home. All Duke had talked about at breakfast for weeks was how excited he was to have a real Christmas with the family. Bruce had ruined that. The boy was so painfully bright; Duke would have always been made of sunshine even if his abilities weren't light-related. Bruce had never been that way, always too wrapped in his own darkness. There was poetry in Bruce pushing even the boy made of sunlight to walk alone in cold shadow.

The monitor beeped a warning when he tried to switch to the Clocktower. He clicked in his override, determined to at least see if his daughters made it safely there- but a message popped up-

Leave us alone, the birds are staying in the nest tonight.

The screen flashed once, the Oracle insignia, before going black.

Bruce was left staring at his reflection in the dark monitor. He could see it, his father’s face, in his own. Could see the gentle man that always had an open hand and ridiculous joke. He remembered his father in excruciating detail, the stories he’d narrated with funny voices, the detective shows they watched together, the games that would always end in laughter. In Bruce’s memory, Thomas Wayne didn’t have nearly as many stress lines as his son currently did. 

His eyes glimmered in the warped image, and he dragged his palms over his face. His eyes were Martha’s; they had always been so loving. She had always looked at him like he was something precious, something worth caring for. He had never once doubted how much his mother loved him. He had never once felt unsafe in her arms.

He wondered, now, if any of his children thought of him with similar fondness. He doubted it.

Squaring his shoulders, he stood from the computer and bellowed for Robin to report for patrol.

There was always next year.

[magnoliasandarson]

Life can be scary, but it can also be wonderful.

This last week has been a bit trying, but I'm back and absolutely overjoyed to celebrate one year of this blog.

Much love to everyone that has ever liked, reposted, commented, or followed, yall keep me going.

Even more love to the amazing mutuals that I have gained through this blog. A year ago, we were strangers; isn't that weird?

More angst on the way!

[magnoliasandarson]

flashing lights

I see fireworks in the tree line. Glittering explosions of light and color.

It's cold on the balcony, quiet with remnants of smoke in the air. Inside it is loud and warm, but it's safer out here.

They didn't pick up when I called. The smile that I had worn all night left me and I snuck in to grab my laptop. It's quiet and cold out here.

I turned on a dumb movie about a loving family and wanted to cry. My phone started buzzing with messages from friends and soul siblings and the tears began to flow.

The glitter on my face is running with salty water and I have never been happier.

I was not meant to be angry, I was only ever made to be that way.

I was only ever meant to love, and I thank you all so much for giving me the chance.

[magnoliasandarson]

covenant

In this life my blood is cursed, the flesh of my flesh is rotten and marred, no good deed will ever go unpunished.

In this life I have wept and screamed, resenting the bonds that tie my heart, no peace will be found with my people.

In this life there is more than blood, those that speak to my soul have found me, beings of starlight and ink, mirrors to my heart.

In this life I have laughed and cried, thankful and overjoyed for the bonds of the soul, every good thing will be found with my people.

[magnoliasandarson]

oh my god your blog is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen

guys if I keep getting compliments I can and will cry

[magnoliasandarson]

boneyard

Dick Grayson dreams of bones.

Shining chunks of marble protruding from wine dark rivers.

He was trained in field medicine, had treated his fair share of open fractures at the scene of a conflict, had even experienced the pain himself. Yet the bones in his dreams were not those, no matter how sick he had been at the time.

The bones were different, but he knew them all the same.

Some wore red and green spandex forever staining darker, white shards piercing through. Those had frequented his dreams for over a decade, pulled directly from first hand encounter.

There was a smaller set amongst the red and green, colored also by burnt gold. Those ivory daggers were faded gray with soot, inspired by the autopsy files he should've never hacked into.

Others wore yellow, vivid images colored with uncertainty and nightmarish fear. He hadn't seen them in person, unlike the others, but his mind managed to create mangled masses of viscera and bone all the same.

A starry leotard, scaled armor... bits of clothing and uniforms littered the mounds of human remains.

In his dreams, he stands atop them all, crushing skulls even as he sinks into the pile.

He panics at first, violently pawing to drag himself up, but he surrenders every time, grateful to feel the embrace of all those he had lost again, even if they were only bones.

When he wakes up clutching a pillow, his body shakes with sobs.

[magnoliasandarson]

wax

Wax wings are designed to fail.

How cruel is that?

To tell a child, you can fly

You can be free

But do not forget yourself, you cannot fly too high or too low

Taste the sky, the beauty that has been hidden from you

Feel the wind, the way it curls around your fingers

Tangible, true, freedom.

And cry desperately for an uncaring god as you tumble down

[magnoliasandarson]

desperate dreamer

A desperate man is a foolish one. Jason Todd couldn't remember where he heard it, but the saying circled through his brain violently. No coherent thoughts could form outside of, you were so desperate for a family, and you keep fucking ruining it.

He had ached to belong somewhere from the moment he found his mother floating, and it had only gotten worse with time. He thought Bruce was it- was the family he had been ashamed to dream of, but he had fucked that up.

He had gotten close this time, patched up the bridges he had decimated, made his amends, compromised, and sacrificed... Still, a stupid boy dreaming of a place in a family he didn't deserve a place in. He showed up to the fucking dinner, a duffel of newspaper-wrapped presents clutched in his fist.

But he still couldn't hold on to it- or couldn't let any of it go.

Every single snide comment, Every whispered judgement, Every punishing look,

It built like flood water- the levees were designed to fail. He shattered his glass, screamed at Bruce, destroyed another holiday.

It was all he had ever been good for, failing to reach his dreams.

The family fuck-up, the ghost haunting everyone he loved.

So he walks away from his brother sitting in the bloody snow, he tears off the end of his shirt to wrap his hand, and he lets the cigarette between his fingers burn down to his skin as he climbs onto his bike.

Maybe it was time to let this dream die.

[magnoliasandarson]

I’m absolutely in love with you writing style and your works as a whole they are just ✨Chefs kiss✨

So I just wanted to come on here and say please keeping doing what your doing because I’ve never read someone’s works and sobbed my heart out so much before and I live for it !

Sometimes writing on this platform can feel like a vacuum. I'm never sure if my words connect, if anyone cares, if any of it makes sense... It can be disheartening putting your soul into a piece that no one notices.

Other times, I get messages like these, and my entire day shifts. I love writing so desperately, and having y'all care about my words means the absolute world to me.

I appreciate every single person who has ever liked, reposted, or commented on a post.

I hope to keep earning your attention (and making you cry).

All my love,

Mags

[magnoliasandarson]

giver

Dick Grayson loves his siblings, but he's never quite sure to what degree that love is returned.

It would be fair for them not to love him. He has messed up more than his fair share over the years, spectacularly shattering trust, destroying bridges, and failing to make amends. He sees his mistakes reflected in their eyes every time they back away from a hug.

It kills him a little, feeling them pull away from him.

Each of his siblings has had a point where he was their favorite. They would gravitate to him at family gatherings, linger with him during team-ups, and turn his apartment into a pillow fort. He should've held on tighter during those times, should've never let them slip away.

He spends weeks planning their Christmas presents. They have to be perfect- it took guilt and outright bribery to ensure everyone would be at the Manor. It stung when Stephanie and Tim ignored his calls, almost as much as Jason slamming the door in his face. They all came around eventually, and Dick had to show them all how much he cared.

He started with Damian, simply because the boy never left his mind these days. It had been hard to walk away when Bruce came back, even harder not to run back and snatch up the kid every day since. Dick found the newspaper from the first night they went out as a duo, complete with a glossy picture of them on a rooftop. It was carefully framed and placed on top of a small stack of sketchbooks and watercolors. Dick tried to forget all of the art shows he had missed recently.

Duke received a new pack of trading cards and every article that spoke positively of the "We Are Robin" movement. In a moment of extreme sentimentality, he wrote a letter explaining what Robin meant to his family and just how proud he was of Duke for turning a family name into a wave of change for the city. Dick tried to forget how angry he had once been to see the child army running the streets.

Stephanie was easy enough, he interfered as Detective Grayson and got rid of her parking tickets. Well, that, and he interviewed people that had come forward after being saved by Spoiler, and recorded all of them explaining how they would never forget their hero. He compiled all of the recordings onto a modified comm, so if she ever felt doubt on patrol, she could be reminded of all the good she has done. Dick tried to forget how he had joined Bruce in trying to run her off when she briefly took up the Robin mantle.

Cass received new pointe shoes, complete with shiny pink ribbon, and a stack of cards Dick had collected from the Gotham Center for Deaf Children. Before Orphan and Black Bat, there had never really been a signing hero in Gotham. She gave them someone to admire, and Dick thought she should know. He placed the delicate shoes on top of the cards, and tried to forget how many of her performances he had skipped.

Tim... Dick could never apologize in any way that would matter to him. He stared at a row of cameras in a store and wondered when was the last time he had actually seen Tim take a picture. It had been his passion for so long... Had the boy outgrown it or had their lifestyle forced him to abandon it? Dick was determined that either way, his brother deserved joy, so he picked one Wally recommended and carefully stenciled the Red Robin logo onto the lens cover. Dick tried to forget how Tim couldn't stand to be in a room alone with him anymore.

Jason. His Little Wing made him want to weep. He went through hours of footage from his old camera, videos of the first time they went train surfing together, when he taught Jason to fly, when Jason taught him to skateboard- all from years ago. He sat in his apartment for hours, hating himself for realizing he doesn't truly know his brother anymore. He ends up breaking into Jason's place. The day after that, he has a large box filled with leather bound versions of all the paperbacks Jason had lying around. He attempted to read some of them, but landed on making little bookmarks for his brother, each with some little inside joke on it. Dick did all of that and tried to forget that his brother didn't think they were family anymore.

December 23rd, he loads all of the gifts into his shitty truck and wonders if any of them will get him anything.

It would be fair if they didn't, though.