when jason todd was thirteen years old, bruce bought him a collection of dusty old novels from a dingy little bookstore as a christmas present. their spines were wrinkled and their pages were musty and jason read each one fifteen times over in joy. his favourite was a no-name florist’s personal journal, in which each flower they carefully cultivated was laid out in the page with watercolour, information along with the meaning of the plant was scribbled out in ink. it still rests on the top shelf of the bookcase in jason’s old room, gathering dust and losing memories.
vines grow all along the abandoned end of wayne manor gardens, vines that alfred doesn’t touch because he knows bruce finds the purple hyacinths beautiful. the frustrating part of these flowers, however, are that they refuse to bloom until late, when all the other flowers have blossomed and withered and died. only then do they slowly peek out of their buds, as bruce runs a gentle finger over them. please forgive me, are the words that line their petals, and bruce wonders who exactly he’s begging for forgiveness. damian, cass, for breaking all his promises for a new life? tim, for turning a smart little boy into a battle-hardened weapon? jason, for never loving him as much as he asked for? dick, for placing a responsibility on his shoulders simply because bruce can’t bear to bear it alone? or alfred, for breaking the man’s heart with every move he makes?
roy let dick borrow his pickup truck and kori was the one who lugged everything up the stairs to dick’s apartment, but dick was the one who transferred the dropping zinnias from their cracked plastic case into painted and patterned pots. they’re common, easy to grow, so dick knows he won’t mess up too badly, but their multicolored hue fills dick with a lightness that he cherishes. never forget the absent, they remind him constantly, and he never does. the orange pot on his kitchen counter makes him think of all the times wally had laughed while stuffing his face, the magenta cluster on his windowsill brings back memories of donna’s hugs. the pink pot on his coffee table is the same colour as lian’s favourite hairband, and he wishes the white flowers in a jar near his bed good morning and good night every day, twice, one for his mother and one for his father. sometimes a butterfly will come into his open window and land on the bright petals; that always makes dick smile.
jason wakes up screaming from nightmares more often than not, but he realizes too late that the screams are only ringing inside his head. the spines of asphodel flowers rake up and down his throat, scraping him raw until he drowns in his own blood. taking his rage out on anyone who crosses his path doesn’t stop them, breaking down sobbing and drunk with artemis and bizarro doesn’t stop them, staying up all night with coffee doesn’t stop them. so he visits his grave instead, and he wonders why the hell bruce keeps coming back. those ugly white flowers are always there, gently placed in front of a lovingly carved tombstone. my regrets follow you to the grave, they taunt him, and jason wonders what exactly bruce regrets: letting him die or finding out that he couldn’t love jason anymore when he came back?
janet drake’s favourite flowers were hollyhocks, and tim didn’t have the slightest idea why. he only knew this because during a birthday festival, hollyhock petals were flowered over the cake. still, he knew his mother loved them, so maybe if he became them, she would love him too. they’re hardy and they require very little care to bloom, so tim taught himself everything he needed to know and, bit by bit, clawed up a rock wall until he was entirely independent, and didn’t need his parents anymore. they came in every colour of the rainbow, so tim learned how to slip on masks as easy as a wish. the perfect partner batman could mold him into, the lightbulb of a disorganized team, a little brother for dick to love. most diseases cause minor cosmetic damage and can be disregarded, so tim took the beatings from criminals and let the scars decorate his skin without a single complaint. only years later did tim discover that hollyhocks mean ambition, and by then, tim’s ambition had far outgrown janet’s.
how difficult is it to become a symbol of hope after years of training to be a symbol of darkness? not that difficult, cass discovers, because darkness doesn’t necessarily mean death. chrysanthemums need light to bloom, but they’re at their most beautiful in the dark. bruce may need his family’s light to stay afloat, but he’s at his most powerful in the dark. so cass steps into the dark with him, knowing that batman is learning to turn his darkness into a protective cape instead of a smothering cloak. cass wields out death darkness fear without hesitation to criminals, as ominous as chrysanthemums at a funeral. but then she flips to friendship loyalty joy with her family, holding her hands out and waiting for someone to clasp on. she can be both, she discovers. she’s allowed to be both.
everything had a purpose. everything can be used. that’s what mother told him while applying her lipstick in the mirror, with damian sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping a knife in his hands in coordination exercises. the lipstick was the same dark pink shade as the oleanders she ordered planted in nanda parbat, despite them not being native to the area. a single leaf could kill a man, she told him, so wield them wisely. she taught him to wield many other things too, everything from a sword to a poison to his own name. a glorious destiny, the plants whispered to him, and damian held those words up with pride until that destiny had been ripped out from underneath him, his mother abandoned him, and he was left alone in a place where he had no purpose. it was richard grayson who had smiled, tiredly but surely, and had picked him up and placed him back on his feet. “didn’t you know,” he said, “that oleanders were the first flowers to bloom after hiroshima? oleanders mean survival.”
So I have been thinking about how Geto Suguru, since we first got introduced to him, has been one to value found family over blood family. I don’t know if someone pointed this about his character before but I think it’s fair to deduce this about him.
Here in volume 0, we can see that the curse users he worked with were not just random people to him but he considered them family. Also in an interview Gege Akutami mentioned that Geto would try his best to provide for Mimiko and Nanako, which shows that he did actually care about them and viewed them as family.
Another example for how he values found family would be when Riko decided to go to school instead of heading directly to Jujutsu Tech, Geto supported her decision saying that she should spend time with family and friends and when he figures out that Riko’s family died in a car accident, he doesn’t automatically consider her without a family but jumps to the conclusion that Kuroi is her family then.
This makes me wonder what relationship did Geto have with his own family? All we know about his past is that he was scouted for Jujutsu Tech and that his parents are non-shamans. Then we get hit with the knowledge that he killed them as a part of his plan. What if Geto’s hatred towards humans started with his own parents, I wouldn’t put it past them because Geto seemed to be really affected by how the village was treating the two girls (Mimiko and Nanako) so what if Geto had a similar childhood? What if Geto was treated differently as a child because of his technique?
I also find it quite ironic how at the end of his fight with Toji, Toji doesn’t kill him and tells him to “thank his parents” for this. And the next time Geto’s parents are mentioned, it’s because he killed them. So this is his thanks for them? I could be reaching but maybe Geto thought of his technique as a curse and maybe he blamed his parents for it and was offended when Toji said he should show them gratitude for it.
To reach even more, maybe Geto was ready to die at that moment at the hands of Toji and felt offended that he was spared because of his non shaman parents. In both volume 0 and Gojo’s past arc, at multiple occasions, we can clearly see that Geto was prepared for death. In the beginning of the arc when he fought that old curse user, after he spiraled when he told Gojo that there’d be meaning to his own death, and even when Gojo said that he can’t save someone who’s not prepared to be saved and finally in volume 0 when he said that in this world,he can’t smile from his heart at all. Perhaps Geto’s issues were rooted inside him from the start, perhaps back before his spiraling when he’d refuse to kill without a reason maybe he was also searching for a reason for his own life as well?
Geto started spiraling for several reasons, one being when he found no value for human lives... it was a matter of time before he’d start to question his own life as well and that’s why we get that scene in volume 0 when he smiles for the last time before accepting his fate and what had become of his life.
I am honestly conflicted as to what exactly brought Geto’s downfall, was it his idealism and his need to find a reason behind everything in life, was it past unresolved trauma, was it driven by loneliness?
My personal favorite theory is that when Geto became a sorcerer, he thought he was becoming a hero. Little did he know that Jujutsu sorcerers aren’t heroes. Geto had this hero complex and a sense of duty; that it was life’s meaning that the strong protect the weak. Maybe he started realizing that humans are shades of gray that no one is truly strong or weak. After all, he was almost beaten to death by a human. The village that was filled with normal humans abused girls with techniques. So he found himself losing what tied him to saving people....
I know it’s kind of far fetched but i do hope Gege Akutami would dive more into Geto’s past maybe we’ll get a better understanding of him
@damianwayneweek Day 4 (6-16): Reverse batfamily | Hugs | Soulmate
Warnings: Canon typical violence, major injuries, background character death, ✨angst✨
Note: this one ran away from me. It got a mind of its own. If I had more time, this would be so much longer. I've always wanted to write a reverse batfam story with Damian's perspective. Please enjoy.
---
Damian has only spent a month living with his blood father, and he's felt nothing but miserable this entire time. Somehow, life has managed to become even more stressful and exhausting compared to living within the League of Assassins. He... understands why his mother felt he'd be safer here for the time being, but at least, back in Nanda Parbat he knew what he was doing and what the rules were.
He's not sure where he stands with his father. It's obvious that his father doesn't know where he stands with Damian either. Damian, his entire life, had grown up with the knowledge of Bruce Wayne being his father. Batman. Caped Crusader of Gotham. Hero. Bringer of Justice. His mother's dearest, most precious love after Damian himself. She spoke often of him. Highly. Only when alone and no one else to hear them. His father isn't exactly on high standings with his grandfather nor other high ranking members of the League.
Yet, his father knew nothing of him until the day they met. His mother brought him to the streets of Gotham, lured Batman to their location, and introduced them there. His father seemed visibly shocked under that cowl at the information of having a son, yet he didn't question it.
Damian didn't know what to expect after his mother left him for his own safety. He didn't know all too much about culture outside of the League. He was, of course, taught the basics to blend in with American society—as well as other countries—if the need so came, but other than that... He didn't know what to do with himself when he first stepped in the manor to find only one servant and a new home empty of anything to fill his time. The cave where his father operates was locked to him from the get-go.
His father doesn't seem to trust him. He explained the situation to the servant, and then sent Damian off with the servant to find a room with the warning that if Damian "did anything", he'd regret it.
Damian's hardly seen his father since. When he's not working as a CEO, he's out as Batman, and Damian sits in the manor all day and night running out of ways to keep himself entertained.
Sometimes he sees his father at supper, but he doesn't ever start any conversation. Damian doesn't start any either, thinking it's purposeful. He doesn't ask about Damian's stay, or if he's comfortable here, or anything. He doesn't update Damian on any new information about his mother and the league. The only words he speaks to Damian are gruff good nights.
Miserable. It's miserable. He doesn't understand why his mother is so in love with such a miserable man for company.
He doesn't speak up on it, however. If his father is anything like his teachers or his grandfather, questioning him or speaking out of turn will just get him in trouble. He'd like to keep his stay at a tolerable level of misery, thank you very much.
So he doesn't say anything to his father, even though he's itching to go out with him at night to... to do whatever he does. He's seen the television, Superman has a kid fighting with him in Metropolis. Why can't Damian do the same with his father as well? He can wear a mask and change his name. He can easily defend himself, even against this country's love for guns.
He still doesn't say anything, and he spends the days miserable.
-o-o-o-o-
It's the butler, Alfred as he has insisted many times during his stay (Damian humors him by calling him by his first name, being as he's the only one to speak to Damian in this drab house), who suggests school a few months after coming here.
"School," his father says blankly, looking at Alfred like he's lost his mind.
"He's a young, growing boy," Alfred says. "It's not good for the lad to be inside all day like this."
Damian sits at the dining table, stiff like he's stepped on a landmine and is now waiting for it to explode. However, he can't help but look up at his father through his lowered eyebrows to meet his sharp gaze. School... doesn't sound like something that would be any fun, but... but anything to get out of this manor sounds almost heavenly.
His hopes fall when his father shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."
And something inside Damian snaps just a little. "Dangerous for who?" He demands, slamming his hands on the table. "For me? Or for the other children?"
His father looks stunned, and Damian's stomach drops as Alfred's eyes widen as well.
He's running out of the dining room before anything else can be said.
Punishment for yelling at his father doesn't come like he expects it to. A week goes by, and there's not a single word of his outburst.
It sets him on edge. It fries his nerves. It makes him jumpy and paranoid and frightened at every shadow.
So much so that he finally decides, one day, to pull the sword hanging above the library entrance off the wall and practice with it. It's heavier than what he's used to back in Nanda Parbat. British history is in the shape of the blade, but he still wields it and practices rusty moves on it until he's sweating in the middle of the library. Usually training makes him feel better, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets.
He gets so frustrated that he imagines enemies surrounding him. He imagines the warmth of blood splattering against his skin as he swings. The taste as it touches his tongue. Their screams of death. He gets so deep in this trance that he doesn't notice he's broken something until the sound of crashing glass reaches his ears; he's swung right through a glass display case, the unprotected remains of a signed classic novel resting inside.
His heart jumps when the door opens to see what the commotion is about, and he drops the sword like it's hot when Alfred is the one to poke his head through.
"I'm sorry," he says.
Alfred gives him a long look, and then he sighs. "Come fetch the broom with me, and we can clean this up."
"Will you tell father?" Damian asks slowly. He can tell it's a loaded question when Alfred pauses and purses his lips.
"Not this time," he says finally, after a few heartbeats. "But I do think it's time I speak with him about some other things. Come along, the quicker we clean this up, the quicker I can get you a cup of tea to stop you from looking like a frightened racoon."
-o-o-o-o-
A few days pass, and his father invites him to follow after dinner. Out of everything Damian expects to come from this, being led into the batcave through a grandfather clock in the study wasn't one of them.
"You can train here," his father said, showing him a massive room in the cave filled to the brim with practice tools of all kinds. Dulled swords, throwing stars, bo-staffs, and straw dummies to name a few. There's locked cases on the far side of the training room, of which Damian suspects are full of much more sharp, dangerous, and fun tools.
No matter. He's already feeling his blood shake with excitement at the thought of finally getting some proper practices again.
"You can come down here only when myself or Alfred are here to supervise you," his father explains. "Nothing here leaves this room, and if anything breaks you tell us immediately."
"Can I start now?" Damian asks, barely managing to hold himself back from running towards the closest, one-handed blade.
His father, surprisingly, nods. "I'm going out, and Alfred will be down to help me with the computer. He will be in charge."
Damian can't stop himself from smiling. Finally there's something to do in this house. Feeling hopeful, he decides to ask one more question.
"Can I go with you? One day?"
Silence is his answer for a few heartbeats, making Damian suddenly fearful that he shouldn't have asked that. Then, his father sighs.
"We will see."
-o-o-o-o-
A few more days pass before they do see. He suspects Alfred must have had another conversation with his father, because he approaches him one night and offers to spar.
It's done in full concentration, not a single word exchanged between the two. Both are too busy studying the other's fighting patterns to say anything.
It's now that Damian realizes what his mother meant whenever she spoke about his father's advanced martial arts. It's brutal and expertly executed. It's only a matter of time before he's pinned. He's disappointed in himself, but not surprised to end up losing.
But not all is lost. He can tell his father is impressed when he releases his pin and tosses Damian a rag to wipe off his sweat.
"We need to talk to Alfred about getting you a suit."
-o-o-o-o-
The suit Alfred makes him is made of the strongest, thinnest material Damian had ever seen. It cannot only be Kevlar, because it would be heavier than this. It must have been created by his father himself, or one of his associates.
Whatever the case, he's in awe by it. Alfred is a master of every craft, it seems. He's managed to create the suit to Damian's submitted designs to the T, only making subtle changes here and there where sketches don't match up with reality.
It's mostly black, because according to his father white isn't a good color to go with in Gotham. It's understandable, as much as Damian dislikes it. He's always liked wearing whites and tans for his outfits, accenting here and there with greens and blues to bring out his eyes. Black is such a boring and dull color, but this, he supposes, he will have to deal with.
And it's not all black, at the least. Just the bits around his shoulders, cape, hood, sides, and legs. On his chest, however, is a splash of dark maroon, as well his boots and gloves. His belt is yellow, like his father's, and filled only with smoke pellets, a grappling gun, and a hanging pair of sticks that triple as escrima, a bo-staff, and nun-chucks. Not his preferred weapon, but his father doesn't seem to be very trustful with him and sharp ones yet.
He goes out into the city, out of the manor, for the first time in what feels like forever. His father keeps a sharp eye on him, reminding him every two seconds to not kill anyone, but Damian doesn't mind too much.
He's just happy to be out, and to finally get glimpses of what his father is truly like outside of the stories of his mother and the silent dinners.
He's ruthless, but not heartless. Strong, but not abusive. He prioritizes justice, above all else, and teaches Damian that even the criminals deserve it. The victims get saved, and his father leaves the criminals to be picked up by the cops to be brought to rehabilitation or wherever else they must go.
Damian's careful to remember these teachings, even though he doesn't understand them. He's been raised to think the only thing bad people deserved was punishment, but after taking down a bank robbery, his father researches the names of the robbers and finds that the bank keeper was blackmailing them to give him money on top of the loans they already had with the bank.
The bank keeper was trying to pay off the gangs to protect the bank from other gangs.
So on and so forth.
Gotham seems to be a big cycle of abuse, with no one willing to end it.
Well, no one besides his father.
It doesn't make sense to Damian why his father would try so hard to stop it, but he can at least respect it.
For now.
-o-o-o-o-
Everything goes almost fine until it doesn't.
For the first time in almost half a year, Damian finds himself separated from his father and Alfred. There's a new big bad in Gotham, a man with half of his face burned off by acid. Two-Face, he calls himself. Harvey Dent, his father informed before he left Damian behind to fight him alone.
"This is personal," he said.
And Damian didn't listen. He wanted to see what a real fight was like in Gotham. These petty bank robberies and classic muggings were getting boring and repetitive. He didn't mean to get so close.
His father was in a standoff with Two-Face, and on a stroke of bad luck one of the goons spotted him watching.
"It's Red Bird!" Shouted the goon. Red Bird is the name Gotham had started to call him by in the papers.
A group of the goons charged after him, the rest kept by Two-Face and his father, sneering as they separated his father from helping with their guns and a baby hostage.
And maybe it was seeing the child in Two-Face's arms that made him see red. Maybe it was the disappointment in himself for being spotted. Maybe it was simply all the pent up frustration that's been building without his knowledge since he's gotten here.
Whatever the case, he fought back a little harder than he meant to. What he was supposed to. He brought most of the goons down to the ground, clutching broken bones and bloodied gashes. His old training kicks in, and he goes to hit one of his opponents in a specific place that would kill them.
"RED BIRD!" His father shouts angrily over the commotion.
And Damian stumbles, stopping in his kill-path. His father sounds disappointed and upset and- and Damian almost disobeyed his orders and his father saw it immediately.
Then, before he can be fearful or horrified or confused, his own skull is hit hard enough that the world fades to black.
He wakes up with his arms tied behind his back and his entire person disarmed. His father stands at a makeshift pair of gallows, another man besides him. Both are hooded.
Two-Face flips his coin and asks Damian heads or tails. He says tails, and saves his father, but the other man hangs.
Then, Two-Face beats Damian with a bat, to the point he can't see straight, and the pain drags him back into unconsciousness. The last thought he has is that he's failed. He's disappointed his father, and he must have disappointed his mother as well if she hasn't come back for him yet.
He's failed.
-o-o-o-o-
He wakes in the batcave's med-bay, his entire body numb. He can only lay there with a tube running up his nose and needles in his arm, listening to the machine besides him voice his heartbeat. Vacantly, he can hear arguing voices outside his door, one of a woman he doesn't recognize and the other of his father.
He closes his eyes when the arguing gets too loud, but opens them sometime later when it stops and someone enters the room.
His father stands in the doorway, his face looking more raw and vulnerable than Damian's ever seen it.
"I thought I lost you," is all he says before he runs to the cot and grabs Damian's hand. The one not in a sling, he realizes. He's so numb he didn't even notice he had so many bandages and casts on him.
Not that he focuses on that for long. In fact, all he can focus on is that his father is clutching his hand like a lifeline and whispering over and over how sorry he is.
"I should have been better," his father rambles. "You're not like Jon, you don't have powers. I'm so stupid for letting you out there- I almost got you killed- your mother is going to murder me-"
Damian doesn't even know what to say. He's so flabbergasted by the actions of his father, that he just lays there as his father continues.
"I knew I wasn't cut out for this. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a dad. I tried my best to keep you safe, make sure you didn't get yourself into danger- and I fucked it all up. I don't know what I'm doing, Dami. I don't know- I'm sorry-"
And this continues for a little while longer until the door opens again, revealing Alfred and the woman who must have been yelling at his father before. She has gray hair, curled up like a loose afro around her head, revealing her old age. Behind her glasses, her eyes are sad. Together, Alfred and the woman approach the bed, and the woman lays her hand on his father's shoulder.
"We need to check his bandages," she says.
His father nods, wiping quickly under his eyes before he stands up. She gives Alfred a look before she leads Bruce out.
It's only Alfred and Damian for a moment, and Damian releases a breath.
"He's not going to let me out again."
Silence.
Then Alfred comes to his side and looks at the bandages. "I will talk with him. First, let's get you healed up and properly introduce you to Miss Thompkins."
-o-o-o-o-
Red Bird does go out again, once he's healed up. Alfred's talks with his father do wonders, it seems, as life at the manor has gone back to lonely and miserable—what with his father avoiding him at every chance. But he goes out again, swinging into the night with his father silently beside him having just finished retelling him every rule he must follow.
Damian intends to follow them. He doesn't want to lose this. He's come so close to losing this.
He hopes... That maybe... If he follows the rules... Things will start getting better again.
They fight crime like normal, going their normal routes and working silently by each other. By the time it's time to go home, Damian's feeling more alive than he has since Two-Face beat him with the bat.
Before they can return to the manor, however, a familiar signal is lit in the sky by the police department. His father stills and Damian watches him carefully. His father has been careful to keep him out of the business that comes with that signal, even before Two-Face.
His father sighs, then gives Damian a hard look through his cowl.
"Behave," is all he says before they're on their way to the police station.
There's a man on the roof. Commissioner Jim Gordon. He gives his father a greeting, then pauses when Damian steps out besides him.
"Decided to finally introduce us?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Just when I thought Red Bird was off the streets for good."
Damian bristles, but his father sighs. "What do you need, Commissioner?"
"Apparently a college teacher went insane and poisoned his students with a gas that made them see their deepest fears. Professor Jonathan Crane. It sounds like something you'd handle quicker, and I can get you the files we have on him after you explain to me why you're still letting a child run around in tights. Especially after you told me he was quote un-quote, 'alive but out of commission'."
"I don't see why it's your business," Damian hisses before he can stop himself.
"Red Bird," Batman scolds, and Damian falls quiet.
His father looks at the Commissioner with a hard look. "He's my responsibility, and I will look after him."
"There were rumors he died, Batman," Gordon argues back. "Two-Face bragged about it all the way to Arkham. He had blood on his face."
His father stiffens his jaw, then says through gritted teeth. "I will never allow something like that to happen ever again. If you want my word, I will give it in saying if anyone like Two-Face tries to hurt him like that again, I will make sure they regret the thought before it can happen. Red Bird will continue to be with me where I can watch him, and you will respect that. Trust me, it's safer for all of us this way."
He looks down at Damian, then almost smiles.
"He will sneak out himself anyways, eventually. Or I won't hear the end of it from a mutual acquaintance."
Damian finds himself smiling back. It seems getting on the good side of Alfred was a good decision on his part. And he's right in the former statement as well. Damian is sure he'd eventually get bored enough of being left behind and go out to prove himself without permission. Red Bird... It's too good to give up. He can't lose it.
It's like a staring contest between Gordon and his father for what feels like an entire minute, but eventually Gordon gives up with a sigh.
"Don't know how you do it. The wife's starting to talk about having a kid... I can't imagine a little one of mine running around doing the things I do, let alone what you do."
He brings a cigarette to his mouth, then pulls out a file with his free hand. "Take the case."
Batman steps up to do as was told, but before Gordon let's go, he gives his father a hard look.
"You better keep your word," he growls, "because if anything happens again to that kid, I'm holding you responsible and I'll bring you in for child endangerment myself."
Batman nods. "I'm counting on it."
-o-o-o-o-
Eventually, the topic of school comes up again.
Which of course brings up the topic that no one actually knows about Bruce Wayne's son. Damian's been kept a secret this entire time, unknown to the public.
"We'll tell them that your mother and I met at the end of highschool, and we have kept you a secret ever since. Due to your mother's weakening health, we decided it would be best for your future to have your custody turned over to me and the mother wishes to remain private. Then, we can-"
"Wait," Damian interrupts. "You're going to let me go to school?"
His father pauses in his verbal plans, then nods.
And suddenly, Damians jumping from his chair with joy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck without thinking about it. However, the second he realizes his action, he attempts to scramble away with horror. He's never hugged his father before. But things have been so good, civil even, to the point where they can be in the same room and have conversations about the weather or the recent sports game or even about a new cartoon Damian found on TV.
But they never hugged.
Afraid he's pressed boundaries, he pushes away, but he doesn't go far before a hand wraps around his shoulder. Damians left halfway on his father's lap where he sits, looking at him with anxiety churning in his stomach and an unreadable expression on his father's face.
Then, gently, Damian's pulled back in so now arms are wrapping around his back. His father's hugs are soft and warm, Damians learns. The opposite of how he fights. Yet he feels so safe and protected that he doesn't resist the action.
"This is really happening," his father says in a whisper. "I have a son. I'm really a dad now. I... I promise I will be better for you. From now on. I'm sorry for how I treated you... In the beginning. I was scared. It's no excuse, but I promise you, I will be better."
And he is. They get ice cream after and then watch a movie before going out as Batman and Red Bird.
Time passes so Damian starts school and makes friends. He meets Clark Kent and his son, Jon, and makes a best friend. He grows older, and happier, to the point he no longer misses the League of Assassins. To the point when his mother does finally return to see him, saying the danger has passed...
Damian tells her he wishes to stay with his father. She smiles, and hugs him, and says that she's proud of him. She promises to visit him as often as she can after they share a good cry.
She leaves, and visits, and time moves on a little more.
Until one day, years later, they notice a kid with a camera following them around and taking pictures. Then, the same kid admits to knowing about their civilian identities when confronted.
His father searches the kid up when they get back to the manor, and after some digging it's revealed his name is Tim Drake and his parents are neglectful and strict.
Damian sees the same look in his father's eyes as when he first told the public he had a son named Damian Wayne, and he gets the feeling the manor is about to get a little more crowded.
This, he thinks, is about to get interesting. It's been awhile since life threw a curve ball. He just didn't expect this one to come in the form of a little brother.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
for Damian Wayne Week 2021, day 5, prompt: ‘Mother and Son’ and ‘Brother’
Dick watches as Talia scours every inch of their cell. She has been doing that for almost three hours, now. Dick stopped way back at hour one. He knows why they’re here, knows exactly why it’s the two of them in this cell. Ra’s will get his way, whether they like it or not.
It brings back memories, to be honest. This is just like the first time he met Talia, except this time, instead of testing Bruce, Ra’s is testing Damian.
“Talia,” he finally says, “sit down. You know you’re not going anywhere.”
She scoffs. “Maybe you were raised to give up, Richard, but I was not. I will find a way out of here, and when I do, my father will have many things to answer to.”
Dick sighs. He doesn’t want to do this either, but he knows that even if they manage to get out, Ra’s will just try again. He’s like a cockroach, unable to be killed. Eventually, he will get what he wants, and this time, what he wants is to test Damian.
“And what are you going to do once you’re out?” Dick asks, trying to appeal to Talia’s logical side. “You know he’s just going to do it all over again. This time, it’s just a kidnapping. What if next time it’s worse? Do you want to do that to Damian? Better to just get it over with.”
Rituals can be anything you like them to be. They can happen as often as you like, and you can do during them what you like. There is no right or wrong way to do a ritual.
The only advice I have that I might call close to a rule is that you should be in a space in which you won’t be interrupted. But even if you are interrupted, because that cannot be helped at times, it doesn’t mean that the ritual is destroyed.
Unwed yourself from the idea that anything in witchcraft has to be just so.
Things can be fixed. They can be redone. You can start over. You will be able to find the spot you were in during meditation and so on.
Different Rituals…
There are many different traditional rituals which you can do. You can find them in all different types of religions, including outside of witchcraft. If you would like to perform a traditional ritual, that is fine. Just research and prepare!
However, you can also make your own rituals. When I first started my journey, I mostly performed rituals and cast spells which were traditional and/or written by others. Now, unless I am specifically doing something that is traditional, I write my own rituals. This makes them more personal to be, more targeted towards what I am trying to address, and increases the power of my will and intent.
There are many types of rituals you can do. Sabbat rituals are rituals which are performed on sabbats, for example, a Samhain ritual might be performed to commune with the dead. Beauty rituals, also called glamour spells, can be something like setting an intent for yourself for the day as you put on your make it. It could also be using enchanted perfume, or wearing enchanted clothing. Walking rituals are rituals wherein you take a walk in nature with an intent in mind and meditate on that as you talk, and talk to the universe about it. So even just a mindful walk can be a type of ritual! There are also imbuing rituals during which an object is blessed, cursed, or set with an intent or purpose. But rituals are always supposed to be about the betterment of something, and changing it with your intent and the use of magick. Usually it is the self, but they can also be done on behalf of someone or something else.
For some people, rituals are very particular and meticulous and have to be done in a certain way. For others, this is not the case. You are not required to have certain tools, or specific candles, or incense. Be mindful and use what you have, but don’t break the bank to buy tools you don’t need, and don’t force yourself to wait until you have all of the tools you’d like to have before you start to perform rituals.
When you are deciding what tools you do want, ask yourself; what helps me enter a meditative state? What helps me connect to my subconscious and the universe? What helps me connect to me god(s)? What brings me peace? What brings me joy? What feels sacred? The answers to these questions will be different for everyone.
Making a Ritual Sacred…
Again, as with any magick, it is your intent, will, and energy which have the most influence over the ritual you are performing. So deciding that it is sacred and important, and treating it as such does create something sacred.
It can also help to schedule rituals. Setting aside a time to perform a ritual, and therefore making that time sacred, is helpful.
Use rituals to take care of yourself. Time with your deity(ies), or nature, or whatever you worship, can be healthy. Meditation is also helpful. Turning ritual time into a time to care for yourself also makes it sacred.
Expectations…
This sort of ties into what I was saying above about tools, but expectations can and will hinder you and can even ruin ritual for you all together. if you are pressuring yourself and holding yourself to standards which you cannot meet, you won’t feel welcome at your own rituals. (Read the bolded text above again.)
Do not require things of yourself which are unreasonable. Do not tell yourself (or let anyone else tell you) that your tools, your ritual, or anything involved in the ritual is wrong or not good enough.
A ritual is something you create as a creative being, and if something does not resonate with you, the creator of the ritual, abandon it.
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
dededos
dailybridgerton
prguitarman
