#da&db

[theawkwardvirgin]

Sneak Peek~

“Do not worry, my daughter,” Ra’s said, flicking a hand. Ubu pulled her to a high kneel and she froze as Ra’s rested the tip of his blade against the hollow of her throat. She met her father’s eyes as he drew the sword back. It would cut through her neck like butter. A quick death, virtually painless. Ra’s’ idea of mercy. “You will not have to witness his shame.”

[ghastmaskzombie]

euphemism: a dumbasses and dragonborns short

;)

[theawkwardvirgin]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 40/? Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Under the Red Hood, Red Hood: Lost Days Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Talia al Ghul & Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Jason Todd, Talia al Ghul & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne & Mara al Ghul, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Talia al Ghul, Mara al Ghul, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Ra's al Ghul, Lady Shiva, League of Assassins Additional Tags: Lost Days AU, Alternate Universe - Jason didn't go back to Gotham, How Do I Tag, Families of Choice, DysFUNctional families, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a goodish parent, he's trying ok, Jason Todd Has Issues, Lazarus Pit, Pit Madness, Batdad, Batfamily, batfam, Batfamily Feels, Talia Al Ghul is a Good Mom, mom!talia, Not Canon Compliant - Batman Under the Red Hood, Tim Drake is Robin, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resurrected Jason Todd, Protective Jason, Jason-Centric, Jason is a Dork, and a nerd, Language, It's Jason what do you expect Series: Part 1 of Dark Angels and Demon Brats Summary:

After failing to kill Bruce with the bomb under the Batmobile, Jason accepts Talia's offer of training. Instead of returning to Gotham as the Red Hood, Jason devotes himself to protecting his little brother, Damian, as the boy's Dark Angel. But with the League becoming more dangerous, what will Talia do to protect her boys? (Follows Canon until the end of Lost Days)

[theawkwardvirgin]

@shadowspecre​ How about something about Mara not believing that she's worthy of Jason's affection and it somehow ends up with comfort and a Forehead Kiss? Please and thank you.

I FINALLY FINISHED IT I’m so sorry it took so long. Fair warning, I combined this with another ask for Mara getting sick in the League so this is...definitely H/C. Warnings for child abuse and child death.

Two bingo squares: Forehead Kiss and Illness

Also on AO3

It started in the mountains. The youngest group of trainees had been taken up for endurance testing: five days, no supplies, no shelter, no weapons. If they survived the test, they would have only one more test before the next phase of their training. Mara had survived, along with four others. Six small bodies were left to rot in the wilderness. It was no matter, the Demon’s Head did not want subpar agents. Better they die now than fail a mission later and put the entire League in danger. That is what their instructor said when Kadir cried. One of the bodies had been his sister and he had tried to drag it onto the plane. Their mudarris kicked the body away and threatened to leave Kadir with it. Mara kept her eyes fixed on the wall of the plane, her arms folded behind her back, feet hip-width apart. She did not flinch at the thud of fists on skin. Kadir was lucky he was the youngest of their group, only four years old. Crying earned more than a short beating when they grew older, Mara had heard the screaming from the barracks down the hall enough times to know that.

When Kadir finally stopped his shameful sniveling and stood in formation with the rest of them, an ugly bruise rising on his cheekbone, their mudarris turned to face them all. “Who do you serve?” he barked.

“The Demon’s Head!” they shouted.

“When do you serve him?”

“Until death!”

“How do you serve him?”

“However he demands!”

Their mudarris walked down their short line, staring at them all with narrowed eyes. “Your lives are the Demon Head’s. You live at his will and you die at his will.” He jerked a hand towards the exit ramp, the small body sprawled in the dirt still visible. “Those failures are nothing to you. No one who fails the Demon’s Head is worthy of life.” He turned back down the line, stopping at Kadir. “Forget them,” he ordered.

“Yes, Mudarris!” they chorused.

And Mara had done her best to follow the order. She didn’t allow herself to leave an open spot between herself and Daru at meals, she partnered with Genkai in training, and refused to let herself think of the six beds that now stood empty. She tried to leave the mountain and everything left on it behind. But it seemed that the mountain was not done with her.

Mara woke before the sun rose, as she did every day, and rolled out of bed, quickly folding the single, scratchy blanket. She had done this every day for as long as she could remember, but today something was different. Her limbs did not move as fast as they were supposed to, her head spun as she turned on her heel into parade rest, and her throat ached as she shouted the replies to their instructor’s questions.

Who do you serve? Her heart was pounding in her chest.

When do you serve him? She needed water, but she would not be getting it until she had completed morning training.

How do you serve him? She could not shake her head to clear it, she had to be perfectly still.

Tabari led the way out of the barracks, being the eldest at seven now that- she cut the train of thought off sharply. They had to run three miles to fetch water. There were wells within the compound walls, but that was for people who mattered. The stream was good enough for servants, trainees, and livestock. Mara ran steadily, despite the pounding in her head. She could not waver or stumble or she would be met back at the compound with a cane. Their mudarris may not be running beside them anymore, but he would be watching from the lookout posts. Besides, her head would only ache more if they did not make it back before the sun rose. At least now the sand was cool beneath her feet, the chill of the night still hanging in the air.

The stream ran slow and groggy in the summer months, and the five students placed their jugs -- in most cases bigger than their torsos -- carefully into the water. It would not do to dredge up mud to complete their task sooner. They drank last, and few things were as devastating as reaching for a drink of water after a hard training session only to find thin mud in its place.

Mara stood tall as her jug filled, though she wished to hunch over, put her hands on her knees and just breathe for a moment. Her throat was throbbing now, scraped raw when she swallowed. The stream looked amazingly cool and soothing, but she did not allow herself to drink, hefting her jug over her shoulders and turning back to the compound. A drink now would be giving up her water for the rest of the day, and she would not let a moment of weakness hurt her later.

She made it through the first training session through sheer force of will and shoved her way to the front of the tiny group to reach the water first. Their mudarris didn’t care how uncouth they were when they weren’t supposed to be in parade rest or training, so she felt safe in sticking her head in the remaining jug and taking several deep, desperate swallows. After it became clear she wasn’t about to step aside and let the others have some, Tabari yanked her away from the jug and shoved her to the ground. She didn’t retaliate, too busy basking in the cool stream down her throat, the slightly-lessened pounding in her skull. It would be enough to last her through the second training session before they would be allowed their first meal.

The cough came in the night and Mara buried her face in her blanket, trying to stifle the noises. Parade rest that morning was hell, her whole body shaking as she rasped out the replies. Their mudarris was watching her more closely than usual, his hand drifting to the cane hooked to his belt, opposite his sword, but he let her leave with the others for their morning run. The cold sweat that she hadn’t been able to shake dried on her skin in the morning heat and Mara couldn’t stop the tremors running through her body, no matter how hard she concentrated. The jug felt like it weighed a ton when she pulled the straps over her arms, the sand sucked at her feet, and she soon lagged behind the others, even Kadir who could barely lift his full jug.

She barely made it back to the compound, arriving long after the others in what could barely be called a jog, let alone a run, but she didn’t fall or spill her jug. Her tardiness earned her a sharp smack with the cane to her calves, the warning strike nearly causing her to trip, but she recovered her balance and hurried to place her jug with the others.

The sun seemed much hotter than usual as she ran through her katas, sharp hands and feet that would be deadly as soon as she got a little bigger. It felt like after it rained, when the air was more like soup, and she struggled to get a full breath.

The morning passed in a haze. She drank water that no longer quenched her thirst, forced down her full allotment of food, and trained with knives and staffs and fists. She was desperately grateful that they would not be required to learn poisons until they had passed their next test. She would kill herself in this state, with her vision blurring and spots floating in front of her eyes.

She earned five strokes of the cane the next morning. She was too slow to reply, she couldn’t stop the coughing, she broke out of formation. Mara’s chest was tight with more than just illness and for once she was grateful for her dehydration. It meant she couldn’t disgrace herself further with tears.

The others avoided her as they fetched their jugs. Mara did not blame them. It was dangerous to look as though you were sympathizing with a weak agent, and they did not want to catch whatever she had. It never occurred to Mara to go to the medical wing. That was for people that mattered, people who had earned the right to their lives.

The river wavered in her vision as she dragged herself to it. Her jug dropped from her weak fingers as she tried to lower it into the water, and she resigned herself to at least a little mud later. The others were already pulling on their full jugs, barely glancing at her before starting the run back. Usually Mara would be at the front of their group, always ahead, always succeeding. Now she watched them disappear into the desert and waited for her jug to fill. The sun was boring into her skull and her eyes unfocused, staring blankly at the floor. Her normal train of thoughts petered off, a quiet buzzing taking its place.

Her jug was full. She reached for it, fingers struggling to grasp. She was so tired, but she couldn’t rest. Even if she wouldn’t be punished for it, the desert was dangerous, far more dangerous than the mountains she had survived. The sun was a fatal enemy. If she fell asleep, she would die.

Mara hefted up her jug, spilling half of it as she struggled to haul it to the bank. She had to get up, she had to get it on her back, she had to make it back to the compound.

She didn’t even make it to the bank.

***

Grit and heat and a tongue swollen from dehydration. Mara’s eyes fluttered as she forced them open, a dark figure swimming slowly into focus above her. A vulture, come to check if the sun had finally finished the job.

“Hey, kiddo,” the vulture said, voice soft with concern. Mara blinked rapidly, brow furrowing. Her head gave a sharp spike of pain but her vision cleared a little and the vulture became Jason. “How are you feeling?”

“I-” Mara croaked. She didn’t get any further before a straw was being pressed to her lips and water was flooding her mouth in desperate gulps, pure and sweet and too-freely given. Mara turned her head away, and the cup hovered by her face for a second longer before it was taken away. She wanted to cry for its return, reach out a hand and drag it back to her, drink until her stomach burst and her headache drowned, but she couldn’t.

“Mara?” A cool hand pressed against her forehead and Mara couldn’t stop herself from leaning into it. Jason made a low humming in his throat. “Your fever is still high but you’re awake, so that’s good.” He turned away from her and Mara tensed. Of course he was leaving. She was a failure, she did not deserve to be treated, to be saved, she had failed the test with the water- A cool cloth was draped over her forehead and Mara blinked. Jason smiled a little at her. “That better? You should really drink more water, but it’s okay if you feel a bit too queasy right now. You shouldn’t rush anyway,” he continued, leaning his chair back on its rear legs to reach the switch on the wall that controlled the air conditioning. “You gotta take it easy when you’re sick.” His chair returned to its rightful balance and Jason tilted his head to the side, the concern in his eyes even more apparent now, like he was looking right through her, seeing the desert that lived in her chest, a constant reminder of strength and weakness and how she could never, ever be the latter.

A finger poked her lightly on the forehead. “Hey, you with me?”

“Yes, Mudarris,” she managed to slur.

Jason’s face tightened and Mara’s whole body followed suit. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he said, taking her hand. “Mara, take a breath, okay?” She sucked in a breath that rattled. “There you go.” He was rubbing little circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, in the soft spot near where her thumb and forefinger met. Mara stared down at their joined hands. “I’m gonna switch out that washcloth for a nice cold one, okay?” Jason reached forward slowly with his free hand. Mara watched it come with a kind of resigned peace. She would learn her punishment soon. Jason had not left her to die of sunstroke, but that did not mean she could be allowed to miss as much training as she had without consequences. But no, Jason had never used a cane on her, had never so much as raised a hand. Heatwaves blurred across her mind, past and present warping and merging. Mara closed her eyes tightly. There was soft cloth under her hand, not sand and coarse grass. The humming of an air conditioning unit, not the whirr of the few insects hardy enough to survive by the water. A gentle touch and voice, not the harsh ones belonging to her old teacher.

“Jason,” she said, opening her eyes.

“Hey, Mara. Are you with me now?”

She nodded slowly.

“Do you want more water?” His hand hovered over the cup.

She did. She really, really did. “I am not wor-” She cut off as the straw was poked decisively between her teeth. Jason met her startled gaze, eyes deadly serious.

“Mara, what have I been telling you?”

She looked away.

“Mara.”

“I-” she faltered. Jason just watched her steadily. “I...deserve to be healthy and happy,” she finally muttered. “I do not have to earn it. I am worthy because I am me.”

“Exactly.” He squeezed her hand. “Do you want some water?”

Mara looked down at her lap and nodded. This time she was not so dehydrated that her eyes couldn’t well up, and she tightened her fist around the covers. Jason didn’t comment on it, just held the cup steady for her while she forced herself to sip slowly. They sat in silence after she finished the glass.

“Okay, budge up,” Jason said. Mara looked up. He was standing expectantly at the side of her bed.

“What?”

“Scooch over.” He made a helpful flapping motion with his hands. Mara slowly moved over. Jason plopped himself down beside her, one arm automatically coming down around her shoulder. Mara tensed. Jason didn’t seem to notice, scooping up a remote from the bedside table and flipping on the tv. Mara watched him, not daring to breathe. “What do you wanna watch?” Jason asked.

Mara looked at the tv and shook her head.

“Stupid cartoons it is,” Jason said, selecting a channel. He was a warm wall pressed up against her, blocking her from the door. She knew that if anyone came through the window he would be up in half a second. She was...safe, here, with him. Mara slowly allowed herself to lean into Jason’s side, consciously releasing each bunched-up muscle with a slow exhale. She leaned her head against him, listening to his heartbeat. The steady rhythm made it difficult to keep her eyes open, and for once she allowed them to slide shut without a fight.

She was safe here.

Jason shifted beside her and Mara’s eyes fluttered. A gentle kiss was planted on her forehead. Mara smiled drowsily and let herself fall asleep.

[theawkwardvirgin]

Deleted DA&dB Snippet

When Mara starts yelling at Bruce and Damian and finally letting out all these pent up feelings but then you realize she doesn’t feel safe enough at this point to do that so you have to cut it :(

She stared at him for a moment before she seemed to make a decision. Her face twisted into a scowl and her hands clenched. “You are too late,” she said coldly. “We have done both.” Damian turned to stare at her, horrified. Bruce watched her steadily. Mara glared at him. “Even now the blood is hardly cool on our blades.”

“Ibnat Khal,” Damian hissed, eyes wide in panic.

“You have betrayed yourself,” she snarled, jumping to her feet and turning on him. “You would sacrifice your mother and brother for a man you have only just met. You would bow before his idiotic rules and abandon your heritage. For what? A position at his side? A title? You have abandoned one of those already, Demon’s Fist, what is one more?”

[theawkwardvirgin]

hey does anyone want a...excerpt?

Tim sighed wetly. “S’okay. You have the kid you want back. And a real kid. Y’don’t need me an’more.”

There was a hard lump sitting in Bruce’s stomach and it just kept getting bigger. “What?” Steph winced at his raised voice and Bruce made himself push it down. This was no time to get hysterical. He was around the desk and kneeling in front of Tim in a heartbeat. “Tim, no.” He rubbed his thumb across his son’s knuckles. “I’m glad Jason is back and I’m happy to have Damian but I still need you. I still want you.” Tim was crying now and Bruce’s own throat was uncomfortably tight. He was suddenly hyper-aware of Stephanie’s presence. “You’re my son, Tim.” What did it say about him that saying this was easier because Tim was so out of it? “That’s not going to change, no matter how many siblings you have.” Even if the thought of there being more made him twitch. He could barely take care of the kids he had now, any more and he’d ruin them all more than he already was. How could he have let Tim think this, that he was replaceable? How had he not noticed? World’s Greatest Detective and he couldn’t even tell when his son needed him.

Bruce pulled Tim forward into a hug, one hand cupping the back of his neck. He would do better. He had to. “Tim, I-” His throat tightened again, invisible hands squeezing. Dick. Jason. Talia. Harvey. “I-” Why couldn’t he say it? Mom. Dad. Alfred. Everyone he said it to was hurt. Some left. Some stayed or came back and he didn’t deserve it because then he would say it again and it would hurt them again. Tim was hurting already, he couldn’t condemn him to that, couldn’t ruin him more than he already had. But everything he read said it was important to tell them, every day. But how could they know that he would ruin them if he did? He was ruining them when he didn’t. “Tim,” he said, trying to push it into that word. Names were safe, he could say those without screams or cracks or acid sizzling on skin.

And, miracle of miracles, Tim’s arms tightened around him. “Love you too,” he whispered, and Bruce felt like an anvil had been lifted and then dropped right back onto his chest. Tim knew, and Bruce knew that if he told him and the inevitable happened, Tim would come back. Again and again and again. And the thought terrified him. He ran his fingers through Tim’s hair.

“You are not a stand-in,” he said. “And I am so glad you came into my life.”

Tim made a tiny, wounded sound and Bruce tightened his grip. He ruined people, but he could keep Tim safe. He could protect him. He had to.

[theawkwardvirgin]

Reading through DA&DB to try and psych myself up for finally finishing the next chapter and remembered how much I love this interaction:

Tim stared down at the jello shot in his hand. “This is a fantastic way to get poisoned,” he said.

Steph rolled her eyes, punching his shoulder. “Come on, Timmy, I helped make them!”

“You helped make some of them. Then you got bored and joined a dance circle.”

“And was it awesome? Yes.”

“This is how people become statistics.”

Steph groaned. “Have you ever been to a party before?”

“It’s not really...my thing.” Alcohol dulled your senses. His brain was his greatest asset, he couldn’t afford to lose it.

“Good grief, child.”

“You’re like. Barely older than me.”

“Ten months, brat! Respect your elders and take the shot!”

“Oh my God.”

[theawkwardvirgin]

5 and 8

5. Do you tell the people in your life that you write fics?

mmmm....my parents know in a kind of vague way. Also my sister. I don’t really tell people.

8. What is a scene you wrote that you are most proud of?

You really like picking the tough ones XD ummmmm OH WAIT I KNOW. DA&DB chapter 35, last scene:

 Dread rose in Talia’s gut as she forced her body to cooperate, shuffling down the hall, one arm braced on the wall. Jason had been gone when the world had stopped spinning enough for her to open her eyes. If that hadn’t made his state obvious, the mangled bodies on the ground would have. Jason could be brutal, without a doubt, but he usually reserved such practices for the worst of the worst: rapists, human traffickers, drug lords. She stepped over a mangled arm that looked more like roadkill than a limb. These guards did not fit the bill.

Three hallways later a body caught her attention. Or rather, a head. A head meant a bladed weapon. Judging by the neck, it hadn’t been hacked at, so not a knife. This was a sword.

Talia’s breath caught in her chest. She moved faster, ignoring the nausea and dizziness, the limpness of her fingers and the way exhaustion tried to pin her feet to the floor. Her injured arm almost gave out when she rounded a corner but she pushed on, almost running down the hall. The bodies were different, security uniform replaced with a very familiar one, and she forced herself to go faster. She would not lose him, not after everything. She would not be like her Beloved, arriving moments too late.

She lurched around the final corner and could not hold back a gasp. Jason lay slumped on the ground, blood pooling around him. Talia staggered forward on trembling legs, dropping to her knees to press a hand to his neck. The air rushed from her lungs at the slow pulse of her son’s lifeblood. Still there, still fighting. She wasn’t too late.

She brushed Jason’s hair off his forehead, her hand coming away red. The air shifted behind her, the cold silence of the dead replaced by breathing menace. Talia took a deep breath, leaning down to place a kiss on Jason’s forehead. “'ana asifa, ya abnay ,” she whispered. She took the sword from his slack fingers and stood up.

“Daughter,” Ra’s said. Shadows lined the walls. Ra’s Dark Angel stood nearby, the sword held loosely in his hand streaked with blood. Talia knew who it belonged to.

She leveled the sword at the man who raised her, forcing her spine straight and her face free of fear. She may be injured and weak, dressed only in thin cotton splattered with blood, but she was the Daughter of the De- No. She was a mother defending her child, and she would be feared.

I gave myself chills XD

 Send me a number!