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SAHTW: Trinity

So per that funny little poll, here's a snippet that's probably getting cut from the main fic of the sequel to Take It Back Now Y'all, but is kinda fun anyways. The current title for the whole project is Such A Heart That Will and all ficlets will have that in the title and the tags + a descriptor.

Bruce is having FeelingsTM and also an interrogation.

On his own, it would have taken months of planning. Even with the help of his family it would have been weeks. Within thirty-seven minutes of telling Clark and Diana that he needed to talk to Alvin Draper, a not insignificant member of the Gotham criminal element, openly and honestly after years of push, pull, and mysteries, the entire matter was handled.

There was always something humbling about the reminder just what the remarkable people he surrounded himself with were capable of.

In this case, that meant the Red Hood of Gotham seated and bound in the Lasso of Truth on the Watchtower.

His helmet was gone, but they’d left his domino as a professional courtesy, for whatever that was worth. It wasn’t much but it was a shred of privacy in what was bound to be a vivisection of a conversation. Bruce hoped it was better than nothing.

There wasn’t the space for that kind of mercy when it came to the questions even Bruce wanted to. The Lasso gave no quarter.

“Had you already been planning your takeover Park Row when we first met?” He needed to know, even if he doubted it. Back then the boy had barely been upright with illness, but time had proven Alvin a skilled liar. It wasn’t entirely out of the question that maybe the whole thing had been a play to bring his guard down. Bruce already knew that Alvin had somehow discovered his identity years ago. He might have already known back then. He might have use that, then.

Alvin barely blinked before the words were spilling out, honest in a way Bruce knew he would never be anywhere else. “It hadn’t’ crossed my mind in any meaningful way. The idea of controlling Crime Alley was a pipe-dream. I’ve seen people try and I’ve seen them fail.. Why would I be any different?”

“Any why were you?” Clark asked, gaze steady and incisive, all light and journalistic focus. “Different, that is. What do you have that they didn’t?”

Alvin twitched, the barest of flickers in his cheek and a tightening around the eyes for half a breath. In front of any other tribunal, the reaction might have gone unnoticed. Tonight, it didn’t.

“Training, knowledge, foresight, and a tired and true persona managed by a combination of deception, dramatics, and dumbass RNG.”

There were more questions than answers in that response, and Bruce paused to consider which angle to start unravelling them from. Who had Alvin watched fail to take over Crime Alley? Where had he tested his methods? Alvin’s resemblance to other criminals was a funhouse mirror, all warped edges and alien familiarity. He looked as much like an unusually brutal vigilante as he did a gang leader. Bruce could go try to pull apart the knot of his behaviour from any one of a dozen of threads, but which would get the most mileage?

Diana had no such compunctions. “What is Batman to you?”

A fair question, and one that cut to the root of so many of the questions and fears in the dark of Bruce’s lungs in a way that Bruce may not have thought to go for this early in the process. Certainly not something he would have thought of asking for the real reason he wanted to know.

He didn’t want Alvin to have lied about caring.

Bruce only had a moment to enjoy the warmth that flickered at Diana’s thoughtfulness before Alvin’s response crushed his ribs inwards.

“Well he’s my dad.”

His vision tunnelled ever so slightly, even as some part of his brain started doing the math. It didn’t make sense, couldn’t be true, the numbers just didn’t line up. And yet, somehow, it had to be the truth because otherwise Alvin wouldn’t have been able to say it.

Which meant-

Alvin was a good liar, but Bruce knew from experience that the Lasso didn’t work like that.

Which meant-

In every encounter they’d ever had, no matter Bruce’s disguise or name, Alvin had always looked at him with something Bruce had never been able to pin down. Something wary and judging and longing. Years passed and sometimes it was so secondary Bruce forgot to wonder what it meant, but from that first meeting with a child blinking through fever and cheap lighting to their last fight at the docks that ended with the Red Hood diving into the harbour, Alvin Draper had always looked at him like he wanted Bruce to know him but never expected him to be able to.

Which meant-

Beneath the domino mask they’d left him, Alvin’s face twisted. That seemed right, because Bruce had no idea how to untwist the knife he felt buried in his lungs.

“I wish you hadn’t asked that.”

#tim drake #bruce wayne #sahtw #my writing

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#tim drake #fanfic writing #Take It Back Now Y'all

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unusual inheritance fic prompts:

1.  “you died and left me your children, even though they’re only a few years younger then me”

2.  “you died and left me a haunted house”

3.  “you died and left me an obscure magical object, I’m not sure what it does, and your instruction sheet just says ‘have fun storming the castle!’”

4.  “you died and left me a fanatically loyal warrior order”

5.  “you died and left me a bunch of money and a pile of really weird IOUs?!  why did someone owe you a free body disposal.  why did someone owe you two brides and a goat.  why did someone owe you an island.  WHY”

6.  “you died and left me to repay a bunch of really weird IOUs”

7.  “you died and left me a small country”

8.  “you died and left me six research labs that operate in international waters and I’m kind of scared to find out why keeping them out there was a stipulation of the will”

9.  “you died and left me a menagerie of animals that are supposed to be extinct?  and some that aren’t supposed to be real???  where did you get unicorns.  where did you get gryphons.  where did you get pegasi???”

10.  “you died and left me on the hook for a hereditary marriage contract”

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Keyboard go BRRRRRRRRRR

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That feeling when you write a line of dialogue, reread it, and realize you've loaded a gun.

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Found on twitter, going to adopt this now

Writer friends, tell me how many WIPs and how many UFOs you have. I have 2 WIPs and [redacted] UFOs (jk it’s around 16 across my three main fandoms)

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why you should keep writing your story

because it’s a puzzle no one else will ever arrange the same way as you.

because there are ideas that simply won’t come to you until you write down the wrong words.

because all the bad scenes are the bones of the wonderful scenes.

because someone will love it: someone will read it once, and twice, and thrice; someone will ramble to you about the complexity of it; someone will doodle your characters out of love; someone will find it in exactly what they were looking for with or without knowing it.

because they have things to say, your characters. they’ve told you all those secrets and they have more to tell you, if you will listen.

because you love it even when you don’t; even when it drives you mad or when it accidentally turns into apathy; even when you think you’re doing it all wrong; you love it, and it loves you back.

because you can get a treasure even from things that go wrong; because if a story crumbles down you can build a shinier one on the same spot; because you won’t know where it will take you until it takes you there.

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Writing advice from my uni teachers:

If your dialog feels flat, rewrite the scene pretending the characters cannot at any cost say exactly what they mean. No one says “I’m mad” but they can say it in 100 other ways.

Wrote a chapter but you dislike it? Rewrite it again from memory. That way you’re only remembering the main parts and can fill in extra details. My teacher who was a playwright literally writes every single script twice because of this.

Don’t overuse metaphors, or they lose their potency. Limit yourself.

Before you write your novel, write a page of anything from your characters POV so you can get their voice right. Do this for every main character introduced.

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What they don’t tell you about storytelling is that it becomes an instinct over time. You learn how to kind of … intuitively chain events together over time. That doesn’t mean it’s a cakewalk, or that you never get stuck on plotbeats, but you have a better time walking yourself out of corners that you as a less experienced writer would have been tempted to abandon your story over. Because you’ve been stuck in similar corners before; you know how you get out now.

I know its frustrating to keep hitting dead ends, but you got this. You’ll learn a little from every roadblock you hit.

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Sometimes it's useful to look at your dialogue and ask yourself, "would a real human being talk like that?" But it's also good to ask the follow-up questions of "would the way a real human being talks sound good here" and "does this character actually talk like a real human being or are they weird about it."

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when a powerful figure is reduced to kneeling. when the lord is forced to bow. when the exile stumbles into an unwelcoming bar. when the “beast” is chained by their horns. when a god is dragged behind their enemy’s chariot, a captive and trophy. when the loyal “guard dog” character is muzzled and the silver-tongued thief falls silent in horror.

that’s the shit

it’s about the contrapasso. the reversal of roles and the sudden, plunging terror of being unable to hide.

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doomed by the narrative but not to death. doomed to survive. doomed to stay alive inside the story. doomed to never escape the narrative, not even through death. you are allowed no exit. there is no way out for you and there never was. you couldn’t die if you wanted to. the narrative has a hold on you and it won’t let go. death is too sweet a doom for you. the story has something much worse in mind. there is no way out.

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Idk if burnout is quite the right descriptor for Tim because it's not necessarily like he reached the limit of his own abilities and has to cope with that specifically? For me at least, it's more like he's been rehearsing for years for a role only to get told at the last minute that he's actually the understudy. They're all onstage performing and he's stuck in the greenroom "just in case." All that work, all that exploration and growth and personal change, and for what? What was the point of it all if it wasn't to help him get to the future everyone said he was supposed to have?

Tim post-All That isn't any less qualified to be Batman than he was before all that (and to be clear I'm not saying he Was qualified initially, dude got stabbed about how unqualified he was lol). The only thing that's changed is that people don't. Expect the same things of him that they used to, even though he didn't Do anything. The whole world decided he wasn't That Guy anymore for, at least to his perspective, no reason at all.

Totally agree that it leaves him playing catchup with a lot of "freedom" he never asked for because according to how everyone else has Grown UpTM he should already be out the door of his own accord anyways except Tim doesn't get to go be a full-time Titan, doesn't get to sidle-up with a team of peers while he sorts himself out, because he's Not That Guy to the writers either. So he just. Floats around Gotham (literally now thanks to that boat) until he's needed for a team up or groupshot or specific kind of character moment in someone else's book.

Who is Tim Drake if not the guy who'll one day be Batman? He's a character built to occupy a place in the universe he's not supposed to be in anymore. He's directionless because someone stole his compass and replaced it with a propeller hat. He's a vestigial limb no one is Quite comfortable cutting off in case they need it later.

Sometime I'll write a piece about my Tim is a Universal Litmus Test thing, but the poor guy is just so,,,, crunchy. Why is he still here? Does anyone care? What would they do without him?

It's been a while but man I sure still love Tim Drake ❤️

Legacy and Shadows

Say what you will about large parts of Tim's characterization being a product of the archetype he used to embody in the DC universe, it's kind of fucked up to suddenly become a completely different kind of character without your say so.

Or, Tim and the fact he doesn't get to have a future.

Tim wasn't sure what to make of the way everyone seemed confident that one day Damian would be Batman.

The kid was the only one to say it out loud, for the most part, but like a surprising amount of things that came out of his mouth everyone seemed to mostly take it for truth. And to be fair, when had Damian ever let anyone really stop him from going after something he felt he had a right to? So maybe it was true, if only because he was going to make sure of it. 

It was just. People used to think that about Tim, too. Not that he'd ever said that, ever even wanted it. If anything, Tim had spent as much time as he could reminding people that he wasn't Batman and had no intention of being him. But the shadow of it had lingered, and part of Tim had been bracing for it for years.

After all, Dick wanted to be Batman even less than Tim did, had initially been willing to let the mantle die to avoid it. Dick was Nightwing in a way not everyone ever got to inhabit their titles. Part of what made Dick one of the best of them was how he managed the split; by not letting there be one. Dick was Nightwing was Coach Grayson was whatever bullshit name he'd picked up while playing super spy. He never stopped being himself in any of those roles, for all that he'd put on the appropriate hat to play the crowd. There was a difference between performing and lying, and Dick was born for the lights. 

Batman didn't have much to do with light even at the best of times.

And on the other end of the spectrum, Batman was bad for Jason in a way that honestly caught Tim off guard when he first saw it. Sure none of them had been at their best back then, all alone in their own seas of grief, but Jason had lost whatever stability he'd had for a while there, and was only more recently leveling back out. He'd latched onto the mantle as both connection and insult, a last 'fuck you' to a man he wasn't ready to let go of yet. For Jason the cowl hadn't been about any actual interest in the job that needed doing. And yeah, maybe Tim was a bit biased because if he ever saw Jason in a batsuit again he was liable to do something truly stupid to pay him back for last time. What was worse, being attacked by a symbol of trauma or a symbol of faith?

Tim sure knew that he hadn't liked his end of the stick, at the very least. Maybe he'd feel differently if things hadn't gone the way they had, but he didn't want Jason to be Batman and it was only mostly personal.

Even before all that though, the idea of legacy had still been haunting Tim for longer than he'd wanted to admit. People died, heroes died, Tim knew that better than he knew what school he'd taken second year bio at, but the job always remained. Dick had only been interested in doing part of that job. He'd do the parts he wanted to well, Tim had always believed that, but that still left the rest of the job.

And Tim had kind of figured that would be his responsibility.

He hadn't always been happy about it, had resented the shapes Bruce built into his work even as he'd learned more and more why they'd been necessary to keep the undead freight train of the Bat going. Tim didn't like a lot of what Batman had to be to be effective, but he understood it and he didn't want to see Gotham or the world go without the pillar he represented. If you wanted a job done right, sometimes you had to do it yourself. Tim wouldn't ask anyone else to do something he wasn't willing to do, and if it meant Gotham got to keep its hero then yeah, he'd put on the cowl one day. He'd already tried once.

More than that, Tim was pretty sure Bruce used to see things the same way. Half of his training only made sense if it was to be something that was both more and less than Robin. He'd been preparing Tim for a role that wanted to eat him alive, and for all that Tim had gotten maybe more attached than was strictly healthy to the Robin mantle, it had become a part of him rather than his whole identity. Robin leapt into dark and danger feet first. To be Batman was to live there all the time.

Whether Tim had liked it or not, he'd spent the better part of the last four years half-knowing he'd have to move there one day and he'd lived like it was true. Frustrated, fighting it sometimes and dutifully twisting his edges to better fit others, but always like it was a future he couldn't afford to be unprepared for.

And then Damian came into their lives and Darkseid tried to transtemporally nuke Tim's remaining mental health. There was a paranoid imp that lived in the back of Tim's head that still half-believed that the whole thing had been another elaborate test, except this time if it had been then Tim must have failed because he never did get his life back afterwards. 

Tim put himself and everything he believed into a blender to find the cracks in everyone else's certainty and for all that he'd been right it had never even mattered. The Justice League found out about and went after Bruce independently. They'd only called him after he'd spent months playing into his own worst instincts to get the job done, just to do almost all of the work in front of him.

Maybe he'd done it all wrong. Maybe he'd been doing it wrong for a while.

Even if he hadn't wanted it, he'd been Tim Drake. Robin. The kid who might one day be Batman. And now, by some silent consensus he hadn't been invited to, he wasn't.

It was a relief. It was a deeply haunted house he'd been written out of the will for, it was a black hole that had materialized over his head and swallowed everything he had seen ahead of him.

It was the reality Tim needed to figure out how to live with.

He was doing his best these days, trying to fit the pieces of the person he used to be into the new shape of his life, but he kept cutting himself on the edges where they didn't quite line up. Cut other people sometimes too, even when he tried not to. But when he tried to take space to keep the sharpness to himself, it took his eyes off the movement of the world and when he looked up he had to start all over again to try to put together the puzzle of what he was going to do for the rest of his life.

And through it all, Tim kept turning over the issue of finding a name to use, methodologies to employ, somewhere he could even live, because the ones he used to have didn't really belong to him anymore. Never had, in all fairness.

They'd always been things gifted to him in exchange for dedication and hard work. He'd thought at the time that had meant earning. Now, of course, he knew better.

And now he had to do without them.

Who was Tim Drake if he was never going to be Batman? Who was Tim Drake, as someone who used to be Robin?

He had no idea. Tim just hoped it didn't take the rest of his life to figure it out.

[tablestoastandtime]

Legacy and Shadows

Say what you will about large parts of Tim's characterization being a product of the archetype he used to embody in the DC universe, it's kind of fucked up to suddenly become a completely different kind of character without your say so.

Or, Tim and the fact he doesn't get to have a future.

Tim wasn't sure what to make of the way everyone seemed confident that one day Damian would be Batman.

The kid was the only one to say it out loud, for the most part, but like a surprising amount of things that came out of his mouth everyone seemed to mostly take it for truth. And to be fair, when had Damian ever let anyone really stop him from going after something he felt he had a right to? So maybe it was true, if only because he was going to make sure of it. 

It was just. People used to think that about Tim, too. Not that he'd ever said that, ever even wanted it. If anything, Tim had spent as much time as he could reminding people that he wasn't Batman and had no intention of being him. But the shadow of it had lingered, and part of Tim had been bracing for it for years.

After all, Dick wanted to be Batman even less than Tim did, had initially been willing to let the mantle die to avoid it. Dick was Nightwing in a way not everyone ever got to inhabit their titles. Part of what made Dick one of the best of them was how he managed the split; by not letting there be one. Dick was Nightwing was Coach Grayson was whatever bullshit name he'd picked up while playing super spy. He never stopped being himself in any of those roles, for all that he'd put on the appropriate hat to play the crowd. There was a difference between performing and lying, and Dick was born for the lights. 

Batman didn't have much to do with light even at the best of times.

And on the other end of the spectrum, Batman was bad for Jason in a way that honestly caught Tim off guard when he first saw it. Sure none of them had been at their best back then, all alone in their own seas of grief, but Jason had lost whatever stability he'd had for a while there, and was only more recently leveling back out. He'd latched onto the mantle as both connection and insult, a last 'fuck you' to a man he wasn't ready to let go of yet. For Jason the cowl hadn't been about any actual interest in the job that needed doing. And yeah, maybe Tim was a bit biased because if he ever saw Jason in a batsuit again he was liable to do something truly stupid to pay him back for last time. What was worse, being attacked by a symbol of trauma or a symbol of faith?

Tim sure knew that he hadn't liked his end of the stick, at the very least. Maybe he'd feel differently if things hadn't gone the way they had, but he didn't want Jason to be Batman and it was only mostly personal.

Even before all that though, the idea of legacy had still been haunting Tim for longer than he'd wanted to admit. People died, heroes died, Tim knew that better than he knew what school he'd taken second year bio at, but the job always remained. Dick had only been interested in doing part of that job. He'd do the parts he wanted to well, Tim had always believed that, but that still left the rest of the job.

And Tim had kind of figured that would be his responsibility.

He hadn't always been happy about it, had resented the shapes Bruce built into his work even as he'd learned more and more why they'd been necessary to keep the undead freight train of the Bat going. Tim didn't like a lot of what Batman had to be to be effective, but he understood it and he didn't want to see Gotham or the world go without the pillar he represented. If you wanted a job done right, sometimes you had to do it yourself. Tim wouldn't ask anyone else to do something he wasn't willing to do, and if it meant Gotham got to keep its hero then yeah, he'd put on the cowl one day. He'd already tried once.

More than that, Tim was pretty sure Bruce used to see things the same way. Half of his training only made sense if it was to be something that was both more and less than Robin. He'd been preparing Tim for a role that wanted to eat him alive, and for all that Tim had gotten maybe more attached than was strictly healthy to the Robin mantle, it had become a part of him rather than his whole identity. Robin leapt into dark and danger feet first. To be Batman was to live there all the time.

Whether Tim had liked it or not, he'd spent the better part of the last four years half-knowing he'd have to move there one day and he'd lived like it was true. Frustrated, fighting it sometimes and dutifully twisting his edges to better fit others, but always like it was a future he couldn't afford to be unprepared for.

And then Damian came into their lives and Darkseid tried to transtemporally nuke Tim's remaining mental health. There was a paranoid imp that lived in the back of Tim's head that still half-believed that the whole thing had been another elaborate test, except this time if it had been then Tim must have failed because he never did get his life back afterwards. 

Tim put himself and everything he believed into a blender to find the cracks in everyone else's certainty and for all that he'd been right it had never even mattered. The Justice League found out about and went after Bruce independently. They'd only called him after he'd spent months playing into his own worst instincts to get the job done, just to do almost all of the work in front of him.

Maybe he'd done it all wrong. Maybe he'd been doing it wrong for a while.

Even if he hadn't wanted it, he'd been Tim Drake. Robin. The kid who might one day be Batman. And now, by some silent consensus he hadn't been invited to, he wasn't.

It was a relief. It was a deeply haunted house he'd been written out of the will for, it was a black hole that had materialized over his head and swallowed everything he had seen ahead of him.

It was the reality Tim needed to figure out how to live with.

He was doing his best these days, trying to fit the pieces of the person he used to be into the new shape of his life, but he kept cutting himself on the edges where they didn't quite line up. Cut other people sometimes too, even when he tried not to. But when he tried to take space to keep the sharpness to himself, it took his eyes off the movement of the world and when he looked up he had to start all over again to try to put together the puzzle of what he was going to do for the rest of his life.

And through it all, Tim kept turning over the issue of finding a name to use, methodologies to employ, somewhere he could even live, because the ones he used to have didn't really belong to him anymore. Never had, in all fairness.

They'd always been things gifted to him in exchange for dedication and hard work. He'd thought at the time that had meant earning. Now, of course, he knew better.

And now he had to do without them.

Who was Tim Drake if he was never going to be Batman? Who was Tim Drake, as someone who used to be Robin?

He had no idea. Tim just hoped it didn't take the rest of his life to figure it out.

#tim drake #my writing #quick little exercise to try to get back into the habit of writing a thought to completion

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monarchy has no real purpose and should be abolished irl but im a slut for royal families in fiction. the politics. the intrigue. families divided by the eyes of a nation. the pressure of children told from birth that they are born to rule, born for only one purpose. the stifling of empathy and real bonds and love. the loneliness when all eyes are on you. it’s so inherently tragic and yet everyone involved is terrible because that’s all they can be. gimme.

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FOUND family??? you think i just found them like this??? babes this is FORGED family. Me & the bros were scrap metal in a junkyard (very valuable, very sharp, very dangerous, uncared for) and we GOT IN THE FUCKING FIRE TOGETHER. WE did this. we said I AM NOT LEAVING YOU and melted into each other for better or for worse (it’s for better) and we are A FUNCTIONAL UNIT now. DO NOT SEPARATE. BATTERIES FUCKING INCLUDED. FOUND family my ass, we built this non-nuclear family unit from the ground up, don’t devalue this!!! it was is and will be a labour of love!!!

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The divine right of kings but it's a curse