Bruce didn’t come here often. Perhaps that was terrible of him but he couldn’t bear to visit his son’s resting place. It was difficult to equate his high-spirited son, bright as the sun itself and endlessly brilliant despite the more he grew up in, to the cold and lifeless stone engraved with his name and words that did not encompass everything his son was to him.
His hands were full of flowers, Jason’s favorite books, a round rock, and his son’s favorite foods.
Bruce didn’t come here often, because it broke his heart even more when he did, but today was a day that love and grief triumphed over his need to avoid.
He walked down the winding pathway, Alfred a silent sentinel behind him. He hated it, but he understood. Today was the only day Alfred allowed himself to be emotionally closed off. He’d lost a grandson.
Bruce didn’t come here often, but his son’s birthday was a day Bruce would remember how to love and live again, just for Jason.
“I will be over here, Master Bruce.” Alfred stopped at his designated spot, where Bruce had added a bench and a draping tree to shade Alfred as he stood vigil.
The first time they’d- it was April, and the sun- after the funeral, Bruce was lost in the throes of grief and had kneeled over the freshly tilled dirt for hours. Alfred had stood there, in that same spot, in the city’s rare blazing sun until Bruce came back to himself.
Bruce had almost lost his second father that day, and what good was wealth if it could not prevent that? And so, water, shade, a bench, and a space heater was added.
Bruce knows better than anyone how stubborn Alfred can be, when it comes to matters of the heart. After all, he didn’t have to raise Bruce after Martha and Thomas died.
“Alright, Alfred.”
Bruce splits from the haggard butler with pointed looks at the water bottles he’d prepared for today for Alfred (who manages, this time, a faint but amused raise of an eyebrow) and walks towards Jason Todd’s grave.
Here where his son is buried, the grass is kept green. In April, Forget-Me-Nots bloomed and dotted the place where Bruce’s world collapsed with bright colors. In August, it is still green, but the tin engraved with the names of the deceased stood out without the flowers.
Bruce kneeled and quietly arranged the flowers before placing them in the tin. He set the platters of food down and uncovered them. The scent of chili dogs made his heart stutter, flashes of a bright smile and book references blinding Bruce with their nostalgia.
He swallowed, grief building, and placed the stone he’d brought atop the gravestone. He sat back, gripping Jason’s book with white knuckles.
Bruce didn’t turn around when clothing rustled behind him. Alfred would have verbally cut down anyone that dared to approach them today, especially here. That he didn’t do so was telling of who it would be.
“I’m still mad at you, for not telling me as soon as you knew.” Dick Grayson sat down, hand over one of Jason’s school bag pins he had carefully attached to the front of his jacket.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“He deserved better. I should have been there.” Dick whispered, placing another bundle of flowers into the tin. It fit, but barely. “I would have dropped everything to come find him. Even if it wasn’t on time, even if it wasn’t enough, I deserved to be there when he was buried. We were family.”
“I know.” Bruce repeated, no less regretful. In his grief, he had wronged his loved ones. “I’m sorry.”
Dick casted a quiet, assessing eye at him. Bruce stayed quiet.
“It’s too dreary,” Dick said. He took out paints, little statutes of robins, bright birds, and bits and bobs Bruce knew Jason would have loved had he been alive out of his pockets.
“It should be more colorful,” Dick murmured as he placed them artfully against the headstone.
They sat there, for a while. Dick glanced at… at Bruce’s hand, and settled down.
It’d been a while since they’ve spoken, but he knew what the man intentioned to do today. This will be the most Dick will have heard Bruce speak outside of his civilian obligations.
Bruce took the cue and gently opened Jason’s book. He’d bought it for Jason- the first gift- and he’d read it to Jason every night. Dick had a similar book.
“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little or no money in my purse…”
——
A boy with black hair and blue eyes wandered amongst the graveyard. They’ve been here for a while, and the man’s low rumble was soothing to listen to. The shades that hung about the graveyard settled as he read out loud from the book as his son sat quietly beside him.
As the boy, invisible and intangible, brushed his hand against the gravestone, he wondered why they were reading to an empty grave.
——
Dick had left long before Bruce did.
And when it was time to go, as stars began to climb and as the cold began to nip at his fingers, Bruce heard a quiet voice.
“Do not stand at his grave and weep,” and Bruce turned, recognizing the poem. “He is not there. He does not sleep.”
But there was no-one.
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FELIZ AÑO NUEVO MIS AMORES
This year has been insane for me. I started writing on this app, met some amazing people, formed amazing friendships, got accepted to grad school, got married, and much more.
I’ve struggled a LOT this year with family and irl friendships and depression, along with imposter syndrome and anxiety over what the rest of my life will look like…
But through it, I found this website and so many stories, I got back into my passion for writing… hell working on fanfiction and some of y’all’s own writing inspired me to start an original romance novel ! (It’s very shoddy but I still love it)
I’m so grateful for so many of you but I have to call out of a few of you…bc Jesus Christ id lose my head without y’all.
@eddies-house for always talking to me, understanding me SO DEEPLY, and rambling with me over headcanons. You’re one of the most beautiful, sweetest, big hearted, and creative people I know. Also your imagination and headcanons never fail to get me feeling so emotionalllll. You deserve the world and I hope this new year brings you that and more.
@xxhellfirebunnyxx for always talking to me and listening, fangirling with me, and embracing the cringe. You’re so gorgeous and hilarious, and your smut writing is beyond words. You’re an insanely awesome person and mom (literally how do you do it?!?).You consistently have me dying of laughter as well as giggling and kicking my feet at your smut. The new year better treat you right or I’m kicking its ass.
@cryingglightningg we mostly just recently started talking but I really love our conversations and your wit and outlook on things. I always find our conversations interesting and you’re such a supportive person. I really hope we continue to talk and everything, and I hope the new year is kind to you.
@ghost-proofbaby wellllll I’ll be honest… I was a huge fan of you before we spoke, I obsessed over 24 hours and then The Shire is Burning. You inspired me to actually start writing on here ! And you’ve been nothing but kind AND hilarious every time we speak. I can’t thank you enough for helping me re realize my love for writing. <3 may you have the most wonderful new year.
Some honorable mentions (we may not talk often or at all but I wish you all the best and you’re all literally so amazing and talented): @hellfire--cult @munsonology @reidsbtch @spookykoolkat @eddiesxangel @chrrymunson @bettyfrommars @babygorewhore @lokis-army-77 @trashmouth-richie @blueywrites @storiesbyrhi
And many more (if I haven’t included you, please know this also goes out to every mutual, every person who reads my writing, and everyone who follows me and anyone who may stumble upon this post, I just am super bad at names and I don’t want to drag this on too long): have an amazing new year and an incredible night! You’re all so wonderful and sweet and I can’t imagine life without this fandom and community!
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There's an episode of Are You Afraid Of The Dark called the Tale Of The Water Demons and I think it makes a great DP x DC prompt.
Imagine some high powered muckety-muck calling the JL for help because every time they fall asleep, monsters start attacking their house. The JL investigate and quickly realize the monsters are dead people/zombies/ghosts.
Now it's an issue for the JLD. They can't figure out why the ghosts are attacking this guy, so Constantine decides to summon some help. (He summons Danny, but for a change of flavor, it could be Dani instead)
They tell Danny what's going on and he's like "Yeah, no shit."
"What do you mean no shit? Why are they attacking?"
"Because that asshole robbed their graves? If they put back all of the the things they stole, then the spirits will stop."
"Look. You're people can't attack the living just because someone dug up an artifact or antique!"
"Dude. Most of the spirits that are attacking? Are less than a decade buried. That person is a literal grave robber, not some archeologist."
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