Golden_Storm



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Jason tries a kinder method of getting Tim to give up Robin. It goes even worse than his original idea.

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    02 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    The thing is, Jason has been thinking about just going home.

    It starts like this:

    “Please don’t. Please, please don’t.”

    With Robin begging.

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    02 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Jason has a plan for his return to Gotham. Steal the clown's old Red Hood identity? Check. Make sure meddling birds know to keep out of his territory? Check. Recruit some homeless youth to keep an ear to the street in exchange for shelter? Check. Take over the Crime Alley drug trade, convince Black Mask to break the clown out of Arkham, murder his Replacement and force Batman to finally avenge him? ...he's still working on it.

    His plans are delayed when the homeless kids he's sheltering are joined by a fearful boy with hand-shaped bruises around his neck. Alvin Draper may not want to say who did it, but Red Hood isn't about to let anyone who beats up children go unpunished.

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    28 May 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Dick Grayson hugs the way most people breathe: easy and natural, like it's a necessary part of living.

    Tim's wrapped up in one now, his brother's arms all the way around his shoulders, tugging him in close.

    He's never told Dick that the first hug he can remember is that day at the circus, from a stranger who would in time be family. He's never told Dick that the next hug he remembers after that is nine years later, caught up in those same strong arms. He thinks he'd rather die than admit it.

    "You're not hurt?" Dick is saying. "Nothing cruel and unusual, right?"

    "She only let me have one cup of coffee a day," says Tim, very dry, and Dick makes a strange sort of a sound, almost a laugh, and tightens his hold so much it sweeps Tim right off his feet.

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    25 May 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    "Did you see?" says Dick, and he lets go of Tim's shoulders to take him by the arm, tugging him toward the kitchen instead of the Batcave. "Alfred made cookies."

    "Think he's trying to lure you in," says Tim, with a huff of a laugh. "Like one of those traps they bait for raccoons."

    "Raccoons are too smart for that, baby bird," says Dick, blithely, and swipes up one of the bait-cookies anyway, biting into it with an appreciative little hum.

    Tim finds somewhere else to look — fixes his gaze on a spot on the far wall, trying hard to ignore the way the kitchen smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and sugar. His stomach twists a little, hopeful, and he tells it firmly that these aren't for him. They're Dick's welcome-home cookies.

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    24 May 2026